But the Humel-Playoust "lot"! Ravelli might rightly be classed with them now. I have spoken of the complete transformation which had been effected in him. It was doubtful whether thepoilusever heard the sound of his voice. Playoust had taken possession of him, getting hold of him through his weaknesses, flattering his Corsican vanity, but making a laughing-stock of him, though he was too stupid to see it. They never left each other, and were on the most familiar terms. These days, so fertile in surprises, had completely deranged the sergeant-major who had always been rather shaky in the upper storey. He saw spies everywhere—in all the old women, and priests, disguises which had as a matter of fact been made use of. Playoust spurred him on, for the amusement of the onlookers. The game was assuming alarming proportions. Ravelli, at Hazaumont, went to find the commanding officer, and handed over a list of suspects to him, which had been drawn slyly, by the other—all the parish priests in the neighbourhood! The captain was good-natured; he merely shook the poor sergeant-major:
"I shall keep my eye on you, my lad!"
Later on, on the evening of "Beauclair," Ravellionly just missed throwing the whole division into a panic by yelling "The Uhlans!"
Trouble might have come of it. There was some question of reducing him to the ranks. His last chance of obtaining officer's rank was lost then.
But in spite of it he still continued to pin all his faith to Playoust. His ears buzzed, and he was continually asking:
"Is that firing, that we hear?"
"Exactly."
And the wretch pointed out some fleecy clouds in the sky.
"Look there. Shells bursting!"
"Good heavens! Marked again!"
But one thing that was not so funny was that since the sergeant-major continued to arrange the rounds of duty, Playoust made use of his power over him to get him to bully or favour certain men. De Valpic as has been seen was their principal victim. But directly we got wind of the matter, Breton warned Ravelli that we had decided to report it to the captain. The threat was sufficient, the normal time-table was immediately reverted to. All he gained by it was that Guillaumin, who was sickened by it, called him and his set, Brutus! and Blackguards! and refused point-blank to have anything to do with them in future.
Yes, that's what it came to in the end.
The N.C.O.'s of each company stuck together and had nothing to do with the others. In the sinister hours of that retreat! I blush to have to report it!
Hourcade was simply an unpleasant nincompoop. His only outstanding feature was his greed. If he had thrown in his lot with the Humel-Playoust set, itwas because he considered that he was more likely to pick up titbits there than anywhere else—a folly which prevented him from tasting Gaufrèteau's cooking! He stuffed into his haversack miscellaneous provisions, most of which he had shamefully gleaned from his men's rations. His mouth was always full. In billets, replete, not to say crammed, he quickly fell asleep and snored.
As for the two elementary schoolmasters, that was a simple matter: they hated us. Not starting from to-day or yesterday, but from several years ago, and before that—from birth. They were envious, embittered fellows, suffering, so De Valpic considered, from their semi-educated state. An ambiguous caste, despising the peasant and detesting thebourgeois, though we had nevertheless met and appreciated some lads belonging to the same class at the "Peloton," who were hard-working, intelligent, and ambitious, and had taken top places at the end of the year. But these were vulgar and envious on a level with most of them. Their physique was poor too. Even Descroix's strength, heavy and squat though he was, did not come near to ours; one felt that his blood had been impoverished and his muscles weakened by a studious youth, infrequent exercise, and poor nourishment. I considered him really repulsive with his flattened head, his stuck-out ears, his gaping mouth. I disliked him for all these signs of degeneration, and above all because of his deliberate cruelty towards the "viscount," and the brutal laugh with which he greeted Playoust's spiteful tricks. Humel, who was small and weakly, with a thin neck and bowed shoulders, and was always exhausted at the end of a day's march, inspired me with more indulgence. Was he notthe youngest of us since Frémont had disappeared? Once or twice I thought I saw a look of gentleness flit across his face, an expression which always attracts me. I had occasionally made certain advances. In vain. A fanatical disciple of his companions, he was not the least quick of them in administering offensive rebuffs.
Playoust had them all under his thumb. He was certainly smart, the rascal! I had been finely taken in at first by his look of a Paris street-urchin. He worked his open-handed, happy-go-lucky appearance, which makes the type so attractive, for all it was worth. And all the time he was as slippery and vicious as he could be. He hardly ever risked anything more than a casual piece of insolence on us, and he was the only one of the lot who continued to say good-day to us or to shake our hands, while, privately, he never ceased to stir up his acolytes against us. It must be noted too that he made game of them, cynically letting them in for endless fatigues. I bore him all the more ill-will for it, because, for a long time, I had thought I recognised a kindred spirit in him. Nothing had awakened in him—a proof that there was nothing lying dormant in him. What a hideous vision he afforded me of what I might have been.
