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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf 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..93d7911 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #60268 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/60268) diff --git a/old/60268-0.txt b/old/60268-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 7e4f4cc..0000000 --- a/old/60268-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,7091 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Covered With Mud and Glory, by Georges Lafond - -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'll -have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using -this ebook. - - - -Title: Covered With Mud and Glory - A Machine Gun Company in Action ("Ma Mitrailleuse") - -Author: Georges Lafond - -Contributor: Maurice Barrès -Georges Clemenceau - -Translator: Edwin Gile Rich - -Release Date: September 9, 2019 [EBook #60268] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK COVERED WITH MUD AND GLORY *** - - - - -Produced by ellinora and the Online Distributed Proofreading -Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from -images generously made available by The Internet -Archive/American Libraries.) - - - - - - - - - - -COVERED WITH MUD AND GLORY - - - - -[Illustration: “HE’S HIT,” SERGEANT LACE CRIES SUDDENLY. AND INDEED HE IS -HIT. _See page 101_] - - - - - COVERED WITH MUD - AND GLORY - - _A Machine Gun Company in Action_ - - (“MA MITRAILLEUSE”) - - BY - GEORGES LAFOND - - SERGEANT-MAJOR, TERRITORIAL HUSSARS, FRENCH ARMY; INTELLIGENCE - OFFICER, MACHINE GUN SECTIONS, FRENCH COLONIAL INFANTRY - - _With a Preface by_ MAURICE BARRÈS - _of the French Academy_ - - _Translated by_ EDWIN GILE RICH - - INCLUDING - “A TRIBUTE TO THE SOLDIERS OF FRANCE” - - BY - GEORGES CLEMENCEAU - - [Illustration] - - BOSTON - SMALL, MAYNARD & COMPANY - PUBLISHERS - - COPYRIGHT, 1918 - BY SMALL, MAYNARD & COMPANY - (INCORPORATED) - - THE UNIVERSITY PRESS, CAMBRIDGE, U. S. A. - - - - - To the Memory of - - MY COMRADES of the second company of machine guns of the ... - first Colonials - - who fell at the battle of the Somme in July, 1916, and of the - Aisne in April, 1917; - - To - - LIEUTENANTS MAISONNAVE AND DUPOUY - - in remembrance of the hours of fine, sincere comradeship we - lived together; - - To - - DENYS MAURIN - - the quartermaster-sergeant, wounded heroically before Soissons, - in testimony of a sincere friendship which was born under - shell-fire, which grew amid the horrors of grim madness, and - which was firmly fixed through sharing common hopes and common - joys; - - _I dedicate these simple pages_ which are only a modest - contribution to the monumental narrative which these anonymous - epics of every day would make - - - - -A TRIBUTE TO THE SOLDIERS OF FRANCE - -BY GEORGES CLEMENCEAU - - -I watch our blue-uniformed men at war, as they pass with a friendly and -serious look, generously covered with mud. This is the artillery—slow -marching—which is moving its cannon under a fantastic camouflage, a -mockery of reality. A glistening slope of soaked earth is set in a frame -of shattered trees, twisted into indescribable convulsions of anguish -with the gaping wounds inflicted by the storm of iron. On their horses, -already covered with winter shag, the poilus, slouched in all sorts of -positions, having no suggestion of the rigid form of the manœuvre, are -going from one battlefield to another without any other thought except -that of just keeping on going. - -In colorless and shapeless uniforms, indescribably rigged out, and -in poses of the most pleasurable leisure, the soldiers of France -picturesquely slip from glory to glory, less aware, it seems, of -historic grandeur than of serene gladness in implacable duty. They are -picturesque because nature will have it so, but without any romanticism -or sense of posing—officers hardly to be distinguished from privates by -vague, soiled stripes—all the men enveloped in a halo of splendor above -anything known to ordinary humanity. - -The pugnacious pipe or the sportive cigarette hinders their expression of -any personal reflection. Only their eyes are animate, and these express -things which cannot be told in words lest they be profaned. The line of -their lip is youthful under a silky moustache or firm with age under gray -brush. But the fire of their look, framed in their dark helmets, leaps -out with quiet intensity to meet the tragic unknown that no longer can -bring surprise. They are our soldiers of the year II who are following -the Biblical column of fire. They see something. They go to it. Ashamed -of my humility, I should like to find words to say to them. But, were I -a poet, they would have no need of hearkening to me, since the greatest -beauty of man lies in them, and since, unwitting of utterance, which at -best seems inept, these men live on the summits of life. - -And the “old classes” who prosaically break stone at the side of the road -or work with the shovel, the pickaxe, the broom, making the toilette -of the road of triumph, what an injustice if I did not mention them! -How does it happen that the noblest soldier is always the one I chance -upon? That is the miracle of these men; and when I tell you that on the -battlefield of the Aisne the “old classes,” not granting that it was -necessary to wait to the end of the battle before beginning to clear and -rebuild, went off into the hottest of the action to fill up craters, to -break stones, to place tree-trunks and beams during heavy fire, without -vouchsafing the Boche a single hasty gesture, so that they might the -more quickly open the way for revictualling and for the bringing up of -artillery—when I tell you this, you will admit that they do not deserve a -lesser greeting than their “young ones.” - -And the infantryman—could I commit the supreme injustice of forgetting -him? That is impossible when one has gone over the battleground where -he has taken possession of the burrows of the Boches, among heaps of -munition material, cases of supplies, an indescribable débris, abandoned -with their dead and wounded in the haste of a desperate fight. What we -cannot understand is that our little poilu can pass so quickly from the -apathy of the trench to the extreme fury of the attack, and then from the -violence of the offensive to the calm smile of a victory of which his -modesty seems to say: “It was as easy as all that.” - -I did not hear a single boast, or see a disagreeable act, or hear a word -that sounded false. Like a good-hearted proprietor returning home, they -took possession of the shelters of the Boche so hurriedly abandoned. -Here can be found the comforts of war, if these two words can be spoken -together. The men talk in groups at the openings of the underground -passages, camouflaged by the enemy himself. The indifference of their -attitudes, the ease of their familiar conversation, in which there mingle -no bragging (though this is the place for it), are more characteristic -of the situation of some simple bourgeois who have happened to meet on -Sunday in the street. A major begs my pardon for wearing a collared -shirt, which is not perfectly “regular” at an official review. -Messengers pass, throwing out a word or making a simple sign. Officers -step up for brief explanations. A half-salute, a nodding of the head—it -is over. Not far away, on the road cut into the rock, where the stupid -Boche, after our passings, sends his impotent shells, our always young -“old classes” hang on to the slopes in order to see the projectile fall, -and make uncomplimentary remarks about the gunner. Then work is resumed -till the next warning whistles in the air. - -It is after twelve and we have not yet dined. A big devil of a Moroccan -colonel, with a Don Quixotic face under an extraordinary headpiece, -invites us to his P. C. (post of command), where the Boche has left -useful bits of installation. A black hole is two steps away from us. We -go down into the ground, over abrupt descents, and there we are protected -from the “marmites” in a dark corridor lit by candles stuck into the -mouths of German gas masks. We sit down on anything handy (I even have -the favor of a chair), before a board which also serves as the colonel’s -bed, while arms whose body remains invisible serve us with dishes not to -be disdained by a gourmand. How did they get there? I cannot undertake to -explain that. The walk in the open air, the tragic nature of the place, -the joy in land reconquered, no doubt all lend particular spice to the -comradeship of these men who forget that they have done great deeds as -soon as they have done them. Pictures and illustrated pages tremble in -the fluttering candle-lights, among them a Victorious France, drawn -by the pencil of the colonel. A telephonist measures out mouthfuls of -conversation to a military post that sends in observations and receives -ours. Long time or short time, for here hours and minutes are alike, here -is a magic that ends too soon. We must go. - -The colonel would have been perfect if he had not made it a point of -honor to avoid all danger for his civilian visitor. In the morning he had -tried to forbid me a flying visit to the marvellous castle of Pinion, -but he finally understood that even a soldier has to be born a civilian -and that he should not therefore scorn his own origin. The trip was -accomplished without the shadow of an incident, but the colonel, who -insists more than ever on the rights and privileges of the uniform, will -not permit me to return until the Boche cannon favors us with a little -respite. The Boche can hardly make up his mind to such a favor; hence, -several false departures and changings of direction. Finally, the colonel -lets us go under the guard of a robust sergeant-major, who even yesterday -magnificently led his stretcher-bearers to the aid of the wounded under -the hottest fire. Although he is not of the youngest class, he has -refused to be retired from the front. He is spoken of only with respect, -I might say admiration. “He goes everywhere.” He is fine, genial company. -After many necessary little zigzags, a walk that is not very strenuous -and very soon over, I left the brave sergeant, whom I shall always -remember. - -I cannot finish this inconsequent account without speaking of the -touching ceremony which I witnessed at Soissons, the terribly bombarded. -Since the victory of Malmaison the city has been out of range. But when -you have seen the building of the sub-prefect tottering with shell-holes, -a building that neither the sub-prefect nor his wife has left, the -shortest walk will tell you a long tale. - -The general, who is a good fellow—I take pleasure in saying that—had -proposed to show me something, and so here I am in a public square having -the imposing silhouette of the cathedral as a background. From the -height of the great towers, with their wide wounds, history, attentive, -looks down. Everywhere there is a formidable display of cannon taken -from the enemy. There are piles of them, heaps of them. There are too -many to count, together with a bewildering mass of trench instruments -of all sorts. Can you believe it? They do not hold the eye. How is that -possible? Because on the sidewalk opposite, in splendid alignment, is -the gorgeous gathering of soldiers with medals and decorations who have -captured these things. Ah! They hold the eye! There they are, with all -sorts of faces and from all branches of the service, with the flag which -they have followed into battle and which now must be present at their -honor. - -To be quite honest, the group is not so æsthetic as a picture of -Versailles. These men are too great for much ceremony. With a jerky step -the general advances; his brusque movements reveal the homage of his -emotion before the bravest of the brave. Slowly he passes along the -line, while the adjutant reads in a stirring voice the high deeds in -the citations. And the military medal quivers on each noble breast at -the recollection of the tremendous drama lived through. And the general -utters a comrade’s congratulation, shakes a friendly hand, expresses a -good wish. Then the flag salutes, while the drums rumble in these hearts -drunk with love of country. At the greeting of the flag of the glorious -Chasseurs, a rag torn by machine guns, something gets hold of our -throats, which the trumpets hurt with their sublime peal. If there are -more beautiful spectacles, I do not know them. One minute here is worth -years. - -And I have said nothing of the people about, silent, all in mourning, -their souls full of tears, which finally brim over. Men, hats off, -motionless as statues, proud of becoming great through their children. -Mothers, with seared faces, superbly stoic under the eye of the greater -maternity of the great country. The children in the ecstasy of feeling -about them something greater than they can understand, but already -certain that they will understand some day this immortal hour. And not a -cry, not a word sounds in the air, nothing but the great silence of the -courage of all of them. Then everyone goes away, firm and erect, to a -glorious destiny. In every heart La France has passed. - - NOTE.—A few days before M. Clemenceau, premier of France, was - called to power, he returned from a visit to the Aisne front - and published his impressions in his paper, _L’Homme Enchainé_, - now _L’Homme Libre_. When he became premier, _L’Illustration_ - republished this “Tribute to the Soldiers of France,” and it - has since been widely reproduced and admired throughout France. - The present English translation by Harry Kurz was printed - in the _New York Tribune_, to the editors of which grateful - acknowledgment is made for permission to reprint here. - - - - -PREFACE - - -Sergeant-Major Georges Lafond, of the Territorial Hussars, the author of -this book, was in South America at the time of mobilization. He returned -to France as soon as possible and joined his corps, but asked to be -assigned as intelligence officer to the machine-gun sections of the ... -first regiment of Colonial Infantry. - -With this picked corps, which has been decimated several times, he took -part in the engagements in Champagne, on the Somme, at Lihons, Dompierre, -Herbécourt, and notably in the days from the first to the fifth of -July, where the regiment earned its second citation and received the -_fourragère_. - -Lafond was discharged after the battles of Maisonnette, and wrote this -book of recollections in the hospital at Abbeville, and afterwards at -Montpellier, where he had to undergo a severe operation. - -Sergeant-Major Lafond’s narrative makes no claim to literary pretension, -but it is simply a collection of actual occurrences. It is a series of -short narratives which give the life of a company of machine gunners from -the day of its formation to the hour when it was so decimated that it had -to be reorganized with men from other corps. - -What pictures the following titles call to mind: “A Reconnaissance in the -Fog,” “The Aeroplane,” “Our First Engagement,” “‘We Have Taken a Picket -Post,’” “The Attack,” “The Echelon,” “A Water Patrol”! No man who has -lived at the front and has taken part in an attack will fail to recognize -the accuracy of these narratives and to experience, as well, emotion, -enthusiasm, and pride in having been among “those who were there.” - -This record of adventure was very successful when it appeared in -the _Petit Parisien_, and I feel sure that it will be successful in -book form. I beg Sergeant-Major Georges Lafond to accept my hearty -congratulations on his fine talent and his bravery. - - MAURICE BARRÈS, - _of the French Academy_. - - - - -CONTENTS - - CHAPTER PAGE - - I THE SEARCH FOR MY COMPANY 1 - - II THE QUARTERMASTER’S BILLETS 11 - - III THE ECHELON 21 - - IV THE SONG OF THE MACHINE GUN 31 - - V A RECONNAISSANCE IN THE FOG 47 - - VI OUR FIRST ENGAGEMENT 58 - - VII EASTER EGGS 71 - - VIII THE AEROPLANE 89 - - IX DAYS IN CANTONMENT 103 - - X AN ORDINARY FATIGUE PARTY 122 - - XI WITH MUSIC 135 - - XII “WE HAVE TAKEN A PICKET POST” 148 - - XIII A NIGHT CONVOY 164 - - XIV THE SONGS OF THE HOMELAND 175 - - XV A WATER PATROL 188 - - XVI A COMMANDER 199 - - XVII THE ATTACK 217 - - XVIII WITH ORDERS 232 - - XIX A WREATH 250 - - XX DISCHARGED 261 - - - - -ILLUSTRATIONS - - PAGE - - “HE’S HIT,” SERGEANT LACE CRIES SUDDENLY. AND - INDEED HE IS HIT _Frontispiece_ - - REMAINS OF VILLAGES NEAR THE LINES 36 - - A POILU 56 - - A SINISTER GRUMBLING SEEMED TO SHATTER THE FOG 110 - - THE FRONT LINE TRENCH 154 - - A COMMANDANT’S POST 166 - - THE LEAST DANGEROUS PASSAGE IS THE UNPROTECTED GROUND 186 - - THE ATTACK 226 - -NOTE.—_These photographs are all copyrighted by International Film -Service, Inc._ - - - - -COVERED WITH MUD AND GLORY - - - - -CHAPTER I - -THE SEARCH FOR MY COMPANY - - -I remember the exact date and I have reason to, for on that Monday, -February fifteenth, I joined the second company of machine guns of the -... first Colonials at the front. It was snowing and the fields of -Picardy were one vast white carpet on which the auto-trucks traced a -multitude of black lines to the accompaniment of pyrotechnics of mud. - -Two days before I had left my depot in a small garrison town in -the center of Provence, which lay smiling in the sun and already -bedecked with the first flowers of spring. At Lyons I found rain, at -Saint-Just-en-Chaussee, snow, and I got off the train in a sea of mud. - -In the dim light of a February dawn, the station at Villers appeared -to be encumbered with the supplies of half-a-dozen regiments. My car -was high on its wheels and at the end of the train farthest from the -unloading platform. At the other end of the platform near the entrance to -the station, I found a rolling bridge for unloading animals, but it was -useless to ask those busy people to help me push this weighty contrivance -to the car. - -So I looked at Kiki—Kiki is my horse—who had but recently arrived from -Canada and was scarcely broken after his two months’ training at the -depot. - -“Kiki, _mon vieux_,” I said, “you must make up your mind to do as I did -and jump. Remember that you are a Canadian, and every self-respecting -Canadian should know how to jump as soon as he is born.” - -I delivered this kind invitation from the ground and I urged him on by -pulling on the reins. Kiki was not at all frightened. He came to the edge -of the car, snuffed the air, carefully calculated the distance, bent -lightly on his hind legs, and jumped to the ground without a flutter. - -“The ... first Colonials?” the military commissioner said to me. “I don’t -know exactly, but you’ll find it somewhere along twenty or thirty miles -to the east at Proyart or Harbonnières, or perhaps at Morcourt. There’s a -little of it all about there.” - -So Kiki and I, in the morning mist, went slowly along roads covered with -snow and grease in search of the second company of machine guns. - -Proyart is a small village hidden in a hollow of this plain of Picardy -which from a distance resembled a well-stretched, vast white carpet. Here -the villages are sheltered in depressions and one only sees them when he -reaches the level of their steeples. It was at Proyart that altogether -accidentally, thanks to a sign about as large as my hand and already -partly rubbed out, I found the staff of the ... first Colonials. - -An orderly condescended to move a few steps and point out to me at the -end of the street to the right the billets of the quartermaster of the -second company of machine guns. - -There was a court—a sewer, as a matter of fact—which was completely -filled by a pool of filth which left only a narrow passage of a foot or -two by each wall. In a corner was a tangle of barrels, farm implements, -and broken boxes, and on that a mass of wet straw, manure, snow, and mud. - -At the farther end of the court was a small door with glass panels—with -a glass panel—for only one remained. The spaces were conveniently filled -by thick layers of the _Petit Parisien_, _Matin_, _Le Journal_, _Echo de -Paris_, the great dailies which arrived intermittently at Proyart. - -I went in. Kiki wanted to go in, too, but the door was low and he was -carrying his complete pack. Inside was a ruined kitchen. The chimney -still remained, and there was a large table made of a door stretched -on two barrels, which took up the middle of the room. In each corner, -against the walls, were improvised beds, straw mattresses, and heaps of -clothes under which I surmised there were bodies. - -“The door, nom de Dieu!” shouted a voice. - -In front of the chimney was a man struggling desperately with a fire. -The watersoaked wood refused to burn, and the man flooded it with shoe -grease, which, when it melted, threw out jets of yellow flame and filled -the room with a pungent odor and smoke. - -“The door, the door! What did he tell you!” cried in different tones -voices which came from the heaps of covers. - -It was true that a breath of cold air and a swirl of snow had rushed into -the smoky dark hall when I came in. I shut the door and asked, - -“Is this the second company of machine guns?” - -“What of it? What do you want of the second machine guns? It’s here. And -after that what do you want? Papers, again? Zut! They have no idea of -bothering people at this hour. Leave them on the table and come back in -half an hour.” - -This diatribe emanated from a pile thicker than the rest, in the chimney -corner. At this obsession of papers, of lists to be signed, I guessed he -was a sergeant or a quartermaster, and I kept on: - -“Don’t worry. There are no papers. I am the mounted intelligence officer -attached to this company.” - -“M ...!” shouted several voices in the four corners of the room, while I -watched arms and muffled heads rise up. - -“_Mince!_ So we have a mounted officer now! Wonderful! They’re certainly -fitting us out in style. What won’t they do next? Then, that’s all right, -_vieux_. Come on in and let us see you. And you have a horse? Where is -your horse? Bring him in; make him come. It must be cold out in the -court.” - -The first burst of curiosity soon passed, the torrent of words exhausted -itself, and the forms which had stirred a moment ago quieted down anew. A -more peremptory voice now started in shouting invectives at the orderly -who was still struggling with the rebellious wood. - -“Say, Dedouche. Do you think we’re Boche sausages that you want to smoke -us out? Don’t you know anything? We’ll have to wear glasses. That’s no -way to light a fire. What did you learn when you were a boy?” - -“The grease is full of water and won’t even burn.” - -“Use the oil in the lamp, then.” - -The first result of the immediate execution of this order was to fill -the room with a black stifling cloud which was enough to make one weep. -In the middle of this smoke the orderly, Dedouche, coughed, spat, -sputtered, while I heard him storm: - -“In God’s name, how that stinks! How that stinks!” - -The quartermaster, doubtless on account of the smoke and the smell, now -deigned to get up. He was a young man, large, light complexioned, and his -checks were red and fat. He had just a suspicion of a moustache. His ears -were hidden in a cap which had wings that pulled down. One could scarcely -see his eyes they were so puffed out with sleep and smoke. - -“So you’re the intelligence officer? Sit down. Dedouche, make a cup of -coffee. I’ll make a note of your transfer, and then you can try to find a -place for yourself until the lieutenant comes. Oh, you’ve time, you know. -He never comes before ten o’clock.” - -“But, Quartermaster, it’s nearly ten now.” - -“No, you’re joking. Ten o’clock. My word, it’s true. Oh, there, get -up all of you. It’s ten o’clock. And that salaud of a Dedouche hasn’t -lighted the fire. Come, come, hurry up, the lieutenant is coming!” - -And as though this were the magic word, the lieutenant came in, leaving -the door wide open behind him. It was time; they were almost suffocated. - -The lieutenant was a large man, thin and well set up. His bearing -indicated resolution. His brown hair was cut very short, according to -the regulations. A close-cropped black moustache streaked his sunburned -face. The general effect of his personality was that of a man cool and -headstrong. - -“Oh, he has the coolness of a Colonial,” the machine gunners repeated _ad -nauseam_. - -“Isn’t there any way to get you up?” exclaimed the lieutenant. “You ought -to be ashamed of yourselves. It’s after ten o’clock.” - -Then he saw me through the cloud of smoke and questioned me with a -glance. The quartermaster broke in before I could reply, - -“It’s the mounted intelligence officer, Lieutenant.” - -“Oh, good!... Good morning.... Welcome.” - -He extended a large, vigorous hand which confirmed the first impression -of his personality—frankness and will. - -“Have you found a place for your horse?” he asked. - -“Not yet, Lieutenant. I’ve just come.” - -I pointed out Kiki through the door to the courtyard where he waited, -stoically and calmly, under the snow. Perhaps he remembered the times -not long ago that he waited for hours at the doors of the ranch under -more wintry winds. Perhaps he imagined that he was still waiting for the -rough Canadian pioneer who tarried for long discussions about business, -warming himself the while with whiskey. At any rate Kiki waited stoically -and quietly. He scarcely condescended to welcome us by a glance when I -presented him to the lieutenant, who stroked his head. - -“This is Kiki, Lieutenant. I don’t know his real name, for his record -bore only his number, but that fits him and he seems to like it. He is -a Canadian, seven years old, thin but strong, very gentle and a good -jumper.” - -“He’s pretty. Come along. We’ll put him in with mine. They’ll get along -all right together.” - -So I took Kiki by the bridle and the lieutenant and I went along talking, -until we reached an improvised stable where the officer’s horse and his -groom were quartered. - -Zèbre was a great brown horse, with a huge, calm face. Everything here -certainly gives an impression of calmness. - -I took leave of the officer for the time being and returned to the -quartermaster’s, where a steaming soup and scalding coffee were waiting -for me. It was nearly noon and I had eaten nothing hot for the last -forty-eight hours. It was four above zero and it was time. - - - - -CHAPTER II - -THE QUARTERMASTER’S BILLETS - - -I was seated under a shed of loose boards in the courtyard of Cantonment -No. 77, and just tasting some excellent macaroni which the cook had -warmed up for me, when Dedouche, the orderly, came to find me. - -“Say, Sergeant,” he asked, “are you the intelligence officer?” - -The title of “sergeant” sounds strange in the ears of a cavalryman, and -I felt a little hurt in my _esprit de corps_; but I at once answered -Dedouche’s summons, for the orderly, in spite of being at the beck and -call of everyone, enjoys a certain prestige. He has a real importance, -small though it be, but an importance which carries weight when he gives -his opinion in the discussions of the “little staff” of the company. - -This staff is the household of the quartermaster’s billets. -With some slight differences it is in general composed of the -quartermaster-sergeant, lacking a sergeant-major which companies of -machine guns rarely have, a quartermaster-corporal, an adjutant and -a mess corporal. I was admitted to the honor of taking part in the -discussions of the staff on account of the detached and unusual character -of my duties. - -But Dedouche was summoning me. I turned and observed him leisurely. -Dedouche is an excellent fellow. Without even knowing him one would guess -it at first glance. He is good-natured, never in a hurry, no matter -how urgent his errand, and indifferent alike to blows and invectives. -He smiles under torrents of abuse and threats of the most terrible -punishments, and does his duty as man of all work silently. In a word, he -possesses all the qualities inherent in his duty. He is tall and spare; -his face is beardless and sanctimonious; his eyes smile, but they look -far away under his great round glasses with their large rims. All in all -Dedouche looks like a lay brother. To complete the illusion, when he -talks he has a habit of thrusting his hands into the large sleeves of his -jacket and lowering his head to look over his spectacles. In civil life -Dedouche was an assistant in a pharmacy in one of the large provincial -cities. He knows the art of making up learned formulae. His long slim -fingers manage the most fragile things with skill, and his grave voice is -accustomed to the mezzotints of the laboratory. - -“Yes,” I answered at last, “it is I.” - -“The lieutenant wants you.” - -I gulped down my plate of macaroni in two mouthfuls, swallowed the -coffee which the cook, already attentive to my wants, held out to me, -and followed Dedouche the two hundred yards which separated us from the -billets. - -Two hundred yards is nothing, and yet it is a world. In less time than it -takes to tell it I learned a mass of things from Dedouche. - -First, what part of the country we are from. The ... first Colonials -was organized in the South. So, in the hope of finding in each newcomer -another “countryman,” Dedouche asked the new arrival at once, - -“What part of the country are you from?” - -He had some doubt about my reply. A Hussar of a regiment with an unknown -number, who had given little opportunity to study his accent, might be a -man from the North or the East. “One never knows with these cavalrymen,” -he seemed to say, “they’re so uncertain.” So he changed the form and -varied his traditional question somewhat, - -“You’re not from the South, by chance, Sergeant?” - -At this repetition of his offense about my title, I thought that I ought -to slip in a discreet observation, so I said, - -“In the cavalry, my friend, the sergeant is called ‘_maréchal des -logis_.’” And then having satisfied my slightly offended _esprit de -corps_, I replied, “Yes, mon _vieux_, I am from the South, in fact from -the Mediterranean, from L’Herault.” - -“How things happen!” exclaimed Dedouche. “I’m from Le Clapas.” - -Le Clapas is the nickname given to Montpellier in the territory. And -at that there came all at once a bewildering flow of words. Dedouche -began to tell me, mixing it all up in an incredible confusion, about his -birthplace, his adventures, his former regular occupation, in the depths -of a pharmacy in a small street under the shadow of the University, his -transfer from the auxiliary to active service, his wound in Champagne. -All this was interspersed with frequent exclamations and repetitions, -“Say, tell me, _Maréchal_, will this war ever be over?” and then regrets -for his home land, “Say, tell me, _Logis_, wouldn’t it be better down -there in the good sun?” - -In these different attempts to get nearer to the term “_maréchal de -logis_,” I observed Dedouche’s obvious good will, but what interested me -most was a little advance knowledge about the company. - -So Dedouche sketched in a few words a picture of it, which was absolutely -accurate, as I was able to appreciate later. - -“The lieutenant is a very chic type. No one would think to look at him -that he is from the South, too. He appears cold and hard, like that, -but it’s not natural; he puts it on. He’s good-hearted at bottom. -He’s a Basque and isn’t afraid of anything. You ought to have seen -him in Champagne at Massiges. Oh, and then we have besides his fellow -countryman, Sub-Lieutenant Delpos, a blond. He’s not here now; he’s down -at Morcourt with the echelon. He’s a type too, not stuck-up, but he’s -agreeable and good-humored. - -“Oh, those in the billets,” Dedouche sketched with a vague wave of the -hand, as if to say something like this: “They’re of no importance; -they’re brothers, friends, and not worth talking about.” Perhaps his -gesture meant something else, but that’s what I thought it meant. - -And as if he were responding to my implied question, he went on: - -“—there is only the drummer who’s from the South, too; he’s what they -call the ‘quartermaster corporal,’ I don’t know why. He’s a good fellow, -but he does not talk. At least he only talks rarely, and he’s from -Marseilles, too; no one would think it to see him. He makes me mad most -of the time. - -“Oh, the rest! The corporal of infantry is from Paris. I don’t know him. -He only came five or six days ago. He hasn’t told us anything yet; he -only sings. And what songs! Good God, they’re enough to make one blush! - -“The _juteux_—the adjutant,” interrupted Dedouche, for he rarely used -slang. With the exception of “_pinard_” and “_tacot_,” which have become -hallowed and have taken an official place even in the most refined -language of the armies, Dedouche rarely used a vulgar or misplaced word -in his conversation. This was not because he was opposed to it nor from -false modesty, but because his occupation as a “scientist” had given him -the habit of using good language. - -“The adjutant,” went on Dedouche, “he’s not an adjutant. He’s a -brother, a father, a friend, a man, what! Never a word of anger, never -a punishment, always agreeable and kind. And in spite of that he’s had -a career. He’s been in Morocco, China, and Madagascar, and no one knows -where else. He’s been in the service eleven years, but you wouldn’t think -it to look at him.” - -This running biography brought us to the open door which framed the -lieutenant’s tall figure. - -“Say, _Margis_” (the lieutenant knew his military terminology and this -abbreviation was not without zest), “are you rested from your journey?” - -“I wasn’t tired, Lieutenant.” - -“How about your horse?” - -“No more than I was. Do you think that after three days stretched out on -the straw in his car, without moving ...?” - -“Then, if you are willing, we’ll both go to the echelon.” - -“All right, Lieutenant.” - -A question must have framed itself on my face, for he added almost at -once: - -“Yes, the echelon, the fighting train, the cavalry. You’ll be more at -home there. We left it below at Morcourt, seven or eight miles away, on -account of the shells that fall here sometimes. Horses, you know, cost -more than men, so we have to economize them. It is understood, then? -We’ll go about noon. Saddle both horses. Meet me here.” - -Then he strode off and joined a group of officers who were coming up the -main street of the village to the church. - -Dedouche was already full of attention for me—just think of a man from -home on the “little staff”—and he now burst forth eagerly: - -“Don’t trouble yourself, _Logis_. I’ll tell the groom to saddle the -horses and bring them here.” - -The smoke still persisted in the dark, littered confusion of the room, -but combined with it now was an odor of burnt grease mixed with the moldy -smell of a ragout with onions and strong cheese. In addition, spread out -on the table, were the remnants of a meal, which had just been finished, -the rolls, the account books and reports. - -The quartermaster-corporal, the silent fellow from Marseilles, immersed -in reading _Le Soleil du Midi_, did not even condescend to look up. In -response to my friendly good-by, he let a scarcely perceptible “adieu” -slip through his lips. - -The quartermaster was stretched out on a dirty mattress thrown on the -ground, and juggling two packages of English cigarettes, while he sang at -the top of his lungs—and what a voice he had!—the latest song: - - _Mes amis, dans la vie_ - _Faut faire des économies_ - _Les journaux vous l’ont dit._ - _C’est aussi mon avis._ - -This intellectual refrain must have given him extreme pleasure, for he -began it again and again without any interruption. - -“Well,” I said, “judging from the looks of things, you aren’t often -disturbed here?” - -At this the drummer cast me a searching look, cold, disdainful and -commiserating, as much as to say to me, - -“One can see that you’ve just come!” - -As for the quartermaster, he replied to everything in the repertoire of -the _Eldorado_. Without stopping his juggling, he shouted at me in his -amazing voice: - - _Moi! je m’en fous,_ - _Je reste tranquil’ment_ - _Dans mon trou!..._ - -He was going on when the infernal noise of some aerial trolley tore -through space. - -“Attention!” he cried, without moving from his mattress. “There’s the -Metro!” - -Almost at the same moment, a great shell, a “310” at least, burst in the -court of the house opposite, demolished the roof, and crushed a dozen -horses. - -The adjutant was just crossing the street and he stopped at the door to -estimate the damage. - -“They missed the steeple again,” he said, with a disdainful shrug for the -Boche artillery. - -And Morin, the drummer, by way of commentary, without interrupting his -reading: - -“Close the door. If they send any more shells, that will make a draft.” - - - - -CHAPTER III - -THE ECHELON - - -From Proyart to Morcourt is five miles by a crossroad which in its many -curves and windings cuts across trenches, communication trenches and -barbed wire. - -The snow had stopped, but it still covered the ground, the trees and the -farms with its regular white covering. The communication trenches showed -black on this vast screen. - -The crows circled in innumerable flights and sought in vain for the -carrion which had been so abundant for months and which, to-day, was -buried. - -We went along, boot to boot, slowly, for the roads were slippery. Kiki -wanted to dance about, for the keen air made him lively. But Zèbre’s -sedateness dismayed him, and Kiki wisely ranged alongside and regulated -the pace by his. - -The lieutenant talked but little—a few detached words, chopped phrases, -about the company, an observation on the weather, a reflection on the -horses. - -The road was almost deserted save for a few Territorials, muffled in -their sheepskins, who dragged along their heavy wooden shoes which were -made even higher by a thick sole of snow. From time to time a company -wagon, driven like an express train, grazed us with its wheels and -splashed us with mud. - -Then, abruptly, without having had to climb the slightest hill, we saw -Morcourt, as one sees suddenly from the top of a cliff the sea at his -feet, in the midst of the thousand windings of the Somme, of the canal -and the turf-pits. Morcourt is a village scarcely as large as Proyart, -and like it hidden in a gully sheltered from the winds on all sides, and -also like it, hidden under the snow. - -A blacksmith had set up his forge in the open air against the walls of -a tottering tile-kiln. All around the snow had melted in great black -puddles where the waiting horses had pawed the ground. The smoke from his -fire rose red-tinted and dark in the heavy air which seemed to muffle the -ring of the hammers on the anvil. - -We come to a stop before a house nearly in ruins, whose tottering -remains are a constant menace. A corporal rushes out—nimble, short and -thick-set, a small Basque cap binding his sunburned forehead—and then -some men come from the neighboring stables. - -The houses in the country which were invaded for a short time and in -which troops have had their cantonments for long weary months all look -alike. Their doors and windows are gone, but these are replaced by tent -canvas. - -The drivers of the echelon and the war train in the machine-gun companies -are nearly always sailors, the older classes of the Territorials, who -after many changes have been assigned to the Colonial regiments. No one -knows why, but it is probably because the bureaucratic, stay-at-home -mental worker finds some relationship between the Colonials and the -sea. And so they make these men, accustomed to the management of ships, -infantrymen, or drivers, or even cavalrymen. But with the unfailing -readiness and the ingenuity of their kind they make up so much for all -that, that far from appearing unready and badly placed, one would say -that they were veterans already broken to all the tricks of the trade. - -Their long ship voyages and the necessities of critical hours have taught -them to replace with the means at hand most things in material existence. -From an old preserve box and a branch of a tree, squared and split with -a hatchet, they make a strong and convenient table. With a scantling and -a bit of wire lattice taken from a fence, they make an elastic mattress -which, covered with straw and canvas, becomes a very comfortable bed. - -The sailor is carpenter: the hatchet in his hand takes the place of the -most ingenious tools of the joiner; painter: he has painted and refitted -his boat from its tarry keel to the scroll work of the bulwarks and the -figures and the beloved words they put on the stern; mender: he mends his -sails and nets artistically; cook: during the long days at sea on his -frail craft with its limited accommodations, he makes the most savory -dishes from the fruits of his fishing and a few simple spices. His -qualities and his knowledge are numerous and wide: astronomer and healer, -and, as well, singer of beautiful songs which cradle his thought at the -will of the rhythms, as the sea rocks his boat at the will of the waves. - -But in this multiplicity of talents he lacks that of a driver, and what -is more, a driver of a machine gun. That is a job which combines the -heavy and the mountain artillery. A machine-gun driver should be able to -drive in the saddle the leading team of horses and put the heavy caisson -of ammunition through the most difficult evolutions. Again, he should be -able to drive on foot the mule loaded with his pack-saddle and through -the most impossible and sometimes the most dangerous paths. - -We had scarcely begun to swallow a cup of thick, smoking, regulation -coffee in a room of the cantonment, furnished with special skill, when -Sub-Lieutenant Delpos—smart, carefree, smiling, a cap on the back of his -head and a song on his lips—arrived. - -Dedouche’s description seemed to me to be exact. He was indeed a very -young man, very quick, very blond and very gay. He was already an officer -when others of his age had scarcely left college; he was already a hero -counting in his active service a thousand feats of prowess when his -rather sceptical contemporaries were content to read about them in books. -Open merriment shone in his eyes. He had gained his promotion in the -field far from the stifling atmosphere of study halls. Yesterday he was -still a sergeant in Madagascar, Senegal, and Morocco; to-day he is an -officer who has fought since the beginning of the Great War; to-morrow he -will be a trainer of men. He knows them all; many are his old bedfellows -or companions of the column. His remarks are keen and unrhetorical and -they please the men. They love him and fear him; they are free with him -and respect him. They know that he understands his trade perfectly and -that they can deceive him in nothing. - -Our introduction was short and unceremonious. A man brought on the table -a bottle of very sweet Moselle wine, which is christened at the front -“Champagne.” It was one of those wines which make up for their qualities -by such pompous appellations and well-intentioned labels as “Champagne de -la Victory,” “Champagne de la Revenge,” “of the Allies,” “of the Poilu,” -“of Glory.” They are all equally bad, but they make a loud noise when the -cork is drawn and most of the wine flows away in sparkling foam. - -We drained our cups to the common health, and to the success and certain -glory of the company. - -Then the lieutenant, who has memories of the drama, said in a voice which -recalled the tones of the already classic Carbon de Casteljaloux, his -neighbor, - -“Since my company has, I believe, reached its full number, shall we not -show it to the _logis_, if you please?” - -Under the rays of an anemic sun which had waited until the hour of sunset -before it deigned to appear, we made a brief visit to the echelon. - -First the roll; five corporal muleteers or drivers: Raynal, the owner of -a vineyard in Gironde; Liniers, a salesman of wines and spirits and a -great elector in the Twelfth Arrondissement; Glanais, Bonecase, Glorieu, -carpenter, vine-grower, and farmer—and none of them had ever managed a -horse in his life. - -And the men—one in fifty is a cavalryman—but that one is perfect. He was -trained at the cavalry school at Saumur; trained horses and bred them, -so they at once turned him over to the echelon, where he had to lead a -mule by the bridle. That, of course, was a reproach to his old trade, -so in default of any other satisfaction it taught him the philosophy of -resignation and peaceful blessedness. - -The cavalry! - -“Oh, the cavalry, that’s been posing five minutes,” said Sub-Lieutenant -Delpos—he was extremely fond of that expression. - -There were horses and mules varying in age from five to seventeen. They -were all sensible, settled down, their legs somewhat worn out, and more -accustomed to the hearse than to a caisson, and more familiar with the -song of the worker than with the roar of cannon. They were all gentle, -only demanding oats and straw; some with their bones sticking out of -their hides, while others were still sleek and shiny from their warm -stables and fresh straw; all unconscious of what awaited them on the -morrow. - -One of the mules was a veteran, an enormous, cunning animal. His hair -was short and rough, and in places there were great patches where the -hide showed. His skin was hung on a projecting framework of bones, and, -although he was well fed, he was very thin—with a thinness so unyielding -to rations that it was impossible to get him fat. His head was that of -an epicurean philosopher with deep mocking eyes. This was Chocolate. - -Chocolate is beyond the time when he has an age. The oldest soldiers -in the regiment have always known him, even at Marrakech and Rabbat in -Morocco. - -Chocolate has made many campaigns during his active service and he has -received several wounds as well. - -The story goes that one day in Morocco Chocolate got loose from -the bivouac, and started browsing on the grass and wild oats in an -ambuscade—between two fires. Absolutely indifferent to the crackling -of bullets which he had known from infancy, he continued to lop off -the plants until the pernicious bullets began to graze his skin. Then -he stretched out at full length in a hollow in the sand and browsed on -the grass within reach of his teeth, while he waited the end of the -adventure. Then he went back to the bivouac in search of a pail of water -and a bag of oats. - -Now Chocolate is the file leader. He indicates by his example to the -horses whom the pack-saddle galls that the best way of carrying it is to -avoid romping to the right and the left, shifting about, and trotting, -in fact, all movements which misplace the saddle or wrinkle the skin -beneath. The secret is to work soberly, slowly and at an even pace. - -Chocolate belongs to a family of mules which ranks high in history. The -broad, rounded backs of his ancestors have borne debonnair sovereigns, -preacher monks, magnificent Sultans and Sancho Panzas, baskets of -vegetables and cans of milk. To-day Chocolate, their descendant, carries -an infernal instrument—a machine gun. But what matters that to him? The -road rolls on before him and he follows it. There are oats at the end, -to-night or to-morrow, what difference does it make? - -“He is cool,” the drivers say. Coolness is the great secret of the -Colonials. - -Coolness, indifference to danger, bad weather, adversity, obstacles, -death—no nervousness, no useless bursts of anger, no dangerous hurrying, -no false starts. It is necessary to go—they will go—they arrive. That is -all. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -THE SONG OF THE MACHINE GUN - - -Dedouche brings me a note to sign for on the report book. It reads: - -“The non-commissioned officers will assemble their sections in the -courtyard of Cantonment No. 77 at 2.30. Each gun captain will present his -gun. Service marching order, with masks and arms.” - -I sign mechanically to please Dedouche, who thinks he is showing me a -special favor by offering me the first reading of all orders and reports. -But this one interests me but little, for I have neither arms nor guns to -present. So it is as a spectator that I am present at the lieutenant’s -inspection. This time I shall see the complete company. - -I find myself at the appointed hour at Cantonment 77. - -One must have lived in these remains of villages, which persist in -standing, near the lines to have an exact idea of what they are. -In these villages furious combats have taken place in the streets, -from house to house, and for two years they have been occupied and -overpopulated—a hamlet of one hundred and fifty inhabitants often serves -as a cantonment for ten thousand men—by men of all arms of the service, -from all regions, of all colors. - -It is not ruin in all its tragic horror and majesty. It is worse. - -It is something which appears to want to live, but which a latent leprosy -eats away. Often there are traces of shells, the splatter of bullets, the -marks of fire; the roofs may have fallen in from the recent shelling, but -even yet the general effect is that the houses on the streets are still -standing. - -The fronts of these houses, made of straw and mud, with only a large -door swinging on its hinges, are whole. Of course the mud has often been -scratched in long, leprous wounds, and the straw tumbles out leaving the -bare skeleton of worm-eaten wood; and, besides, the windows are without -the glass, which has been broken to bits by the explosion of shells, and -which is replaced by bits of paper or by calendars. But the real ruin is -inside. - -Here is the work of the carelessness and negligence of the wandering -multitudes who pass that way, who arrive at evening, tired, muddy, wet, -who fall asleep on damp straw, cut to pieces and crawling with vermin, -and who go on the next day, or three days later, leaving as a mark of -their passing a greater stench and a greater dilapidation. - -The ruin is inside. It is not the beautiful ending of destruction by -fire, but the slow death by cancer which eats away, by gangrene which -mounts from the cattle sheds to the stable, from the stable to the barn, -and from the barn to the hearth. And at last a day comes when the front -alone is standing on the ruin of the annihilated house, and then men who -are passing by, seeing that it is tottering and dangerous, cut it down -with blows of the axe and chop the wood into bits for their little needs. - -And so these houses die: houses which under their humble appearance had -great souls palpitating with life, where lives were born and passed their -years; where joys and griefs exclaimed and wept, where the peasant, the -son of the soil, drew from this soil, the generatrix of strong races, the -re-vivifying harvests which he stored away in the barn which to-day is -dead. - -Whole villages and great villages agonize in this way through months of -wearing away, and their end is no less terrible, no less majestic, no -less pitiful than of those villages with glorious names which the wrath -of shells beats into dust. - -Cantonment 77 is made up of those houses which waste away. Between the -fragile walls, notched by an empty barn and a fallen shed, opens a -courtyard. Filth spreads out in a vast pool on which float among the -refuse a pile of garbage, boxes, the waste of cooking and greasy papers. - -In the corner of a recess open to every wind, on piles of bricks held -together by iron bars pulled from the window sills, the cook has set his -pots and bowls in line. His fire of wood so green that the sap oozes out -licks the already blackened walls with its long flames. - -All that offers even a precarious shelter—a roof—is occupied by the men -who crowd in there on old, filthy straw, and on the meager rations of -fresh straw, often too fresh. And as the tiles and thatch let the rain -filter through, they stretch above them strips of tent canvas. - -Oh, blessed canvas! To what uses is it not put! It serves as a roof -against bad weather, the rain and snow; a protection against dampness, -mud and vermin; planted on two stakes, stretched to a door casing, it -protects the fires for cooking from draughts; in the more comfortable -cantonments in the rear, where the straw is clean and abundant, where the -men are at last able to take off their shoes, and their muddy leggings -and their trousers heavy with dampness, it serves as the bed clothes; -and, finally, at the last hour it is in the tent canvas that they collect -the bodies with their torn and shattered limbs. It serves as shroud and -coffin. And, faithful to its rôle, it is the last shelter. - -The men began to arrive by groups almost in order, at any rate as much so -as the littered ground in the courtyard would permit. They assembled by -sections in a half circle around the pool of filth. It was certainly a -picturesque sight when, at the command “Attention,” these men mounted a -faultless guard around this fetid pool, where, among papers, tossed about -and dirty, and box covers, there floated, bloated and fetid, all kinds -of carrion, the rats of the last hecatomb. - -Near the doorway on the largest and cleanest part of the courtyard the -eight machine guns were drawn up in line. - -Eight machine guns, the armament of the company. - -Eight guns, so small, so fine, and such bits of workmanship, that one -would think to see them that they were a child’s playthings. - -The machine guns appeared very coquettish and pretty as they rested on -their bluish-gray tripod, with their steel barrels well burnished even to -the mouth of their muzzles. They hardly appeared at all threatening with -the polished leather of the breech, where the bronzed fist of the gun -layer stood out in graceful designs, and the attenuated round and svelte -circles of the radiator. - -[Illustration: REMAINS OF VILLAGES NEAR THE LINES _See page 36_] - -And the machine gun is a coquette, too. Under its appearance of delicacy -and grace it conceals a terrible power of domination and strength. Yet it -hurls pitiless death without noise, with a rapidity as furtive as a shout -of laughter, with a tac-tac which is scarcely perceptible and which is -no more menacing than the familiar tac-tac of the sewing-machine or the -typewriter. - -And the machine gun is a coquette, too! Fashioned like a work of art, -the brilliancy of its polished steel and the voluptuous roundness of the -brass invite caresses. Its shots come from they know not where, since -they can see nothing—a bush is sufficient to conceal it; light, it is -here one minute and there another; it is not visible until one is almost -upon it, yet its shots are fatal at some miles. - -It is delicate and costly, needing a hundred things for its adornment, -skilled care for its toilet and a hundred men to serve. Is not the -machine gun a coquette? - -As the Company Casanova is of recent formation it received an entirely -new armament of the latest model. The guns are built on the Hotchkiss -system—the last word of perfection in war. They are light, scarcely -fifty pounds, and they are easy to manipulate skilfully. The rapidity of -their fire is extreme, more than five hundred shots a minute, and their -adjustment is such that they can fire on the most varied objects. First, -there is blockade fire, which concentrates all the shots on a narrow -point; then the sweeping fire, which sweeps the whole of an extended -field; and finally, indirect fire, which hits its designated target with -mathematical precision, at the same time concealing the source. - -The machine gun is the little queen of battles. One may smile to look at -her, but one shudders when he thinks of her ravages. - -And the men are proud of their guns. - -I observe them while the lieutenant speaks to them and their eyes look -alternately at the lieutenant and at their respective guns. They know -their gun; they love her; possess her. They have confidence in her, and -it is she who defends them. - -To-day there are about one hundred and fifty men grouped in the same -specialty, from all regions, all regiments, all arms, who have come after -more or less lengthy stays in the instruction camps at Nice, Clermont, -and La Valbonne. - -Their specialty has created among them a certain sort of affinity, a -family characteristic. Machine gunners are an element apart, a sort of -élite. In their ranks there is a certain homogeneity which comes from the -practice of the same competency which is nearly a science. They feel -somewhat superior to, at least different from, the ordinary companies. - -They appreciate the worth of their distinction and scarcely ever -associate with other troops. The companies of infantry are swamped in a -battalion, while the companies of machine guns are isolated, autonomous, -directly dependent on the commanding officer, and they enjoy an absolute -initiative in a battle. Finally, they are not anonymous or numbered; -they are not called the fifth, seventh, or the twelfth, but the “Company -Casanova,” as they once said Royal-Piémont or Prince Condé. - -Then, too, there is their insignia. The insignia is the bauble, the -jewel, of the soldier. It is a real satisfaction to have something on the -uniform which distinguishes one from his neighbor. To such a point do -they carry this that many cannot resist putting on insignia to which they -haven’t the slightest right. And none of the insignia arouses greater -envy than the two small intersecting cannons of the machine guns. - -It takes one hundred and fifty men, two officers, ten non-commissioned -officers, and sixty horses to serve, supply and transport the eight small -guns, one hundred and fifty men trained and inured to hardship. There is -none here who has not been in several battles and received several wounds -in his active service. There is none here who has not a good record. When -said of one that means little, but when said of all it is worth telling. - -There are artillerymen, cavalrymen, and sailors who have become foot -soldiers through their different changes; and not only are all arms -represented, but all professions, all classes and all temperaments. -Jacquet, a poet and musician, a dreamer with an exquisite soul, is -an accurate gun layer. Finger drives milk wagons in Paris, but with -his gigantic hands he manipulates with delicacy the wheelwork of his -Hotchkiss. Millazo, who behind his counter at Hanoï showed gracefully -the jewels of Indo-Chinese art and learned at Lure the meticulous art -of watchmaking, now manages a “sweeping” fire as calmly and accurately -as he used to mount a spiral spring on its microscopic pivot. Corporal -Vial, who used to verify accounts in the luxurious banks on the Riviera -and handle tinkling gold and checks, here shows that he knows the -science of fire and his machine and leads his squad with authority. -Charlet drove the heavy locomotives on the railways of the North; Gamie -regulated the powerful looms in the textile factories, and they both owe -to their knowledge of mechanics their duties as range takers. Imbert -was a fisherman and, as he knows how to cook a savory bouillabaisse, -he is assigned to the difficult rôle of cook and acquits himself -conscientiously and well. However, Chevalier, an expert in geometry, -who for twenty years grew pale in profound studies of logarithms and -co-ordinates, here assumes the duties of mess corporal, and discusses -with asperity the supplies and remarks pitilessly on the regulation cup -of wine and the mathematical pounds and ounces of mutton, lard and beans. - -In spite of what one might think, this odd collection of men is as -homogeneous as could be imagined. This comes from the fact that above all -this different knowledge is a uniform purpose, because all these multiple -alliances tend toward a common end which is incarnated in their chief, -a man from the South, who is expansive and impetuous, but who curbs his -temperament under the rigid calm of a man from the North, one of the -common people, a son of the soil, who has risen to the rank of officer, -and a commanding officer at that, solely through persistency and courage. - - * * * * * - -When the lieutenant had finished his rapid but close inspection, and had -examined with the eye of a connoisseur the condition and repair of the -guns, he took in the whole company with a look, for it is his work which -he commands with firmness and which he loves. He is already going, after -addressing a few remarks to the adjutant and the classic, “All right. -Break ranks,” when a man steps out of the ranks and comes towards him. - -“Lieutenant, the company is now completely equipped and armed, but there -is, however, still something lacking.” - -“Indeed,” replied the lieutenant, “and what’s that?” - -“Its marching song.” - -“Its marching song! Have you chosen one?” - -“Chosen one! Oh, no! We have an unpublished one, as new as the company -itself, composed for us and created by us. Will you do us the honor of -listening to it?” - -“Will I? The devil. I ask it; I demand it. I want to learn it, too. Go -on. Start it!” he exclaimed. - -And then Gaix turned towards his comrades and began to sing in his great -deep baritone voice our marching song, “Ma Mitrailleuse,” which each -section had learned secretly and which they sang together for the first -time to-day. - -On a rhythm taken from some war march, some one had composed simple -words, which were nevertheless image-provoking and vibrant, where the -alternating motet “Ma Mitrailleuse,” sung in chorus, sounds like a bugle -call. - -This marching song is one of those which engrave themselves at once on -the memory and in the heart, which are never forgotten, for in their -accents are rooted the strongest impressions of the hours lived in the -simple brotherhood of arms, the memory of dangers encountered together, -the pride of victories, and the pious homage to those who sang it with us -and whose manly voices were silenced forever in the night of battles. - -And I find in writing it the same deep stirring emotion that I -experienced when I first heard it. - -_MA MITRAILLEUSE_ - - _Sur notre front, dans ton abri,_ - _Tu dors sur ton trépied bleu gris,_ - _Calme dans l’ombre vaporeuse,_ - _Ma mitrailleuse._ - _Et ton canon d’acier bleui_ - _Benoîtement perce la nuit._ - _Que tu parais peu dangereuse,_ - _Ma mitrailleuse._ - - _Si parfois en te transportant_ - _Je trouve ton poids fatigant,_ - _Et dis tout bas “la sacré gueuse!”_ - _Ma mitrailleuse,_ - _Pardonne-moi, car j’ai grand tort,_ - _Sachant que tu chantes la mort_ - _De l’Allemagne furieuse,_ - _Ma mitrailleuse._ - - _Mais dans le petit jour blêmi,_ - _Alerte! Voici l’ennemi!_ - _Et t’éveillant soudain rageuse,_ - _Ma mitrailleuse,_ - _Avec tes tac tac réguliers_ - _Fauche les Boches par milliers,_ - _Sans t’arrêter, noire et fumeuse,_ - _Ma mitrailleuse._ - - _Et comme nous elle attendra_ - _Le grand jour qui déclanchera_ - _L’offensive victorieuse,_ - _Ma mitrailleuse._ - _Poursuivant le bandit germain,_ - _J’entendrai sur les bords du Rhin,_ - _Au grand soleil, claquer joyeuse_ - _Ma mitrailleuse._ - -When the last accents, sung by the men at the top of their lungs, died -away, there was silence and I looked at the lieutenant. - -He was seated on a staircase, with his head leaning on his clenched -fists. He had listened to the whole song, and now he remained for a -moment as if waiting. And when he stood up his eyes were slightly red and -his lips concealed under a smile the impress of intense emotion. - -“It is good,” he said, “very beautiful, my friends, and I congratulate -you all. Your song is admirable, it will go with us everywhere, and we -will lead it to victory. But who is the author? There must be an author. -The devil, there must be an author!” - -There was a moment of silence as if each one hesitated to reply, but a -big sergeant cried out in a stentorian voice: - -“A _ban_ for the author, Lieutenant Delpos, and a couplet for him -besides.” - -Then the men broke all alignment, pressed around their young -sub-lieutenant, joyous, proud and blushing with pleasure, weeping with -joy, and burst out at the top of their lungs, with indescribable feeling, -which showed all their strength, their will for victory and their -unbreakable confidence: - - _Et comme nous elle attendra_ - _Le grand jour qui déclanchera_ - _L’offensive victorieuse,_ - _Ma mitrailleuse._ - _Poursuivant le bandit germain,_ - _J’entendrai sur les bords du Rhin,_ - _Au grand soleil, claquer joyeuse_ - _Ma mitrailleuse._ - -Then, amidst the applause and the “vivats,” the lieutenant embraced his -young friend vigorously and said: - -“Nom de Dieu! You didn’t tell me that you were a poet. I congratulate -you.” - -And taking him by the arm, he went off joyous, skipping like a gamin, -taking up again the inspiring refrain: - - _Ma Mitrailleuse ... Ma Mitrailleuse!_ - - - - -CHAPTER V - -A RECONNAISSANCE IN THE FOG - - -One evening the lieutenant said to me a little after dinner: - -“To-morrow, at four o’clock, we’re going to the first line trenches to -find positions for the machine guns. The section leaders are coming, and -if you want to come, you’ll find it interesting.” - -The selection of a machine gun emplacement is essentially a delicate -task. The Germans are past masters in this art. So, in the days of -attack when our artillery had made a thorough preparation and they were -convinced that there was nothing left in front and we could advance -without trouble, exactly as though taking a walk in a square, we found -ourselves abruptly right in the fire of a Boche machine gun which had not -been spotted and which was so skilfully camouflaged that it had resisted -the most terrible bombardment. - -It is necessary above all to find a place which commands a wide field of -fire and one easy to play on. It must also be easy to conceal the gun -in some way, for, if it is once spotted, a shell will soon send the gun -and its crew pirouetting in the air, unless they are forewarned by a shot -too long or too short, but whose destination is unmistakable, and so have -time to move. - -It was scarcely daylight when we assembled in front of the lieutenant’s -quarters. - -A fog that could be cut with a knife limited our view to a few yards. It -was cold. - -Sergeant Lace is there already walking back and forth in the fog. He is -always exactly punctual, anyway. He is equipped as if for an assault with -his revolver, mask, and field glasses. His chest is covered with numerous -colonial decorations, his military medal and his war cross with three -palms. - -Lace is a section leader _emeritus_. He is rough and harsh in appearance; -he never smiles, or rarely; he is tanned from his long stay in the -colonies, but he does his duty with unfailing exactness. During an -attack in Champagne he found himself under the command of his brother, -a lieutenant, who was mortally wounded at his side. He embraced him -reverently, took the papers, pocketbook and letters from the pockets of -his jacket, removed his decorations, which were now relics, and resumed -his place in the ranks. He fought all day, attacked a fortified position, -assisted in the dangerous task of clearing a wood, and when night came, -by the light of star shells under a hellish bombardment and a storm of -shrapnel, he went back and brought out his brother’s body and gave it -proper burial. Lace is a soldier and a conscientious one. - -Other silhouettes approach and come out of the darkness like ghosts. -One is Poirier, a very young man, who laughs in the midst of the worst -dangers, which he absolutely ignores. Then there is big Roullé, whom ten -years in the tropics did not succeed in making thin, and whose breadth of -shoulder is ill-adapted to the narrowness of the communication trenches. -Then Pierron comes on the run, singing a Neapolitan song. He is from -Saigon and is homesick for the Asiatic nights, whose charms he is forever -describing. - -As the hour strikes the lieutenant appears. - -We follow the main road through the fog. This leads to Lehons, a ruined -village which is situated in the lines and cuts the trenches. - -One can hardly distinguish the trees in the fields either to the right or -the left. The dawn is silent. Nature wants light for her awakening, but -this morning the lights persist in staying dim. - -We hear occasionally a cannon shot, as sharp as the crack of a whip. It -comes from a battery of “75’s” concealed in a wood at our side, which -fires at stated intervals for tactical reasons. The shell shatters the -air over our heads and all becomes quiet again. - -So we walk along for nearly an hour, some grouped together while others -dream away by themselves. The fog now begins to lighten and we are able -to see the adjoining fields. They are torn with shell holes, the rare -trees are shattered and slashed, and their branches hang down like broken -limbs. In the ditches, full of muddy water, are piles of material—rolls -of barbed wire, eaten by rust, chevaux de frise broken to pieces, and -crossbars and round logs already covered with moss. - - * * * * * - -Suddenly, there in front of us, at two paces, splitting the fog is—the -village. There are houses—remains of houses—and parts of walls which -through some prodigious feat of balance persist in remaining upright. - -The first house on the right was apparently of some importance. The two -master walls still remain in spite of the roof having fallen. Between -them is a pile of stones, burnt girders, and in the middle of the heap of -rubbish still stands, intact and rigid, pointing straight toward yawning -heaven, the iron balustrade of a winding staircase. A great signboard -of black wood runs from one wall to the other, apparently holding them -together, and one might believe that they only remain upright, thanks -to it. It is riddled with bullets and the flames have licked it as they -passed, but one can still read the long yellow letters of the inscription: - - _Lodgings_ - - _Famous Cuisine_ _Comfortable Rooms_ - -None of us risk an ironical reflection or a mocking smile, for to-day we -have become accustomed to so many strange inscriptions which in disaster -are the living lie of their emptiness. - -Opposite, on the other side of the road, the military cemetery shows its -multitude of crosses. Their number has exceeded the capacity of the site -provided for it, and they have already become masters of the surrounding -fields. These graves are all immutably alike, and they are built and -maintained with a fraternal affection by companies of Territorials who -hold the cantonments in the neighborhood. - -Yes, they are all immutably alike. There is always the white wooden cross -with the name of the deceased, the number of his regiment, his company -and the date of his death in simple black letters. The grave is a small -square, bordered by bits of tile or bricks, sometimes by planks or the -bottoms of bottles. And on this humble burial place someone has planted -primroses. - -A bottle stuck in the ground by the neck holds a bit of paper on which is -written all supplementary information as to identity which will guide the -pious pilgrim of to-morrow. - -Sometimes a perforated helmet or a tattered cap placed on the cross by -a comrade who respects his memory tells us that the soldier was wounded -in the head. One shudders at some of these helmets, they are rent so -grievously. - -We pass rapidly but religiously through the narrow paths between the -graves. It is a sort of duty rather than curiosity which leads us to look -over all these cemeteries in search of some known name, a friend’s name, -so that we may pay our last respects. - - * * * * * - -But time passes. It would not be prudent to stop longer, for already -above the neighboring hedge we can hear the sinister “ta-co” of the -German bullets. Branches of an apple tree, lopped off by the shells, fall -at our feet. - -So we enter the village through what was once a street. Here for fifty -yards are barricades of bricks and dirt interlaced with farm instruments -and carts. - -Barbed-wire entanglements which only leave a narrow, difficult, zigzag -passage between them are evidences of the bitter fights which took place -here. - -We reach the church which is the beginning of the communication trench -which leads to the front lines. - -The church! There is absolutely nothing left of it. One might think that -the savagery of the German cannon raged with a special hate on the -buildings created for rest, meditation and prayer. - -The church has fallen down and the naves are now only a mass of stones -on which the briers are already beginning to grow. A sort of arched door -still stands at the entrance, without a scratch. It is nearly new and its -brilliant ironwork seems a challenge in the midst of this destruction. - -The communication trench starts on the spot where the high altar used -to stand. We follow it under the ruins, through the orchards which it -furrows, adjusting our steps to each other, and keeping our eyes on the -man ahead. - -Above our heads nature awakes; the sky appears clear now; and branches of -trees with their buds and blossoms hang over the parapets. - -It is five o’clock and broad daylight when we reach the proposed -emplacement. It is on a knoll in the middle of an orchard which is -bordered some hundred yards away by hawthorn and privet hedges. Behind -the hedges are the Boche lines. - -The engineer in charge of laying out the works is on the ground. He tries -to profit by the only salient which permits firing on a sufficiently -wide sweep of ground. On the right it commands the entrance to the -village by a road. We see its white windings where it unrolls through the -gardens, and then it plunges into a small wood and loses itself. Opposite -us the emplacement commands an entire sector. - -They will scoop out the place underneath, and they will keep the green -shell of grass and bushes which make the most fortunate and natural sort -of camouflage. A communication trench grafted on the main trench from the -church will give access to it. - -Orders are given rapidly, measurements are taken, and the tasks laid out. -It is hardly expedient for us to delay in this corner, for our movements -would betray our intentions, and already bullets, which are by no means -spent bullets, cross above our heads singing their unappreciated buzz. - -We make our way back through the trench. - -In the village the men belonging to the supporting columns have left -their lairs and are attending to their usual occupations. Some of them -are washing their clothes in the watering-trough in the square and -singing as they wash. The company barber is installed near the fountain -and the men form a circle about him as they wait their turn. On a -butcher’s stall of white stone a cook is cutting up a quarter of beef -into equal rations. Only two hundred yards from the enemy the village -has taken up almost its usual existence again. These men are not afraid. -At the sound of the first shell they jump into their cellars, which are -amply protected by earth and boards. But they already have their customs. -Shells only come at the hour when the supplies are brought up, and not -always then, for the shelling doesn’t occur regularly every day. The -enemy doesn’t waste munitions on a village he knows is so well destroyed. - -The fresh air and the long road have set our teeth on edge and given us -an appetite. We halt to break a crust. Some have brought canteens of wine -or coffee; bottles of preserves appear, and the improvident—I am one—pay -homage to those who pass a full flask. - -The sun is already high when we start back along the road. - -[Illustration: A POILU _See page 56_] - -The lieutenant loves a quick pace and a marching song. So at the top of -his lungs he begins one of his lively songs full of expressions that -would have startled a growler of the Empire through their shamelessness, -but which do not disturb the modesty of a Colonial at all, supposing that -a Colonial ever had any. - -And the section leaders take up the refrain in chorus. - -Some steps behind, Sub-Lieutenant Delpos stops to light his fine Egyptian -cigarette. In spite of the early hour and the uncertain weather, and -with no thought of the disagreeable march through the sticky mud of the -communication trench, he is dressed with the greatest care. His bright -tan leggings are elegantly curved; his furred gloves are of the finest -quality, and the pocket of his jacket, cut in the latest English style, -shows a fine cambric handkerchief, subtly scented. And arm in arm we -follow the quick pace of our comrades, while he continues the interrupted -story of his latest