"No, you don't wish for our success," I cried. "Or at least not ardently enough. You are the victim of your standpoint. For months now you have been repeating in your lectures and articles that you knowGermany inside out; that she is powerful and irresistible; that the future of Europe lies with her while we merely represent a past about to vanish. Ever since the beginning of the campaign you've been waiting, with bowed head, for your prophecies to be fulfilled. I can imagine you warning your companions that 'that will not last,' whenever any good news arrives, and saying, 'I told you so!' at each setback. And if you regret it as a Frenchman, which is quite possible, it's quite obvious that as a philosophical witness you unconsciously rejoice. You misrepresent the reality. Your vision is warped. You immediately look at the worst side when endless possibilities are open to you. Do you wonder that the future looks black to you in such circumstances? But the most annoying part is that you demoralise those around you. I implore you to make an effort. Try to be impartial and honest. Consider all the signs in our favour to-day."
I continued. I was speaking quickly, overcoming the obscure embarrassment which usually paralyses me, when it is a question of holding the attention of an audience. I let my conviction burst forth. I poured out the arguments I had collected in an imperious flood. By expressing them I discovered in them fresh truth and amplitude. Far from becoming involved and detracting from each other, they grouped themselves into harmonious chains.
I extolled the morale of the troops; that morale at which we all expressed ourselves surprised, and Fortin most of all. Surprised? Why not say exalted? Behind us the nation gave proof of its indomitable spirit. I laid stress upon the superiority of our generals; the young blood introduced in high places,the incapables placed on the retired list; and the prodigious problem represented in a retreat of those dimensions when the whole line must keep in touch, and never cease for an instant to harass the enemy.
I suddenly shifted my ground, and reverted to the international situation which I ventured to depict in broad and summary terms. The Triple Alliance disintegrated. Austria beaten and occupied in decimating her Tchek troops. Italy, non-committal, had perhaps already made up her mind to intervene, but on our side to save her children in the Trentino, and in Trieste; the Balkans, waiting silently in the darkness, like a bird of prey, for the death rattle of the first to be conquered, to claim a share of the carcass. Turkey keeping at a respectful distance. On our side the Russian giant only inaugurating the effort which he was capable of increasing for months and years. The English contributing their incontestable mastery of the seas, the omnipotence of their gold, the land forces fed by their insular and colonial reservoirs. Belgium and Serbia, little nations with unquenchable spirits—yonder on the other surface of the globe, the Land of the Rising Sun throwing its weight into the balance. The world, in fact, in coalition against the insolent race which aimed at hegemony without in any way justifying it.
At first they had listened to me with a smile as if it were an excellent joke. Little by little the incredulous curl to their lips died away. Fortin repeatedly punctuated my remarks with "Exactly, exactly!"
A last allusion on Laraque's part to my reputation for "having people on" fell flat.
I gaily ventured on new developments. I lost sight of myself. I became really inspired. It intoxicatedme to attain to such unlooked-for ardour. I do not remember quite what I said. I know that my comrades, with half-opened lips and eyes fixed on mine, hung on my words, and that for the first time in my life I endured all these gazes bent on me without false shame.
Our side was that of Justice, of international fidelity, and respect for treaties, of Morality, written or unwritten. I was not afraid of bringing up these popular commonplaces, and I clearly dissociated our cause, even from that of the Allies. We were the only nation with completely unsullied hands, and peace-loving hearts. We were the only ones who, drawn into the struggle against our will, in bearing the heaviest burden, were fighting for our very existence. I asked them to think what the French mind meant to the world, what would be missing in the progress of humanity in the future if we let ourselves be overcome. We were not only defending our immediate interests, but a certain smiling Reason, a certain completed and definite genius whose secret to-day we alone possessed. It was a decisive conflict. Fortin was right about that. If we were conquered again this time, we should always be. It would mean that our name would be scratched off the list of leading nations, our colonies sacrificed, three or four provinces torn from our Mother-country, who in future would fall a prey, every ten years, to the appetites of the conqueror.
The end of France was what the aggressors wanted. To extinguish this blazing hearth of liberty and light, to smother this ringing voice continually calling the nations to the realisation of themselves, and to those in power to respect the down-trodden.
Ah, my friends, what an hour it was to strain our faculties, to prove ourselves worthy of our humbler brothers who were showing such self-sacrifice and instinctive heroism! We others ought to be strengthened by our education. I dared to plead the memories of the soil which bore us. I evoked the rolling uplands of Champagne where we had lingered yesterday and where we might return again, summoned by the melancholy accents of the guns. How many battles had been fought and won there by men of our blood! They were the Catalonian fields, where, at the dawn of our history, the hordes of barbarians already issuing from Germany had spent themselves against the vigour of the Gauls, the allies of Aetius. And was it not just a few miles away, on the hills and in the valleys which to-morrow's prodigious engagement would perhaps gain for the enemy, that the astonishing episodes in the French campaign had been enacted, a hundred years ago! Champaubert, Sesanne, Montmirail, and again Meaux and Moret. It was there that our fathers, children of sixteen, the last class eligible for mobilisation, had held out for weeks, flying from one valley to another, inflicting defeat after defeat on an enemy five times more numerous, on the European coalition! And we, after a long peace, well-taught, well-led, animated with the breath of civism—should we not find a way to hurl back over our frontiers the enemy whom Napoleon had trodden under his heel?
I was afraid to end up with a high-flown tirade. I uttered my closing sentences in a softer voice, as if out of breath. I was still quivering and, with my eyes on the ground, I threw some pebbles from one hand to the other, backwards and forwards.
There was a silence. Laraque broke it with a joke. "An aeroplane!" he announced. And it was a hawk! Other frivolous remarks followed. Suddenly chilled, I asked myself whether my words had missed fire.
I had no more fear about it a moment afterwards, as we went back to billets—slight, striking indications—they all had more life in their movements, something firmer in their tones.
Fortin had murmured: "I think Dreher's right."
We were just about to disperse near our school, when some cavalry turned out of a side street. We saluted the officer at their head, a colonel. He urged his mount towards us:
"Hi, there, you foot-sloggers, read that!"
He held out a paper, which Fortin handed to me without a word.
Why me? I hesitated about unfolding it. The others shouted: "Yes, yes, give it to Dreher, that's it!"