Let there be no mistake about it. What annoyed us most about them all was the sight of their flabbiness and slackness. Since Spincourt they had chucked the whole show and were continually saying that they didn't care a blow what happened!
Their corporals were decent fellows and partially succeeded in making up for their deficiencies. Their men were no worse than most. But in spite of it their lack of authority came nigh to being disastrous on several occasions. To begin with, it was an admitted factthat in their platoon they might get drunk with impunity. I remember the stink of wine and vomiting which rose from the stables where their men were billeted. How could De Valpic's have escaped the infection? Ravelli, who had been put up to it by the others, was always down on him. Playoust was charmed when the soldiers and the inhabitants were at loggerheads with each other. He tacitly encouraged the foraging and marauding that went on. Some of hispoiluswere mixed up in the rows at Béthaincourt.
Here is another occurrence which will serve to illustrate the different attitudes of mind. One grilling afternoon when we were passing the train of company waggons, the captain took it upon himself to give the most exhausted men permission to put their packs in the waggons. Our men were too proud. Their packs! They were quite capable of carrying them themselves, thanks! In the first platoon the N.C.O.'s were the first to unballast themselves; first, ten, then fifteen, then thirty of the men copied them. When that waggon was full, what should these fine gentlemen do, but set to work calmly to fill the next one that came along, which belonged to No. 20 company. The commanding officer, when he heard about it, came rushing up, inquired into the matter, bellowed like a bull and cancelled the permission. Our men chuckled over the occurrence. The others were furious: He'd better not bully them! Get away with him. They were fed up!
As the retirement went on the "set" kept up a stream of grumbles. The marches were too long. Poor reservists, we were being killed! Why did we halt so far from any well? Was it true that all the filth was thrown into them? Why was our companyalways given the most disgusting quarters? It was not surprising! Our captain didn't get on with any one! Who had to pay? We of course! And the baksheesh? Who got the baksheesh? As there wasn't even a ration of brandy every day.
After "Beauclair" things got even worse. We only caught scraps of their declamations because they put on the soft pedal when they saw us coming, just as they did with the officers. Playoust among others was particularly good at posing as an excellent fellow who was never put out by anything. But out of the reach of "tell-tales" and "busy-bodies," their evil tongues wagged busily.
It was sickening! they declared. The commanding officers were the outside limit! According to them our brigadier-general, an old Colonial, drank. The colonel was the kind of man to get us all hacked to pieces for the sake of keeping up his reputation for bravery. They gave us to understand they were delighted to see him wounded, and they would have been even more so if he had not been replaced by that old "dug-out." For that matter, you only need look at the result in order to see what our leaders were! Hopeless! If we weren't done for we deserved to be. Marches and counter-marches, bad management. We could hold the Bosches when we got them to grips. There was nothing to beat a French soldier! But as for preparation. Blimey! The slackers who had to look after that! Descroix cast up his eyes, swearing that those responsible would be found among the old ministers and present deputies. He foretold retaliation in the shape of lawsuits, or riots. Why was there such a lack of heavy artillery, of machine-guns, of searchlight apparatus, and armoured cars? Whydid we see nothing of the aeroplanes whose praises we had had drummed into our ears for years?
We were getting near to all the senseless recriminations of 1870. But they were not quite so serious this time, in spite of everything. They did not accuse Poincaré of having been bribed, or Joffre of being a traitor. They did not even go so far as to say that this war was absurd or unjust. We had to defend ourselves, after all! The most bitter complaints were of incompetence, and of the lack of foresight. Enough to be demoralising!
They made tremendous fun of Ravelli and his fears, which they shared at the bottom. Especially the spies! They passed on their superstitious terror to their men. There could be nothing more depressing for them than to feel they were surrounded by a vague throng of enemies. It was like asking for hysterics. I remember how on the morning we were guarding part of the Meuse, a group of refugees from Montmédy came up, a family of five, including two children who implored us to help them across. They were fortunate in finding us. We showed them a ford and had them taken to the C.O. A little farther up the poor wretches had come across some men out of Playoust's platoon, who had insulted them and threatened to shoot them.
And then there were the false reports, the pseudo-news, invented or rumoured, but always bad: Italy entering the lists against us, or England's dilatoriness. We should have to pay damages! Or else, one way of getting out of it would be to leave our friends, the Russians, in the lurch. Not a thing to boast about, perhaps! But it would cut short this war, and they were fed up with it!