exploit. - -“Yes, _mon cher_, picture to yourself an exquisite blonde. I met her on -the Rue des Saints-Pères....” - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -OUR FIRST ENGAGEMENT - - -Yesterday evening at five o’clock we received an order to take our -positions in the front line to support the attack which the second -battalion would make at nine-thirty. - -It was raining. It has rained all the time for some months, and we have -become accustomed to the mud and dampness. - -We left the cantonment at Morcourt at nightfall. We went along the -towpath of the canal, across the bridge at Froissy, through the ruins of -Éclusier and entered the communication trench which we knew as the “120 -long.” - -The silent march is accomplished with little difficulty. There is no -sound of cannon. Everything is quiet. We reach our positions about -midnight—four dugouts camouflaged for the guns of two sections which are -to play on the sector; the two other sections remain in the “Servian” -trench in reserve at the disposal of the commander. - -The lieutenant examines the post established for him. Farther ahead is a -communication trench which has been completely overturned and destroyed, -now nothing but a great hole. Below is a big tangle of barbed wire, -fascines and ripped open sandbags. We can see very well through this -jumble and we are installed there. - -We can make out the details of the Boche lines through the glass. - -“Come. I think it will be all right. But it will be hard. Fortunately, it -can’t last long.” - -Then we return to the positions for a final inspection. - -The emplacements which our guns occupy are round excavations about -three yards across and two deep. In the middle nearly on a level with -the surrounding ground is a sort of pedestal for the machine gun. The -barrel scarcely reaches beyond the hole and it is absolutely invisible -at a short distance. The men have proceeded to make a camouflage which -resembles the character of the terrain with wickerwork covered by dirt -and grass. The many inventions with which they have increased the weight -of the machine guns—the shield, sights and periscope—are in their -places. The men disdain these additions a little and even neglect to use -them unless forced to do so. - -“They would only have to add a little more,” they say, “to make a ‘75’ -instead of a machine gun.” - -“The periscope may be of use for something. You have to try half an hour -before you can see anything. I like my eyes better.” - -The ammunition wagons are installed and opened; the belts are ready; the -gun layer, the loader, and the crew are at their stations. - -The lieutenant makes the rounds of each section, inspecting the guns, -testing the mechanism, trying the weight of the munitions, taking account -of everything and looking each man in the face. - -“We are the last company organized,” he says. “You know that the machine -gunners should be the flower of the army; don’t forget it. It is our -first engagement. Try to show that we’re there a little.” - -This short unpretentious harangue produces its effect on the men, who -smile as they listen to it. They are not nervous now, but only slightly -curious. They are not sorry to put their toys to the test at last, and -to shoot their projectiles at something besides the moving figures in the -training camps. - -When the inspection is over and the final instructions have been given, -we return to the commandant’s station, and stretch out to sleep on the -reserve caissons which protect us from the mud. Rifts in the clouds -reveal the stars. It will be fine to-morrow. But waiting is cold, very -cold, and it is impossible to sleep under such a wind. We talk. - -“You’re going to hear a concert. They haven’t massed more than three -hundred guns in all, from the ‘75’ to the heavy artillery, on our fifteen -hundred yard front for nothing. Have you seen the ‘150’ mortars? They -have some muzzles.” - -Dawn appears. A light fog rises from the ground and seems thickest at the -side of the canal where the German positions are. It is the coldest hour -of the day and the earth of our dugout is as hard as iron; it is frozen. -Instinctively I let down the ear-flaps of my cap which until now I have -kept under my helmet. - -“Are you cold?” - -“I’m not warm.” - -“A drop of brandy?” - -“Sure.” - -The lieutenant passes his canteen to me and as I drink the thin stream -from its mouth I feel a wave of warmth. - -Light comes, but it is very pale. Around us we hear the tread of feet on -the hard ground and the slapping of arms across the chest. - -We wait nervously. Presently we receive an order not to fire until the -blast of the whistle. - -Eight o’clock! Behind us, in the limpid azure, the red disk of the sun -rises. - -A shell cuts through the air; then another; then still another. Our -artillery is firing on the Boche lines. - -“Attention.” The response is instantaneous. We can still see no movement -in the ranks of the infantry to our right whose rush we are to support. -What are they waiting for? The men are nervous and they start to grumble. - -Boom! comes the Boche’s reply. - -A great mass of earth, grass and crumbled stones shoots up a hundred -yards ahead of us! - -Too short! - -Boom! still another. Still short! - -A large shell heads for us. It thunders. Where is it going to burst? The -devil! It falls near our first section, to the left; then, almost at -once, another, a little to the right. Are we spotted? We haven’t fired a -cartridge yet, and there isn’t an aeroplane or sausage in the air. - -Two “150’s,” one right after the other, burst fair on the section, right -in the hole. An enormous mass of earth spurts up. Through the dust and -smoke we see broken arms, sandbags ripped open, legs torn from the body, -an entire body, the gun!... - -The lieutenant knits his brows in dismay. A sergeant from the reserve -half section, slightly pale, runs up with the details. - -“Sergeant Rollé, the gun layer, and the crew are killed.” - -“Occupy the emplacement with your half-section.” - -“Very well, Lieutenant.” - -Shells are falling in our sector without a break. All the guns are -splattered with splinters and most of the crews are slightly wounded. - -Durozier’s half section jump out of their dugout in a hurry and throw -themselves into the hole which has now increased in size to a vast -yawning crater. - -“If we could only fire on something. But there’s nothing to see. And no -signal.” - -The Boche artillery certainly has a grudge against our first section. -The new gun is scarcely in position when a great shell falls in the same -place, in the same crater. - -We see distinctly a body blown high into the air, and the body still -holds the mount of the machine gun which he was just setting in place. -Headless, disemboweled, it falls just in front of our dugout within reach -of our hands. It is Gouzé, the chief gunner. - -“The _salauds_!” - -An intelligence officer from the major reaches us. - -“Get ready to support the wave which is going over with all your guns!” - -The shells burst on our position implacably. There isn’t the slightest -choice between the emplacements. Three guns are still intact and ready -to fire at the blast of the whistle. But the fourth gun must be put in -position, too. - -“Tell the adjutant of the section to occupy the crater,” comes the order. - -By means of the half-destroyed communication trench I reach the section -which I find burrowing in shelters built hastily out of whatever came -handiest and deliver my order. - -The adjutant takes it and turns pale. - -“All right, but there’s no great chance of our getting there.” - -Their hearts throb, and they look at each other. It is true that it is -necessary, but on the parapet between the trench and the crater, no -longer the slightest protection, shells fall like hail and without a -let-up. They hesitate. - -As if he had foreseen this, the lieutenant had followed behind me. He -reads their hesitation in their faces and is about to say something to -overcome it when the blast of the major’s whistle sounds. It is the -signal. The wave jumps from the parallels and dashes forward. We must -fire. - -Our three guns have already begun their rattle and are spraying the -terrain before the enemy’s trenches close to the ground, probing the -loopholes, mowing the parapets, and cutting the last of the barbed wire. - -The fourth gun ought to fire too; it must. Then, quietly, with that -unusual coolness which characterizes him, the lieutenant clambers over -the parapet. - -“Will you come with me, _Margis_?” - -Cigarette between his lips, leaning carelessly on his curved handled -cane, as though he were going for a morning walk through the fields, he -advances, standing very straight, without hurrying, and without losing an -inch of his great height. - -The men understand. Five seconds later we are in the crater and in less -time than it takes to tell it the gun begins to fire like the rest. - -The enemy’s artillery has now changed its objective. It now aims its fire -on the assaulting wave. - -We return to our shelter. The spectacle is wonderful. Almost without -losses, our waves reach the first of the enemy’s lines and clear them at -a bound. - -“Lengthen the fire.... On the second position.... Farther ... on the -third; on the fortified emplacement; to the left of the woods.... Fire, -fire, fire, nom de Dieu!” - -The fire on our sector begins again more violently than ever. We have -bothered the enemy and he wants to silence us. - -Three out of four of our guns are silent. The fourth, the last one to -arrive, with all the rapidity of its fire, alone sustains the attack of -our infantry. The wonderful little machine devours without a skip the -endless munitions which the crew have difficulty in bringing to it. - -“Fire, Adjutant, fire! Don’t stop. Give it to them,” shouts the -lieutenant, seized by the fever of battle. - -And the adjutant fires, fires without stopping. Our wave reaches its -objective, the enemy flees, whole companies surrender. - -“That’s it; we are there. Fire on the reserves, farther, the length of -the embankment. Cease firing, stop it, stop firing. We are there.... -Cease firing!” - -Just as he shouts this order a shell, the last one—the third on the same -spot—falls, bursts, and buries the gun and its heroic crew. - -“M ...! The swine! Can’t they see that it is finished?” - -Heavily and mournfully we make toll of the dead. Comrades pay their last -respects to their comrades. They take their letters and keepsakes, and -arrange the bodies for their last resting place as best they can. - -The order to go back is given. - -For two hours we make our way through the communication trench, now only -a stream of mud in which we sink to our ankles. - -We advance, dejected, silent, heavy with fatigue, depressed by the -thought of those we have left behind, whom we shall never see again, as -was our wont, even yesterday at the cantonment. - -The lieutenant is in the lead, leaning on his baton, silently, chewing on -his eternal cigarette. - -We finally reach the end of the trench at Froissy and come out on the -main road. - -In spite of their long hours of fatigue and the sleepless nights, the men -suddenly seem less weary. - -They no longer march one on top of the other, stepping over corpses. -Their horizon has broadened; they see; they breathe; they come out of -their trance; they emerge from Hell, they come from death. They are -coming back to life! - -Two hundred yards ahead we can already see groups: our mules, our -limbers, companies of Territorials who are repairing the roads, sappers -from the engineer corps, men from the field kitchens, automobiles, dreams -... the living world at last. - -The sub-lieutenant has remained at the rear of the column, assuming the -difficult task of encouraging the stragglers and keeping up the spirits -of the weak. Now he runs up and down the ranks. He is proud of his men; -he loves their swagger and steadiness. - -“Come, children, a little speed. Try to march by these people in some -style.” - -And as we approach the first huts he begins to sing at the top of his -lungs his song, the song of the machine gun: - - _Mais dans le petit jour blémi,_ - _Alerte! Voici l’ennemi!_ - _Et t’éveillant soudain rageuse,_ - _Ma mitrailleuse,_ - _Avec tes tac tac réguliers,_ - _Sans t’arrêter, noire et fumeuse,_ - _Ma mitrailleuse._ - -Some of the men look at him in surprise, look at him and then begin to -sing. - -And this bruised troop, which had just lost half its effective strength, -with its wounded men with their bloody bandages, their torn clothes, -their arms in bits, filed by singing this heroic joyful song, expressing -in their voices all their hopes and all their triumphs. - -It defiled between lines of astonished men who stood respectful, -stupefied at so much energy, so much fire and dash in the face of so much -death. - -In position before his staff, fingers together in the prescribed position -of salute, a general stood with bared head, while the company marched by. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -EASTER EGGS - - -Easter—it fell on April twenty-third that year—dawned splendidly, a real -day of gladsome spring. - -The company was off duty. We had worked for a month on the fortifications -in the front-line trenches and we deserved this fine day. - -In addition the sector was quiet. There hadn’t been an engagement or a -skirmish since February. This large village—more than a village, a town -almost—scarcely five miles from the Boche lines, absolutely unprotected, -not concealed in the slightest by a bend in the terrain, by a hill or a -wood, had not received a single shell in three months. - -Of course it is true that the church, town hall and some factories were -injured, but not very much. They had some large shell holes, but they -hadn’t fallen in or tumbled down. The church and town hall still had -their roofs, and if the chimneys of the sugar refineries were cut on the -bias, it was high up, almost at the top, as if they wanted to blunt them, -or spare them, or preserve them. - -We were now accustomed to this incomprehensible calm, in fact the -officers were often heard to say, - -“This quiet bodes no good to us.” - -All day and nearly all night, too, we hear the shriek of French and Boche -shells in the air. Batteries of heavy artillery search for their marks, -but all that misses us and passes over our heads or strikes in front. We -know that they aren’t aimed at us, and we take no interest in them. So -with that fine carelessness of men long since accustomed to the worst -dangers, we live in absolute security. - -That Easter morning a musical mass was sung in an immense great hall -which had been used formerly for entertainments. A crowd of soldiers -of every branch of the service and from all the regiments encamped in -the neighborhood packed the place. In the crowd was a goodly number of -civilians, including women and girls who were wearing their best dresses -for the first time in a year. - -The band of the ... first Territorials played. - -Someone beside me dared to murmur, - -“All the same, if a Boche shell fell in that crowd, what a mess it would -be!” - -“Don’t think,” came from several sides at once, “about Boche shells. They -fire them. They know we are here. They are afraid—” - -The chaplain, assisted by two clerical stretcher bearers, began worship -on the improvised altar on the stage. - -Soldiers sang the psalms of the liturgy. - - * * * * * - -I was nervous, and sobs came to my throat. In order not to make a -ridiculous spectacle of myself with my tears I went out. I ran to the -cantonment, saddled my horse, and we galloped at random through the -sunny country on paths covered with flowers. I stopped in the depths of -a valley under the poplars and stretched out on the grass. My horse laid -down beside me. And while he munched the grass entirely indifferent to -me, I said: - -“Kiki, old Kiki, if an unexpected shell fell on us now and blotted us -out, that would be much less disastrous than if it fell among those who -at this hour are praying in that chapel. They are praying for their -faraway firesides, their mothers, their wives. - -“They are praying for the preservation of the past and for the future. -They have the joy of believing, and that belief, that faith, has steeped -them in a special life to which they remain attached. - -“But we, old horse? If a shell annihilates us, what of it? - -“We have never believed anything and we never will. - -“I have impressed my brutal scepticism on the beings who are nearest and -dearest to me. I have torn down the faith of their cradles ... a faith in -the Beyond. - -“So when we shall be under the sod sleeping our long night, before next -spring has awakened its green verdure on our remains, base and nameless -oblivion will already have overtaken us. On the simple white cross my -hastily traced name will not even be read.... - -“Perhaps in passing near my abandoned grave someone will say, ‘Poor -fellow!’ Perhaps someone more sentimental than the rest will throw -flowers on it. - -“But in disappearing, old horse, we shall harm no one. - -“The tears on the beautiful eyes I know so well will at first be bitter, -but they will be dried at last.” - - * * * * * - -This rather melancholy monologue was not to Kiki’s taste at all. He -interrupted me by whinnying loudly. He knew it was time for oats. - -So we went back to the cantonment under the fine midday sun. Before our -door at the last house on the left, on the road to the sugar refinery, -Burette, the quartermaster-sergeant, was going through his matutinal -ablutions. He generally began them about eleven, just as they were -calling dinner, which made him twenty minutes late and gave him a chance -to growl about the cooking, which was not hot enough to suit him, or -about his share, which, according to his appetite, was reduced to a -proper allowance. - -Inside, seated before an open canteen which served him equally as a seat -or a writing desk, was Adjutant Dotan reading and re-reading and sighing -over the letters he took from a voluminous package in front of him. In a -loud voice he mused over the problem which haunted his days and nights: - -“Shall I marry? Or, shall I not?” - -For two years now Dotan had seen the realization of his matrimonial -projects grow further and further away from week to week, from month to -month. - -On the first leave the Regimental Administrative Council had not acted on -his request. Then, for two consecutive times, leave was stopped on the -day before he was going to go. And despite the advice of the colonel, to -whom he told his grievance, Dotan would not marry by proxy. This ceremony -_in partibus_, entrusted to a third party, seemed to him the least bit -ridiculous, and he had a well-developed desire for the whole of the -wedding ceremonies. - -“Shall I marry? Or, shall I not?” - -While he thought over his dilemma, he read for the hundredth time the -letters from his gentle fiancée, who awaited him in Provence. And he -occupied the monotony of the long hours in writing her two letters a -day, one in the morning and another in the evening, with sometimes a -supplementary postal card in addition. - -“To think that if I were married I should have already been so happy!” - -“Three days,” Morin let fall cynically in his innocent voice. - -“Yes, I should have been happy.” - -“Three days,” insisted Morin, “the second day before, the day before, and -the day of your wedding until noon. And then you wouldn’t be as you are -now—free, tranquil, and without a care.” - -“Free, tranquil, without a care! Oh, yes, you say. You’re always the -same. Free, tranquil and happy! You must have learned that by looking out -of your window, you, say....” - -Morin, in accordance with his parsimonious use of words, did not want to -carry on this tedious discussion. He would have answered, nevertheless, -had not Dedouche announced that the table was set, and that there was a -wonderful menu, a real Easter menu. - -Chevalier, the mess corporal, both our Vatel and cup bearer, had come -back from leave the day before. Before our ravished eyes he untied his -packages, spread out sumptuous, epicurean dainties, and drew from their -thick straw covers generous bottles of wine whose very appearance made -us joyful. - -Morin had been a constant guest at the select restaurants of La -Cannebière and at the famous inns of La Corniche, and is an expert in the -art of opening a fine wine without shaking it, and he also knows how to -carve roasts and chickens skilfully and symmetrically. - -He was opening with suitable impressiveness an old bottle of Sauterne, -whose bright golden color brought smiles to our faces, when a tremendous -explosion brought us to our feet and threw down the single partition in -the room. - -“The gun back in the garden draws the fire,” mumbled Dedouche with his -mouth full, and without letting go of his plate which he was rubbing -carefully with a large bit of bread. - -But as he spoke a still more violent explosion shattered all the window -panes in the house to bits. - -A great Boche shell had fallen thirty yards from us in the street which -had been recently covered with hard flint and which it scattered into -innumerable fragments. We heard the cries of the wounded and the dying -outside. - -“Quick! Into the cellar!” - -But none of us lost our heads sufficiently to take refuge in the cellar -without our munitions. - -One brought the fowl, another the bottles, a third the sauce, and someone -the cheese and candles, and under the threat of shots which speeded us we -reached our underground shelter. - -The light of two candles stuck in bottles showed us the table in the -darkness and we spread out our dinner things anew. - -Above was the bombardment in all its intensity. - -Shots landed in the road level with our air-hole, which, as a provision -against such an occurrence, had long since been stuffed with sandbags. - -We heard things falling! - -“_Mince!_ what are they offering us for Easter eggs?” - -This ready joke made us laugh, and we forgot the tragedy of the hour. In -the heady anesthesia of real Pommard, and not christened “Pommard” for -use at the front, but which had a real Burgundian bouquet, we forgot that -the shells were raging in all their fury above us. - -The shadow of a man appeared at the entrance to the cellar. Illuminated -by the wavering yellow lights of our candles, it stood out in sharp -contrast in the darkness of the staircase. - -“Is the margis here?... Margis, the lieutenant says you are to bring all -the horses at once to the gulley in the Caix woods and shelter them from -the bombardment.” - -“All right, I’m coming. Go on, Dedouche, pour out another glass of -Pommard. I’ll take my dessert in my pocket.” - -I picked up my helmet, mask and cane and was ready to go, as I listened -through the vaults and hoped for a let-up in the storm. - -“It’s over. We can go.” - -“When you wish, old fellow. They’ve stopped for breath.” - -“You’ll find out in five minutes.” - -“Bah! I’ve more time to go than I need.” - -“Good luck, and if you find any Easter eggs on the way bring them back -for dinner.” - -The adjutant’s reiterated joke no longer had the same zest for me and it -hardly made me smile. - -Outside, the streets were empty, and there wasn’t a soul in sight. - -The bombardment had stopped, but no one was taken in by this deceptive -calm. From one moment to another we waited for a new bombardment even -more violent than the first. The Boches are creatures of habit and this -is not the first time they’ve played this trick. When they bombard a -cantonment, they very often interrupt their bombardment some minutes so -as to make us think it is over; then, when the men have ventured into the -streets, they suddenly begin again and make fresh victims. - -A house has fallen in the middle of the road some steps from our -cantonment. Débris block the way, and we have to climb over them. Farther -along, at the other end of the street, a house which was still intact -this morning is now in flames. - -There is no time to lose. Already several shells, advance messengers of -the coming storm, begin to fall. I was about to dart across the Place -when a “105” fell on the pavements and burst. - -A poor little soldier carrying two enormous bags, a great bundle of -linen, and some souvenirs in his hands passed just then. He was on his -way to the station at Guillaucourt to take the train, for he was going on -leave. - -Rejoicing in his approaching happiness he walked on without paying the -slightest attention to this atmosphere where death was hovering. A shot -hit him in the back and passed out the other side. I jumped to aid him. -He was bathed in blood. In a gentle, caressing, almost timid voice he -said to me: - -“Oh, it’s not painful. I am dying.” - -And then with his lips, with an expression of kindness and thankfulness -which I shall never forget, he murmured, “Yvonne.” ... And his face -haloed with blessedness like the religious images of the martyrs, he died. - -I stood there in ecstasy, transfixed, before that beauty in death, before -that strength of love which lights the final hour. - -How many I have seen die in this way! In their last breaths all had the -name of some woman, and their eyes lighted at the name. - -In the final moment of a life which is going out physical suffering no -longer counts. The name of the loved one embodies all the vanishing -mirage of the future, the end of a too beautiful dream, the memories of -a happy past ... of a happy past, for the bad times are forgotten. - -Before the quivering body of this poor little soldier, struck down -fiercely just as he was going on leave, full of hope, of plans, of -dreams, a song on his lips, I forgot the threatening shells. An -artilleryman went by on the run and shouted at me: - -“Get out of that. You’ll get done up.” And I fled. - - * * * * * - -Our horses were bivouacked in the courtyard of a sawmill. Not an accident -there. I counted them all at a glance. - -The underground shelter of the men was in the back of the yard, and I -went to the air-hole which was stopped up by a piece of sheet-iron which -served as a screen against splinters. - -“Oh, down there! Men of the echelon. All outside. To horse. We must -hurry. Come on, hurry up! Your masks, helmets, forward with just the -bridle!” - -One by one they jumped out of their lairs, grimacing as the bright sun -struck them full in the face as they came out of the darkness. - -“Each one two horses, by squads of six.... One hundred yards between each -squad. The other men will remain here and mobilize the pack saddles and -caissons in the cellar. Take the road to the Caix station ... on the road -lined with poplars.... On the gallop ... no straggling.” - -Some minutes later we were already going out of the village. It was a bad -passage, but the only one and the shortest one to reach our destination, -but three hundred yards had to be covered on entirely unprotected ground -opposite the Boches. - -Boom! It was the expected. The shells began to fall again. A cloud tinted -with red from the tiles of a falling house rises in the air and makes a -large spot in the sky back by the church. - -Boom! There’s another one now and nearer to us, near the sugar refinery. - -A crash, an avalanche of bricks; this time it is the chimney of the -sawmill which falls on the horses’ cantonment. It was time, five minutes -sooner and we would have been under it. - -“Go on, go on.... Gallop, for God’s sake. Corporals ... keep the -distances.... Spread out the squads.... Get into the fields ... behind -the trees.” - -We reach the deep path like a whirlwind, while the bombardment rages over -the village more than ever. - -“Any accident? Anyone hit? Good. Assemble, and on the trot now.” - -Ten minutes later we are in the shelter of Muguet wood, completely shut -off from the view of the Boche artillery. - -The wood deserves its name, for it scents the air a hundred yards about -with the perfume of violets and lilies of the valley, which form a carpet -between the trees and which our mules, entirely insensible to the subtle -beauties of nature, begin to eat as though they were common fodder. - -“Corporals ... look to your sections.... Is everyone here?... All the -horses too?” - -I cast a rapid glance over the parked beasts. - -“Look, Liniers, where is Chocolate?” - -And indeed where was Chocolate? - -How did it happen that Chocolate wasn’t there? - -Still he had been with the rest at the sawmill. - -Chocolate, as the veteran of the echelon, received special consideration -from the men. As far as the dispositions of the cantonment permitted, -they reserved for him a covered shelter, a feeding rack, and a manger. - -This time the sawmill offered many resources. The stable walls still -stood with only a few gaps, and the roof was still intact. Beside some -artillery horses, who were generally absent, there was an available place -and they had given it to Chocolate. And there the drivers had forgotten -him. - -If it had been any other animal we would have let him go, but Chocolate -was an entirely different matter and we must go and find him. - -“Raynal, I hand over the command of the detachment to you. Liniers, come -with me, we’ll go and find Chocolate.” - -We went back over the path, on foot this time, but as fast as our legs -would go. As we reached the village the intensity of the bombardment -seemed to decrease. Were we going to be lucky enough to strike another -lull? Again there were particularly violent explosions, nearer, then -nothing more. - -We reached the village entirely out of breath. - -As we turned into the street which led to the sawmill Liniers stopped -suddenly, as if petrified, and began to wave his hands. - -“M ...!” - -“What?” - -“The shed....” - -“Well, what about the shed?” - -“Demolished. Can’t you see? It’s gone.” - -We ran still faster. - -The shed was absolutely demolished and is now only a shapeless mass of -rubbish, but there are no signs of a shell—no traces of burned timbers, -no splinters. One would have thought that it had folded up and laid down -on its side like a house of cards. - -When we reached the shed we saw Chocolate’s great neck and shoulders and -enormous head free from the rubbish which hid the rest of his body. He -was stretched out full length on his side, browsing serenely on the young -shoots of an apple tree, which had gone down with the building. His large -eye looked us over as we stood there, overcome and absolutely stupefied -with amazement, as much as to say: - -“What ... you’ve come at last ... you needn’t have been in so much of a -hurry.” - -I ran to the air-hole of the cellar. - -“Hey there, men with spades; quick, come, dig out Chocolate.” - -“Dig out Chocolate!” and they all rushed out utterly surprised by the -announcement of such a job. - -The bricks were scattered with a few blows of the shovels, the beams -raised, and the place cleared away. - -With all the ease of a circus horse who has been playing dead, Chocolate -stretched out his front feet, then his hind ones, balanced himself two -or three times, took a spring, and without the slightest hurry stood up, -shaking himself all over like a dog coming out of the water. - -There were a few scratches on his hide, but it was an old hide, hard -and tanned, which resists everything. Nothing broken! Brave Chocolate, -come on! The men all look at him, admire him, and fondle him. He seemed -somewhat surprised by such manifestations of great affection. - -And without a care in the world for the bombardment which was beginning -again, he went to the nearby pond and drank deeply. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -THE AEROPLANE - - -Dawn had just broken. Some of the boldest of the men in the echelon were -already up, rubbing down their horses and adjusting the breast collars. -At daylight we had to go a long way to exchange the pack-saddles for -munition-wagons. - -This has been the way from the start. The companies of machine guns, -probably even more than the other branches of service, although I don’t -know, are experiment stations on which they try one sort of gear one day -and another the next. First it is a round shield, then a square shield, -and then a periscope. We adopted the Wikers saddle, only to have it -replaced with the Hotchkiss. And we had scarcely put it in service than -it was withdrawn to give us ammunition wagons. - -These changes are one of the slight distractions of the trade. They must -distract still more the handlers of the public funds to judge by the -frequency they offer them to us. - -But what difference does it make to us whether we do one thing or -another? While we wait time passes and the war goes on. - -And then “there’s no use trying to understand.” - -That is the typical expression in every army. Before the most unexpected -orders, the most unusual, which seem the most useless and incoherent, we -can only bow without trying to use our intelligence. - -“There is no use in trying to understand.” That’s the whole secret of -discipline. If one did try to understand, he would never obey—or too late. - - * * * * * - -We were ordered to assemble on the Place at daybreak, and at daybreak we -were there. The clear sky is splendidly luminous. - -“Good weather for aeroplanes,” said someone. - -Indeed it was good weather for aeroplanes, for there wasn’t a cloud in -the sky and no mist on the ground. A reconnaissance in such weather -should be easy. - -The Boche aviators are early birds. One sees them but rarely during the -daytime, when ours mount guard on the lines, but their specialty is -getting up early in the morning. We hear them flying over our cantonments -long before daybreak, at the first rays of dawn, and see them returning -rapidly to shelter as soon as the light becomes clearer and it becomes -easier to fire our cannon and machine guns. - -Presently, as I am giving a final inspection to the material we are to -turn in, I meet Sergeant Lace in the yard of the sawmill. - -“Oh, but you’re an early bird to-day.” - -“I’ve just been ordered to find a good place to fire on aeroplanes and -take up my position there at once. There’s going to be a section there -each day. Mine starts.” - -“Have you found your emplacement?” - -“Not yet. But that’s not hard to find. Just a hole or a sloping place, so -that we can stretch out on our backs.” - -“I know just the place for you. The hole of a ‘320’ at the entrance of -the village on the left, near the poplars. You’ll see it right up against -the fence which borders the road from Caix.” - -“Wonderful. I’ll take up my position there. It must have been dug -expressly for me.” - -A half hour later the cavalry of the three machine-gun companies of the -regiment assembled in front of the church. - -Cavalry!... - -My good comrade, Roudon, a sergeant-major in the Hussars, who is now -with the first company of machine guns in a position like mine, becomes -furiously angry every time he hears that word “cavalry.” - -“Cavalry! Cavalry!” he roars. “You ought to say an assery, a mulery. Just -look at them. Not one in ten stands up on his feet. And the riders! There -isn’t one who could ride a horse. They’re afraid!” - -Roudon is an experienced cavalryman. For ten years he knew the mad, -intoxicating dashes with the Algerian contingents in Morocco, the -mysterious attractions of reconnaissances in the long reaches of the -valleys of the Sahara, impetuous charges and wild triumphant pursuits -among the red Spahis with their Damascus swords, amid the glistening -sands which rise toward the sun in golden spangles. At the beginning of -the war he was thrown into a regiment of metropolitan cavalry and fought -in Lorraine and Belgium. He lived through the horrible hours of retreat, -assuming the perilous mission of rearguard while the other regiments -withdrew in good order. He fought on foot, in the edges of woods, to stop -to the last moment the march of the enemy while the rear went on to the -Marne. He endured those long, seemingly endless, waits on foot in front -of his horse, the bridle on his arm, saber in scabbard, under the storm -of shells and the invisible menace of bullets. There were no trenches -then. - -Roudon is a cavalryman in his soul and his love for the service. So, -attached to an improvised service which is neither cavalry, artillery, -nor infantry, he does not know what to make of it, and he rages at it -through his excess of conscience and too exclusive love of duty perfectly -done. - -The echelon of the third company arrives on the Place in good order a -few seconds after us. Hémin leads it and he marches on foot beside his -column, hands in his pockets, whistling. - -Hémin is a type, and not the least interesting among the complex -personalities of our command, for we are cavalrymen transformed into -infantry, but we’re still cavalrymen just the same. - -Hémin is as much a cavalryman by trade as Roudon, and perhaps even more -so. He was successively a stable boy in a racing stable at Chantilly, -then a jockey, and finally a trainer, after he had done his military -service in a regiment of chasseurs. So he is a horseman par excellence. -But he never made war as a cavalryman before. Since the beginning of the -war he has been attached to various services. First, he was an infantry -scout, a standard bearer for a general, a courier for a major, and he was -transferred to the companies of machine guns when they were definitely -established. Hémin has a style all his own. To all appearances he is -neither a cavalryman nor a foot soldier. His jacket is a Colonial one -with anchors and cuff-facings, but it has white stripes. He wears great -yellow boots, a cavalryman’s spurs, his breeches are reinforced with -olive leather, and his head is covered with a very small black cap. -Another curious characteristic is that Hémin, the excellent horseman, -always walks when he accompanies his detachment. - - * * * * * - -When we are assembled, we turn the command of the detachment over to -Roudon, the senior officer, and he leads the way. Hémin and I bring up -the rear some distance back. - -In files of two our one hundred and fifty horses and mules form a long -column, unwieldy and slow, which winds along the road. - -“A fine target for an aeroplane!” - -This exclamation had hardly been uttered when the well-known roar of a -Boche aeroplane was heard over our heads. - -“Zut! there’s one.... We ought to have expected it in such weather and -started earlier. Look out, if he spots us. Don’t worry, there’s no -danger, he’s too high.... At least three thousand.” - -A “75” was already weaving around this scarcely visible, extremely mobile -target the white tufts of its shrapnel, and threw around the machine a -murderous circle which followed it in its evolutions. But the aeroplane -in the air seemed to care little and it continued on its way. - -We all followed the vicissitudes of the fight as we went along, heads in -the air. When a shell seemed to burst very near, an exclamation came from -every mouth. - -“Oh!... that didn’t miss much.” - -“A little more to the left; that would get him.” - -“Oh, that missed.... He’s too far.” - -“This is outrageous ... he’s gone ... he’s getting away.” - -And as a matter of fact the aeroplane gets away ... outside the “75’s” -field of fire. It guides itself no doubt by the white ribbon of the road -which shows clearly against the rich green of the pastures. - -He has seen us now. He has seen us crawling, winding and unrolling on the -ribbon. He heads straight for us, circling around in circles of which we -are without a doubt the center, and gradually comes lower. - -“Look out for the bombs.” - -“No ... he’s half turned ... he’s going back.” - -“Going back.... You’ll see.” - -He’s lower now and we can see distinctly the great black crosses under -his wings. - -All our men are looking. The horses seem to scent the danger, for they -prick up their ears and paw the ground, while the mules neigh. - -Suddenly from on high something begins to glide along some aerial rail -and shatters the air above us. That lasts a second, a flash. As we listen -and wait one would have said that it falls slowly and for hours. We look -in the direction of the noise as if to see something, as if to see where -the bombardment is going to fall. It seems like a linked chain which -rolls out, clashing its links against each other. - -A tremendous boom, and black smoke, greenish and red as well, blacker, -denser, thicker than that from the great shells, rises in the middle of -the field a hundred and fifty yards on our right. - -And there is another. It bursts on our left at the same distance. He is -certainly searching for the range. Will the next strike in the middle -and right on the mark? We’re a fine mark, to be sure, a fine target,—one -hundred and fifty horses in Indian file. If he doesn’t make a good shot -he’s a duffer. - -Roudon stands up in his stirrups, turns around, and shouts commands to -the uneasy men: - -“Close up, close up, close up, I say.... Dress up together.” - -He leads the column rapidly, now closed up into a compact group like a -flock of sheep, towards the road from Harbonnières, which is lined with -trees that will conceal us from the aeroplane. - -Two other bombs burst behind us one after another. - -“That makes four. He can’t have many left. He didn’t bring a truck!” - -Some hundred yards away near a pond cows graze absolutely indifferent -to the battle in the air. The “75” again begins to fire. Its bursts of -shrapnel come close to the aeroplane but do not hit it. - -Another bomb. I stop. It looks as though it were going to fall in front -of us. I’m not going to put my head under the knife. So I start to draw -my horse back under the trees. - -There it is. It has fallen in the fields again. But its explosion throws -up dismal fragments, large and bloody ones. It fell squarely on the herd -of cows and annihilated it. - -“The bungler! He’s wasting the milk,” comes in the accent of the -faubourgs nearly under my horse’s feet. - -Hard by, in the hole of the “320,” Lace’s half-section has placed its -battery. I had approached it without seeing it as I drew back under the -threat of the bomb. - -“Say, how long are you going to let him do that?” I ask. - -“Let him do it!... You don’t mean that, Margis. He won’t blow on his -sauerkraut this evening.” - -“Wait and see what sort of a menu we’re going to serve that ace.” - -It was Grizard, an actor in the suburban theaters, speaking. He looks -like the best natured and quietest of men, but he is a pitiless pointer -who never lets his prey escape. - -“Let me play a little, Margis. See how pretty he is, how fine, and how -well he flies. It is too bad, a pretty little canary like that.” - -“Ah! Attention, ladies and gentlemen. Two turns, and at three we will -commence. You’ll see what you will see.” - -“On with the music.” - -And the music begins the dance. First, come slow shots, rhythmic and -irregular tac-tacs, spaced like the prelude to a slow waltz. Grizard is -searching for the tune; then, gradually, he accelerates the time, and the -tac-tac becomes faster. - -Now he has the aeroplane in his field of fire ... the bullets dance -around him in a ring of fire, without a break ... the dance of death! - -And the circle grows narrower and narrower, infernal, pitiless. - -Everyone looks; there is nothing to see up there; bullets are elusive and -invisible, but we make out the drama. - -From his rapid evolutions, his sharp darts back and forth, his irregular -and hurried spirals, we understand that the aviator has already been -reached but is trying to baffle the fire which pursues him. - -The tac-tac continues. It is incessant, implacable, ferocious. The -silence of death hovers over men and things. All Nature seems to await -the issue of the combat which is no longer doubtful. - -I look at Grizard. Hand on the handle of the gun, he follows the -evolutions of the aeroplane; his eyes shine as at a good trick he is -playing on the acrobat up there, and softly, with all the desired -expressions, as if he were before his audience at Belleville or at the -Gaîté-Montparnasse, he hums: - - _Rêve de valse, rêve d’un jour,_ - _Valse de rêve, valse d’amour._ - -“He’s hit,” Sergeant Lace cries suddenly. - -And indeed he is hit. - -The wings waver, bend, warp, and abruptly fall in a spiral, while an -immense burst of flame, which the speed increases immoderately, rises and -marks the limpid blue of the sky with a long red thread which dissolves -in the heavens in a trail of gold. - -With a noise of broken iron, tearing canvas, explosions which recall -fireworks, the machine smashes into the fields, right where the last bomb -had destroyed the peaceful herd of cows a moment ago. - -We run from all directions, but there is nothing to see. The aeroplane -was completely destroyed by the fall and the fire, and ends by burning -itself up. - -It is impossible to get the charred body of the aviator out from the -smoking ruins. - -Grizard is on the scene with his gun crew, and examines his target. - -“Good shot!” - -We congratulate him and begin to go back. But Grizard is a comedian who -knows his business and who has perhaps played a rôle in the circuits in -faraway provinces, and he is not a man to miss an effect. - -He stands by the roadside in the courteous attitude of Cyrano de Bergerac -pointing out the way to the Count de Guiche after amusing him for a -quarter of an hour. And Grizard, who has amused us for a quarter of an -hour, but in another way, points out the road and says: - -“The quarter of an hour is past, Messieurs. I release you.” - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -DAYS IN CANTONMENT - - -The regiment is holding the first line trenches in front of the La Vache -woods. When the company is in the lines, the echelons, the war train, and -the clerks remain behind in the cantonment at Morcourt. - -Morcourt is a delightful little village hidden in the green meadows under -the poplars on the banks of the canal of the Somme. Morcourt was once -a hamlet of one hundred and fifty houses and their flower gardens, but -to-day it is a real village where there are crowded together a population -of more than ten thousand men. More than twenty thousand horses are -bivouacked in the neighboring villages of Proyart, Lamotte, Bayonvillers, -which have no water, and they come to Morcourt twice a day to dry up the -watering places. - -Our quarters here are in the open fields. Everybody can’t have covered -shelters. The major of the cantonment showed us the field and said, - -“Try to make shift with that.” - -And we did. - -Less than an hour later the grass was mowed, ground down by our haltered -horses, who devoured it with their sharp teeth. - -Beyond, on the edge of the road, in impeccable alignment our sixteen -ammunition wagons are parked. - -Behind are the horses, the huts of the four sections of the echelon, and -the war train. - -And at the end the four large caissons of ammunition and the munition -wagons. - -Burette and Morin, the clerks, cannot make a simple tent do. More -comfortable quarters are necessary for their work. - -After a day of hunting around Burette came back to camp, radiant. - -“_Mon vieux_, I’ve found something wonderful. We’ll live like princes.” - -“Where did you get it?” - -“Some fine people. It’s next to the mayor’s.” - -“_Mince!_ You look well. Did they offer you the house?” - -“You’ll see. It’s better than that.” - -“Better than that!” - -We stamped our feet in impatience. Such a windfall is worth while. If we -stay here a whole month we shall be well lodged. - -I was already rejoicing in the thought of being able to build a -comfortable bed. - -Saux, on whom devolved the delicate and most often difficult care of our -getting moved, foresaw innumerable conveniences. - -Morin alone remained sceptical. He is that temperamentally. - -He sees no good in this north country. He has been morose ever since -he left Provence, and he won’t smile again until he hears tinkle in -his ravished ears the familiar evocative sonorities of Avignon, Arles, -Miramas, Le Pas des Lanciers, L’Estaque. The sun, the blue sky, the blue -sea! - -And how right Morin is! - -The sun exaggerates, but in openness and beauty. The fogs are -deceitful.... Far better to be dazzled than deceived.... - -Morin distrusts the splendid cantonment of Morcourt. He knows those at -Proyart, Chuignolles, Minacourt, Virginy ... and others besides.... - -Oh, for the commonest hut, the most modest cabin, ruined though it be -and sordid, but haloed in the sun, flooded with clear light, bathed in -the silver foliage of the olives, planted down there on the rocks of -Pointe-Rouge or of L’Estaque, beside the sea, sheltered in the valleys of -Camions, or perched on the hills of Allauch! How much better it is, how -much better worth living in, than the most sumptuous castles buried in -the damp forests where the stones are green under the moss. - -High on a hill on the road to Harbonnières opens the courtyard of a farm. - -Burette leads us there in triumph. It is his discovery. He crosses the -court, and opens majestically a small low door, with a barrel on each -side in which stunted geraniums vegetate miserably. - -It is an old pig-sty! - -Scraped and washed with a lot of water, it will be habitable. We’ll make -something out of it. Burette borrows a long table and at once covers it -with his innumerable account books. We make our beds against the walls. - -Thirty ammunition caissons placed in double rows, a mattress stuffed with -hay, a tent cloth, two covers—that’s our camp. - -The corner at the back falls to Morin. It is the longest way of the room -and he can stretch out his whole tall form at his ease, which he rarely -finds it possible to do in the cantonments. - -Night reserves various distractions for us. - -First, the rats. - -The rats descended from the dove-cote in a dense horde and -made incursions on our haversacks, in mad gallops over our bed -clothes—gigantic rats with interminable tails! - -They used the open space between the beds as their lists and had real -battles, biting, crying and moaning. The routed fugitives jumped over -Morin’s body to get to shelter and he shivered in terror. - -Burette decided to try extreme measures, for hunting them with shoes -has no effect. So he begins to sing one of the most beautiful tunes in -his repertoire called “A Montparnasse.” It must have thirty verses, all -ending in an interminable “nasse ... nasse ... nasse.” - -It seems that it was a triumph of the boulevards, and no true lover of -songs should be ignorant of it. Very possibly. - -The rats must have shared my opinion, however, for they seemed to like -the great triumph of the boulevards only moderately, but they remained -quiet while the song lasted. - -That song had another virtue, too. It put me to sleep and Burette as -well. His voice dragged more and more, and grew more feeble, when a -terrible cry pierced the night. - -Morin shouted in terror. - -We jumped for our electric lamps. - -Their dim rays brighten the darkness. - -Above Morin’s head, through a hole in the mud wall which separates us -from the neighboring stable, a calf—a young calf—gracious and smiling, -has stuck his great red head, and has imprinted a caress on the face of -our sleeping friend with his milky tongue. - -“The salaud! He has bitten me,” grumbled Morin, wiping off the dribble -which stuck to his face. - -“Get out, animal.” - -But the calf was insensible to this harsh invitation. He continued to -endure the flashes from our lights with a placid eye, and, drawn no -doubt by Burette’s song, which seemed to him like familiar news, he began -to bellow, waking up the whole stable, and the cows added their powerful -voices to that of their offspring.... We slept no more that night. - - * * * * * - -The days which followed were not all exactly alike. - -The lieutenant sent us word by a cyclist to come and see him in the lines -and get the list of changes to be made among the men and horses. - -We started at daylight and went in the company wagon as far as Froissy. -When we got there, Morin told me that he knew a wonderful short cut -which avoided the great détour by Éclusier, and led directly to the -communication trench. Walking in the wet meadows where we sank in up to -our ankles had little attraction for me. I preferred the hard highway -and the towpath, but Morin knew the country and claimed that we would -only have several hundred yards of bad walking and then we would reach a -practicable path. - -We walked more than an hour. The fog grew thicker and thicker, limiting -our horizon to a few steps. There was never anyone in sight. - -“My dear Morin,” I said, “if your short cut is as wonderful as you say, -it must be known. But at the moment it seems somewhat deserted to me.” - -Morin did not reply. There was no doubt that he wasn’t certain of his -way, but he did not dare to admit his mistake. - -The weather inclined one to melancholy. - -We walked on in silence. The path was very narrow and we were obliged to -walk one behind the other. - -A sinister grumbling seemed to shatter the heavens above the fog. - -Instinctively we hurled ourselves to the ground into the wet grass and -mud. - -The shell passed over us and buried itself in the ground without -exploding. - -“This quarter hardly seems the safest in the world, Morin.” - -“They’re firing on the battery of ‘75’s’.” - -“A battery of ‘75’s’? What battery?... Where have you seen a battery?” - -Although he was seriously disturbed about our direction, Morin would not -budge. - -[Illustration: A SINISTER GRUMBLING SEEMED TO SHATTER THE FOG _See page -110_] - -“It was there day before yesterday. It must have moved.” - -“I suppose you’re sure your short cut hasn’t changed its place.” - -I had scarcely spoken when a shell followed the direction of the first -and exploded beside us, throwing up a mass of mud, grass and water. -The ground was soft and unfavorable for deadly splinters. In any other -terrain we would have been hit seriously. - -This time Morin hesitated, - -“I’m afraid I’m mistaken!...” - -“I was sure of it a long time ago.” - -“Let’s go on just the same; this must bring us out somewhere.” - -“That’s my opinion, too.” - -The fog was still heavy. We walked in a cloud the length of an -interminable trench recently cut in the clay. The bottom was full of -water. It leads us in an unknown direction. How can we find out what way -we are going? Where are we? We follow its windings for half an hour and -clamber over crossings. Perhaps we’re going around in a circle. The mist -is about us all the time. We can see nothing. Not a landmark. - -In the distance far to the north, in the English sector, a heavy gun -hammers the air with loud regular shots. We started out at daybreak to go -ten miles. It is ten o’clock now and we have no idea where we are. - -I get impatient and begin to grumble. - -The air becomes fresher, and a fairly strong breeze comes up. In a few -seconds the blue sky reappears above our heads. - -In front of us forms stand out—trees, shattered trees, stretching their -dead branches like broken arms, and seeming to cry to heaven in entreaty -for the martyred earth. - -“The La Vache woods!” - -We are in the La Vache woods within sight of the enemy’s lines. Thirty -yards from them! We are on the further side of the trenches, where the -terrific storm of shells rages daily. We have the honor of being the -finest target that will ever be offered for a shot with a grenade. - -We throw ourselves flat, but the embankment overhangs the lines so much -that even crawling is only a moderate safeguard. - -“Nom de Dieu! I’ll remember your short cut! To go to the Boches it’s the -best ever!...” - -We slide along on elbows, stomach and knees like snakes, which puts our -clothes to a severe test. And we let ourselves fall head first into the -“Servian” trench, just over the lieutenant’s sap, who cannot believe his -eyes when he sees us fall as from the moon. - -“Where did you come from?” - -“We’ve been taking a walk in the La Vache woods. Does that mean anything -to you?” - -“How did you come?” - -“By a short cut!... a fine short cut, you know. I recommend it to you!” - -Sub-Lieutenant Delpos was making his rounds in the sector and was told -of the exploit. He is nervous and in a murderous humor, for he spent a -sleepless night on a special mission between the lines. So Morin caught -it a hundred times worse than he deserved. Sub-Lieutenant Delpos’s -moments of ill humor are, like some storms, violent but quickly over. -The adventure ended with an excellent cup of coffee, flavored with XXX -brandy, which he offers us in his sap, sumptuously furnished with every -possible comfort, twelve yards underground. - -Towards midnight I went down to Éclusier through an English observation -trench. It is only accessible at night. In the daytime a Boche machine -gun is placed on the other side of the Somme and enfilades it. It is -suicide to venture there. Cut out of the rock in the hillside, its ridges -are short and steep. It is a bad trench, but an important short cut.... -Saux should be waiting for me with the horses in a ruined house behind -the church. - -Éclusier is a hamlet on the left side of the canal. There is a single -street with ragged houses on each side, but they are not badly ruined. -The church, protected by a bend in the cliff, still has its steeple -intact through some prodigy of equilibrium, although the roof has fallen -in. At the side, in what was once the presbytery, is the regimental -dressing station. - -Lights come and go. - -Men are coming back from fatigue duty, searching for their dugouts -by feeling for them. Through the air-holes, from which come odors of -cooking, one can see lighted cellars. - -I make my way by the aid of my electric lamp through this labyrinth -which was once a street, and I find the house. I guess at it, rather, -from the pawing of the horses, which are nervous and are pounding on -the flagstones. It is an old grocery and its sign still reads: “Fine -Wines—Desserts—Choice Preserves.” A ragged green cart cover takes the -place of the door. I raise it. - -A gust of foul air hits me in the face, and I stop on the threshold -gasping for breath. I see Saux asleep, his head on my saddle, and rolled -up in horse blankets. Burette is asleep beside him. - -Burette, the quartermaster, spent three months in the heavy artillery. -He is an enthusiast on horses, but his equestrian ability is far from -equaling his love for it. His style produces many falls, but they don’t -discourage him. - -I wake up Saux, who gets up dizzily. Is he half drunk, I ask myself. -That’s not like him at all. - -“Look, Saux, what’s the matter?” - -But Saux leaned against the partition, searching for the door with his -haggard eyes. He dashed outside seized by nausea. The noise woke up -Burette, and he too got up with difficulty. - -“Say, what have you two been up to?” - -“Oh, _mon pauvre vieux_, I don’t know, but I’m sick.” - -“The fact is there is considerable of an odor here; you might have found -a better....” - -The horses are troubled by it, too. Kiki jumps about and paws furiously. -Burette’s and Saux’s horses are sleeping heavily and their breathing is -difficult and oppressive. - -There’s something wrong somewhere, although the enemy hasn’t sent over -any gas. - -With the aid of a light we poke about in the dark. I see a pile of -canvas in the corner of the room which is oozing with dampness. I raise -the bottom of the canvas with my stick and a swarm of great flies comes -buzzing out around us. - -There are the bodies of German soldiers abandoned for no one knows how -long. Weeks, perhaps; since the attack on Fries without doubt. The blue -swollen flesh is spotted by bites made by the teeth of rats. They are -rotting and filling the soil with purulent matter. - -With their monstrous faces, sunken eyes, cheeks fallen in, and their -mouths convulsed by their last struggles, they seem still to shout with -the fright of their last hours. Burette and Saux have slept beside this -charnel-house. - -We lead out the horses in a hurry and saddle them in the open air. We -gain the hard towpath, the only practicable way, and go on at a lively -pace. - -The first light of dawn appears. At the bridge at Éclusier we stop a -minute before climbing into the saddle. The Territorials there offer us -a cup of coffee. It warms us, for the morning fog on the Somme is always -cold. - -“To horse!” - -I decide to go at a good pace as far as the bridge at Froissy and take -the lead. We must get along before the towpath is encumbered by all the -loafers of the companies which are resting in the huts along the length -of the canal. - -A battery of “75’s” in position near the military cemetery at Cappy is -firing shells. - -We pass very close to some guns as they are starting off. Coquet is -frightened, jumps, and dashes into the fields, heading straight toward -the hedges of some vegetable gardens. - -“Attention! Burette, pull on the bits.” - -“Don’t be afraid. He knows me.” - -He knows him so well that Burette had scarcely spoken than Coquet stopped -short before the fence. Burette went over alone, head first, and landed -in the vegetables. Fortunately, the ground is soft, but in hurdling the -obstacle he bumped into some bushes, and gets an eye bruised and a cheek -scratched. - -“That’s nothing. That’s all right,” he says. - -He remounts his horse, laughing and singing: - - _Ah! les p’tits pois, les p’tits pois,_ - _C’est un légume très tendre._ - -He can appreciate them this time. - - * * * * * - -We meet Hémin, our comrade of the third company of machine guns, at -Froissy. He came out at dawn with orders from his commandant and is going -back to Morcourt, and we go along together. - -Going from this bridge to that at Méricourt, the towpath is almost -deserted. Hardly anything crosses our path except some English -motor-cyclists. - -Hémin is riding a superb charger, a great long-legged, bright chestnut, -who carries his head proudly—a fine beast. - -Some yards away from the branch from Neuville marines from the gunboats -have planted huts along the towpath between the poplars. - -The regular trot of our horses sounds clearly along the way. - -A marine hears us and raises the flap of his tent to see us. - -This frightens Hémin’s horse and he jumps into the canal. - -Our comrade is unhorsed and disappears under the water. We jump down. But -even before we jump two marines have plunged in. Others poke around with -poles in the mud from a boat. In an eddy a hand appears, then a head, -swollen, bloody, crushed. - -Hémin got a blow from a shoe full in the face and could not swim. - -The body is brought on to the bank. - -A surgeon from the gunboat doubles his efforts in vain. - -Hémin is dead. - - * * * * * - -We buried him in the little cemetery at Méricourt one Sunday morning. - -It is the ideal cemetery of the poets, hidden in green from every sound. -Each grave seems alone in a thicket of lilacs and honeysuckle. No -scientific gardening here; no trees butchered by experts; no cultivated -flowers; no bombastic marbles. The grass overruns the paths; the simple -flowers of the field have blossomed on the graves, thus bringing in every -season the natural homage which returning life pays to the dead. - -Nature is pleased to shut every sound from this field of rest. - -At the end of a lane, at the foot of a willow, we lay Hémin to rest in -his last sleep. - -The men of the echelon come, the major, a captain, and the officers -who knew him particularly well. The intelligence officers of the three -companies joined in buying a wreath and came to the services together. - -Hémin’s captain speaks a few words. It is not the time for a long talk, -for a simple touching farewell is sufficient. - -And before he goes each one throws in the grave the symbolic bit of earth. - -Sad duty! - -Before the grave is filled in I drop over him petals of peonies.... - -Poor fellow! He is not the most unfortunate. He is in that luminous land -of day and knows what we are powerless to know. He has finished with -our poor human troubles, and on him have fallen the curtains of his last -resting place. - -But those who are left, his wife, his child!... That is where sorrow -begins. They don’t know yet, and for a long time they will know nothing -and will live in anxiety. - -To-day, at the very hour perhaps, when we let him down in his last -resting place, his wife received the letter he wrote her yesterday -morning. She read this letter to her child, this letter in which he -announces his next arrival on leave, where he said to her, - -“In a week or two I shall be with you without a doubt.” He never will -be now, or, rather, he is there already, for the immaterial presence of -loved ones accompanies us, if it is true that they are loved and are not -forgotten. - -And pensively, under the fine rain which is falling, we return to our -cantonments. - - - - -CHAPTER X - -AN ORDINARY FATIGUE PARTY - - -This evening the first section has to go on the works. The men have eaten -earlier than usual, and they are on the road before nightfall. - -The column remains in good order to the end of the cantonment, but once -across the passage by the knotty elm at Harbonnières, it breaks ranks. -Each one goes along as he likes, talking or alone. - -There is madness in the air. We prefer another order of things than to -spend one evening out of two in the first line digging in the mud. - -“Rather the trenches where we can snooze in peace,” they say. - -The column trails along. Pierron, the sergeant who leads it, pays no -attention. With Millazo, a tradesman from Hanoï who has arrived just -recently, he talks of Indo-China, of Saigon, and their gardens. - -We had scarcely arrived at the end of the sunken road which opens out on -an uncovered slope on top of a ridge than a well-known whistling shatters -space. Each of us throws himself on the ground, in a ditch behind a tree, -and the shell passes over us in the air. - -“That wasn’t meant for us.” - -Then another, still another, and dozens like it; we count up to sixty. - -“M ... what are they having at Proyart for dessert?” - -That is all the concern they have about what is going on in the rear, or -about the havoc and death the bombardment is launching at this moment -on the cantonment where their comrades live. That is the egotistical -indifference which long experience with danger gives, and the constant -contemplation of death. The column marches along more carefully and -wider awake, concealing themselves from the view of the enemy’s aerial -observers which are to be seen high on the horizon in spite of the late -hour and the twilight which has already begun to grow dark. - -“Do you suppose they’ve forgotten the sausage?” - -“Sometimes they stay out to give us a shot.” - -So we wait until it is very dark before we reach our position in the -works. - -The place where we have to dig is in the front lines. We have to -construct circular dugouts for machine guns, with their rounded -platforms, and to connect them with the trench by underground trenches. - -We climb over the trench carrying our tools in our hands and slip between -the barbed wire, but we have scarcely gone a yard when a heavy fusillade -warns us that this time we are spotted. We dig in. - -“Is anyone hit?” - -No reply, no groans; everyone is there, flat, stretched out. We wait flat -in the grass and the mud until the star shells fall, and as soon as one -has, and before the following one has scaled through space and lighted -it with its dim light, we jump into the hole which the fatigue party of -yesterday dug. - -But the tools aren’t idle, although we guess rather than hear the blows -of the pick digging in the deep rich earth and the shovelers throwing it -out as far on the parapet as possible so as not to form a salient. - -We dig for hours without interruption, lowering our heads in the holes -as the star shells go up, and taking up our tasks as soon as it is dark -again. - -The enemy has discovered the time of our fatigue parties, and to-morrow -it will know the exact position of our work, so that it will be somewhat -uncomfortable to continue. It must be finished to-night. - -A company of Territorials is stretching barbed wire on our right. - -Between each star shell we can hear the hammering of the sledges -against the stakes, the strain of the tension on the wire, and when the -traitorous light shines again these wonderful workers don’t even hide. -They remain hanging on the barbed wire, motionless and disjointed like -corpses. They look so much like them that the enemy doesn’t even fire, -as he feels certain that he has annihilated this gang which heroically -continues its gigantic task. - -“Look!... they’re like statues.” - -“One would think it was a party ... there are the lights and the -orchestra.” - -The time for supplying the company in the lines comes. The men of the -field kitchens come by groups of three or four from the trenches just -behind us. - -The first two have a long rod on their shoulders and rolls of bread on -this. Others carry in canvas pails and kettles come from nowhere the -coveted wine and the aromatic brandy. Others bend under the weight of -pots which hold lumpy black bean soup, which splashes out at every jolt -in the path. It is already cold and greasy. Finally, the mess corporal -reaches the end of his trip and draws out of his sack the desserts bought -with the mess balance and the commissions given to him the day before -by the men in the trenches. The pockets of his jackets are full of -letters he has just received from the officer with the mail, and which he -delivers to the men who have been waiting for them hungrily. - -When he gets as far as the fatigue party he stops and hesitates. He must -go over a space of fifty yards, absolutely exposed, to the edge of a -group of trees where there is a first-line trench taken from the Boches -in the last attack and not yet connected with the communication trench. - -He has reason for his hesitation, for the last two days the Boche trench -on our left has been firing on it heavily. - -Day before yesterday an entire fatigue party was killed. We can see -there in front of us the abandoned sacks and scattered packages. Five -men out of eight were killed yesterday. The others were able to get over -some of the provisions and the bad news by crawling, and at the price -of a thousand risks. They also took the rest of the provisions from the -bodies of their comrades who carried them. To-day they advanced the time -of bringing the supplies an hour in order to foil the enemy’s vigilance. -This time the mess corporal accompanied the fatigue party himself to -discover, if possible, a less perilous mode of communication. But the -Boches must have been on the watch, or guessed or got wind of it somehow. -The star shells now follow each other with no let-up, lighting up the -road so that one can’t venture on it. Under this too persistent light the -Territorials abandon their simulation of corpses and seek shelter in the -trench to which we are getting ready to return. - -It is necessary for the supplies to go on. The company in the front line -has had only insufficient provisions for two days. - -The mess corporal is a brave man and makes several attempts to venture -outside, but each time he is received by a fusillade and only has time to -throw himself backward in the trench. - -The fatigue party has been watched and waited for. - -We hold a council of the non-commissioned officers and the lieutenant of -the Territorials which has held the position for several weeks. Various -stratagems are proposed and we weigh the chances, but after consideration -all of them are vetoed. It is impossible to get by even at the greatest -speed without risking the lives of several men, and perhaps of all. - -Still, if we were able to draw the attention of the Boches, to occupy -them with something else, to enfilade them, to shell them. - -“Enfilade them ... shell them....” - -“Isn’t there some place from which we can enfilade them?” - -And we all considered in our minds the position of the Boche trenches. - -“We can’t do anything from here,” said a sergeant who had spent various -periods in these trenches for several months, and knew every corner of -it; “but below there to the left, about a hundred yards from the picket -post, is a ruined cabin which dominates everything. But there’s nothing -doing in getting there; it’s too near; they’d see us as plain as day.” - -One of our men heard all this. And while the conversation went on, I saw -him climb up on the parapet and examine the position. - -It was Marseille, an impetuous, headstrong type. He rebelled at all -discipline, he was restive under observation, but his bravery was -unfailing, and he was absolutely oblivious to danger, which he ignored -with a swagger and indifference which seemed amazing. Marseille has known -one hundred thousand adventures and turned one hundred thousand tricks, -and has always come back absolutely unharmed. - -When he was on his last leave he spent six unrestrained days in -innumerable drinking bouts in all the bars at La Cannebière, where he -narrated his boasted deeds of prowess, which were probably much inferior -to the real ones. Then, instead of going back, he waited for them to come -and get him. He was arrested on the eighth day and brought back to the -Corps by the provost. Marseille was not the least upset when the officer -demanded the reasons for his delay, and replied: - -“I don’t like to travel alone. I like society, I do. So I have had a -whole car to myself and my escort. And besides, I knew very well that the -gendarmes wouldn’t come from Marseilles here without buying a drink, and -they wouldn’t have the nerve to lap it all up without offering me some. I -like the gendarmes. That may seem strange to you, but I do.” - -Marseille is a good singer and his number appears in all the company -concerts. His throat is as clear as the sunny lights of La Corniche and -L’Esterel, and he can render the final trills of the Neapolitan songs -with the best. - -When he had finished his rapid observation he came back to our anxious -group and spoke to the mess corporal: - -“You’ll be all right, _mon vieux_. You’ll get there.” - -And we all looked at him in open-mouthed surprise at such assurance. - -“Have you any news or an idea? Explain. Tell us something about it. Let -us see.” - -“You’ll get there, as I told you. Don’t bother about those fellows over -there. That’s my job. Watch me.” - -And to the lieutenant who was getting ready to question him: - -“You have a machine gun, haven’t you, Lieutenant.... Won’t you lend it -to me ... just a minute? It’s a Saint Etienne. I know that.... I know -them all.... They’re all the same.... And five belts with it to amuse the -Boches for five minutes.... That’ll be enough for the cooks to get over.” - -We understood it all, and we laughed and admired him. Marseille rolled -up the barrel of the machine gun and the belts in several thicknesses of -canvas, tied a rope to it and attached the other end to his wrist. - -“Hold on to the package so that it won’t make trouble on the stones, and -when I pull on the rope twice, let it come.” - -And he crawled out of the trench and slid down towards the ruined hut. - -We waited anxiously the full ten minutes. We watched the cord unroll -with varying emotions. It stopped, stood still, immovable. Has he arrived? - -Then we felt the two jerks, and the lieutenant let the heavy package -slide, and it got mixed up in the stakes, rocks, and gullies, and made -such a metallic noise that it could not help attracting the Boche’s -attention. And it had an effect. The enemy believed that we were making -some sort of a movement, and launched in our direction a heavy fusillade -which we refrained from answering. - -Again ten minutes passed ... they were interminable. - -Then suddenly came the machine gun ... ours ... Marseille’s. - -Slowly at first, it sent out its irregular tap-tap, then the cadence -became faster, and then a steady crackle. The Boches were taken in the -flank and thought that we were making an attack, and Marseille, who saw -them running by the light of their star shells, shouted out, - -“Forward, the cooks, run, nom de Dieu!” - -The fatigue party rushed out at top speed. Soup spatters from all sides. -The rations of wine and coffee will be short. The men disappear in the -wood. They are over; they are safe. - -Now the German bullets are raging to our left about the hut; rockets go -up asking for artillery. In front of our lines close to us explosions -rock the ground. Their artillery is firing in the right place. The -fatigue party is over but the Boches have another prey. By this time -Marseille is stewing away in the ruins of his shelter. - - * * * * * - -While the shelling lasts we discuss his last feat, safe in the sap, while -we munch the last of our cold repast. Then, as dawn begins to appear and -we have to return to the cantonment at daybreak, we begin to get ready to -go. Before we go we share a bucket of wine which the overloaded fatigue -party couldn’t carry in its dash and abandoned. - -But a shadow stands before us in the sap. - -“So they share their leavings and there is none for the hungry?” - -It is Marseille, safe and sound, whole, without a scratch. Everyone -crowds around him, and the officer runs up. - -“And now, if you’ll pull in that string, you’ll bring back the tools. -I’m sore on that machine. You know, Lieutenant, that gun wasn’t our -Hotchkiss. I had to dismantle the breech; it jammed at once. I couldn’t -have fired more than half a belt. Fortunately, they gave me light with -their star shells; I couldn’t have done it without them.” - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -WITH MUSIC - - -We are in reserve cantonments at Chuignolles, and we all lodge together -at the end of the village, near the church, in a large house, which -isn’t injured much and which once served the servants of the presbytery. -We were shaken up in our last action, and they give us comparatively -generous liberty, no manœuvres, no reviews, and no drills. The section -leaders have seen to the arms and ammunition and have secured an entirely -new equipment from the ordnance officer. - -The infantry have turned gunners over to us to fill up our ranks. - -The lieutenant recommends the men to distract themselves with games, -gossip and songs. - -At his solicitation we organized a concert, several concerts, in fact. -Each section has its artists which it believes in and of which it is -proud. - -One evening in the garden adjoining the officers’ quarters we were -endeavoring to draw out the meal by chatting, but conversation flagged as -night drew near. So Sub-Lieutenant Delpos, who was opposed to dreaming as -engendering melancholy, demanded a concert at once, immediately. - -The cantonments were scattered about in the surrounding gardens. - -“Croharé,” he said, “run to each section and bring back artists—all the -artists in each company must be here in five minutes.” - -And five minutes later they were there. All the company, too, for each -section followed its artists, who were to shine in all the glory of their -repertoire before the officers and the “little staff.” - -We had singers, comedians and speakers, professional and amateur. Jacquet -gave with exquisite artistry several delightful songs, the words of -which he had composed and adapted to well-known tunes. The “Lettre à la -Marriane” was really touching. - -Gaix and Corporal Vail sang with real talent and gave us a full -repertoire from the operas. The indefatigable Marseille gave, in a -hilarious gibberish, an Italian-Marseilles thing which brought down the -house with wild laughter. - -“It’s too bad we haven’t a piano to play the accompaniments,” said -someone. - -“A piano! I’ll attend to that,” said the ever-resourceful Chevalier. -“Four men in my bunch, and I’ll bring it at once.” - -Some minutes later the party brought in an enormous harmonium which it -had found in a room of the presbytery. That harmonium had been the silent -witness of famous battles, had been taken and retaken with the village. -It had played “Die Wacht am Rhein” under the German heel, the “Rêve -Passe” with the artillery, “Sidi-Brahim” with our Blue Devils, and it was -still in good condition and almost all the notes played. - -“And now we have a piano, we must have a player.” - -“Oh, there, ‘Father Music.’ You know this is your job. You played for us -last summer in the church at Minaucourt.” - -“Father Music” smiled gravely and pushed his way through the groups. - -A candle stuck in the neck of a champagne bottle and placed on the -harmonium lighted up his Christlike face with a golden light. - -He seated himself, without stopping smiling, on a pile of ammunition -caissons which served as a piano stool, and—honor to whom honor is -due—since we are machine gunners, he begins the “Song of the Machine -Gun,” with Gaix singing the first stanza. - - * * * * * - -“Father Music” stands out in the light in the middle of the dark night -and this group of a hundred men who one surmises are there, rather than -sees, squatting on the grass around the instrument. - -Under his cap thrown back on his head the hair shows sparse and thin, his -beard is large and tangled, and he smiles through his large, clear eyes. -His lips move with the singer, and he sings the song with as much fervor -and composure as if he were chanting a Halleluiah. - -“Father Music!” ... - -He is a fine figure in our society, rich in epic types. - -I have seen him near us for some weeks, as much in our echelon as in -the company of which he assumes the duties of infirmary orderly. I have -learned to know him, and to know him is to love him. - -By scraps, by fragments of phrases, for he speaks but little—little of -himself, but instead launches out in real flights of declamation about an -idea, a poem, a well-known tune, the names of artists—I have been able -bit by bit and through deductions almost to reconstruct his life. - -He is a quiet man in all his ways, habits and ideas. He lived in the -quarter of Saint-Sulpice in an old house in the quiet Rue Madame, and -made his living by giving music lessons in the institutions in the -neighborhood. - -They knew him in the quarter as “Monsieur Placide.” On the appointed -days at the same hours he went to the Nuns of the Immaculate Conception, -to the Brothers of the Sacred Heart, or to special lessons in the city, -without ever wandering far away from the quarter, in the old venerable -houses, in the Rues d’Assas and Garancière. - -On Sundays he played the organ in a small chapel of the Visitation -Sisters. - -The people knew little about him through social intercourse, for he never -went out, or rarely. In summer he sometimes went to the Tuileries to -listen to secular music—and that is all. - -When in August, 1914, the notices of mobilization called all able-bodied -men to arms, his orders were to join a regiment of Colonial infantry in -a fort around Paris. - -This man lived a regular life apart from dangerous contingencies, and was -unacquainted with worldly ambitions and political strife, but he went -to war knowing nothing of it, and considering it only a little and then -through a professional view-point, as a sort of great drama in which he -was going to play a comparatively passive rôle. - -Under the cap and great coat of the infantryman, bristling all over with -equipment, he was the typical “poilu”—the poilu of tradition. His large -beard covered the front of his brown coat, and this gave him the proud -appearance of a veteran. - -At first he was going to sacrifice this thick beard which he had spared -since his liberation from his regiment, but his officers wanted him to -keep it. That brought him a place at the head of the company on the -march, and he drew all eyes. He was the poilu. - -His reputation as a musician who played on any and all instruments was -quickly known throughout the cantonments. So he was at all the ceremonies -and all the merrymakings. In the morning on a harmonium carried to an -open field he might accompany a military mass said by stretcher-bearers, -while that evening he might play on a chance piano, perhaps on the same -harmonium, at improvised concerts, accompanying jolly, broad songs sung -by amateurs and playing the national hymns of the Allies, and astonishing -even himself in the patriotic choruses. - -And this man to whom everything that was not classical or the Gregorian -chant was strange, who for twenty years of his life had taught successive -generations Méhul, Gluck, Bach, Mozart and Beethoven, to whom Massenet, -Delibes and Gounod seemed profane, surprised himself by pounding out on a -badly-tuned piano and singing with all his might the refrains of “Viens -Poupoule,” popular marches, and the ballads of the faubourg. - -The soldiers had quickly named him “Father Music” and this nickname -pleased him immensely. - - * * * * * - -That night an order came from the commanding officer: - -“Two companies of machine guns will go with the utmost haste to Hill 174, -northwest of Herbècourt, to stop the enemy which is trying to outflank -our right.” - -At three o’clock in the morning we were at the position indicated. - -A small chapel with a cross was situated on the top of the hill. The open -space in front commands the road which descends gradually toward the -Méréaucourt woods where the enemy is concealed. - -We fortify our position in a few minutes. On both sides of the road a -gun sweeps the slope and the approaches and guards the way out of the -woods. In the little belfry which is shaped like a dove-cote another gun -commands the woods and can disturb evolutions in the wood itself. - -We use the material at hand to fortify our emplacements—bits of benches, -a door of a confessional, and the railings of the chapel. - -At our right across the road a company of riflemen also establish -entrenchments, so well camouflaged that the enemy cannot see them until -in its zone of fire, that is to say, too late. - -The officer, a young sub-lieutenant, asks us not to fire until he gives -the signal. He has the idea—and a good one—to let the enemy advance -and come up the road. Here he would be unable to execute a converging -movement and our gun in the belfry would sweep the right side of the road -and prevent his turning aside, the company of riflemen would protect the -left, and his section of Grenadiers would attack on the road. - -We are confident of the strength of our positions and our means of -resistance, and we wait for the launching of the attack without anxiety. - -“Father Music” has organized his dressing station in the chapel in the -shelter of the altar and now wanders around the building. - -The church recalls familiar surroundings to him and he delights in -looking at it. There are a few simple frescoes, pictures of the -Crucifixion, where gigantic men stand out in relief against a background -of microscopic mountains and Liliputian houses, and they interest him. - -He lets his fingers wander over the keyboard of the harmonium which lies -forgotten in the choir. - -His comrades jeer, - -“‘Father Music’ is going to play our _De Profundis_.” - -But the quiet does not last long. Towards five o’clock a frightful fire -begins all at once. The troops in the front-line trenches, at the bottom -of the hill, are decimated and cut down by a furious fire; they retreat -and take refuge behind the defense works of the village. - -We make our final preparations. Evidently the enemy is going to try to -take the village and has already begun its destruction. A storm of great -shells falls on the trenches, very near us, some yards behind the houses. -We hear terrific explosions, the falling of roofs, and fires break out -everywhere. - -An order from the commander of the sector reaches us, “Maintain the -position and hold on until the companies of reinforcements arrive.” - -The bombardment becomes more and more violent. As the sound of each shell -whistles through the air we wonder if this infernal machine is going to -strike in our dugout this time. And every two minutes, mathematically, -the uproar comes again and this unimaginable suffering continues some -hours. At the sound of each shell we close our eyes. We think of the -loved ones with a calm certainty of never seeing them again. We begin to -wish that it would end at once, rather than have to endure this terrible -nervous tension longer. - -And the reinforcements cannot advance under the avalanche of fire and -shell. Are they going to let us be massacred on the spot without defense? - -The Teuton artillery imagines that they have cleared the objective and -their fire dies down. Cautiously but confident of their superiority and -tactics, the Germans now appear in numbers. - -Suddenly, violently, like a clap of thunder the “Marseillaise” bursts on -our ears—tremendously. - -It rushes out through all the breaches in the church; it comes through -the cracks; it goes up through the fallen roof; it traverses the -shattered windows. It unites in itself all human and celestial voices. -The soul of a whole nation, the spirit of ancient glories, animates the -old organ which sings its last song. - -With all the strength of its breath, with all the breath of its pipes, -filled to bursting, with all the sonority of its bass, its horns, its -flutes and violins, the organ hurls forth the sacred song. - -And it is not only the hymn of triumphant Liberty and the indignation -of an avenging people in the face of the invader. Magnified by the -liturgical sounds on the ritualistic instrument of sacred music, it -is the Hosanna of Glory, the Sursam Corda of Faith, confident in the -approaching victory, the Resurexit of the triumphant Past, and the De -Profundis of brutal domination. - -And beside all that, all the songs of glory, all the exaltations of -faith, all the clamor of Gregorian theogony vibrate in the notes of the -“Marseillaise.” - -Under the humble vault of a hamlet chapel the organ plays the -twice-blessed music, and intones the splendid Magnificat of the Republic, -the hymn of the Trinity, thrice human, thrice divine, Liberty, Fraternity -and Equality. - -And, dominating all the sonorities of the organ, a thousand voices unite -in a sublime burst of song, - - “_Aux armes, citoyens!_ ...” - -“Grenades!” commands the lieutenant. - -The men, electrified, mouths half open, the machines in their hands, -spring out of the trench in the teeth of the enemy, but two steps from -him. And with an irresistible dash they charge him, follow him, crumble -him. The Teutons flee in terror.... - - * * * * * - -Night has fallen. Under a sky reddened by the lights of fires deep -silence is over everything. Numerous reinforcements have arrived. The -reconquered positions have been reorganized at once. - -The general has been told of the exploit and he congratulates the -officers and men, and promises them rewards. He also expresses a desire -to see the church from which came the martial hymn which electrified the -company. - -All is dark.... - -At the back near the altar a small lantern lightens the darkness ... we -approach. - -On the ruined harmonium, forever silent now, “Father Music” sleeps.... - - - - -CHAPTER XII - -“WE HAVE TAKEN A PICKET POST” - -(“Communique du”) - - -The asphyxiating shells which have been falling around us for forty-eight -hours without a let-up have ceased. This morning the first rays of the -sun filtered through the layers of gas and seemed to evaporate them. This -lull was opportune. Our masks have long since been glued to our faces, -and loosened by our heavy breathing they no longer adhere hermetically -and begin to let in the toxins. - -At last we are able to breathe at will and swallow our share of pure air. - -Our sap opens on the side of a great quarry and commands the whole valley -of the Somme. At our feet is the canal and towpath, at the right in a -group of trees in the middle of the marshes are the ruins of Froissy; -opposite us, behind the buttress of the La Vache woods, is the steeple of -Éclusier. - -The open space in front of our dugout forms a sort of terrace. Here we -have laid out tables and dug seats in the chalk of the quarry. Men are -descending by real scaling paths to get water from the canal, although it -is against the major’s explicit orders. - -The towpath is visible from the enemy’s trenches on the other side of the -Somme. During the preceding days, those who tried to follow it to get -back to Éclusier more easily were wounded by the fire of a machine gun -which sweeps the way. - -Our men come back from this expedition without accident, and we are able -to proceed to our summary ablutions. We have not been able to do that for -six days, and it is a real delight to feel the fresh water on our eyes -and to rid the skin of its sticky moisture. - -Two of our sections hold the first-line trenches twenty yards in front of -us. We must relieve them presently.... - -The artillery is still silent, and without a doubt the enemy has given up -the stroke he was preparing. He was counting on the usual morning mist of -the Somme, but this morning the air is very clear without a suspicion of -fog. A fresh breeze blows from the north. - -As we wait for the hour of relief, we talk, and an interminable game of -cards goes on. - -During the dark dreary days of forced seclusion in the bottom of the sap -I discovered a very fine fellow, one of our comrades whom I had not had -occasion to notice until then. He was very simple, talked but little, -lived by himself, and I did not know his name. - -Chance placed us side by side and permitted me to engage him in -conversation. - -Under a rough, taciturn appearance I found a soul full of kindness, a -life touched by sacrifice, kindly, modest, the heroism of the humble who -live simply for their long, hard tasks without complaining and without -anyone being able to pity them in their sorrow and lighten their burdens. - -One night—was it night?—hermetically sealed in the deep sap, lighted only -by the wavering light of scanty candles, all our hours were nocturnal. -Without the irregular arrival of supply parties we would have been -absolutely ignorant of the flight of time. - -One night, when the bombardment seemed to reach the final height of -violence, when each blow shook our dugout, and the props groaned and -threatened to yield—it would have been a merciless burial—our looks -crossed and I read in his eyes a deep sorrow. - -In spite of my natural reserve, out of respect to his deep suffering I -was unable to contain myself long. - -“Comrade,” I said, “I read in your looks a great sorrow.” - -He seemed to come back to reality when he heard my voice! - -“Fate has placed us near each other for some days. We don’t know what -to-morrow may bring. Can’t I be of some use? Aid you in any way? Tell me!” - -His eyes tried to smile a thanks. I saw his lips contract and then came -tears, and before I could say anything he leaned his head on my shoulder -and wept deeply. - -It was not weakness, despair, or fear, but the unbridling of a heart shut -up too long, the great gasp of a soul heavy with mental sorrows which -might at last open itself, the gentle rain which brought the stifling -storm of the nerves to an end. - -He confided his life history to me in a few words. - -He was a simple artisan of the laboring class, and his life had been full -of grief and sorrow. After some years of struggles, and cares and stress -together with his beloved companion, a daughter was born. But in coming -into the world she took the life of her mother. And then he found himself -alone in the world with this puny frail creature, born in grief and -raised in sorrow. - -In addition to his great love for her as a father he added his worship of -the departed one. He limited his life to his grief, and made his house a -memorial chapel where every object was a votive offering to his absent -beloved and a relic of the ever-present dead. He adorned the little girl -with her mother’s modest jewelry, and cut her clothes from those she had -worn. - -Through this double love which he poured out on this child, she became -his only reason for existence, his whole life. - -The little girl was ten years old to-day. Brought up in the seclusion -of the tabernacle, she had taken up her rôle conscientiously. She was -quieter than most children of her age, and attentive to her father’s -slightest wish. As she grew up she developed into the very image of her -mother, and the poor man began to live again as in a dream the days of -his happy past. - -When war broke out the implacable mobilization tore him from the fireside -he had never left before. Living alone as they did, they had no friends -and knew of no relatives. - -He went, trusting the house to her and all their modest property, only -recommending her to the watch of a neighbor, of a concierge. - -But fortified by example, she suddenly grew up through the grief of this -weighty separation, and the girl was already sufficient for the rôle as -guardian of the hearth. - -Ever since he had left she had written each week the letter which he -waited for impatiently and which he read and re-read during the following -days. - - * * * * * - -This morning he seemed more cheerful. It was not only the joy of finding -himself in the open air again, of having finished with the constant -danger of being buried alive, but also because now the bombardment had -died down the officer with the mail would be able to bring to-day the -letters which we had not received for six days. - -The child had not failed to write a single time on the promised date and -he knew that back in the rear a letter from his daughter was waiting for -him and would come to-day. This thought made him cheerful. - - * * * * * - -At the relief I went with him into the front line trench. It was riddled -with shell holes. Our barbed wire entanglements were almost destroyed, -but the trench was not entirely ruined, and sandbags quickly put it in -good shape again. An immense heap of bricks and smoking ruins cut off our -view in front. - -It was all that was left of a farmhouse called “La Maison Rose.” It had -been sharply disputed in terrible combats and had passed in succession -from the enemy into our hands and then from ours to the enemy, to remain -finally between the lines. - -[Illustration: THE FRONT LINE TRENCH _See page 154_] - -Our artillery was riddling this pile with shells to prevent the Germans -fortifying it and making it a point of support commanding our trenches. -But the mass of ruins stayed there and formed a ridge which, if it was -not dangerous, was at least annoying. - -Sub-Lieutenant Delpos demonstrated to me by means of a periscope the -use they might make of that pile of stones. He was a daring but prudent -tactician and went on the principle that everything ought to be used to -spare the men’s lives, and that we should not neglect to take advantage -of any incident in the terrain. - -“Lieutenant, here’s an order.” - -The battalion intelligence officer handed him a paper written in pencil: - - “Chief of battalion of the company of machine guns. A - reconnaissance of aeroplanes signals that the enemy are - installing gas-throwing or liquid fire machines behind the pile - of stones in front of your lines. Blow it up with several bombs - on the ends to scatter it. Ask for volunteers.” - -“See what I told you. The Germans lose no time in utilizing the -advantages of the terrain. See, behind that pile of stones they are -installing their gas machines. They think they’re sheltered, but nothing -is from our aeroplanes. Oh, the aeroplanes!” - -A man from the engineers, who have received a similar order, comes with -the explosives. He looks at the emplacement through a loophole, and turns -to us whistling and shaking his head: - -“_Mince!_ That’s not going to be easy. One might be able to manage it at -night, but by day ... that’s going to be a real bird trap.” - -“What! What! What’s to stop your sticking your melinite sausage in that -doghouse? Lend me your peephole. I’m going to see how it stands.” - -It was Grizard mixing in the conversation; he had already taken the -two bombs from the engineer’s hands, which he let go with evident -satisfaction. - -“We ought to put one in each end of the buffet. Don’t worry, Lieutenant. -That’s a fine job and will be well done.” - -Grizard turns to his companion Marseille who is draining his two litre -canteen without trouble. - -“Oh, there, you. This will be a fine chance for a ballad. We’re going to -play a trick on our neighbor opposite.” - -And then, as Marseille gave his opinion only by a look without letting go -the neck of his canteen: - -“Come, leave some until we get back. We’ll be thirsty.” - -The two volunteers got ready for their expedition at once. They each took -a bomb and put it in their jacket pockets; protected their heads by a -shield which they pushed ahead, and climbed up the bank, crawled under -the barbed wire, and disappeared in the shell holes. - -They had covered their heads with muddy canvas. If they remained -motionless, three yards away one could not tell them from the ground. - -Through periscopes we watched them advance. The lookouts in the enemy -trench had not seen them yet. Not a shot. Absolute quiet. - -The “doghouse” is thirty yards from our lines. Sliding along carefully -as they must, ten minutes are necessary to get there. The time will seem -long; longer for us than for them. - -I am sure that while they are giving their whole attention to getting on -in their adventurous spirits, entirely ignorant of the first feeling of -fear, that they have no other idea in their heads than to play a good -joke on the Boches. They are fine jokers! They have never been known to -draw back from what offers, but when their lives are at stake.... - -There is still nothing. Not a shot! - -But how could the enemy lookouts see them? We ourselves who know their -goal, who follow their trail, lose sight of them momentarily. Brown grass -and burned shrubbery covers the ground at that spot; they must be there -inside. - -The ten minutes have gone now. Still nothing!!! - -Have they seen a danger we cannot see as they neared the goal, and have -they burrowed themselves in the ground? Nevertheless, their mission is -extremely urgent, and they know it. - -Lieutenant Delpos nervously frets about and stamps his foot, - -“I ought to have gone myself....” - -“Wait, there they are.” - -Marseille and Grizard are coming back; they are only ten feet from the -trench. - -But rash to madness, in their absolute unconsciousness of danger now that -their mission is accomplished, they take no thought of themselves, and -instead of sliding under the barbed wire, as they went, to get into the -dugout Grizard stands up and shouts, - -“Let the balloon go up.” - -At the same moment, a shower of bullets! - -Grizard rebounded, twisted himself in a final contortion, and fell on his -back while Marseille jumped into the trench shouting to his comrade, - -“Haven’t you finished playing the man-serpent?” - -Then, when he saw that his comrade was absolutely dead, he burst out in -wild anger: - -“Nom de Dieu ... Nom de Dieu ... de nom de Dieu.... If that isn’t too -bad.... He needn’t stay there, the rascal. I’m going to get him.” - -The explosion came, a frightful one; the bombs had just exploded. - -“To the sap ... to the sap. It’s going to rain stones.” - -The pile of stones is thrown up with tremendous violence. Blocks are -thrown into the trench. - -The smoke blows away and behind the scattered ruins we see two machine -guns in position with their gun crews killed beside them, and all their -material for fortifications and gas-making apparatus. - -The sub-lieutenant jumps on the parapet, - -“To the bayonet, forward, enfants, get the tools.” - -And before the enemy had recovered from his stupefaction, our men are -on the guns, which they get and bring back in a hurry under a storm of -bullets and grenades. - -When we are back from this sudden attack, we call the roll. Several fail -to answer, and among them my friend of the day before. - -I suffer as though he had been my own brother. - -That night, when the storm of fire has ceased, we try to search carefully -through the darkness of the terrain where our missing men have fallen. -Groans tells us that they are there, but in their fever and pain no one -answers our calls. - -At daybreak, at the risk of the bullets which still whistle above the -trench, we are able to see them. - -There he was scarcely twenty yards away, his large eyes open and looking -towards us ... beyond us ... very far. But I know where!!! - -The day begins quietly. Doubtless the enemy is meditating a revenge for -yesterday’s surprise; not a shot on our side or on the other. It is the -silence after the storm. I begin to hope for a sudden attack which will -let us go out and bring back our wounded. - -A man brings the letters with our morning coffee. There was one for him -and I call and tell him. He answers with a sigh. I guess rather than hear -what he wants. - -“Read me the letter, very loud so I can hear it.” And in a voice which I -force myself to make firm and almost joyous, while sobs choke me, I read -this letter: - - “My darling Papa: - - “You did not expect a letter from me to-day for it’s not my - usual day. I wanted to surprise you. To-morrow is mamma’s - birthday. With the economies I made out of the allowance, I - had my picture taken. I put on for the occasion her beautiful - necklace and pretty red silk blouse which is so becoming to me. - The neighbors already see how much I look like her. - - “And that my little souvenir might be still more precious, - I have copied on the back of the picture the song which you - taught me when I was very small so that I could sing it before - mamma’s portrait. - - “This song, now that you are no longer here, tells all that - my heart would say to you on this day I long for you, mamma’s - birthday. It has become my evening prayer. - - “‘_Oh! si tu savais, loin de foi,_ - _Combien les heures sont amères,_ - _Pleines d’attristantes chimères,_ - _Et comme désert est le toit,_ - _Va, j’ai beau remplir par l’étude_ - _Et par le travail, tous mes jours,_ - _C’est toi que je cherche toujours_ - _Tout au fond de ma solitude._’” - -Then, before I finished my reading, his voice continued the song of -the child as he lay there on the point of death. In the hour of death -his grave voice had a celestial accent; the simple song went up like -a superhuman song, a seraphic song, above men, beyond all things. It -penetrated to the bottom of our souls and probed our hearts and brought -tears. - -The barbarians on the other side of the trench, themselves fathers, -husbands, brothers, understand that a father is dying calling to his -child; that a past common to us all lives again in that last agony. -And their arms rest inert, their guns are lowered, and all the fierce -warriors remain motionless, dreaming, lost in the contemplation of their -inner dreams. Alone, their hearts beat and bleed. - - * * * * * - -Suddenly someone shouts an oath from the German trench. A brute -blasphemes, - -“_Halt dein Maul_.” - -A shot sounds. A bullet puts an end to that beatific agony. - -Then, there was no need of a signal or an order. Tears dried -spontaneously; rage bit our lips and lighted our eyes. - -With a bound, with a single bound, sudden, violent, unanimous, we jumped -the parapet, and without the enemy’s firing a shot in his utter surprise, -we bounded into the German trench. Five minutes later, there was none -left alive. - -Bowing my head over the body of my friend, I placed the picture of his -child on his still moist lips. - - * * * * * - -The Communique will say: - -“South of the Somme we took a picket post by surprise, captured two -machine guns and considerable material for making asphyxiating gas. Our -losses are insignificant.” - - * * * * * - -And the public will think that very simple—a picket post ... two machine -guns ... and no losses. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - -A NIGHT CONVOY - - -The colonel just telephoned the following order: - -“The echelons of the companies of machine guns will bring, to-night, -thirty thousand cartridges to the P. C.[1] of the regiment. This order -must be executed before daylight.” - -We spent the afternoon in verifying the belts and making up the war train. - -Towards seven o’clock we went slowly towards the bridge at Froissy, where -we made a long halt until night fell. The sentry refused to let us take -the towpath which would save us some eight miles. - -These were his instructions! - -It appears that the noises of the caissons and wagons might wake up the -enemy, who would at once bombard the towpath near which were numerous -huts of regiments who were resting. - -So we crossed the canal, and in order to get to Cappy on our right, we -have to go round by Bray-sur-Somme. - -But this road has its distractions. - -The road is absolutely torn up and it is not five yards wide anywhere, in -fact it is an infernal mixture of automobiles, artillery, caissons and -batteries. - -No one will slow up. They cross over, go around, hang on, shout, bellow, -insult, and get past as best they can. Our mules are obstinate and -stubborn and go on their way placidly in the midst of this uproar. - -Once we lean so far to the right that the hubs of the wheels on the lower -side stick in the mud. - -We doubtless go ahead slowly, but we go ahead all the same. The drivers -have to go in front of their beasts. It would be madness for them to stay -on the seats of the ammunition wagons, and the certain ruin for man and -beast, for exhausted by fatigue, they would fall asleep and get in the -way of the enormous meteors which rush by without seeing anything. - -As we approach Bray, the crowding is beyond anything one could imagine. - -It is one compact mass of wagons, trucks, caissons, guns, forage wagons, -all entangled, mixed up, wedged together, trying to get through a street -scarcely wide enough to let two wagons by and where ten insist on going -together. - -If we mix with this crowd, we will condemn ourselves to several hours in -one place without moving. Once in the crush it is impossible to get free -and go back. - -Roudon suggests that we twist around the village. Our wagons have the -advantage of being able to go anywhere. They were made expressly for this -work and have wide wheels and no frames. - -We make a passage through a hawthorn hedge with a few blows of the axe -and cross the fields in spite of the invectives of the gendarmes who -persist in trying to make us circle round in regular order, just as -though we were going around the Obelisk in the Place de la Concorde. - -“Here, brave gendarmes, they pass as they can. Guns thunder. Shells are -near, and it is necessary to arrive at the appointed time.” - -“Instructions thought out by some officer in the peace and quiet of a -faraway office are all rot. Go on, you’ll find out.” - -[Illustration: A COMMANDANT’S POST _See page 165_] - -We are beyond the village an hour later and are on the highway which -leads to the bridge at Cappy. - -Here, things are askew again. We must cross to get over the bridge. We -can’t go around that. So we get into the string of wagons and follow -their pace. They advance in skips and jumps ... they go ahead ten yards, -stop a quarter of an hour, and begin again. One would think he was in the -line at the Opéra on the day of a free performance. - -We stand about in one spot more than three hours. - -Finally, about midnight we reach the entrance to the bridge. - -A new delay! - -We have to get out of the way to let convoys past which are going in the -opposite direction. They are ammunition trucks which make a noise like -thunder. - -Just then, some artillerymen, who do not want to wait and who glory in -the not altogether fortunate reputation of always getting by, no matter -what’s in the way, dash on to the bridge at a gallop. - -“That’s it. Now we’re in a pickle, a mess ... that’s the....” - -The poles run into the carburetors, the horses rear and kick against the -hoods with their maddened hoofs; the motors continue to run, raging at -their impotence. - -Nevertheless a way must be cleared through the bridge. And in the pitch -dark night that’s not easy. - -A chauffeur has the ingenious idea of lighting a headlight. - -Immediately, evidently judging that this light is without a doubt -insufficient and its aid is indispensable for us, the German artillery -sends us all the material necessary for clearing the bridge. - -It sends us shells and with absolutely no care at all. - -To the right, to the left, in front, and behind, the shots fall like a -hailstorm. - -Cries, groans, oaths, and commands impossible to execute! It is Hell. - -In an excess of generosity, doubtless to aid us in getting out of our -difficulty, a well-aimed shell falls on a truck, sets fire to the -gasoline tank, and the whole thing saturated with paint and covered with -impervious canvas bursts into flames. - -We can see. We can see only too well now, and the Boches too. - -Through their glasses they can easily estimate what their objective is -worth and see what a large crowd is crowding around the spectacle. And -their bombardment doubles in intensity. - -“This is no time to stay here.” - -On the trot we gain the fields and follow the bank lined by poplars. - -We reach the limit of the zone of fire in about three hundred yards. We -crowd behind the trees and hedges to avoid the splinters which can still -reach us. - -Suddenly, there is a terrible cry, a noise of something falling. The -bridge has fallen down. - -That is fatal. - -“We’ve got to be at the P. C. at daybreak, but I don’t see how we are -going to make it.” - -There is absolutely nothing to do just now; it would be folly to try -anything, no matter what it was. - -No matter what the cost these convoys must reach the left bank, where -numerous units wait for the ammunition which they need badly, so the -order is given to silence the enemy’s batteries which are bombarding us -so thoroughly. - -All the guns in the valley of Froissy, including the big English guns, -thunder out at once in an astounding uproar.... - -The enemy returns the fire with a storm of shrapnel. But the trees with -their thick leaves fortunately protect us from this. We hear splinters -and bullets falling into the waters of the canal a few yards away. - -The fire near the bridge continues. The flames have reached other -vehicles now and a great cloud goes up in the air lighting up the -surrounding country. No one even dares to think of trying to put it out -in the thick rain of bullet and shell. - -Roudon is disturbed. He is a man of duty, to whom an order is a sacred -thing. No obstacle should prevent the execution of an order, so he -proposes that we go back to Froissy and reach the P. C. of the regiment -by way of the Cappy plateau. - -“That’s mad, _mon vieux_. We’d never make it before nine o’clock in the -morning, and we’d all be killed going that way in the open.” - -“So much the worse. It is necessary to bring the ammunition. It is an -order and it is urgent.” - -“Wait a little while until this quiets down. They’ll not go on like this -all night.” - -“Yes, they will too; they’ve seen the convoys and they’ll keep up the -barrage until daylight.” - -“If we could only find a boat. We could take the caissons to the other -side. The quarry isn’t far from there. The men could carry them.” - -“What are you thinking about? Going to find a boat at this time of -night! And with what is falling into the canal we’d run some risk in -crossing....” - - * * * * * - -Far from silencing the enemy, the fire of our batteries exasperates him. - -Heavy guns, guns on tractors doubtless, have been brought into play. -“280’s” and “210’s” come at regular intervals. - -The Boches must have thought they had surprised a strategic movement much -more important than it really was and were trying to check it. - -The place is becoming untenable. - -At the edge of the canal is a large stable for the canal horses, and -a crowd of drivers, gunners, and cyclists have taken refuge there. It -falls apart when a great shell strikes it. A terrible cry goes up and the -building bursts into flames all over, like tow soaked in oil. - -No one knows how many bodies are burned to cinders there. A frightful -odor assails our nostrils in the smoke which encircles us. - -A heavy rolling roar, boring through the night like the noise of an -express train coming out of a tunnel at high speed, comes from over -there, from the black hole where the enemy is. - -“That’s a terrific fire!” - -“Look out.” - -A violent puff, like a heavy blow, knocks us down. - -The mules rear and draw back. A wagon slides down the bank and falls into -the water, taking its animal and driver with it. - -A shell has burst on the bank opposite and it has torn up by the roots a -large poplar which falls across the canal. It is a miracle that it didn’t -crush a dozen of us. We run to help the driver. The water is shallow. He -holds himself up by the weeds. We pull him out with the aid of several -lengths of whip lash, but the mule and the wagon have rolled into the -middle of the canal and are lost. - -The bombardment continues until dawn, but less violently. - -A few shots, the longest, come near us. The pounding continues on the -site of the bridge, obstinately and stubbornly. - -We are still there at the first rays of dawn. - -“This is exasperating. We can never get these munitions to the P. C. -before daylight.” - -“Say, Roudon, we have a bridge right in front of us. It will do.” - -And indeed the large poplar might let us get across the canal. - -We try it. - -We leave one man to guard the five wagons, and the rest detach the -caissons from their supports, hang them on our shoulders, and one after -another we try the chance bridge which bends a little but does not break. - -Less than fifteen minutes later all the munitions are together on the -opposite bank. - -We reached the P. C. at five o’clock, exhausted without a doubt, but the -order has been executed. - - * * * * * - -When the artillery officer saw us arriving, he started shouting, - -“What do you want me to do with that?” - -Roudon repeated the order he had received the day before. - -“So you haven’t received the cancellation of the order? You always ought -to wait for that. We were relieved last night. Take that stuff back where -you got it from.” - -We carried the caissons back to our wagons by the same way, by the same -bridge. - -Captain D ... was coming along the towpath and saw us arrive. - -Roudon was furious as he told him about our useless adventure which might -have cost us so dear. - -He listened, laughed, then, coldly: - -“Bah! that will do the mules good. They’ll get used to marching at -night....” - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - -THE SONGS OF THE HOMELAND - - -Fontaine-les-Cappy is some hundred yards from the lines. - -It is a reserve position to which the company was sent the day before in -expectation of an attack which may come at any moment. - -It is raining as it hasn’t stopped raining for weeks. We had floundered -in the mud for five hours and were splashed by an endless string of -convoys to get here from Villers where the regiment had scarcely begun a -few short days of rest. - -The men were tired out and threw themselves on the filthy straw. They -have slept nearly all day, and this evening in groups they try their -hardest to organize a respectable meal from the means at their disposal. -The wine flows from full canteens, and flasks of cheap brandy come out of -the packs. - -The section leaders advise them to save some of their provisions for the -next day. - -“To-morrow! What do you think? To-morrow we’ll lunch with the Boches. -You! I’ll pay you in sauerkraut.” - -Conversation gradually grew less amid the falling darkness and the smoke -of pipes. - -The silence became profound. - -The men are not sleeping. They think and remember. Sadness and worry -hover about.... - -Far away, hesitating, a voice sings a prelude. But that voice is so -pure and clear that it seems enormous, startling, vibrating in the dull -numbness of men and things. - -Vigne is humming a song of Provence, a hymn to the sun, which from the -banks of the Durance to the shores of the Latin sea, from the blue hills -of the Alps to the golden flowers of Vacarès, the youths and maidens of -Avignon, Arles, and Maillamne sing as they return to the hospitable farm -from their labors, their hands entwined for the farandole, with eyes full -of smiles and love for the bright sun which makes them live and love. - - _Grand souleù de la Provènço_ - _Gai coumpaire doù mistrau_ - _Tu qu’escoules la Durènço_ - _Comme un flot de vin de Crau,_ - _Fai lusi toun blound caleù!_ - _Coucho l’oumbro emai li fleù!_ - _Leù! leù! leù!_ - _Fai te vèire, beù souleù!_ - -Vigne was sitting in a corner, elbows on his knees, chin between his -hands, his face lifted, and singing unconsciously, his eyes on the -distance. - -A candle stuck in the neck of a bottle throws a flickering light on the -damp ground of the cellar, and scarcely separates his outlines from the -darkness. - -Gradually one follows in, one after another, naturally, and they all -begin to sing. - -And music and rhythm form so large a part of their natures that they form -a wonderful choir where the thirds and minors take form instinctively -without an effort, and where the dream of their homeland marks the time. - -And they sing from their souls, and through it all is the sun of their -beautiful South, the poetry of their dawns, the charm of their twilights, -the mystic gleams of the olives, the flight of the red flamingoes on the -pools, the coming down of the shepherds from the perfumed hills, the mad -career of the bulls in clouds of dust on the white roads of Camargue, the -gold of the mimosas, the red of the wild poppies, the blue sky, the blue -sea, the sun.... - - _Fai lusi...._ - _Fai lusi toun blound caleù._ - -These soft voices, monotonous, hesitating a moment ago, which seemed -scarcely awake, now sound out, vibrant, dashing, sonorous. - -They are no longer uprooted exiles who are stirred; it is a force, a -crowd, a people whom the song of their birthplace awakes, draws together, -cheers. It is Provence herself that sings. - -Outside, the cannon roar and the shells fall like hail around the -cantonment. Great shells tear up the ground with their gigantic blows. - -War, horrors, blood, ruins, fear, the attack which is near at hand, death -perhaps, all that exists no longer for them. It is all of no consequence -to them; the air of their natal song transports them. - -These men shut up in dark cellars, in dugouts, shaken by the terrific -hammering of shells, are transported by their dream to the bright -sunshine, the bright and cheerful atmosphere of their southern plains. -They sing, and at once they are living again the life of their homeland. - -Their “little” country dominates them and makes them valiant and strong -in the midst of the sorrows all about to attack and stand up in defense -of the Great!... - -I go out with my nerves on edge and my eyes full of tears before the -unearthly beauty of the scene. - -Streaks of light from the stuffed air-holes alone let me realize that men -in large numbers wait there underground for a signal to dash into the -fiery furnace.... - -I walk to the end of the village to the officers’ quarters to calm my -nerves. - -Voices still rise in song on both sides of the road. There, under my feet -in a ruin—so martyred that one might think it was an acropolis raising -prayers of stone to heaven—a chorus of warm voices scans the joyous song, - - _Qué cantès, qué recantès_ - _Cantès pas per iev,_ - _Cantès per ma mia_ - _Qu’es auprès de iev._ - -Here are the lads of Languedoc, Nîmes, Montpellier, the vine growers of -the plains, the carters of Aiguesmortes, the harvesters of Toulouse all -carried away by the evocation of their homeland. - -Oh! the beautiful song! How it puts heart into one; more beautiful than -the most martial hymn composed in the harsh technique of the ink pots. - -It is the living expression, simple, spontaneous, natural, of the -people, the family and the soil. It carries in it the remembrances of -happy childhood, of loves bathed in sunshine, the radiant nuptials in -the mystery of light and flowers. It speaks of the loved pastures, the -paternal roof, the farm, the herds, the vines ... and that is the Patrie. - -Oh! the beautiful song! It dissipates dark thoughts, fears, -uncertainties; it makes lovers and heroes, electrifies them, and -increases their strength a hundred fold. They are the lads of Provence -and Languedoc who spread through the world the triumphal “Marseillaise.” -They are the same lads who despite the mud and the dark night breathe in -their memory and in the song the re-vivifying breath of their “little” -country, who in pursuit of the routed enemy make the “Marseillaise” -victorious again, victorious alway. - -At the end of the village in a house at the side of the road to -Chuignolles, a feeble light filters through the canvas which takes the -place of shutters. - -The officers are quartered here. Lieutenant Casanova is stretched out -on a mattress on the ground, smoking and dreaming over his eternal -cigarette. Lieutenant Delpos leaning on a box which serves him for a -table, is reading, by the light of a lantern, an illustrated novel. - -I look over his shoulder. They are rather sprightly, suggestive -illustrations, reinforced with a vengeance by the fervid imagination and -second-hand talent of the readers who have handed it around. - -The wind and rain rage outside the window. Poor weather for an attack. - -“I’m sure that we’ve come here for nothing.” - -“Oh, that can be launched at any time.” - -“I should be much surprised if it came this evening.” - -“Listen.” - -A heavy, faraway, continuous rumble, like the beating of a drum, is heard -just then. - -The sound seems to come from the direction of Lihons and to get nearer by -degrees. - -In the midst of the fusillade we hear distinctly the regular crackle of -the machine guns. - -Suddenly, a terrific fire breaks out opposite us. D ... company, which we -are to support, must have gone into action. - -“That’s getting close.” - -We go out. The road forms a sort of embankment at this spot, which is -forbidden during the daytime, and from which we look toward the lines. - -A great light has risen. More and more frequent bursts of shrapnel at -this distance have the effect of immense red Venetian lanterns, tossed -about by the wind in the dark night. - -Rockets go up suddenly on our right. - -That is a call for the artillery. The expected attack is probably taking -place over there. We have been placed in reserve for fear that the attack -might widen out on the sector, but it is probable that we shall not have -to intervene. - -“It looks as though it were quieting down there in front.” - -“Hum! You’ll see.” - -Lieutenant Casanova has had great experience in battles, and he isn’t -taken by surprise by apparent lulls. On the contrary. Silence is what he -dreads most. - -“You’ll see.” - -And as a matter of fact we didn’t have long to wait.... A tornado of -shells falls between the lines and our cantonment. This is immediately -followed by another, then still another, all in a couple of minutes. - -It is a barrage of “77’s,” effected by a battery which has taken us in -its fire. - -“I certainly think that something is going to happen.” - -“Go and tell the section leaders to get their men together and to have -them ready.” - -I go into the night in search of the cantonment. - -All the men are awake. The corporals and sergeants have foreseen the -order and everyone is waiting. - -The shells and the fire of our rifles and our machine guns is only one -frightful uproar in which all noises are confounded. - -As I return toward the officers badly aimed spent machine-gun bullets -whistle in the trees above. - -“All we can do is to wait. If they need us, they’ll call us.” - -As he said this the ever-imperturbable Lieutenant Casanova went back into -his quarters and we followed him. - -“I suggest poker,” said Delpos. “I’ll go and find the cards.” - -“Three-handed poker is too risky.” - -“Well, here’s a fourth.” - -Someone raised the canvas which served as a door. - -It’s an intelligence officer from the colonel. - -“Lieutenant, D ... company is running out of munitions. Pass yours to -them and send back for new supplies. Here’s the order.” - -The lieutenant read the order and said: - -“All right. It will be done.” - -Hardly twenty minutes later, ten men from each section, each carrying -four caissons, were assembled on the way out of the village. - -D ... company’s position, which we marked yesterday, is about six hundred -yards away and some yards beyond the ridge of the plateau between the -main road from Amiens and the Somme. There’s little chance of losing the -way, for it is downhill. We might pass through the fields but thirty -yards before reaching the trench the ground is literally swept with -shells. It is impossible to use the communication trench. The enemy -artillery has located it mathematically and has completely destroyed it. -The shells fall there without a let-up. The least dangerous passage is -the unprotected ground. - -Stretched out in the mud, the head of one against the heels of the other, -our men form an endless chain on the terrain which extends from the -sheltered ridge to the fire trench. They pass along the caissons by a -simple movement of the arms, without raising their bodies or their heads. - -In the same way and by the same means, crawling along, I reach the -trenches in my turn and fall in. - -Captain D ... is there, striding from one gun to another, encouraging his -men and hurrying their fire. - -“I was sure that I was going to run out of ammunition. They were already -within one hundred and fifty yards.” - -“We’ve passed you one hundred and sixty caissons. We’ve sent men for more -and they’ll be here in half an hour.” - -“We don’t need any more. It’s all over. Their attempt is broken. By -daylight we’ll see more than two hundred bodies in front of our barbed -wire. You can go. I thank you. Take my regards and thanks to Lieutenant -Casanova.” - -The firing continued all night, sometimes intermittently, sometimes in -violent salvos, so that one might imagine that the enemy was making -another attack. - -At dawn we only heard rare, isolated detonations. - - * * * * * - -Our men returned to the cantonment uninjured. There were a few scratches -and slight wounds in the hands, but there was no discharge in sight. - -Some of them had had narrow escapes. Bullets had ricochetted and gone -through the steel helmets. Linari’s was perforated with a round, -well-defined hole. The bullet had gone out close to the ear. - -[Illustration: THE LEAST DANGEROUS PASSAGE IS THE UNPROTECTED GROUND _See -page 185_] - -They were exhausted by lack of sleep, and after eating a meal hastily -thrown together from the things at hand, they started for their -underground shelters. - -Just then the sun rose shining brightly. - -In the sky, washed by weeks of rain, it was so clear and smiling with -warmth that one would have thought it was a sunrise in the South. - -“Say, this morning that’s the sun of the South!” - -“What’s it doing here? It’s made a mistake.” - -“Beautiful sun! Indeed, there’s only you.” - -And in the pure morning air, these peasants of Provence saluted the -rising sun by shouting the joyous song which, a few hours before, had -brightened their night. - - _Gran souleù de la Prouvènço_ - _Fai lusi toun blound caleù._ - -The attack was heavy; it is over. They have come back from it. They are -still alive. We must begin all over again, to-night, perhaps; possibly -this evening; perhaps in an hour. Death lurks everywhere. What difference -does it make? This morning the sun rose radiantly. They sing! - - - - -CHAPTER XV - -A WATER PATROL - - -For several days the Germans had been at work making changes opposite -our salient on the banks of the Somme. Probably it was a machine-gun -emplacement to prevent any attempt at attack from that side. But as there -must be no obstacle in the way of our next advance, the major, after -talking with the colonel, sent for Lieutenant Delpos, who was in charge -of the section in that sector and asked him what he thought of the work. - -“It’s hard to say,” he answered. “If they’ve brought two or three machine -guns it will be humanly impossible even to try to advance. It all depends -on the importance of the work. We can’t tell from here what it is.” - -“Our aeroplane observations and photographs don’t tell us anything,” said -the major. “The view is partly cut off by the tops of the trees along the -river.” - -“Aeroplane observations aren’t everything,” answered Delpos. - -“But I can’t send a patrol over such unprotected ground. It would be -utterly wiped out before it discovered anything.” - -“Will you give me an order,” asked Delpos, “to make a reconnaissance in -whatever way I think best? In twenty-four hours, at the latest, I think I -can bring you the exact details.” - -“Go ahead. Do your best. I’ll send you a written order to cover it.” - -When he got back to his post, Lieutenant Delpos examined the strip of -terrain as thoroughly as he could by peering over the top of the parapet, -and then asked for the photographs the aeroplanes had taken. Finally, -he studied the map of the country which the enemy occupied opposite us. -Then, he went to Éclusier, borrowed a boat, and stayed out in the current -calculating its direction by bunches of grass pulled from the banks. - -He came back to the company towards noon and sent me to the echelon for -Gondran, whom I brought back about three o’clock. At seven Delpos had -his plans made. He went to the major, who received him at once, and -explained the project he wanted to put into execution that evening. - -Delpos asked him, as it would probably be useful in distracting -attention, to have the sections at the extreme north of the sector fire -several heavy volleys between eleven o’clock and midnight. - -When this was arranged, everything was ready for his departure and he -invited me to dinner as he ordinarily did. His dinners were always good -and there was excellent wine which his servant had managed to find in the -ruins of Harbonnière and Villers. - -As he was lighting his cigar after the dessert, he said: - -“We’re going to pay a call on the Boches this evening. The chances of -staying there are about even, but, in any case, even if we remain, the -performance won’t be uninteresting. It will be as good as a first night -at the ‘Grand-Guignol!’ Take your revolver, some grenades and come along.” - -I would have been highly unappreciative to have refused such a kind -invitation, although adventure, to say nothing of such a mad adventure, -has never been to my taste. But Lieutenant Delpos had the reputation of -always getting out, so why shouldn’t he get out this time. - -Gondran was waiting for us a little ways from Éclusier, in a small creek, -hidden under the trees. - -Gondran and his boat! - -It was one of those flat-bottomed, square-ended boats that fishermen -use to cross marshes where the water is shallow. He had covered it with -a camouflage of grass, weeds, and moss so that even close to it was -impossible to tell it from one of the thousand little islands which -obstruct the Somme at this point. - -We slipped into the boat and stretched out at once—it wouldn’t have held -us in any other way—and waited for total darkness. When it came, Gondran -began to push the boat ahead. He was used to fishing for eels with a -spear in the clear waters of the canals and knew how to move silently, -without a splash, almost without making a ripple on the surface of the -water. If our course had not been against the current, we might have been -mistaken for a pile of drifting grass. - -Flat on his stomach in the stern with both arms in the water up to his -elbows and a stick of wood in each hand, slowly and silently he paddled -like a duck. - -The officer and I were both flat also, in the bow, and we peered into the -darkness. I held a string in one hand, and the other end was tied around -Gondran’s arm. We had arranged that one pull meant to stop and stay where -we were; two to go back. - -We went on without accident for nearly two hours. Suddenly, a bump, a -hard jolt, fortunately without any noise besides the rustling of the -weeds. The night was so thick that it was impossible to tell what the -obstacle was, whether it was the bank or an island. We tried in vain -to see through the fathomless darkness. We ventured to feel about with -our hands, and, in the middle of the weeds and reeds, I was gripped by -something. I pulled back my arm, in a hurry, to get away. A sharp point -cut the skin, then another, and I felt a scratch from my elbow to my fist. - -I whispered in Delpos’s ear, “Barbed wire.” - -A network of barbed wire barred the river here. The Germans had foreseen -the possibilities of an approach and had taken precautions to prevent -it. Was the network large, or was there only a single barrier, that was -the question. Or, should we go back? In any case there was no use in -re-appearing before we were expected, for we had reached their lines. - -Since the work under suspicion was a little in advance of their first -trench, we must be nearly even with it. We had brought wire cutters, but -what was the use of cutting the first net, if we were to find another -beyond it, and then another, and so on for fifty or a hundred yards -perhaps. - -The enemy is meticulous in his defenses and spares no means of protecting -himself. It was also a question whether we were in the middle of the -river or near the bank. By shoving his paddle down at arm’s length -Gondran touched bottom. So we were going to reach the bank, but first we -must prepare for our retreat. Using the barbed wire as a guide, we put -the boat out into the middle of the river, but not in the strength of the -current, and then on a stick we had brought along set up a dummy dressed -in the uniform of one of the Colonials. Then we went back to the bank. - -Here was the most ticklish and dangerous moment of our mission. What, we -asked ourselves, was the shape of the bank and would we find a sentinel? -We brought the boat as near the shore as possible and in as far as we -could. By feeling to the right we could touch solid ground. The time had -come!... We glided from the boat like snakes and once on land remained -motionless, holding our breaths. It was impossible to see anything a yard -off; there was no noise except the far-off rumbling of the guns in the -English sector. We went ahead.... The heavy socks we had drawn over our -boots deadened our steps. The damp grass bent but did not crackle. - -“Conrad! Come here. It is time.” - -“What time?” - -“Nearly midnight.” - -“Good.” - -“The lieutenant isn’t here.” - -“No?” - -“He is with the major and will come back.” - -“Come along.” - -“But there’s no one here.” - -“What of it? Come along.” - -This conversation in German stopped us short. The voices seemed to come -from the ground two steps in front of us. Doubtless there was a sap -there.... We heard steps getting farther away. I grabbed the officer -and making a megaphone of my hands whispered in his ear what I had just -understood from their conversation. In the same way, he responded: - -“Inviting you was an inspiration. Since they’ve gone, we can get in -there.” - -A few steps beyond in the open ground a feeble light filtered through -sacks hung as shutters. It was the sap!... We stretched out on the ground -and tried to see inside. There was no one standing, but if anyone was -left he must be asleep, and we could surprise him.... We jumped in. Not a -soul. Without a doubt it was a post momentarily empty during a relief. On -some overturned chairs there was a platter with a candle on it and we put -it out. We examined the place with our flashlight. A communication trench -opened into the post and we started down. - -No matter where it led or whether we could retrace our steps or not, -the die was cast. The number of chances of our getting back alive which -Delpos had said were even seemed to me to have grown beautifully less. -The trench stopped short within ten yards. Ahead, to the right, to the -left, we stuck our noses into the solid wall. But the men had got out -someway.... - -Delpos risked another flash of his light—the way out was over our heads. -It was a shaft with a ladder leading up it. We heard someone talking -above. The relief was coming down.... - -Just then the noise of firing came from our own lines. The sections were -firing as had been arranged. This wise precaution served beyond our -utmost expectations, for above us began at once the rapid tac-tac of the -machine guns and we heard commands. - -So the shaft led into the machine-gun emplacement. That was just what we -wanted to know; our reconnaissance was at an end. - -Delpos drove a cheddite bomb into the wall beneath the ladder, and I tied -a slow fuse to it. We jumped towards the river. I lighted the fuse as I -jumped from the sap, just as an immense body appeared in the opening and -blocked the way. - -“_Wer da?_” - -“‘_Wer da?_’ you’ll find out who is there,” Delpos muttered, and with a -blow full on the chest, while I threw myself on his legs, we got the -colossus down, as he shouted for help. - -But the firing drowned his cries. - -Then, to deprive him of all interest in keeping on, I applied my revolver -to his forehead, and Delpos kicked him under the chin. We left him -senseless and voiceless for at least a quarter of an hour. - -We jumped into our boat and slid under the camouflage. Whether we had -made too much noise or a sentinel had heard us, I don’t know, but we -were hardly there, and were just pushing off, when shots came in our -direction, star shells lighted the river, and men ran up and down the -bank. - -We heard them cry, “There he is ... there....” They had seen our dummy in -the middle of the river and were firing at him with rifles and bombarding -him with grenades. We did not move. By stretching out an arm we could -almost have touched the legs of the men who came down to the water’s edge -to hurl their grenades. None of them dreamed we were so near. - -The alarm lasted about twenty seconds; it seemed like a century. - -We knew that the blockhouse was going to blow up and we wanted to be far -away for the débris were likely to reach us and crush us. - -Suddenly, terribly, came the explosion. - -It was fortunate for us that the alarm had held us close to the bank. -Whole blocks of granite were hurled into the middle of the river just -where we would have been. We were too near and too low and everything -went over us. - -The violence of the waves tore us from the bank and drove us into the -strength of the current, and we weren’t fired on once. The whole garrison -had been blown up. - - * * * * * - -At daybreak, three o’clock in the morning, Lieutenant Delpos woke up the -major. - -“Major,” he said, “it was a machine-gun emplacement. But it is no more. -If you will allow me, I’m going to bed. I couldn’t get any sleep over -there; there was too much noise.” - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - -A COMMANDER - - -At the beginning of June, the colonel’s report informed us that the major -of Battalion C ... had been assigned to the ... first Colonials. - -The battalion commandant’s post was next to ours on the ridge of the -quarry. - -Since the departure of Major L ... the captain adjutant-major, who was -assuming the command in the interim, was quartered there. He was devoting -himself to his ablutions in the open place in front of his dugout and -at the same time telling Lieutenants C ... and D ..., his neighbors, -an uproarious adventure of his last leave, when a man, tall and spare, -with hollowed cheeks, sunburned skin, eyes deep and shining, modestly -dressed,—a mechanic’s blue trousers, badly fitting and muddy boots, -regulation trooper’s jacket, with no mark to show his rank,—came out of -the sort of tunnel in which the La Vache trench ended, and stopped as if -undecided, in front of our dugouts. - -There was a mounted scout there who was occupying himself in cutting out -a ring, and he asked him, - -“The post of the major of the ... first battalion?” - -Without stopping his work, the man indicated our group with his hand. He -advanced shyly. - -“The ... first battalion?” - -“This is it,” said the adjutant-major, drawing his wet head from the -canvas bucket in which he was plunging. - -“I am Major C....” - -“Oh, Major, I beg your pardon. I didn’t know....” mopping his face -rapidly, and putting on his tunic which his orderly handed to him. - -Without a word, the unperturbed figure, Major C ..., looked off into the -distance, beyond material things, waited for him to finish his toilet, -and then entered into the P. C. to take possession of his new post. - - * * * * * - -None of us who lived constantly in his immediate neighborhood ever knew -any other expression on his firm, cold, almost mystical face. His hair -was poorly cut, his beard was thin and long, and his voice was gentle, -very gentle, so gentle that one might call it a sad sing-song. All in all -he had none of the outward appearance of the conventional commander. - -Nevertheless he was one of the best. - - * * * * * - -Good reputations, they say, take longest to establish. Only legends come -to life spontaneously. His kindliness and honesty must have belonged to -the legends, because in less than a week there was not a single man in -the battalion who did not speak of him with respect and admiration. - -“He’s a chic type,” they said. - -“He’s a man.” - -And the men, who love to see their commander among them, living their -life, sharing their labors and fatigue, experiencing the same trials, -knew at once that he did not belong to that distant and unknown hierarchy -which transmits its orders from an ivory throne. - -From the day he took over his command, he wanted to see everything for -himself and all the positions in the sector. - -With his knotty baton in his hand, he went through all the communication -trenches, the first-line trenches, into the saps, verified the riflemen’s -posts, and, it was said, spent nights in the picket posts. - - * * * * * - -When the battalion relieved the 38th at Méharicourt, the commandant’s -post which was assigned to the major was in an immense house in the -middle of a park which was not much destroyed. - -Since the day before, however, the artillery had established an -observation tower in a poplar and had foreseen that it would hardly be -prudent to occupy the house. It would be shelled if the battery were -spotted. - -The commander learned this, and without saying a word established his -things all the same in the salon which he used for an office and bedroom. - -The first night and the next morning passed without incident—not a single -shot from the Boche lines. Aeroplanes flew over at daybreak. - -He had invited to lunch, as was his custom, when we were in cantonment, -the doctor, his captain adjutant-major, and the engineer officer in -charge of the sector. - -My relations with him dated back before the war, so I was with him often, -and he frequently kept me at the table with his guests. I was there that -day. - -We had scarcely sat down when they began to talk of Portugal’s entrance -into the war. The engineer was the manager of a political paper and his -remarks were so keen that we were all interested, and even the servants -stopped to listen. - -Just then a shell, the first in two days, burst somewhere in the -neighborhood. The glasses rattled on the table; we could hear things -falling, and people running by in the street. - -The conversation stopped. - -The major, who had been as silent as usual during the meal, spoke up in -his quiet voice: - -“They say that their artillery is excellent ... it comes from -Creusit”—and he engaged the journalist in a historical discussion about -the armament and strength of Portugal, which showed a deep knowledge of -the country, in spite of its unexpected and recent entrance into the -ranks of the Allies. - -The journalist seemed to take a lively interest in this conversation -which he had started, but he instinctively turned his eyes to the windows -every time a shell burst, for now explosions far and near, the screeching -of shells and the falling of walls indicated clearly that we were the -center of a bombardment. - -At each explosion the doctor looked at the adjutant-major, who kept on -eating quietly, as if to say, “Are you going to stay here much longer?” - -The explosions came nearer and all around us. We could see plainly the -bits of steel which whistled by the windows, grazing the walls which they -destroyed. We could hear the plaster falling down the staircase. - -As the servant brought the desserts—a Camembert, crackers, fruit, -and white wine—a violent explosion of a new arrival nearby tore the -window, stuffed with paper, from its hinges and the draught of air half -overturned the orderly who let the platter fall on the table, to the -great damage of the tablecloth where the white wine ran out.... - -“_Bigre!