I shouted my observations to the telephonist, who could scarcely hear me a storey lower. Finally the battery which was firing on us was reduced to silence. Others went on firing, but slackened down and, at the end of an hour, there was dead silence again, broken only by bullets which, fromone trench to the other, were fired in search of victims.
When my time had expired, I went down below and was surprised to see my brave Liénart at the side of the ladder. He had been observing too. Instead of getting under cover, during the storm, he had come up to help in case of need. As to the telephonist, Cornez, I found him crouching down near his apparatus. "No chance of going to sleep here!" he said, on seeing me. And as it was his turn, he went up to take my place.
I threw myself down on my "flea sack" (the name answered to the reality in this case) and I slept the sleep of the observer, which had now become a habit with me. That is, I had one ear closed and the other listening to every sound. I kept my boots on, my pistol and cartridge case at my side, and my carbine within reach.
Suddenly, a bullet passed quite near, with that special click peculiar to shots fired at a short distance. A volley of shots then came, flattening themselves against the walls. We were all quickly on the alert. I went to look out at the observation post. It was probably an enemy patrol wandering about. Three men offered to go out in search of this and quickly started off, crawling along in the darkness. A few shots were exchanged and then all was quiet. The German patrol had withdrawn.
When I returned to my post, I felt suddenly chilly. I lighted a few pieces of wood in my brick oven and cooked three sweet potatoes over the cinders. This had been our usual meal since we had been at this observation post.
Gradually, whilst the wood was crackling and Cornez, who had been relieved, was snoring near me, I began to think of my home and of my old parents, who were watching and waiting so far away. I thought, too, of the beloved convent which I had left for this war, and of the strange contrast between this adventurous life and the serene life of the cloister.
For five months, we had been going from ruin to ruin in the midst of the inundation, trying to find a fresh post among the putrid waters, as soon as the shells had reduced the preceding one to a heap of ruins. A hundred times death had hovered over us, and a hundred times shells had paid us their gracious visits, in the very rooms in which we were living. It was all in vain, though, for we were "vaccinated."
As to our diet, it was worthy of Robinson Crusoe. What did it all matter! We were inured now to hunger, thirst, cold, and weariness. The worst of everything was the rain. It was all in vain that we struggled to protect our shelter. The bombardment soon played havoc with the roof and then the water was hopeless. It was no use thinking of sleep. Drop by drop, the rain would first come through a crack in the ceiling.... "Toc!... toc!... toc!" ... We would put a basin down for it. A second little streamlet would commence. Down would go our saucepan for that. Then other streamlets would begin, and we would follow them all up with receptacles. We changed the places of our mattresses. It was all in vain, as very soon the deluge began again. Among all this ceaseless spotting, each drop competed with the other in making the clearest sound and the quickest drip: "Ticlictacpictoctoc"....
"Tu-u-u-u-û!" the one in the middle would say, forit had suddenly found a way to make one steady stream. That one certainly deserved the prize, and we gave it the honour of having the big saucepan to receive it. Finally, we resigned ourselves to the inevitable. We had our feet in a pool, water on our clothes, water on our heads, gradually dripping down our necks, and our mattresses full of water. There was only one thing left for us to do, and that was to put on our big coats and to let it go on raining, to shut our eyes and dream (with the joyful concert of the drip, drip going on) of all that life has that is beautiful, great, and good, provided all this be consecrated to some holy cause.
Just as dawn was appearing, I had an agreeable visit in my lonely hermitage. My old comrade, Lieutenant de W——, had come here to observe in his turn. He was accompanied by his two faithful followers, Quartermaster Snysters, an old Antwerp friend, who had gone through the Retreat with me, and Gunner Frentzen. How am I to describe Frentzen? Imagine a tall, bony, roughly-hewn Flemish man of six feet, with a surly look and two small, keen eyes, constantly lighting up with a smile. Frentzen had been taken prisoner by the Germans. The first night, he went and found the sentinel, killed him with his fists, and then, smoking his pipe, returned calmly to his Lieutenant. My two Flemish friends are inseparable. They insult each other from morning to night and are always in search of some adventurous exploit. They go roving about in the midst of the inundations, right to the outposts, under the very noses of the Boches.
The newcomers received a hearty welcome and de W—— and I stirred up, not only the fire, but all ourold memories, by way of cheering ourselves. Whilst we were chatting, his two companions had been laying their plans. Frentzen came ambling up to us, scratching the back of his neck.
"Lieutenant," he began, "if we could just have a look in at the little farm over yonder?"
"The farm? That one? Why, it's full of Boches."
"The 'Bosses'!" exclaimed Frentzen, with superb disdain. "We can put a few bullets into them."
De W—— and I roared with laughter at his expression.
"Right," said my friend. "You can go, but be prudent."
Snysters favoured me with a wink that was full of eloquence and shrugged his shoulders slightly, and the two men set out on their expedition.
An hour later they returned, wet through, covered with mud, and accusing each other of being milksops, cowards, and using various other complimentary epithets, such as only the Flemish language can render with sufficient emphasis. Frentzen's pocket had been pierced by a bullet. Snysters had had one through his cap. A minute or two later, Snysters went out of the room and Frentzen came a few steps nearer and remarked, confidentially:
"Lieutenant, Snysters, he doesn't know what it means to be afraid of anything, but he's a bit...."
Frentzen winked and touched his own forehead.
"You understand, Lieutenant."
"Yes, yes, I know him well."
Frentzen went away and when Snysters came back, he drew his chair up and remarked:
"Lieutenant, that Frentzen's a chap with plenty of nerve, but," hereupon he tapped his forehead witha knowing expression, "a bit touched here, you know."
"Yes, yes, I know...."
A little while later, they went off again, arm in arm, insulting each other more than ever, but on the lookout for fresh adventures.
The bombardment recommenced at an early hour. It began with volleys of 77's, those miserable, ridiculous 77's. They come along as though they are going to smash everything before them, and they finish with a poor little "petch" and a bit of pipe smoke.
Parturiunt montes, nascetur ridiculus mus.
Cornez, my youngster from Liége, gave a whistling accompaniment. Presently the song changed and the 105 arrived. The planks of wood which served as window-shutters were flung inside the room. In front of the building, the footbridge was pulverised. That was the fifth time this had happened. There would be no chance of going outside and keeping our feet dry now. Our guns answered.