I am not exaggerating. They descended to these depths of ignominy. They were more at ease with De Valpic who slept with them, and he reported similar conversations. It did not do to attach too much importance to it. There was probably a good deal of "side" about it. They were so jealous of us. Or perhaps they thought it fine to pose, on their side, as people who were not to be humbugged, or again it might be simply the inconsequence of men who did not quite realise the situation, or the meaning of their words. Each of them egged the others on.
And to think—De Valpic inclined to the idea—that they were without doubt excellent Frenchmen, who, when it came to getting killed, would do the thing in style!
In any case nothing exasperated Guillaumin like their attitude. He announced his intention of going to the C.O. to get him to put an end to the scandal, at least twenty times. We restrained him, being opposed to all tale-telling. We endeavoured to prove to him that their wild talk had no effect. Playoust had had the reputation of being a wag ever since the beginning. None of the men would take his nonsense seriously.
Guillaumin did not give in:
"You'll see!" he said. "You don't realise that all that eats away and undermines.... It is bound to show itself in time!"
It was true enough! What a difference there was in the morale of the two platoons.
In ours, for instance, nobody ever reported sick unless he was suffering tortures. They made it a point of personal pride. In theirs, on the contrary! One morning, Guillaumin, who was sergeant of the day, hadput down eight men for medical parade. A mere trifle! He calmly undertook to cure them all by suggestion. His chief argument was that they would have to foot it for about five and a half miles, to reach the Medical Officer. Five of the men had their names scratched; the rest stuck to it. It happened to be one of Bouchut's bad days and he sent them all off with a flea in their ear.
And when we stormed Beauclair, what a tragic exhibition they gave of themselves. When we left the wood in extended order, ready to charge, we looked round for No. 1 platoon, which was to support us on our right. Not a sign of it to be seen. It made a cruel impression on us just as we were starting off with fixed bayonets. At last we saw Lieutenant Delafosse come out leading a handful of men, among them De Valpic and his half-section. Behind, a long way behind, was Humel. We charged and saw no more of them. In the uproar which followed upon the occupation of the village, the incident passed more or less unnoticed. But we learnt that the C.O. had rated Delafosse for it roundly. The latter, throwing off his reserve, frankly laid the blame on some of his N.C.O.'s who lacked go.... That was putting the case very mildly! De Valpic assured me that he had heard Descroix putting the drag on his men's eagerness. "Don't hurry lads! The first lot will be napoohed!"
Here again no penalties were inflicted; they would have been too terrible. The well-known sentence for every weakness in military law is:DEATH.
This leniency was perhaps to be blamed. Who can say what an ill-omened influence our comrades exercised during the days that followed? It was themost gloomy period of all. We abandoned first-rate positions without fighting. It was impossible to rely on any favourable information, however slight. Rumours circulated, and were added to, concerning our reverse in the North. The replenishment of munitions which had up till then been well-organised was failing. We were, as I have said, repeatedly in danger of being cut off, or of getting under fire from the pursuing batteries. Villages blazed behind us, or even on our flank—a palpable danger for our retreat. The ditches too were filled with soldiers, belonging chiefly to the regulars. Who could blame them for it? Boys of twenty, worn out by four weeks' overdriving, sleeping there, by the roadsides, for days and nights on end.
It was a bad example though. The temptation to copy them was so great. There were no more mounted police on the heels of the stragglers. Even they were fighting, so we were told.
That was how our numbers dwindled. We had realised the danger, and our efforts were combined in preventing any men from staying behind. We kept on urging them: "Come along now! Only a few miles more. You surely don't want to fall into the hands of the Huns!" And we laid to their charge abominable atrocities surpassed by reality.
At last we reached our goal. We lost only five men out of the platoon during that week, two of whom were ill, and two wounded. What leakage there was in No. 1 company! We got the exact figures from the quartermaster-sergeant, who had to draw up the numerical returns each evening. Breton stormed, excellent fellow that he was!
"Hang it all!Poilusare too precious to lose!"
One evening in Descroix's platoon only twenty-nine men were left, out of thirty-five the day before, and Breton cynically sneered: "Six more done a bunk!"
CHAPTER VI
THE POILUS
Yes, Guillaumin had been quite right! Ever since we had rejoined at F—— his one care had been the morale of the men! On that, indeed, depended the fate of the country, united with that of the present campaign. And this morale, in its turn, depended partly on us, in view of our responsibility.
A task which was quite new to me. I have said how, at our departure, I could not conceive myself taking an interest in these dolts. Yes! But had I not felt them quiver as they marched at my side through the horror of the fire? The praise surprised on their lips that evening had made my heart beat—reciprocal esteem—and I had dreamt of something more.