_” said the major. - -“I think it’s time to get into the cellar.” - -The engineer was only waiting for this invitation to stop the -conversation and was half out of his chair when the major took his arm -and sat him down again. - -“In short, Portugal owed its title of Historical Conquistador to its -navy.” - -And he began to relate the records of that valorous nation on the sea -from the time these people on the Tagus served in the Carthaginian -triremes to Vasco da Gama, Magellan, Cabral, Bartholomew Diaz. Never was -conversation more polished, imaginative, and undisturbed. - -A terrific explosion shook the house; part of the roof rolled down the -staircase; the cook and the waiter jumped into the hall. - -“Well, what is it?” - -“Major, it fell in the garden, ten feet from the kitchen.” - -“The gentlemen are waiting for their coffee. Bring it.” - -The doctor could stand no more, alleged that perhaps there were wounded -waiting for him at the dressing station, and asked permission to -withdraw. - -The servants brought in the boiling coffee in a hurry, and he got up to -go, as the commander said: - -“We’ll go along with you. We’ll see whether the shells have done much -damage in the cantonment.” - -“But, Commander, do you think it’s prudent to venture out in the streets -just now?” - -“It’s my opinion, gentlemen, that the Germans, who obviously wanted to -furnish the music for our meal, should know that we’ve finished”—and he -lighted his cigar and went out on the steps. - -The neighborhood was badly shattered indeed. Large holes blocked the -street; the artillery observatory had been hit by a well-aimed shell, had -fallen on a shed and crushed it. Immense craters had appeared here and -there in the garden and the whole front of the house was splashed with -steel. - -The enemy’s fire was letting up; it had almost ceased. - -Heads now appeared at the air-holes of the cellars trying to see what had -happened. - -We followed the commander along the main street which led to the -dressing post. An aeroplane in the azure sky, a small silver bird shining -in the sun, went on its giddy way. - -With our noses in the air, we watched it pass. The whistle of a shell -approached with a noise like a panting locomotive. - -“There’s the last.” - -A frightful crash, a cloud of greenish smoke, bricks and timbers fall ... -cries.... - -The villa we had just left re-appeared with a large yawning hole, its -walls burning and fallen apart. The last shell had fallen into the dining -room! - -His courage and coolness were not calculated or put on; they were not an -effort of the will. They were natural. - -He was a fatalist like all who have lived long in Eastern countries. -What he had above all was a powerful control of himself and a sovereign -contempt for danger. - -He had an absolutely definite conviction that he would be killed in the -next attack. He had so thoroughly accustomed himself to the idea that as -a result he had made all arrangements and now awaited the hour, in the -meanwhile doing his duty as a commander honorably and simply. - -One evening I went to greet him at his cantonment at Froissy—he was going -on leave the next day—I asked him, among other things, if it would be -agreeable to him, if I used his horses while he was gone. - -“My horses? I have no further use for them. They can’t follow me through -the trenches and barbed wire—to the front; coming back ... they’ll bring -me in a canvas. They’ll serve my successor.” - -It would have been perfectly useless to protest. - -After a moment of silence when he seemed to be keenly interested in the -ripples of the water in the canal, he went on: - -“I’m going on leave to-morrow, to bid good-by to mine. That will be the -last. What are you doing this evening?” - -“Nothing, Commander.” - -“Do you want to make a tour of the sector with me?” - -“At your orders, Commander.” - -By the last red rays of the sun setting on the heights to the north of -the Somme, we reached the lines through the open path which passed by -the camp kitchens and reached the hill of the Château de Cappy. - -Twilight passed, followed by the most varied colors. - -The red sun as it plunged behind the black poplars on the wide horizon -flooded the sky with a great yellow light, fiery, burning yellow, like -the gold of flames which gradually grew thin and pale, and became light -like an immense head of hair. - -A little later mauve and violet precursors of approaching clouds passed -slowly from pale to dark to end in night. - -The clear moon came up above the plateau of the road from Amiens. We -walked on, one behind the other, in silence. - -He stopped to look at the sky and I heard him murmur, “How beautiful it -is.” - -This twilight must have recalled to him the skies of the Orient. - -“Yes, the sunsets on the sea, in the Indies, in the Red Sea. I am -homesick for the light and the sea. The light, the sea, the woman; the -greatest joys, the greatest sorrows!!!” - -He fell into his revery again. - -We reached the orchard above the great quarry, and an outlying picket -warned us that the path was dangerous. - -The commander did not even hear him and continued to walk on the road -from Herbècourt, bordered by apple trees in blossom. - -“Ta-co!” - -A German bullet tore through the night, and a broken branch with its -white petals fell at our feet. - -He picked it up and looked at it a long time; plucked a blossom and put -it in his pocket, - -“Even the flowers!” - -He said nothing more that evening. We went through the front lines of -the sector until late at night, stopping at the loopholes to observe the -enemy’s position and questioning the sentries. - -We got back to Froissy at three o’clock in the morning, and at six he -went to the station at Guillaucourt and left on his leave. - - * * * * * - -When he got back, the attack, they said, was near; they were preparing -for it seriously. He did not give up attending to the slightest details -of the battalion. He showed a paternal interest in his men, knew the men -of all ranks by their names, and stopped those he met and talked to them -familiarly. - -The battalion followed the deep path to the entrance of the “120 long” to -get back to its positions. A wooden bridge had been constructed here by -the artillery to get their guns across. This was useless now and made the -road so narrow that the column had to dress back and form by twos. This -long manœuvre compelled the men to mark time in one spot. - -There is nothing especially disagreeable about marking time for we have -seen many other stops for less reasons, but this evening the Boche -artillery had information of the arrival of the attacking regiment in the -lines and was shelling heavily all possible ways of access. - -A single “77” falling into this crowd of men would make a hecatomb. - -The commander was marching at the head of the column followed by the -intelligence officers of the companies. - -He stopped a moment in front of the bridge encircled by the explosions of -the shells. - -“If a shell would only destroy it!” - -But as if for spite, they fell all around and missed it. - -“It must be destroyed.” - -There was nothing formal about this order, and the task wasn’t easy. - -He took off his belts, gave his jacket to a man, and with his chest bare -the commander stood up on the bridge, propped himself on the timbers of -the floor, and began to tear them up. - -Ten men imitated him of their own accord. They finished tearing it down -amidst a storm of shells which raged about, and in the black smoke of the -explosions in which they disappeared for minutes at a time. - -In a quarter of an hour the way was clear; all that was left was the two -laterals which were planted in the walls of the covered path. - -The battalion was engulfed in the whirlpool and passed without loss. - -The commander stood on the pile of materials and watched the men file -past. He was the last one over. - -When we reached the line, he began to walk up and down incessantly. - -The fire of our batteries had been uninterrupted for three days; and this -with the constant whizzing of shells as they passed over our heads put -our nerves almost as much on edge as the strain of the approaching attack. - -Towards eleven o’clock one night there was an intense calm all of a -sudden. - -The firing ceased along the whole line—on both sides. All was silence, -but it was the silence which precedes the storm, the stupor of nature -after the flash and before the thunder. - -The men burrowed in the saps and fell asleep. The sentries who had not -closed an eye for forty-eight hours continued to fight against sleep. - -It was almost impossible to recognize the commander in his bizarre garb, -wrapped in a canvas instead of a waterproof, his steel helmet covered -with mud, as he wandered up and down the trenches, with a kind word of -encouragement for each one. - -In the “Servian” trench there was an exposed passage to the German lines. -They had blocked this up by piles of sandbags, chevaux de frise, and -rolls of barbed wire. - -As a greater precaution, a sentry was stationed there night and day. -He was sleeping deeply when the commander came by. He had to shake him -vigorously to wake him up. - -“Say, do you sleep like that when you’re sentry?” - -“I ... it’s true ... I was asleep.” - -“That’s not serious. Try hard, if an officer should come along, you’d not -get off with advice.” - -“They won’t come along; they’re all snoozing in their dugouts.” - -“Oh, you never know.” - -“Well, I’m going mad sooner or later. I haven’t slept a wink for three -nights. If the Boches are as tired as I am they won’t come to wake us up.” - -As he talked, his voice was drawn out more and more and his head nodded. -He was dead with sleep.... - -The commander took his rifle from his hands and said: - -“I’m not sleepy, and, besides, I shall sleep very well to-morrow. I’ll -mount guard to-morrow. Sleep, little one, sleep. We, the old, have lost -our habit of sleep.” - -The sentry did not even acquiesce in this invitation. He had accepted it -in advance, for he was asleep already. - -At daybreak when the relief came, the sergeant who accompanied the new -sentry was thunderstruck when he recognized the commander mounting guard -at the loophole. - -“Here’s his rifle. Wake him up when I have gone. Say nothing about it, -for he was very sleepy.” - - * * * * * - -When the signal for the assault was given the next day, after our first -two waves had gained the enemy trenches without firing a shot, the -commander, who was to go with the third, had scarcely advanced on the -field when the whistle of a single shell shattered the air. - -A “77” burst and a cloud of smoke went up. His thigh was torn off and we -saw him fall in a pool of blood. - -Lieutenant Delpos was getting ready to dash across with the second -section of the company and he jumped towards him. - -“Go on, my friend, the end has come. I am waiting for it. Tell Captain C -... to take command of the battalion.” - -And during the slow agony which lasted a half hour he did not stop -following attentively the progress of his men on the conquered positions. - -Stretcher-bearers carried his body to the church in Éclusier. - -We buried him simply on the hill at the east of Cappy in a military -cemetery near the canal. - -When the news of his death was known in the battalion, I know more than -a hundred who had seen their best comrades fall beside them, who wept as -though they had lost their fathers.... - -He was with us only a month. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - -THE ATTACK - - -We had been talking about it for months. The hour of the great attack has -finally come. - -They have been preparing for it ever since we were transformed into -diggers and sappers who dug trenches, parallels, communication trenches, -and saps, day and night. - -It’s going to succeed at last. - -This time the artillery preparation won’t be insufficient. - -We have guns, little and big, of every kind, of every caliber, from the -little howitzers set low on their plates with their large muzzles like -those we used to see on the terrace of the Invalides up to the great -naval guns, long, lean and sharp, like a cigar, monumental guns of -unheard-of size mounted on gigantic platforms, with covered turrets, new -and odd foreign cannon, long as a train and mounted on rails. - -And there are projectiles such as the wildest imagination could not dream -of. Whole fields of shells of every caliber from the small “75” which now -seem like playthings to the enormous “400’s” which can be moved only by -gigantic jacks. - -And over this immense sea of shells they have stretched a green colored -tarpaulin, dotted with great yellow spots, with great chalky streaks -which in the distance give them the appearance of a field furrowed by -tracks. - -We have been encamped in a wood for three days under tents beside -batteries of heavy artillery waiting for the order to take up our -positions for the attack. - -And for these three days our constant occupation has been to strengthen -and set up our huts again, for every shot from the great neighboring gun -drags them from the ground by the tremendous displacement of air. - -That is all right in the daytime. This Penelope-like work relieves -the monotony and serves as a counter irritant to nervousness. But the -occupation is less interesting at night. - -Finally, about nine o’clock one evening, a great uproar arose in the -companies on the other side from us and by degrees, like a rising sea, -reached us—we are in our usual place at the extreme wing of the battalion. - -The adjutant had advanced to meet the news and he came back on the run. - -“It’s come this time. They are distributing the playthings to clear the -trenches and they’re going to give out an additional cup of brandy.” - -“Do you believe it will be before to-morrow morning?” - -“Do I believe it. It’s sure, by God! Perhaps you want them to wait until -next winter!” - -“No, but you know. There have been so many orders and counter-orders that -one can never be sure. It ought to rain.” - -“Do you think it will rain?” - -“Good God! I wish it would. The sooner we finish the performance, the -sooner we’ll get to bed.” - -The colonel’s orderly arrives with the orders: - -“The Casanova company of machine guns will support the second battalion -and will take the designated objective (Hill 707) directly after the -third wave.” - -“The third wave! Hum! That’s not good. The first wave is a promenade, -nothing in front. The second goes over then, but the third has all the -shells, for it’s right in the barrage.” - -“And after?” - -“After?” - -“Say, you must think you’re in a café at La Cannebière. Perhaps you’d -like to order an ice. This is war, you know.” - -“I see it now.” - -The distributions are finished at ten o’clock and we move towards our -positions behind the second battalion. - -The men have taken off their belts and all their useless equipment and -are in jackets with their tent canvas crosswise. - -The diluvial rain which has been falling for some days has stopped this -evening. The sky is as black as ink and we can’t see a yard in front of -us. - -The paths were already muddy, but now they have disappeared after whole -regiments have gone towards the lines without interruption for some -hours. When we reach the communication trench it is no longer a trench at -all, but a stream of fluid mud, where we sink over our leggings. We have -to use our hands to pull out our legs when they get stuck. - -“Well, _mon vieux_, if we have to go clear to Berlin at this pace, we -won’t get there before to-morrow morning!...” - -It is so dark that we can scarcely see the back of the comrade in front -of us. We march in silence, with our hands on the sheaths of the bayonet -and our mask case to prevent the metal striking against the sides of the -trench. - -It is after two o’clock when we reach the lines. We take our places as -best we can, where we can, and with what we can find. - -The saps are filled with companies in reserve who will guard the trench -while we fight. - -We find places against the sides of the trench, in chance dugouts gashed -in the parapet. We have to be careful to keep our feet underneath us to -avoid having our toes crushed in the incessant coming and going to and -fro. - -Rifts in the clouds show us that the sky is clearing. It will be fine. - -We talk. We weigh optimistically our chances of success. But we have to -shout into each other’s ears or we couldn’t hear anything. Above us is -the infernal roar of an incessant bombardment. - -Our guns have fired some days without interruption. And the men never -cease praising the heavy artillery. We have never been supported in this -way. How far we are from the days in Champagne! We have confidence, -absolute confidence. - -Day comes. The sun rises, the bright clear sun, which will be warm soon, -rises over the ridge behind us. On the broad, many-colored screen of -the sky with its rays of dawning day, the chimney of the distillery at -Frameville, still intact and standing as though hurling defiance at the -Germans, stands out monumental and black like a gigantic obelisk. - -The countryside never stood out so clearly. I note the slightest -details with a feeling which can never be effaced. I continue to look -persistently to overcome my nervousness and to have something else to -think about. - -I look.... - -Below, in advance, are light lines of freshly turned earth. They are -the German trenches, and I think I can see among the apparent ruins the -invisible loopholes ready to belch forth death. A little further to the -left, a few yards from the sides of the cliff is a small clump of woods -which seems quiet and deserted. Our shells have started fires, but the -fortified positions which conceal the machine guns are still there. - -I look.... - -The ground and slope in front of me, close to the parapet, is empty, -bare, torn full of shell holes. Young trees have been cut down, and -the fallen trees are rotting in the earth under the growing moss. But -daisies, buttercups, wild poppies, and cornflowers have sprung up and -blossomed, opening out to nature, the sun, and life. - -All the fires will shortly rage on these flowers. The blood of men will -flow on them, and to-morrow their sweetness will be mingled with the -charnel-house of corpses ... our corpses. - -Nature has never seemed to me so moving. Tears come to my eyes. It is -not fear. No, it is not that. There are times when one may be afraid. -Here we realize that fear is a reflex impression, ridiculous, and above -all useless; that the minutes which are left are perhaps too numbered to -waste in vain sentiments. - -But while I look through the mirage of nature, I have seen a small -shriveled figure with trembling lips, and eyes hollowed with pain and -fright; I have seen small hands—long, pale, emaciated hands—clasped -before a photograph; I have heard the expression so many times, read it -so many times in the letters on my breast, on my heart: “Tell me that you -will come back. You are my all, father, mother, brother, child, husband; -tell me that you will be careful, that you will come back to me,” and a -slight uncontrollable, nervous trembling takes hold of me; but no one can -see it. - -The blast of the whistle—the final order—rings out. I find myself on -the slope without knowing how I came there, in the midst of the others, -beside the lieutenant, at my post. - -Under a protecting storm of our “75’s” we advance towards our objective. -The battalion has already crossed the first line of the Boche trenches -without resistance. - -All nervousness is gone now. I am very cool. The third wave advances in -front of us in good order, in step, without heavy losses. We march in -their wake. - -There, thirty yards away, on the right is a knoll. That is our objective -which we must occupy to prevent the enemy’s reserves coming up. - -We draw nearer; my heart begins to beat violently. It is nervousness. It -is the beginning of the end. - -Suddenly a sharp noise stops me; then another beside my ear. -Instinctively I throw myself on the hill. A sergeant falls near me -without a word. He is dead, a bullet in the middle of his forehead. - -We are under the fire of a machine gun which defends the approach to our -objective. - -The bullets whistle in a continuous buzz around us. A sharp burning pain, -like a sting; a cry stops in my throat, on my very lips. I fall. - -The fusillade rages. To the right, to the left, around me everywhere, -bullets bury themselves in the ground. I am wounded, but where? All my -limbs are numb. - -I feel a hand take mine and grasp it. It is the lieutenant, who has -already come running to me. - -“Good-by for the present.” - -“For the present.” - -It is nothing. A stone hurled violently by the bursting of a shell has -hit me in the back. It has just missed killing me. I remain there a -moment without being able to get my breath back or to get up. - -All around there is an incessant rain of bullets and shrapnel. - -However, I can’t remain there right in the barrage. I make an effort to -catch up with the company. My fall which took only a few seconds has put -considerable distance between the wave and me. More than three hundred -yards separate us. - -I want to run after it, but I can’t. - -A greenish cloud rolls like a flood over the plain. The enemy is -launching gas. - -Some one out of breath joins me. It is Morin who took a message to the -major. He is now carrying an order to the lieutenant. - -“This is dangerous.” - -“One might think so.” - -“Commandant Courier was just killed getting out of the parallel.” - -“No?” - -“A ‘155’ square in the chest. It killed two officers and five men. I’ve a -splinter in my thigh and one in my shoulder.” - -[Illustration: THE ATTACK _See page 225_] - -We walk along side by side as fast as we can, but slowly nevertheless. -We can’t do anything else. We get tangled in the barbed wire; we stumble -over corpses; we fall headlong into shell holes. The mud covers the mica -in my mask. - -A hundred yards in front of us the company reaches its objective, the -hill and the Boche blockhouse. - -Two sections have rushed in and are already in action. - -Two more sections throw themselves into a crater more to the left -opposite a clump of trees which is still held by the enemy. - -Suddenly there is a terrific explosion, and the most violent clap of -thunder that can be imagined sends us head over heels. - -The ground trembles, the earth cracks, and through the crevices oozes a -black smoke which envelops us. Everything is black. Are we entombed? - -A mine has been exploded near us in the entrance. They shout; they cry. -Belts of cartridges burst in the furnace. A swarm of bees seems to fly -over our heads. The blockhouse has just blown up with our two sections. -It was mined. - -When the smoke lifts from the overturned ground, all we can see are -corpses scattered about. Our comrades ... our dead! - -The enemy wanted to prevent our companies capturing and organizing it. - -We try to see something from the shell hole where we remain. It is -certain death even to try to raise the head. The bullets glance off the -ground. - -Morin wants to join the lieutenant and finish his errand in spite of -everything, but where is he? Was he in the blockhouse? We can’t see -anyone in front of us. - -Our waves of infantry have turned to the right, invested Herbècourt, and -taken it. They are now fighting in the village. We judge from the columns -of smoke that there are fires. The noise of the explosion of grenades -reaches us. - -But in front of us there is no one. It is a breach. The breach our -company ought to have held firmly closed with its machine guns during the -attack on the village. - -The enemy knows this without a doubt. He has calculated his blow well. He -has succeeded. He is going to launch out from the clump of trees and take -our companies in the rear. - -Indeed that is the case. Groups of gray worms crawl out of the thicket. -They reach the ridge. They are a hundred yards from us. There is no one -to stop them. But where are our two sections? Are they wiped out too? - -“My old Morin, we’re done for.” - -Our hands clasp in a fraternal farewell. In three minutes the Boches will -be on us. They will kill us pitilessly. We hold our revolvers ready, -fingers on the trigger. At least we won’t go alone. - -They stand up now and shout. They are going to make a dash. - -“_Vorwaerts! Gottfordam isch!_” - -The harsh sound of the command and the oath comes to us clearly. - -They dash forward to take the crater. - -But almost at the end, at scarcely fifty yards, the four guns of our two -sections, hidden in the shell holes, receive them with a withering fire. - -The Boche line cracks, breaks; groups of men fall in heaps, like puppets. - -Our guns fire constantly. - -The Boche line wavers, hesitates, the ranks thin out. We can hear the -dead sound of the falling bodies. - -We laugh and laugh; we applaud, crying like fools: - -“There are our two sections. Bravo!” - -But behind the files that fall are others in greater numbers which -advance in close ranks, one after another. - -Our fire is slower. Our munitions are exhausted—the gun crew is firing -all the cartridges of their carbines. - -The assailants realize this. Some of the groups have already reached our -emplacements. An incredibly tall and strong officer hurls himself on a -gun. It is Marseille’s gun. It has been silent just a moment, but it -hasn’t finished its task for all that. - -Marseille tears the barrel from the tripod, and using it as a gigantic -mace beats the officer to death. - -A terrible hand to hand fight follows. The lieutenant, wounded, dripping -with blood, on his knees on the parapet, stops the demoralized enemy with -shots from his revolver. - -But this heroic defense of the breach can’t last long. Most of our -men have fallen and most of the rest are wounded. The enemy is still -advancing, in close ranks now. He is going to get by.... - -Then, from the support trench, which the ... first Territorials hold, a -company dashes out like a whirlwind, with an irresistible dash. It throws -the mass of the enemy into disorder, and it is soon just a mob, which -turns its back and flees frantically, as fast as it can go, falling under -our rifle fire, and strewing the ground with corpses and innumerable -wounded who drag themselves along on the ground begging for mercy. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - -WITH ORDERS - - -“There he is, Captain,” shouted a non-commissioned intelligence officer. - -“It is necessary,” said the captain, “to take this order to the -lieutenant commanding your company at once. You’ll find that it’s only a -promenade. Go ahead.” - -A promenade! - -From the Château de Cappy where the headquarters of our brigade were all -one could see that morning on the horizon was smoke and flame. - -The earth trembles as though there were some sort of a fanciful, -continuous earthquake. - -Since the attack began and our waves crossed the first Boche lines, the -enemy’s artillery planted on the heights of Cléry, Mont St. Quentin, -Barleux has sent over a formidable barrage to prevent all possibility of -the arrival of reinforcements. - -It hopes to cut off in the rear the forces engaged in the attack, -to encircle them, to exterminate or capture them. A wall of shell -and fire separates them from us. Three hundred yards in front of the -heights of the La Vache woods from La Vierge clear to Dompierre and -Fontaine-les-Cappy, it is one uninterrupted explosion of great shells -which throw to great heights enormous masses of earth and stones almost -as though they were gushing from the bowels of the earth. - -This waste of shells is further beautified with “tear” shells and -asphyxiating shells and is designed to stop all attempts at passing the -barrage. - -This is the delightful place in which I have to take a “promenade.” - -I adjust my mask, make sure that the straps are on, and secure my steel -helmet by the chin strap. - -With the order in the pocket of my revolver case, a solid boxwood baton -in my hand, I start towards the fiery furnace. - -The communication trench which I try to follow is impracticable. It -is partly blown in and such dugouts as are still tenable are full of -wounded fleeing from the zone of combat. They crowd in pell-mell in their -efforts to find a breathing place. - -Then, sooner or later, after the La Vache woods are passed, one has to -walk absolutely unprotected so one might as well go at once. - -Few projectiles are falling here on the great quarry as yet, but only -a few shots too long or too short from the great guns aimed at the -ammunition depot at Froissy. - -The barrage is further on.... - -As one approaches it, the earth and air seem to tremble even more.... - -One walks on a moving wave, as if tossed about on the bridge of a ship. -A displacement of air throws one to the right, the next one to the left. -They march swaying like drunken men. - -I approach.... - -Some steps in front of what was the “Servian” trench is the beginning of -Hell. - -Men, officers, and stretcher-bearers are crouching in holes in -half-blown-in saps, waiting for a lull which for several hours has not -come. - -The sick and wounded, haggard and frightened, do not dare to make a move -outside the precarious shelters which even the smallest shell would -destroy and bury them alive. - -A Zouave, with a swarthy face and a profile like a medallion, -gesticulates and shouts. A long gash cuts his forehead from the arch of -his eyebrows to the ear; the blood flows thick and black on his cheek and -runs into his beard. He waves a rag on the end of a stick. - -“The noubah! the noubah! It is the noubah! They are going to dance. -You’ll dance with me, won’t you?” - -And he runs towards the bombs, laughing a frightful laugh which makes me -shudder. Poor fool! A hole opens under his feet. He falls. Perhaps the -fall will save him from a mortal wound. - -Some Colonials, fatalists, accustomed to so many other storms—for two -years they have been in the hottest part of all the engagements—talk -coolly under a dugout which is still intact. They squat on their crossed -legs and smoke peacefully. The smoke from their pipes, rising in slow -easy curves, seems to set at defiance the frightful cataclysm which rages -around us. - -A stretcher-bearer, a priest, whom I think I recognize, is dressing a -wounded man who has escaped in some way from the furnace and who faints -in his arms. Intent on his bandaging he seems to have no idea of the Hell -two steps away. He gives him the same care with the same imperturbable -calm that he would in the absolute security of some faraway ambulance. - -A staff-officer, a captain, is observing the ground through a glass. As -is my case, he is carrying an urgent order which cannot wait. - -He looks at me and understands from my attitude that I, too, must go on. - -“Shall we try it?” - -“If you wish, Captain.” - -“In case of accident, my pocketbook is in the pocket of my jacket, here -... you will take it to the officer of details of the ... first Zouaves.” - -“Mine is here, Captain.” - -I indicate the left pocket of my tunic. - -“All right.” - -“Let’s go.” - - * * * * * - -He grasps my hand and we advance flat on the ground, bounding from one -shell hole to another farther ahead. - -We compel our bodies to take the shape of the excavation in which we -burrow. - -Above our heads is a continuous whistling of shells, cutting like a -sword, and the constant djji-djji of the projectiles which tear up the -ground. - -The explosions are so frequent that we perceive only one infernal noise -under a rain of fire. - -We crawl through an indescribable chaos, in a field of terror, in the -midst of a pungent, fetid smoke. We reach the first German trench which -we conquered yesterday morning. We jump into it; we are dripping with -perspiration; our clothes are in rags. Our first act is to raise our -masks for we are stifling under them. - -The asphyxiating shells now fall behind us, and their noxious gas blows -in another direction away from us. We stop for some seconds to regain our -breaths. We must go on. - -As we are about to climb out on the field again, I see one of our -couriers coming at full speed. I must wait for him and learn where my -company is. - -But he stops, leans backwards, and his hands contract and seem to try to -pull something from his breast. He falls inert. - -I crawl towards him. A spasm still shakes him. He looks at me. - -“The company! Where is the company?” - -“——Maisonnette——” he murmurs in a faraway breath, then, with an effort, -his shaking hand reaches towards his jacket, but without success. - -“Sergeant-Major ... there ... there ... to my mother ... in La Ciotat....” - -“Yes, _mon vieux_, yes.” - -He is dead. I am trembling but I search for his pocketbook. It is sewed -in a handkerchief and in drawing it out it is spotted with blood—his -blood. I shall send it to his mother just that way. It is forbidden, but -what difference does that make? I have promised. - -La Maisonnette! It is still three miles, perhaps more. I’ll never get -there! The staff-officer leaves me; he is going to the La Chapitre woods -to the left. - -We grasp hands once more. - -“Thanks.” - -Yes, thanks! Together we have done a most difficult thing—we have passed -through a barrage. - -Now, I go on across that terrible plateau, alone. - -Alone! - -If a splinter of a shell hits me, no one will be with me during my last -moments to listen to my final wishes. I continue my way under the rain of -shells. - -Why I have not already been blown to pieces or buried I do not know. How -little one feels in the face of this formidable power! - -I turn around. On both sides and behind me there is no one! I am in a -desert in which a hail of fire falls. Will I get there? - -At every step I cross, touch, jump over, as I run against them, formless -corpses, cut to pieces, or doubled into knots. - -Perhaps in a moment I shall be like them, disemboweled and my brains -running out, or like those over there buried under rubbish and dirt. I -can see a foot here, an arm there; they are entombed forever. I shall be -listed among the missing, and my family and those who love me will cling -to this shred of hope—that the missing is perhaps not dead. - -I go on steadily. - -Abruptly, I experience a nervous reaction. I laugh.... I become a -fatalist! And after?... I shall not be alone. That’s the common lot of -millions of men. - -What is going to happen will happen. Forward. - -And I crawl on anew, thinking of everything else—a mass of things a -hundred leagues away; trifles; paltry trifles. I surprise myself by -making plans which I shall realize after the war—when that is over! And, -nevertheless, death hovers over me constantly, threatening, and I am much -nearer to it than life. - -A trench opens before me; it is not badly demolished. I enter it and find -that it is an old one taken from the enemy this morning. German words -indicate directions. They abandoned all their belongings. On a plank in -a sentry post is a superb pair of prismatic field glasses. I pick them -up—what use are they to me? I throw them down at once. - -I have enough to look out for close by without trying to see what’s -happening farther away. - -“_Nach Maisonnette._” - -This direction before my eyes fascinates me. - -“To Maisonnette.” Well, I’m on the right track. If the trench continues -like this I have some chance of arriving there: _nach Maisonnette_. - -I mark the directions at each turn of the trench, at each branch. - -A big shell bursts on my left and utterly destroys the whole of the wall -behind me. - -I take another course. The devil! Suppose that should be wrong. - -I reach a sort of crater made up of stones and trunks of trees blown -apart and broken, in one complete tangle. - -It would hardly be wise to stay here, for the crater is hammered full of -shell holes. - -A voice comes out of the ground between the stones, at my feet. - -“Oh, good morning, Margis. Keep to the right; the first street to the -left is Peronne.” - -I recognize the joking voice and constant laugh of Sub-Lieutenant Delpos. - -I have arrived; the company is here! - -This hole is Maisonnette! - -All right!... - -And I jump into the protection of the bottom of the sap. - -At last!!! - -White wine, brandy, fine preserves. Sub-Lieutenant Delpos never lacks for -anything even in the most tragic hours of his life. - -He makes an elegant and comfortable dugout out of the most filthy hole. - -Ten miles from the living world, six feet under ground, in the midst of -the shell fire, ten feet from the enemy, he offers me, with a laugh, a -meal which is prodigious under the circumstances. - -Coharé makes coffee on a burner and he flavors it with brandy. - -We talk of many things, of a thousand things, all a hundred leagues -removed from the war. We talk about Marseilles. - -Sub-Lieutenant Delpos is a lover of its picturesqueness, of its color, -its sun—we are in a deep sap lighted by a smoky candle—the sun means -something to us, something fairylike and superhuman. To think that at -that hour there are people living under clear skies, coming and going and -breathing the strong sea breeze, and drinking in with their eyes that -perpetual delight—a sunset on the rocks of Frioul! - -And the women of Marseilles! They are the quintessence of France, -revivified by the air of the Mediterranean. Just think, _mon cher_, of -a villa perched in the pines, facing the sea, in the valley of L’Oriol, -with a brunette that I know, - -...! ...! - -“Oh, I forget, I must present you to the other gentlemen. Come.” - -We emerge from the sap and come out in broad daylight. In a crater -organized in the expectation of a probable counter attack, guarded by the -strongest men of the section, twelve German prisoners are stretched out -in the mud. - -Some of them stand up automatically at the appearance of an officer and -assume a rigid military attitude. - -“Look at that rabble with their blessed faces like professors of natural -history or like sacristans mumbling their prayers. Who would think to -look at them that they are such cynical brutes?” - -“But I forgot. You speak German!... Try and get something out of them.” - -So I ask them where they come from. - -No one replies. Their eyes remain hostile and timid and full of fear. - -They distrust one another; informing is the common practice in their -ranks. - -I look at one in particular, and, taking him by the arm, - -“_Dü! wohen bist dü dann?_” - -“_Aus München...._” - -From Munich. Munich! I passed the best days of my youth there. Its -splendid life, the magic of its lakes, the first iridescent snows of the -Tyrol reflecting in their dark waters, the intoxication of its music, -Munich! the city of my dreams! The mystic grayish tints of the inns more -smoky even than those of Auerbach but lighter, the impressive harmony of -the statues, its incomparable museums, the June evenings on the Isar and -the blue sunsets of the Propylées. Munich! And this man in rags, this -tatterdemalion speaks to me of Munich. - -“Well, Margis, are you wandering?” - -“Yes, Lieutenant. As a matter of fact I was woolgathering.” - -And I come back to cruel reality. - -“Since you must return to the brigade at once, you can take this crowd -to the provost. I’ll give you four men. That will be enough.” - -“All right, Lieutenant, but I’ll not guarantee to deliver them whole. -It’s a bad neighborhood. It rains shells.” - -He looks at them and they are ready. All they have to do is to group -themselves. - -“Go ahead, au revoir,—and a safe return.” - -“_Nun jetz Vorwaerts!_” - -We go back along the road I came by this morning. The artillery fire has -let up a little. As far as the crossing of the roads from Biaches to -Herbècourt, we march along without much risk, but beyond there we are -taken anew by a crossfire from the batteries of Barleux and Hem, and by -the fire of a cursed machine gun. It seems to be hidden in the ruins of -Flaucourt, but our artillery has not been able to spot it yet and silence -it. - -My twelve prisoners march along ahead silently with bowed shoulders. They -understand that they must march along peacefully at the same pace as the -four big fellows who form the escort, and that once out of this zone -their lives are saved. - -We reach without incident the old road which cuts the Le Signal woods, -and get back on the road from Herbècourt to Éclusier. An orchard here -which before the attack was a signal station has not suffered much. The -dugouts are whole and I stop my troop to look after my leg which has -begun to bleed. - -A little while ago, as I was crossing some barbed wire entanglements, I -felt a tear but I thought it was of no consequence. But now the blood -has soaked through the drawers and trousers. I tear off a strip from my -package of dressings and put on a bandage which stops the bleeding until -we reach the next dressing station. - -I have hardly put my equipment on again than I hear beyond me in the road -an infernal noise of scrap iron, oaths and cries. - -I jump up. - -It is our movable kitchen driven by Gondran. Yesterday, it went ahead to -Herbècourt on premature orders. To-day, it was right in the barrage. Now -that the long expected lull has come, the lieutenant is sending it back -to Froissy. - -On the way back Gondran met four wounded men who were getting to the -rear only with the greatest difficulty, and he took them on his rickety -wagon. This torpedo, with its big sheet-iron smokestack which is full -of holes and twisted, doesn’t look much like an ambulance. Instead, one -might think it was some archaic engine of war of the Gauls. - -Phoebe and Lidoire, the two lean hacks which drag it, are marked and cut -by the harness and their legs are bent from pulling this badly balanced -weight. - -Suddenly, the bombardment, which seemed to have ceased, begins again. -First two shots, then repeated more and more rapidly, and only in our -direction. A shower of splinters beats around us, wounds the two horses -and cuts the reins. - -They run away at a mad pace with wild plunges through the fields. Gondran -is wounded in the hands and is helpless; he clings to the smokestack; the -wounded are tossed about. They shout from the pain of their re-opened -wounds and hang on as best they can to the handle of the kettle. - -The speed of the two horses becomes giddy. They head for the quarry at -a gallop. A hundred yards more and they will inevitably fall into the -canal, a fall of more than fifty yards. That would mean their utter -destruction. - -I have no choice of ways in which to save the five men. - -With six shots from my revolver I kill one horse and throw the other to -the ground. The kitchen comes to a stop twenty yards from the cliff. - -But danger is not averted by any manner of means. Shells follow us. From -some faraway place an observer must have taken us for a “75” getting into -position and he tries to destroy us. We abandon the kitchen which is now -almost completely done for, and as fast as we can, saved by some miracle -from the shells, which double in intensity, we throw ourselves into the -first trench we find. - -I find the Territorials and the provost at the great quarry and I hand my -prisoners over to him. - -It is only a step from there to headquarters. I arrive at six o’clock. - -Captain Chatain is outside the door, and I give him the reply he is -waiting for. - -He runs it over with a smile of satisfaction. - -“Everything went all right, Sergeant-Major?” - -“Yes, Captain.” - -“Good. Didn’t I tell you that it would simply be a promenade ... but I’ll -recommend you for a citation.” - -Half an hour later I was snoring soundly in a dugout. - - - - -CHAPTER XIX - -A WREATH - - -We fell back in good order—in as good order as our wounds and the enemy’s -artillery fire permitted. - -There is a roll call of the company, now reduced in numbers by half, in -the ruins of Dompierre, now cleared out, conquered and organized. - -None of the two sections surprised in the explosion of the mine came back. - -There are great gaps in the ranks of the other two, especially among the -non-commissioned officers. One sergeant out of four and two or three -corporals are seriously wounded. - -As names are called and there is no response, we look around as though -to search better. Lips seem to murmur, “What, he too?” Eyes search the -distance, the turn of the road at the entrance of the village, as if they -still expect to see him come. But no one comes. They will never come -again. - -The lieutenant has to furnish all possible information about each one -missing. - -“Did you see him fall? Who was near him? Was he wounded? Do you think he -was killed? Did he stay there motionless?” - -There were as many inexact replies as there were questions. No one knew -exactly or could know exactly whether the fallen was killed or wounded; -appearances are deceitful. In the uproar of battle, he who seems dead -is not even touched. Another may have had to stay hidden a long time to -avoid being killed or made a prisoner. - -Opposite the name of each absent one the quartermaster writes: - -“Missing the ... presumably killed at....” - -After the roll call we separate silently. The most severely wounded are -at the dressing stations, and several are discharged by the ambulances -from the rear: Sergeant Pierron had four fingers of his right hand -blown off; Sergeant Durosiers with a shoulder broken by a bit of shell; -Corporal Goutelle shot through the thigh, and has lost a lot of blood. - -We accompany them as far as the ambulances which take them to the -casualty clearing stations. - -Adjutant Dotant and Sergeant Lace take the initiative in buying a wreath -and take up a collection among the men of their sections. - -“Lieutenant, if you will allow us, we are going to buy a wreath at -Harbonnières and this evening two of us will go and place it on our -comrades.” - -Too moved to answer, the lieutenant acquiesces with a nod. - -Morin and I, the only two who are not wounded, offer to carry it. Our -errand is not without danger; but we start off at nightfall. - -The wreath is light but large, and its width makes it difficult to get -through the narrow trenches. - -We have to hold it at arms’ length in certain places above our heads on -the parapet and slide it along. - -Its ornaments catch in the stones and the twigs. - -It runs serious dangers before it reaches its destination. - -At Herbècourt the trench stops some yards in front of the entrance to the -village. It is raining shells. - -The shells rage particularly on the road which runs through the -village, the only one along which supplies can go. There is no longer -a well-marked road. The well taken care of highway no longer exists; -it is full of holes and is but one yawning crevasse more than three -hundred yards long. The wagons and trucks have made a chance path in the -neighboring fields. They wait at the entrance of the village, some yards -from the point where the barrage persists, for a lull. When it comes, -they rush like a whirlwind with a mad burst of speed, and it is a miracle -that they are not crushed. All one hears are oaths, cries, blows; wagons -lock together, horses fall and get up at once; all this in the twinkling -of an eye. Thirty wagons pass between two shells. - -We, too, make a dash and reach the other end without much risk. The -danger is greater from the autos which rush by us like meteors, graze -us, and threaten a hundred times to cut us to pieces or to catch our -clothes and drag us under the wheels. But the greatest danger is from the -tottering walls, and the waving roofs which the rolling of the wagons -brings falling down. - -We reach the cemetery at the beginning of the country. It is still nearly -intact. Graves are turned up; tombstones are thrown down on their sides. -Its walls are holed with loopholes, which served the last defenders of -the village. But the grass is not even tramped down in the corners. - -“Can’t we stay here five minutes to get our breath?” - -“If you want to.... We deserve it.” - -A battery of “75’s” held the position a few minutes ago. It has just -abandoned it to get nearer the lines. The place is deserted; it is like a -visit in the country at two steps from the fiery furnace. We stretch out -on a mound of turf between two tombs. - -It is the hour of twilight; the sky is golden; the sun on the horizon -plunges into the marshes of the Somme. A fresh breeze blows through the -privet hedge. - -“A summer evening in the country!” - -“Within the country would be more in accord with the circumstances, I -think.” - -As if to make my punning more emphatic, four “77’s” burst at the same -time and smash the cemetery walls to bits. - -“_Foutre!_” This expression, peculiar to Marseilles, has a significant -meaning on Morin’s lips. - -“You have said it; the place is no longer safe.” - -“The battery changed its position because it had just been spotted. We -are taking its place and are a target for the Boche artillery.” - -We make our way forward as fast as we can. - -The bombardment of the abandoned position behind us continues in volleys -of four shells at a time. The cemetery we just left is nothing but a -ruin, a chaos from which black smoke rises. - -We keep on running, each holding an end of the wreath which impedes us -terribly. Although it is light, it seems heavy. - -Night falls and it is very dark. We are able to advance with more -security now. Yawning craters open at our feet; we risk falls and sprains -at every step. - - * * * * * - -It is the dead of night when we reach the place where our company was -decimated. - -An immense mass of humanity fills the place with a tragic tangle of -intertwined corpses. Burned with powder, licked by the flames, torn and -blown to pieces, the bodies cling to the wall as if they wanted to fly -from the deadly fire coming from the depths of the earth. - -Indeed, planted on this host of bodies, his legs sinking in up to -his knees, the body of Sergeant Bacque seems to point out the road to -deliverance with a gesture. His hands hold the pickets of a cheval de -frise. A shell decapitated him at the very moment when he jumped and -death fixed him in this attitude. - -Thin smoke still comes from the bottom of this sinister vat! It is Hell -in all its horror. The men saw death coming and tried to flee, but death -was victor and fixed them to the spot. - -The burial of our friends would be a titanic task for our exhausted -strength. We gather into a single pile the scattered bodies which the -explosion hurled to a distance. With some barbed wire we hang the -company’s wreath on the cheval de frise which commands the great grave. -It faces the Boches. - -To-morrow at sunrise they can see it from their nearest trench and read -on its tricolored ribbon the inscription, “To our comrades, to our -brothers, from the survivors of the second company of machine guns.” They -will see how we pay homage to our heroes even under the threat of their -shells. - -The drone of a cannon sounds in the English sector in the distance. One -might think that there was a tacit truce on our side to let the dead -sleep more peacefully in their last sleep. - -We remain there kneeling before the hecatomb. Our lips search for the -prayers of our childhood to lay our dead at rest, but they have lost -the habit of prayer and our memories fail at the first words. We wish -a prayer which shall give their final blessing to the bodies stretched -out there, but above all we want a prayer which shall give a kindly -consolation in the approaching hour of anguish to those who wait—to the -mothers, wives, sweethearts, who do not know, who hope and live in the -dream of their joyous return. And our scepticism makes us unable to pray. - -The darkness of the night is absolute. - -The charnel-house of our comrades is only a dark mass in the shadows. A -pungent, pestilential odor already rises; we sense the sinister rustling -of the rats which slip between the bodies. - -Groans rise on all sides in the darkness. Some shriek horribly in their -agony; there are long wails; plaintive sing-songs call beloved names, -childish words. - -Death, with its accomplice, Darkness, gleans the last rebellious one who -clings desperately to life. - - * * * * * - -Behind us mounts the heavy rolling of the convoys. It is the hour for -the nightly supplies. The autos dash along on the torn up roads in the -endeavor to accomplish their difficult mission before the probable -barrage fire begins again. - -On the top of the ridge where the enemy maintains his lines for the -moment, a searchlight throws its light on the ground and in the sky, in -all directions, watching for aeroplanes and searching for the passing -of convoys on the road. Its light passes back and forth over us several -times, hitting us in the face and dazzling us. It passes back and forth, -flooding the plain with its moving brilliant light. In its light we see -moving forms: stretcher-bearers saving the wounded and plunderers of the -dead. - -Suddenly, the whizz of a shell comes our way, and a light bursts high in -the air. Shrapnel launch their rain of fire and shell on the plain. - -“Let’s go....” - -We had scarcely time to throw ourselves flat on the ground when there -was a tremendous explosion. A “380” perhaps bursts on the middle of the -mound of corpses and scatters it. One would think that maddened by its -orgy of murder, the enemy horde wants to kill our dead anew. A geyser of -blood spouts up and boils from the mound. - -We try to flee but our limbs fail us. An invincible force rivets us to -the spot, as we try to jump ahead. - -Morin utters a hoarse cry, a cry like an animal that is being -slaughtered. A corpse was thrown up in the air and falls squarely on -him and throws him to the ground. He is underneath, hemmed in by its -shrivelled arms; streams of blood deluge him. - -I try to get him out, but I can’t. My hands feel around on the mangled -body. I feel the shattered limbs come apart under the clothes. I pull -Morin out from underneath by his arms. He remains motionless for a -moment. He is stupid from the shock and fright. I shake him. The arrival -of a new engine of death which explodes beside us brings him back to -reality and the imminence of danger. - -This time we run as fast as we can, stumbling over the débris, tripping -over the dead, rolling into shell holes, tearing our clothes, hands, and -faces on the barbed wire. - -We flee, absolutely breathless, across old trenches which we see only -when their depths yawn before our steps. - -We flee haggard, in a mad delirium, terrified, pursued by the vision of -our dead, of their dim faces, their torn brows, their glassy eyes, their -twisted mouths, which the shells still mangle ... which the enemy kill -again in their sleep of death. - -We flee encircled by the rattle of the fire which pursues us, and which -with us draws near the road which we wish to reach and it to bar. - -A more violent puff, and close by, grazes our heads. - -“Attention!... Stop.... To earth!” - -A violent shock, a heavy blow between the shoulders, a hard vice grips my -body and throws me on the ground. - -I fall. - -I fall, and then I remember nothing more. - - - - -CHAPTER XX - -DISCHARGED - - -“Come, _mon vieux_, swallow this; it will set you up.” - -A sergeant of the 88th Territorials is speaking. I see his white number -as he bends over me. I swallow the contents of the cup at one draught. -Ouf! it’s strong; it burns, but I feel my strength coming back. - -Where am I? - -I am behind a bank in a dugout cut in the side of the trench. How I got -there I don’t know. I have lost all idea of things. - -I am anxious about Morin. They don’t know, but they say that they saw -stretcher-bearers pick him up. - -I have received my reckoning, but I shall recover. I feel my trousers and -boots heavy with a tepid dampness. I feel a shooting pain in the groin -and something like a warm stream flows drop by drop. - -The stretcher-bearer, Bertrand, an old college friend, now a Dominican, -stops a second beside me, hurrying on to more pressing cares, to the more -seriously wounded. He speaks kindly simple words, but what they are I -know not. He speaks of country, the sun, my wife. - -My wife, the sun, the country, the return to life, the walks as of old in -the woods, in the hills, the dreams at twilight, the cherished plans, the -talk of love. Life is beginning again. Yes, we will begin all that again. -And it will be finer now ... after the test. - -A great relaxation comes; tears flow. I hardly suffer, but I am weak. I -want to sleep. - -The stretcher-bearers will come presently, as I know, at nightfall. And -through the roof of boughs I see the sun die away and the stars come out. - -The bombardment rolls in distant thunder; they say that it is increasing, -coming nearer. - -Does that mean a counter attack? - -The sinister heavy blow of a great Boche shell shakes the earth of my -dugout, and the leaves of my roof fall in torrents on my covering. - -I already feel anxious to get away. I am afraid now. I dread the final -wound which will tear me, shatter me, kill me. - -It is dark night. Great drops begin to fall. It is going to rain very -hard. The stretcher-bearers have come. I have to move so that they can -place me on the stretcher. I feel the warm stream gush out; it is very -strong this time. - -And I fainted. - - * * * * * - -At the casualty clearing station at Villers an old major with a white -beard gives me an injection of antitetanic serum. - -Another examines my gaping wound. - -“Iodine dressing, H. O. E.[2] Discharge to private life.” - -And an automobile takes me speedily to the station where the sanitary -train waits with steam up. - -The sanitary train!... For two days each roll of the wheels sounds in my -head like a great bell; and the belt which binds me seems tightened into -the most atrocious notch; at each turn of the wheels, at every movement -it seems to me that the stream will begin to flow again, and that this -time it will all flow out until it is exhausted ... with my life. - -Then, one evening, the rolling ceased; my stretcher was unhooked and they -gave me something to drink.... I woke up in the hospital. - -A white bed, lights, nurses in white, who speak, who smile, who glide -over the floors without making a noise. - -Can it be true? I no longer hear the noise, the hammering of cannon, and -the infernal rolling of autos and caissons. It is strange. - -“Take No. 7 to the operating room,” says the head doctor. - -I am No. 7. - -The operating room.... It is all bright and white; through haggard eyes I -look at the shining knives, the reflection of the glass, but a sharp odor -seizes me, sickens me, stifles me. - -I am stifling.... My breath stops in my chest and no longer reaches -my throat.... I am stifling.... No, I hear the bells.... I hear the -bells.... How good they sound! - - * * * * * - -Is it a dream? - -An anxious face, shining eyes, lips trembling with a kiss, the beautiful -loved hair with its familiar perfume. - -And the gentle caress on my forehead. - -Both arms close about it feverishly, as if never to let it go, on this -dear being who brings with her kiss: love, life, the future. - -“Oh! you! you! at last! forever!” - -“Yes, Georges, yes, forever. I am here.” - -And the nurse standing at the foot of the little brass bed smiles with -tears in her eyes. - - - - -FOOTNOTES - - -[1] Commandant’s Post. - -[2] Hospital for the Discharged. - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Covered With Mud and Glory, by Georges Lafond - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK COVERED WITH MUD AND GLORY *** - -***** This file should be named 60268-0.txt or 60268-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/0/2/6/60268/ - -Produced by ellinora and the Online Distributed Proofreading -Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from -images generously made available by The Internet -Archive/American Libraries.) - - -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. 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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'll -have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using -this ebook. - - - -Title: Covered With Mud and Glory - A Machine Gun Company in Action ("Ma Mitrailleuse") - -Author: Georges Lafond - -Contributor: Maurice Barrès -Georges Clemenceau - -Translator: Edwin Gile Rich - -Release Date: September 9, 2019 [EBook #60268] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK COVERED WITH MUD AND GLORY *** - - - - -Produced by ellinora and the Online Distributed Proofreading -Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from -images generously made available by The Internet -Archive/American Libraries.) - - - - - - -</pre> - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_i" id="Page_i">[i]</a></span></p> - -<p class="center larger">COVERED WITH MUD AND GLORY</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ii" id="Page_ii">[ii]</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;" id="illus1"> -<img src="images/illus1.jpg" width="600" height="650" alt="" /> -<p class="caption"><span class="smcap">“He’s Hit,” Sergeant Lace Cries suddenly. And -indeed He Is Hit.</span> <a href="#Page_101"><i>See page 101</i></a></p> -</div> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iii" id="Page_iii">[iii]</a></span></p> - -<p class="titlepage larger">COVERED WITH MUD<br /> -AND GLORY</p> - -<p class="center"><i>A Machine Gun Company in Action</i></p> - -<p class="center">(“<span class="smcap">Ma Mitrailleuse</span>”)</p> - -<p class="titlepage"><span class="smaller">BY</span><br /> -GEORGES LAFOND</p> - -<p class="center smaller"><span class="smcap">Sergeant-Major, Territorial Hussars, French Army; Intelligence<br /> -Officer, Machine Gun Sections, French Colonial Infantry</span></p> - -<p class="center"><i>With a Preface by</i> <span class="smcap">Maurice Barrès</span><br /> -<i>of the French Academy</i></p> - -<p class="center"><i>Translated by</i> <span class="smcap">Edwin Gile Rich</span></p> - -<p class="titlepage"><span class="smaller">INCLUDING</span><br /> -“<span class="smcap">A Tribute to the Soldiers of France</span>”</p> - -<p class="center"><span class="smaller">BY</span><br /> -GEORGES CLEMENCEAU</p> - -<div class="figcenter titlepage" style="width: 100px;"> -<img src="images/scire.jpg" width="100" height="130" alt="" /> -</div> - -<p class="titlepage">BOSTON<br /> -SMALL, MAYNARD & COMPANY<br /> -<span class="smaller">PUBLISHERS</span></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iv" id="Page_iv">[iv]</a></span></p> - -<p class="titlepage smaller"><span class="smcap">Copyright, 1918<br /> -By Small, Maynard & Company</span><br /> -(INCORPORATED)</p> - -<p class="titlepage smaller">THE UNIVERSITY PRESS, CAMBRIDGE, U. S. A.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">[v]</a></span></p> - -<div class="dedication"> - -<p class="center gothic">To the Memory of</p> - -<p class="center"><span class="smcap">My Comrades</span> of the second company of machine guns -of the ... first Colonials</p> - -<p class="noindent">who fell at the battle of the Somme in July, 1916, -and of the Aisne in April, 1917;</p> - -<p class="center gothic">To</p> - -<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Lieutenants Maisonnave and Dupouy</span></p> - -<p class="noindent">in remembrance of the hours of fine, sincere comradeship we lived -together;</p> - -<p class="center gothic">To</p> - -<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Denys Maurin</span></p> - -<p class="noindent">the quartermaster-sergeant, wounded heroically before Soissons, -in testimony of a sincere friendship which was born under shell-fire, -which grew amid the horrors of grim madness, and which -was firmly fixed through sharing common hopes and common joys;</p> - -<div class="dedication-sub"> - -<p class="noindent"><span class="larger"><i>I dedicate these simple pages</i></span><br /> -which are only a modest contribution to -the monumental narrative which these -anonymous epics of every day would make</p> - -</div> - -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vi" id="Page_vi">[vi]</a></span></p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[vii]</a></span></p> - -<h2>A TRIBUTE TO THE SOLDIERS OF FRANCE</h2> - -<p class="center"><span class="smcap">By Georges Clemenceau</span></p> - -<p>I watch our blue-uniformed men at war, as -they pass with a friendly and serious look, -generously covered with mud. This is the artillery—slow -marching—which is moving its -cannon under a fantastic camouflage, a mockery -of reality. A glistening slope of soaked earth is -set in a frame of shattered trees, twisted into indescribable -convulsions of anguish with the gaping -wounds inflicted by the storm of iron. On their -horses, already covered with winter shag, the -poilus, slouched in all sorts of positions, having -no suggestion of the rigid form of the manœuvre, -are going from one battlefield to another without -any other thought except that of just keeping on -going.</p> - -<p>In colorless and shapeless uniforms, indescribably -rigged out, and in poses of the most pleasurable -leisure, the soldiers of France picturesquely<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">[viii]</a></span> -slip from glory to glory, less aware, it seems, of -historic grandeur than of serene gladness in implacable -duty. They are picturesque because -nature will have it so, but without any romanticism -or sense of posing—officers hardly to be -distinguished from privates by vague, soiled -stripes—all the men enveloped in a halo of -splendor above anything known to ordinary -humanity.</p> - -<p>The pugnacious pipe or the sportive cigarette -hinders their expression of any personal reflection. -Only their eyes are animate, and these express -things which cannot be told in words lest they be -profaned. The line of their lip is youthful under -a silky moustache or firm with age under gray -brush. But the fire of their look, framed in their -dark helmets, leaps out with quiet intensity to -meet the tragic unknown that no longer can bring -surprise. They are our soldiers of the year II -who are following the Biblical column of fire. -They see something. They go to it. Ashamed -of my humility, I should like to find words to say -to them. But, were I a poet, they would have no -need of hearkening to me, since the greatest -beauty of man lies in them, and since, unwitting<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix">[ix]</a></span> -of utterance, which at best seems inept, these men -live on the summits of life.</p> - -<p>And the “old classes” who prosaically break -stone at the side of the road or work with the -shovel, the pickaxe, the broom, making the toilette -of the road of triumph, what an injustice if I did -not mention them! How does it happen that the -noblest soldier is always the one I chance upon? -That is the miracle of these men; and when I tell -you that on the battlefield of the Aisne the “old -classes,” not granting that it was necessary to -wait to the end of the battle before beginning to -clear and rebuild, went off into the hottest of the -action to fill up craters, to break stones, to place -tree-trunks and beams during heavy fire, without -vouchsafing the Boche a single hasty gesture, so -that they might the more quickly open the way -for revictualling and for the bringing up of artillery—when -I tell you this, you will admit that -they do not deserve a lesser greeting than their -“young ones.”</p> - -<p>And the infantryman—could I commit the -supreme injustice of forgetting him? That is -impossible when one has gone over the battleground -where he has taken possession of the burrows<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_x" id="Page_x">[x]</a></span> -of the Boches, among heaps of munition -material, cases of supplies, an indescribable -débris, abandoned with their dead and wounded -in the haste of a desperate fight. What we cannot -understand is that our little poilu can pass so -quickly from the apathy of the trench to the extreme -fury of the attack, and then from the violence -of the offensive to the calm smile of a victory -of which his modesty seems to say: “It was as -easy as all that.”</p> - -<p>I did not hear a single boast, or see a disagreeable -act, or hear a word that sounded false. Like -a good-hearted proprietor returning home, they -took possession of the shelters of the Boche so -hurriedly abandoned. Here can be found the -comforts of war, if these two words can be spoken -together. The men talk in groups at the openings -of the underground passages, camouflaged by the -enemy himself. The indifference of their attitudes, -the ease of their familiar conversation, in -which there mingle no bragging (though this is -the place for it), are more characteristic of the -situation of some simple bourgeois who have happened -to meet on Sunday in the street. A major -begs my pardon for wearing a collared shirt,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xi" id="Page_xi">[xi]</a></span> -which is not perfectly “regular” at an official -review. Messengers pass, throwing out a word -or making a simple sign. Officers step up for -brief explanations. A half-salute, a nodding of -the head—it is over. Not far away, on the road -cut into the rock, where the stupid Boche, after -our passings, sends his impotent shells, our always -young “old classes” hang on to the slopes in -order to see the projectile fall, and make uncomplimentary -remarks about the gunner. Then -work is resumed till the next warning whistles in -the air.</p> - -<p>It is after twelve and we have not yet dined. -A big devil of a Moroccan colonel, with a Don -Quixotic face under an extraordinary headpiece, -invites us to his P. C. (post of command), where -the Boche has left useful bits of installation. A -black hole is two steps away from us. We go -down into the ground, over abrupt descents, and -there we are protected from the “marmites” in -a dark corridor lit by candles stuck into the -mouths of German gas masks. We sit down on -anything handy (I even have the favor of a -chair), before a board which also serves as the -colonel’s bed, while arms whose body remains<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xii" id="Page_xii">[xii]</a></span> -invisible serve us with dishes not to be disdained -by a gourmand. How did they get there? I -cannot undertake to explain that. The walk in -the open air, the tragic nature of the place, the -joy in land reconquered, no doubt all lend particular -spice to the comradeship of these men who -forget that they have done great deeds as soon -as they have done them. Pictures and illustrated -pages tremble in the fluttering candle-lights, -among them a Victorious France, drawn by the -pencil of the colonel. A telephonist measures out -mouthfuls of conversation to a military post that -sends in observations and receives ours. Long -time or short time, for here hours and minutes -are alike, here is a magic that ends too soon. We -must go.</p> - -<p>The colonel would have been perfect if he had -not made it a point of honor to avoid all danger -for his civilian visitor. In the morning he had -tried to forbid me a flying visit to the marvellous -castle of Pinion, but he finally understood that -even a soldier has to be born a civilian and that -he should not therefore scorn his own origin. -The trip was accomplished without the shadow of -an incident, but the colonel, who insists more<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xiii" id="Page_xiii">[xiii]</a></span> -than ever on the rights and privileges of the uniform, -will not permit me to return until the Boche -cannon favors us with a little respite. The Boche -can hardly make up his mind to such a favor; -hence, several false departures and changings of -direction. Finally, the colonel lets us go under -the guard of a robust sergeant-major, who even -yesterday magnificently led his stretcher-bearers -to the aid of the wounded under the hottest fire. -Although he is not of the youngest class, he has -refused to be retired from the front. He is -spoken of only with respect, I might say admiration. -“He goes everywhere.” He is fine, genial -company. After many necessary little zigzags, -a walk that is not very strenuous and very soon -over, I left the brave sergeant, whom I shall -always remember.</p> - -<p>I cannot finish this inconsequent account without -speaking of the touching ceremony which I -witnessed at Soissons, the terribly bombarded. -Since the victory of Malmaison the city has been -out of range. But when you have seen the building -of the sub-prefect tottering with shell-holes, -a building that neither the sub-prefect nor his wife -has left, the shortest walk will tell you a long tale.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xiv" id="Page_xiv">[xiv]</a></span></p> - -<p>The general, who is a good fellow—I take -pleasure in saying that—had proposed to show -me something, and so here I am in a public -square having the imposing silhouette of the -cathedral as a background. From the height of -the great towers, with their wide wounds, history, -attentive, looks down. Everywhere there is a formidable -display of cannon taken from the enemy. -There are piles of them, heaps of them. There -are too many to count, together with a bewildering -mass of trench instruments of all sorts. Can -you believe it? They do not hold the eye. How -is that possible? Because on the sidewalk opposite, -in splendid alignment, is the gorgeous gathering -of soldiers with medals and decorations who -have captured these things. Ah! They hold the -eye! There they are, with all sorts of faces and -from all branches of the service, with the flag -which they have followed into battle and which -now must be present at their honor.</p> - -<p>To be quite honest, the group is not so æsthetic -as a picture of Versailles. These men are too -great for much ceremony. With a jerky step -the general advances; his brusque movements -reveal the homage of his emotion before the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xv" id="Page_xv">[xv]</a></span> -bravest of the brave. Slowly he passes along the -line, while the adjutant reads in a stirring voice -the high deeds in the citations. And the military -medal quivers on each noble breast at the recollection -of the tremendous drama lived through. -And the general utters a comrade’s congratulation, -shakes a friendly hand, expresses a good -wish. Then the flag salutes, while the drums -rumble in these hearts drunk with love of country. -At the greeting of the flag of the glorious Chasseurs, -a rag torn by machine guns, something gets -hold of our throats, which the trumpets hurt with -their sublime peal. If there are more beautiful -spectacles, I do not know them. One minute here -is worth years.</p> - -<p>And I have said nothing of the people about, -silent, all in mourning, their souls full of tears, -which finally brim over. Men, hats off, motionless -as statues, proud of becoming great through -their children. Mothers, with seared faces, superbly -stoic under the eye of the greater maternity -of the great country. The children in the ecstasy -of feeling about them something greater than -they can understand, but already certain that they -will understand some day this immortal hour.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xvi" id="Page_xvi">[xvi]</a></span> -And not a cry, not a word sounds in the air, nothing -but the great silence of the courage of all of -them. Then everyone goes away, firm and erect, -to a glorious destiny. In every heart La France -has passed.</p> - -<div class="smaller"> - -<p><span class="smcap">Note.</span>—A few days before M. Clemenceau, premier of France, -was called to power, he returned from a visit to the Aisne front and -published his impressions in his paper, <i>L’Homme Enchainé</i>, now -<i>L’Homme Libre</i>. When he became premier, <i>L’Illustration</i> republished -this “Tribute to the Soldiers of France,” and it has since been -widely reproduced and admired throughout France. The present -English translation by Harry Kurz was printed in the <i>New York -Tribune</i>, to the editors of which grateful acknowledgment is made for -permission to reprint here.</p> - -</div> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xvii" id="Page_xvii">[xvii]</a></span></p> - -<h2>PREFACE</h2> - -<p>Sergeant-Major Georges Lafond, -of the Territorial Hussars, the -author of this book, was in South America at -the time of mobilization. He returned to France -as soon as possible and joined his corps, but asked -to be assigned as intelligence officer to the machine-gun -sections of the ... first regiment of -Colonial Infantry.</p> - -<p>With this picked corps, which has been decimated -several times, he took part in the engagements -in Champagne, on the Somme, at Lihons, -Dompierre, Herbécourt, and notably in the days -from the first to the fifth of July, where the -regiment earned its second citation and received -the <i>fourragère</i>.</p> - -<p>Lafond was discharged after the battles of -Maisonnette, and wrote this book of recollections -in the hospital at Abbeville, and afterwards -at Montpellier, where he had to undergo a severe -operation.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xviii" id="Page_xviii">[xviii]</a></span></p> - -<p>Sergeant-Major Lafond’s narrative makes no -claim to literary pretension, but it is simply a collection -of actual occurrences. It is a series of -short narratives which give the life of a company -of machine gunners from the day of its formation -to the hour when it was so decimated that it had -to be reorganized with men from other corps.</p> - -<p>What pictures the following titles call to mind: -“A Reconnaissance in the Fog,” “The Aeroplane,” -“Our First Engagement,” “‘We Have -Taken a Picket Post,’” “The Attack,” “The -Echelon,” “A Water Patrol”! No man who has -lived at the front and has taken part in an attack -will fail to recognize the accuracy of these narratives -and to experience, as well, emotion, enthusiasm, -and pride in having been among “those -who were there.”</p> - -<p>This record of adventure was very successful -when it appeared in the <i>Petit Parisien</i>, and I feel -sure that it will be successful in book form. I -beg Sergeant-Major Georges Lafond to accept -my hearty congratulations on his fine talent and -his bravery.</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Maurice Barrès</span>,<br /> -<i>of the French Academy</i>.