I looked out at the firing zone and was pleased to see that the enemy battery was well encircled. It continued in spite of this, and as a matter of fact, we were no less encircled than they were.
I went downstairs to go to the telephone. I was only just there, when a formidable explosion flung a whole collection of bricks and rubbish behind me and I was in the midst of a cloud of dust. I looked up and saw that there was nothing left of my observation post. A huge breach in the wall showed where the brutal visitor had just entered. De W—— came running to me, delighted to see me whole.
"I fancy there are too many prayers being saidfor you," he remarked, "for the shells to be able to touch you."
"I have been vaccinated," I replied.
After all this, we had a good night's work before us, as we were obliged to build the place up again. And that was not all. That satanic 105 was warming up with its work. The footbridge was smashed in several places. It would be difficult for the relief at night, and, by way of a climax, the telephone was silent, as the wire was cut. Good, we were completely isolated from the rest of the world. For the moment there was nothing to be done, so we sat down and began talking, knowing that there was every possibility of our conversation finishing up above, in the presence of St. Peter.
Towards noon, there was a lull and we were able to repair the telephone wire. As soon as we were in communication once more with our comrades in the rear, the first thing they asked was whether we were all dead.
We then cooked some more sweet potatoes, put the platform up again, and then the fête began once more, and this time continued until night.
Just when it was beginning to grow dark, our telephone wires broke again. We were now getting volleys of shrapnel, which continued all the time, covering the ground with hurricanes of lead and iron. This foreshadowed an attack. I thought I would go and have a look at the trenches. I kept slipping on the mud and went splashing through pools of water and tumbling into holes, made recently by the shells, whilst overhead the wretched volleys kept bursting with their sharp, dry din and, at my feet, the bullets pierced the ground.
In front of us, nothing could be seen moving. The Lieutenant in command of this post was on his guard, as he expected an attack. The night was getting quickly heavy and dark, so that very soon we could distinguish nothing ten yards away from us. Nothing could be seen at all but the weird flashes which kept lighting up the darkness on all sides, and these seemed to be getting more and more furious. "There is nothing to fear, at present," I said to my comrade, "but as soon as the firing slackens, we must keep a sharp lookout."
"Lieutenant, Lieutenant!" I suddenly heard from my post.
"What is the matter?"
"Come quick!"
I returned as quickly as possible. There was no light, but a huge hole in the ceiling which let in the cold air. On the floor, among all the rubbish, lay a man. I turned my light on the face and saw that it was my brave friend, Snysters. He was covered with blood which was still smoking; a huge fragment of shell had pierced his heart. I examined him to see whether he were really dead and I offered up a prayer to God for his heroic soul. I then went in search of the others. They had taken refuge in a trench. De W. was wounded in the wrist. Cornez was still dazed by the commotion, and Frentzen was growling and swearing in a low voice.
"Filthy Bosses! Wretched pigs! Poor Snysters! Curse them, curse them!"
Towards 9 o'clock, the bombardment suddenly slackened and the Germans extended their firing range. A minute later, there was shooting from our trenches, and the Germans fired back from quite nearto us. Our shooting then became hurried and agitated. Attention now for the attack! I took a fuse and then went to our line. What was the meaning of the disorder? We were just being relieved. "Halt! let no one move until further orders. Every man in the trenches."
I met the fresh commander of the post and we concerted for a few seconds. Whilst he threw a fuse from the trench to the left, I was to look out with my field-glasses at the trench to the right, which appeared to be the one threatened. The fuse was thrown and the whole country round was bathed in a bright light. There was nothing to be seen. Not a man appeared. But as I knew every detail of the land by heart, I could distinguish, thirty yards in front of us, a long line of little heaps that had been newly made.
The Boches were hollowing out the ground and were burying themselves ready for the assault. I stopped the firing and ordered absolute silence. In the midst of the darkness, we could then hear distinctly the rough, brief orders that the Commander of the attack was giving in a low voice. Ah, the rascals, they had come as near to us as that! Good, we will give them something for their trouble. With the agreement of the officer in command, I had one of the two machine-guns brought from the other salient. I then looked out again with my field-glasses; a faint moonbeam now lighted up the ground. I could see the little heaps and also the spades that were moving the earth. Presently a shadow could be seen standing up and then two, three, ten figures. I indicated the spot to the gunner and he took aim.
"Fire!"
The horrible engine of war did its work and, in atrice, it had mown down all these figures. Five minutes later, some more figures rose and these too were brought down by the machine-gun. An enemy machine-gun now replied to us, but, fortunately, it fired too high and too much to the left. For three hours, we kept this game up. The Germans were nailed to the ground, and each time they attempted to get up, they were swept down again by our firing. Finally, they retired and disappeared, crawling along in the darkness.
We then went back to our post. A never-to-be-forgotten sight awaited us there. Snysters was lying in the middle of the room. His face was turned to the sky and he was sleeping his long sleep under a beam of light. Just above his head, by the gaping breach in the ceiling, the moon shed a white ray which surrounded his face with a halo of glory. It looked very pure and very peaceful, and left all the rest of his body hidden in dense darkness. I have never seen a finer mortuary than the one which the heavens had thus raised to this martyr to his country. And it seemed to me that the soul of the hero had risen gloriously, in this beautiful ray of light, to the kingdom above.
An hour later, the body was taken away. Frentzen wrapped it in his own cloak, because it was a better one than that of the dead man, and he carried it out alone. Whilst he was digging a grave, swearing all the time between his teeth, I noticed that he kept furtively wiping away his tears.
When he had finished his task, he came back to me.
"Lieutenant," he said, "I knew it would happen to him. I always told him so. He was always swearinglike the devil, it was sure to happen to him.... Damn! Damn!"
And swearing away now for two men, instead of one, he went on growling quietly.
Before the dawn, we had again repaired the damage. And then the day broke, rosy and smiling, in the limpid horizon, lighting up a pile of German corpses and of ruins in the midst of our own ruins. And when I had gone up to my post once more, a blackbird came and perched on the top of the roof and warbled his gay song to the echoes. I understood then that only one thing matters in our existence, and that is to so order one's soul that, high up in the ideal azure, it shall sing its song in spite of the storm. It must be a soul which, free and strong, shall continue its own way, always ready for any struggle, always ready for martyrdom, and always ready to rise heavenwards!
March, 1915.
March, 1915.