I felt as if I were in a dream. At the first glance I understood. A proclamation signed "Joffre."
I said: "Call the others!"
The signal had already been given. A torrent of men flowed in from all the different companies. There was a bench just by. I got up on to it. From there I dominated the crowd which was gathering round me in increasing numbers. Soon half the regiment was there, and some passers-by joined on. There were shouts of: "Listen! Listen!" Then a dead silence.
I began to read, subconsciously approving the way in which I raised my voice and scanned each syllable. It was the famous order of the day, which has so often been reproduced since then.
"At the moment in which a battle is beginning upon which the fate of the nation hangs.... Troops which can no longer advance must be killed where they stand rather than give ground."
Not a syllable escaped me. Not a soul asked for it to be read again. A ripple ran over this dumb throng. I jumped to the ground, and got lost in the crush. What intuition urged me to make a dash for our billets? Hardly had I crossed the threshold—how quickly things happened!—before a whistle was blown.
Humel, who was corporal of the day, ran by like a flash. "Come along! On with your pack!"
"Are we off again?"
"That's it!"
Guillaumin appeared.
"Off we go!"
De Valpic was the next to turn up: "You read that splendidly!"
I soon noticed a sort of irresolution among the men, due to surprise more than anything else. Start again! When they thought they were going to have several days' rest! And they had felt so sure that there would be no more fighting in the open for them!
Some of them had instinctively gathered round me: Judsi, Bouillon, Corporal Bouguet, Icard, and Gaudéreaux. They were puzzled, too, but only asked to have things explained. They asked me about the paper that I had read out. Several of them had not been there.
"We'll have it again for you!"
This time I choked with emotion at the last lines. I added:
"Look here! The Bosches think we're not worthtaking into account. They think we're safely shut up in the camp. We're going to fall upon them in the rear!"
Their faces suddenly cleared.
"Good biz!" said Judsi. "Wot a lark! Lor', the blighters! Wot a biff we'll give 'em!"
It was like a fuse followed by an explosion of gaiety. Some of the men were already buckling on their packs, and others pulling on their boots and doing them up. Bouguet began to sing at the top of his voice:
We don't care a blow!Tra-la-la-la.We don't care a blow!
Lamalou spoilt his effect.
"Wot do you mean, 'don't care a blow'?"
They went on getting ready to a chorus of jests. They might have been starting off for a holiday.
Directly I was fully equipped, I went out and was one of the first to get into the avenue. I could not master the transport which swept me off my feet, at the thought of going into action. Of taking the offensive again! The captain must have second sight—and the time was not past. Our chance was intact, indeed, increased. Heavens! All that I had hoped for was coming to pass. Let me confess my vanity, my childish simplicity. I was actually under the delusion that if our luck was turning, it was my reward, for having drawn myself out of the pit to help others.
And was I so very much mistaken? Was I not responsible for a small share in this immortal decision?Would our leaders have taken such a risk—it was a bold move!—if those waves of faith and enthusiasm, which a few of us had raised, had not spread from our watchful quarters right away to them?
BOOK IX
September 7th-9th
CHAPTER XVI
FINAL ANTICIPATION
Westarted that evening from Rosny-sous-Bois, and spent part of the night in the train, slipping along at an indolent pace. We had not the least idea where we were being taken to. During the last hour, the rumble of the guns began to make itself heard. We were rolling slowly towards it.
The day was breaking when we got out of the truck. A lot of men had dozed, and had puffy faces, and dirty tongues.
There was a persistent rumour that if we stopped in the open country, it meant that the line was cut. There was a station not far off; Ducostal bicycled to it and told us when he came back that it was Nanteuil-le-Haudoin.
The colonel held a consultation with his officers.
Henriot was rather pale when he reappeared. He took me aside and told me in confidence that they had just been introduced to a regulation concerning them. All commanders of units whose men showed signs of faltering "would be held personally responsible."
He sounded me.
"Do you think that means that we should—be shot?"
"Exactly! You're lucky to have a platoon like ours!"
"That's true," he said, regaining his self-possession.
I added: "While the first—for instance!"
"Well, well?"
I stopped, and did not give him my reasons.
Playoust had left us, when we started from Neuilly. Surprised by the sudden order transferring him to the ammunition train, he swaggered as he went off. What an escape! He was sure to get through all right now! We had not had the courage to refuse to shake hands with him. Only Guillaumin had warned him:
"Don't you keep us short of ammunition, or you'll hear about it!"
The troop train which had brought us shunted and made way for the next one which disgorged the fifth battalion. The same thing was going on in front of us and behind us. We must be detraining in force, the whole division apparently.
It was about six o'clock when we started off again towards the village lying about a mile and a half away. The guns boomed incessantly behind the rising ground near by. It was only a few hours since Nanteuil had been evacuated by the enemy. I expected the same vision of destruction and smoking ruins which had appalled us so many times near the Meuse. No. The houses were standing and intact; but they had certainly taken their share of plunder. I can recall a grocery shop which had been ransacked. The contents of sacks, drawers, boxes, and bottles, too, formed a swamp on the tiles, into which the shop-woman,when she left her counter—I am not exaggerating—sank up to her waist.
A foul smell hung about. We had not been spoilt, as may be imagined, in the way of odours, since the beginning of the campaign. Nothing had come anywhere near this, however. The Bosches had left their nauseous traces when they went. It was the same thing everywhere—a manifestation of theirKultur!
The rare inhabitants who had stayed, not more than a hundred all told, who greeted us on the pavements, had only one expression for them, which they repeated between their cheers:
"Ah, the swine!"
We halted for a short time at the entrance to a square. Kind women brought us wine (goodness knows how they had managed to keep it), and other people took us to their homes with them.
I let myself be persuaded, but soon came back, sickened. The state of filth in which the Huns had left these houses was totally indescribable in polite language. It made me feel extremely ill—the hogs!—but ourpoiluswere more inclined to laugh.
For all that no great crimes seemed to have been committed. One matron holding a little boy of five by the hand was shrieking that one of the brigands had held the barrel of his revolver to his temple. But judging by the round and rosy appearance of the kid, a stupid-looking child, not much harm had been done.
We started off again. Another old dame hobbled after us with a tale of some terrible tragedy. They'd had the cheek to commandeer her donkey, and to make it work all day; the poor animal was simply wornout! They harnessed it to a furniture van! And then in the evening—to end up with—they had shot, skinned, and roasted it!