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xix" id="Page_xix">[xix]</a></span></p> - -<h2>CONTENTS</h2> - -<table summary="Contents"> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"><span class="smcap">Chapter</span></td> - <td></td> - <td class="tdpg"><span class="smcap">Page</span></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">I</td> - <td><span class="smcap">The Search for My Company</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_I">1</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">II</td> - <td><span class="smcap">The Quartermaster’s Billets</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_II">11</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">III</td> - <td><span class="smcap">The Echelon</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_III">21</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">IV</td> - <td><span class="smcap">The Song of the Machine Gun</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">31</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">V</td> - <td><span class="smcap">A Reconnaissance in the Fog</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_V">47</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">VI</td> - <td><span class="smcap">Our First Engagement</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">58</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">VII</td> - <td><span class="smcap">Easter Eggs</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">71</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">VIII</td> - <td><span class="smcap">The Aeroplane</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">89</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">IX</td> - <td><span class="smcap">Days in Cantonment</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">103</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">X</td> - <td><span class="smcap">An Ordinary Fatigue Party</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_X">122</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XI</td> - <td><span class="smcap">With Music</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">135</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XII</td> - <td><span class="smcap">“We Have Taken a Picket Post”</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">148</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XIII</td> - <td><span class="smcap">A Night Convoy</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">164</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XIV</td> - <td><span class="smcap">The Songs of the Homeland</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">175</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XV</td> - <td><span class="smcap">A Water Patrol</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XV">188</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XVI</td> - <td><span class="smcap">A Commander</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">199</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XVII</td> - <td><span class="smcap">The Attack</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">217</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XVIII</td> - <td><span class="smcap">With Orders</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">232</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XIX</td> - <td><span class="smcap">A Wreath</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">250</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XX</td> - <td><span class="smcap">Discharged</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XX">261</a></td> - </tr> -</table> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xx" id="Page_xx">[xx]</a></span></p> - -<h2>ILLUSTRATIONS</h2> - -<table summary="List of illustrations"> - <tr> - <td></td> - <td class="tdpg smaller">PAGE</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">“He’s Hit,” Sergeant Lace Cries Suddenly. And Indeed He is Hit</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#illus1"><i>Frontispiece</i></a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Remains of Villages near the Lines</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#illus2">36</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">A Poilu</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#illus3">56</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">A Sinister Grumbling Seemed To Shatter The Fog</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#illus4">110</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">The Front Line Trench</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#illus5">154</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">A Commandant’s Post</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#illus6">166</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">The Least Dangerous Passage is the Unprotected Ground</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#illus7">186</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">The Attack</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#illus8">226</a></td> - </tr> -</table> - -<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Note.</span>—<i>These photographs are all copyrighted by -International Film Service, Inc.</i></p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span></p> - -<h1>COVERED WITH MUD AND GLORY</h1> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I<br /> -<span class="smaller">THE SEARCH FOR MY COMPANY</span></h2> - -<p>I remember the exact date and I have -reason to, for on that Monday, February -fifteenth, I joined the second company of machine -guns of the ... first Colonials at the front. -It was snowing and the fields of Picardy were one -vast white carpet on which the auto-trucks traced -a multitude of black lines to the accompaniment -of pyrotechnics of mud.</p> - -<p>Two days before I had left my depot in a small -garrison town in the center of Provence, which -lay smiling in the sun and already bedecked with -the first flowers of spring. At Lyons I found -rain, at Saint-Just-en-Chaussee, snow, and I got -off the train in a sea of mud.</p> - -<p>In the dim light of a February dawn, the -station at Villers appeared to be encumbered with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span> -the supplies of half-a-dozen regiments. My car -was high on its wheels and at the end of the train -farthest from the unloading platform. At the -other end of the platform near the entrance to -the station, I found a rolling bridge for unloading -animals, but it was useless to ask those busy -people to help me push this weighty contrivance -to the car.</p> - -<p>So I looked at Kiki—Kiki is my horse—who -had but recently arrived from Canada and was -scarcely broken after his two months’ training -at the depot.</p> - -<p>“Kiki, <i>mon vieux</i>,” I said, “you must make -up your mind to do as I did and jump. Remember -that you are a Canadian, and every self-respecting -Canadian should know how to jump -as soon as he is born.”</p> - -<p>I delivered this kind invitation from the ground -and I urged him on by pulling on the reins. Kiki -was not at all frightened. He came to the edge -of the car, snuffed the air, carefully calculated -the distance, bent lightly on his hind legs, and -jumped to the ground without a flutter.</p> - -<p>“The ... first Colonials?” the military commissioner -said to me. “I don’t know exactly,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span> -but you’ll find it somewhere along twenty or -thirty miles to the east at Proyart or Harbonnières, -or perhaps at Morcourt. There’s a little -of it all about there.”</p> - -<p>So Kiki and I, in the morning mist, went slowly -along roads covered with snow and grease in -search of the second company of machine guns.</p> - -<p>Proyart is a small village hidden in a hollow -of this plain of Picardy which from a distance -resembled a well-stretched, vast white carpet. -Here the villages are sheltered in depressions and -one only sees them when he reaches the level of -their steeples. It was at Proyart that altogether -accidentally, thanks to a sign about as large as -my hand and already partly rubbed out, I found -the staff of the ... first Colonials.</p> - -<p>An orderly condescended to move a few steps -and point out to me at the end of the street to -the right the billets of the quartermaster of the -second company of machine guns.</p> - -<p>There was a court—a sewer, as a matter of -fact—which was completely filled by a pool of -filth which left only a narrow passage of a foot -or two by each wall. In a corner was a tangle -of barrels, farm implements, and broken boxes,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span> -and on that a mass of wet straw, manure, snow, -and mud.</p> - -<p>At the farther end of the court was a small -door with glass panels—with a glass panel—for -only one remained. The spaces were conveniently -filled by thick layers of the <i>Petit Parisien</i>, -<i>Matin</i>, <i>Le Journal</i>, <i>Echo de Paris</i>, the great -dailies which arrived intermittently at Proyart.</p> - -<p>I went in. Kiki wanted to go in, too, but the -door was low and he was carrying his complete -pack. Inside was a ruined kitchen. The chimney -still remained, and there was a large table -made of a door stretched on two barrels, which -took up the middle of the room. In each corner, -against the walls, were improvised beds, straw -mattresses, and heaps of clothes under which I -surmised there were bodies.</p> - -<p>“The door, nom de Dieu!” shouted a voice.</p> - -<p>In front of the chimney was a man struggling -desperately with a fire. The watersoaked wood -refused to burn, and the man flooded it with shoe -grease, which, when it melted, threw out jets of -yellow flame and filled the room with a pungent -odor and smoke.</p> - -<p>“The door, the door! What did he tell you!”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span> -cried in different tones voices which came from -the heaps of covers.</p> - -<p>It was true that a breath of cold air and a -swirl of snow had rushed into the smoky dark -hall when I came in. I shut the door and -asked,</p> - -<p>“Is this the second company of machine -guns?”</p> - -<p>“What of it? What do you want of the -second machine guns? It’s here. And after that -what do you want? Papers, again? Zut! They -have no idea of bothering people at this hour. -Leave them on the table and come back in half -an hour.”</p> - -<p>This diatribe emanated from a pile thicker -than the rest, in the chimney corner. At this -obsession of papers, of lists to be signed, I guessed -he was a sergeant or a quartermaster, and I -kept on:</p> - -<p>“Don’t worry. There are no papers. I am -the mounted intelligence officer attached to this -company.”</p> - -<p>“M ...!” shouted several voices in the four -corners of the room, while I watched arms and -muffled heads rise up.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span></p> - -<p>“<i>Mince!</i> So we have a mounted officer now! -Wonderful! They’re certainly fitting us out in -style. What won’t they do next? Then, that’s -all right, <i>vieux</i>. Come on in and let us see you. -And you have a horse? Where is your horse? -Bring him in; make him come. It must be cold -out in the court.”</p> - -<p>The first burst of curiosity soon passed, the -torrent of words exhausted itself, and the forms -which had stirred a moment ago quieted down -anew. A more peremptory voice now started in -shouting invectives at the orderly who was still -struggling with the rebellious wood.</p> - -<p>“Say, Dedouche. Do you think we’re Boche -sausages that you want to smoke us out? Don’t -you know anything? We’ll have to wear glasses. -That’s no way to light a fire. What did you -learn when you were a boy?”</p> - -<p>“The grease is full of water and won’t even -burn.”</p> - -<p>“Use the oil in the lamp, then.”</p> - -<p>The first result of the immediate execution of -this order was to fill the room with a black stifling -cloud which was enough to make one weep. In -the middle of this smoke the orderly, Dedouche,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span> -coughed, spat, sputtered, while I heard him -storm:</p> - -<p>“In God’s name, how that stinks! How that -stinks!”</p> - -<p>The quartermaster, doubtless on account of the -smoke and the smell, now deigned to get up. He -was a young man, large, light complexioned, and -his checks were red and fat. He had just a suspicion -of a moustache. His ears were hidden -in a cap which had wings that pulled down. One -could scarcely see his eyes they were so puffed -out with sleep and smoke.</p> - -<p>“So you’re the intelligence officer? Sit down. -Dedouche, make a cup of coffee. I’ll make a -note of your transfer, and then you can try to -find a place for yourself until the lieutenant comes. -Oh, you’ve time, you know. He never comes -before ten o’clock.”</p> - -<p>“But, Quartermaster, it’s nearly ten now.”</p> - -<p>“No, you’re joking. Ten o’clock. My word, -it’s true. Oh, there, get up all of you. It’s ten -o’clock. And that salaud of a Dedouche hasn’t -lighted the fire. Come, come, hurry up, the lieutenant -is coming!”</p> - -<p>And as though this were the magic word, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span> -lieutenant came in, leaving the door wide open -behind him. It was time; they were almost -suffocated.</p> - -<p>The lieutenant was a large man, thin and well -set up. His bearing indicated resolution. His -brown hair was cut very short, according to the -regulations. A close-cropped black moustache -streaked his sunburned face. The general effect -of his personality was that of a man cool and -headstrong.</p> - -<p>“Oh, he has the coolness of a Colonial,” the -machine gunners repeated <i>ad nauseam</i>.</p> - -<p>“Isn’t there any way to get you up?” exclaimed -the lieutenant. “You ought to be -ashamed of yourselves. It’s after ten o’clock.”</p> - -<p>Then he saw me through the cloud of smoke -and questioned me with a glance. The quartermaster -broke in before I could reply,</p> - -<p>“It’s the mounted intelligence officer, Lieutenant.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, good!... Good morning.... -Welcome.”</p> - -<p>He extended a large, vigorous hand which confirmed -the first impression of his personality—frankness -and will.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Have you found a place for your horse?” -he asked.</p> - -<p>“Not yet, Lieutenant. I’ve just come.”</p> - -<p>I pointed out Kiki through the door to the -courtyard where he waited, stoically and calmly, -under the snow. Perhaps he remembered the -times not long ago that he waited for hours at -the doors of the ranch under more wintry winds. -Perhaps he imagined that he was still waiting for -the rough Canadian pioneer who tarried for long -discussions about business, warming himself the -while with whiskey. At any rate Kiki waited -stoically and quietly. He scarcely condescended -to welcome us by a glance when I presented him -to the lieutenant, who stroked his head.</p> - -<p>“This is Kiki, Lieutenant. I don’t know his -real name, for his record bore only his number, -but that fits him and he seems to like it. He is -a Canadian, seven years old, thin but strong, very -gentle and a good jumper.”</p> - -<p>“He’s pretty. Come along. We’ll put him -in with mine. They’ll get along all right together.”</p> - -<p>So I took Kiki by the bridle and the lieutenant -and I went along talking, until we reached an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span> -improvised stable where the officer’s horse and -his groom were quartered.</p> - -<p>Zèbre was a great brown horse, with a huge, -calm face. Everything here certainly gives an -impression of calmness.</p> - -<p>I took leave of the officer for the time being -and returned to the quartermaster’s, where a -steaming soup and scalding coffee were waiting -for me. It was nearly noon and I had eaten nothing -hot for the last forty-eight hours. It was -four above zero and it was time.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II<br /> -<span class="smaller">THE QUARTERMASTER’S BILLETS</span></h2> - -<p>I was seated under a shed of loose boards in -the courtyard of Cantonment No. 77, and -just tasting some excellent macaroni which the -cook had warmed up for me, when Dedouche, -the orderly, came to find me.</p> - -<p>“Say, Sergeant,” he asked, “are you the intelligence -officer?”</p> - -<p>The title of “sergeant” sounds strange in the -ears of a cavalryman, and I felt a little hurt in -my <i>esprit de corps</i>; but I at once answered Dedouche’s -summons, for the orderly, in spite of -being at the beck and call of everyone, enjoys -a certain prestige. He has a real importance, -small though it be, but an importance which carries -weight when he gives his opinion in the discussions -of the “little staff” of the company.</p> - -<p>This staff is the household of the quartermaster’s -billets. With some slight differences it -is in general composed of the quartermaster-sergeant,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span> -lacking a sergeant-major which companies -of machine guns rarely have, a quartermaster-corporal, -an adjutant and a mess corporal. -I was admitted to the honor of taking part in -the discussions of the staff on account of the -detached and unusual character of my duties.</p> - -<p>But Dedouche was summoning me. I turned -and observed him leisurely. Dedouche is an excellent -fellow. Without even knowing him one -would guess it at first glance. He is good-natured, -never in a hurry, no matter how urgent -his errand, and indifferent alike to blows and -invectives. He smiles under torrents of abuse -and threats of the most terrible punishments, and -does his duty as man of all work silently. In a -word, he possesses all the qualities inherent in -his duty. He is tall and spare; his face is beardless -and sanctimonious; his eyes smile, but they -look far away under his great round glasses with -their large rims. All in all Dedouche looks like -a lay brother. To complete the illusion, when -he talks he has a habit of thrusting his hands -into the large sleeves of his jacket and lowering -his head to look over his spectacles. In civil life -Dedouche was an assistant in a pharmacy in one<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span> -of the large provincial cities. He knows the art -of making up learned formulae. His long slim -fingers manage the most fragile things with skill, -and his grave voice is accustomed to the mezzotints -of the laboratory.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” I answered at last, “it is I.”</p> - -<p>“The lieutenant wants you.”</p> - -<p>I gulped down my plate of macaroni in two -mouthfuls, swallowed the coffee which the cook, -already attentive to my wants, held out to me, -and followed Dedouche the two hundred yards -which separated us from the billets.</p> - -<p>Two hundred yards is nothing, and yet it is -a world. In less time than it takes to tell it I -learned a mass of things from Dedouche.</p> - -<p>First, what part of the country we are from. -The ... first Colonials was organized in the -South. So, in the hope of finding in each newcomer -another “countryman,” Dedouche asked -the new arrival at once,</p> - -<p>“What part of the country are you from?”</p> - -<p>He had some doubt about my reply. A Hussar -of a regiment with an unknown number, who had -given little opportunity to study his accent, might -be a man from the North or the East. “One<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span> -never knows with these cavalrymen,” he seemed -to say, “they’re so uncertain.” So he changed -the form and varied his traditional question -somewhat,</p> - -<p>“You’re not from the South, by chance, -Sergeant?”</p> - -<p>At this repetition of his offense about my title, -I thought that I ought to slip in a discreet observation, -so I said,</p> - -<p>“In the cavalry, my friend, the sergeant is -called ‘<i>maréchal des logis</i>.’” And then having -satisfied my slightly offended <i>esprit de corps</i>, I -replied, “Yes, mon <i>vieux</i>, I am from the South, -in fact from the Mediterranean, from L’Herault.”</p> - -<p>“How things happen!” exclaimed Dedouche. -“I’m from Le Clapas.”</p> - -<p>Le Clapas is the nickname given to Montpellier -in the territory. And at that there came all at -once a bewildering flow of words. Dedouche -began to tell me, mixing it all up in an incredible -confusion, about his birthplace, his adventures, -his former regular occupation, in the depths of -a pharmacy in a small street under the shadow -of the University, his transfer from the auxiliary -to active service, his wound in Champagne. All<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span> -this was interspersed with frequent exclamations -and repetitions, “Say, tell me, <i>Maréchal</i>, will -this war ever be over?” and then regrets for his -home land, “Say, tell me, <i>Logis</i>, wouldn’t it be -better down there in the good sun?”</p> - -<p>In these different attempts to get nearer to the -term “<i>maréchal de logis</i>,” I observed Dedouche’s -obvious good will, but what interested me most -was a little advance knowledge about the -company.</p> - -<p>So Dedouche sketched in a few words a picture -of it, which was absolutely accurate, as I was -able to appreciate later.</p> - -<p>“The lieutenant is a very chic type. No one -would think to look at him that he is from the -South, too. He appears cold and hard, like that, -but it’s not natural; he puts it on. He’s good-hearted -at bottom. He’s a Basque and isn’t -afraid of anything. You ought to have seen him -in Champagne at Massiges. Oh, and then we -have besides his fellow countryman, Sub-Lieutenant -Delpos, a blond. He’s not here now; -he’s down at Morcourt with the echelon. He’s -a type too, not stuck-up, but he’s agreeable and -good-humored.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Oh, those in the billets,” Dedouche sketched -with a vague wave of the hand, as if to say something -like this: “They’re of no importance; -they’re brothers, friends, and not worth talking -about.” Perhaps his gesture meant something -else, but that’s what I thought it meant.</p> - -<p>And as if he were responding to my implied -question, he went on:</p> - -<p>“—there is only the drummer who’s from -the South, too; he’s what they call the ‘quartermaster -corporal,’ I don’t know why. He’s a -good fellow, but he does not talk. At least he -only talks rarely, and he’s from Marseilles, too; -no one would think it to see him. He makes -me mad most of the time.</p> - -<p>“Oh, the rest! The corporal of infantry is -from Paris. I don’t know him. He only came -five or six days ago. He hasn’t told us anything -yet; he only sings. And what songs! Good God, -they’re enough to make one blush!</p> - -<p>“The <i>juteux</i>—the adjutant,” interrupted Dedouche, -for he rarely used slang. With the exception -of “<i>pinard</i>” and “<i>tacot</i>,” which have -become hallowed and have taken an official place -even in the most refined language of the armies,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span> -Dedouche rarely used a vulgar or misplaced word -in his conversation. This was not because he was -opposed to it nor from false modesty, but because -his occupation as a “scientist” had given -him the habit of using good language.</p> - -<p>“The adjutant,” went on Dedouche, “he’s -not an adjutant. He’s a brother, a father, a -friend, a man, what! Never a word of anger, -never a punishment, always agreeable and kind. -And in spite of that he’s had a career. He’s -been in Morocco, China, and Madagascar, and -no one knows where else. He’s been in the -service eleven years, but you wouldn’t think it -to look at him.”</p> - -<p>This running biography brought us to the open -door which framed the lieutenant’s tall figure.</p> - -<p>“Say, <i>Margis</i>” (the lieutenant knew his military -terminology and this abbreviation was not -without zest), “are you rested from your -journey?”</p> - -<p>“I wasn’t tired, Lieutenant.”</p> - -<p>“How about your horse?”</p> - -<p>“No more than I was. Do you think that -after three days stretched out on the straw in -his car, without moving ...?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Then, if you are willing, we’ll both go to the -echelon.”</p> - -<p>“All right, Lieutenant.”</p> - -<p>A question must have framed itself on my face, -for he added almost at once:</p> - -<p>“Yes, the echelon, the fighting train, the cavalry. -You’ll be more at home there. We left -it below at Morcourt, seven or eight miles away, -on account of the shells that fall here sometimes. -Horses, you know, cost more than men, so we -have to economize them. It is understood, then? -We’ll go about noon. Saddle both horses. Meet -me here.”</p> - -<p>Then he strode off and joined a group of officers -who were coming up the main street of the -village to the church.</p> - -<p>Dedouche was already full of attention for -me—just think of a man from home on the -“little staff”—and he now burst forth eagerly:</p> - -<p>“Don’t trouble yourself, <i>Logis</i>. I’ll tell the -groom to saddle the horses and bring them here.”</p> - -<p>The smoke still persisted in the dark, littered -confusion of the room, but combined with it now -was an odor of burnt grease mixed with the -moldy smell of a ragout with onions and strong<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span> -cheese. In addition, spread out on the table, were -the remnants of a meal, which had just been -finished, the rolls, the account books and reports.</p> - -<p>The quartermaster-corporal, the silent fellow -from Marseilles, immersed in reading <i>Le Soleil -du Midi</i>, did not even condescend to look up. In -response to my friendly good-by, he let a scarcely -perceptible “adieu” slip through his lips.</p> - -<p>The quartermaster was stretched out on a dirty -mattress thrown on the ground, and juggling two -packages of English cigarettes, while he sang at -the top of his lungs—and what a voice he had!—the -latest song:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse indent2"><i>Mes amis, dans la vie</i></div> -<div class="verse"><i>Faut faire des économies</i></div> -<div class="verse indent2"><i>Les journaux vous l’ont dit.</i></div> -<div class="verse indent2"><i>C’est aussi mon avis.</i></div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>This intellectual refrain must have given him -extreme pleasure, for he began it again and again -without any interruption.</p> - -<p>“Well,” I said, “judging from the looks of -things, you aren’t often disturbed here?”</p> - -<p>At this the drummer cast me a searching look, -cold, disdainful and commiserating, as much as -to say to me,</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span></p> - -<p>“One can see that you’ve just come!”</p> - -<p>As for the quartermaster, he replied to everything -in the repertoire of the <i>Eldorado</i>. Without -stopping his juggling, he shouted at me in his -amazing voice:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse indent2"><i>Moi! je m’en fous,</i></div> -<div class="verse"><i>Je reste tranquil’ment</i></div> -<div class="verse indent2"><i>Dans mon trou!...</i></div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>He was going on when the infernal noise of -some aerial trolley tore through space.</p> - -<p>“Attention!” he cried, without moving from -his mattress. “There’s the Metro!”</p> - -<p>Almost at the same moment, a great shell, a -“310” at least, burst in the court of the house -opposite, demolished the roof, and crushed a -dozen horses.</p> - -<p>The adjutant was just crossing the street and -he stopped at the door to estimate the damage.</p> - -<p>“They missed the steeple again,” he said, with -a disdainful shrug for the Boche artillery.</p> - -<p>And Morin, the drummer, by way of commentary, -without interrupting his reading:</p> - -<p>“Close the door. If they send any more shells, -that will make a draft.”</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III<br /> -<span class="smaller">THE ECHELON</span></h2> - -<p>From Proyart to Morcourt is five miles by a -crossroad which in its many curves and windings -cuts across trenches, communication trenches -and barbed wire.</p> - -<p>The snow had stopped, but it still covered the -ground, the trees and the farms with its regular -white covering. The communication trenches -showed black on this vast screen.</p> - -<p>The crows circled in innumerable flights and -sought in vain for the carrion which had been so -abundant for months and which, to-day, was -buried.</p> - -<p>We went along, boot to boot, slowly, for the -roads were slippery. Kiki wanted to dance about, -for the keen air made him lively. But Zèbre’s -sedateness dismayed him, and Kiki wisely ranged -alongside and regulated the pace by his.</p> - -<p>The lieutenant talked but little—a few detached -words, chopped phrases, about the company,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span> -an observation on the weather, a reflection -on the horses.</p> - -<p>The road was almost deserted save for a few -Territorials, muffled in their sheepskins, who -dragged along their heavy wooden shoes which -were made even higher by a thick sole of snow. -From time to time a company wagon, driven like -an express train, grazed us with its wheels and -splashed us with mud.</p> - -<p>Then, abruptly, without having had to climb the -slightest hill, we saw Morcourt, as one sees suddenly -from the top of a cliff the sea at his feet, in -the midst of the thousand windings of the Somme, -of the canal and the turf-pits. Morcourt is a village -scarcely as large as Proyart, and like it hidden -in a gully sheltered from the winds on all -sides, and also like it, hidden under the snow.</p> - -<p>A blacksmith had set up his forge in the open -air against the walls of a tottering tile-kiln. All -around the snow had melted in great black puddles -where the waiting horses had pawed the ground. -The smoke from his fire rose red-tinted and dark -in the heavy air which seemed to muffle the ring -of the hammers on the anvil.</p> - -<p>We come to a stop before a house nearly in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span> -ruins, whose tottering remains are a constant menace. -A corporal rushes out—nimble, short and -thick-set, a small Basque cap binding his sunburned -forehead—and then some men come from the -neighboring stables.</p> - -<p>The houses in the country which were invaded -for a short time and in which troops have had -their cantonments for long weary months all look -alike. Their doors and windows are gone, but -these are replaced by tent canvas.</p> - -<p>The drivers of the echelon and the war train -in the machine-gun companies are nearly always -sailors, the older classes of the Territorials, who -after many changes have been assigned to the -Colonial regiments. No one knows why, but it is -probably because the bureaucratic, stay-at-home -mental worker finds some relationship between the -Colonials and the sea. And so they make these -men, accustomed to the management of ships, -infantrymen, or drivers, or even cavalrymen. But -with the unfailing readiness and the ingenuity -of their kind they make up so much for all that, -that far from appearing unready and badly -placed, one would say that they were veterans already -broken to all the tricks of the trade.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span></p> - -<p>Their long ship voyages and the necessities of -critical hours have taught them to replace with -the means at hand most things in material existence. -From an old preserve box and a branch of -a tree, squared and split with a hatchet, they make -a strong and convenient table. With a scantling -and a bit of wire lattice taken from a fence, they -make an elastic mattress which, covered with -straw and canvas, becomes a very comfortable -bed.</p> - -<p>The sailor is carpenter: the hatchet in his hand -takes the place of the most ingenious tools of the -joiner; painter: he has painted and refitted his boat -from its tarry keel to the scroll work of the bulwarks -and the figures and the beloved words they -put on the stern; mender: he mends his sails and -nets artistically; cook: during the long days at sea -on his frail craft with its limited accommodations, -he makes the most savory dishes from the fruits -of his fishing and a few simple spices. His qualities -and his knowledge are numerous and wide: -astronomer and healer, and, as well, singer of -beautiful songs which cradle his thought at the -will of the rhythms, as the sea rocks his boat at -the will of the waves.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span></p> - -<p>But in this multiplicity of talents he lacks that -of a driver, and what is more, a driver of a -machine gun. That is a job which combines the -heavy and the mountain artillery. A machine-gun -driver should be able to drive in the saddle -the leading team of horses and put the heavy -caisson of ammunition through the most difficult -evolutions. Again, he should be able to drive on -foot the mule loaded with his pack-saddle and -through the most impossible and sometimes the -most dangerous paths.</p> - -<p>We had scarcely begun to swallow a cup of -thick, smoking, regulation coffee in a room of the -cantonment, furnished with special skill, when Sub-Lieutenant -Delpos—smart, carefree, smiling, a -cap on the back of his head and a song on his -lips—arrived.</p> - -<p>Dedouche’s description seemed to me to be exact. -He was indeed a very young man, very quick, -very blond and very gay. He was already an -officer when others of his age had scarcely left -college; he was already a hero counting in his -active service a thousand feats of prowess when -his rather sceptical contemporaries were content -to read about them in books. Open merriment<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span> -shone in his eyes. He had gained his promotion -in the field far from the stifling atmosphere of -study halls. Yesterday he was still a sergeant in -Madagascar, Senegal, and Morocco; to-day he -is an officer who has fought since the beginning -of the Great War; to-morrow he will be a trainer -of men. He knows them all; many are his old -bedfellows or companions of the column. His -remarks are keen and unrhetorical and they please -the men. They love him and fear him; they are -free with him and respect him. They know that -he understands his trade perfectly and that they -can deceive him in nothing.</p> - -<p>Our introduction was short and unceremonious. -A man brought on the table a bottle of very sweet -Moselle wine, which is christened at the front -“Champagne.” It was one of those wines which -make up for their qualities by such pompous appellations -and well-intentioned labels as “Champagne -de la Victory,” “Champagne de la Revenge,” -“of the Allies,” “of the Poilu,” “of -Glory.” They are all equally bad, but they make -a loud noise when the cork is drawn and most of -the wine flows away in sparkling foam.</p> - -<p>We drained our cups to the common health,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span> -and to the success and certain glory of the -company.</p> - -<p>Then the lieutenant, who has memories of the -drama, said in a voice which recalled the tones -of the already classic Carbon de Casteljaloux, his -neighbor,</p> - -<p>“Since my company has, I believe, reached its -full number, shall we not show it to the <i>logis</i>, if -you please?”</p> - -<p>Under the rays of an anemic sun which had -waited until the hour of sunset before it deigned -to appear, we made a brief visit to the echelon.</p> - -<p>First the roll; five corporal muleteers or -drivers: Raynal, the owner of a vineyard in -Gironde; Liniers, a salesman of wines and spirits -and a great elector in the Twelfth Arrondissement; -Glanais, Bonecase, Glorieu, carpenter, -vine-grower, and farmer—and none of them had -ever managed a horse in his life.</p> - -<p>And the men—one in fifty is a cavalryman—but -that one is perfect. He was trained at the -cavalry school at Saumur; trained horses and bred -them, so they at once turned him over to the echelon, -where he had to lead a mule by the bridle. -That, of course, was a reproach to his old trade,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span> -so in default of any other satisfaction it taught -him the philosophy of resignation and peaceful -blessedness.</p> - -<p>The cavalry!</p> - -<p>“Oh, the cavalry, that’s been posing five minutes,” -said Sub-Lieutenant Delpos—he was extremely -fond of that expression.</p> - -<p>There were horses and mules varying in age -from five to seventeen. They were all sensible, -settled down, their legs somewhat worn out, and -more accustomed to the hearse than to a caisson, -and more familiar with the song of the worker -than with the roar of cannon. They were all -gentle, only demanding oats and straw; some with -their bones sticking out of their hides, while others -were still sleek and shiny from their warm stables -and fresh straw; all unconscious of what awaited -them on the morrow.</p> - -<p>One of the mules was a veteran, an enormous, -cunning animal. His hair was short and rough, -and in places there were great patches where the -hide showed. His skin was hung on a projecting -framework of bones, and, although he was -well fed, he was very thin—with a thinness so -unyielding to rations that it was impossible to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span> -get him fat. His head was that of an epicurean -philosopher with deep mocking eyes. This was -Chocolate.</p> - -<p>Chocolate is beyond the time when he has an -age. The oldest soldiers in the regiment have -always known him, even at Marrakech and Rabbat -in Morocco.</p> - -<p>Chocolate has made many campaigns during -his active service and he has received several -wounds as well.</p> - -<p>The story goes that one day in Morocco Chocolate -got loose from the bivouac, and started -browsing on the grass and wild oats in an ambuscade—between -two fires. Absolutely indifferent -to the crackling of bullets which he had -known from infancy, he continued to lop off the -plants until the pernicious bullets began to graze -his skin. Then he stretched out at full length in -a hollow in the sand and browsed on the grass -within reach of his teeth, while he waited the -end of the adventure. Then he went back to -the bivouac in search of a pail of water and a bag -of oats.</p> - -<p>Now Chocolate is the file leader. He indicates -by his example to the horses whom the pack-saddle<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span> -galls that the best way of carrying it is to avoid -romping to the right and the left, shifting about, -and trotting, in fact, all movements which misplace -the saddle or wrinkle the skin beneath. The -secret is to work soberly, slowly and at an even -pace.</p> - -<p>Chocolate belongs to a family of mules which -ranks high in history. The broad, rounded backs -of his ancestors have borne debonnair sovereigns, -preacher monks, magnificent Sultans and Sancho -Panzas, baskets of vegetables and cans of milk. -To-day Chocolate, their descendant, carries an -infernal instrument—a machine gun. But what -matters that to him? The road rolls on before -him and he follows it. There are oats at the -end, to-night or to-morrow, what difference does -it make?</p> - -<p>“He is cool,” the drivers say. Coolness is the -great secret of the Colonials.</p> - -<p>Coolness, indifference to danger, bad weather, -adversity, obstacles, death—no nervousness, no -useless bursts of anger, no dangerous hurrying, -no false starts. It is necessary to go—they will -go—they arrive. That is all.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV<br /> -<span class="smaller">THE SONG OF THE MACHINE GUN</span></h2> - -<p>Dedouche brings me a note to sign for -on the report book. It reads:</p> - -<p>“The non-commissioned officers will assemble -their sections in the courtyard of Cantonment -No. 77 at 2.30. Each gun captain will present -his gun. Service marching order, with masks and -arms.”</p> - -<p>I sign mechanically to please Dedouche, who -thinks he is showing me a special favor by offering -me the first reading of all orders and reports. -But this one interests me but little, for I have -neither arms nor guns to present. So it is as a -spectator that I am present at the lieutenant’s -inspection. This time I shall see the complete -company.</p> - -<p>I find myself at the appointed hour at Cantonment -77.</p> - -<p>One must have lived in these remains of villages, -which persist in standing, near the lines<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span> -to have an exact idea of what they are. In these -villages furious combats have taken place in the -streets, from house to house, and for two years -they have been occupied and overpopulated—a -hamlet of one hundred and fifty inhabitants often -serves as a cantonment for ten thousand men—by -men of all arms of the service, from all regions, -of all colors.</p> - -<p>It is not ruin in all its tragic horror and majesty. -It is worse.</p> - -<p>It is something which appears to want to live, -but which a latent leprosy eats away. Often -there are traces of shells, the splatter of bullets, -the marks of fire; the roofs may have fallen in -from the recent shelling, but even yet the general -effect is that the houses on the streets are still -standing.</p> - -<p>The fronts of these houses, made of straw -and mud, with only a large door swinging on its -hinges, are whole. Of course the mud has often -been scratched in long, leprous wounds, and the -straw tumbles out leaving the bare skeleton of -worm-eaten wood; and, besides, the windows are -without the glass, which has been broken to bits by -the explosion of shells, and which is replaced by<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span> -bits of paper or by calendars. But the real ruin -is inside.</p> - -<p>Here is the work of the carelessness and negligence -of the wandering multitudes who pass that -way, who arrive at evening, tired, muddy, wet, -who fall asleep on damp straw, cut to pieces and -crawling with vermin, and who go on the next -day, or three days later, leaving as a mark of -their passing a greater stench and a greater -dilapidation.</p> - -<p>The ruin is inside. It is not the beautiful ending -of destruction by fire, but the slow death by -cancer which eats away, by gangrene which mounts -from the cattle sheds to the stable, from the stable -to the barn, and from the barn to the hearth. And -at last a day comes when the front alone is standing -on the ruin of the annihilated house, and then -men who are passing by, seeing that it is tottering -and dangerous, cut it down with blows of the -axe and chop the wood into bits for their little -needs.</p> - -<p>And so these houses die: houses which under -their humble appearance had great souls palpitating -with life, where lives were born and passed -their years; where joys and griefs exclaimed and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span> -wept, where the peasant, the son of the soil, drew -from this soil, the generatrix of strong races, the -re-vivifying harvests which he stored away in -the barn which to-day is dead.</p> - -<p>Whole villages and great villages agonize in -this way through months of wearing away, and -their end is no less terrible, no less majestic, no -less pitiful than of those villages with glorious -names which the wrath of shells beats into dust.</p> - -<p>Cantonment 77 is made up of those houses -which waste away. Between the fragile walls, -notched by an empty barn and a fallen shed, opens -a courtyard. Filth spreads out in a vast pool on -which float among the refuse a pile of garbage, -boxes, the waste of cooking and greasy papers.</p> - -<p>In the corner of a recess open to every wind, -on piles of bricks held together by iron bars pulled -from the window sills, the cook has set his pots -and bowls in line. His fire of wood so green that -the sap oozes out licks the already blackened walls -with its long flames.</p> - -<p>All that offers even a precarious shelter—a -roof—is occupied by the men who crowd in there -on old, filthy straw, and on the meager rations -of fresh straw, often too fresh. And as the tiles<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span> -and thatch let the rain filter through, they stretch -above them strips of tent canvas.</p> - -<p>Oh, blessed canvas! To what uses is it not put! -It serves as a roof against bad weather, the rain -and snow; a protection against dampness, mud -and vermin; planted on two stakes, stretched to -a door casing, it protects the fires for cooking -from draughts; in the more comfortable cantonments -in the rear, where the straw is clean and -abundant, where the men are at last able to take -off their shoes, and their muddy leggings and their -trousers heavy with dampness, it serves as the bed -clothes; and, finally, at the last hour it is in the -tent canvas that they collect the bodies with their -torn and shattered limbs. It serves as shroud and -coffin. And, faithful to its rôle, it is the last -shelter.</p> - -<p>The men began to arrive by groups almost in -order, at any rate as much so as the littered -ground in the courtyard would permit. They assembled -by sections in a half circle around the -pool of filth. It was certainly a picturesque sight -when, at the command “Attention,” these men -mounted a faultless guard around this fetid pool, -where, among papers, tossed about and dirty, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span> -box covers, there floated, bloated and fetid, all -kinds of carrion, the rats of the last hecatomb.</p> - -<p>Near the doorway on the largest and cleanest -part of the courtyard the eight machine guns were -drawn up in line.</p> - -<p>Eight machine guns, the armament of the -company.</p> - -<p>Eight guns, so small, so fine, and such bits of -workmanship, that one would think to see them -that they were a child’s playthings.</p> - -<p>The machine guns appeared very coquettish and -pretty as they rested on their bluish-gray tripod, -with their steel barrels well burnished even to the -mouth of their muzzles. They hardly appeared -at all threatening with the polished leather of -the breech, where the bronzed fist of the gun -layer stood out in graceful designs, and the -attenuated round and svelte circles of the -radiator.</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 700px;" id="illus2"> -<img src="images/illus2.jpg" width="700" height="430" alt="" /> -<p class="caption"><span class="smcap">Remains of Villages near the Lines</span> <a href="#Page_36"><i>See page 36</i></a></p> -</div> - -<p>And the machine gun is a coquette, too. Under -its appearance of delicacy and grace it conceals a -terrible power of domination and strength. Yet -it hurls pitiless death without noise, with a rapidity -as furtive as a shout of laughter, with a tac-tac -which is scarcely perceptible and which is no more<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span> -menacing than the familiar tac-tac of the sewing-machine -or the typewriter.</p> - -<p>And the machine gun is a coquette, too! Fashioned -like a work of art, the brilliancy of its -polished steel and the voluptuous roundness of the -brass invite caresses. Its shots come from they -know not where, since they can see nothing—a -bush is sufficient to conceal it; light, it is here one -minute and there another; it is not visible until -one is almost upon it, yet its shots are fatal at -some miles.</p> - -<p>It is delicate and costly, needing a hundred -things for its adornment, skilled care for its -toilet and a hundred men to serve. Is not the -machine gun a coquette?</p> - -<p>As the Company Casanova is of recent formation -it received an entirely new armament of the -latest model. The guns are built on the Hotchkiss -system—the last word of perfection in war. -They are light, scarcely fifty pounds, and they are -easy to manipulate skilfully. The rapidity of their -fire is extreme, more than five hundred shots a -minute, and their adjustment is such that they -can fire on the most varied objects. First, there -is blockade fire, which concentrates all the shots<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span> -on a narrow point; then the sweeping fire, which -sweeps the whole of an extended field; and finally, -indirect fire, which hits its designated target with -mathematical precision, at the same time concealing -the source.</p> - -<p>The machine gun is the little queen of battles. -One may smile to look at her, but one shudders -when he thinks of her ravages.</p> - -<p>And the men are proud of their guns.</p> - -<p>I observe them while the lieutenant speaks to -them and their eyes look alternately at the lieutenant -and at their respective guns. They know their -gun; they love her; possess her. They have confidence -in her, and it is she who defends them.</p> - -<p>To-day there are about one hundred and fifty -men grouped in the same specialty, from all -regions, all regiments, all arms, who have come -after more or less lengthy stays in the instruction -camps at Nice, Clermont, and La Valbonne.</p> - -<p>Their specialty has created among them a certain -sort of affinity, a family characteristic. Machine -gunners are an element apart, a sort of -élite. In their ranks there is a certain homogeneity -which comes from the practice of the same -competency which is nearly a science. They feel<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span> -somewhat superior to, at least different from, the -ordinary companies.</p> - -<p>They appreciate the worth of their distinction -and scarcely ever associate with other troops. -The companies of infantry are swamped in a battalion, -while the companies of machine guns are -isolated, autonomous, directly dependent on the -commanding officer, and they enjoy an absolute -initiative in a battle. Finally, they are not anonymous -or numbered; they are not called the fifth, -seventh, or the twelfth, but the “Company Casanova,” -as they once said Royal-Piémont or Prince -Condé.</p> - -<p>Then, too, there is their insignia. The insignia -is the bauble, the jewel, of the soldier. It is a real -satisfaction to have something on the uniform -which distinguishes one from his neighbor. To -such a point do they carry this that many cannot -resist putting on insignia to which they haven’t -the slightest right. And none of the insignia -arouses greater envy than the two small intersecting -cannons of the machine guns.</p> - -<p>It takes one hundred and fifty men, two officers, -ten non-commissioned officers, and sixty horses to -serve, supply and transport the eight small guns,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span> -one hundred and fifty men trained and inured to -hardship. There is none here who has not been -in several battles and received several wounds in -his active service. There is none here who has -not a good record. When said of one that means -little, but when said of all it is worth telling.</p> - -<p>There are artillerymen, cavalrymen, and -sailors who have become foot soldiers through -their different changes; and not only are all arms -represented, but all professions, all classes and -all temperaments. Jacquet, a poet and musician, -a dreamer with an exquisite soul, is an accurate -gun layer. Finger drives milk wagons in Paris, -but with his gigantic hands he manipulates with -delicacy the wheelwork of his Hotchkiss. Millazo, -who behind his counter at Hanoï showed -gracefully the jewels of Indo-Chinese art and -learned at Lure the meticulous art of watchmaking, -now manages a “sweeping” fire as calmly -and accurately as he used to mount a spiral spring -on its microscopic pivot. Corporal Vial, who -used to verify accounts in the luxurious banks on -the Riviera and handle tinkling gold and checks, -here shows that he knows the science of fire and -his machine and leads his squad with authority.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span> -Charlet drove the heavy locomotives on the railways -of the North; Gamie regulated the powerful -looms in the textile factories, and they both owe -to their knowledge of mechanics their duties as -range takers. Imbert was a fisherman and, as -he knows how to cook a savory bouillabaisse, he -is assigned to the difficult rôle of cook and acquits -himself conscientiously and well. However, -Chevalier, an expert in geometry, who for twenty -years grew pale in profound studies of logarithms -and co-ordinates, here assumes the duties of mess -corporal, and discusses with asperity the supplies -and remarks pitilessly on the regulation cup of -wine and the mathematical pounds and ounces of -mutton, lard and beans.</p> - -<p>In spite of what one might think, this odd collection -of men is as homogeneous as could be -imagined. This comes from the fact that above -all this different knowledge is a uniform purpose, -because all these multiple alliances tend toward a -common end which is incarnated in their chief, -a man from the South, who is expansive and impetuous, -but who curbs his temperament under -the rigid calm of a man from the North, one of -the common people, a son of the soil, who has<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span> -risen to the rank of officer, and a commanding -officer at that, solely through persistency and -courage.</p> - -<p class="tb">When the lieutenant had finished his rapid but -close inspection, and had examined with the eye -of a connoisseur the condition and repair of the -guns, he took in the whole company with a look, -for it is his work which he commands with firmness -and which he loves. He is already going, -after addressing a few remarks to the adjutant -and the classic, “All right. Break ranks,” when -a man steps out of the ranks and comes towards -him.</p> - -<p>“Lieutenant, the company is now completely -equipped and armed, but there is, however, still -something lacking.”</p> - -<p>“Indeed,” replied the lieutenant, “and what’s -that?”</p> - -<p>“Its marching song.”</p> - -<p>“Its marching song! Have you chosen one?”</p> - -<p>“Chosen one! Oh, no! We have an unpublished -one, as new as the company itself, composed -for us and created by us. Will you do us -the honor of listening to it?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Will I? The devil. I ask it; I demand it. -I want to learn it, too. Go on. Start it!” he -exclaimed.</p> - -<p>And then Gaix turned towards his comrades -and began to sing in his great deep baritone voice -our marching song, “Ma Mitrailleuse,” which -each section had learned secretly and which they -sang together for the first time to-day.</p> - -<p>On a rhythm taken from some war march, some -one had composed simple words, which were -nevertheless image-provoking and vibrant, where -the alternating motet “Ma Mitrailleuse,” sung -in chorus, sounds like a bugle call.</p> - -<p>This marching song is one of those which engrave -themselves at once on the memory and in -the heart, which are never forgotten, for in their -accents are rooted the strongest impressions of -the hours lived in the simple brotherhood of arms, -the memory of dangers encountered together, the -pride of victories, and the pious homage to those -who sang it with us and whose manly voices were -silenced forever in the night of battles.</p> - -<p>And I find in writing it the same deep stirring -emotion that I experienced when I first -heard it.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<p class="center"><i>MA MITRAILLEUSE</i></p> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse"><i>Sur notre front, dans ton abri,</i></div> -<div class="verse"><i>Tu dors sur ton trépied bleu gris,</i></div> -<div class="verse"><i>Calme dans l’ombre vaporeuse,</i></div> -<div class="verse indent3"><i>Ma mitrailleuse.</i></div> -<div class="verse"><i>Et ton canon d’acier bleui</i></div> -<div class="verse"><i>Benoîtement perce la nuit.</i></div> -<div class="verse"><i>Que tu parais peu dangereuse,</i></div> -<div class="verse indent3"><i>Ma mitrailleuse.</i></div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse"><i>Si parfois en te transportant</i></div> -<div class="verse"><i>Je trouve ton poids fatigant,</i></div> -<div class="verse"><i>Et dis tout bas “la sacré gueuse!”</i></div> -<div class="verse indent3"><i>Ma mitrailleuse,</i></div> -<div class="verse"><i>Pardonne-moi, car j’ai grand tort,</i></div> -<div class="verse"><i>Sachant que tu chantes la mort</i></div> -<div class="verse"><i>De l’Allemagne furieuse,</i></div> -<div class="verse indent3"><i>Ma mitrailleuse.</i></div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse"><i>Mais dans le petit jour blêmi,</i></div> -<div class="verse"><i>Alerte! Voici l’ennemi!</i></div> -<div class="verse"><i>Et t’éveillant soudain rageuse,</i></div> -<div class="verse indent3"><i>Ma mitrailleuse,</i></div> -<div class="verse"><i>Avec tes tac tac réguliers</i></div> -<div class="verse"><i>Fauche les Boches par milliers,</i></div> -<div class="verse"><i>Sans t’arrêter, noire et fumeuse,</i></div> -<div class="verse indent3"><i>Ma mitrailleuse.</i></div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse"><i>Et comme nous elle attendra</i></div> -<div class="verse"><i>Le grand jour qui déclanchera</i></div> -<div class="verse"><i>L’offensive victorieuse,</i></div> -<div class="verse indent3"><i>Ma mitrailleuse.</i></div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span> -<div class="verse"><i>Poursuivant le bandit germain,</i></div> -<div class="verse"><i>J’entendrai sur les bords du Rhin,</i></div> -<div class="verse"><i>Au grand soleil, claquer joyeuse</i></div> -<div class="verse indent3"><i>Ma mitrailleuse.</i></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>When the last accents, sung by the men at the -top of their lungs, died away, there was silence -and I looked at the lieutenant.</p> - -<p>He was seated on a staircase, with his head -leaning on his clenched fists. He had listened to -the whole song, and now he remained for a -moment as if waiting. And when he stood up -his eyes were slightly red and his lips concealed -under a smile the impress of intense emotion.</p> - -<p>“It is good,” he said, “very beautiful, my -friends, and I congratulate you all. Your song -is admirable, it will go with us everywhere, and -we will lead it to victory. But who is the author? -There must be an author. The devil, there must -be an author!”</p> - -<p>There was a moment of silence as if each one -hesitated to reply, but a big sergeant cried out -in a stentorian voice:</p> - -<p>“A <i>ban</i> for the author, Lieutenant Delpos, and -a couplet for him besides.”</p> - -<p>Then the men broke all alignment, pressed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span> -around their young sub-lieutenant, joyous, proud -and blushing with pleasure, weeping with joy, and -burst out at the top of their lungs, with indescribable -feeling, which showed all their strength, -their will for victory and their unbreakable -confidence:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse"><i>Et comme nous elle attendra</i></div> -<div class="verse"><i>Le grand jour qui déclanchera</i></div> -<div class="verse"><i>L’offensive victorieuse,</i></div> -<div class="verse indent3"><i>Ma mitrailleuse.</i></div> -<div class="verse"><i>Poursuivant le bandit germain,</i></div> -<div class="verse"><i>J’entendrai sur les bords du Rhin,</i></div> -<div class="verse"><i>Au grand soleil, claquer joyeuse</i></div> -<div class="verse indent3"><i>Ma mitrailleuse.</i></div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>Then, amidst the applause and the “vivats,” -the lieutenant embraced his young friend vigorously -and said:</p> - -<p>“Nom de Dieu! You didn’t tell me that you -were a poet. I congratulate you.”</p> - -<p>And taking him by the arm, he went off joyous, -skipping like a gamin, taking up again the inspiring -refrain:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse"><i>Ma Mitrailleuse ... Ma Mitrailleuse!</i></div> -</div> -</div> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V<br /> -<span class="smaller">A RECONNAISSANCE IN THE FOG</span></h2> - -<p>One evening the lieutenant said to me a little -after dinner:</p> - -<p>“To-morrow, at four o’clock, we’re going to -the first line trenches to find positions for the -machine guns. The section leaders are coming, -and if you want to come, you’ll find it interesting.”</p> - -<p>The selection of a machine gun emplacement -is essentially a delicate task. The Germans are -past masters in this art. So, in the days of attack -when our artillery had made a thorough preparation -and they were convinced that there was nothing -left in front and we could advance without -trouble, exactly as though taking a walk in a -square, we found ourselves abruptly right in the -fire of a Boche machine gun which had not been -spotted and which was so skilfully camouflaged -that it had resisted the most terrible bombardment.</p> - -<p>It is necessary above all to find a place which -commands a wide field of fire and one easy to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span> -play on. It must also be easy to conceal the gun -in some way, for, if it is once spotted, a shell -will soon send the gun and its crew pirouetting -in the air, unless they are forewarned by a shot -too long or too short, but whose destination is -unmistakable, and so have time to move.</p> - -<p>It was scarcely daylight when we assembled in -front of the lieutenant’s quarters.</p> - -<p>A fog that could be cut with a knife limited our -view to a few yards. It was cold.</p> - -<p>Sergeant Lace is there already walking back -and forth in the fog. He is always exactly punctual, -anyway. He is equipped as if for an assault -with his revolver, mask, and field glasses. -His chest is covered with numerous colonial decorations, -his military medal and his war cross with -three palms.</p> - -<p>Lace is a section leader <i>emeritus</i>. He is rough -and harsh in appearance; he never smiles, or -rarely; he is tanned from his long stay in the -colonies, but he does his duty with unfailing exactness. -During an attack in Champagne he found -himself under the command of his brother, a lieutenant, -who was mortally wounded at his side. -He embraced him reverently, took the papers,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span> -pocketbook and letters from the pockets of his -jacket, removed his decorations, which were now -relics, and resumed his place in the ranks. He -fought all day, attacked a fortified position, assisted -in the dangerous task of clearing a wood, -and when night came, by the light of star shells -under a hellish bombardment and a storm of -shrapnel, he went back and brought out his -brother’s body and gave it proper burial. Lace -is a soldier and a conscientious one.</p> - -<p>Other silhouettes approach and come out of -the darkness like ghosts. One is Poirier, a very -young man, who laughs in the midst of the worst -dangers, which he absolutely ignores. Then there -is big Roullé, whom ten years in the tropics did -not succeed in making thin, and whose breadth -of shoulder is ill-adapted to the narrowness of -the communication trenches. Then Pierron comes -on the run, singing a Neapolitan song. He is -from Saigon and is homesick for the Asiatic nights, -whose charms he is forever describing.</p> - -<p>As the hour strikes the lieutenant appears.</p> - -<p>We follow the main road through the fog. -This leads to Lehons, a ruined village which is -situated in the lines and cuts the trenches.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span></p> - -<p>One can hardly distinguish the trees in the fields -either to the right or the left. The dawn is silent. -Nature wants light for her awakening, but this -morning the lights persist in staying dim.</p> - -<p>We hear occasionally a cannon shot, as sharp -as the crack of a whip. It comes from a battery -of “75’s” concealed in a wood at our side, which -fires at stated intervals for tactical reasons. The -shell shatters the air over our heads and all becomes -quiet again.</p> - -<p>So we walk along for nearly an hour, some -grouped together while others dream away by -themselves. The fog now begins to lighten and -we are able to see the adjoining fields. They are -torn with shell holes, the rare trees are shattered -and slashed, and their branches hang down like -broken limbs. In the ditches, full of muddy water, -are piles of material—rolls of barbed wire, eaten -by rust, chevaux de frise broken to pieces, and -crossbars and round logs already covered with -moss.</p> - -<p class="tb">Suddenly, there in front of us, at two paces, -splitting the fog is—the village. There are -houses—remains of houses—and parts of walls<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span> -which through some prodigious feat of balance -persist in remaining upright.</p> - -<p>The first house on the right was apparently of -some importance. The two master walls still remain -in spite of the roof having fallen. Between -them is a pile of stones, burnt girders, and in the -middle of the heap of rubbish still stands, intact -and rigid, pointing straight toward yawning -heaven, the iron balustrade of a winding staircase. -A great signboard of black wood runs from one -wall to the other, apparently holding them together, -and one might believe that they only remain -upright, thanks to it. It is riddled with -bullets and the flames have licked it as they passed, -but one can still read the long yellow letters of -the inscription:</p> - -<p class="center"><i>Lodgings</i><br /> -<i>Famous Cuisine</i> <i>Comfortable Rooms</i></p> - -<p>None of us risk an ironical reflection or a -mocking smile, for to-day we have become accustomed -to so many strange inscriptions which -in disaster are the living lie of their emptiness.</p> - -<p>Opposite, on the other side of the road, the -military cemetery shows its multitude of crosses.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span> -Their number has exceeded the capacity of the -site provided for it, and they have already become -masters of the surrounding fields. These -graves are all immutably alike, and they are built -and maintained with a fraternal affection by companies -of Territorials who hold the cantonments -in the neighborhood.</p> - -<p>Yes, they are all immutably alike. There is -always the white wooden cross with the name of -the deceased, the number of his regiment, his -company and the date of his death in simple -black letters. The grave is a small square, bordered -by bits of tile or bricks, sometimes by -planks or the bottoms of bottles. And on this -humble burial place someone has planted primroses.</p> - -<p>A bottle stuck in the ground by the neck holds -a bit of paper on which is written all supplementary -information as to identity which will guide -the pious pilgrim of to-morrow.</p> - -<p>Sometimes a perforated helmet or a tattered -cap placed on the cross by a comrade who respects -his memory tells us that the soldier was wounded -in the head. One shudders at some of these helmets, -they are rent so grievously.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span></p> - -<p>We pass rapidly but religiously through the -narrow paths between the graves. It is a sort of -duty rather than curiosity which leads us to look -over all these cemeteries in search of some known -name, a friend’s name, so that we may pay our -last respects.</p> - -<p class="tb">But time passes. It would not be prudent to -stop longer, for already above the neighboring -hedge we can hear the sinister “ta-co” of the -German bullets. Branches of an apple tree, -lopped off by the shells, fall at our feet.</p> - -<p>So we enter the village through what was once -a street. Here for fifty yards are barricades of -bricks and dirt interlaced with farm instruments -and carts.</p> - -<p>Barbed-wire entanglements which only leave a -narrow, difficult, zigzag passage between them -are evidences of the bitter fights which took place -here.</p> - -<p>We reach the church which is the beginning of -the communication trench which leads to the front -lines.</p> - -<p>The church! There is absolutely nothing left -of it. One might think that the savagery of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span> -German cannon raged with a special hate on the -buildings created for rest, meditation and prayer.</p> - -<p>The church has fallen down and the naves are -now only a mass of stones on which the briers are -already beginning to grow. A sort of arched door -still stands at the entrance, without a scratch. It -is nearly new and its brilliant ironwork seems a -challenge in the midst of this destruction.</p> - -<p>The communication trench starts on the spot -where the high altar used to stand. We follow -it under the ruins, through the orchards which it -furrows, adjusting our steps to each other, and -keeping our eyes on the man ahead.</p> - -<p>Above our heads nature awakes; the sky appears -clear now; and branches of trees with their -buds and blossoms hang over the parapets.</p> - -<p>It is five o’clock and broad daylight when we -reach the proposed emplacement. It is on a knoll -in the middle of an orchard which is bordered -some hundred yards away by hawthorn and -privet hedges. Behind the hedges are the Boche -lines.</p> - -<p>The engineer in charge of laying out the works -is on the ground. He tries to profit by the only -salient which permits firing on a sufficiently wide<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span> -sweep of ground. On the right it commands the -entrance to the village by a road. We see its -white windings where it unrolls through the gardens, -and then it plunges into a small wood and -loses itself. Opposite us the emplacement commands -an entire sector.</p> - -<p>They will scoop out the place underneath, and -they will keep the green shell of grass and bushes -which make the most fortunate and natural sort -of camouflage. A communication trench grafted -on the main trench from the church will give -access to it.</p> - -<p>Orders are given rapidly, measurements are -taken, and the tasks laid out. It is hardly expedient -for us to delay in this corner, for our movements -would betray our intentions, and already -bullets, which are by no means spent bullets, cross -above our heads singing their unappreciated buzz.</p> - -<p>We make our way back through the trench.</p> - -<p>In the village the men belonging to the supporting -columns have left their lairs and are attending -to their usual occupations. Some of them -are washing their clothes in the watering-trough -in the square and singing as they wash. The -company barber is installed near the fountain and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span> -the men form a circle about him as they wait -their turn. On a butcher’s stall of white stone a -cook is cutting up a quarter of beef into equal -rations. Only two hundred yards from the enemy -the village has taken up almost its usual existence -again. These men are not afraid. At the sound -of the first shell they jump into their cellars, which -are amply protected by earth and boards. But -they already have their customs. Shells only -come at the hour when the supplies are brought -up, and not always then, for the shelling doesn’t -occur regularly every day. The enemy doesn’t -waste munitions on a village he knows is so well -destroyed.</p> - -<p>The fresh air and the long road have set our -teeth on edge and given us an appetite. We halt -to break a crust. Some have brought canteens -of wine or coffee; bottles of preserves appear, and -the improvident—I am one—pay homage to -those who pass a full flask.</p> - -<p>The sun is already high when we start back -along the road.</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 430px;" id="illus3"> -<img src="images/illus3.jpg" width="430" height="700" alt="" /> -<p class="caption"><span class="smcap">A Poilu</span> <a href="#Page_56"><i>See page 56</i></a></p> -</div> - -<p>The lieutenant loves a quick pace and a marching -song. So at the top of his lungs he begins -one of his lively songs full of expressions that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span> -would have startled a growler of the Empire -through their shamelessness, but which do not disturb -the modesty of a Colonial at all, supposing -that a Colonial ever had any.</p> - -<p>And the section leaders take up the refrain in -chorus.</p> - -<p>Some steps behind, Sub-Lieutenant Delpos stops -to light his fine Egyptian cigarette. In spite of -the early hour and the uncertain weather, and -with no thought of the disagreeable march through -the sticky mud of the communication trench, he -is dressed with the greatest care. His bright tan -leggings are elegantly curved; his furred gloves -are of the finest quality, and the pocket of his -jacket, cut in the latest English style, shows a fine -cambric handkerchief, subtly scented. And arm -in arm we follow the quick pace of our comrades, -while he continues the interrupted story of his -latest exploit.</p> - -<p>“Yes, <i>mon cher</i>, picture to yourself an exquisite -blonde. I met her on the Rue des Saints-Pères....”</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI<br /> -<span class="smaller">OUR FIRST ENGAGEMENT</span></h2> - -<p>Yesterday evening at five o’clock we -received an order to take our positions in -the front line to support the attack which the -second battalion would make at nine-thirty.</p> - -<p>It was raining. It has rained all the time for -some months, and we have become accustomed -to the mud and dampness.</p> - -<p>We left the cantonment at Morcourt at nightfall. -We went along the towpath of the canal, -across the bridge at Froissy, through the ruins -of Éclusier and entered the communication trench -which we knew as the “120 long.”</p> - -<p>The silent march is accomplished with little -difficulty. There is no sound of cannon. Everything -is quiet. We reach our positions about midnight—four -dugouts camouflaged for the guns -of two sections which are to play on the sector; the -two other sections remain in the “Servian” trench -in reserve at the disposal of the commander.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span></p> - -<p>The lieutenant examines the post established -for him. Farther ahead is a communication -trench which has been completely overturned and -destroyed, now nothing but a great hole. Below -is a big tangle of barbed wire, fascines and ripped -open sandbags. We can see very well through -this jumble and we are installed there.</p> - -<p>We can make out the details of the Boche lines -through the glass.</p> - -<p>“Come. I think it will be all right. But it -will be hard. Fortunately, it can’t last long.”</p> - -<p>Then we return to the positions for a final -inspection.</p> - -<p>The emplacements which our guns occupy are -round excavations about three yards across and -two deep. In the middle nearly on a level with -the surrounding ground is a sort of pedestal for -the machine gun. The barrel scarcely reaches -beyond the hole and it is absolutely invisible at -a short distance. The men have proceeded to -make a camouflage which resembles the character -of the terrain with wickerwork covered by dirt -and grass. The many inventions with which they -have increased the weight of the machine guns—the -shield, sights and periscope—are in their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span> -places. The men disdain these additions a little -and even neglect to use them unless forced to -do so.</p> - -<p>“They would only have to add a little more,” -they say, “to make a ‘75’ instead of a machine -gun.”</p> - -<p>“The periscope may be of use for something. -You have to try half an hour before you can see -anything. I like my eyes better.”</p> - -<p>The ammunition wagons are installed and -opened; the belts are ready; the gun layer, the -loader, and the crew are at their stations.</p> - -<p>The lieutenant makes the rounds of each section, -inspecting the guns, testing the mechanism, -trying the weight of the munitions, taking account -of everything and looking each man in the face.</p> - -<p>“We are the last company organized,” he says. -“You know that the machine gunners should be -the flower of the army; don’t forget it. It is our -first engagement. Try to show that we’re there -a little.”</p> - -<p>This short unpretentious harangue produces its -effect on the men, who smile as they listen to it. -They are not nervous now, but only slightly curious. -They are not sorry to put their toys to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span> -test at last, and to shoot their projectiles at something -besides the moving figures in the training -camps.</p> - -<p>When the inspection is over and the final instructions -have been given, we return to the commandant’s -station, and stretch out to sleep on the -reserve caissons which protect us from the mud. -Rifts in the clouds reveal the stars. It will be -fine to-morrow. But waiting is cold, very cold, -and it is impossible to sleep under such a wind. -We talk.</p> - -<p>“You’re going to hear a concert. They -haven’t massed more than three hundred guns -in all, from the ‘75’ to the heavy artillery, on -our fifteen hundred yard front for nothing. Have -you seen the ‘150’ mortars? They have some -muzzles.”</p> - -<p>Dawn appears. A light fog rises from the -ground and seems thickest at the side of the canal -where the German positions are. It is the coldest -hour of the day and the earth of our dugout is -as hard as iron; it is frozen. Instinctively I let -down the ear-flaps of my cap which until now I -have kept under my helmet.</p> - -<p>“Are you cold?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I’m not warm.”</p> - -<p>“A drop of brandy?”</p> - -<p>“Sure.”</p> - -<p>The lieutenant passes his canteen to me and -as I drink the thin stream from its mouth I feel -a wave of warmth.</p> - -<p>Light comes, but it is very pale. Around us -we hear the tread of feet on the hard ground and -the slapping of arms across the chest.</p> - -<p>We wait nervously. Presently we receive an -order not to fire until the blast of the whistle.</p> - -<p>Eight o’clock! Behind us, in the limpid azure, -the red disk of the sun rises.</p> - -<p>A shell cuts through the air; then another; then -still another. Our artillery is firing on the Boche -lines.</p> - -<p>“Attention.” The response is instantaneous. -We can still see no movement in the ranks of the -infantry to our right whose rush we are to support. -What are they waiting for? The men are -nervous and they start to grumble.</p> - -<p>Boom! comes the Boche’s reply.</p> - -<p>A great mass of earth, grass and crumbled -stones shoots up a hundred yards ahead of us!</p> - -<p>Too short!</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span></p> - -<p>Boom! still another. Still short!