During the long parches I took steps to get into touch with them, to overcome their shyness, the remains of their distrust. I was not afraid of showing a few of them what was in my heart. One of these was Icard, the miller, a steady, quiet fellow, whose good sense had struck me on several occasions. Under the present circumstances, the footing we were usually on, I said, was not enough. Complete harmony of mind and heart between us all seemed to me necessary for our common safety.
"We're fond enough of you, already, sergeant!"
I smiled.
"Fonder than you were at the beginning?"
"Yes, then we weren't exactly struck on you."
I think he was speaking at his comrades. Their instinct must have made them realise my friendly intentions. They quickly became more familiar and expansive. The last barrier had fallen.
I again appreciated Guillaumin's perspicuity. According to him these people dreaded betraying whatever tenderness and delicacy was aroused in them, by putting it into words. They were shy of talking about themselves, and expanded more willingly on a thousand and one abstract subjects. I had resigned myself to listening to an endless flow of words and pointless tales. They were flattered by my attention, and I was surprised to find them ten times less childish and narrow in their talk than many drawing-room conversationalists. It was the taste, innate in the French, for discussion and reasoning. Penetration and logic are ordinary qualities in them. Icard laid before me his views on the questions which impassioned him: agricultural economy, modern implements, the introduction of new crops, the causes and consequences of the population of the country districts, the remedies to be applied to it—all problems of vital importance to the nation. I who claimed to be so eclectic had to blush for myself because I had never considered them.
With him, and with some of the others, I took a delight in broaching the subject of socialistic doctrines. We were at one in our premises. Starting from that point I used to get them to talk, curious to see how much electioneering patter they had retained. More than mere words, in any case! Some of them wereimbued with the party point of view. Each of them, for that matter, followed wherever his temperament led him. Prunelle, the jeweller, favoured the view that the state should interfere as little as possible with individual enterprise. Icard, for his part, was a staunch advocate of a sort of dominant collectivism: of the most perfect organisation of society, down to the very smallest details, by its chosen representatives. He said to me:
"Look at the Bosches. They have it in a sense. That's what constitutes their strength. It's sad to think the poor brutes have to work for the King of Prussia!"
I tried, too, to probe their inmost convictions. Were they really keen about this struggle which would determine the future of their race?
It did not take long to convince me of it. Their patriotism was not an abstract quality: it was more than that—a tradition, almost a physical need. A free France was just as vital to them as eating or breathing. I had the opportunity of admiring the moral unity accomplished by the work of centuries of history. The Prussians had done these Beaucerons a personal injury in violating the distant Eastern frontier. No peace for them before these brigands had been sent back to where they came from! The question of Alsace-Lorraine affected them in a lesser degree. It was a long way off—almost an accomplished fact! But nevertheless it must be won back, if only as a matter of personal pride, for "swank"!
Their memory of the other war had not been at all obliterated, as I should have expected it to be. Most of them had heard from their parents what vexations and devastations their province had had to endurein those bygone days. They had before their eyes the ravages of the present war. Hang it all! If only the Bosches did not advance too far! We mustn't be beaten again.
And then as Corporal Bouguet very neatly expressed it, considering how long we had been pestered by having to put in two or three years' military service, we should be dolts not to give them a good thrashing once and for all, for the sake of gaining a quiet life!
Their spirit in fact was marvellous. It must not be forgotten that we were still retreating! There was never a sign of real discouragement. It was sometimes upsetting, certainly, to leave superb positions without firing a single shot. But if it must be! If, as was still rumoured, it was for tactical reasons to lead the enemy into a trap! The fantastic exploits attributed to the artillery still continued to fire our imagination. Once or twice we met convoys of prisoners. Halloa! Things must be on the mend! And then, why attempt to give any explanation? Things went well, because they went well. Even in the first platoon there was never any serious trouble, the bad seed did not bear. There was nothing worse than a little slackness, rather less energy.
There was plenty of marching. Yes, but nothing dismal about it most of the time, especially when we thought we were getting near to the enemy when there would be a volley of witticisms:
"Halloa! Trichet!" Guillaumin exclaimed. "I suppose you think Prunelle's sight too good, and that's why you're sticking your gun into his eye?"
They laughed; the jeweller was short-sighted and wore glasses.
The men were generally allowed to sing. When I saw they were beginning to flag, I shouted:
"Strike up, Bouguet! Let's have one of your songs."
"Which shall it be, Sergeant?"
The corporal who was the songster of the platoon turned to me gaily. We were on excellent terms now.