CHAPTER XXXII
A Patrol
By Artillery Captain M—— C——
Everything looked gay that morning at the outposts. The big, radiant sun, saturating the blue sky, made the sheet of water sparkle, as it rippled along with silvery spangles right up to the enemy lines. The ruins of the red roofs and picturesque white gables had quite a festive air, reflected in the lake which now bathed them. They seemed surprised to find themselves in the midst of these moving meadows, instead of in the green meadows in which they had been accustomed to slumber. In the horizon could be seen tints of periwinkle and lilac, which seemed to be smiling to the deep blue of the sky.
The reality of things was by no means so jovial as this charming setting. The violet, huge trees, which looked so beautiful over yonder, concealed batteries which would presently send out death amongst us. The gay, white gables had little loopholes where wicked guns and machine-guns were waiting in readiness. And, under the silvery ripples of the great, greenish lake, there were corpses hidden, and ruined harvests rotting in the water. Unhappy the human being who ventured out into the inundated meadows!He would be caught in the deep, slimy mud, in the barbed wire, in the numberless canals which furrowed the whole district, and which were treacherously concealed under great tufts of reeds. In a very short time, bullets and shrapnels would whistle round his ears as warning precursors of death.
Just at the edge of the inundation, two soldiers were talking together, as they examined the big farm emerging from the water, six hundred yards to the north of the post.
"I tell you there is no one inside. There's nothing left but the loopholes."
"One never knows with these wretches."
"The only thing is to go and see."
"The Sergeant says that the Major, he'd like to know what's inside that farm."
"Well then the only thing is to go and see."
"Come on then."
They went in search of the Lieutenant.
"Lieutenant, can we go out on patrol round the N—— Farm and have a look to see whether there's any Boches inside?"
"On patrol ... in a boat you mean?"
"We'd make our plans, Lieutenant."
The Lieutenant was silent a minute. That farm puzzled him too, but he was anxious about the lives of his men.
"It's too dangerous," he replied, and soon after he moved away. The two men looked at each other.
"He didn't say No."
"He said it was dangerous. We know that."
"Let's go then, shall we?"
"Yes, we'll go."
They spotted a big tub lying in a yard. Theyemptied it, put it on the water, and set off, each one armed with his gun and a pole. The first one, on getting in, had some difficulty in balancing himself, but for the second one it was still more difficult. The tub tossed about, threatening to turn upside down. Finally they managed to steady it, and they then set sail. With one pole they pushed against the bank, and with the other they steadied themselves in the muddy lake. The tub then moved on heavily and awkwardly, leaning first suddenly to the right, then to the left, and then spinning round an invisible rotation axis. Our patrol was now upset into the water, and the confounded tub, as though proud of its exploit, danced about on the ripples with a contented air.
Our two poor rabbits had a struggle. They managed to keep their guns above water and, on coming to land, they looked at each other and burst out laughing. It was evidently impossible for two of them to get along in that tub. They went in search of something else and presently came back with a trough. This was put on the water by the side of the tub. They each took their place, with the manœuvres of tight-rope walkers, and the squadron set out to sea. The two ships sailed along in the most alarming way. The tub, not satisfied with leaning down, first on one side and then on the other, jumped about with the agility of a stag, in the direction of all the cardinal points, and seemed to take the greatest pleasure in spinning round with such speed that it looked as though it were wound up and would never stop again. The unfortunate sailor plunged his pole in the mud. The obstinate skiff calmed down, pretended to stop, thought it over a second, and then started off in thecontrary way, with its horrible spinning movement. The pole was plunged in again, farther on. The tub stopped short, darted into an eddy, and disappeared in the water. We, who were watching, uttered a cry of fear. Ah, the tub was back again, it had only been a pretence. It went on its way once more, turning about all the time, more and more turbulent and more and more incoherent.
As to the trough, that was still more awful. It made me giddy to look at it. The pilot's pole had to do service as pole, oar, and beam. As it was absolutely incapable of performing all these functions at the same time, the trough had fine sport and made the most of it. It went along with such bounds and leaps that each time it seemed as though it were turning right over and plunging under the water. It went on more and more quickly, always by fits and starts, and in the most irregular way possible. The wretched pole had to keep striking the water in every way possible, splashing and dabbling in an agitated, incoherent manner, and so quickly that it looked like the fingers of a compass out of order.
Its poor Captain, who was still in the trough, was tossed about all the time. He never ceased to brandish his giddy pole, except when he was emptying the water out of his death-trap with a saucepan.
The two men were making headway, nevertheless, with the tub turning round and round, and the trough leaping and bounding, both of them dancing wild waltzes. The tub, thanks to a few vigorous strokes, got ahead. The trough followed with great difficulty, but, presently, its pilot managed to set it going and, with a few energetic strokes with his pole-oar, he too gained ground, came up with his rival, whoappeared to be in distress, and then passed by him with ease.
They were a good distance from us now and we held our breath as we watched them. One or the other kept disappearing every minute, apparently sinking straight to the bottom. Finally the trough, which was certainly the stronger of the two, approached the coast! A few more strokes of the oar and it had landed at the edge of the green islet. As to the tub, it leapt, rocked, and spun round in a way that would have made a demon shudder. Finally, it ran aground on a mud bank. The man landed in the water, wallowed in the mud, freed himself, set his barque afloat again, but it was quite a drama to re-embark in it, in the midst of the "sea." He managed this, though, and he finally crossed without any further accident. We breathed freely once more.
The two patrols examined the land, consulted for a moment, and then advanced towards the mysterious farm. There was no sign of life, but we trembled for them, as we knew the ways of the Boches. They were now within a hundred yards of the quiet-looking building, when, suddenly, they were saluted by bullets from invisible holes. The farm was occupied then. The object of their expedition was attained and we expected that our men would now come crawling back. Not at all! They were crawling, but it was in the direction of the German trench, which ran to the right of the farm along the strip of land. They did not care to have taken such a long trip for nothing and they thought they might as well see whether the trench was occupied too. They approached it slowly and cautiously, looking up occasionally to see whether anything moved. They reached the parapet,stopped a second, and then, striding over it, disappeared. At my side I heard a man whisper: "They must be mad!"
