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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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