Judsi thought it all a farce, and laughed in the old woman's face:
"A relation of yours, was it?"
She fell behind, in a fury, calling us good-for-nothings.
We followed a paved street, then a cross-road, till we came to a wood. We went into it and piled arms.
I sat down with my back against a tree, while Guillaumin and the subaltern went off into the thicket. De Valpic came and joined me:
"I believe things will go all right this time," he said.
I repeated my conversation with the captain. Jove, the man's powers of divination could not be exaggerated, but he might be mistaken in——
"The miracle of this war is at hand," De Valpic continued. "I'm convinced of it." His eyes shone. He murmured: "You'll see it—you'll see it all right."
"And why not you?"
He shook his head. "No. I—I shall stay there."
"Nonsense!" I upbraided him. What was this childishness? He was no more exposed than I was, or any of us for that matter! Why give up hope like this?
He stopped me. "Just think a minute. Isn't it the best thing that could happen to me?"
"Got as far as that?"
"How do you mean 'as far as that'?"
He had a fit of coughing which brought colour into his cheeks and tears into his eyes. "When one has—faith!" he said, "it is less horrible—in fact it is nothorrible. What about you, Dreher? Have you never been a believer?" he asked.
"Yes," I said. "My mother was very religious. I was brought up in those ideas. I remember that at my confirmation my one wish, just think of it, was to become a priest or missionary. I kept on going to mass and that sort of thing for some years; but since then—no, that's all over. But I can quite understand people believing."
De Valpic shook his head. "How can unbelievers bear the idea of death?"
"There's nothing to be done but fly from it."
"Impossible!" He lowered his voice. "For me, for instance——!"
I did not know what to say.
He continued: "Of course if one thought of death as annihilation in the dark, if one thought that nothing, nothing would survive of this substance, that one was—Ah! How dream of that without terror! I can understand shutting one's eyes to it then. And, on the other hand, it seems to me that to live without thinking of death, and without thinking of it often, is to blind oneself, to renounce all broad and free judgment. How well religion provides for all that! What courage it gives to the dying, as well as to the living! And is not all wisdom resumed in this: to give courage to man?—I was talking to you of my fiancée yesterday; she believes. Otherwise would she have continued to be engaged to me when she knew I was ill, and would she have let me go, expecting that I should not come back?" He smiled. "I don't want to preach to you, Dreher, but as you once were one of us, let me remind you that the God in whom we hope is just. Because our people's hope, throughout theages, has been in Him; because our nation has been the elder daughter of His Church, I believe that His hand is upon us. Will He allow us to succumb? No. Listen! This miracle I was talking about—at heart you expect it just as I do—if I have entire confidence in it, it is because I believe in the existence of an order superior to man; in a Providence, if you will, that will not allow the accomplishment of such iniquity. Our country will be saved because she will deserve to go on living. How good it is to fight, when one does not feel that one is fighting amidst the cold concatenation of phenomena, but in the conviction that a supreme tutelary force upholds and directs our efforts."
I considered him as he sat there with his chin in his hands and black lines under his eyes. So he had been through the deep waters at the beginning, when he had had to tear himself away from the hope of human happiness. Now he was resigned to it. He was not lying when he said that he looked forward to his certain end, which was so near at hand, without horror. His glorious smile retained confidence in the future beyond the grave. It was only a relative end, a transition whose anguish was attenuated since he was sure of living again with those whom he loved.
Oh, the consolation in religion! This association of well-worn words recovered its full meaning in my eyes. Nothing but faith could raise man to such abnegation. The profound and primitive instinct, an instinct comparable to love in its folly and grandeur!
I was tempted, for a moment, to admit that that also was being reborn in me. And then, no—no! I assured myself that I had been separated from it beyond return, by my reading and speculations. This past would never blossom again. At least Irecalled the memory of it with tenderness. For a long time I had thought myself rallied to the quizzical scepticism of Laquarrière and his like. How many ties still bound me to the unsophisticated child that I had been. I would have the sons that Jeannine gave me brought up in the lap of Catholicism, too. Neither their mother nor I would take any steps to convert them to pitiless reason too soon. Like us they might, later on, be led away by the trend of modern thought and forsake religion, but their stay in its realm would leave them like me with respect for the Illusion reflected in certain eyes.
Guillaumin came to tell us that it would not be long before we started, the regiment next us was on the move. "What a glorious day!" he exclaimed.
The eight o'clock sun was slipping through the tracery of the branches on to the leaves grown rusty at the approach of autumn. The air was mild and warm. Swarms of midges were flying about. We caught the hum of mosquitoes' wings, but they did not sting. The men were rolling about on the moss; our Parisians conjured up the delights of the Bois de Verrières.
We all three went to the edge of the little wood. De Valpic stretched out his arms and drank in the health-giving air, soaked with light.
"Ah! How good it is!" he said. "How one lives here! How one realises—too late—that one was ill-suited for living in towns, that one would have done better in beautiful country like this!"
Guillaumin laughed. "A little flat, this country. It's certainly not up to Argonne!"
"My dear chap, don't talk like a snob. Just put your prejudices aside for a moment, and take a look."
De Valpic playfully made us admire the trees, the play of the sunlight and the breeze, the immense vista on the right, over a sea of waving corn, and down below those wooded islets, outposts of the deep forests which, we knew, dominated the surrounding country. The sweetly named Île de France, the land of plenty and of poetry—the most pleasant climate in the world. Senlis and Compiègne, a few miles away—Jean Jacques' Ermenonville gracious legends spring from this soil. Not far off Gérard de Nerval had sung of Sylvia.
His playfulness was not assumed. We listened to him captivated. I tasted in his conversation a sort of funereal charm. I felt as if I were listening to Socrates conversing with his disciples as he drank the hemlock.
The air was filled with whirring sounds. We had a vivid and fleeting vision of two aeroplanes, a French one and a Taube, passing over our heads, struggling for height and speed, engaged in a duel to the death, both of them armed with machine-guns which crackled under the open sky.
They were just on the point of vanishing when suddenly the German one dipped. The pilot was no doubt hit. The wings folded and it dropped like a stone.
"A good omen!" Guillaumin exclaimed.