"Ping! Pang!" we heard in the trench. This time the daring fellows must certainly have been taken prisoners. Not so, though. We saw them suddenly emerge, like two jack-in-the-boxes, jump down the bank, and crawl on all fours, with the speed of two lizards running through the grass. Only their guns were then visible, swaying with a quick movement like two pendulums. The men themselves were so flat down in the mud that they soon looked like two lumps of mud being moved by an invisible hand. From time to time, after a sharp volley, one of them would remain still and apparently lifeless. Had he been hit, we wondered? No, he was only pretending to be dead and, a minute later, he started again, going along more quickly still. After a good quarter of an hour of this alarming chase, they reached the water. They waited five minutes and then, with a jump, each one seized his "boat," got into it, and once more set off waltzing, twisting, and turning, under a shower of bullets. Twenty times over they escaped death and finally, wet through, perspiring, covered with slime and moss, as sturdy as two Neptunes, they landed, and going straight up to their Lieutenant, laughing as they went, they gave in the result of their expedition.
"The farm is occupied and the trench too," was all they said.
"I can see that for myself, on looking at you two, by Jingo!"
The officer, torn between anger and admiration, did not know whether he ought to blame them orpraise them. He did a little of each and our dare-devils, a trifle ashamed of being "pitched into," but very well satisfied with their exploit, went off to wash their clothes and dry themselves in the sun, which was now smiling on them.
CHAPTER XXXIII
The Death March
By Doctor Duwez, Army Surgeon to the Regiment of Grenadiers
By Doctor Duwez, Army Surgeon to the Regiment of Grenadiers
There is very little improvement in the situation. The Germans are holding the trenches from Het-Sas as far as Steenstraete. Their attacks are getting more frequent. To-night, the Zouaves are to attack Lizerne.
At the present moment, all our batteries are raging. It is six o'clock in the evening. The 75's are yelling at short intervals. Our seven-fives, with the noise of anvils, send out their volleys into the vibrating air, with a piercing, shrill whistle.
We saw Pypegale, with its ruined houses. English couriers, concealed here and there, watched us pass by. To the left, the green plain stretched out before us as far as the tall trees of Kemmelbeeck. They were standing in groups, with their branches still bare. Farther away were hedges and little gardens, and in the corner, where the valley is cut into two by the road, in the midst of the green coppices, were pear-trees covered with blossom. We could see the red roofs of the little village of Zuydschoote, with its white church all charred.
The big German shells were falling all the time onthese wooded places. Great black convolutions rose in the air in balls, or, if the shell burst in the houses, the pink dust of the pulverised tiles could then be seen. We could hear the roofs cracking, the walls giving way, and the beams falling down.
Above the road occupied by the column, the white clouds of the little shrapnels were rising. They stood out clearly against the clear blue sky. The wind stretched them gently out, changed their shapes, and wafted them towards us. Farther still, the horizon was gradually veiled in a mist composed of smoke, rubbish, and dust.
On our left was the farm, to which this road led. We passed through the devastated barn. Balls began to whistle and crash against the walls. The windows had no panes and the rooms were full of rubbish and rotten straw. A Grenadier dragged himself along towards us, his face drawn and his forehead covered with cold perspiration. His trousers were sticking to one of his legs with blood, and, on cutting them away, a big wound was to be seen with a dark background, formed by the muscles, and a long, red stream which was trickling down. Next arrived a Zouave, short and broad-backed. He came along merrily, supporting his arm which he showed us.
"I think they've broken it this time, the pigs!" he said, with a Marseilles accent. "They had me, anyhow." He spoke with great eloquence, gesticulating energetically. When his arm was dressed, he turned suddenly pale and was silent, as he leaned for support against the wall.
We looked out to see where we should cross the fiery barrier. Every man gave his opinion on the matter. The Zouaves over yonder were going along,in single file, near the hedges, in the direction of Zuydschoote. We could see their yellow jackets and the blue veiling covering theirchéchias. Holding their guns in their hands, they were advancing cautiously, hiding like Indians on the war-path.
As we approached Kemmelbeeck, the bullets whistled, snapped, and whined more than ever. We saw the footbridges, the sentinel's niche, all covered with grass, and the big, bare trees, with their out-stretched arms. All along the coppice, in the ditches, the Grenadiers, with dark coats and red badges on their collars, could be seen lying down among the Zouaves in their light costumes. To our right, the farm in ruins, with nothing but fragments of walls, level with the ground, was hiding its bricks in the grasses. The zone here was fired on to such a degree that it was wiser to hasten along. We had to cross the road in order to reach the little guard-house. This was sheltering a whole group of soldiers, who were in the garden taking refuge near the walls and among the green plants and tufts of jonquils. Their uniforms stood out in vivid colours, all the more vivid as the sun was sinking in the horizon.
The little house was intact and this was a miracle. The men were chattering like magpies. They were relating all kinds of exploits amidst the din of the battle. Those near the walls were crouching down close to each other. The others were lying flat down. The wounded had taken refuge inside the house.
Two small rooms were full, and the wounded were lying down on straw. One of these, a Grenadier, was near the wall. He was dying from a bullet in his head. A Zouave, crouching in a corner, was pressing his arm against his breast. He did not speak and wasgazing with a fixed stare in front of him. Others were tossing about and moaning. The floor was strewn with bandages covered with blood, with scraps of dirty uniforms, with knapsacks, guns, and bayonets. A hand that was stretched out towards me had the fingers almost torn off. A young Corporal, very plain-looking, with dark hair, his moustache cut in brush fashion, and with twinkling eyes, was joking at his own expense, as he pointed to his wound. "What am I going to do," he asked, "for I cannot sit down again?" In the adjoining room, there were more wounded men, all crowded together. The army chaplain, in one corner, was giving the absolution. Two officers were taking their supper at a table, whilst reading their orders. Coming out from under this table, could be seen the iron-tipped boots of a dying man.
"Doctor, Doctor, am I going to be left here?"
Moans could be heard on all sides and everyone was talking at the same time. It was a mixture of languages, in which slang and Flemish predominated.
"My bandage is torn, Doctor; I am losing all my blood!"
There was a poor fellow whose leg had been nearly blown off; another one, bent double, was leaning his head against the wall. Another man had his head bandaged and bleeding.
"I was advancing," he said, "the first of the section, when all at once I felt a shock."
He gesticulated with his dry hand, trying to explain what had happened. There were many others in a similar plight. It was getting dark and the red wounds looked black in the darkness, and the expression in the men's eyes seemed more profound. A candle waslighted and the shadows on the wall now grew longer and looked enormous. A wounded man, in a corner of the room, had just ceased suffering. His eyes were wide open staring fixedly at the room.