</p> - -<p>A large shell heads for us. It thunders. -Where is it going to burst? The devil! It falls -near our first section, to the left; then, almost -at once, another, a little to the right. Are we -spotted? We haven’t fired a cartridge yet, and -there isn’t an aeroplane or sausage in the air.</p> - -<p>Two “150’s,” one right after the other, burst -fair on the section, right in the hole. An enormous -mass of earth spurts up. Through the dust -and smoke we see broken arms, sandbags ripped -open, legs torn from the body, an entire body, the -gun!...</p> - -<p>The lieutenant knits his brows in dismay. A -sergeant from the reserve half section, slightly -pale, runs up with the details.</p> - -<p>“Sergeant Rollé, the gun layer, and the crew -are killed.”</p> - -<p>“Occupy the emplacement with your half-section.”</p> - -<p>“Very well, Lieutenant.”</p> - -<p>Shells are falling in our sector without a break. -All the guns are splattered with splinters and -most of the crews are slightly wounded.</p> - -<p>Durozier’s half section jump out of their dugout<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span> -in a hurry and throw themselves into the hole -which has now increased in size to a vast yawning -crater.</p> - -<p>“If we could only fire on something. But -there’s nothing to see. And no signal.”</p> - -<p>The Boche artillery certainly has a grudge -against our first section. The new gun is scarcely -in position when a great shell falls in the same -place, in the same crater.</p> - -<p>We see distinctly a body blown high into the -air, and the body still holds the mount of the -machine gun which he was just setting in place. -Headless, disemboweled, it falls just in front of -our dugout within reach of our hands. It is -Gouzé, the chief gunner.</p> - -<p>“The <i>salauds</i>!”</p> - -<p>An intelligence officer from the major reaches -us.</p> - -<p>“Get ready to support the wave which is going -over with all your guns!”</p> - -<p>The shells burst on our position implacably. -There isn’t the slightest choice between the emplacements. -Three guns are still intact and ready -to fire at the blast of the whistle. But the fourth -gun must be put in position, too.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Tell the adjutant of the section to occupy the -crater,” comes the order.</p> - -<p>By means of the half-destroyed communication -trench I reach the section which I find burrowing -in shelters built hastily out of whatever came -handiest and deliver my order.</p> - -<p>The adjutant takes it and turns pale.</p> - -<p>“All right, but there’s no great chance of our -getting there.”</p> - -<p>Their hearts throb, and they look at each other. -It is true that it is necessary, but on the parapet -between the trench and the crater, no longer the -slightest protection, shells fall like hail and without -a let-up. They hesitate.</p> - -<p>As if he had foreseen this, the lieutenant had -followed behind me. He reads their hesitation -in their faces and is about to say something to -overcome it when the blast of the major’s whistle -sounds. It is the signal. The wave jumps from -the parallels and dashes forward. We must fire.</p> - -<p>Our three guns have already begun their rattle -and are spraying the terrain before the enemy’s -trenches close to the ground, probing the loopholes, -mowing the parapets, and cutting the last -of the barbed wire.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span></p> - -<p>The fourth gun ought to fire too; it must. -Then, quietly, with that unusual coolness which -characterizes him, the lieutenant clambers over -the parapet.</p> - -<p>“Will you come with me, <i>Margis</i>?”</p> - -<p>Cigarette between his lips, leaning carelessly on -his curved handled cane, as though he were going -for a morning walk through the fields, he advances, -standing very straight, without hurrying, and -without losing an inch of his great height.</p> - -<p>The men understand. Five seconds later we -are in the crater and in less time than it takes to -tell it the gun begins to fire like the rest.</p> - -<p>The enemy’s artillery has now changed its objective. -It now aims its fire on the assaulting -wave.</p> - -<p>We return to our shelter. The spectacle is -wonderful. Almost without losses, our waves -reach the first of the enemy’s lines and clear them -at a bound.</p> - -<p>“Lengthen the fire.... On the second position.... -Farther ... on the third; on the fortified -emplacement; to the left of the woods.... -Fire, fire, fire, nom de Dieu!”</p> - -<p>The fire on our sector begins again more violently<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span> -than ever. We have bothered the enemy -and he wants to silence us.</p> - -<p>Three out of four of our guns are silent. The -fourth, the last one to arrive, with all the rapidity -of its fire, alone sustains the attack of our -infantry. The wonderful little machine devours -without a skip the endless munitions which the -crew have difficulty in bringing to it.</p> - -<p>“Fire, Adjutant, fire! Don’t stop. Give it to -them,” shouts the lieutenant, seized by the fever -of battle.</p> - -<p>And the adjutant fires, fires without stopping. -Our wave reaches its objective, the enemy flees, -whole companies surrender.</p> - -<p>“That’s it; we are there. Fire on the reserves, -farther, the length of the embankment. -Cease firing, stop it, stop firing. We are there.... -Cease firing!”</p> - -<p>Just as he shouts this order a shell, the last one—the -third on the same spot—falls, bursts, and -buries the gun and its heroic crew.</p> - -<p>“M ...! The swine! Can’t they see that -it is finished?”</p> - -<p>Heavily and mournfully we make toll of the -dead. Comrades pay their last respects to their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span> -comrades. They take their letters and keepsakes, -and arrange the bodies for their last resting place -as best they can.</p> - -<p>The order to go back is given.</p> - -<p>For two hours we make our way through the -communication trench, now only a stream of mud -in which we sink to our ankles.</p> - -<p>We advance, dejected, silent, heavy with -fatigue, depressed by the thought of those we -have left behind, whom we shall never see again, -as was our wont, even yesterday at the cantonment.</p> - -<p>The lieutenant is in the lead, leaning on his -baton, silently, chewing on his eternal cigarette.</p> - -<p>We finally reach the end of the trench at -Froissy and come out on the main road.</p> - -<p>In spite of their long hours of fatigue and the -sleepless nights, the men suddenly seem less weary.</p> - -<p>They no longer march one on top of the -other, stepping over corpses. Their horizon has -broadened; they see; they breathe; they come out -of their trance; they emerge from Hell, they come -from death. They are coming back to life!</p> - -<p>Two hundred yards ahead we can already see -groups: our mules, our limbers, companies of -Territorials who are repairing the roads, sappers<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span> -from the engineer corps, men from the field -kitchens, automobiles, dreams ... the living -world at last.</p> - -<p>The sub-lieutenant has remained at the rear of -the column, assuming the difficult task of encouraging -the stragglers and keeping up the spirits of -the weak. Now he runs up and down the ranks. -He is proud of his men; he loves their swagger -and steadiness.</p> - -<p>“Come, children, a little speed. Try to march -by these people in some style.”</p> - -<p>And as we approach the first huts he begins to -sing at the top of his lungs his song, the song of -the machine gun:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse"><i>Mais dans le petit jour blémi,</i></div> -<div class="verse"><i>Alerte! Voici l’ennemi!</i></div> -<div class="verse"><i>Et t’éveillant soudain rageuse,</i></div> -<div class="verse indent3"><i>Ma mitrailleuse,</i></div> -<div class="verse"><i>Avec tes tac tac réguliers,</i></div> -<div class="verse"><i>Sans t’arrêter, noire et fumeuse,</i></div> -<div class="verse indent3"><i>Ma mitrailleuse.</i></div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>Some of the men look at him in surprise, look -at him and then begin to sing.</p> - -<p>And this bruised troop, which had just lost -half its effective strength, with its wounded men -with their bloody bandages, their torn clothes,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span> -their arms in bits, filed by singing this heroic joyful -song, expressing in their voices all their hopes -and all their triumphs.</p> - -<p>It defiled between lines of astonished men who -stood respectful, stupefied at so much energy, so -much fire and dash in the face of so much death.</p> - -<p>In position before his staff, fingers together in -the prescribed position of salute, a general stood -with bared head, while the company marched by.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII<br /> -<span class="smaller">EASTER EGGS</span></h2> - -<p>Easter—it fell on April twenty-third that -year—dawned splendidly, a real day of -gladsome spring.</p> - -<p>The company was off duty. We had worked -for a month on the fortifications in the front-line -trenches and we deserved this fine day.</p> - -<p>In addition the sector was quiet. There hadn’t -been an engagement or a skirmish since February. -This large village—more than a village, a town -almost—scarcely five miles from the Boche lines, -absolutely unprotected, not concealed in the slightest -by a bend in the terrain, by a hill or a wood, -had not received a single shell in three months.</p> - -<p>Of course it is true that the church, town hall -and some factories were injured, but not very -much. They had some large shell holes, but they -hadn’t fallen in or tumbled down. The church -and town hall still had their roofs, and if the -chimneys of the sugar refineries were cut on the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span> -bias, it was high up, almost at the top, as if they -wanted to blunt them, or spare them, or preserve -them.</p> - -<p>We were now accustomed to this incomprehensible -calm, in fact the officers were often heard -to say,</p> - -<p>“This quiet bodes no good to us.”</p> - -<p>All day and nearly all night, too, we hear the -shriek of French and Boche shells in the air. Batteries -of heavy artillery search for their marks, -but all that misses us and passes over our heads -or strikes in front. We know that they aren’t -aimed at us, and we take no interest in them. So -with that fine carelessness of men long since accustomed -to the worst dangers, we live in absolute -security.</p> - -<p>That Easter morning a musical mass was sung -in an immense great hall which had been used formerly -for entertainments. A crowd of soldiers of -every branch of the service and from all the regiments -encamped in the neighborhood packed the -place. In the crowd was a goodly number of civilians, -including women and girls who were wearing -their best dresses for the first time in a year.</p> - -<p>The band of the ... first Territorials played.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span></p> - -<p>Someone beside me dared to murmur,</p> - -<p>“All the same, if a Boche shell fell in that -crowd, what a mess it would be!”</p> - -<p>“Don’t think,” came from several sides at -once, “about Boche shells. They fire them. -They know we are here. They are afraid—”</p> - -<p>The chaplain, assisted by two clerical stretcher -bearers, began worship on the improvised altar -on the stage.</p> - -<p>Soldiers sang the psalms of the liturgy.</p> - -<p class="tb">I was nervous, and sobs came to my throat. In -order not to make a ridiculous spectacle of myself -with my tears I went out. I ran to the cantonment, -saddled my horse, and we galloped at random -through the sunny country on paths covered -with flowers. I stopped in the depths of a valley -under the poplars and stretched out on the grass. -My horse laid down beside me. And while he -munched the grass entirely indifferent to me, I -said:</p> - -<p>“Kiki, old Kiki, if an unexpected shell fell on -us now and blotted us out, that would be much -less disastrous than if it fell among those who at -this hour are praying in that chapel. They are<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span> -praying for their faraway firesides, their mothers, -their wives.</p> - -<p>“They are praying for the preservation of the -past and for the future. They have the joy of believing, -and that belief, that faith, has steeped -them in a special life to which they remain -attached.</p> - -<p>“But we, old horse? If a shell annihilates us, -what of it?</p> - -<p>“We have never believed anything and we -never will.</p> - -<p>“I have impressed my brutal scepticism on the -beings who are nearest and dearest to me. I -have torn down the faith of their cradles ... a -faith in the Beyond.</p> - -<p>“So when we shall be under the sod sleeping -our long night, before next spring has awakened -its green verdure on our remains, base and nameless -oblivion will already have overtaken us. On -the simple white cross my hastily traced name -will not even be read....</p> - -<p>“Perhaps in passing near my abandoned grave -someone will say, ‘Poor fellow!’ Perhaps someone -more sentimental than the rest will throw -flowers on it.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span></p> - -<p>“But in disappearing, old horse, we shall harm -no one.</p> - -<p>“The tears on the beautiful eyes I know so well -will at first be bitter, but they will be dried at -last.”</p> - -<p class="tb">This rather melancholy monologue was not to -Kiki’s taste at all. He interrupted me by whinnying -loudly. He knew it was time for oats.</p> - -<p>So we went back to the cantonment under the -fine midday sun. Before our door at the last -house on the left, on the road to the sugar refinery, -Burette, the quartermaster-sergeant, was going -through his matutinal ablutions. He generally -began them about eleven, just as they were calling -dinner, which made him twenty minutes late and -gave him a chance to growl about the cooking, -which was not hot enough to suit him, or about -his share, which, according to his appetite, was reduced -to a proper allowance.</p> - -<p>Inside, seated before an open canteen which -served him equally as a seat or a writing desk, -was Adjutant Dotan reading and re-reading and -sighing over the letters he took from a voluminous -package in front of him. In a loud voice he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span> -mused over the problem which haunted his days -and nights:</p> - -<p>“Shall I marry? Or, shall I not?”</p> - -<p>For two years now Dotan had seen the realization -of his matrimonial projects grow further and -further away from week to week, from month to -month.</p> - -<p>On the first leave the Regimental Administrative -Council had not acted on his request. Then, -for two consecutive times, leave was stopped on -the day before he was going to go. And despite -the advice of the colonel, to whom he told his -grievance, Dotan would not marry by proxy. -This ceremony <i>in partibus</i>, entrusted to a third -party, seemed to him the least bit ridiculous, and -he had a well-developed desire for the whole of -the wedding ceremonies.</p> - -<p>“Shall I marry? Or, shall I not?”</p> - -<p>While he thought over his dilemma, he read -for the hundredth time the letters from his gentle -fiancée, who awaited him in Provence. And he -occupied the monotony of the long hours in writing -her two letters a day, one in the morning and -another in the evening, with sometimes a supplementary -postal card in addition.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span></p> - -<p>“To think that if I were married I should have -already been so happy!”</p> - -<p>“Three days,” Morin let fall cynically in his -innocent voice.</p> - -<p>“Yes, I should have been happy.”</p> - -<p>“Three days,” insisted Morin, “the second -day before, the day before, and the day of your -wedding until noon. And then you wouldn’t be -as you are now—free, tranquil, and without a -care.”</p> - -<p>“Free, tranquil, without a care! Oh, yes, you -say. You’re always the same. Free, tranquil -and happy! You must have learned that by looking -out of your window, you, say....”</p> - -<p>Morin, in accordance with his parsimonious use -of words, did not want to carry on this tedious -discussion. He would have answered, nevertheless, -had not Dedouche announced that the table -was set, and that there was a wonderful menu, a -real Easter menu.</p> - -<p>Chevalier, the mess corporal, both our Vatel -and cup bearer, had come back from leave the -day before. Before our ravished eyes he untied -his packages, spread out sumptuous, epicurean -dainties, and drew from their thick straw covers<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span> -generous bottles of wine whose very appearance -made us joyful.</p> - -<p>Morin had been a constant guest at the select -restaurants of La Cannebière and at the famous -inns of La Corniche, and is an expert in the art -of opening a fine wine without shaking it, and he -also knows how to carve roasts and chickens skilfully -and symmetrically.</p> - -<p>He was opening with suitable impressiveness -an old bottle of Sauterne, whose bright golden -color brought smiles to our faces, when a tremendous -explosion brought us to our feet and -threw down the single partition in the room.</p> - -<p>“The gun back in the garden draws the fire,” -mumbled Dedouche with his mouth full, and without -letting go of his plate which he was rubbing -carefully with a large bit of bread.</p> - -<p>But as he spoke a still more violent explosion -shattered all the window panes in the house to -bits.</p> - -<p>A great Boche shell had fallen thirty yards -from us in the street which had been recently -covered with hard flint and which it scattered into -innumerable fragments. We heard the cries of -the wounded and the dying outside.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Quick! Into the cellar!”</p> - -<p>But none of us lost our heads sufficiently to -take refuge in the cellar without our munitions.</p> - -<p>One brought the fowl, another the bottles, a -third the sauce, and someone the cheese and -candles, and under the threat of shots which -speeded us we reached our underground shelter.</p> - -<p>The light of two candles stuck in bottles showed -us the table in the darkness and we spread out -our dinner things anew.</p> - -<p>Above was the bombardment in all its intensity.</p> - -<p>Shots landed in the road level with our air-hole, -which, as a provision against such an occurrence, -had long since been stuffed with sandbags.</p> - -<p>We heard things falling!</p> - -<p>“<i>Mince!</i> what are they offering us for Easter -eggs?”</p> - -<p>This ready joke made us laugh, and we forgot -the tragedy of the hour. In the heady anesthesia -of real Pommard, and not christened “Pommard” -for use at the front, but which had a real -Burgundian bouquet, we forgot that the shells -were raging in all their fury above us.</p> - -<p>The shadow of a man appeared at the entrance<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span> -to the cellar. Illuminated by the wavering yellow -lights of our candles, it stood out in sharp contrast -in the darkness of the staircase.</p> - -<p>“Is the margis here?... Margis, the lieutenant -says you are to bring all the horses at once -to the gulley in the Caix woods and shelter them -from the bombardment.”</p> - -<p>“All right, I’m coming. Go on, Dedouche, -pour out another glass of Pommard. I’ll take -my dessert in my pocket.”</p> - -<p>I picked up my helmet, mask and cane and was -ready to go, as I listened through the vaults and -hoped for a let-up in the storm.</p> - -<p>“It’s over. We can go.”</p> - -<p>“When you wish, old fellow. They’ve stopped -for breath.”</p> - -<p>“You’ll find out in five minutes.”</p> - -<p>“Bah! I’ve more time to go than I need.”</p> - -<p>“Good luck, and if you find any Easter eggs -on the way bring them back for dinner.”</p> - -<p>The adjutant’s reiterated joke no longer had -the same zest for me and it hardly made me -smile.</p> - -<p>Outside, the streets were empty, and there -wasn’t a soul in sight.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span></p> - -<p>The bombardment had stopped, but no one -was taken in by this deceptive calm. From one -moment to another we waited for a new bombardment -even more violent than the first. The -Boches are creatures of habit and this is not the -first time they’ve played this trick. When they -bombard a cantonment, they very often interrupt -their bombardment some minutes so as to make -us think it is over; then, when the men have -ventured into the streets, they suddenly begin -again and make fresh victims.</p> - -<p>A house has fallen in the middle of the road -some steps from our cantonment. Débris block -the way, and we have to climb over them. Farther -along, at the other end of the street, a house -which was still intact this morning is now in -flames.</p> - -<p>There is no time to lose. Already several -shells, advance messengers of the coming storm, -begin to fall. I was about to dart across the -Place when a “105” fell on the pavements and -burst.</p> - -<p>A poor little soldier carrying two enormous -bags, a great bundle of linen, and some souvenirs -in his hands passed just then. He was on his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span> -way to the station at Guillaucourt to take the train, -for he was going on leave.</p> - -<p>Rejoicing in his approaching happiness he -walked on without paying the slightest attention -to this atmosphere where death was hovering. -A shot hit him in the back and passed out the -other side. I jumped to aid him. He was bathed -in blood. In a gentle, caressing, almost timid -voice he said to me:</p> - -<p>“Oh, it’s not painful. I am dying.”</p> - -<p>And then with his lips, with an expression of -kindness and thankfulness which I shall never -forget, he murmured, “Yvonne.” ... And his -face haloed with blessedness like the religious -images of the martyrs, he died.</p> - -<p>I stood there in ecstasy, transfixed, before that -beauty in death, before that strength of love -which lights the final hour.</p> - -<p>How many I have seen die in this way! In -their last breaths all had the name of some woman, -and their eyes lighted at the name.</p> - -<p>In the final moment of a life which is going -out physical suffering no longer counts. The -name of the loved one embodies all the vanishing -mirage of the future, the end of a too beautiful<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span> -dream, the memories of a happy past ... of a -happy past, for the bad times are forgotten.</p> - -<p>Before the quivering body of this poor little -soldier, struck down fiercely just as he was going -on leave, full of hope, of plans, of dreams, a -song on his lips, I forgot the threatening shells. -An artilleryman went by on the run and shouted -at me:</p> - -<p>“Get out of that. You’ll get done up.” And -I fled.</p> - -<p class="tb">Our horses were bivouacked in the courtyard -of a sawmill. Not an accident there. I counted -them all at a glance.</p> - -<p>The underground shelter of the men was in -the back of the yard, and I went to the air-hole -which was stopped up by a piece of sheet-iron -which served as a screen against splinters.</p> - -<p>“Oh, down there! Men of the echelon. All -outside. To horse. We must hurry. Come on, -hurry up! Your masks, helmets, forward with -just the bridle!”</p> - -<p>One by one they jumped out of their lairs, -grimacing as the bright sun struck them full in -the face as they came out of the darkness.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Each one two horses, by squads of six.... -One hundred yards between each squad. The -other men will remain here and mobilize the -pack saddles and caissons in the cellar. Take the -road to the Caix station ... on the road lined -with poplars.... On the gallop ... no -straggling.”</p> - -<p>Some minutes later we were already going out -of the village. It was a bad passage, but the -only one and the shortest one to reach our destination, -but three hundred yards had to be covered -on entirely unprotected ground opposite the -Boches.</p> - -<p>Boom! It was the expected. The shells began -to fall again. A cloud tinted with red from the -tiles of a falling house rises in the air and makes -a large spot in the sky back by the church.</p> - -<p>Boom! There’s another one now and nearer -to us, near the sugar refinery.</p> - -<p>A crash, an avalanche of bricks; this time it -is the chimney of the sawmill which falls on the -horses’ cantonment. It was time, five minutes -sooner and we would have been under it.</p> - -<p>“Go on, go on.... Gallop, for God’s sake. -Corporals ... keep the distances.... Spread<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span> -out the squads.... Get into the fields ... behind -the trees.”</p> - -<p>We reach the deep path like a whirlwind, while -the bombardment rages over the village more than -ever.</p> - -<p>“Any accident? Anyone hit? Good. Assemble, -and on the trot now.”</p> - -<p>Ten minutes later we are in the shelter of -Muguet wood, completely shut off from the view -of the Boche artillery.</p> - -<p>The wood deserves its name, for it scents the -air a hundred yards about with the perfume of -violets and lilies of the valley, which form a carpet -between the trees and which our mules, entirely -insensible to the subtle beauties of nature, -begin to eat as though they were common fodder.</p> - -<p>“Corporals ... look to your sections.... -Is everyone here?... All the horses too?”</p> - -<p>I cast a rapid glance over the parked beasts.</p> - -<p>“Look, Liniers, where is Chocolate?”</p> - -<p>And indeed where was Chocolate?</p> - -<p>How did it happen that Chocolate wasn’t -there?</p> - -<p>Still he had been with the rest at the sawmill.</p> - -<p>Chocolate, as the veteran of the echelon, received<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span> -special consideration from the men. As -far as the dispositions of the cantonment permitted, -they reserved for him a covered shelter, -a feeding rack, and a manger.</p> - -<p>This time the sawmill offered many resources. -The stable walls still stood with only a few gaps, -and the roof was still intact. Beside some artillery -horses, who were generally absent, there was -an available place and they had given it to Chocolate. -And there the drivers had forgotten him.</p> - -<p>If it had been any other animal we would have -let him go, but Chocolate was an entirely different -matter and we must go and find him.</p> - -<p>“Raynal, I hand over the command of the -detachment to you. Liniers, come with me, we’ll -go and find Chocolate.”</p> - -<p>We went back over the path, on foot this time, -but as fast as our legs would go. As we reached -the village the intensity of the bombardment -seemed to decrease. Were we going to be lucky -enough to strike another lull? Again there -were particularly violent explosions, nearer, then -nothing more.</p> - -<p>We reached the village entirely out of breath.</p> - -<p>As we turned into the street which led to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span> -sawmill Liniers stopped suddenly, as if petrified, -and began to wave his hands.</p> - -<p>“M ...!”</p> - -<p>“What?”</p> - -<p>“The shed....”</p> - -<p>“Well, what about the shed?”</p> - -<p>“Demolished. Can’t you see? It’s gone.”</p> - -<p>We ran still faster.</p> - -<p>The shed was absolutely demolished and is -now only a shapeless mass of rubbish, but there -are no signs of a shell—no traces of burned -timbers, no splinters. One would have thought -that it had folded up and laid down on its side -like a house of cards.</p> - -<p>When we reached the shed we saw Chocolate’s -great neck and shoulders and enormous head free -from the rubbish which hid the rest of his body. -He was stretched out full length on his side, -browsing serenely on the young shoots of an -apple tree, which had gone down with the building. -His large eye looked us over as we stood -there, overcome and absolutely stupefied with -amazement, as much as to say:</p> - -<p>“What ... you’ve come at last ... you -needn’t have been in so much of a hurry.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span></p> - -<p>I ran to the air-hole of the cellar.</p> - -<p>“Hey there, men with spades; quick, come, dig -out Chocolate.”</p> - -<p>“Dig out Chocolate!” and they all rushed out -utterly surprised by the announcement of such a -job.</p> - -<p>The bricks were scattered with a few blows of -the shovels, the beams raised, and the place cleared -away.</p> - -<p>With all the ease of a circus horse who has -been playing dead, Chocolate stretched out his -front feet, then his hind ones, balanced himself -two or three times, took a spring, and without -the slightest hurry stood up, shaking himself all -over like a dog coming out of the water.</p> - -<p>There were a few scratches on his hide, but it -was an old hide, hard and tanned, which resists -everything. Nothing broken! Brave Chocolate, -come on! The men all look at him, admire him, -and fondle him. He seemed somewhat surprised -by such manifestations of great affection.</p> - -<p>And without a care in the world for the bombardment -which was beginning again, he went to -the nearby pond and drank deeply.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII<br /> -<span class="smaller">THE AEROPLANE</span></h2> - -<p>Dawn had just broken. Some of the boldest -of the men in the echelon were already -up, rubbing down their horses and adjusting the -breast collars. At daylight we had to go a long way -to exchange the pack-saddles for munition-wagons.</p> - -<p>This has been the way from the start. The -companies of machine guns, probably even more -than the other branches of service, although I -don’t know, are experiment stations on which they -try one sort of gear one day and another the next. -First it is a round shield, then a square shield, -and then a periscope. We adopted the Wikers -saddle, only to have it replaced with the Hotchkiss. -And we had scarcely put it in service than -it was withdrawn to give us ammunition wagons.</p> - -<p>These changes are one of the slight distractions -of the trade. They must distract still more the -handlers of the public funds to judge by the frequency -they offer them to us.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span></p> - -<p>But what difference does it make to us whether -we do one thing or another? While we wait time -passes and the war goes on.</p> - -<p>And then “there’s no use trying to understand.”</p> - -<p>That is the typical expression in every army. -Before the most unexpected orders, the most unusual, -which seem the most useless and incoherent, -we can only bow without trying to use our intelligence.</p> - -<p>“There is no use in trying to understand.” -That’s the whole secret of discipline. If one did -try to understand, he would never obey—or too -late.</p> - -<p class="tb">We were ordered to assemble on the Place at -daybreak, and at daybreak we were there. The -clear sky is splendidly luminous.</p> - -<p>“Good weather for aeroplanes,” said someone.</p> - -<p>Indeed it was good weather for aeroplanes, -for there wasn’t a cloud in the sky and no mist -on the ground. A reconnaissance in such weather -should be easy.</p> - -<p>The Boche aviators are early birds. One sees -them but rarely during the daytime, when ours -mount guard on the lines, but their specialty is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span> -getting up early in the morning. We hear them -flying over our cantonments long before daybreak, -at the first rays of dawn, and see them returning -rapidly to shelter as soon as the light becomes -clearer and it becomes easier to fire our cannon -and machine guns.</p> - -<p>Presently, as I am giving a final inspection to -the material we are to turn in, I meet Sergeant -Lace in the yard of the sawmill.</p> - -<p>“Oh, but you’re an early bird to-day.”</p> - -<p>“I’ve just been ordered to find a good place -to fire on aeroplanes and take up my position there -at once. There’s going to be a section there -each day. Mine starts.”</p> - -<p>“Have you found your emplacement?”</p> - -<p>“Not yet. But that’s not hard to find. Just -a hole or a sloping place, so that we can stretch -out on our backs.”</p> - -<p>“I know just the place for you. The hole -of a ‘320’ at the entrance of the village on the -left, near the poplars. You’ll see it right up -against the fence which borders the road from -Caix.”</p> - -<p>“Wonderful. I’ll take up my position there. -It must have been dug expressly for me.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span></p> - -<p>A half hour later the cavalry of the three -machine-gun companies of the regiment assembled -in front of the church.</p> - -<p>Cavalry!...</p> - -<p>My good comrade, Roudon, a sergeant-major -in the Hussars, who is now with the first company -of machine guns in a position like mine, becomes -furiously angry every time he hears that word -“cavalry.”</p> - -<p>“Cavalry! Cavalry!” he roars. “You ought -to say an assery, a mulery. Just look at them. -Not one in ten stands up on his feet. And the -riders! There isn’t one who could ride a horse. -They’re afraid!”</p> - -<p>Roudon is an experienced cavalryman. For ten -years he knew the mad, intoxicating dashes with -the Algerian contingents in Morocco, the mysterious -attractions of reconnaissances in the long -reaches of the valleys of the Sahara, impetuous -charges and wild triumphant pursuits among the -red Spahis with their Damascus swords, amid the -glistening sands which rise toward the sun in -golden spangles. At the beginning of the war -he was thrown into a regiment of metropolitan -cavalry and fought in Lorraine and Belgium. He<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span> -lived through the horrible hours of retreat, assuming -the perilous mission of rearguard while -the other regiments withdrew in good order. He -fought on foot, in the edges of woods, to stop -to the last moment the march of the enemy while -the rear went on to the Marne. He endured -those long, seemingly endless, waits on foot in -front of his horse, the bridle on his arm, saber -in scabbard, under the storm of shells and the -invisible menace of bullets. There were no -trenches then.</p> - -<p>Roudon is a cavalryman in his soul and his love -for the service. So, attached to an improvised -service which is neither cavalry, artillery, nor infantry, -he does not know what to make of it, -and he rages at it through his excess of conscience -and too exclusive love of duty perfectly done.</p> - -<p>The echelon of the third company arrives on -the Place in good order a few seconds after us. -Hémin leads it and he marches on foot beside his -column, hands in his pockets, whistling.</p> - -<p>Hémin is a type, and not the least interesting -among the complex personalities of our command, -for we are cavalrymen transformed into infantry, -but we’re still cavalrymen just the same.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span></p> - -<p>Hémin is as much a cavalryman by trade as -Roudon, and perhaps even more so. He was -successively a stable boy in a racing stable at -Chantilly, then a jockey, and finally a trainer, -after he had done his military service in a regiment -of chasseurs. So he is a horseman par excellence. -But he never made war as a cavalryman -before. Since the beginning of the war he -has been attached to various services. First, he -was an infantry scout, a standard bearer for a -general, a courier for a major, and he was transferred -to the companies of machine guns when -they were definitely established. Hémin has a -style all his own. To all appearances he is neither -a cavalryman nor a foot soldier. His jacket is -a Colonial one with anchors and cuff-facings, but -it has white stripes. He wears great yellow boots, -a cavalryman’s spurs, his breeches are reinforced -with olive leather, and his head is covered with -a very small black cap. Another curious characteristic -is that Hémin, the excellent horseman, -always walks when he accompanies his detachment.</p> - -<p class="tb">When we are assembled, we turn the command -of the detachment over to Roudon, the senior<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span> -officer, and he leads the way. Hémin and I bring -up the rear some distance back.</p> - -<p>In files of two our one hundred and fifty horses -and mules form a long column, unwieldy and -slow, which winds along the road.</p> - -<p>“A fine target for an aeroplane!”</p> - -<p>This exclamation had hardly been uttered when -the well-known roar of a Boche aeroplane was -heard over our heads.</p> - -<p>“Zut! there’s one.... We ought to have -expected it in such weather and started earlier. -Look out, if he spots us. Don’t worry, there’s -no danger, he’s too high.... At least three -thousand.”</p> - -<p>A “75” was already weaving around this -scarcely visible, extremely mobile target the white -tufts of its shrapnel, and threw around the machine -a murderous circle which followed it in its -evolutions. But the aeroplane in the air seemed -to care little and it continued on its way.</p> - -<p>We all followed the vicissitudes of the fight as -we went along, heads in the air. When a shell -seemed to burst very near, an exclamation came -from every mouth.</p> - -<p>“Oh!... that didn’t miss much.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span></p> - -<p>“A little more to the left; that would get -him.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, that missed.... He’s too far.”</p> - -<p>“This is outrageous ... he’s gone ... he’s -getting away.”</p> - -<p>And as a matter of fact the aeroplane gets away -... outside the “75’s” field of fire. It guides -itself no doubt by the white ribbon of the road -which shows clearly against the rich green of the -pastures.</p> - -<p>He has seen us now. He has seen us crawling, -winding and unrolling on the ribbon. He heads -straight for us, circling around in circles of which -we are without a doubt the center, and gradually -comes lower.</p> - -<p>“Look out for the bombs.”</p> - -<p>“No ... he’s half turned ... he’s going -back.”</p> - -<p>“Going back.... You’ll see.”</p> - -<p>He’s lower now and we can see distinctly the -great black crosses under his wings.</p> - -<p>All our men are looking. The horses seem to -scent the danger, for they prick up their ears and -paw the ground, while the mules neigh.</p> - -<p>Suddenly from on high something begins to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span> -glide along some aerial rail and shatters the air -above us. That lasts a second, a flash. As we -listen and wait one would have said that it falls -slowly and for hours. We look in the direction -of the noise as if to see something, as if to see -where the bombardment is going to fall. It seems -like a linked chain which rolls out, clashing its -links against each other.</p> - -<p>A tremendous boom, and black smoke, greenish -and red as well, blacker, denser, thicker than that -from the great shells, rises in the middle of the -field a hundred and fifty yards on our right.</p> - -<p>And there is another. It bursts on our left at -the same distance. He is certainly searching for -the range. Will the next strike in the middle and -right on the mark? We’re a fine mark, to be -sure, a fine target,—one hundred and fifty horses -in Indian file. If he doesn’t make a good shot -he’s a duffer.</p> - -<p>Roudon stands up in his stirrups, turns around, -and shouts commands to the uneasy men:</p> - -<p>“Close up, close up, close up, I say.... Dress -up together.”</p> - -<p>He leads the column rapidly, now closed up into -a compact group like a flock of sheep, towards<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span> -the road from Harbonnières, which is lined with -trees that will conceal us from the aeroplane.</p> - -<p>Two other bombs burst behind us one after -another.</p> - -<p>“That makes four. He can’t have many left. -He didn’t bring a truck!”</p> - -<p>Some hundred yards away near a pond cows -graze absolutely indifferent to the battle in the air. -The “75” again begins to fire. Its bursts of shrapnel -come close to the aeroplane but do not hit it.</p> - -<p>Another bomb. I stop. It looks as though -it were going to fall in front of us. I’m not going -to put my head under the knife. So I start to -draw my horse back under the trees.</p> - -<p>There it is. It has fallen in the fields again. -But its explosion throws up dismal fragments, -large and bloody ones. It fell squarely on the -herd of cows and annihilated it.</p> - -<p>“The bungler! He’s wasting the milk,” comes -in the accent of the faubourgs nearly under my -horse’s feet.</p> - -<p>Hard by, in the hole of the “320,” Lace’s half-section -has placed its battery. I had approached -it without seeing it as I drew back under the threat -of the bomb.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Say, how long are you going to let him do -that?” I ask.</p> - -<p>“Let him do it!... You don’t mean that, -Margis. He won’t blow on his sauerkraut this -evening.”</p> - -<p>“Wait and see what sort of a menu we’re going -to serve that ace.”</p> - -<p>It was Grizard, an actor in the suburban -theaters, speaking. He looks like the best natured -and quietest of men, but he is a pitiless pointer -who never lets his prey escape.</p> - -<p>“Let me play a little, Margis. See how pretty -he is, how fine, and how well he flies. It is too -bad, a pretty little canary like that.”</p> - -<p>“Ah! Attention, ladies and gentlemen. Two -turns, and at three we will commence. You’ll see -what you will see.”</p> - -<p>“On with the music.”</p> - -<p>And the music begins the dance. First, come -slow shots, rhythmic and irregular tac-tacs, spaced -like the prelude to a slow waltz. Grizard -is searching for the tune; then, gradually, he -accelerates the time, and the tac-tac becomes -faster.</p> - -<p>Now he has the aeroplane in his field of fire<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span> -... the bullets dance around him in a ring of -fire, without a break ... the dance of death!</p> - -<p>And the circle grows narrower and narrower, -infernal, pitiless.</p> - -<p>Everyone looks; there is nothing to see up there; -bullets are elusive and invisible, but we make out -the drama.</p> - -<p>From his rapid evolutions, his sharp darts back -and forth, his irregular and hurried spirals, we -understand that the aviator has already been -reached but is trying to baffle the fire which pursues -him.</p> - -<p>The tac-tac continues. It is incessant, implacable, -ferocious. The silence of death hovers over -men and things. All Nature seems to await the -issue of the combat which is no longer doubtful.</p> - -<p>I look at Grizard. Hand on the handle of the -gun, he follows the evolutions of the aeroplane; -his eyes shine as at a good trick he is playing on -the acrobat up there, and softly, with all the desired -expressions, as if he were before his audience -at Belleville or at the Gaîté-Montparnasse, -he hums:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse"><i>Rêve de valse, rêve d’un jour,</i></div> -<div class="verse"><i>Valse de rêve, valse d’amour.</i></div> -</div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span></p> - -<p>“He’s hit,” Sergeant Lace cries suddenly.</p> - -<p>And indeed he is hit.</p> - -<p>The wings waver, bend, warp, and abruptly -fall in a spiral, while an immense burst of flame, -which the speed increases immoderately, rises and -marks the limpid blue of the sky with a long red -thread which dissolves in the heavens in a trail -of gold.</p> - -<p>With a noise of broken iron, tearing canvas, -explosions which recall fireworks, the machine -smashes into the fields, right where the last bomb -had destroyed the peaceful herd of cows a moment -ago.</p> - -<p>We run from all directions, but there is nothing -to see. The aeroplane was completely destroyed -by the fall and the fire, and ends by burning -itself up.</p> - -<p>It is impossible to get the charred body of the -aviator out from the smoking ruins.</p> - -<p>Grizard is on the scene with his gun crew, and -examines his target.</p> - -<p>“Good shot!”</p> - -<p>We congratulate him and begin to go back. -But Grizard is a comedian who knows his business -and who has perhaps played a rôle in the circuits<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span> -in faraway provinces, and he is not a man to miss -an effect.</p> - -<p>He stands by the roadside in the courteous attitude -of Cyrano de Bergerac pointing out the way -to the Count de Guiche after amusing him for a -quarter of an hour. And Grizard, who has -amused us for a quarter of an hour, but in another -way, points out the road and says:</p> - -<p>“The quarter of an hour is past, Messieurs. I -release you.”</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX<br /> -<span class="smaller">DAYS IN CANTONMENT</span></h2> - -<p>The regiment is holding the first line -trenches in front of the La Vache woods. -When the company is in the lines, the echelons, -the war train, and the clerks remain behind in the -cantonment at Morcourt.</p> - -<p>Morcourt is a delightful little village hidden in -the green meadows under the poplars on the banks -of the canal of the Somme. Morcourt was once -a hamlet of one hundred and fifty houses and -their flower gardens, but to-day it is a real village -where there are crowded together a population -of more than ten thousand men. More than -twenty thousand horses are bivouacked in the -neighboring villages of Proyart, Lamotte, Bayonvillers, -which have no water, and they come to -Morcourt twice a day to dry up the watering -places.</p> - -<p>Our quarters here are in the open fields. -Everybody can’t have covered shelters. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span> -major of the cantonment showed us the field and -said,</p> - -<p>“Try to make shift with that.”</p> - -<p>And we did.</p> - -<p>Less than an hour later the grass was mowed, -ground down by our haltered horses, who devoured -it with their sharp teeth.</p> - -<p>Beyond, on the edge of the road, in impeccable -alignment our sixteen ammunition wagons are -parked.</p> - -<p>Behind are the horses, the huts of the four sections -of the echelon, and the war train.</p> - -<p>And at the end the four large caissons of ammunition -and the munition wagons.</p> - -<p>Burette and Morin, the clerks, cannot make a -simple tent do. More comfortable quarters are -necessary for their work.</p> - -<p>After a day of hunting around Burette came -back to camp, radiant.</p> - -<p>“<i>Mon vieux</i>, I’ve found something wonderful. -We’ll live like princes.”</p> - -<p>“Where did you get it?”</p> - -<p>“Some fine people. It’s next to the mayor’s.”</p> - -<p>“<i>Mince!</i> You look well. Did they offer you -the house?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span></p> - -<p>“You’ll see. It’s better than that.”</p> - -<p>“Better than that!”</p> - -<p>We stamped our feet in impatience. Such a -windfall is worth while. If we stay here a whole -month we shall be well lodged.</p> - -<p>I was already rejoicing in the thought of being -able to build a comfortable bed.</p> - -<p>Saux, on whom devolved the delicate and most -often difficult care of our getting moved, foresaw -innumerable conveniences.</p> - -<p>Morin alone remained sceptical. He is that -temperamentally.</p> - -<p>He sees no good in this north country. He has -been morose ever since he left Provence, and -he won’t smile again until he hears tinkle in -his ravished ears the familiar evocative sonorities -of Avignon, Arles, Miramas, Le Pas des Lanciers, -L’Estaque. The sun, the blue sky, the -blue sea!</p> - -<p>And how right Morin is!</p> - -<p>The sun exaggerates, but in openness and -beauty. The fogs are deceitful.... Far better -to be dazzled than deceived....</p> - -<p>Morin distrusts the splendid cantonment of -Morcourt. He knows those at Proyart, Chuignolles,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span> -Minacourt, Virginy ... and others -besides....</p> - -<p>Oh, for the commonest hut, the most modest -cabin, ruined though it be and sordid, but haloed -in the sun, flooded with clear light, bathed in the -silver foliage of the olives, planted down there on -the rocks of Pointe-Rouge or of L’Estaque, beside -the sea, sheltered in the valleys of Camions, -or perched on the hills of Allauch! How much -better it is, how much better worth living in, than -the most sumptuous castles buried in the damp -forests where the stones are green under the moss.</p> - -<p>High on a hill on the road to Harbonnières -opens the courtyard of a farm.</p> - -<p>Burette leads us there in triumph. It is his -discovery. He crosses the court, and opens majestically -a small low door, with a barrel on -each side in which stunted geraniums vegetate -miserably.</p> - -<p>It is an old pig-sty!</p> - -<p>Scraped and washed with a lot of water, it will -be habitable. We’ll make something out of it. -Burette borrows a long table and at once covers -it with his innumerable account books. We make -our beds against the walls.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span></p> - -<p>Thirty ammunition caissons placed in double -rows, a mattress stuffed with hay, a tent cloth, -two covers—that’s our camp.</p> - -<p>The corner at the back falls to Morin. It is -the longest way of the room and he can stretch -out his whole tall form at his ease, which he rarely -finds it possible to do in the cantonments.</p> - -<p>Night reserves various distractions for us.</p> - -<p>First, the rats.</p> - -<p>The rats descended from the dove-cote in a -dense horde and made incursions on our haversacks, -in mad gallops over our bed clothes—gigantic -rats with interminable tails!</p> - -<p>They used the open space between the beds as -their lists and had real battles, biting, crying and -moaning. The routed fugitives jumped over -Morin’s body to get to shelter and he shivered in -terror.</p> - -<p>Burette decided to try extreme measures, for -hunting them with shoes has no effect. So he -begins to sing one of the most beautiful tunes in -his repertoire called “A Montparnasse.” It must -have thirty verses, all ending in an interminable -“nasse ... nasse ... nasse.”</p> - -<p>It seems that it was a triumph of the boulevards,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span> -and no true lover of songs should be ignorant -of it. Very possibly.</p> - -<p>The rats must have shared my opinion, however, -for they seemed to like the great triumph of -the boulevards only moderately, but they remained -quiet while the song lasted.</p> - -<p>That song had another virtue, too. It put me -to sleep and Burette as well. His voice dragged -more and more, and grew more feeble, when a -terrible cry pierced the night.</p> - -<p>Morin shouted in terror.</p> - -<p>We jumped for our electric lamps.</p> - -<p>Their dim rays brighten the darkness.</p> - -<p>Above Morin’s head, through a hole in the mud -wall which separates us from the neighboring -stable, a calf—a young calf—gracious and -smiling, has stuck his great red head, and has imprinted -a caress on the face of our sleeping friend -with his milky tongue.</p> - -<p>“The salaud! He has bitten me,” grumbled -Morin, wiping off the dribble which stuck to his -face.</p> - -<p>“Get out, animal.”</p> - -<p>But the calf was insensible to this harsh invitation. -He continued to endure the flashes from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span> -our lights with a placid eye, and, drawn no doubt -by Burette’s song, which seemed to him like familiar -news, he began to bellow, waking up the -whole stable, and the cows added their powerful -voices to that of their offspring.... We slept -no more that night.</p> - -<p class="tb">The days which followed were not all exactly -alike.</p> - -<p>The lieutenant sent us word by a cyclist to come -and see him in the lines and get the list of changes -to be made among the men and horses.</p> - -<p>We started at daylight and went in the company -wagon as far as Froissy. When we got -there, Morin told me that he knew a wonderful -short cut which avoided the great détour by Éclusier, -and led directly to the communication trench. -Walking in the wet meadows where we sank in -up to our ankles had little attraction for me. I -preferred the hard highway and the towpath, but -Morin knew the country and claimed that we -would only have several hundred yards of bad -walking and then we would reach a practicable -path.</p> - -<p>We walked more than an hour. The fog grew<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span> -thicker and thicker, limiting our horizon to a few -steps. There was never anyone in sight.</p> - -<p>“My dear Morin,” I said, “if your short cut -is as wonderful as you say, it must be known. But -at the moment it seems somewhat deserted to me.”</p> - -<p>Morin did not reply. There was no doubt that -he wasn’t certain of his way, but he did not dare -to admit his mistake.</p> - -<p>The weather inclined one to melancholy.</p> - -<p>We walked on in silence. The path was very -narrow and we were obliged to walk one behind -the other.</p> - -<p>A sinister grumbling seemed to shatter the -heavens above the fog.</p> - -<p>Instinctively we hurled ourselves to the ground -into the wet grass and mud.</p> - -<p>The shell passed over us and buried itself in the -ground without exploding.</p> - -<p>“This quarter hardly seems the safest in the -world, Morin.”</p> - -<p>“They’re firing on the battery of ‘75’s’.”</p> - -<p>“A battery of ‘75’s’? What battery?... -Where have you seen a battery?”</p> - -<p>Although he was seriously disturbed about our -direction, Morin would not budge.</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 700px;" id="illus4"> -<img src="images/illus4.jpg" width="700" height="430" alt="" /> -<p class="caption"><span class="smcap">A sinister Grumbling Seemed to Shatter the Fog</span> <a href="#Page_110"><i>See page 110</i></a></p> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span></p> - -<p>“It was there day before yesterday. It must -have moved.”</p> - -<p>“I suppose you’re sure your short cut hasn’t -changed its place.”</p> - -<p>I had scarcely spoken when a shell followed the -direction of the first and exploded beside us, -throwing up a mass of mud, grass and water. -The ground was soft and unfavorable for deadly -splinters. In any other terrain we would have -been hit seriously.</p> - -<p>This time Morin hesitated,</p> - -<p>“I’m afraid I’m mistaken!...”</p> - -<p>“I was sure of it a long time ago.”</p> - -<p>“Let’s go on just the same; this must bring -us out somewhere.”</p> - -<p>“That’s my opinion, too.”</p> - -<p>The fog was still heavy. We walked in a cloud -the length of an interminable trench recently cut -in the clay. The bottom was full of water. It -leads us in an unknown direction. How can we -find out what way we are going? Where are we? -We follow its windings for half an hour and -clamber over crossings. Perhaps we’re going -around in a circle. The mist is about us all the -time. We can see nothing. Not a landmark.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span></p> - -<p>In the distance far to the north, in the English -sector, a heavy gun hammers the air with loud -regular shots. We started out at daybreak to -go ten miles. It is ten o’clock now and we have -no idea where we are.</p> - -<p>I get impatient and begin to grumble.</p> - -<p>The air becomes fresher, and a fairly strong -breeze comes up. In a few seconds the blue sky -reappears above our heads.</p> - -<p>In front of us forms stand out—trees, shattered -trees, stretching their dead branches like -broken arms, and seeming to cry to heaven in entreaty -for the martyred earth.</p> - -<p>“The La Vache woods!”</p> - -<p>We are in the La Vache woods within sight of -the enemy’s lines. Thirty yards from them! We -are on the further side of the trenches, where the -terrific storm of shells rages daily. We have the -honor of being the finest target that will ever be -offered for a shot with a grenade.</p> - -<p>We throw ourselves flat, but the embankment -overhangs the lines so much that even crawling is -only a moderate safeguard.</p> - -<p>“Nom de Dieu! I’ll remember your short cut! -To go to the Boches it’s the best ever!...”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span></p> - -<p>We slide along on elbows, stomach and knees -like snakes, which puts our clothes to a severe test. -And we let ourselves fall head first into the “Servian” -trench, just over the lieutenant’s sap, who -cannot believe his eyes when he sees us fall as -from the moon.</p> - -<p>“Where did you come from?”</p> - -<p>“We’ve been taking a walk in the La Vache -woods. Does that mean anything to you?”</p> - -<p>“How did you come?”</p> - -<p>“By a short cut!... a fine short cut, you -know. I recommend it to you!”</p> - -<p>Sub-Lieutenant Delpos was making his rounds -in the sector and was told of the exploit. He is -nervous and in a murderous humor, for he spent -a sleepless night on a special mission between the -lines. So Morin caught it a hundred times worse -than he deserved. Sub-Lieutenant Delpos’s moments -of ill humor are, like some storms, violent -but quickly over. The adventure ended with an -excellent cup of coffee, flavored with XXX brandy, -which he offers us in his sap, sumptuously furnished -with every possible comfort, twelve yards -underground.</p> - -<p>Towards midnight I went down to Éclusier<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span> -through an English observation trench. It is only -accessible at night. In the daytime a Boche machine -gun is placed on the other side of the Somme -and enfilades it. It is suicide to venture there. -Cut out of the rock in the hillside, its ridges are -short and steep. It is a bad trench, but an important -short cut.... Saux should be waiting for -me with the horses in a ruined house behind the -church.</p> - -<p>Éclusier is a hamlet on the left side of the canal. -There is a single street with ragged houses on each -side, but they are not badly ruined. The church, -protected by a bend in the cliff, still has its steeple -intact through some prodigy of equilibrium, although -the roof has fallen in. At the side, in what -was once the presbytery, is the regimental dressing -station.</p> - -<p>Lights come and go.</p> - -<p>Men are coming back from fatigue duty, -searching for their dugouts by feeling for them. -Through the air-holes, from which come odors -of cooking, one can see lighted cellars.</p> - -<p>I make my way by the aid of my electric lamp -through this labyrinth which was once a street, -and I find the house. I guess at it, rather, from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span> -the pawing of the horses, which are nervous and -are pounding on the flagstones. It is an old -grocery and its sign still reads: “Fine Wines—Desserts—Choice -Preserves.” A ragged green -cart cover takes the place of the door. I raise it.</p> - -<p>A gust of foul air hits me in the face, and I stop -on the threshold gasping for breath. I see Saux -asleep, his head on my saddle, and rolled up in -horse blankets. Burette is asleep beside him.</p> - -<p>Burette, the quartermaster, spent three months -in the heavy artillery. He is an enthusiast on -horses, but his equestrian ability is far from -equaling his love for it. His style produces many -falls, but they don’t discourage him.</p> - -<p>I wake up Saux, who gets up dizzily. Is he -half drunk, I ask myself. That’s not like him -at all.</p> - -<p>“Look, Saux, what’s the matter?”</p> - -<p>But Saux leaned against the partition, searching -for the door with his haggard eyes. He -dashed outside seized by nausea. The noise woke -up Burette, and he too got up with difficulty.</p> - -<p>“Say, what have you two been up to?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, <i>mon pauvre vieux</i>, I don’t know, but I’m -sick.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span></p> - -<p>“The fact is there is considerable of an odor -here; you might have found a better....”</p> - -<p>The horses are troubled by it, too. Kiki jumps -about and paws furiously. Burette’s and Saux’s -horses are sleeping heavily and their breathing -is difficult and oppressive.</p> - -<p>There’s something wrong somewhere, although -the enemy hasn’t sent over any gas.</p> - -<p>With the aid of a light we poke about in the -dark. I see a pile of canvas in the corner of the -room which is oozing with dampness. I raise -the bottom of the canvas with my stick and a -swarm of great flies comes buzzing out around us.</p> - -<p>There are the bodies of German soldiers abandoned -for no one knows how long. Weeks, perhaps; -since the attack on Fries without doubt. -The blue swollen flesh is spotted by bites made -by the teeth of rats. They are rotting and filling -the soil with purulent matter.</p> - -<p>With their monstrous faces, sunken eyes, cheeks -fallen in, and their mouths convulsed by their last -struggles, they seem still to shout with the fright -of their last hours. Burette and Saux have slept -beside this charnel-house.</p> - -<p>We lead out the horses in a hurry and saddle<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span> -them in the open air. We gain the hard towpath, -the only practicable way, and go on at a lively -pace.</p> - -<p>The first light of dawn appears. At the bridge -at Éclusier we stop a minute before climbing into -the saddle. The Territorials there offer us a -cup of coffee. It warms us, for the morning fog -on the Somme is always cold.</p> - -<p>“To horse!”</p> - -<p>I decide to go at a good pace as far as the -bridge at Froissy and take the lead. We must -get along before the towpath is encumbered by -all the loafers of the companies which are resting -in the huts along the length of the canal.</p> - -<p>A battery of “75’s” in position near the military -cemetery at Cappy is firing shells.</p> - -<p>We pass very close to some guns as they are -starting off. Coquet is frightened, jumps, and -dashes into the fields, heading straight toward the -hedges of some vegetable gardens.</p> - -<p>“Attention! Burette, pull on the bits.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t be afraid. He knows me.”</p> - -<p>He knows him so well that Burette had scarcely -spoken than Coquet stopped short before the -fence. Burette went over alone, head first, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span> -landed in the vegetables. Fortunately, the ground -is soft, but in hurdling the obstacle he bumped -into some bushes, and gets an eye bruised and a -cheek scratched.</p> - -<p>“That’s nothing. That’s all right,” he says.</p> - -<p>He remounts his horse, laughing and singing:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse"><i>Ah! les p’tits pois, les p’tits pois,</i></div> -<div class="verse"><i>C’est un légume très tendre.</i></div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>He can appreciate them this time.</p> - -<p class="tb">We meet Hémin, our comrade of the third -company of machine guns, at Froissy. He came -out at dawn with orders from his commandant -and is going back to Morcourt, and we go along -together.</p> - -<p>Going from this bridge to that at Méricourt, -the towpath is almost deserted. Hardly anything -crosses our path except some English motor-cyclists.</p> - -<p>Hémin is riding a superb charger, a great long-legged, -bright chestnut, who carries his head -proudly—a fine beast.</p> - -<p>Some yards away from the branch from Neuville -marines from the gunboats have planted huts -along the towpath between the poplars.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span></p> - -<p>The regular trot of our horses sounds clearly -along the way.</p> - -<p>A marine hears us and raises the flap of his -tent to see us.</p> - -<p>This frightens Hémin’s horse and he jumps into -the canal.</p> - -<p>Our comrade is unhorsed and disappears under -the water. We jump down. But even before we -jump two marines have plunged in. Others poke -around with poles in the mud from a boat. In -an eddy a hand appears, then a head, swollen, -bloody, crushed.</p> - -<p>Hémin got a blow from a shoe full in the face -and could not swim.</p> - -<p>The body is brought on to the bank.</p> - -<p>A surgeon from the gunboat doubles his efforts -in vain.</p> - -<p>Hémin is dead.</p> - -<p class="tb">We buried him in the little cemetery at Méricourt -one Sunday morning.</p> - -<p>It is the ideal cemetery of the poets, hidden -in green from every sound. Each grave seems -alone in a thicket of lilacs and honeysuckle. No -scientific gardening here; no trees butchered by<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span> -experts; no cultivated flowers; no bombastic marbles. -The grass overruns the paths; the simple -flowers of the field have blossomed on the graves, -thus bringing in every season the natural homage -which returning life pays to the dead.</p> - -<p>Nature is pleased to shut every sound from this -field of rest.</p> - -<p>At the end of a lane, at the foot of a willow, -we lay Hémin to rest in his last sleep.</p> - -<p>The men of the echelon come, the major, a -captain, and the officers who knew him particularly -well. The intelligence officers of the three -companies joined in buying a wreath and came -to the services together.</p> - -<p>Hémin’s captain speaks a few words. It is not -the time for a long talk, for a simple touching -farewell is sufficient.</p> - -<p>And before he goes each one throws in the -grave the symbolic bit of earth.</p> - -<p>Sad duty!</p> - -<p>Before the grave is filled in I drop over him -petals of peonies....</p> - -<p>Poor fellow! He is not the most unfortunate. -He is in that luminous land of day and knows -what we are powerless to know. He has finished<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span> -with our poor human troubles, and on him have -fallen the curtains of his last resting place.</p> - -<p>But those who are left, his wife, his child!... -That is where sorrow begins. They don’t know -yet, and for a long time they will know nothing -and will live in anxiety.</p> - -<p>To-day, at the very hour perhaps, when we let -him down in his last resting place, his wife received -the letter he wrote her yesterday morning. -She read this letter to her child, this letter in -which he announces his next arrival on leave, -where he said to her,</p> - -<p>“In a week or two I shall be with you without -a doubt.” He never will be now, or, rather, he -is there already, for the immaterial presence of -loved ones accompanies us, if it is true that they -are loved and are not forgotten.</p> - -<p>And pensively, under the fine rain which is -falling, we return to our cantonments.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X<br /> -<span class="smaller">AN ORDINARY FATIGUE PARTY</span></h2> - -<p>This evening the first section has to go on -the works. The men have eaten earlier -than usual, and they are on the road before -nightfall.</p> - -<p>The column remains in good order to the end -of the cantonment, but once across the passage -by the knotty elm at Harbonnières, it breaks ranks. -Each one goes along as he likes, talking or alone.</p> - -<p>There is madness in the air. We prefer another -order of things than to spend one evening -out of two in the first line digging in the mud.</p> - -<p>“Rather the trenches where we can snooze in -peace,” they say.</p> - -<p>The column trails along. Pierron, the sergeant -who leads it, pays no attention. With Millazo, -a tradesman from Hanoï who has arrived just -recently, he talks of Indo-China, of Saigon, and -their gardens.</p> - -<p>We had scarcely arrived at the end of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span> -sunken road which opens out on an uncovered -slope on top of a ridge than a well-known whistling -shatters space. Each of us throws himself on -the ground, in a ditch behind a tree, and the shell -passes over us in the air.</p> - -<p>“That wasn’t meant for us.”</p> - -<p>Then another, still another, and dozens like -it; we count up to sixty.</p> - -<p>“M ... what are they having at Proyart for -dessert?”</p> - -<p>That is all the concern they have about what -is going on in the rear, or about the havoc and -death the bombardment is launching at this moment -on the cantonment where their comrades -live. That is the egotistical indifference which -long experience with danger gives, and the constant -contemplation of death. The column -marches along more carefully and wider awake, -concealing themselves from the view of the -enemy’s aerial observers which are to be seen -high on the horizon in spite of the late hour and -the twilight which has already begun to grow -dark.</p> - -<p>“Do you suppose they’ve forgotten the -sausage?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Sometimes they stay out to give us a shot.”</p> - -<p>So we wait until it is very dark before we reach -our position in the works.</p> - -<p>The place where we have to dig is in the front -lines. We have to construct circular dugouts for -machine guns, with their rounded platforms, and -to connect them with the trench by underground -trenches.</p> - -<p>We climb over the trench carrying our tools -in our hands and slip between the barbed wire, -but we have scarcely gone a yard when a heavy -fusillade warns us that this time we are spotted. -We dig in.</p> - -<p>“Is anyone hit?”</p> - -<p>No reply, no groans; everyone is there, flat, -stretched out. We wait flat in the grass and the -mud until the star shells fall, and as soon as one -has, and before the following one has scaled -through space and lighted it with its dim light, we -jump into the hole which the fatigue party of -yesterday dug.</p> - -<p>But the tools aren’t idle, although we guess -rather than hear the blows of the pick digging -in the deep rich earth and the shovelers throwing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span> -it out as far on the parapet as possible so as not -to form a salient.</p> - -<p>We dig for hours without interruption, lowering -our heads in the holes as the star shells go -up, and taking up our tasks as soon as it is dark -again.</p> - -<p>The enemy has discovered the time of our -fatigue parties, and to-morrow it will know the -exact position of our work, so that it will be -somewhat uncomfortable to continue. It must -be finished to-night.</p> - -<p>A company of Territorials is stretching barbed -wire on our right.</p> - -<p>Between each star shell we can hear the hammering -of the sledges against the stakes, the strain -of the tension on the wire, and when the traitorous -light shines again these wonderful workers -don’t even hide. They remain hanging on the -barbed wire, motionless and disjointed like corpses. -They look so much like them that the enemy -doesn’t even fire, as he feels certain that he has -annihilated this gang which heroically continues -its gigantic task.</p> - -<p>“Look!... they’re like statues.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span></p> - -<p>“One would think it was a party ... there -are the lights and the orchestra.”</p> - -<p>The time for supplying the company in the lines -comes. The men of the field kitchens come by -groups of three or four from the trenches just -behind us.</p> - -<p>The first two have a long rod on their shoulders -and rolls of bread on this. Others carry in canvas -pails and kettles come from nowhere the coveted -wine and the aromatic brandy. Others bend -under the weight of pots which hold lumpy black -bean soup, which splashes out at every jolt in the -path. It is already cold and greasy. Finally, the -mess corporal reaches the end of his trip and -draws out of his sack the desserts bought with -the mess balance and the commissions given to -him the day before by the men in the trenches. -The pockets of his jackets are full of letters he -has just received from the officer with the mail, -and which he delivers to the men who have been -waiting for them hungrily.</p> - -<p>When he gets as far as the fatigue party he -stops and hesitates. He must go over a space -of fifty yards, absolutely exposed, to the edge -of a group of trees where there is a first-line<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span> -trench taken from the Boches in the last attack -and not yet connected with the communication -trench.</p> - -<p>He has reason for his hesitation, for the last -two days the Boche trench on our left has been -firing on it heavily.</p> - -<p>Day before yesterday an entire fatigue party -was killed. We can see there in front of us the -abandoned sacks and scattered packages. Five -men out of eight were killed yesterday. The -others were able to get over some of the provisions -and the bad news by crawling, and at the -price of a thousand risks. They also took the -rest of the provisions from the bodies of their -comrades who carried them. To-day they advanced -the time of bringing the supplies an hour -in order to foil the enemy’s vigilance. This time -the mess corporal accompanied the fatigue party -himself to discover, if possible, a less perilous -mode of communication. But the Boches must -have been on the watch, or guessed or got wind -of it somehow. The star shells now follow each -other with no let-up, lighting up the road so that -one can’t venture on it. Under this too persistent -light the Territorials abandon their simulation of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span> -corpses and seek shelter in the trench to which -we are getting ready to return.</p> - -<p>It is necessary for the supplies to go on. The -company in the front line has had only insufficient -provisions for two days.</p> - -<p>The mess corporal is a brave man and makes -several attempts to venture outside, but each time -he is received by a fusillade and only has time -to throw himself backward in the trench.</p> - -<p>The fatigue party has been watched and waited -for.</p> - -<p>We hold a council of the non-commissioned -officers and the lieutenant of the Territorials -which has held the position for several weeks. -Various stratagems are proposed and we weigh -the chances, but after consideration all of them -are vetoed. It is impossible to get by even at the -greatest speed without risking the lives of several -men, and perhaps of all.</p> - -<p>Still, if we were able to draw the attention of -the Boches, to occupy them with something else, -to enfilade them, to shell them.</p> - -<p>“Enfilade them ... shell them....”</p> - -<p>“Isn’t there some place from which we can -enfilade them?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span></p> - -<p>And we all considered in our minds the position -of the Boche trenches.</p> - -<p>“We can’t do anything from here,” said a sergeant -who had spent various periods in these -trenches for several months, and knew every corner -of it; “but below there to the left, about a -hundred yards from the picket post, is a ruined -cabin which dominates everything. But there’s -nothing doing in getting there; it’s too near; -they’d see us as plain as day.”</p> - -<p>One of our men heard all this. And while the -conversation went on, I saw him climb up on the -parapet and examine the position.</p> - -<p>It was Marseille, an impetuous, headstrong -type. He rebelled at all discipline, he was restive -under observation, but his bravery was unfailing, -and he was absolutely oblivious to danger, which -he ignored with a swagger and indifference which -seemed amazing. Marseille has known one hundred -thousand adventures and turned one hundred -thousand tricks, and has always come back -absolutely unharmed.</p> - -<p>When he was on his last leave he spent six -unrestrained days in innumerable drinking bouts -in all the bars at La Cannebière, where he narrated<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span> -his boasted deeds of prowess, which were -probably much inferior to the real ones. Then, -instead of going back, he waited for them to come -and get him. He was arrested on the eighth day -and brought back to the Corps by the provost. -Marseille was not the least upset when the officer -demanded the reasons for his delay, and replied:</p> - -<p>“I don’t like to travel alone. I like society, I do. -So I have had a whole car to myself and my escort. -And besides, I knew very well that the gendarmes -wouldn’t come from Marseilles here without buying -a drink, and they wouldn’t have the nerve to lap -it all up without offering me some. I like the gendarmes. -That may seem strange to you, but I do.”</p> - -<p>Marseille is a good singer and his number -appears in all the company concerts. His throat -is as clear as the sunny lights of La Corniche and -L’Esterel, and he can render the final trills of -the Neapolitan songs with the best.