Twenty minutes afterwards we started.
CHAPTER XVII
WE TAKE UP OUR POSITION
A magnificentlymonotonous memory, our march that day. It lasted from nine o'clock in the morning until six o'clock at night. Its scene was a vast tableland, completely exposed, fields of beetroot alternating with fields of corn and oats. The harvest had been got in nearly everywhere. There were groups of stacks by the roadside.
Directly we came out of the woods, we were marked by the hostile artillery. Their object was to stop us at any price by theirtirs de barrage. The rumbling went on all day without a pause. It is impossible to give any idea of the horror of it. By midday, everyone of us was deaf.
The diabolical jaws of the horizon! Big and little German guns were talking. Our 75's retorted—rather feebly, it is true. The distance must have been too great, and apparently did not silence a single one of the enemy's batteries.
This plain was a hell, a hell: iron and fire, every imaginable peril, a conspiracy of the elements. To begin with, there was a continuous flight of Teuton aeroplanes above our heads, dropping bombs of different kinds, which fell with a muffled sound. The din of the big "coal-boxes," the shriek of the 77's, thethunder-clap of explosions, and the columns of tainted smoke staking out the ground.
Our regiment went on advancing; so did one on our right and one on our left, and others farther away. Our soldiers were swarming as far as eye could see, a calm and regular deployment. We marched for a long time by platoons, in columns of four; then by platoons two deep; and at last in skirmishing order; each officer, each N.C.O., each connecting file in his place. The silence and impeccable order were in striking contrast with the blind fury of the projectiles. Mind against matter.
All our men had realised the solemnity of the task. Three quarters of them were experienced heroes, who had already fought ten times; the rest were raised to the same moral level by virtue of their surroundings. There could be nothing more impressive than this sustained and irresistible advance, under shell fire, of thousands and thousands of men who never fired a single shot.
By a miracle, our casualties, on the whole, were not very severe. What unflagging inspiration was shown by our leaders of all ranks! Imperceptible, serpentine movements protected each unit in turn from the mortal line of fire. How many times did we see a broadside of four "coal-boxes" fall just where we had been hardly thirty seconds before, or else where we would have been but for a fortunate zigzag! What hazard protected us? I protest that one was tempted to bow before a Providence, like De Valpic. The men betrayed this feeling, murmuring:
"We are blessed!"
We advanced at the double, lay down and got up again, just as at manœuvres. What am I saying?Better than that. We kept our intervals and direction with incredible exactitude. There was not a straggler or funk among us. All honour to these proud troops, these splendid soldiers! They are dead—dead, nearly all of them. They appeared to feel, in the vague intuition of their flesh, in the vibration of the nourishing air, that their end, even if they survived to-morrow's sanguinary triumph, was inscribed on the pages of the disastrous winter or the fatal spring to come. There was no sadness or despair, but something indescribably resigned and shy crept into their gait. Joking was out of date. Judsi himself had put a damper on his animation. We kept on and gained ground. At one point—the wonders could not be repeated indefinitely—a singlerafaleon our left mowed down about forty men. We did not slacken our pace—hardly turned our heads.
We went on in a rising tide, and I thought how the sight of this inexorable multitude rolling towards them, like God's judgment, must strike terror into the hearts of the enemy's gunners.
At the end of the day we neared a wood. I was very much afraid lest the hostile infantry might be hidden there, watching for us. Those barricades of trees looked most suspicious. Our reconnoitring patrol went on ahead of us. I trembled for their safety. The rest of us lay down and waited in an agony of fear. Not a shot was fired. What a relief it was when the wood turned out to be unoccupied—by living men, at all events.
When we, in our turn, penetrated into it, we found it strewn with dead bodies. What a struggle must have raged there during the last few days! Therewas not much undergrowth, which made it propitious for hand-to-hand fighting. The scene was re-enacted in my mind. The Bosches about to continue their defensive organisation, surprised by the attack of the rifle brigade—our dead bore this uniform. The furious onslaught with the sword. We had driven them back at the point of the bayonet and massacred them wholesale. In advancing, we came upon heaps of Germans. We had lost a great many men, too, but they had cleared the way for us. We were duly grateful to them and the men stepped carefully and reverently over their remains as they advanced in single file.
"Pore old chaps!" sighed Icard. "You're havin' a rest now and it's our turn to do the swottin'."
Evening was falling. We had not gone more than three hundred yards after leaving the wood, when we halted. We were warned to make the best of the position. A certain sector was allotted to us, and we were told that we must hold it all the next day. Hold it only? Guillaumin looked at me and pulled a face. What we wanted to do was to get on. The Big Push was what we were out for. He urged me to question the captain on the situation, as I was on such good terms with him. I refused. A little occurrence which had taken place that morning was still rankling in my mind. I had thought I might be permitted to ask our company commander whether the enemy was far off. Ribet had heard me all right, but had not deigned to answer. He had looked through me as if I did not exist, and then called his orderly. That meant—what? Simply that the captain intended to be familiar only when it suited him. I had been annoyedand offended. I should let him make the advances, next time!
The lieutenant seemed embarrassed by the task entrusted to him. As we were occupying the edge of a wood the temptation was great to make use of the resources at hand—the trees for instance. Henriot bustled about and had the saws got out; then asked me whether there was not some way of getting hold of some petard of melinite to put round the big trunks. He spoke too loudly. Thepoilussnorted when they heard him. Nobody felt inclined to undertake such a piece of work which would have lasted all night. And then, we were so certain to leave it all behind when we charged to-morrow.
Some time was lost in bandying words. We had been there for half an hour when the captain came up.
"Not begun yet?"
Henriot began to unfold his plan. Ribet cut him short, after the first words.
"You're quite off the mark! The edge of a wood! Do you imagine we're going to settle down at the edge of a wood—a line which is sure to be especially marked? You wouldn't have a man left. Take two or three hundred yards in front there. Exactly! And now dig me some good trenches!"
"Deep ones, sir?"
"That's your lookout. You must arrange that. Let your men do the best they can—and remember that you may be attacked any minute."
He went on. His tall silhouette disappeared behind the bushes.
Covered by a new patrol party, we chose a piece of ground of the length indicated. Night had come. The stars shone out one by one. The cannonade wasdiminishing in intensity. The long beams of the searchlight were probing the dark sky in all directions.