From the windows, the green light of the shrapnels and the red flames of the shells lit up the darkness with sudden flashes. Tiles kept falling and lumps of earth thudding against the roof. A strange heaviness weighed on everyone, numbing the brain and drying the eyes. Was it fatigue or torpor? No, it was something indescribable.
Outside, the human bunch was still there. To the right could be heard the regulartac-tacof a machine-gun.
"Ah the animals!" cried a Zouave, shaking his fist. "We shall have them, though, just now, with the bayonet!"
Shells went whizzing over the house, exploding in the coppices with a whooping noise. Then came the heavier, jerky whizz of the big "Fifteens,"Ram ... ram ... ram!They exploded and kept coming in threes, at regular intervals. From one minute to another the great glow might appear, the final destruction which would send all our human islet to its death.
Our first line trenches were over yonder. There was the Lizerne Mill. The village was to the right. The ground looked black, the plain was lighted by the moon, so that one could see a heap of bricks which reminded one of the Mill. In October, we had seen it in all its glory, with its sails in the form of a cross. Through the cloud of dust which rose from the battle-field, lighted up by the shrapnels which kept rending the darkness, and in the midst of the wanlight, the scene before us looked like a dream picture. We could see the spot we wanted to reach. With our eyes fixed on it, we went along as though hypnotised. Over there was the hill-top that had been laid waste, the accursed spot where craters had been made in every direction.
Bullets were whizzing through the air and clods of earth kept falling with heavy thuds. Fragments of shells kept burying themselves with a whirring sound. Onward, onward, we must get there! As we advanced, the outline of the spot we were aiming at grew bigger and bigger. We kept stumbling, falling down and getting up again. Now we saw the house all in ruins, the hill on which the mill had stood before it fell in. A shelter had now been dug in the hill. I pushed the door open, a whiff of hot air nearly choked me, the light dazzled me and, in the heavy atmosphere, I could scarcely recognise any faces. There were about twenty men there, some wounded, who were waiting, and officers who were there at their posts. We had to go still farther on than this. We could stay only long enough to exchange a few words, and then, shaking hands, we said "Adieu! Good luck!" How many of us would never return!
It was now the last stage of our journey. There was a communication trench here. We glided along, sheltering near the house, dark shadows in the night. The trench had been blocked and was almost destroyed. We had to climb on heaps of sand, stride over, jump and then let ourselves fall again into the holes. It was a labyrinth of fragments of walls, and of moving earth, above which tall, branchless trees stood up like black skeletons. Shells kept coming regularly, every quarter of a minute. Between everyexplosion we ran, hurrying forward. Our hearts were beating fast. The bullets kept snapping. We did not think of death. Our one idea was to arrive, to advance. It was a deadly race. And then the odour that rose to our nostrils, at the same time as the odour of the powder, became stronger and stronger.
At last we came to Yperlée, to the footbridge. Only a rush now and we shall be on sheltered ground.
The tree that used to be there is split up. Its dark branches were all intertwined as they fell, and we could see the white of its sap-wood, with its enormous prickles. On the ground were four Zouaves. One of them was crouching down, with his gun between his legs and his head on his chest. The others were lying down, as though they were asleep. And that terrible odour became persistent. Agreeable at first, something like jasmine, it finally became sickening. It had been pursuing us for a long time, and, at times, it was most violent. The band seemed to be tightening round our temples. Our eyes were burning and tears were running down our cheeks. There were little drops of moisture in the air which settled on us.
Here was the trench, and the moon made the shadows seem enormous. The sudden gleam from the shrapnels rent the darkness overhead. The shells yelled as they passed heavily along. It was as though they found it difficult to advance. Suddenly some "seventy-fives" rushed along. They ceased and then began again wildly. The horizon was brilliant with sudden flashes. In the distance we could hear the stifled "Boom!" of the big cannons, the bell-like sound of the 380 which went on and on. The cannonading became slower and we thought it was stopping, but, after a moment's silence, one cannon beganagain, then another, and then all of them together. Our Grenadiers were there, lying on the parapets, crouching in the trenches, big, dark shadows on their still greyer sacks. They fired. Bullets smashed into the sacks, into the earth and the trees. Shadows could be seen gliding about, men bending double, with their guns in their hands. On the right, a great, red light was to be seen, gradually covering all the sky. Ypres was burning. The ruins of Ypres were in flames. The bullets sang and whined. Others plunged into the bluish darkness with a reverberating noise. They went a long way and then suddenly ended in the ground. They came from the front, from the back, from everywhere. A fuse came down from the sky, a green star lighting up the trench with an unnatural light, like a diabolical smile. The whizzing began again. Shrapnels burst with their greenish light, again and again, and all the time. It was a wonderful and terrible hour. Flanders was bleeding from all her veins. But no matter, the Germans did not pass!
CHAPTER XXXIV
Shelter D.A.
By Dr. Duwez, Army Surgeon to the Regiment of Grenadiers
By Dr. Duwez, Army Surgeon to the Regiment of Grenadiers
In the low room of the farm-house, with its dingy ceiling supported by oak beams, everyone was listening in silence. The Germans had lost Lizerne, but they were still holding out on this side of the water: Het-sas and Steenstraete. This evening, the Battalion was to occupy a transversal position, behind the telegraph pole opposite the bridge-head. The officers, in their dark uniforms, were standing up. In the dim light, their faces looked paler than usual. Their brass buttons and their stars shone. Through the curtains of the windows we could see the green landscape. Only those who had passed through the Lizerne hell could imagine the impression caused by the idea of returning to it.
All day long, the cannon had been roaring, making the window-panes rattle. A few shells had come as far as our farm and killed a Grenadier. I had seen him near the hedge. He was stretched on the ground, his skull broken in, his white face framed by the blood from his forehead. Not far from him the dry, ploughed ground had been lacerated. A man, spade in hand, was looking for the head of the shell.
Our departure took place in silence. In the dim light, our men's red badges stood out vividly. They went along in Indian file by a path in the wood. Their heavy tread could be heard as they crossed the footbridge. They marched on. The black farms, in the darkness, looked fantastic. There were hedges, rows of willow-trees, and desolate houses. The framework of only a few of these was still standing. Tiles cracked under our feet. Then there were paths on which our dark shadows fell side by side with the poplar trees. From time to time, we heard the clatter of a metal cup or a stealthy tread on the grass, like that of an animal going to the river at night. The moon shone very faintly and the stars looked like silver nails.