</p> - -<p>When he had finished his rapid observation he -came back to our anxious group and spoke to -the mess corporal:</p> - -<p>“You’ll be all right, <i>mon vieux</i>. You’ll get there.”</p> - -<p>And we all looked at him in open-mouthed surprise -at such assurance.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Have you any news or an idea? Explain. -Tell us something about it. Let us see.”</p> - -<p>“You’ll get there, as I told you. Don’t bother -about those fellows over there. That’s my job. -Watch me.”</p> - -<p>And to the lieutenant who was getting ready -to question him:</p> - -<p>“You have a machine gun, haven’t you, Lieutenant.... -Won’t you lend it to me ... just a -minute? It’s a Saint Etienne. I know that.... -I know them all.... They’re all the same.... -And five belts with it to amuse the Boches for five -minutes.... That’ll be enough for the cooks -to get over.”</p> - -<p>We understood it all, and we laughed and admired -him. Marseille rolled up the barrel of the -machine gun and the belts in several thicknesses -of canvas, tied a rope to it and attached the other -end to his wrist.</p> - -<p>“Hold on to the package so that it won’t make -trouble on the stones, and when I pull on the rope -twice, let it come.”</p> - -<p>And he crawled out of the trench and slid down -towards the ruined hut.</p> - -<p>We waited anxiously the full ten minutes. We<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span> -watched the cord unroll with varying emotions. -It stopped, stood still, immovable. Has he -arrived?</p> - -<p>Then we felt the two jerks, and the lieutenant -let the heavy package slide, and it got mixed up -in the stakes, rocks, and gullies, and made such -a metallic noise that it could not help attracting -the Boche’s attention. And it had an effect. The -enemy believed that we were making some sort -of a movement, and launched in our direction a -heavy fusillade which we refrained from answering.</p> - -<p>Again ten minutes passed ... they were -interminable.</p> - -<p>Then suddenly came the machine gun ... -ours ... Marseille’s.</p> - -<p>Slowly at first, it sent out its irregular tap-tap, -then the cadence became faster, and then a steady -crackle. The Boches were taken in the flank and -thought that we were making an attack, and Marseille, -who saw them running by the light of their -star shells, shouted out,</p> - -<p>“Forward, the cooks, run, nom de Dieu!”</p> - -<p>The fatigue party rushed out at top speed. -Soup spatters from all sides. The rations of wine<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span> -and coffee will be short. The men disappear in -the wood. They are over; they are safe.</p> - -<p>Now the German bullets are raging to our left -about the hut; rockets go up asking for artillery. -In front of our lines close to us explosions rock -the ground. Their artillery is firing in the right -place. The fatigue party is over but the Boches -have another prey. By this time Marseille is -stewing away in the ruins of his shelter.</p> - -<p class="tb">While the shelling lasts we discuss his last feat, -safe in the sap, while we munch the last of our -cold repast. Then, as dawn begins to appear and -we have to return to the cantonment at daybreak, -we begin to get ready to go. Before we go we -share a bucket of wine which the overloaded -fatigue party couldn’t carry in its dash and -abandoned.</p> - -<p>But a shadow stands before us in the sap.</p> - -<p>“So they share their leavings and there is none -for the hungry?”</p> - -<p>It is Marseille, safe and sound, whole, without -a scratch. Everyone crowds around him, and the -officer runs up.</p> - -<p>“And now, if you’ll pull in that string, you’ll<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span> -bring back the tools. I’m sore on that machine. -You know, Lieutenant, that gun wasn’t our -Hotchkiss. I had to dismantle the breech; it -jammed at once. I couldn’t have fired more than -half a belt. Fortunately, they gave me light with -their star shells; I couldn’t have done it without -them.”</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI<br /> -<span class="smaller">WITH MUSIC</span></h2> - -<p>We are in reserve cantonments at Chuignolles, -and we all lodge together at the -end of the village, near the church, in a large -house, which isn’t injured much and which once -served the servants of the presbytery. We were -shaken up in our last action, and they give us -comparatively generous liberty, no manœuvres, no -reviews, and no drills. The section leaders have -seen to the arms and ammunition and have secured -an entirely new equipment from the ordnance -officer.</p> - -<p>The infantry have turned gunners over to us to -fill up our ranks.</p> - -<p>The lieutenant recommends the men to distract -themselves with games, gossip and songs.</p> - -<p>At his solicitation we organized a concert, several -concerts, in fact. Each section has its artists -which it believes in and of which it is proud.</p> - -<p>One evening in the garden adjoining the officers’<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span> -quarters we were endeavoring to draw out -the meal by chatting, but conversation flagged as -night drew near. So Sub-Lieutenant Delpos, who -was opposed to dreaming as engendering melancholy, -demanded a concert at once, immediately.</p> - -<p>The cantonments were scattered about in the -surrounding gardens.</p> - -<p>“Croharé,” he said, “run to each section and -bring back artists—all the artists in each company -must be here in five minutes.”</p> - -<p>And five minutes later they were there. All the -company, too, for each section followed its artists, -who were to shine in all the glory of their repertoire -before the officers and the “little staff.”</p> - -<p>We had singers, comedians and speakers, professional -and amateur. Jacquet gave with exquisite -artistry several delightful songs, the words of -which he had composed and adapted to well-known -tunes. The “Lettre à la Marriane” was really -touching.</p> - -<p>Gaix and Corporal Vail sang with real talent -and gave us a full repertoire from the operas. -The indefatigable Marseille gave, in a hilarious -gibberish, an Italian-Marseilles thing which -brought down the house with wild laughter.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span></p> - -<p>“It’s too bad we haven’t a piano to play the -accompaniments,” said someone.</p> - -<p>“A piano! I’ll attend to that,” said the ever-resourceful -Chevalier. “Four men in my bunch, -and I’ll bring it at once.”</p> - -<p>Some minutes later the party brought in an -enormous harmonium which it had found in a -room of the presbytery. That harmonium had -been the silent witness of famous battles, had been -taken and retaken with the village. It had played -“Die Wacht am Rhein” under the German heel, -the “Rêve Passe” with the artillery, “Sidi-Brahim” -with our Blue Devils, and it was still in -good condition and almost all the notes played.</p> - -<p>“And now we have a piano, we must have a -player.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, there, ‘Father Music.’ You know this -is your job. You played for us last summer in the -church at Minaucourt.”</p> - -<p>“Father Music” smiled gravely and pushed -his way through the groups.</p> - -<p>A candle stuck in the neck of a champagne -bottle and placed on the harmonium lighted up -his Christlike face with a golden light.</p> - -<p>He seated himself, without stopping smiling,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span> -on a pile of ammunition caissons which served as -a piano stool, and—honor to whom honor is due—since -we are machine gunners, he begins the -“Song of the Machine Gun,” with Gaix singing -the first stanza.</p> - -<p class="tb">“Father Music” stands out in the light in the -middle of the dark night and this group of a hundred -men who one surmises are there, rather than -sees, squatting on the grass around the instrument.</p> - -<p>Under his cap thrown back on his head the hair -shows sparse and thin, his beard is large and -tangled, and he smiles through his large, clear -eyes. His lips move with the singer, and he sings -the song with as much fervor and composure as if -he were chanting a Halleluiah.</p> - -<p>“Father Music!” ...</p> - -<p>He is a fine figure in our society, rich in epic -types.</p> - -<p>I have seen him near us for some weeks, as -much in our echelon as in the company of which -he assumes the duties of infirmary orderly. I -have learned to know him, and to know him is to -love him.</p> - -<p>By scraps, by fragments of phrases, for he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span> -speaks but little—little of himself, but instead -launches out in real flights of declamation about -an idea, a poem, a well-known tune, the names of -artists—I have been able bit by bit and through -deductions almost to reconstruct his life.</p> - -<p>He is a quiet man in all his ways, habits and -ideas. He lived in the quarter of Saint-Sulpice in -an old house in the quiet Rue Madame, and made -his living by giving music lessons in the institutions -in the neighborhood.</p> - -<p>They knew him in the quarter as “Monsieur -Placide.” On the appointed days at the same -hours he went to the Nuns of the Immaculate -Conception, to the Brothers of the Sacred Heart, -or to special lessons in the city, without ever wandering -far away from the quarter, in the old venerable -houses, in the Rues d’Assas and Garancière.</p> - -<p>On Sundays he played the organ in a small -chapel of the Visitation Sisters.</p> - -<p>The people knew little about him through social -intercourse, for he never went out, or rarely. In -summer he sometimes went to the Tuileries to -listen to secular music—and that is all.</p> - -<p>When in August, 1914, the notices of mobilization -called all able-bodied men to arms, his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span> -orders were to join a regiment of Colonial infantry -in a fort around Paris.</p> - -<p>This man lived a regular life apart from dangerous -contingencies, and was unacquainted with -worldly ambitions and political strife, but he went -to war knowing nothing of it, and considering it -only a little and then through a professional view-point, -as a sort of great drama in which he was -going to play a comparatively passive rôle.</p> - -<p>Under the cap and great coat of the infantryman, -bristling all over with equipment, he was the -typical “poilu”—the poilu of tradition. His -large beard covered the front of his brown coat, -and this gave him the proud appearance of a -veteran.</p> - -<p>At first he was going to sacrifice this thick beard -which he had spared since his liberation from his -regiment, but his officers wanted him to keep it. -That brought him a place at the head of the company -on the march, and he drew all eyes. He -was the poilu.</p> - -<p>His reputation as a musician who played on any -and all instruments was quickly known throughout -the cantonments. So he was at all the ceremonies -and all the merrymakings. In the morning<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span> -on a harmonium carried to an open field he -might accompany a military mass said by stretcher-bearers, -while that evening he might play on a -chance piano, perhaps on the same harmonium, -at improvised concerts, accompanying jolly, broad -songs sung by amateurs and playing the national -hymns of the Allies, and astonishing even himself -in the patriotic choruses.</p> - -<p>And this man to whom everything that was not -classical or the Gregorian chant was strange, who -for twenty years of his life had taught successive -generations Méhul, Gluck, Bach, Mozart and -Beethoven, to whom Massenet, Delibes and -Gounod seemed profane, surprised himself by -pounding out on a badly-tuned piano and singing -with all his might the refrains of “Viens Poupoule,” -popular marches, and the ballads of the -faubourg.</p> - -<p>The soldiers had quickly named him “Father -Music” and this nickname pleased him immensely.</p> - -<p class="tb">That night an order came from the commanding -officer:</p> - -<p>“Two companies of machine guns will go with -the utmost haste to Hill 174, northwest of Herbècourt,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span> -to stop the enemy which is trying to outflank -our right.”</p> - -<p>At three o’clock in the morning we were at the -position indicated.</p> - -<p>A small chapel with a cross was situated on the -top of the hill. The open space in front commands -the road which descends gradually toward -the Méréaucourt woods where the enemy is -concealed.</p> - -<p>We fortify our position in a few minutes. On -both sides of the road a gun sweeps the slope and -the approaches and guards the way out of the -woods. In the little belfry which is shaped like -a dove-cote another gun commands the woods -and can disturb evolutions in the wood itself.</p> - -<p>We use the material at hand to fortify our -emplacements—bits of benches, a door of a confessional, -and the railings of the chapel.</p> - -<p>At our right across the road a company of riflemen -also establish entrenchments, so well camouflaged -that the enemy cannot see them until in its -zone of fire, that is to say, too late.</p> - -<p>The officer, a young sub-lieutenant, asks us not -to fire until he gives the signal. He has the -idea—and a good one—to let the enemy advance<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span> -and come up the road. Here he would be -unable to execute a converging movement and -our gun in the belfry would sweep the right side -of the road and prevent his turning aside, the -company of riflemen would protect the left, and -his section of Grenadiers would attack on the -road.</p> - -<p>We are confident of the strength of our positions -and our means of resistance, and we wait -for the launching of the attack without anxiety.</p> - -<p>“Father Music” has organized his dressing -station in the chapel in the shelter of the altar -and now wanders around the building.</p> - -<p>The church recalls familiar surroundings to -him and he delights in looking at it. There are -a few simple frescoes, pictures of the Crucifixion, -where gigantic men stand out in relief against -a background of microscopic mountains and Liliputian -houses, and they interest him.</p> - -<p>He lets his fingers wander over the keyboard -of the harmonium which lies forgotten in the -choir.</p> - -<p>His comrades jeer,</p> - -<p>“‘Father Music’ is going to play our <i>De -Profundis</i>.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span></p> - -<p>But the quiet does not last long. Towards five -o’clock a frightful fire begins all at once. The -troops in the front-line trenches, at the bottom -of the hill, are decimated and cut down by a furious -fire; they retreat and take refuge behind the -defense works of the village.</p> - -<p>We make our final preparations. Evidently the -enemy is going to try to take the village and has -already begun its destruction. A storm of great -shells falls on the trenches, very near us, some -yards behind the houses. We hear terrific explosions, -the falling of roofs, and fires break out -everywhere.</p> - -<p>An order from the commander of the sector -reaches us, “Maintain the position and hold on -until the companies of reinforcements arrive.”</p> - -<p>The bombardment becomes more and more -violent. As the sound of each shell whistles -through the air we wonder if this infernal machine -is going to strike in our dugout this time. And -every two minutes, mathematically, the uproar -comes again and this unimaginable suffering continues -some hours. At the sound of each shell we -close our eyes. We think of the loved ones with -a calm certainty of never seeing them again. We<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span> -begin to wish that it would end at once, rather -than have to endure this terrible nervous tension -longer.</p> - -<p>And the reinforcements cannot advance under -the avalanche of fire and shell. Are they going -to let us be massacred on the spot without defense?</p> - -<p>The Teuton artillery imagines that they have -cleared the objective and their fire dies down. -Cautiously but confident of their superiority and -tactics, the Germans now appear in numbers.</p> - -<p>Suddenly, violently, like a clap of thunder the -“Marseillaise” bursts on our ears—tremendously.</p> - -<p>It rushes out through all the breaches in the -church; it comes through the cracks; it goes up -through the fallen roof; it traverses the shattered -windows. It unites in itself all human and celestial -voices. The soul of a whole nation, the spirit -of ancient glories, animates the old organ which -sings its last song.</p> - -<p>With all the strength of its breath, with all the -breath of its pipes, filled to bursting, with all the -sonority of its bass, its horns, its flutes and violins, -the organ hurls forth the sacred song.</p> - -<p>And it is not only the hymn of triumphant<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span> -Liberty and the indignation of an avenging people -in the face of the invader. Magnified by the liturgical -sounds on the ritualistic instrument of sacred -music, it is the Hosanna of Glory, the Sursam -Corda of Faith, confident in the approaching victory, -the Resurexit of the triumphant Past, and -the De Profundis of brutal domination.</p> - -<p>And beside all that, all the songs of glory, all -the exaltations of faith, all the clamor of Gregorian -theogony vibrate in the notes of the -“Marseillaise.”</p> - -<p>Under the humble vault of a hamlet chapel the -organ plays the twice-blessed music, and intones -the splendid Magnificat of the Republic, the hymn -of the Trinity, thrice human, thrice divine, Liberty, -Fraternity and Equality.</p> - -<p>And, dominating all the sonorities of the organ, -a thousand voices unite in a sublime burst of song,</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">“<i>Aux armes, citoyens!</i> ...”</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>“Grenades!” commands the lieutenant.</p> - -<p>The men, electrified, mouths half open, the -machines in their hands, spring out of the trench -in the teeth of the enemy, but two steps from him. -And with an irresistible dash they charge him,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span> -follow him, crumble him. The Teutons flee in -terror....</p> - -<p class="tb">Night has fallen. Under a sky reddened by -the lights of fires deep silence is over everything. -Numerous reinforcements have arrived. The reconquered -positions have been reorganized at -once.</p> - -<p>The general has been told of the exploit and -he congratulates the officers and men, and promises -them rewards. He also expresses a desire to -see the church from which came the martial hymn -which electrified the company.</p> - -<p>All is dark....</p> - -<p>At the back near the altar a small lantern -lightens the darkness ... we approach.</p> - -<p>On the ruined harmonium, forever silent now, -“Father Music” sleeps....</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII<br /> -<span class="smaller">“WE HAVE TAKEN A PICKET POST”</span></h2> - -<p class="center">(“Communique du”)</p> - -<p>The asphyxiating shells which have been -falling around us for forty-eight hours -without a let-up have ceased. This morning the -first rays of the sun filtered through the layers of -gas and seemed to evaporate them. This lull -was opportune. Our masks have long since been -glued to our faces, and loosened by our heavy -breathing they no longer adhere hermetically and -begin to let in the toxins.</p> - -<p>At last we are able to breathe at will and -swallow our share of pure air.</p> - -<p>Our sap opens on the side of a great quarry and -commands the whole valley of the Somme. At -our feet is the canal and towpath, at the right in -a group of trees in the middle of the marshes are -the ruins of Froissy; opposite us, behind the buttress -of the La Vache woods, is the steeple of -Éclusier.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span></p> - -<p>The open space in front of our dugout forms -a sort of terrace. Here we have laid out tables -and dug seats in the chalk of the quarry. Men -are descending by real scaling paths to get water -from the canal, although it is against the major’s -explicit orders.</p> - -<p>The towpath is visible from the enemy’s -trenches on the other side of the Somme. During -the preceding days, those who tried to follow -it to get back to Éclusier more easily were -wounded by the fire of a machine gun which -sweeps the way.</p> - -<p>Our men come back from this expedition without -accident, and we are able to proceed to our -summary ablutions. We have not been able to -do that for six days, and it is a real delight to -feel the fresh water on our eyes and to rid the -skin of its sticky moisture.</p> - -<p>Two of our sections hold the first-line trenches -twenty yards in front of us. We must relieve -them presently....</p> - -<p>The artillery is still silent, and without a doubt -the enemy has given up the stroke he was preparing. -He was counting on the usual morning mist -of the Somme, but this morning the air is very<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span> -clear without a suspicion of fog. A fresh breeze -blows from the north.</p> - -<p>As we wait for the hour of relief, we talk, and -an interminable game of cards goes on.</p> - -<p>During the dark dreary days of forced seclusion -in the bottom of the sap I discovered a very -fine fellow, one of our comrades whom I had not -had occasion to notice until then. He was very -simple, talked but little, lived by himself, and I -did not know his name.</p> - -<p>Chance placed us side by side and permitted me -to engage him in conversation.</p> - -<p>Under a rough, taciturn appearance I found a -soul full of kindness, a life touched by sacrifice, -kindly, modest, the heroism of the humble who -live simply for their long, hard tasks without complaining -and without anyone being able to pity -them in their sorrow and lighten their burdens.</p> - -<p>One night—was it night?—hermetically -sealed in the deep sap, lighted only by the wavering -light of scanty candles, all our hours were -nocturnal. Without the irregular arrival of -supply parties we would have been absolutely -ignorant of the flight of time.</p> - -<p>One night, when the bombardment seemed to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span> -reach the final height of violence, when each blow -shook our dugout, and the props groaned and -threatened to yield—it would have been a merciless -burial—our looks crossed and I read in his -eyes a deep sorrow.</p> - -<p>In spite of my natural reserve, out of respect to -his deep suffering I was unable to contain myself -long.</p> - -<p>“Comrade,” I said, “I read in your looks a -great sorrow.”</p> - -<p>He seemed to come back to reality when he -heard my voice!</p> - -<p>“Fate has placed us near each other for some -days. We don’t know what to-morrow may bring. -Can’t I be of some use? Aid you in any way? -Tell me!”</p> - -<p>His eyes tried to smile a thanks. I saw his -lips contract and then came tears, and before I -could say anything he leaned his head on my -shoulder and wept deeply.</p> - -<p>It was not weakness, despair, or fear, but the -unbridling of a heart shut up too long, the great -gasp of a soul heavy with mental sorrows which -might at last open itself, the gentle rain which -brought the stifling storm of the nerves to an end.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span></p> - -<p>He confided his life history to me in a few -words.</p> - -<p>He was a simple artisan of the laboring class, -and his life had been full of grief and sorrow. -After some years of struggles, and cares and stress -together with his beloved companion, a daughter -was born. But in coming into the world she took -the life of her mother. And then he found himself -alone in the world with this puny frail creature, -born in grief and raised in sorrow.</p> - -<p>In addition to his great love for her as a father -he added his worship of the departed one. He -limited his life to his grief, and made his house -a memorial chapel where every object was a votive -offering to his absent beloved and a relic of the -ever-present dead. He adorned the little girl -with her mother’s modest jewelry, and cut her -clothes from those she had worn.</p> - -<p>Through this double love which he poured out -on this child, she became his only reason for existence, -his whole life.</p> - -<p>The little girl was ten years old to-day. -Brought up in the seclusion of the tabernacle, -she had taken up her rôle conscientiously. She -was quieter than most children of her age, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span> -attentive to her father’s slightest wish. As she -grew up she developed into the very image of her -mother, and the poor man began to live again as -in a dream the days of his happy past.</p> - -<p>When war broke out the implacable mobilization -tore him from the fireside he had never left -before. Living alone as they did, they had no -friends and knew of no relatives.</p> - -<p>He went, trusting the house to her and all their -modest property, only recommending her to the -watch of a neighbor, of a concierge.</p> - -<p>But fortified by example, she suddenly grew up -through the grief of this weighty separation, and -the girl was already sufficient for the rôle as -guardian of the hearth.</p> - -<p>Ever since he had left she had written each -week the letter which he waited for impatiently -and which he read and re-read during the following -days.</p> - -<p class="tb">This morning he seemed more cheerful. It -was not only the joy of finding himself in the open -air again, of having finished with the constant -danger of being buried alive, but also because now -the bombardment had died down the officer with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span> -the mail would be able to bring to-day the letters -which we had not received for six days.</p> - -<p>The child had not failed to write a single time -on the promised date and he knew that back in -the rear a letter from his daughter was waiting -for him and would come to-day. This thought -made him cheerful.</p> - -<p class="tb">At the relief I went with him into the front line -trench. It was riddled with shell holes. Our -barbed wire entanglements were almost destroyed, -but the trench was not entirely ruined, and sandbags -quickly put it in good shape again. An immense -heap of bricks and smoking ruins cut off -our view in front.</p> - -<p>It was all that was left of a farmhouse called -“La Maison Rose.” It had been sharply disputed -in terrible combats and had passed in succession -from the enemy into our hands and then from -ours to the enemy, to remain finally between the -lines.</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 700px;" id="illus5"> -<img src="images/illus5.jpg" width="700" height="430" alt="" /> -<p class="caption"><span class="smcap">The front line Trench</span> <a href="#Page_154"><i>See page 154</i></a></p> -</div> - -<p>Our artillery was riddling this pile with shells -to prevent the Germans fortifying it and making -it a point of support commanding our trenches. -But the mass of ruins stayed there and formed a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span> -ridge which, if it was not dangerous, was at least -annoying.</p> - -<p>Sub-Lieutenant Delpos demonstrated to me by -means of a periscope the use they might make of -that pile of stones. He was a daring but prudent -tactician and went on the principle that everything -ought to be used to spare the men’s lives, and that -we should not neglect to take advantage of any -incident in the terrain.</p> - -<p>“Lieutenant, here’s an order.”</p> - -<p>The battalion intelligence officer handed him a -paper written in pencil:</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“Chief of battalion of the company of machine guns. -A reconnaissance of aeroplanes signals that the enemy are -installing gas-throwing or liquid fire machines behind -the pile of stones in front of your lines. Blow it up -with several bombs on the ends to scatter it. Ask for -volunteers.”</p> - -</div> - -<p>“See what I told you. The Germans lose no -time in utilizing the advantages of the terrain. -See, behind that pile of stones they are installing -their gas machines. They think they’re sheltered, -but nothing is from our aeroplanes. Oh, the -aeroplanes!”</p> - -<p>A man from the engineers, who have received<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span> -a similar order, comes with the explosives. He -looks at the emplacement through a loophole, and -turns to us whistling and shaking his head:</p> - -<p>“<i>Mince!</i> That’s not going to be easy. One -might be able to manage it at night, but by day -... that’s going to be a real bird trap.”</p> - -<p>“What! What! What’s to stop your sticking -your melinite sausage in that doghouse? Lend -me your peephole. I’m going to see how it -stands.”</p> - -<p>It was Grizard mixing in the conversation; he -had already taken the two bombs from the engineer’s -hands, which he let go with evident satisfaction.</p> - -<p>“We ought to put one in each end of the buffet. -Don’t worry, Lieutenant. That’s a fine job and -will be well done.”</p> - -<p>Grizard turns to his companion Marseille who -is draining his two litre canteen without trouble.</p> - -<p>“Oh, there, you. This will be a fine chance -for a ballad. We’re going to play a trick on -our neighbor opposite.”</p> - -<p>And then, as Marseille gave his opinion only -by a look without letting go the neck of his -canteen:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Come, leave some until we get back. We’ll -be thirsty.”</p> - -<p>The two volunteers got ready for their expedition -at once. They each took a bomb and put it -in their jacket pockets; protected their heads by -a shield which they pushed ahead, and climbed -up the bank, crawled under the barbed wire, and -disappeared in the shell holes.</p> - -<p>They had covered their heads with muddy canvas. -If they remained motionless, three yards -away one could not tell them from the ground.</p> - -<p>Through periscopes we watched them advance. -The lookouts in the enemy trench had not seen -them yet. Not a shot. Absolute quiet.</p> - -<p>The “doghouse” is thirty yards from our lines. -Sliding along carefully as they must, ten minutes -are necessary to get there. The time will seem -long; longer for us than for them.</p> - -<p>I am sure that while they are giving their whole -attention to getting on in their adventurous spirits, -entirely ignorant of the first feeling of fear, that -they have no other idea in their heads than to play -a good joke on the Boches. They are fine jokers! -They have never been known to draw back from -what offers, but when their lives are at stake....</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span></p> - -<p>There is still nothing. Not a shot!</p> - -<p>But how could the enemy lookouts see them? -We ourselves who know their goal, who follow -their trail, lose sight of them momentarily. Brown -grass and burned shrubbery covers the ground at -that spot; they must be there inside.</p> - -<p>The ten minutes have gone now. Still nothing!!!</p> - -<p>Have they seen a danger we cannot see as they -neared the goal, and have they burrowed themselves -in the ground? Nevertheless, their mission -is extremely urgent, and they know it.</p> - -<p>Lieutenant Delpos nervously frets about and -stamps his foot,</p> - -<p>“I ought to have gone myself....”</p> - -<p>“Wait, there they are.”</p> - -<p>Marseille and Grizard are coming back; they -are only ten feet from the trench.</p> - -<p>But rash to madness, in their absolute unconsciousness -of danger now that their mission is accomplished, -they take no thought of themselves, -and instead of sliding under the barbed wire, as -they went, to get into the dugout Grizard stands -up and shouts,</p> - -<p>“Let the balloon go up.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span></p> - -<p>At the same moment, a shower of bullets!</p> - -<p>Grizard rebounded, twisted himself in a -final contortion, and fell on his back while Marseille -jumped into the trench shouting to his -comrade,</p> - -<p>“Haven’t you finished playing the man-serpent?”</p> - -<p>Then, when he saw that his comrade was absolutely -dead, he burst out in wild anger:</p> - -<p>“Nom de Dieu ... Nom de Dieu ... de -nom de Dieu.... If that isn’t too bad.... -He needn’t stay there, the rascal. I’m going to -get him.”</p> - -<p>The explosion came, a frightful one; the bombs -had just exploded.</p> - -<p>“To the sap ... to the sap. It’s going to -rain stones.”</p> - -<p>The pile of stones is thrown up with tremendous -violence. Blocks are thrown into the trench.</p> - -<p>The smoke blows away and behind the scattered -ruins we see two machine guns in position -with their gun crews killed beside them, and all -their material for fortifications and gas-making -apparatus.</p> - -<p>The sub-lieutenant jumps on the parapet,</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span></p> - -<p>“To the bayonet, forward, enfants, get the -tools.”</p> - -<p>And before the enemy had recovered from his -stupefaction, our men are on the guns, which they -get and bring back in a hurry under a storm of -bullets and grenades.</p> - -<p>When we are back from this sudden attack, we -call the roll. Several fail to answer, and among -them my friend of the day before.</p> - -<p>I suffer as though he had been my own brother.</p> - -<p>That night, when the storm of fire has ceased, -we try to search carefully through the darkness -of the terrain where our missing men have fallen. -Groans tells us that they are there, but in their -fever and pain no one answers our calls.</p> - -<p>At daybreak, at the risk of the bullets which -still whistle above the trench, we are able to see -them.</p> - -<p>There he was scarcely twenty yards away, his -large eyes open and looking towards us ... beyond -us ... very far. But I know where!!!</p> - -<p>The day begins quietly. Doubtless the enemy -is meditating a revenge for yesterday’s surprise; -not a shot on our side or on the other. It is the -silence after the storm. I begin to hope for a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span> -sudden attack which will let us go out and bring -back our wounded.</p> - -<p>A man brings the letters with our morning -coffee. There was one for him and I call and -tell him. He answers with a sigh. I guess rather -than hear what he wants.</p> - -<p>“Read me the letter, very loud so I can hear -it.” And in a voice which I force myself to make -firm and almost joyous, while sobs choke me, I -read this letter:</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“My darling Papa:</p> - -<p>“You did not expect a letter from me to-day for it’s -not my usual day. I wanted to surprise you. To-morrow -is mamma’s birthday. With the economies I made out -of the allowance, I had my picture taken. I put on for -the occasion her beautiful necklace and pretty red silk -blouse which is so becoming to me. The neighbors already -see how much I look like her.</p> - -<p>“And that my little souvenir might be still more -precious, I have copied on the back of the picture the song -which you taught me when I was very small so that I -could sing it before mamma’s portrait.</p> - -<p>“This song, now that you are no longer here, tells all -that my heart would say to you on this day I long for you, -mamma’s birthday. It has become my evening prayer.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">“‘<i>Oh! si tu savais, loin de foi,</i></div> -<div class="verse"><i>Combien les heures sont amères,</i></div> -<div class="verse"><i>Pleines d’attristantes chimères,</i></div> -<div class="verse"><i>Et comme désert est le toit,</i></div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span> -<div class="verse"><i>Va, j’ai beau remplir par l’étude</i></div> -<div class="verse"><i>Et par le travail, tous mes jours,</i></div> -<div class="verse"><i>C’est toi que je cherche toujours</i></div> -<div class="verse"><i>Tout au fond de ma solitude.</i>’”</div> -</div> -</div> - -</div> - -<p>Then, before I finished my reading, his voice -continued the song of the child as he lay there on -the point of death. In the hour of death his grave -voice had a celestial accent; the simple song went -up like a superhuman song, a seraphic song, above -men, beyond all things. It penetrated to the -bottom of our souls and probed our hearts and -brought tears.</p> - -<p>The barbarians on the other side of the trench, -themselves fathers, husbands, brothers, understand -that a father is dying calling to his child; -that a past common to us all lives again in that -last agony. And their arms rest inert, their guns -are lowered, and all the fierce warriors remain -motionless, dreaming, lost in the contemplation -of their inner dreams. Alone, their hearts beat -and bleed.</p> - -<p class="tb">Suddenly someone shouts an oath from the -German trench. A brute blasphemes,</p> - -<p>“<i>Halt dein Maul</i>.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span></p> - -<p>A shot sounds. A bullet puts an end to that -beatific agony.</p> - -<p>Then, there was no need of a signal or an -order. Tears dried spontaneously; rage bit our -lips and lighted our eyes.</p> - -<p>With a bound, with a single bound, sudden, -violent, unanimous, we jumped the parapet, and -without the enemy’s firing a shot in his utter surprise, -we bounded into the German trench. Five -minutes later, there was none left alive.</p> - -<p>Bowing my head over the body of my friend, -I placed the picture of his child on his still moist -lips.</p> - -<p class="tb">The Communique will say:</p> - -<p>“South of the Somme we took a picket post -by surprise, captured two machine guns and considerable -material for making asphyxiating gas. -Our losses are insignificant.”</p> - -<p class="tb">And the public will think that very simple—a -picket post ... two machine guns ... and -no losses.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII<br /> -<span class="smaller">A NIGHT CONVOY</span></h2> - -<p>The colonel just telephoned the following -order:</p> - -<p>“The echelons of the companies of machine -guns will bring, to-night, thirty thousand cartridges -to the P. C.<a name="FNanchor_1" id="FNanchor_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> of the regiment. This order -must be executed before daylight.”</p> - -<p>We spent the afternoon in verifying the belts -and making up the war train.</p> - -<p>Towards seven o’clock we went slowly towards -the bridge at Froissy, where we made a long halt -until night fell. The sentry refused to let us take -the towpath which would save us some eight miles.</p> - -<p>These were his instructions!</p> - -<p>It appears that the noises of the caissons and -wagons might wake up the enemy, who would -at once bombard the towpath near which were -numerous huts of regiments who were resting.</p> - -<p>So we crossed the canal, and in order to get to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span> -Cappy on our right, we have to go round by -Bray-sur-Somme.</p> - -<p>But this road has its distractions.</p> - -<p>The road is absolutely torn up and it is not five -yards wide anywhere, in fact it is an infernal -mixture of automobiles, artillery, caissons and -batteries.</p> - -<p>No one will slow up. They cross over, go -around, hang on, shout, bellow, insult, and get -past as best they can. Our mules are obstinate -and stubborn and go on their way placidly in the -midst of this uproar.</p> - -<p>Once we lean so far to the right that the hubs -of the wheels on the lower side stick in the mud.</p> - -<p>We doubtless go ahead slowly, but we go ahead -all the same. The drivers have to go in front of -their beasts. It would be madness for them to -stay on the seats of the ammunition wagons, and -the certain ruin for man and beast, for exhausted -by fatigue, they would fall asleep and get in the -way of the enormous meteors which rush by without -seeing anything.</p> - -<p>As we approach Bray, the crowding is beyond -anything one could imagine.</p> - -<p>It is one compact mass of wagons, trucks, caissons,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span> -guns, forage wagons, all entangled, mixed -up, wedged together, trying to get through a -street scarcely wide enough to let two wagons by -and where ten insist on going together.</p> - -<p>If we mix with this crowd, we will condemn -ourselves to several hours in one place without -moving. Once in the crush it is impossible to get -free and go back.</p> - -<p>Roudon suggests that we twist around the village. -Our wagons have the advantage of being -able to go anywhere. They were made expressly -for this work and have wide wheels and no frames.</p> - -<p>We make a passage through a hawthorn hedge -with a few blows of the axe and cross the fields in -spite of the invectives of the gendarmes who persist -in trying to make us circle round in regular -order, just as though we were going around the -Obelisk in the Place de la Concorde.</p> - -<p>“Here, brave gendarmes, they pass as they -can. Guns thunder. Shells are near, and it is -necessary to arrive at the appointed time.”</p> - -<p>“Instructions thought out by some officer in -the peace and quiet of a faraway office are all rot. -Go on, you’ll find out.”</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 700px;" id="illus6"> -<img src="images/illus6.jpg" width="700" height="430" alt="" /> -<p class="caption"><span class="smcap">A Commandant’s Post</span> <a href="#Page_165"><i>See page 165</i></a></p> -</div> - -<p>We are beyond the village an hour later and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span> -are on the highway which leads to the bridge at -Cappy.</p> - -<p>Here, things are askew again. We must cross -to get over the bridge. We can’t go around that. -So we get into the string of wagons and follow -their pace. They advance in skips and jumps -... they go ahead ten yards, stop a quarter of -an hour, and begin again. One would think he -was in the line at the Opéra on the day of a free -performance.</p> - -<p>We stand about in one spot more than three -hours.</p> - -<p>Finally, about midnight we reach the entrance -to the bridge.</p> - -<p>A new delay!</p> - -<p>We have to get out of the way to let convoys -past which are going in the opposite direction. -They are ammunition trucks which make a noise -like thunder.</p> - -<p>Just then, some artillerymen, who do not want to -wait and who glory in the not altogether fortunate -reputation of always getting by, no matter what’s -in the way, dash on to the bridge at a gallop.</p> - -<p>“That’s it. Now we’re in a pickle, a mess -... that’s the....”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span></p> - -<p>The poles run into the carburetors, the horses -rear and kick against the hoods with their maddened -hoofs; the motors continue to run, raging -at their impotence.</p> - -<p>Nevertheless a way must be cleared through the -bridge. And in the pitch dark night that’s not easy.</p> - -<p>A chauffeur has the ingenious idea of lighting a -headlight.</p> - -<p>Immediately, evidently judging that this light -is without a doubt insufficient and its aid is indispensable -for us, the German artillery sends us all -the material necessary for clearing the bridge.</p> - -<p>It sends us shells and with absolutely no care -at all.</p> - -<p>To the right, to the left, in front, and behind, -the shots fall like a hailstorm.</p> - -<p>Cries, groans, oaths, and commands impossible -to execute! It is Hell.</p> - -<p>In an excess of generosity, doubtless to aid us -in getting out of our difficulty, a well-aimed shell -falls on a truck, sets fire to the gasoline tank, and -the whole thing saturated with paint and covered -with impervious canvas bursts into flames.</p> - -<p>We can see. We can see only too well now, -and the Boches too.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span></p> - -<p>Through their glasses they can easily estimate -what their objective is worth and see what a large -crowd is crowding around the spectacle. And -their bombardment doubles in intensity.</p> - -<p>“This is no time to stay here.”</p> - -<p>On the trot we gain the fields and follow the -bank lined by poplars.</p> - -<p>We reach the limit of the zone of fire in about -three hundred yards. We crowd behind the trees -and hedges to avoid the splinters which can still -reach us.</p> - -<p>Suddenly, there is a terrible cry, a noise of something -falling. The bridge has fallen down.</p> - -<p>That is fatal.</p> - -<p>“We’ve got to be at the P. C. at daybreak, but -I don’t see how we are going to make it.”</p> - -<p>There is absolutely nothing to do just now; it -would be folly to try anything, no matter what -it was.</p> - -<p>No matter what the cost these convoys must -reach the left bank, where numerous units wait -for the ammunition which they need badly, so the -order is given to silence the enemy’s batteries -which are bombarding us so thoroughly.</p> - -<p>All the guns in the valley of Froissy, including<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span> -the big English guns, thunder out at once in an -astounding uproar....</p> - -<p>The enemy returns the fire with a storm of -shrapnel. But the trees with their thick leaves -fortunately protect us from this. We hear splinters -and bullets falling into the waters of the canal -a few yards away.</p> - -<p>The fire near the bridge continues. The flames -have reached other vehicles now and a great cloud -goes up in the air lighting up the surrounding -country. No one even dares to think of trying -to put it out in the thick rain of bullet and shell.</p> - -<p>Roudon is disturbed. He is a man of duty, to -whom an order is a sacred thing. No obstacle -should prevent the execution of an order, so he -proposes that we go back to Froissy and reach -the P. C. of the regiment by way of the Cappy -plateau.</p> - -<p>“That’s mad, <i>mon vieux</i>. We’d never make -it before nine o’clock in the morning, and we’d all -be killed going that way in the open.”</p> - -<p>“So much the worse. It is necessary to bring -the ammunition. It is an order and it is urgent.”</p> - -<p>“Wait a little while until this quiets down. -They’ll not go on like this all night.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Yes, they will too; they’ve seen the convoys -and they’ll keep up the barrage until daylight.”</p> - -<p>“If we could only find a boat. We could take -the caissons to the other side. The quarry isn’t -far from there. The men could carry them.”</p> - -<p>“What are you thinking about? Going to find -a boat at this time of night! And with what is -falling into the canal we’d run some risk in -crossing....”</p> - -<p class="tb">Far from silencing the enemy, the fire of our -batteries exasperates him.</p> - -<p>Heavy guns, guns on tractors doubtless, have -been brought into play. “280’s” and “210’s” -come at regular intervals.</p> - -<p>The Boches must have thought they had surprised -a strategic movement much more important -than it really was and were trying to check it.</p> - -<p>The place is becoming untenable.</p> - -<p>At the edge of the canal is a large stable for the -canal horses, and a crowd of drivers, gunners, and -cyclists have taken refuge there. It falls apart -when a great shell strikes it. A terrible cry goes -up and the building bursts into flames all over, -like tow soaked in oil.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span></p> - -<p>No one knows how many bodies are burned to -cinders there. A frightful odor assails our nostrils -in the smoke which encircles us.</p> - -<p>A heavy rolling roar, boring through the night -like the noise of an express train coming out of -a tunnel at high speed, comes from over there, -from the black hole where the enemy is.</p> - -<p>“That’s a terrific fire!”</p> - -<p>“Look out.”</p> - -<p>A violent puff, like a heavy blow, knocks us -down.</p> - -<p>The mules rear and draw back. A wagon slides -down the bank and falls into the water, taking its -animal and driver with it.</p> - -<p>A shell has burst on the bank opposite and it -has torn up by the roots a large poplar which falls -across the canal. It is a miracle that it didn’t -crush a dozen of us. We run to help the driver. -The water is shallow. He holds himself up by -the weeds. We pull him out with the aid of several -lengths of whip lash, but the mule and the -wagon have rolled into the middle of the canal -and are lost.</p> - -<p>The bombardment continues until dawn, but less -violently.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span></p> - -<p>A few shots, the longest, come near us. The -pounding continues on the site of the bridge, obstinately -and stubbornly.</p> - -<p>We are still there at the first rays of dawn.</p> - -<p>“This is exasperating. We can never get these -munitions to the P. C. before daylight.”</p> - -<p>“Say, Roudon, we have a bridge right in front -of us. It will do.”</p> - -<p>And indeed the large poplar might let us get -across the canal.</p> - -<p>We try it.</p> - -<p>We leave one man to guard the five wagons, -and the rest detach the caissons from their supports, -hang them on our shoulders, and one after -another we try the chance bridge which bends a -little but does not break.</p> - -<p>Less than fifteen minutes later all the munitions -are together on the opposite bank.</p> - -<p>We reached the P. C. at five o’clock, exhausted -without a doubt, but the order has been -executed.</p> - -<p class="tb">When the artillery officer saw us arriving, he -started shouting,</p> - -<p>“What do you want me to do with that?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span></p> - -<p>Roudon repeated the order he had received the -day before.</p> - -<p>“So you haven’t received the cancellation of -the order? You always ought to wait for that. -We were relieved last night. Take that stuff back -where you got it from.”</p> - -<p>We carried the caissons back to our wagons by -the same way, by the same bridge.</p> - -<p>Captain D ... was coming along the towpath -and saw us arrive.</p> - -<p>Roudon was furious as he told him about our -useless adventure which might have cost us so -dear.</p> - -<p>He listened, laughed, then, coldly:</p> - -<p>“Bah! that will do the mules good. They’ll -get used to marching at night....”</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV<br /> -<span class="smaller">THE SONGS OF THE HOMELAND</span></h2> - -<p>Fontaine-les-Cappy is some hundred -yards from the lines.</p> - -<p>It is a reserve position to which the company -was sent the day before in expectation of an attack -which may come at any moment.</p> - -<p>It is raining as it hasn’t stopped raining for -weeks. We had floundered in the mud for five -hours and were splashed by an endless string of -convoys to get here from Villers where the regiment -had scarcely begun a few short days of rest.</p> - -<p>The men were tired out and threw themselves -on the filthy straw. They have slept nearly all -day, and this evening in groups they try their -hardest to organize a respectable meal from the -means at their disposal. The wine flows from full -canteens, and flasks of cheap brandy come out of -the packs.</p> - -<p>The section leaders advise them to save some -of their provisions for the next day.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span></p> - -<p>“To-morrow! What do you think? To-morrow -we’ll lunch with the Boches. You! I’ll -pay you in sauerkraut.”</p> - -<p>Conversation gradually grew less amid the falling -darkness and the smoke of pipes.</p> - -<p>The silence became profound.</p> - -<p>The men are not sleeping. They think and remember. -Sadness and worry hover about....</p> - -<p>Far away, hesitating, a voice sings a prelude. -But that voice is so pure and clear that it seems -enormous, startling, vibrating in the dull numbness -of men and things.</p> - -<p>Vigne is humming a song of Provence, a hymn -to the sun, which from the banks of the Durance -to the shores of the Latin sea, from the blue hills -of the Alps to the golden flowers of Vacarès, the -youths and maidens of Avignon, Arles, and Maillamne -sing as they return to the hospitable farm -from their labors, their hands entwined for the -farandole, with eyes full of smiles and love for -the bright sun which makes them live and love.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse"><i>Grand souleù de la Provènço</i></div> -<div class="verse"><i>Gai coumpaire doù mistrau</i></div> -<div class="verse"><i>Tu qu’escoules la Durènço</i></div> -<div class="verse"><i>Comme un flot de vin de Crau,</i></div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span> -<div class="verse"><i>Fai lusi toun blound caleù!</i></div> -<div class="verse"><i>Coucho l’oumbro emai li fleù!</i></div> -<div class="verse indent2"><i>Leù! leù! leù!</i></div> -<div class="verse"><i>Fai te vèire, beù souleù!</i></div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>Vigne was sitting in a corner, elbows on his -knees, chin between his hands, his face lifted, and -singing unconsciously, his eyes on the distance.</p> - -<p>A candle stuck in the neck of a bottle throws a -flickering light on the damp ground of the cellar, -and scarcely separates his outlines from the -darkness.</p> - -<p>Gradually one follows in, one after another, -naturally, and they all begin to sing.</p> - -<p>And music and rhythm form so large a part of -their natures that they form a wonderful choir -where the thirds and minors take form instinctively -without an effort, and where the dream of -their homeland marks the time.</p> - -<p>And they sing from their souls, and through it -all is the sun of their beautiful South, the poetry -of their dawns, the charm of their twilights, the -mystic gleams of the olives, the flight of the red -flamingoes on the pools, the coming down of the -shepherds from the perfumed hills, the mad career -of the bulls in clouds of dust on the white roads -of Camargue, the gold of the mimosas, the red of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span> -the wild poppies, the blue sky, the blue sea, the -sun....</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse indent2"><i>Fai lusi....</i></div> -<div class="verse"><i>Fai lusi toun blound caleù.</i></div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>These soft voices, monotonous, hesitating a -moment ago, which seemed scarcely awake, now -sound out, vibrant, dashing, sonorous.</p> - -<p>They are no longer uprooted exiles who are -stirred; it is a force, a crowd, a people whom the -song of their birthplace awakes, draws together, -cheers. It is Provence herself that sings.</p> - -<p>Outside, the cannon roar and the shells fall like -hail around the cantonment. Great shells tear -up the ground with their gigantic blows.</p> - -<p>War, horrors, blood, ruins, fear, the attack -which is near at hand, death perhaps, all that -exists no longer for them. It is all of no consequence -to them; the air of their natal song transports -them.</p> - -<p>These men shut up in dark cellars, in dugouts, -shaken by the terrific hammering of shells, are -transported by their dream to the bright sunshine, -the bright and cheerful atmosphere of their southern -plains. They sing, and at once they are living -again the life of their homeland.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span></p> - -<p>Their “little” country dominates them and -makes them valiant and strong in the midst of the -sorrows all about to attack and stand up in defense -of the Great!...</p> - -<p>I go out with my nerves on edge and my eyes -full of tears before the unearthly beauty of the -scene.</p> - -<p>Streaks of light from the stuffed air-holes alone -let me realize that men in large numbers wait -there underground for a signal to dash into the -fiery furnace....</p> - -<p>I walk to the end of the village to the officers’ -quarters to calm my nerves.</p> - -<p>Voices still rise in song on both sides of the -road. There, under my feet in a ruin—so martyred -that one might think it was an acropolis -raising prayers of stone to heaven—a chorus of -warm voices scans the joyous song,</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse"><i>Qué cantès, qué recantès</i></div> -<div class="verse indent2"><i>Cantès pas per iev,</i></div> -<div class="verse indent2"><i>Cantès per ma mia</i></div> -<div class="verse indent2"><i>Qu’es auprès de iev.</i></div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>Here are the lads of Languedoc, Nîmes, Montpellier, -the vine growers of the plains, the carters -of Aiguesmortes, the harvesters of Toulouse<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span> -all carried away by the evocation of their -homeland.</p> - -<p>Oh! the beautiful song! How it puts heart -into one; more beautiful than the most martial -hymn composed in the harsh technique of the ink -pots.</p> - -<p>It is the living expression, simple, spontaneous, -natural, of the people, the family and the soil. It -carries in it the remembrances of happy childhood, -of loves bathed in sunshine, the radiant nuptials -in the mystery of light and flowers. It speaks of -the loved pastures, the paternal roof, the farm, -the herds, the vines ... and that is the -Patrie.</p> - -<p>Oh! the beautiful song! It dissipates dark -thoughts, fears, uncertainties; it makes lovers -and heroes, electrifies them, and increases their -strength a hundred fold. They are the lads of -Provence and Languedoc who spread through the -world the triumphal “Marseillaise.” They are -the same lads who despite the mud and the dark -night breathe in their memory and in the song the -re-vivifying breath of their “little” country, who -in pursuit of the routed enemy make the “Marseillaise” -victorious again, victorious alway.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span></p> - -<p>At the end of the village in a house at the side -of the road to Chuignolles, a feeble light filters -through the canvas which takes the place of -shutters.</p> - -<p>The officers are quartered here. Lieutenant -Casanova is stretched out on a mattress on -the ground, smoking and dreaming over his -eternal cigarette. Lieutenant Delpos leaning -on a box which serves him for a table, is reading, -by the light of a lantern, an illustrated -novel.</p> - -<p>I look over his shoulder. They are rather -sprightly, suggestive illustrations, reinforced with -a vengeance by the fervid imagination and second-hand -talent of the readers who have handed it -around.</p> - -<p>The wind and rain rage outside the window. -Poor weather for an attack.</p> - -<p>“I’m sure that we’ve come here for nothing.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, that can be launched at any time.”</p> - -<p>“I should be much surprised if it came this -evening.”</p> - -<p>“Listen.”</p> - -<p>A heavy, faraway, continuous rumble, like the -beating of a drum, is heard just then.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span></p> - -<p>The sound seems to come from the direction of -Lihons and to get nearer by degrees.</p> - -<p>In the midst of the fusillade we hear distinctly -the regular crackle of the machine guns.</p> - -<p>Suddenly, a terrific fire breaks out opposite us. -D ... company, which we are to support, must -have gone into action.</p> - -<p>“That’s getting close.”</p> - -<p>We go out. The road forms a sort of embankment -at this spot, which is forbidden during the -daytime, and from which we look toward the -lines.</p> - -<p>A great light has risen. More and more frequent -bursts of shrapnel at this distance have the -effect of immense red Venetian lanterns, tossed -about by the wind in the dark night.</p> - -<p>Rockets go up suddenly on our right.</p> - -<p>That is a call for the artillery. The expected -attack is probably taking place over there. We -have been placed in reserve for fear that the attack -might widen out on the sector, but it is probable -that we shall not have to intervene.</p> - -<p>“It looks as though it were quieting down -there in front.”</p> - -<p>“Hum! You’ll see.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span></p> - -<p>Lieutenant Casanova has had great experience -in battles, and he isn’t taken by surprise by apparent -lulls. On the contrary. Silence is what he -dreads most.</p> - -<p>“You’ll see.”</p> - -<p>And as a matter of fact we didn’t have long to -wait.... A tornado of shells falls between the -lines and our cantonment. This is immediately -followed by another, then still another, all in a -couple of minutes.</p> - -<p>It is a barrage of “77’s,” effected by a battery -which has taken us in its fire.</p> - -<p>“I certainly think that something is going to -happen.”</p> - -<p>“Go and tell the section leaders to get their -men together and to have them ready.”</p> - -<p>I go into the night in search of the cantonment.</p> - -<p>All the men are awake. The corporals and -sergeants have foreseen the order and everyone is -waiting.</p> - -<p>The shells and the fire of our rifles and our -machine guns is only one frightful uproar in which -all noises are confounded.</p> - -<p>As I return toward the officers badly aimed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span> -spent machine-gun bullets whistle in the trees -above.</p> - -<p>“All we can do is to wait. If they need us, -they’ll call us.”</p> - -<p>As he said this the ever-imperturbable Lieutenant -Casanova went back into his quarters and we -followed him.</p> - -<p>“I suggest poker,” said Delpos. “I’ll go and -find the cards.”</p> - -<p>“Three-handed poker is too risky.”</p> - -<p>“Well, here’s a fourth.”</p> - -<p>Someone raised the canvas which served as a -door.</p> - -<p>It’s an intelligence officer from the colonel.</p> - -<p>“Lieutenant, D ... company is running out -of munitions. Pass yours to them and send back -for new supplies. Here’s the order.”</p> - -<p>The lieutenant read the order and said:</p> - -<p>“All right. It will be done.”</p> - -<p>Hardly twenty minutes later, ten men from -each section, each carrying four caissons, were -assembled on the way out of the village.</p> - -<p>D ... company’s position, which we marked -yesterday, is about six hundred yards away and -some yards beyond the ridge of the plateau between<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span> -the main road from Amiens and the Somme. -There’s little chance of losing the way, for it is -downhill. We might pass through the fields but -thirty yards before reaching the trench the ground -is literally swept with shells. It is impossible to -use the communication trench. The enemy artillery -has located it mathematically and has completely -destroyed it. The shells fall there without -a let-up. The least dangerous passage is the -unprotected ground.</p> - -<p>Stretched out in the mud, the head of one -against the heels of the other, our men form an -endless chain on the terrain which extends from -the sheltered ridge to the fire trench. They pass -along the caissons by a simple movement of the -arms, without raising their bodies or their heads.</p> - -<p>In the same way and by the same means, crawling -along, I reach the trenches in my turn and -fall in.</p> - -<p>Captain D ... is there, striding from one gun -to another, encouraging his men and hurrying -their fire.</p> - -<p>“I was sure that I was going to run out of ammunition. -They were already within one hundred -and fifty yards.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span></p> - -<p>“We’ve passed you one hundred and sixty -caissons. We’ve sent men for more and they’ll -be here in half an hour.”</p> - -<p>“We don’t need any more. It’s all over. -Their attempt is broken. By daylight we’ll see -more than two hundred bodies in front of our -barbed wire. You can go. I thank you. Take -my regards and thanks to Lieutenant Casanova.”</p> - -<p>The firing continued all night, sometimes intermittently, -sometimes in violent salvos, so that one -might imagine that the enemy was making another -attack.</p> - -<p>At dawn we only heard rare, isolated detonations.</p> - -<p class="tb">Our men returned to the cantonment uninjured. -There were a few scratches and slight wounds in -the hands, but there was no discharge in sight.</p> - -<p>Some of them had had narrow escapes. Bullets -had ricochetted and gone through the steel helmets. -Linari’s was perforated with a round, well-defined -hole. The bullet had gone out close to -the ear.</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 700px;" id="illus7"> -<img src="images/illus7.jpg" width="700" height="430" alt="" /> -<p class="caption"><span class="smcap">The least dangerous Passage Is the unprotected Ground</span> <a href="#Page_185"><i>See page 185</i></a></p> -</div> - -<p>They were exhausted by lack of sleep, and after -eating a meal hastily thrown together from the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span> -things at hand, they started for their underground -shelters.</p> - -<p>Just then the sun rose shining brightly.</p> - -<p>In the sky, washed by weeks of rain, it was so -clear and smiling with warmth that one would -have thought it was a sunrise in the South.</p> - -<p>“Say, this morning that’s the sun of the -South!”</p> - -<p>“What’s it doing here? It’s made a mistake.”</p> - -<p>“Beautiful sun! Indeed, there’s only you.”</p> - -<p>And in the pure morning air, these peasants of -Provence saluted the rising sun by shouting the -joyous song which, a few hours before, had -brightened their night.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse"><i>Gran souleù de la Prouvènço</i></div> -<div class="verse"><i>Fai lusi toun blound caleù.</i></div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>The attack was heavy; it is over. They have -come back from it. They are still alive. We must -begin all over again, to-night, perhaps; possibly -this evening; perhaps in an hour. Death lurks -everywhere. What difference does it make? -This morning the sun rose radiantly. They sing!</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV<br /> -<span class="smaller">A WATER PATROL</span></h2> - -<p>For several days the Germans had been at -work making changes opposite our salient -on the banks of the Somme. Probably it was a -machine-gun emplacement to prevent any attempt -at attack from that side. But as there must be -no obstacle in the way of our next advance, the -major, after talking with the colonel, sent for -Lieutenant Delpos, who was in charge of the -section in that sector and asked him what he -thought of the work.</p> - -<p>“It’s hard to say,” he answered. “If they’ve -brought two or three machine guns it will be -humanly impossible even to try to advance. It -all depends on the importance of the work. We -can’t tell from here what it is.”</p> - -<p>“Our aeroplane observations and photographs -don’t tell us anything,” said the major. “The -view is partly cut off by the tops of the trees along -the river.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Aeroplane observations aren’t everything,” -answered Delpos.</p> - -<p>“But I can’t send a patrol over such unprotected -ground. It would be utterly wiped out -before it discovered anything.”</p> - -<p>“Will you give me an order,” asked Delpos, -“to make a reconnaissance in whatever way I -think best? In twenty-four hours, at the latest, -I think I can bring you the exact details.”</p> - -<p>“Go ahead. Do your best. I’ll send you a -written order to cover it.”</p> - -<p>When he got back to his post, Lieutenant Delpos -examined the strip of terrain as thoroughly as -he could by peering over the top of the parapet, -and then asked for the photographs the aeroplanes -had taken. Finally, he studied the map -of the country which the enemy occupied opposite -us. Then, he went to Éclusier, borrowed a boat, -and stayed out in the current calculating its direction -by bunches of grass pulled from the banks.</p> - -<p>He came back to the company towards noon -and sent me to the echelon for Gondran, whom -I brought back about three o’clock. At seven -Delpos had his plans made. He went to the -major, who received him at once, and explained<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span> -the project he wanted to put into execution that -evening.</p> - -<p>Delpos asked him, as it would probably be -useful in distracting attention, to have the sections -at the extreme north of the sector fire several -heavy volleys between eleven o’clock and midnight.</p> - -<p>When this was arranged, everything was ready -for his departure and he invited me to dinner as -he ordinarily did. His dinners were always good -and there was excellent wine which his servant -had managed to find in the ruins of Harbonnière -and Villers.</p> - -<p>As he was lighting his cigar after the dessert, -he said:</p> - -<p>“We’re going to pay a call on the Boches this -evening. The chances of staying there are about -even, but, in any case, even if we remain, the performance -won’t be uninteresting. It will be as -good as a first night at the ‘Grand-Guignol!’ -Take your revolver, some grenades and come -along.”</p> - -<p>I would have been highly unappreciative to -have refused such a kind invitation, although adventure, -to say nothing of such a mad adventure,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span> -has never been to my taste. But Lieutenant Delpos -had the reputation of always getting out, so -why shouldn’t he get out this time.</p> - -<p>Gondran was waiting for us a little ways from -Éclusier, in a small creek, hidden under the trees.</p> - -<p>Gondran and his boat!</p> - -<p>It was one of those flat-bottomed, square-ended -boats that fishermen use to cross marshes where -the water is shallow. He had covered it with a -camouflage of grass, weeds, and moss so that even -close to it was impossible to tell it from one of the -thousand little islands which obstruct the Somme -at this point.</p> - -<p>We slipped into the boat and stretched out at -once—it wouldn’t have held us in any other -way—and waited for total darkness. When it -came, Gondran began to push the boat ahead. -He was used to fishing for eels with a spear in the -clear waters of the canals and knew how to move -silently, without a splash, almost without making -a ripple on the surface of the water. If our -course had not been against the current, we might -have been mistaken for a pile of drifting grass.</p> - -<p>Flat on his stomach in the stern with both arms -in the water up to his elbows and a stick of wood<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span> -in each hand, slowly and silently he paddled like -a duck.</p> - -<p>The officer and I were both flat also, in the bow, -and we peered into the darkness. I held a string -in one hand, and the other end was tied around -Gondran’s arm. We had arranged that one pull -meant to stop and stay where we were; two to go -back.</p> - -<p>We went on without accident for nearly two -hours. Suddenly, a bump, a hard jolt, fortunately -without any noise besides the rustling of the -weeds. The night was so thick that it was impossible -to tell what the obstacle was, whether it -was the bank or an island. We tried in vain to -see through the fathomless darkness. We ventured -to feel about with our hands, and, in the -middle of the weeds and reeds, I was gripped by -something. I pulled back my arm, in a hurry, to -get away. A sharp point cut the skin, then another, -and I felt a scratch from my elbow to my -fist.</p> - -<p>I whispered in Delpos’s ear, “Barbed wire.”</p> - -<p>A network of barbed wire barred the river -here. The Germans had foreseen the possibilities -of an approach and had taken precautions to prevent<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span> -it. Was the network large, or was there -only a single barrier, that was the question. Or, -should we go back? In any case there was no use -in re-appearing before we were expected, for we -had reached their lines.</p> - -<p>Since the work under suspicion was a little in -advance of their first trench, we must be nearly -even with it. We had brought wire cutters, but -what was the use of cutting the first net, if we -were to find another beyond it, and then another, -and so on for fifty or a hundred yards perhaps.</p> - -<p>The enemy is meticulous in his defenses and -spares no means of protecting himself. It was -also a question whether we were in the middle -of the river or near the bank. By shoving his -paddle down at arm’s length Gondran touched -bottom. So we were going to reach the bank, but -first we must prepare for our retreat. Using the -barbed wire as a guide, we put the boat out into the -middle of the river, but not in the strength of the -current, and then on a stick we had brought along -set up a dummy dressed in the uniform of one of -the Colonials. Then we went back to the bank.</p> - -<p>Here was the most ticklish and dangerous moment -of our mission. What, we asked ourselves,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span> -was the shape of the bank and would we find a -sentinel? We brought the boat as near the shore -as possible and in as far as we could. By feeling -to the right we could touch solid ground. The -time had come!... We glided from the boat -like snakes and once on land remained motionless, -holding our breaths. It was impossible to see -anything a yard off; there was no noise except the -far-off rumbling of the guns in the English sector. -We went ahead.... The heavy socks we had -drawn over our boots deadened our steps. The -damp grass bent but did not crackle.</p> - -<p>“Conrad! Come here. It is time.”</p> - -<p>“What time?”</p> - -<p>“Nearly midnight.”</p> - -<p>“Good.”</p> - -<p>“The lieutenant isn’t here.”</p> - -<p>“No?”</p> - -<p>“He is with the major and will come back.”</p> - -<p>“Come along.”</p> - -<p>“But there’s no one here.”</p> - -<p>“What of it? Come along.”</p> - -<p>This conversation in German stopped us short. -The voices seemed to come from the ground two -steps in front of us. Doubtless there was a sap<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span> -there.... We heard steps getting farther away. -I grabbed the officer and making a megaphone of -my hands whispered in his ear what I had just -understood from their conversation. In the same -way, he responded:</p> - -<p>“Inviting you was an inspiration. Since -they’ve gone, we can get in there.”</p> - -<p>A few steps beyond in the open ground a feeble -light filtered through sacks hung as shutters. It -was the sap!... We stretched out on the -ground and tried to see inside. There was no one -standing, but if anyone was left he must be asleep, -and we could surprise him.... We jumped in. -Not a soul. Without a doubt it was a post momentarily -empty during a relief. On some overturned -chairs there was a platter with a candle on -it and we put it out. We examined the place with -our flashlight. A communication trench opened -into the post and we started down.</p> - -<p>No matter where it led or whether we could -retrace our steps or not, the die was cast. The -number of chances of our getting back alive which -Delpos had said were even seemed to me to have -grown beautifully less. The trench stopped short -within ten yards. Ahead, to the right, to the left,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span> -we stuck our noses into the solid wall. But the -men had got out someway....</p> - -<p>Delpos risked another flash of his light—the -way out was over our heads. It was a shaft -with a ladder leading up it. We heard someone -talking above. The relief was coming -down....</p> - -<p>Just then the noise of firing came from our own -lines. The sections were firing as had been arranged. -This wise precaution served beyond our -utmost expectations, for above us began at once -the rapid tac-tac of the machine guns and we -heard commands.</p> - -<p>So the shaft led into the machine-gun emplacement. -That was just what we wanted to know; -our reconnaissance was at an end.</p> - -<p>Delpos drove a cheddite bomb into the wall -beneath the ladder, and I tied a slow fuse to it. -We jumped towards the river. I lighted the -fuse as I jumped from the sap, just as an immense -body appeared in the opening and blocked the -way.</p> - -<p>“<i>Wer da?</i>”</p> - -<p>“‘<i>Wer da?</i>’ you’ll find out who is there,” -Delpos muttered, and with a blow full on the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span> -chest, while I threw myself on his legs, we got -the colossus down, as he shouted for help.</p> - -<p>But the firing drowned his cries.