And now to our task. Guillaumin and I wielded spades ourselves, but the work did not get on fast, in spite of our efforts to hasten it. The men were lazy. They had made so many of these trenches in the Meuse and in Argonne which were never used at all.
At the end of an hour we had a ditch only a yard wide at the most, and not deep, allowing just enough room to fire kneeling down. We had to be content with it.
CHAPTER XVIII
THE FIRST IMPACT
Whatmade me a little anxious was the need for sleep manifest in nearly everyone. Sentries were to relieve each other in definite order—but what guarantee was there? In another hour all these men, who were yawning now, would be snoring!
I myself was dying to go to sleep. In view of the gravity of the situation I encouraged myself in the idea of going the rounds every hour. But the lieutenant came to find us and told us of his intention of mounting guard himself. He asked us, in a friendly way, to do the same on our side. We three between us would ensure the safety of the sector.
We must needs bow to necessity. I was tempted to admire Henriot; he showed the vigilance of a real leader. Then I smiled. It was no doubt the effect of the minute received that morning concerning responsibilities.
What an interminable vigil that was. The men slept like logs, including, to begin with at all events, several of the sentries. I can answer for it that I shook them in a way that made them sit up.
When I got back to the picket I had chosen, I had all I could do to keep awake myself. A helmet of lead seemed to encircle my temples. I had a headache and felt overpoweringly drowsy. I dozed offabout midnight, but not for long, luckily! The respite did me good.
Hour after hour passed by. It was a clear night, though the moon made only a late appearance. The landscape was lacking in any conspicuous features. There was nothing that caught one's eye right away to the horizon, which might be near or far.
It would not be long before daybreak. We were freezing where we stood. B-r-r! B-r-r-r! I shook myself and rubbed my shirt against my skin to warm myself. My attention had wandered.
Guillaumin suddenly appeared. I had not seen him coming.
He said to me:
"Not noticed anything?"
"No. Have you?"
"Yes, for the last few minutes.... I think there's something doing."
We strained our ears for a few thrilling seconds. Dead silence. Guillaumin admitted that he must have been mistaken, and apologised. But at this point Bouillon came crawling along in a hurry.
"Here come the Bosches. Look! Look!"
Yes. There was a moving line yonder, cutting across the pale grey of the stubble.
What orders would the lieutenant give? We went to look for him, quickly rousing thepoiluson our way. They got up, rubbing their eyes, and noiselessly seized their rifles at the order to stand to arms.
We met Bouguet on the way, equally on the alert. The whole platoon was breathless with excitement. We passed word along the line to our neighbours.
And what of Henriot? We ended by discovering the poor wretch, who had probably held out all nightagainst his weariness, overcome by it at last, and snoring away with his head on his arm.
Guillaumin shook with laughter.
"A lot of good all his trouble had been!"
He wanted to startle him by clapping him on the back. I objected. What was the good of humiliating him? I arranged to catch him with my elbow as I brushed past, and deferentially inquired as he moved:
"Is that what you would advise, sir?"
"What! What!" he said, opening his eyes.
"To send word to the captain."
He raised himself up to listen to us, and approved our suggestions.
It was like a moving film!... That dark silent line, that line of assailants at which we turned to look continually, which we imagined was still a long way off. The speed was suddenly quickened. There was a sound of galloping—which seemed quite near. I strained my eyes, my lips opened with a jerk. I took a step forward....
Henriot blew his whistle.
I can still hear the rip of that imperious salvo. A volley of shrieks answered it from the plain, and dispelled my shudders.
And the salvo grew more violent and rolled along the whole line of trenches. We saw nothing further: simply went on firing, sweeping the ground in front of us. I shouldered my rifle and discharged it distractedly, just as mad as the others. The crash and uproar rose and swelled and threatened.
It did not last more than a minute. The attack was badly carried out, or, at all events, sustained. It was an entire failure. Our firing persisted. Cries could still be heard, but of pain now, and also theinterjections of officers rallying their men. There were smothered moans and death-rattles. Our firing still continued. When it ceased nothing was moving on the plain and only an occasional guttural groan could be heard. When the dawn came we saw the stubble-fields strewn with bodies, some of them less than thirty yards away. They had fallen face foremost. The rest had been hit in flight. It was impossible to go and pick up even the dying. They must stay there all day, ghastly witnesses of the encounter.
It was broad daylight now.
Where had the enemy taken refuge? Probably behind one of those distant copses, unless they occupied trenches somewhere in this undulating plain which sloped gently away.
The German artillery was obviously anxious that we should not forget its presence. The avalanche of shells started again with terrific fury. Nothing but big "coal-boxes." Luckily all or nearly all of them roared over our heads to explode in the woods. Suppose we had stayed there!
The captain appeared towards seven o'clock and told us that we should be there for some time.
One pleasant surprise was the coffee, which was brought up from the rear by Fachard and Pomot, two cheery fellows who were seen coming along in the distance, smiling and fearless, gaily swinging their dixey. They had had to cross the zone of fire to get to us. When questioned, they admitted that they had had no orders. It was simply an idea of theirs to warm the lads up a bit. And they meant to go back. Fachard was no less a personage than thecolonel's cook. His duty called him. Oh no, that couldn't be allowed. Lamalou forbade them to move. The colonel and his stew would have to look after themselves. They weren't going to let lads like that get themselves pinked, not much.
The captain, who turned up again, began by giving the two cronies a good slanging. A piece of nonsense that might have drawn the fire on to us. Then he calmed down and asked if he might taste their famous coffee, and congratulated them on it.
Pomot took a fancy to our platoon and stayed with us. I talked to him, but did not get much out of him at first. The thing that had struck him most was a shell which had just killed two staff-officers. Oh, yes, and then he had heard that reinforcements had arrived. An important piece of news that. I pressed him—then he told me a fantastic tale which had got about of taxis having brought up Zouaves and Turcos and Foreign Legion men, all night, nothing but those frightful creatures from Africa! It seemed to me an unlikely tale, but I thought it worth spreading all the same. It gave the men a tremendous fillip.
"Them chaps knows the business end of a bayonet all right w'en they sees it!"
Some time passed. I was occupied in getting our trench made deeper. The men put their backs into it better than they had the day before. But the captain immediately gave orders to stop the work, not to attract the attention of the enemy's lookout men. Everyone appeared delighted. They only bemoaned the fact that they were forbidden to smoke.