A few bullets sang round our ears. One of our fuses rushed into the darkness with a long, whistling sound. The white star stood out shining over the landscape and making it look elysian.
We now came to the trench, with its heaps of sacks and up-turned earth. The traces of the struggle were still visible. Whole trees had been felled down on the parapet and were now lying, split open, their beams in the air. We penetrated into a new domain, gliding along in the deep passages. From time to time a fuse came down with a greenish light and a graceful, curving movement. It lighted up the tops of the trees and then searched the coppices. The shadows moved about again, stretched themselves out and then again all was darkness, the darkness to which our eyes had once more to get accustomed. We saw some soldiers wearing blue coats among our men. They were the brave fellows of the 135th. We could scarcely distinguish them from the others. Theyhollowed out niches for themselves in the bank and crouched right down in these shelters, with their heads almost buried in the bank. They were therepêle-mêle, the dead and the living. Those who were sitting had their guns between their legs and were dozing. We knocked against one of them in passing.
"What's the matter?" he exclaimed. "Are we going to the assault?" And he was up and ready at once.
The tall outlines of the trees now stood out against the sky. We had reached the entrance of the communication trench. Just as we were crossing the little bridge, something luminous burst over us and we suddenly heard the fizzling of a storm of bullets. We had only just time to lie down flat and wait till the hurricane was over. The darkness then returned. One by one, we entered the labyrinth of mud and of crumbling parapets. A prop had been made out of the ruins of a farm-house, which had been razed to the ground. These ruins did not look like any other ruins. Among the dark coppices, the scattered stones looked like white patches.
Our shelter was composed of a number of small wooden boxes, half covered with earth. In the bluish light of night, our outlines looked enormous. The moon lighted up, with a vague gleam, this devastated space, where the shattered, broken-branched trees added their cataleptic attitudes to the general desolation. Around the shelters, many of which were no more than tangled rubbish, about fifteen dead bodies were lying crushed on the ground. In the background was the Lizerne Mill. A jagged outline could be seen standing out against the sky.
Our men were wandering about trying to find aplace. At the bottom of a hole, the yellowish light of a candle could be seen, but it was soon extinguished. The ambulance men were burying the nearest of the dead. The Chaplain, who looked like a dark shadow in the moonlight, offered up a prayer. It was in this spot that we were to live for the next three days.
Our men huddled together on planks of wood with a slight layer of straw. Each one rolled himself up in his blanket and wedged himself into his corner. Everyone was silent. Through the open door could be seen the pale blue of the sky with two stars shining in it. In the distance, the big cannons were booming all the time. We tried to go on sleeping as long as possible, stiff though we were. The sun had already risen. The square of the sky which could be seen through the open door had gradually become a square of light. Death had not come to us during the night.
The sun was warm and we lay down on the bare ground behind the shelter, like so many lizards. The kindly golden light chased away all bitterness and fatigue. Under our feet, the bodies which had only just been buried gave a sensation of elasticity to the ground. The full daylight took away the phantasmagorial appearance of everything, and our shelters appeared in their true aspect, wretched boxes, made of pinewood half covered with tufts of grass.
The ground all around us was hollowed out in enormous craters, several of which were quite close to us. A field all yellow with turnips in flower crowned the summit, the rest was nothing but brown earth.
A few men at work passed along by the hedge. One by one they ran along, bending nearly double. They passed near to us, making straight for the top ofthe hill. Little clouds of dust, made by bullets, kept rising at their feet. Their coats could be seen mingling with the yellowish-green of the turnip field. They then disappeared among the flowers.
Towards two o'clock the cannonading commenced. The seventy-fives thundered without ceasing. Our seven-fives accompanied them. Very soon the Germans began to do their part, and their tens exploded with a noise that rent the air. Next came the wild-beast yelling of the shrapnels rushing on to the batteries, the dull noise of the heavy block-trains, the whizzing of our own shells, which passed quite near to us and then went on rapidly to lacerate our enemies in their dens. Then came the bell-like sound of the English howitzers, the fantastical dance of the seventy-five shells, striking their wild chords on the trenches, the yelling whistle of the heavy shells which soon began to fall on the plateau. They exploded near to us, with a heavy crashing din. The rubbish whirled round in the air with harmonious songs. The bursting of certain German shrapnels was accompanied by a hubbub like the cries of wounded men. And then once more came the big shells. The sky was darkened by the clouds of black dust which rose up in the air like waterspouts.
The planks of wood were riddled with fragments. The cannonading then diminished and finally ceased. What was going to happen next? We listened anxiously and then, suddenly, a machine-gun was to be heard. This meant the assault, and our hearts were full of anguish. We looked out into the distance, straight in front of us, sure, however, that we should see nothing. Then, all at once, by the communication trench, a whole mass of wounded men arrived. Theywere pale and panting and many of them drenched to the bones.
"Oh the wretches, the wretches, they had us, Doctor! It was horrible. We had scarcely left the trench, when they mowed us down. Some of our men plunged into the water to save themselves, into that water over yonder, the stream, I don't know what you call it, and they have been drowned in that rot. Others who were wounded and were trying to get back into our lines were finished off by them, finished off, Doctor, by their machine-guns, men who were dragging themselves along on the ground."
The machine-gun was silent now. More and more wounded arrived, in little groups, pursued by the shooting. One of them had his face red with blood. There was blood and mud everywhere, and on all sides moans of pain. One poor fellow was sitting in a hole, with bullets in both feet and his arm shattered. He was holding his arm as one holds a baby, rocking it and uttering incomprehensible things, as he shook his head. There were about forty lying either at the back of the shelters or inside,pêle-mêle, amongst our men. They gradually became more calm and were quiet. Those who could go on farther started off one by one. The one who had been crying was now shivering in a corner. The darkness came on again gradually. The assault of the 135th had failed.
In the night, the dance began once more, and this time, through the chinks, we could see the red light of the explosions. Suddenly a shell made a breach over our heads.
"Is anyone hit?" we asked.
"No one," came the reply.
Another one came presently, and then others. Weheard them fall and the ground shook. We tried to go to sleep, but, with our hearts beating fast and our limbs cramped, sleep would not come. More shells arrived. We thought they were exploding farther away, but no, that one was nearer. Then another farther away and, after this, silence again. We were tired of hoping against hope and we all pulled our blankets up and covered our faces.