</p> - -<p>Then, to deprive him of all interest in keeping -on, I applied my revolver to his forehead, -and Delpos kicked him under the chin. We left -him senseless and voiceless for at least a quarter -of an hour.</p> - -<p>We jumped into our boat and slid under the -camouflage. Whether we had made too much -noise or a sentinel had heard us, I don’t know, -but we were hardly there, and were just pushing -off, when shots came in our direction, star shells -lighted the river, and men ran up and down the -bank.</p> - -<p>We heard them cry, “There he is ... -there....” They had seen our dummy in the -middle of the river and were firing at him with -rifles and bombarding him with grenades. We -did not move. By stretching out an arm we could -almost have touched the legs of the men who came -down to the water’s edge to hurl their grenades. -None of them dreamed we were so near.</p> - -<p>The alarm lasted about twenty seconds; it -seemed like a century.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span></p> - -<p>We knew that the blockhouse was going to -blow up and we wanted to be far away for the -débris were likely to reach us and crush us.</p> - -<p>Suddenly, terribly, came the explosion.</p> - -<p>It was fortunate for us that the alarm had -held us close to the bank. Whole blocks of -granite were hurled into the middle of the river -just where we would have been. We were too -near and too low and everything went over us.</p> - -<p>The violence of the waves tore us from the -bank and drove us into the strength of the current, -and we weren’t fired on once. The whole -garrison had been blown up.</p> - -<p class="tb">At daybreak, three o’clock in the morning, -Lieutenant Delpos woke up the major.</p> - -<p>“Major,” he said, “it was a machine-gun emplacement. -But it is no more. If you will allow -me, I’m going to bed. I couldn’t get any sleep -over there; there was too much noise.”</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI<br /> -<span class="smaller">A COMMANDER</span></h2> - -<p>At the beginning of June, the colonel’s report -informed us that the major of Battalion -C ... had been assigned to the ... first -Colonials.</p> - -<p>The battalion commandant’s post was next to -ours on the ridge of the quarry.</p> - -<p>Since the departure of Major L ... the captain -adjutant-major, who was assuming the command -in the interim, was quartered there. He -was devoting himself to his ablutions in the open -place in front of his dugout and at the same time -telling Lieutenants C ... and D ..., his -neighbors, an uproarious adventure of his last -leave, when a man, tall and spare, with hollowed -cheeks, sunburned skin, eyes deep and shining, -modestly dressed,—a mechanic’s blue trousers, -badly fitting and muddy boots, regulation trooper’s -jacket, with no mark to show his rank,—came -out of the sort of tunnel in which the La Vache<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span> -trench ended, and stopped as if undecided, in -front of our dugouts.</p> - -<p>There was a mounted scout there who was occupying -himself in cutting out a ring, and he asked -him,</p> - -<p>“The post of the major of the ... first -battalion?”</p> - -<p>Without stopping his work, the man indicated -our group with his hand. He advanced shyly.</p> - -<p>“The ... first battalion?”</p> - -<p>“This is it,” said the adjutant-major, drawing -his wet head from the canvas bucket in which he -was plunging.</p> - -<p>“I am Major C....”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Major, I beg your pardon. I didn’t -know....” mopping his face rapidly, and putting -on his tunic which his orderly handed to him.</p> - -<p>Without a word, the unperturbed figure, -Major C ..., looked off into the distance, beyond -material things, waited for him to finish -his toilet, and then entered into the P. C. to take -possession of his new post.</p> - -<p class="tb">None of us who lived constantly in his immediate -neighborhood ever knew any other expression<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span> -on his firm, cold, almost mystical face. His -hair was poorly cut, his beard was thin and long, -and his voice was gentle, very gentle, so gentle -that one might call it a sad sing-song. All in all -he had none of the outward appearance of the -conventional commander.</p> - -<p>Nevertheless he was one of the best.</p> - -<p class="tb">Good reputations, they say, take longest to -establish. Only legends come to life spontaneously. -His kindliness and honesty must have belonged -to the legends, because in less than a week -there was not a single man in the battalion who -did not speak of him with respect and admiration.</p> - -<p>“He’s a chic type,” they said.</p> - -<p>“He’s a man.”</p> - -<p>And the men, who love to see their commander -among them, living their life, sharing their labors -and fatigue, experiencing the same trials, knew at -once that he did not belong to that distant and -unknown hierarchy which transmits its orders -from an ivory throne.</p> - -<p>From the day he took over his command, he -wanted to see everything for himself and all the -positions in the sector.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span></p> - -<p>With his knotty baton in his hand, he went -through all the communication trenches, the first-line -trenches, into the saps, verified the riflemen’s -posts, and, it was said, spent nights in the picket -posts.</p> - -<p class="tb">When the battalion relieved the 38th at Méharicourt, -the commandant’s post which was assigned -to the major was in an immense house in -the middle of a park which was not much -destroyed.</p> - -<p>Since the day before, however, the artillery had -established an observation tower in a poplar and -had foreseen that it would hardly be prudent to -occupy the house. It would be shelled if the battery -were spotted.</p> - -<p>The commander learned this, and without saying -a word established his things all the same -in the salon which he used for an office and -bedroom.</p> - -<p>The first night and the next morning passed -without incident—not a single shot from the -Boche lines. Aeroplanes flew over at daybreak.</p> - -<p>He had invited to lunch, as was his custom, -when we were in cantonment, the doctor, his captain<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span> -adjutant-major, and the engineer officer in -charge of the sector.</p> - -<p>My relations with him dated back before the -war, so I was with him often, and he frequently -kept me at the table with his guests. I was there -that day.</p> - -<p>We had scarcely sat down when they began to -talk of Portugal’s entrance into the war. The engineer -was the manager of a political paper and -his remarks were so keen that we were all interested, -and even the servants stopped to listen.</p> - -<p>Just then a shell, the first in two days, burst -somewhere in the neighborhood. The glasses -rattled on the table; we could hear things falling, -and people running by in the street.</p> - -<p>The conversation stopped.</p> - -<p>The major, who had been as silent as usual -during the meal, spoke up in his quiet voice:</p> - -<p>“They say that their artillery is excellent ... -it comes from Creusit”—and he engaged the -journalist in a historical discussion about the armament -and strength of Portugal, which showed a -deep knowledge of the country, in spite of its unexpected -and recent entrance into the ranks of the -Allies.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span></p> - -<p>The journalist seemed to take a lively interest -in this conversation which he had started, but he -instinctively turned his eyes to the windows every -time a shell burst, for now explosions far and -near, the screeching of shells and the falling of -walls indicated clearly that we were the center -of a bombardment.</p> - -<p>At each explosion the doctor looked at the -adjutant-major, who kept on eating quietly, as if -to say, “Are you going to stay here much -longer?”</p> - -<p>The explosions came nearer and all around us. -We could see plainly the bits of steel which -whistled by the windows, grazing the walls which -they destroyed. We could hear the plaster falling -down the staircase.</p> - -<p>As the servant brought the desserts—a Camembert, -crackers, fruit, and white wine—a violent -explosion of a new arrival nearby tore the -window, stuffed with paper, from its hinges and -the draught of air half overturned the orderly -who let the platter fall on the table, to the great -damage of the tablecloth where the white wine -ran out....</p> - -<p>“<i>Bigre!</i>” said the major.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I think it’s time to get into the cellar.”</p> - -<p>The engineer was only waiting for this invitation -to stop the conversation and was half out of -his chair when the major took his arm and sat -him down again.</p> - -<p>“In short, Portugal owed its title of Historical -Conquistador to its navy.”</p> - -<p>And he began to relate the records of that -valorous nation on the sea from the time these -people on the Tagus served in the Carthaginian -triremes to Vasco da Gama, Magellan, Cabral, -Bartholomew Diaz. Never was conversation -more polished, imaginative, and undisturbed.</p> - -<p>A terrific explosion shook the house; part of the -roof rolled down the staircase; the cook and the -waiter jumped into the hall.</p> - -<p>“Well, what is it?”</p> - -<p>“Major, it fell in the garden, ten feet from the -kitchen.”</p> - -<p>“The gentlemen are waiting for their coffee. -Bring it.”</p> - -<p>The doctor could stand no more, alleged that -perhaps there were wounded waiting for him at -the dressing station, and asked permission to -withdraw.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span></p> - -<p>The servants brought in the boiling coffee in a -hurry, and he got up to go, as the commander -said:</p> - -<p>“We’ll go along with you. We’ll see whether -the shells have done much damage in the cantonment.”</p> - -<p>“But, Commander, do you think it’s prudent -to venture out in the streets just now?”</p> - -<p>“It’s my opinion, gentlemen, that the Germans, -who obviously wanted to furnish the music -for our meal, should know that we’ve finished”—and -he lighted his cigar and went out on the -steps.</p> - -<p>The neighborhood was badly shattered indeed. -Large holes blocked the street; the artillery observatory -had been hit by a well-aimed shell, had -fallen on a shed and crushed it. Immense craters -had appeared here and there in the garden and -the whole front of the house was splashed with -steel.</p> - -<p>The enemy’s fire was letting up; it had almost -ceased.</p> - -<p>Heads now appeared at the air-holes of the -cellars trying to see what had happened.</p> - -<p>We followed the commander along the main<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span> -street which led to the dressing post. An aeroplane -in the azure sky, a small silver bird shining -in the sun, went on its giddy way.</p> - -<p>With our noses in the air, we watched it pass. -The whistle of a shell approached with a noise -like a panting locomotive.</p> - -<p>“There’s the last.”</p> - -<p>A frightful crash, a cloud of greenish smoke, -bricks and timbers fall ... cries....</p> - -<p>The villa we had just left re-appeared with a -large yawning hole, its walls burning and fallen -apart. The last shell had fallen into the dining -room!</p> - -<p>His courage and coolness were not calculated -or put on; they were not an effort of the will. -They were natural.</p> - -<p>He was a fatalist like all who have lived long -in Eastern countries. What he had above all was -a powerful control of himself and a sovereign -contempt for danger.</p> - -<p>He had an absolutely definite conviction that -he would be killed in the next attack. He had -so thoroughly accustomed himself to the idea -that as a result he had made all arrangements -and now awaited the hour, in the meanwhile<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span> -doing his duty as a commander honorably and -simply.</p> - -<p>One evening I went to greet him at his cantonment -at Froissy—he was going on leave the next -day—I asked him, among other things, if it -would be agreeable to him, if I used his horses -while he was gone.</p> - -<p>“My horses? I have no further use for them. -They can’t follow me through the trenches and -barbed wire—to the front; coming back ... -they’ll bring me in a canvas. They’ll serve my -successor.”</p> - -<p>It would have been perfectly useless to protest.</p> - -<p>After a moment of silence when he seemed to -be keenly interested in the ripples of the water in -the canal, he went on:</p> - -<p>“I’m going on leave to-morrow, to bid good-by -to mine. That will be the last. What are you -doing this evening?”</p> - -<p>“Nothing, Commander.”</p> - -<p>“Do you want to make a tour of the sector -with me?”</p> - -<p>“At your orders, Commander.”</p> - -<p>By the last red rays of the sun setting on the -heights to the north of the Somme, we reached the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span> -lines through the open path which passed by the -camp kitchens and reached the hill of the Château -de Cappy.</p> - -<p>Twilight passed, followed by the most varied -colors.</p> - -<p>The red sun as it plunged behind the black -poplars on the wide horizon flooded the sky with -a great yellow light, fiery, burning yellow, like -the gold of flames which gradually grew thin and -pale, and became light like an immense head of -hair.</p> - -<p>A little later mauve and violet precursors of -approaching clouds passed slowly from pale to -dark to end in night.</p> - -<p>The clear moon came up above the plateau of -the road from Amiens. We walked on, one behind -the other, in silence.</p> - -<p>He stopped to look at the sky and I heard him -murmur, “How beautiful it is.”</p> - -<p>This twilight must have recalled to him the -skies of the Orient.</p> - -<p>“Yes, the sunsets on the sea, in the Indies, in -the Red Sea. I am homesick for the light and the -sea. The light, the sea, the woman; the greatest -joys, the greatest sorrows!!!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span></p> - -<p>He fell into his revery again.</p> - -<p>We reached the orchard above the great -quarry, and an outlying picket warned us that -the path was dangerous.</p> - -<p>The commander did not even hear him and -continued to walk on the road from Herbècourt, -bordered by apple trees in blossom.</p> - -<p>“Ta-co!”</p> - -<p>A German bullet tore through the night, and a -broken branch with its white petals fell at our -feet.</p> - -<p>He picked it up and looked at it a long time; -plucked a blossom and put it in his pocket,</p> - -<p>“Even the flowers!”</p> - -<p>He said nothing more that evening. We went -through the front lines of the sector until late at -night, stopping at the loopholes to observe the -enemy’s position and questioning the sentries.</p> - -<p>We got back to Froissy at three o’clock in the -morning, and at six he went to the station at -Guillaucourt and left on his leave.</p> - -<p class="tb">When he got back, the attack, they said, was -near; they were preparing for it seriously. He -did not give up attending to the slightest details<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span> -of the battalion. He showed a paternal interest -in his men, knew the men of all ranks by their -names, and stopped those he met and talked to -them familiarly.</p> - -<p>The battalion followed the deep path to the -entrance of the “120 long” to get back to its -positions. A wooden bridge had been constructed -here by the artillery to get their guns across. This -was useless now and made the road so narrow that -the column had to dress back and form by twos. -This long manœuvre compelled the men to mark -time in one spot.</p> - -<p>There is nothing especially disagreeable about -marking time for we have seen many other stops -for less reasons, but this evening the Boche artillery -had information of the arrival of the attacking -regiment in the lines and was shelling heavily all -possible ways of access.</p> - -<p>A single “77” falling into this crowd of men -would make a hecatomb.</p> - -<p>The commander was marching at the head of -the column followed by the intelligence officers of -the companies.</p> - -<p>He stopped a moment in front of the bridge -encircled by the explosions of the shells.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span></p> - -<p>“If a shell would only destroy it!”</p> - -<p>But as if for spite, they fell all around and -missed it.</p> - -<p>“It must be destroyed.”</p> - -<p>There was nothing formal about this order, -and the task wasn’t easy.</p> - -<p>He took off his belts, gave his jacket to a man, -and with his chest bare the commander stood up -on the bridge, propped himself on the timbers of -the floor, and began to tear them up.</p> - -<p>Ten men imitated him of their own accord. -They finished tearing it down amidst a storm of -shells which raged about, and in the black smoke -of the explosions in which they disappeared for -minutes at a time.</p> - -<p>In a quarter of an hour the way was clear; all -that was left was the two laterals which were -planted in the walls of the covered path.</p> - -<p>The battalion was engulfed in the whirlpool -and passed without loss.</p> - -<p>The commander stood on the pile of materials -and watched the men file past. He was the last -one over.</p> - -<p>When we reached the line, he began to walk up -and down incessantly.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span></p> - -<p>The fire of our batteries had been uninterrupted -for three days; and this with the constant whizzing -of shells as they passed over our heads put our -nerves almost as much on edge as the strain of the -approaching attack.</p> - -<p>Towards eleven o’clock one night there was an -intense calm all of a sudden.</p> - -<p>The firing ceased along the whole line—on -both sides. All was silence, but it was the silence -which precedes the storm, the stupor of nature -after the flash and before the thunder.</p> - -<p>The men burrowed in the saps and fell asleep. -The sentries who had not closed an eye for forty-eight -hours continued to fight against sleep.</p> - -<p>It was almost impossible to recognize the commander -in his bizarre garb, wrapped in a canvas -instead of a waterproof, his steel helmet covered -with mud, as he wandered up and down the -trenches, with a kind word of encouragement for -each one.</p> - -<p>In the “Servian” trench there was an exposed -passage to the German lines. They had blocked -this up by piles of sandbags, chevaux de frise, and -rolls of barbed wire.</p> - -<p>As a greater precaution, a sentry was stationed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span> -there night and day. He was sleeping deeply -when the commander came by. He had to shake -him vigorously to wake him up.</p> - -<p>“Say, do you sleep like that when you’re -sentry?”</p> - -<p>“I ... it’s true ... I was asleep.”</p> - -<p>“That’s not serious. Try hard, if an officer -should come along, you’d not get off with advice.”</p> - -<p>“They won’t come along; they’re all snoozing -in their dugouts.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, you never know.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I’m going mad sooner or later. I -haven’t slept a wink for three nights. If the -Boches are as tired as I am they won’t come to -wake us up.”</p> - -<p>As he talked, his voice was drawn out more and -more and his head nodded. He was dead with -sleep....</p> - -<p>The commander took his rifle from his hands -and said:</p> - -<p>“I’m not sleepy, and, besides, I shall sleep -very well to-morrow. I’ll mount guard to-morrow. -Sleep, little one, sleep. We, the old, -have lost our habit of sleep.”</p> - -<p>The sentry did not even acquiesce in this invitation.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span> -He had accepted it in advance, for he was -asleep already.</p> - -<p>At daybreak when the relief came, the sergeant -who accompanied the new sentry was thunderstruck -when he recognized the commander mounting -guard at the loophole.</p> - -<p>“Here’s his rifle. Wake him up when I have -gone. Say nothing about it, for he was very -sleepy.”</p> - -<p class="tb">When the signal for the assault was given the -next day, after our first two waves had gained the -enemy trenches without firing a shot, the commander, -who was to go with the third, had scarcely -advanced on the field when the whistle of a single -shell shattered the air.</p> - -<p>A “77” burst and a cloud of smoke went up. -His thigh was torn off and we saw him fall in a -pool of blood.</p> - -<p>Lieutenant Delpos was getting ready to dash -across with the second section of the company and -he jumped towards him.</p> - -<p>“Go on, my friend, the end has come. I am -waiting for it. Tell Captain C ... to take command -of the battalion.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span></p> - -<p>And during the slow agony which lasted a half -hour he did not stop following attentively the -progress of his men on the conquered positions.</p> - -<p>Stretcher-bearers carried his body to the church -in Éclusier.</p> - -<p>We buried him simply on the hill at the east of -Cappy in a military cemetery near the canal.</p> - -<p>When the news of his death was known in the -battalion, I know more than a hundred who had -seen their best comrades fall beside them, who -wept as though they had lost their fathers....</p> - -<p>He was with us only a month.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XVII">CHAPTER XVII<br /> -<span class="smaller">THE ATTACK</span></h2> - -<p>We had been talking about it for months. -The hour of the great attack has finally -come.</p> - -<p>They have been preparing for it ever since we -were transformed into diggers and sappers who -dug trenches, parallels, communication trenches, -and saps, day and night.</p> - -<p>It’s going to succeed at last.</p> - -<p>This time the artillery preparation won’t be -insufficient.</p> - -<p>We have guns, little and big, of every kind, of -every caliber, from the little howitzers set low on -their plates with their large muzzles like those -we used to see on the terrace of the Invalides up -to the great naval guns, long, lean and sharp, like -a cigar, monumental guns of unheard-of size -mounted on gigantic platforms, with covered turrets, -new and odd foreign cannon, long as a train -and mounted on rails.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span></p> - -<p>And there are projectiles such as the wildest -imagination could not dream of. Whole fields -of shells of every caliber from the small “75” -which now seem like playthings to the enormous -“400’s” which can be moved only by gigantic -jacks.</p> - -<p>And over this immense sea of shells they have -stretched a green colored tarpaulin, dotted with -great yellow spots, with great chalky streaks which -in the distance give them the appearance of a field -furrowed by tracks.</p> - -<p>We have been encamped in a wood for three -days under tents beside batteries of heavy artillery -waiting for the order to take up our positions for -the attack.</p> - -<p>And for these three days our constant occupation -has been to strengthen and set up our huts -again, for every shot from the great neighboring -gun drags them from the ground by the tremendous -displacement of air.</p> - -<p>That is all right in the daytime. This Penelope-like -work relieves the monotony and serves -as a counter irritant to nervousness. But the occupation -is less interesting at night.</p> - -<p>Finally, about nine o’clock one evening, a great<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span> -uproar arose in the companies on the other side -from us and by degrees, like a rising sea, reached -us—we are in our usual place at the extreme wing -of the battalion.</p> - -<p>The adjutant had advanced to meet the news -and he came back on the run.</p> - -<p>“It’s come this time. They are distributing the -playthings to clear the trenches and they’re going -to give out an additional cup of brandy.”</p> - -<p>“Do you believe it will be before to-morrow -morning?”</p> - -<p>“Do I believe it. It’s sure, by God! Perhaps -you want them to wait until next winter!”</p> - -<p>“No, but you know. There have been so many -orders and counter-orders that one can never be -sure. It ought to rain.”</p> - -<p>“Do you think it will rain?”</p> - -<p>“Good God! I wish it would. The sooner -we finish the performance, the sooner we’ll get -to bed.”</p> - -<p>The colonel’s orderly arrives with the orders:</p> - -<p>“The Casanova company of machine guns will -support the second battalion and will take the -designated objective (Hill 707) directly after the -third wave.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span></p> - -<p>“The third wave! Hum! That’s not good. -The first wave is a promenade, nothing in front. -The second goes over then, but the third has all -the shells, for it’s right in the barrage.”</p> - -<p>“And after?”</p> - -<p>“After?”</p> - -<p>“Say, you must think you’re in a café at La -Cannebière. Perhaps you’d like to order an ice. -This is war, you know.”</p> - -<p>“I see it now.”</p> - -<p>The distributions are finished at ten o’clock and -we move towards our positions behind the second -battalion.</p> - -<p>The men have taken off their belts and all their -useless equipment and are in jackets with their tent -canvas crosswise.</p> - -<p>The diluvial rain which has been falling for -some days has stopped this evening. The sky is -as black as ink and we can’t see a yard in front -of us.</p> - -<p>The paths were already muddy, but now they -have disappeared after whole regiments have gone -towards the lines without interruption for some -hours. When we reach the communication trench -it is no longer a trench at all, but a stream of fluid<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span> -mud, where we sink over our leggings. We have -to use our hands to pull out our legs when they -get stuck.</p> - -<p>“Well, <i>mon vieux</i>, if we have to go clear to -Berlin at this pace, we won’t get there before to-morrow -morning!...”</p> - -<p>It is so dark that we can scarcely see the back -of the comrade in front of us. We march in -silence, with our hands on the sheaths of the -bayonet and our mask case to prevent the metal -striking against the sides of the trench.</p> - -<p>It is after two o’clock when we reach the lines. -We take our places as best we can, where we can, -and with what we can find.</p> - -<p>The saps are filled with companies in reserve -who will guard the trench while we fight.</p> - -<p>We find places against the sides of the trench, -in chance dugouts gashed in the parapet. We -have to be careful to keep our feet underneath -us to avoid having our toes crushed in the incessant -coming and going to and fro.</p> - -<p>Rifts in the clouds show us that the sky is clearing. -It will be fine.</p> - -<p>We talk. We weigh optimistically our chances -of success. But we have to shout into each other’s<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span> -ears or we couldn’t hear anything. Above us is -the infernal roar of an incessant bombardment.</p> - -<p>Our guns have fired some days without interruption. -And the men never cease praising the -heavy artillery. We have never been supported -in this way. How far we are from the days in -Champagne! We have confidence, absolute -confidence.</p> - -<p>Day comes. The sun rises, the bright clear sun, -which will be warm soon, rises over the ridge behind -us. On the broad, many-colored screen of -the sky with its rays of dawning day, the chimney -of the distillery at Frameville, still intact and -standing as though hurling defiance at the Germans, -stands out monumental and black like a -gigantic obelisk.</p> - -<p>The countryside never stood out so clearly. I -note the slightest details with a feeling which can -never be effaced. I continue to look persistently -to overcome my nervousness and to have something -else to think about.</p> - -<p>I look....</p> - -<p>Below, in advance, are light lines of freshly -turned earth. They are the German trenches, and -I think I can see among the apparent ruins the invisible<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span> -loopholes ready to belch forth death. A -little further to the left, a few yards from the -sides of the cliff is a small clump of woods which -seems quiet and deserted. Our shells have started -fires, but the fortified positions which conceal the -machine guns are still there.</p> - -<p>I look....</p> - -<p>The ground and slope in front of me, close -to the parapet, is empty, bare, torn full of shell -holes. Young trees have been cut down, and the -fallen trees are rotting in the earth under the -growing moss. But daisies, buttercups, wild poppies, -and cornflowers have sprung up and blossomed, -opening out to nature, the sun, and life.</p> - -<p>All the fires will shortly rage on these flowers. -The blood of men will flow on them, and to-morrow -their sweetness will be mingled with the -charnel-house of corpses ... our corpses.</p> - -<p>Nature has never seemed to me so moving. -Tears come to my eyes. It is not fear. No, it is -not that. There are times when one may be -afraid. Here we realize that fear is a reflex impression, -ridiculous, and above all useless; that -the minutes which are left are perhaps too numbered -to waste in vain sentiments.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span></p> - -<p>But while I look through the mirage of nature, -I have seen a small shriveled figure with trembling -lips, and eyes hollowed with pain and fright; I -have seen small hands—long, pale, emaciated -hands—clasped before a photograph; I have -heard the expression so many times, read it so -many times in the letters on my breast, on my -heart: “Tell me that you will come back. You -are my all, father, mother, brother, child, husband; -tell me that you will be careful, that you -will come back to me,” and a slight uncontrollable, -nervous trembling takes hold of me; but no one -can see it.</p> - -<p>The blast of the whistle—the final order—rings -out. I find myself on the slope without -knowing how I came there, in the midst of the -others, beside the lieutenant, at my post.</p> - -<p>Under a protecting storm of our “75’s” we -advance towards our objective. The battalion has -already crossed the first line of the Boche trenches -without resistance.</p> - -<p>All nervousness is gone now. I am very cool. -The third wave advances in front of us in good -order, in step, without heavy losses. We march -in their wake.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span></p> - -<p>There, thirty yards away, on the right is a -knoll. That is our objective which we must occupy -to prevent the enemy’s reserves coming up.</p> - -<p>We draw nearer; my heart begins to beat violently. -It is nervousness. It is the beginning of -the end.</p> - -<p>Suddenly a sharp noise stops me; then another -beside my ear. Instinctively I throw myself on -the hill. A sergeant falls near me without a word. -He is dead, a bullet in the middle of his forehead.</p> - -<p>We are under the fire of a machine gun which -defends the approach to our objective.</p> - -<p>The bullets whistle in a continuous buzz around -us. A sharp burning pain, like a sting; a cry stops -in my throat, on my very lips. I fall.</p> - -<p>The fusillade rages. To the right, to the left, -around me everywhere, bullets bury themselves -in the ground. I am wounded, but where? All -my limbs are numb.</p> - -<p>I feel a hand take mine and grasp it. It is the -lieutenant, who has already come running to me.</p> - -<p>“Good-by for the present.”</p> - -<p>“For the present.”</p> - -<p>It is nothing. A stone hurled violently by the -bursting of a shell has hit me in the back. It has<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span> -just missed killing me. I remain there a moment -without being able to get my breath back or to -get up.</p> - -<p>All around there is an incessant rain of bullets -and shrapnel.</p> - -<p>However, I can’t remain there right in the barrage. -I make an effort to catch up with the company. -My fall which took only a few seconds has -put considerable distance between the wave and -me. More than three hundred yards separate us.</p> - -<p>I want to run after it, but I can’t.</p> - -<p>A greenish cloud rolls like a flood over the plain. -The enemy is launching gas.</p> - -<p>Some one out of breath joins me. It is Morin -who took a message to the major. He is now -carrying an order to the lieutenant.</p> - -<p>“This is dangerous.”</p> - -<p>“One might think so.”</p> - -<p>“Commandant Courier was just killed getting -out of the parallel.”</p> - -<p>“No?”</p> - -<p>“A ‘155’ square in the chest. It killed two -officers and five men. I’ve a splinter in my thigh -and one in my shoulder.”</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 700px;" id="illus8"> -<img src="images/illus8.jpg" width="700" height="430" alt="" /> -<p class="caption"><span class="smcap">The Attack</span> <a href="#Page_225"><i>See page 225</i></a></p> -</div> - -<p>We walk along side by side as fast as we can,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span> -but slowly nevertheless. We can’t do anything -else. We get tangled in the barbed wire; we -stumble over corpses; we fall headlong into shell -holes. The mud covers the mica in my mask.</p> - -<p>A hundred yards in front of us the company -reaches its objective, the hill and the Boche blockhouse.</p> - -<p>Two sections have rushed in and are already in -action.</p> - -<p>Two more sections throw themselves into a -crater more to the left opposite a clump of trees -which is still held by the enemy.</p> - -<p>Suddenly there is a terrific explosion, and the -most violent clap of thunder that can be imagined -sends us head over heels.</p> - -<p>The ground trembles, the earth cracks, and -through the crevices oozes a black smoke -which envelops us. Everything is black. Are -we entombed?</p> - -<p>A mine has been exploded near us in the entrance. -They shout; they cry. Belts of cartridges -burst in the furnace. A swarm of bees seems to -fly over our heads. The blockhouse has just blown -up with our two sections. It was mined.</p> - -<p>When the smoke lifts from the overturned<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</a></span> -ground, all we can see are corpses scattered about. -Our comrades ... our dead!</p> - -<p>The enemy wanted to prevent our companies -capturing and organizing it.</p> - -<p>We try to see something from the shell hole -where we remain. It is certain death even to try -to raise the head. The bullets glance off the -ground.</p> - -<p>Morin wants to join the lieutenant and finish -his errand in spite of everything, but where is he? -Was he in the blockhouse? We can’t see anyone -in front of us.</p> - -<p>Our waves of infantry have turned to the right, -invested Herbècourt, and taken it. They are now -fighting in the village. We judge from the columns -of smoke that there are fires. The noise of -the explosion of grenades reaches us.</p> - -<p>But in front of us there is no one. It is a breach. -The breach our company ought to have held -firmly closed with its machine guns during the -attack on the village.</p> - -<p>The enemy knows this without a doubt. He -has calculated his blow well. He has succeeded. -He is going to launch out from the clump of trees -and take our companies in the rear.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span></p> - -<p>Indeed that is the case. Groups of gray worms -crawl out of the thicket. They reach the ridge. -They are a hundred yards from us. There is no -one to stop them. But where are our two sections? -Are they wiped out too?</p> - -<p>“My old Morin, we’re done for.”</p> - -<p>Our hands clasp in a fraternal farewell. In -three minutes the Boches will be on us. They will -kill us pitilessly. We hold our revolvers ready, -fingers on the trigger. At least we won’t go alone.</p> - -<p>They stand up now and shout. They are going -to make a dash.</p> - -<p>“<i>Vorwaerts! Gottfordam isch!</i>”</p> - -<p>The harsh sound of the command and the oath -comes to us clearly.</p> - -<p>They dash forward to take the crater.</p> - -<p>But almost at the end, at scarcely fifty yards, -the four guns of our two sections, hidden in the -shell holes, receive them with a withering fire.</p> - -<p>The Boche line cracks, breaks; groups of men -fall in heaps, like puppets.</p> - -<p>Our guns fire constantly.</p> - -<p>The Boche line wavers, hesitates, the ranks -thin out. We can hear the dead sound of the -falling bodies.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a></span></p> - -<p>We laugh and laugh; we applaud, crying like -fools:</p> - -<p>“There are our two sections. Bravo!”</p> - -<p>But behind the files that fall are others in -greater numbers which advance in close ranks, -one after another.</p> - -<p>Our fire is slower. Our munitions are exhausted—the -gun crew is firing all the cartridges -of their carbines.</p> - -<p>The assailants realize this. Some of the groups -have already reached our emplacements. An incredibly -tall and strong officer hurls himself on a -gun. It is Marseille’s gun. It has been silent -just a moment, but it hasn’t finished its task for -all that.</p> - -<p>Marseille tears the barrel from the tripod, and -using it as a gigantic mace beats the officer to -death.</p> - -<p>A terrible hand to hand fight follows. The -lieutenant, wounded, dripping with blood, on his -knees on the parapet, stops the demoralized -enemy with shots from his revolver.</p> - -<p>But this heroic defense of the breach can’t last -long. Most of our men have fallen and most of -the rest are wounded. The enemy is still advancing,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span> -in close ranks now. He is going to -get by....</p> - -<p>Then, from the support trench, which the ... -first Territorials hold, a company dashes out like -a whirlwind, with an irresistible dash. It throws -the mass of the enemy into disorder, and it is -soon just a mob, which turns its back and flees -frantically, as fast as it can go, falling under our -rifle fire, and strewing the ground with corpses -and innumerable wounded who drag themselves -along on the ground begging for mercy.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XVIII">CHAPTER XVIII<br /> -<span class="smaller">WITH ORDERS</span></h2> - -<p>“There he is, Captain,” shouted a non-commissioned -intelligence officer.</p> - -<p>“It is necessary,” said the captain, “to take -this order to the lieutenant commanding your -company at once. You’ll find that it’s only a -promenade. Go ahead.”</p> - -<p>A promenade!</p> - -<p>From the Château de Cappy where the headquarters -of our brigade were all one could see -that morning on the horizon was smoke and -flame.</p> - -<p>The earth trembles as though there were some -sort of a fanciful, continuous earthquake.</p> - -<p>Since the attack began and our waves crossed -the first Boche lines, the enemy’s artillery planted -on the heights of Cléry, Mont St. Quentin, -Barleux has sent over a formidable barrage to -prevent all possibility of the arrival of reinforcements.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span></p> - -<p>It hopes to cut off in the rear the forces engaged -in the attack, to encircle them, to exterminate -or capture them. A wall of shell and fire -separates them from us. Three hundred yards -in front of the heights of the La Vache woods -from La Vierge clear to Dompierre and Fontaine-les-Cappy, -it is one uninterrupted explosion of -great shells which throw to great heights enormous -masses of earth and stones almost as -though they were gushing from the bowels of -the earth.</p> - -<p>This waste of shells is further beautified with -“tear” shells and asphyxiating shells and is designed -to stop all attempts at passing the barrage.</p> - -<p>This is the delightful place in which I have to -take a “promenade.”</p> - -<p>I adjust my mask, make sure that the straps -are on, and secure my steel helmet by the chin -strap.</p> - -<p>With the order in the pocket of my revolver -case, a solid boxwood baton in my hand, I start -towards the fiery furnace.</p> - -<p>The communication trench which I try to follow -is impracticable. It is partly blown in and -such dugouts as are still tenable are full of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span> -wounded fleeing from the zone of combat. They -crowd in pell-mell in their efforts to find a breathing -place.</p> - -<p>Then, sooner or later, after the La Vache -woods are passed, one has to walk absolutely -unprotected so one might as well go at once.</p> - -<p>Few projectiles are falling here on the great -quarry as yet, but only a few shots too long or -too short from the great guns aimed at the ammunition -depot at Froissy.</p> - -<p>The barrage is further on....</p> - -<p>As one approaches it, the earth and air seem -to tremble even more....</p> - -<p>One walks on a moving wave, as if tossed about -on the bridge of a ship. A displacement of air -throws one to the right, the next one to the left. -They march swaying like drunken men.</p> - -<p>I approach....</p> - -<p>Some steps in front of what was the “Servian” -trench is the beginning of Hell.</p> - -<p>Men, officers, and stretcher-bearers are crouching -in holes in half-blown-in saps, waiting for a -lull which for several hours has not come.</p> - -<p>The sick and wounded, haggard and frightened, -do not dare to make a move outside the precarious<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span> -shelters which even the smallest shell would destroy -and bury them alive.</p> - -<p>A Zouave, with a swarthy face and a profile -like a medallion, gesticulates and shouts. A long -gash cuts his forehead from the arch of his eyebrows -to the ear; the blood flows thick and black -on his cheek and runs into his beard. He waves -a rag on the end of a stick.</p> - -<p>“The noubah! the noubah! It is the noubah! -They are going to dance. You’ll dance with me, -won’t you?”</p> - -<p>And he runs towards the bombs, laughing a -frightful laugh which makes me shudder. Poor -fool! A hole opens under his feet. He falls. -Perhaps the fall will save him from a mortal -wound.</p> - -<p>Some Colonials, fatalists, accustomed to so -many other storms—for two years they have -been in the hottest part of all the engagements—talk -coolly under a dugout which is still intact. -They squat on their crossed legs and smoke peacefully. -The smoke from their pipes, rising in slow -easy curves, seems to set at defiance the frightful -cataclysm which rages around us.</p> - -<p>A stretcher-bearer, a priest, whom I think I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span> -recognize, is dressing a wounded man who has -escaped in some way from the furnace and who -faints in his arms. Intent on his bandaging he -seems to have no idea of the Hell two steps away. -He gives him the same care with the same imperturbable -calm that he would in the absolute -security of some faraway ambulance.</p> - -<p>A staff-officer, a captain, is observing the ground -through a glass. As is my case, he is carrying an -urgent order which cannot wait.</p> - -<p>He looks at me and understands from my -attitude that I, too, must go on.</p> - -<p>“Shall we try it?”</p> - -<p>“If you wish, Captain.”</p> - -<p>“In case of accident, my pocketbook is in the -pocket of my jacket, here ... you will take it -to the officer of details of the ... first Zouaves.”</p> - -<p>“Mine is here, Captain.”</p> - -<p>I indicate the left pocket of my tunic.</p> - -<p>“All right.”</p> - -<p>“Let’s go.”</p> - -<p class="tb">He grasps my hand and we advance flat on the -ground, bounding from one shell hole to another -farther ahead.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</a></span></p> - -<p>We compel our bodies to take the shape of the -excavation in which we burrow.</p> - -<p>Above our heads is a continuous whistling of -shells, cutting like a sword, and the constant djji-djji -of the projectiles which tear up the ground.</p> - -<p>The explosions are so frequent that we perceive -only one infernal noise under a rain of fire.</p> - -<p>We crawl through an indescribable chaos, in a -field of terror, in the midst of a pungent, fetid -smoke. We reach the first German trench which -we conquered yesterday morning. We jump into -it; we are dripping with perspiration; our clothes -are in rags. Our first act is to raise our masks -for we are stifling under them.</p> - -<p>The asphyxiating shells now fall behind us, -and their noxious gas blows in another direction -away from us. We stop for some seconds to -regain our breaths. We must go on.</p> - -<p>As we are about to climb out on the field again, -I see one of our couriers coming at full speed. -I must wait for him and learn where my company -is.</p> - -<p>But he stops, leans backwards, and his hands -contract and seem to try to pull something from -his breast. He falls inert.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</a></span></p> - -<p>I crawl towards him. A spasm still shakes -him. He looks at me.</p> - -<p>“The company! Where is the company?”</p> - -<p>“——Maisonnette——” he murmurs in a -faraway breath, then, with an effort, his shaking -hand reaches towards his jacket, but without -success.</p> - -<p>“Sergeant-Major ... there ... there ... -to my mother ... in La Ciotat....”</p> - -<p>“Yes, <i>mon vieux</i>, yes.”</p> - -<p>He is dead. I am trembling but I search for -his pocketbook. It is sewed in a handkerchief -and in drawing it out it is spotted with blood—his -blood. I shall send it to his mother just that -way. It is forbidden, but what difference does -that make? I have promised.</p> - -<p>La Maisonnette! It is still three miles, perhaps -more. I’ll never get there! The staff-officer -leaves me; he is going to the La Chapitre woods -to the left.</p> - -<p>We grasp hands once more.</p> - -<p>“Thanks.”</p> - -<p>Yes, thanks! Together we have done a most -difficult thing—we have passed through a -barrage.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[239]</a></span></p> - -<p>Now, I go on across that terrible plateau, -alone.</p> - -<p>Alone!</p> - -<p>If a splinter of a shell hits me, no one will be -with me during my last moments to listen to my -final wishes. I continue my way under the rain -of shells.</p> - -<p>Why I have not already been blown to pieces -or buried I do not know. How little one feels in -the face of this formidable power!</p> - -<p>I turn around. On both sides and behind me -there is no one! I am in a desert in which a -hail of fire falls. Will I get there?</p> - -<p>At every step I cross, touch, jump over, as I -run against them, formless corpses, cut to pieces, -or doubled into knots.</p> - -<p>Perhaps in a moment I shall be like them, disemboweled -and my brains running out, or like -those over there buried under rubbish and dirt. -I can see a foot here, an arm there; they are -entombed forever. I shall be listed among the -missing, and my family and those who love me -will cling to this shred of hope—that the missing -is perhaps not dead.</p> - -<p>I go on steadily.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[240]</a></span></p> - -<p>Abruptly, I experience a nervous reaction. I -laugh.... I become a fatalist! And after?... -I shall not be alone. That’s the common -lot of millions of men.</p> - -<p>What is going to happen will happen. Forward.</p> - -<p>And I crawl on anew, thinking of everything -else—a mass of things a hundred leagues away; -trifles; paltry trifles. I surprise myself by making -plans which I shall realize after the war—when -that is over! And, nevertheless, death hovers -over me constantly, threatening, and I am much -nearer to it than life.</p> - -<p>A trench opens before me; it is not badly demolished. -I enter it and find that it is an old -one taken from the enemy this morning. German -words indicate directions. They abandoned all -their belongings. On a plank in a sentry post -is a superb pair of prismatic field glasses. I pick -them up—what use are they to me? I throw -them down at once.</p> - -<p>I have enough to look out for close by without -trying to see what’s happening farther away.</p> - -<p>“<i>Nach Maisonnette.</i>”</p> - -<p>This direction before my eyes fascinates me.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[241]</a></span></p> - -<p>“To Maisonnette.” Well, I’m on the right -track. If the trench continues like this I have -some chance of arriving there: <i>nach Maisonnette</i>.</p> - -<p>I mark the directions at each turn of the trench, -at each branch.</p> - -<p>A big shell bursts on my left and utterly destroys -the whole of the wall behind me.</p> - -<p>I take another course. The devil! Suppose -that should be wrong.</p> - -<p>I reach a sort of crater made up of stones and -trunks of trees blown apart and broken, in one -complete tangle.</p> - -<p>It would hardly be wise to stay here, for the -crater is hammered full of shell holes.</p> - -<p>A voice comes out of the ground between the -stones, at my feet.</p> - -<p>“Oh, good morning, Margis. Keep to the -right; the first street to the left is Peronne.”</p> - -<p>I recognize the joking voice and constant -laugh of Sub-Lieutenant Delpos.</p> - -<p>I have arrived; the company is here!</p> - -<p>This hole is Maisonnette!</p> - -<p>All right!...</p> - -<p>And I jump into the protection of the bottom -of the sap.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[242]</a></span></p> - -<p>At last!!!</p> - -<p>White wine, brandy, fine preserves. Sub-Lieutenant -Delpos never lacks for anything even -in the most tragic hours of his life.</p> - -<p>He makes an elegant and comfortable dugout -out of the most filthy hole.</p> - -<p>Ten miles from the living world, six feet -under ground, in the midst of the shell fire, ten -feet from the enemy, he offers me, with a laugh, -a meal which is prodigious under the circumstances.</p> - -<p>Coharé makes coffee on a burner and he flavors -it with brandy.</p> - -<p>We talk of many things, of a thousand things, -all a hundred leagues removed from the war. -We talk about Marseilles.</p> - -<p>Sub-Lieutenant Delpos is a lover of its picturesqueness, -of its color, its sun—we are in a -deep sap lighted by a smoky candle—the sun -means something to us, something fairylike and -superhuman. To think that at that hour there -are people living under clear skies, coming and -going and breathing the strong sea breeze, and -drinking in with their eyes that perpetual delight—a -sunset on the rocks of Frioul!</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[243]</a></span></p> - -<p>And the women of Marseilles! They are the -quintessence of France, revivified by the air of -the Mediterranean. Just think, <i>mon cher</i>, of -a villa perched in the pines, facing the sea, in -the valley of L’Oriol, with a brunette that I -know,</p> - -<p>...! ...!</p> - -<p>“Oh, I forget, I must present you to the other -gentlemen. Come.”</p> - -<p>We emerge from the sap and come out in broad -daylight. In a crater organized in the expectation -of a probable counter attack, guarded by the -strongest men of the section, twelve German -prisoners are stretched out in the mud.</p> - -<p>Some of them stand up automatically at the -appearance of an officer and assume a rigid -military attitude.</p> - -<p>“Look at that rabble with their blessed faces -like professors of natural history or like sacristans -mumbling their prayers. Who would -think to look at them that they are such cynical -brutes?”</p> - -<p>“But I forgot. You speak German!... -Try and get something out of them.”</p> - -<p>So I ask them where they come from.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[244]</a></span></p> - -<p>No one replies. Their eyes remain hostile and -timid and full of fear.</p> - -<p>They distrust one another; informing is the -common practice in their ranks.</p> - -<p>I look at one in particular, and, taking him -by the arm,</p> - -<p>“<i>Dü! wohen bist dü dann?</i>”</p> - -<p>“<i>Aus München....</i>”</p> - -<p>From Munich. Munich! I passed the best -days of my youth there. Its splendid life, the -magic of its lakes, the first iridescent snows of -the Tyrol reflecting in their dark waters, the intoxication -of its music, Munich! the city of my -dreams! The mystic grayish tints of the inns -more smoky even than those of Auerbach but -lighter, the impressive harmony of the statues, -its incomparable museums, the June evenings on -the Isar and the blue sunsets of the Propylées. -Munich! And this man in rags, this tatterdemalion -speaks to me of Munich.</p> - -<p>“Well, Margis, are you wandering?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, Lieutenant. As a matter of fact I was -woolgathering.”</p> - -<p>And I come back to cruel reality.</p> - -<p>“Since you must return to the brigade at once,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[245]</a></span> -you can take this crowd to the provost. I’ll -give you four men. That will be enough.”</p> - -<p>“All right, Lieutenant, but I’ll not guarantee -to deliver them whole. It’s a bad neighborhood. -It rains shells.”</p> - -<p>He looks at them and they are ready. All they -have to do is to group themselves.</p> - -<p>“Go ahead, au revoir,—and a safe return.”</p> - -<p>“<i>Nun jetz Vorwaerts!</i>”</p> - -<p>We go back along the road I came by this -morning. The artillery fire has let up a little. -As far as the crossing of the roads from Biaches -to Herbècourt, we march along without much -risk, but beyond there we are taken anew by a -crossfire from the batteries of Barleux and Hem, -and by the fire of a cursed machine gun. It -seems to be hidden in the ruins of Flaucourt, -but our artillery has not been able to spot it yet -and silence it.</p> - -<p>My twelve prisoners march along ahead -silently with bowed shoulders. They understand -that they must march along peacefully at the same -pace as the four big fellows who form the escort, -and that once out of this zone their lives are -saved.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[246]</a></span></p> - -<p>We reach without incident the old road which -cuts the Le Signal woods, and get back on the -road from Herbècourt to Éclusier. An orchard -here which before the attack was a signal station -has not suffered much. The dugouts are whole -and I stop my troop to look after my leg which -has begun to bleed.</p> - -<p>A little while ago, as I was crossing some -barbed wire entanglements, I felt a tear but I -thought it was of no consequence. But now -the blood has soaked through the drawers and -trousers. I tear off a strip from my package of -dressings and put on a bandage which stops the -bleeding until we reach the next dressing station.</p> - -<p>I have hardly put my equipment on again than -I hear beyond me in the road an infernal noise of -scrap iron, oaths and cries.</p> - -<p>I jump up.</p> - -<p>It is our movable kitchen driven by Gondran. -Yesterday, it went ahead to Herbècourt on premature -orders. To-day, it was right in the barrage. -Now that the long expected lull has come, -the lieutenant is sending it back to Froissy.</p> - -<p>On the way back Gondran met four wounded -men who were getting to the rear only with the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[247]</a></span> -greatest difficulty, and he took them on his rickety -wagon. This torpedo, with its big sheet-iron -smokestack which is full of holes and twisted, -doesn’t look much like an ambulance. Instead, -one might think it was some archaic engine of war -of the Gauls.</p> - -<p>Phoebe and Lidoire, the two lean hacks which -drag it, are marked and cut by the harness and -their legs are bent from pulling this badly -balanced weight.</p> - -<p>Suddenly, the bombardment, which seemed to -have ceased, begins again. First two shots, then -repeated more and more rapidly, and only in -our direction. A shower of splinters beats -around us, wounds the two horses and cuts the -reins.</p> - -<p>They run away at a mad pace with wild plunges -through the fields. Gondran is wounded in the -hands and is helpless; he clings to the smokestack; -the wounded are tossed about. They shout from -the pain of their re-opened wounds and hang on -as best they can to the handle of the kettle.</p> - -<p>The speed of the two horses becomes giddy. -They head for the quarry at a gallop. A hundred -yards more and they will inevitably fall into the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[248]</a></span> -canal, a fall of more than fifty yards. That would -mean their utter destruction.</p> - -<p>I have no choice of ways in which to save the -five men.</p> - -<p>With six shots from my revolver I kill one -horse and throw the other to the ground. The -kitchen comes to a stop twenty yards from the -cliff.</p> - -<p>But danger is not averted by any manner of -means. Shells follow us. From some faraway -place an observer must have taken us for a “75” -getting into position and he tries to destroy us. -We abandon the kitchen which is now almost -completely done for, and as fast as we can, saved -by some miracle from the shells, which double -in intensity, we throw ourselves into the first -trench we find.</p> - -<p>I find the Territorials and the provost at the -great quarry and I hand my prisoners over to him.</p> - -<p>It is only a step from there to headquarters. -I arrive at six o’clock.</p> - -<p>Captain Chatain is outside the door, and I give -him the reply he is waiting for.</p> - -<p>He runs it over with a smile of satisfaction.</p> - -<p>“Everything went all right, Sergeant-Major?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[249]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Yes, Captain.”</p> - -<p>“Good. Didn’t I tell you that it would simply -be a promenade ... but I’ll recommend you -for a citation.”</p> - -<p>Half an hour later I was snoring soundly in a -dugout.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[250]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XIX">CHAPTER XIX<br /> -<span class="smaller">A WREATH</span></h2> - -<p>We fell back in good order—in as good -order as our wounds and the enemy’s -artillery fire permitted.</p> - -<p>There is a roll call of the company, now reduced -in numbers by half, in the ruins of Dompierre, now -cleared out, conquered and organized.</p> - -<p>None of the two sections surprised in the explosion -of the mine came back.</p> - -<p>There are great gaps in the ranks of the other -two, especially among the non-commissioned officers. -One sergeant out of four and two or three -corporals are seriously wounded.</p> - -<p>As names are called and there is no response, -we look around as though to search better. Lips -seem to murmur, “What, he too?” Eyes search -the distance, the turn of the road at the entrance -of the village, as if they still expect to see him -come. But no one comes. They will never come -again.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[251]</a></span></p> - -<p>The lieutenant has to furnish all possible information -about each one missing.</p> - -<p>“Did you see him fall? Who was near him? -Was he wounded? Do you think he was killed? -Did he stay there motionless?”</p> - -<p>There were as many inexact replies as there -were questions. No one knew exactly or could -know exactly whether the fallen was killed or -wounded; appearances are deceitful. In the uproar -of battle, he who seems dead is not even touched. -Another may have had to stay hidden a long -time to avoid being killed or made a prisoner.</p> - -<p>Opposite the name of each absent one the -quartermaster writes:</p> - -<p>“Missing the ... presumably killed at....”</p> - -<p>After the roll call we separate silently. The -most severely wounded are at the dressing stations, -and several are discharged by the ambulances -from the rear: Sergeant Pierron had four -fingers of his right hand blown off; Sergeant Durosiers -with a shoulder broken by a bit of shell; -Corporal Goutelle shot through the thigh, and -has lost a lot of blood.</p> - -<p>We accompany them as far as the ambulances -which take them to the casualty clearing stations.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[252]</a></span></p> - -<p>Adjutant Dotant and Sergeant Lace take the -initiative in buying a wreath and take up a collection -among the men of their sections.</p> - -<p>“Lieutenant, if you will allow us, we are going -to buy a wreath at Harbonnières and this evening -two of us will go and place it on our comrades.”</p> - -<p>Too moved to answer, the lieutenant acquiesces -with a nod.</p> - -<p>Morin and I, the only two who are not wounded, -offer to carry it. Our errand is not without -danger; but we start off at nightfall.</p> - -<p>The wreath is light but large, and its width -makes it difficult to get through the narrow -trenches.</p> - -<p>We have to hold it at arms’ length in certain -places above our heads on the parapet and slide -it along.</p> - -<p>Its ornaments catch in the stones and the twigs.</p> - -<p>It runs serious dangers before it reaches its -destination.</p> - -<p>At Herbècourt the trench stops some yards in -front of the entrance to the village. It is raining -shells.</p> - -<p>The shells rage particularly on the road which -runs through the village, the only one along which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[253]</a></span> -supplies can go. There is no longer a well-marked -road. The well taken care of highway no longer -exists; it is full of holes and is but one yawning -crevasse more than three hundred yards long. -The wagons and trucks have made a chance path -in the neighboring fields. They wait at the entrance -of the village, some yards from the point -where the barrage persists, for a lull. When it -comes, they rush like a whirlwind with a mad burst -of speed, and it is a miracle that they are not -crushed. All one hears are oaths, cries, blows; -wagons lock together, horses fall and get up at -once; all this in the twinkling of an eye. Thirty -wagons pass between two shells.</p> - -<p>We, too, make a dash and reach the other end -without much risk. The danger is greater from -the autos which rush by us like meteors, graze us, -and threaten a hundred times to cut us to pieces -or to catch our clothes and drag us under the -wheels. But the greatest danger is from the tottering -walls, and the waving roofs which the -rolling of the wagons brings falling down.</p> - -<p>We reach the cemetery at the beginning of the -country. It is still nearly intact. Graves are -turned up; tombstones are thrown down on their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[254]</a></span> -sides. Its walls are holed with loopholes, which -served the last defenders of the village. But the -grass is not even tramped down in the corners.</p> - -<p>“Can’t we stay here five minutes to get our -breath?”</p> - -<p>“If you want to.... We deserve it.”</p> - -<p>A battery of “75’s” held the position a few -minutes ago. It has just abandoned it to get -nearer the lines. The place is deserted; it is like -a visit in the country at two steps from the fiery -furnace. We stretch out on a mound of turf between -two tombs.</p> - -<p>It is the hour of twilight; the sky is golden; the -sun on the horizon plunges into the marshes of -the Somme. A fresh breeze blows through the -privet hedge.</p> - -<p>“A summer evening in the country!”</p> - -<p>“Within the country would be more in accord -with the circumstances, I think.”</p> - -<p>As if to make my punning more emphatic, four -“77’s” burst at the same time and smash the -cemetery walls to bits.</p> - -<p>“<i>Foutre!</i>” This expression, peculiar to Marseilles, -has a significant meaning on Morin’s lips.</p> - -<p>“You have said it; the place is no longer safe.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[255]</a></span></p> - -<p>“The battery changed its position because it -had just been spotted. We are taking its place -and are a target for the Boche artillery.”</p> - -<p>We make our way forward as fast as we can.</p> - -<p>The bombardment of the abandoned position -behind us continues in volleys of four shells at a -time. The cemetery we just left is nothing but a -ruin, a chaos from which black smoke rises.</p> - -<p>We keep on running, each holding an end of -the wreath which impedes us terribly. Although -it is light, it seems heavy.</p> - -<p>Night falls and it is very dark. We are able -to advance with more security now. Yawning -craters open at our feet; we risk falls and sprains -at every step.</p> - -<p class="tb">It is the dead of night when we reach the place -where our company was decimated.</p> - -<p>An immense mass of humanity fills the place -with a tragic tangle of intertwined corpses. -Burned with powder, licked by the flames, torn -and blown to pieces, the bodies cling to the wall -as if they wanted to fly from the deadly fire coming -from the depths of the earth.</p> - -<p>Indeed, planted on this host of bodies, his legs<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[256]</a></span> -sinking in up to his knees, the body of Sergeant -Bacque seems to point out the road to deliverance -with a gesture. His hands hold the pickets of a -cheval de frise. A shell decapitated him at the -very moment when he jumped and death fixed him -in this attitude.</p> - -<p>Thin smoke still comes from the bottom of this -sinister vat! It is Hell in all its horror. The men -saw death coming and tried to flee, but death was -victor and fixed them to the spot.</p> - -<p>The burial of our friends would be a titanic -task for our exhausted strength. We gather into -a single pile the scattered bodies which the explosion -hurled to a distance. With some barbed wire -we hang the company’s wreath on the cheval de -frise which commands the great grave. It faces -the Boches.</p> - -<p>To-morrow at sunrise they can see it from their -nearest trench and read on its tricolored ribbon -the inscription, “To our comrades, to our -brothers, from the survivors of the second company -of machine guns.” They will see how we -pay homage to our heroes even under the threat -of their shells.</p> - -<p>The drone of a cannon sounds in the English<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[257]</a></span> -sector in the distance. One might think that there -was a tacit truce on our side to let the dead sleep -more peacefully in their last sleep.</p> - -<p>We remain there kneeling before the hecatomb. -Our lips search for the prayers of our childhood -to lay our dead at rest, but they have lost the habit -of prayer and our memories fail at the first words. -We wish a prayer which shall give their final -blessing to the bodies stretched out there, but -above all we want a prayer which shall give a -kindly consolation in the approaching hour of -anguish to those who wait—to the mothers, -wives, sweethearts, who do not know, who hope -and live in the dream of their joyous return. And -our scepticism makes us unable to pray.</p> - -<p>The darkness of the night is absolute.</p> - -<p>The charnel-house of our comrades is only a -dark mass in the shadows. A pungent, pestilential -odor already rises; we sense the sinister rustling -of the rats which slip between the bodies.</p> - -<p>Groans rise on all sides in the darkness. Some -shriek horribly in their agony; there are long -wails; plaintive sing-songs call beloved names, -childish words.</p> - -<p>Death, with its accomplice, Darkness, gleans<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[258]</a></span> -the last rebellious one who clings desperately -to life.</p> - -<p class="tb">Behind us mounts the heavy rolling of the convoys. -It is the hour for the nightly supplies. The -autos dash along on the torn up roads in the endeavor -to accomplish their difficult mission before -the probable barrage fire begins again.</p> - -<p>On the top of the ridge where the enemy maintains -his lines for the moment, a searchlight throws -its light on the ground and in the sky, in all directions, -watching for aeroplanes and searching for -the passing of convoys on the road. Its light -passes back and forth over us several times, hitting -us in the face and dazzling us. It passes back -and forth, flooding the plain with its moving brilliant -light. In its light we see moving forms: -stretcher-bearers saving the wounded and plunderers -of the dead.</p> - -<p>Suddenly, the whizz of a shell comes our way, -and a light bursts high in the air. Shrapnel launch -their rain of fire and shell on the plain.</p> - -<p>“Let’s go....”</p> - -<p>We had scarcely time to throw ourselves flat -on the ground when there was a tremendous explosion.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[259]</a></span> -A “380” perhaps bursts on the middle -of the mound of corpses and scatters it. One -would think that maddened by its orgy of murder, -the enemy horde wants to kill our dead anew. -A geyser of blood spouts up and boils from the -mound.</p> - -<p>We try to flee but our limbs fail us. An invincible -force rivets us to the spot, as we try to jump -ahead.</p> - -<p>Morin utters a hoarse cry, a cry like an animal -that is being slaughtered. A corpse was thrown -up in the air and falls squarely on him and throws -him to the ground. He is underneath, hemmed -in by its shrivelled arms; streams of blood deluge -him.</p> - -<p>I try to get him out, but I can’t. My hands -feel around on the mangled body. I feel the shattered -limbs come apart under the clothes. I pull -Morin out from underneath by his arms. He remains -motionless for a moment. He is stupid -from the shock and fright. I shake him. The -arrival of a new engine of death which explodes -beside us brings him back to reality and the imminence -of danger.</p> - -<p>This time we run as fast as we can, stumbling<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[260]</a></span> -over the débris, tripping over the dead, rolling -into shell holes, tearing our clothes, hands, and -faces on the barbed wire.</p> - -<p>We flee, absolutely breathless, across old -trenches which we see only when their depths yawn -before our steps.</p> - -<p>We flee haggard, in a mad delirium, terrified, -pursued by the vision of our dead, of their dim -faces, their torn brows, their glassy eyes, their -twisted mouths, which the shells still mangle -... which the enemy kill again in their sleep of -death.</p> - -<p>We flee encircled by the rattle of the fire which -pursues us, and which with us draws near the -road which we wish to reach and it to bar.</p> - -<p>A more violent puff, and close by, grazes our -heads.</p> - -<p>“Attention!... Stop.... To earth!”</p> - -<p>A violent shock, a heavy blow between the -shoulders, a hard vice grips my body and throws -me on the ground.</p> - -<p>I fall.</p> - -<p>I fall, and then I remember nothing more.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[261]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XX">CHAPTER XX<br /> -<span class="smaller">DISCHARGED</span></h2> - -<p>“Come, <i>mon vieux</i>, swallow this; it will set -you up.”</p> - -<p>A sergeant of the 88th Territorials is speaking. -I see his white number as he bends over me. I -swallow the contents of the cup at one draught. -Ouf! it’s strong; it burns, but I feel my strength -coming back.</p> - -<p>Where am I?</p> - -<p>I am behind a bank in a dugout cut in the side -of the trench. How I got there I don’t know. -I have lost all idea of things.</p> - -<p>I am anxious about Morin. They don’t know, -but they say that they saw stretcher-bearers pick -him up.</p> - -<p>I have received my reckoning, but I shall recover. -I feel my trousers and boots heavy with -a tepid dampness. I feel a shooting pain in the -groin and something like a warm stream flows -drop by drop.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[262]</a></span></p> - -<p>The stretcher-bearer, Bertrand, an old college -friend, now a Dominican, stops a second beside -me, hurrying on to more pressing cares, to the -more seriously wounded. He speaks kindly simple -words, but what they are I know not. He speaks -of country, the sun, my wife.</p> - -<p>My wife, the sun, the country, the return to -life, the walks as of old in the woods, in the hills, -the dreams at twilight, the cherished plans, the -talk of love. Life is beginning again. Yes, we -will begin all that again. And it will be finer -now ... after the test.</p> - -<p>A great relaxation comes; tears flow. I hardly -suffer, but I am weak. I want to sleep.</p> - -<p>The stretcher-bearers will come presently, as I -know, at nightfall. And through the roof of -boughs I see the sun die away and the stars come -out.</p> - -<p>The bombardment rolls in distant thunder; they -say that it is increasing, coming nearer.</p> - -<p>Does that mean a counter attack?</p> - -<p>The sinister heavy blow of a great Boche shell -shakes the earth of my dugout, and the leaves of -my roof fall in torrents on my covering.</p> - -<p>I already feel anxious to get away. I am afraid<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[263]</a></span> -now. I dread the final wound which will tear me, -shatter me, kill me.</p> - -<p>It is dark night. Great drops begin to fall. It -is going to rain very hard. The stretcher-bearers -have come. I have to move so that they can place -me on the stretcher. I feel the warm stream gush -out; it is very strong this time.</p> - -<p>And I fainted.</p> - -<p class="tb">At the casualty clearing station at Villers an -old major with a white beard gives me an injection -of antitetanic serum.</p> - -<p>Another examines my gaping wound.</p> - -<p>“Iodine dressing, H. O. E.<a name="FNanchor_2" id="FNanchor_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> Discharge to -private life.”</p> - -<p>And an automobile takes me speedily to the -station where the sanitary train waits with -steam up.</p> - -<p>The sanitary train!... For two days each -roll of the wheels sounds in my head like a great -bell; and the belt which binds me seems tightened -into the most atrocious notch; at each turn of the -wheels, at every movement it seems to me that -the stream will begin to flow again, and that this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[264]</a></span> -time it will all flow out until it is exhausted ... -with my life.</p> - -<p>Then, one evening, the rolling ceased; my -stretcher was unhooked and they gave me something -to drink.... I woke up in the hospital.</p> - -<p>A white bed, lights, nurses in white, who speak, -who smile, who glide over the floors without making -a noise.</p> - -<p>Can it be true? I no longer hear the noise, -the hammering of cannon, and the infernal rolling -of autos and caissons. It is strange.</p> - -<p>“Take No. 7 to the operating room,” says the -head doctor.</p> - -<p>I am No. 7.</p> - -<p>The operating room.... It is all bright and -white; through haggard eyes I look at the shining -knives, the reflection of the glass, but a sharp -odor seizes me, sickens me, stifles me.</p> - -<p>I am stifling.... My breath stops in my chest -and no longer reaches my throat.... I am -stifling.... No, I hear the bells.... I hear -the bells.... How good they sound!</p> - -<p class="tb">Is it a dream?</p> - -<p>An anxious face, shining eyes, lips trembling<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[265]</a></span> -with a kiss, the beautiful loved hair with its familiar -perfume.</p> - -<p>And the gentle caress on my forehead.</p> - -<p>Both arms close about it feverishly, as if never -to let it go, on this dear being who brings with -her kiss: love, life, the future.</p> - -<p>“Oh! you! you! at last! forever!”</p> - -<p>“Yes, Georges, yes, forever. I am here.”</p> - -<p>And the nurse standing at the foot of the little -brass bed smiles with tears in her eyes.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="footnotes"> - -<h2>FOOTNOTES</h2> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1" id="Footnote_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> Commandant’s Post.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_2" id="Footnote_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> Hospital for the Discharged.</p> - -</div> - -</div> - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Covered With Mud and Glory, by Georges Lafond - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK COVERED WITH MUD AND GLORY *** - -***** This file should be named 60268-h.htm or 60268-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/0/2/6/60268/ - -Produced by ellinora and the Online Distributed Proofreading -Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from -images generously made available by The Internet -Archive/American Libraries.) - - -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. 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