The German shells fell unceasingly, with clumsy, obstinate precision, a few hundred yards behind us. Part of the wood was on fire and black smoke hungabove it. Sometimes when a shell fell near the edge of the wood leaves and branches could be seen spurting up, as at the kick of some huge monster.
It certainly was a rest for us. The crash of bursting shells no longer startled us. We had even given up ducking when the projectiles swished over our heads. The men were sitting or lying about in drowsy attitudes. Many of them were taking another nap. Aided by a natural feeling of indolence they ended by taking it for granted that this sort of fighting would last.
Another hour went by. I vaguely wished I could take some interest in the struggle. If only I had had a periscope or some field-glasses. I was too slack to go and borrow Henriot's. For a moment I experienced a kind of humiliation—was this all that would be required of us? Should we share in the glory of this victory without having earned it?—No one, up till then, doubted that it would be a victory—and leave the honour of the decisive attacks to those African devils? And then I must admit that this thought suddenly pleased me. I should get off easily and my friends too. Everything seemed to be turning out for the best. And De Valpic? Oh, he would recover.
Then, lulled by the deafening tumult of the cannonade, with my eyes half closed, I indulged in visions of a tender face. I wandered, enchanted, in the golden mists of the future....
CHAPTER XIX
HOLDING OUT
I wasaroused from these day-dreams by a hullabaloo. The men were on their feet shouting: "Here they come! Here they come!"
I tried to impose silence on them: so much waste breath. And I was infuriated by hearing shots being fired without any orders having been given.
I leaned on the parapet, but could see nothing. I shouted: "What in thunder are you shooting at?"
At that moment the well-known screeches lashed the air. I flung myself down. German bullets!
Bouillon said, below his breath: "The blighters! Their trenches weren't far off."
When their volley was over we looked for them. They must have lain down. I consulted Lamalou: "A thousand yards, do you think?"
"Eight hundred, not more."
I gave the men orders to correct their sight. They had all been firing at four hundred in their surprise.
A rumour spread that they were coming.
"Fire! Fire!"
This time we could see them. Quite a change! Nearly everywhere, at Tailly, Halles, and Beauclair we had had to fire at random. How often I had cursed their invisible uniforms! Here, again, this grey line melted into the ground tint.
Never mind. Our men fired rapidly and coolly. The others threw themselves down again and their projectiles forced us to crouch down in our turn.
"There are an awful lot of them, the dirty dogs!" Henriot said to me.
"As many as all that?"
"Yes. I've been using my field-glasses. And they advance shoulder to shoulder, looking as if they meant to swamp everything."
"Oh, well, we're here!" I said. But I glanced at our sparsely covered line. Had we reserves anywhere! It was to be hoped so, but until further orders, we had only ourselves to count on.
The enemy was gaining ground. However, discipline had soon been established among us. Each time the hostile mass moved, we "loosed off a belt." Everyone was cool and collected, no more panic like there had been at Mangiennes. Eachpoiluwas determined to get the most out of the good Lebel in his hands.
I went up and down, warning them not to waste ammunition. I watched Corporal Donnadieu for a few minutes. How would he manage with his mutilated hand? Well, he used nothing but his left hand to rest his rifle on. It grazed one of the stumps and forced him to stifle an exclamation of pain. He did not lose a single second in firing and recharging in spite of his puckered forehead and clenched teeth.
"Good for you, old chap," I said.
He did not answer, but his eyelashes fluttered.
Our trench lacked depth, the firing-steps were missing—a grave cause of fatigue. I reproached myself bitterly for our slackness the day before. If onlywe had taken the trouble to dig a little bit deeper, to fetch wood, and arrange loopholes.
The Bosches manœuvred skilfully. Some of them crouched down and facilitated their comrades' advance by firing. Then they took their turn at advancing while the others protected them.
There was nothing for us to do but to fire. Fire without ceasing for an instant, even under a hail of bullets. The men had realised this sanguinary obligation. There was no need for leadership. It was splendid to see them, taking aim without hurrying themselves over it, under the deadly torrent. The casualties began immediately. Trichet was the first to fall with a hole through his neck. A machine-gun of theirs had just begun to talk, and things were looking black in other ways. The shells which, for a long time, had been negligible, now began to find the range in the most alarming manner. The ground shook. Three men in No. 2 platoon had their heads taken off at a blow.
The enemy was drawing nearer, and was not more than about four hundred yards away now. I confess I was extremely miserable. Another quarter of an hour and they would be within charging distance. We should have to meet this human avalanche and we should not be one to their five.
I almost formed the cowardly wish that we might retire without waiting any longer. How agonising it was. We should certainly never be strong enough to withstand them. A wave of irritation rose in me against our artillery which was incapable of intervening at the right moment, having been completely annihilated by the heavy German batteries, and also against the superior military authorities who gave usno support. And I was paralysed by a sudden fear. We were using a lot of cartridges. Suppose our supplies were to give out! Playoust would be sure to be stopping ever so far behind with his waggons. What a ridiculous idea it had been to entrust him with that work.
The sight that gave me new strength just as I was feeling inclined to give way, and on the point of being false to all that I was and wished to be, was the attitude of the men. I can see them now taking aim and recharging, with their manly, straightforward, earnest faces. There was no confusion. They made admirable practise, their rifles leaping to their shoulders, or falling again in good earnest. What moral strength they showed! What a genius for resistance! How much their nerve had improved, and their courage increased during the last four weeks! It seemed to me that their virtue was, in part, my work, that my attempts at patient, serene exhortation were bearing their fruit. How grateful I was to them, my brothers. They were returning my lesson—not to argue, but to fight. To fulfil one's obscure duty. They were right. After all if we were to be killed at this spot in accordance with a higher scheme; if success were only to be won at this price!
The enemy were no longer making any progress. They had got to the point after which any further advance under fire is merely an act of heroic folly. Our losses were not very great—only two killed in the platoon and four or five wounded, among them Bouguet, who, with a shattered arm, had distributed his rounds of ammunition, and was standing up boldly and reporting on the slightest movements of our adversaries.