The dawn was slow in coming. There were no more illusions possible for us. As long as the Germans were on this side of the water, life would be unbearable for us. And yet it was a beautiful day and a bird was singing on the broken branch of a tree. It was so good to be alive!
Thanks to the shells round here, the graves were ready made. We put the Grenadiers and French who were in the neighborhood into them. Our domain was very limited, and was skirted on every side by death. Presently breakfast was served, bread and jam, cold coffee in aluminium goblets. These were the usual rations, for we had to live in spite of everything. We yawned as we looked out and saw the thin brown lines of the German trenches in front of us.
In the afternoon, the aëroplanes were flying about over our heads in the blue sky, and presently the azure road was riddled with white spots. We were all watching them, but we soon had to go in and take shelter, as the splinters fell about with a whirring sound. One of our machines then appeared in pursuit of the others and this was intensely exciting for us. It rushed along like a bird of prey, but unfortunately its victim had time to escape ... and so the time passed.
Once more the dance began, and the noise, this time,was formidable and uninterrupted. Again the big shells tore up the ground near us, flinging into the air enormous clouds which hid the light from us. The rubbish fell down like rain, the ground trembled, and our huts shook. The next one came along with a terrible, hissing sound, and then another and another. We wondered whether the cannon would never cease again. For days now, we had heard it like this. At last there was silence once more. We could scarcely believe it at first. The backs of our necks ached and our ears were on the alert. What was the meaning of this wonderful silence? We could not hear the machine-gun. Well, then ... our assault must have succeeded.... We could not believe this. It was too good to be true. In spite of everything, our breasts were swelling with joy and the men burst out singing theMarseillaise.
Oh, if we could only know what had happened! Presently a soldier came our way.
"What's the news?" cried out our men. He looked at us in a dazed way, holding his metal cup in his hand.
"News of the assault?" he said. "It's been put off."
It was night and, on the Steenstraete side, there was a house in flames, throwing huge red lights on the sky. The fuses, with their ideal colouring, rose silently again in the air with their gentle curves. Our long serpents, with their golden spangles, rushed out into the darkness, letting a star of pale light fall in the air.
By gliding along, from shell hole to shell hole, it was possible to get as far as the mill. In the communication trench, a dark, crushed, charred body had sunk down. Farther on, there were paving stones that had been torn up and rubbish, from all sides, that had accumulated. The hillock was torn open and the opening led out to the light night. The shadows here were motionless and the very things looked dead. It was absolute solitude, a terrible picture of war, the strange domain of fear.
Of the five shelters, only one was intact. Two of them were nothing but heaps of planks. The ear was now accustomed to all the noises; it had learnt to know when danger was near and every sound had its own special significance in our minds. Every afternoon the action began again, it was always the same thing. Weariness made our heads and limbs seem heavy. Life was passing by in this way now. From time to time, delegates went to the different companies, bending down almost double, tricking danger.
In the shelters, a fool was telling extraordinary tales, tales of riotous life and of quarrels. Everyone laughed. His face was all awry, but he would not upon any account laugh himself. There was a red-haired young man there, too, with long hair. He was pale and sickly. He was listening anxiously to all the sounds outside. Why in the world did he think so much of his life. He began arguing when it was his turn to start and then rushed out into the danger, as though his fate were a thing of great importance. We are all of us like that.
Some of the men were asleep, others were eating, and a fierce-looking Grenadier was polishing the head of a shell.
As a matter of fact, we could really have lived therea long time, it was only a question of habit and custom.
To our right, the big green shells kept bursting fairly regularly on a group of houses. Farther on, shell-mines kept falling. No one paid any attention to these now. They came at their own sweet will on our side. Suddenly, a long, dark mass was to be seen rushing along and turning round and round above a roof. Was it a man that had been flung into the air? No, it was a shell that had not exploded and which had bounded again on to the footpath. The darkness came over us for the third time. It slowly changed the luminous tints of the sky into pastel-like grey harmonies, which grew slowly fainter and ended in darkness.
Suddenly, red fuses were flung into the air. An attack had begun. In a few seconds, all the cannons were thundering together. The German shrapnels exploded four at a time in a luminous mass of absinthe green, in the centre of which were red balls. They rent the air with a huge noise. The seventy-fives rushed out yelling. In the distance, their sudden flames were like gigantic will-o'-the-wisps. A machine-gun could now be heard, and then a second one, and a third. Some soldiers of the 418th passed along in close file, dressed in pale blue which mingled with the darkness. Their bayonets glittered in the green light of the fuses, and then again, with mad yells, the "big" shells appeared on the plateau, flinging into the air opaque clouds which gathered round us. Gun firing could be heard crackling all along the line. An immense brazier had been lighted at Lizerne. It grew bigger and bigger. And among the piles of dark night clouds, above Steenstraete in flames, a blood-red moon arose.
CHAPTER XXXV
Steenstraete
(May 25, 1915)
By Dr. Duwez, Army Surgeon to the Regiment of Grenadiers
By Dr. Duwez, Army Surgeon to the Regiment of Grenadiers
At Steenstraete, the upheaval, the absolute destruction of everything is formidable. The very places where the houses stood are only recognisable by the heaps of broken bricks of their foundations. There was not much left when we arrived in the Sector, but, at present, there is not even one stone upon another. Everywhere there are craters hollowed out, and these are so close together that they run into each other. In one of these, a German corpse could be seen, standing up, buried up to his waist and headless. Pieces of uniforms were visible in the beaten soil, and, as the ground gave way, one saw a face under one's feet, the shape of which was vaguely outlined and the mouth, with its white teeth, was open like a rat hole.
We saw what had been the brewery with its huge cellars. It had fallen completely in. We could only recognise the road by its torn-up pavement and its twisted rails. Of all Steenstraete, there is nothing left, it has been razed to the ground. The bridge is nothing but a wretched heap of old iron.