The Bosches had been badly cut up. We felt as if we were at a short practise range. After having fired at the mass as a whole for a long time we were now choosing our target. I remember a great lout who was running with large strides ahead of his companions. He got exactly into my line of fire. It was his destiny. I took aim, but he threw himself down in the stubble. I was patient enough to keep my rifle pointed at the spot where he had disappeared—it was a risky thing to do as the bullets were whistling round me. I waited anxiously for him to get up. He delayed and delayed. At last he moved. Then I pressed the trigger. Tac! My shot carried and he fell.
I shut my eyes, feeling strangely giddy. Yes. After five weeks' fighting, he was the first victim definitely attributable to me. Heavens! My inborn gentleness and that of my education were to end in this—in taking life! I had killed a man. A man with a mother and a wife. That handsome fellow. I thought of my friends in Thuringia, of Otto Kraëmer, sturdy and gentle.
"Wake up! What in the world are you thinking of?" said Bouillon, who was standing beside me.
I shook myself and took my sight again. It was all part of the war. He was one of those who had massacred my brother. It was a case of killing or being killed—him or me!
For a long time we prevented them from moving. We saw the horde get up in a flock and dash forward twenty times or more. At the same instant we met them with our fire, coldly precise. Their leaders, who were urging them on, were recognisable, not so much by their uniform as by their movements. Many of them were hit and the ardour of the troops diminished.They were well-drilled infantry, but they lacked keenness.
We lost all interest in everything but this narrow strip of ground swept by our fire. I put down my rifle which had burnt my fingers. The mechanism had got jammed in several places and I mended it as if in a dream.
We did not fire incessantly. There were moments of inaction when I tried to analyse my feelings in accordance with my old intellectualism. I came to grief over it. My ideas got blocked, and I gripped the trail of my Lebel, my one object in existence. One thought alone subsisted in the void of my brain, and I clung to it. Those men must not be allowed to take another step in our direction.
All notion of time was lost again. I remember that I looked for the sun in the sky. It was shining a long way from the point at which I had expected to find it. My wrist watch had stopped, the glass was broken.
From time to time Guillaumin came to look me up and make some remark such as "Hot work, what!"
This time he leant towards me and said something which I could not quite catch. I got him to repeat it.
"What?"
Ah. Now I understood. How many rounds had my men got left?
"Mine have about fifteen," he said.
"About the same here, too."
We looked at each other. I murmured: "And what about the replenishment."
"Ssh!"
He put his finger to his lips. As if the men had notnoticed the imminent penury! Several of them had applied to Lamalou for some of his share.
Luckily the enemy's fire was weakening equally. Both sides were drawing breath. The Germans' heavy artillery never paused for an instant. The explosions of enormous "Jack Johnsons" barked all round us. One of them, which fell less than twenty yards away, dug a hole of ten feet and filled part of our trench with the earth it displaced.
Guillaumin and I threw despairing glances towards the rear. The look of the wood had changed completely since morning. A wood? There was not a tree standing!
Guillaumin grumbled: "If I could get hold of Playoust!"
I quite agreed.
CHAPTER XX
WE ARE NOT DEFEATED
Howstiff I was. I stretched. Every joint was aching. I started off, meaning to go all along the bit of line held by the platoon.
The trench was so narrow that the men had to glue themselves against the parapet in order to let me pass. I forced myself to give a friendly word of encouragement to each man. I suddenly bumped into a body. Gaudéreaux! The poor fellow's skull had been crushed like a nut.
There were wounded men here and there. Bouguet, who had had to give in and sit down, his face drawn with pain; and Icard, with folded arms, as plucky as ever, though his shoulder had been ripped up by a splinter of shrapnel.
For whom was I looking? I did not realise it until De Valpic hove in sight. There he was, safe and sound. What a relief! His cap was pushed back on his forehead, his cheek-bones were purple, and he had a scratch on his temple which was bleeding.
He had caught sight of me, and was coming up when I saw Chailleux, our connecting file, appear behind him. He shouted:
"Where's the lieutenant?"
"Any orders?"
"Yes, we're to fall back."
"What?"
"In artillery formation."
I was disgusted.
"How absolutely idiotic."
De Valpic exclaimed in a hoarse voice:
"We're outflanked on the right."
The edge of the wood sloped away on that side.
A sudden squall hurled us all to the ground. We were blinded by soil. De Valpic was half buried. Two yards from us a man, who was leaning against the parapet, reeled, but remained standing on his feet. Horrors! His head was severed as if by the blow of an axe, just above the contorted mouth. De Valpic who had freed himself, and was none the worse, except for feeling somewhat dazed, could not bear the sight of it. He tottered, and his eyes were dimmed. I went to his help, but he recovered himself immediately.
"Carry on, carry on," he murmured. "You're needed over there."
I went back and found Henriot feverishly repeating:
"Now, don't let's lose our heads."
"It's a good job we're going to hook it," Guillaumin said to me. "We're about done."
It was quite true. There were nothing but bewildered, dazed-looking men all round, with strained and haggard faces and trembling hands. They would not have counted for much against a resolute onslaught. The enemy, cautious and practical, seemed as busy as possible digging new trenches two hundred yards away from us.
I looked blankly at Guillaumin:
"What do you think? Are we done for?"
He began to chaff me.
"Could we ever be done for?"
The quartermaster-sergeant came round, with two of the men. All three were smilingly handing round their caps, collecting:
"Please help the poor."
What did they want? Ammunition? Yes, a few extra rounds for the platoon which was to stay and cover the retreat.
I started. So some men were to be sacrificed. I put on a detached tone:
"Which platoon has been warned for the job?"
"They drew lots," he said. "It's to be Delafosse's."
No. 1. I hurried along to them, feeling that I could not go without shaking Humel by the hand. He was touched by it.
"It means hell for us," he said. "But mind you fellows get off all right."
The men accepted their lot without keenness or bitterness. Descroix was standing a few yards away. I took a step towards him.
"Good luck, Descroix."
"Like to change places?" he snapped, in a fury.
I felt certain that he was going to be killed, and I was sorry that his last hour should not see his mind ennobled.
I dreaded this withdrawal. It always means more casualties than anything else.
At a pre-arranged signal, we all leapt out of the trench together, and bolted at the double, bending down as low as possible. Bullets whistled past our ears, but No. 1 platoon retorted vigorously, and the enemy, as I have already said, seemed equally short of ammunition.
By a lucky coincidence, the fury of the artillery had diminished. We reached the wood without losses.
Arrived there, the difficulty was to slip through this inextricable tangle of leafy branches and jagged tree-trunks. Everything was splintered and hacked, and struck one as being the work of drunken woodcutters.
We had to climb and hoist ourselves up and slither down the other side, and cut our way through. Our accoutrements caught into everything, and the rifles impeded our progress. I bruised my leg badly against a treacherous stake. We nearly lost our way, having had to make a large circuit in order to avoid a lot of big trees which were still smouldering. An acrid smoke followed us, with which there was mingled a vaguely putrid stench. Under the piles of foliage, hundreds of dead bodies were lying, which had been in a state of decomposition for four days.
My great object was to avoid getting separated from my men. I shouted to them continually, and they followed as best they could. Some of the wounded, Bouguet among them, dragged themselves along heroically.
Suddenly, as I was balancing myself on a huge fallen oak, there was a spurt of flame, and a deafening report. I was flung into the under-wood. I got up at once, and, directly the smoke began to clear away, looked round for the lieutenant. I had a terrible feeling that he was pulverised.
No, I soon discovered him, stretched under some bracken. He was motionless. I bent over him and saw that his eyes were open and full of tears.
"Hit?" I said.
He stammered: "Yes. The th-thigh. I'm—done for."
I looked. There was a large tear in his trouser, and underneath I caught a glimpse of—such a mess!
I made a movement as if to look for his field dressing. Pink froth appeared on his lips:
"Not—w-worth it," he stuttered.
"Is there anything I can do for you?"
I should have liked to pick him up in my arms and carry him away, poor Henriot.
He made an attempt to unbutton his tunic. I helped him. He nodded approval. I think he wanted to get hold of some photograph or letter—the tradition of the dying soldier, whose eternal nobility moved me.
His strength forsook him.
Of my own accord, I fumbled in his pocket, took his letter-case and held it out to him. He half-opened his eyes again, and raised himself. His lips moved. His eyelashes fluttered. He took a breath and fell back. I did not know whether he was dead, or had only fainted.
Another shell burst just by. Something struck my cheek. I put my hand up. There was blood on it. But it was only a fir-cone which had been flung down.
I turned towards Henriot again. Our men were scattered in the distance. It was impossible to call any one back, and equally impossible to carry him without help. He and I were alone, face to face. What was it he had wished to confide in me? This incomplete scene was becoming tragically mysterious.
"Good-bye, good-bye," I murmured, perhaps to a dead man.
I took the letter case with me, and stumbling beneath the weight of my pack, plunged into the thicket in pursuit of my companions.
I did not catch them up until I got to the other side of the wood. Guillaumin was looking out for me!
"What's become of Henriot?"
"Gone west, I think. A 'Jack Johnson.'"
"Poor fellow!"
And then:
"You'll take command of the platoon?"
I hesitated:
"Why not you?"
"You're the senior."
As a matter of fact, I had come out a few places above him at the end of our time at the "Peloton."
There was an agitated fusillade behind us, increasing in intensity—Delafosse's platoon at work.
I shouldered my rifle, and went to report the lieutenant's death to the captain. He said, curtly:
"You've got your platoon commander's certificate. You're senior to Guillaumin."
(How on earth did he know?)
He continued: "You will immediately become acting sub-lieutenant. If we both get through safely, I'll see that you get your commission."
He got back on to his horse, which his orderly brought up, and leaning across the animal's neck, said:
"In case the matter interests you, we are retiring because we chose to. Our line has not been forced. It's the enemy who can't hold out any longer. Only there's a detachment of Landwehr trying to turn us southwards."
I thanked him with a beam.
As I drew near to the platoon, Guillaumin raised his voice:
"Your new subaltern, lads!"
"Good luck to him!" Bouillon exclaimed.
There was a subdued murmur of satisfaction and approval. I must be forgiven for having noticed it. It was one of the great moments of my life.
I signed to them to be silent. Guillaumin shook my hand.
"You deserve it, Michel."
I only answered by a shake of the head. We started off again, and I was thankful that my cap threw my face into shadow. Nobody guessed that my eyes were wet. Oh, how extraordinarily buoyant, how strong I felt, both physically and morally!
The last barrier had fallen between these men's caste and mine. No more domination imposed by chance or force. I was the leader they would have chosen, just as I was the leader imposed upon them.
This was the only legitimate, the only true authority.
We were again traversing the same boundless plain, which yesterday had seen us braving the Teuton artillery, but this time in a slightly oblique line. No shells escorted us, for a change! How good it seemed.
We were marching at a smart pace, and had put not far off ten kilometres behind us. Thepoiluswere reviving. Their behaviour delighted me. They marched with a will across the dry stubble. Judsi began to rag:
"If only I'd 'a thought o' bringing my grub."
Bouguet still kept up—a miracle of energy. He had got his arm in a sling. He was only sorry—noone could guess it however long they tried—that he was not allowed to sing.
We had had nothing to eat for forty-eight hours, and had been fighting for thirty hours almost uninterruptedly.
Call us beaten men? Nonsense! About-to-be victors!
Only one thing worried me. The almost empty cartridge-pouches.
Just then we unexpectedly came across the train of company waggons. We halted, and while the replenishment was going on, our men slanged the drivers roundly. Slackers who had not been able, or had not wanted, to find us!
As for me, I looked for Playoust, determined that he should pay for some of his delinquencies. But at the sound of his name a corporal looked up:
"A sergeant of that name?"
"Exactly."
"Well, he didn't last long!"
"What?"
"He was killed yesterday morning, just as we left Nanteuil. We hardly saw him as a matter of fact. A shell splinter."
"You don't mean it!" I said, astounded.
The corporal went on: "Probably a pal of yours, was he?"
"Yes, yes!"
"He looked a good sort, and an amusing fellow, I should say, wasn't he?" He insisted.
"One of the best?"
"A ripper!"
A posthumous reconciliation!
The halt here was prolonged. Coffee was made.The sun set in fiery splendour. Our arms were piled up at a short distance from a cross-road. The traffic there was intense: waggons, lorries, and batteries. We drew each other's attention to four armoured motor machine-guns, which were the object of a great deal of curiosity. They were the first in use, I believe, and were going southwards.