The Steenstraete Bridge! Names and sites, likepeople, acquire their titles of nobility. At present, the Algerian sharp-shooters are guarding the bridge. In order to go forward, we had to disturb the sentinels who were lost in thought near their battlements. We had to climb over the sleeping soldiers, too. Some of them had hollowed out alcoves in the earth and they were almost buried in them. Others had stretched their tents out on the stakes and they were sleeping in the square of shade which this afforded. They rather blocked the way for the patrol's rounds. Their greenish yellow uniform was almost the colour of the ground. Here and there, the red of achéchiacap gave relief to the colouring. Bayonets could be seen everywhere, glittering in the sunshine. They had acrapouillot, a bomb-thrower and a German machine-gun, all this among the battery, together with sacks of earth, dry mud, and the ruins of walls which formed the trenches. Thecrapouillotseemed to be crouching down, whilst the machine-gun and the bomb-thrower stretched their necks forward in the direction of the enemy. Here and there, the green and yellow bags, which the Germans had left behind them, reminded us of the recent occupation. It was a tranquil moment, for the cannon was silent.
Under the ardent sun, with the dry mud colour which pervaded everything, the outlines of the Algerian sharp-shooters, their bronzed complexions and their eagle-like profiles reminded one of an Oriental street.
One can have no idea of modern warfare without having seen the ground all torn up by shells and hollowed out in all directions by trenches, with the old communication passages of the Germans cutting ours perpendicularly. Houses, the road, gardens,fields are all mixed up in one mass of ruin and broken earth. It is no use expecting to find here that comfort which embellishes calmer war zones; it is useless to look for tombs all regularly arranged and covered with grass, each one with a cross, on which the dead man's name is written in white letters.
Here and there, in this region, a rusty bayonet emerges, and on it is a tattered military cap. Two sticks joined together to form a cross may also be seen now and then, but that is all. And yet, under this ground, there are heaps and heaps of dead bodies buried haphazard. The sharp-shooters have taken some of them for consolidating their parapet. Cellars fell in burying their occupants. On every side there are whiffs of strong odours. The ground moves under our feet and whenever one treads in muddy puddles, this odour is still stronger. The wind of Death has passed. Everything is destroyed here, and even the grass does not grow again in such spots.
CHAPTER XXXVI
Lizerne
(June, 1915)
By Dr. Duwez, Army Surgeon to the Regiment of Grenadiers
By Dr. Duwez, Army Surgeon to the Regiment of Grenadiers
We were walking along the winding attack trench, skirting the Yperlée. It is a trench that gradually gets more and more shallow. Just where it ends, the dead bodies of two French soldiers were lying, their faces black and unrecognisable. Water was running over the injured thigh of one of them and his flesh was as red as his trousers. The brook among the wild grasses was full of rubbish of all sorts; and the tall trees sheltering it were either headless, or they had been mown down, and were lying shattered on the ground. Some of the branches had resprouted and the muddy brooklet, in which mouldy bread and tins of provisions were floating, continued to flow slowly on. Polluted, but glorious, it went on over crumbling tree trunks and improvised bridges, past earth shelters and mud banks towards archways that, in the distance, appear to be covered with flowers. It was flowing on towards that old gay, laughing valley, little known formerly, but which now bears the charming and terrible name of the "covered road of the Yperlée."
We then went along the other trench, in which are the tombs of many of our men. A foot could be seen emerging from the parapet, and everywhere was that odour that one can never forget, the odour that reveals the presence of dead bodies more distinctly than the sight of them.
We then went along the parallel one. It curves inwards near Lizerne and we crossed the road under the district-railway.
By dint of creeping, climbing, and running, we managed to reach the German trench which forms an arched circle on the other side of the village. It had been entirely overturned by the shells. We could see grey coats that had been left behind, stiffened legs emerging from the embankment, and cartridges. The houses, behind which the trench had been constructed, had fallen down, whole pieces of the walls together, but there was more character about them than those of Steenstraete, as they showed that they had been houses. The whole of the back of one house had fallen all in a piece. Under the ruins could be seen three dead bodies ofJoyeux,[13]their skulls crushed and covered with long, dull brown hair. I crossed the road and entered a little house, the general sitting-room of which was still intact. A Boche was lying there with his limbs stretched out, his face black, his nose flattened, and his eyes sunken. Flies had left their traces on his chin and cheeks. He had evidently been searched, as the buttons of his coat had been cut off, but he still had his boots on.
The whole hamlet was nothing but a heap of ruins. Guns, bayonets, beds of sacking, and belts were flung about everywhere. The dead could scarcely be distinguished from the ground which partially covered them. Shells had hollowed out holes everywhere and on returning from the other side of the road, I walked over half-buried corpses.
From where we were, we looked over the plain in the distance, the beautiful plain with its gentle undulations and its groups of trees here and there. It was quite green and looked so flourishing and lovely. We could see the brown line of our trenches and those of the Germans. Nearer to us, all the ground was furrowed with communication trenches, with elements of defence, with sacks of earth for fortification. It seemed as though enormous ants had devastated the beautiful garden of Flanders.
The sky was wonderfully blue. We could see it between the broken-up roofs, through the holes in the walls, between the branches of the rent trees, between the fragments of exploded barrels, which were spread out fan-shaped like palm leaves. The shrubs were already sprouting again over the ruins. Birds were singing in the midst of the silence, and the fields of turnips, which had gone to seed and which were flowering, formed big yellow patches among the corn.
And these were the places which had witnessed such hard fighting, the places over which avalanches of fire had swept. They were now given over to silence, and mankind there was nothing more than flattened carrion, almost in a state of deliquescence, only to be recognised by his colourless hair and by the blue or grey coat which covered him. And Nature, as we saw, was ready to cover everything up, Nature which never dies. In an instant, the products of so many centuries of civilisation had been annihilated there. But the space devastated, in spite of its extent,is remarkably limited, and only the works of man and man himself had suffered. The enemy was there and had seen us, for we were absolutely in the open. We were comparatively safe though for, near though we were, we were too small. Shells of 15 calibre began to be fired again at Lizerne. They fell with a great noise, sending columns of rubbish and clouds of black smoke into the air. We set off again, taking with us a German bayonet, achéchia, a shell fuse, and some yellow and purple pansies of rich colouring, which had flowered in the deserted gardens. We went back by the intricate trench passages. In a solitary shelter, by the side of one of these, a man belonging to the 418th was lying. We recognised him, thanks to his brown, ribbed velveteen trousers and his pale blue coat, with its two squares of vivid yellow on the collar. He was lying on his back and some open letters were on his chest. Some of his friends had fastened some papers on the entrance to the hole, giving his name. Standing there, bareheaded, in the glaring sunshine, we remained for a moment looking at this man, who, here alone, far away from his own people, had seen his moment of happiness and glory escape him for ever.