Voices were raised demanding:
"The Ace of Diamonds!"
"The Miller's Wife!"
The corporal struck up.
"Miller, miller, she betrays you!..."
They exploded, nudging each other, and nodding in Icard's direction who was the first to appreciate the joke.
Or else it was theCrocodiles, doggerel brought into fashion by Lamalou, and which they never tired of:
A crocodile—on going off to warSaid "Good-bye, Kids"—but not for evermore.His great tail—looking very elegantHe started off—to fight the elephant!...
Then the refrain!
Everyone joined in the chorus.
Oh the cro-cro-cro-, the cro-cro-cro-, the cro-co-di-iles,All along the Nile! They have vanished, we'll say no more!
Childish songs, with a good swing to them. Fatigue was forgotten. Mile followed mile in the heat and dust. A refrain of that kind swept right along the column. While we drew breath, snatches of couplets reached us from the distance.
"Like nothin' on earth, those caterwaulers!" Judsi exclaimed.
Oh, that Judsi! What a type he was! The incarnation, the flower of the race. In each platoon of France's army, from end to end of the campaign, I bet there was a Judsi. A street-urchin, from Paris or elsewhere.... An apache yesterday, perhaps—it was quite possible—but ennobled to-day by circumstances!
He was an admirable source of good-humour. Made to cheer up the others. He chatted without ceasing for hours and hours at a time, accumulating eccentricities of mimicry and expression. Nothing pleased him so much as to see that we were listening. That was the time when we played up hardest. I swear that by the unexpectedness of his sallies and the inflections of his hoarse voice, he often attained a pitch of drollery which was quite priceless. His slightest absurdities gave rise to fits of hilarious gaiety. The men pressed round him, as if on parade. It even interfered with the marching order. What should he do but organise relays! Every quarter of an hour, he said to his neighbours:
"'Ook it lads! Send some other pals along now, an' we'll see if I can't raise a smile out of 'em."
They gave up their places without any sour looks.
"Ain't 'e a caution!"
"Fit to make yer split, the blighter!"
He was never in better form than when we were in the tightest places, when all the others were down in the dumps. On the "Beauclair" evening, when we had to retire, he was worth seeing as he went off shouldering his rifle, with a Uhlan's helmet, picked up in some house, in his hand, and the air of a gentleman who hadjust put an end to the war in the most brilliant style, and was on his way home where his little wife was waiting to welcome him with open arms! Or again on the next day.... A hail of shells, which was beginning, had just set fire to a little bit of a house. He asked the cook's permission to make the coffee, carried off the camp kettle, collected some brands from the beams, and boiled the water on them at the window. The shower of the "Black Marias" continued. It was a miracle that he was not killed. But his luck, our luck, held.
What endless queer characters there were! Lamalou, Bouguet, Gaudéreaux. We've seen them all at work—one might go on naming them indefinitely. And Bouillon!
He had come one morning to ask my advice as to how to send money orders.
I had taken it as a joke:
"Send them, my dear fellow? This is more the sort of time to receive them!"
"It's for Marie," he said, "who's stayed behind with the kid!"
"Your kid?"
"I don't know about that!"
He explained that he had lived with a girl, a rag-gatherer like himself. They had struck up acquaintance when plying their hooks, and made love across the dust-bins—and they had come to an understanding. So far, so good. But then at the end of eight months—eight months exactly, that was the annoying part!—Marie had gone to Boucicaut for the birth of her child, a little duck, as pretty as could be! The point was not so much to find out who its father was, as to rear the little brat! It used to be quite a paying job—but then the great Trafalgar had come, and Blimey! ever since then there hadn't been none too much to be scratched up out o' them dust-bins—so he thought that as he had a bit o' cash he'd better send some to Marie, if it weren't more'n ten francs.
I realised that he must be economising out of the little tips he got from me. I was much touched by his story, and promised to make inquiries.
The matter would depend on the baggage-master. He did not put in an appearance just then. Bouillon asked me about the matter again. I mentioned it casually to Henriot who sent me to the captain. He greeted me affably, and I laid the matter before him. He called me back. He had learnt, he said, of my brother's death, and he expressed his sympathy for me. He added that he had watched me at work. "I'm glad to see you've been making yourself useful."
As for the money order, he undertook to see that it got to its destination, solemnly took the girl's address, and handed me a receipt.
When he got it, Bouillon turned it over and over, and asked me what it meant.
The little sum had been doubled by me and doubled again by the captain.
His tanned face contracted; and tears glistened in the corners of his big eyes. He stammered in his effort to thank me.
"Oh! R-r-rooky!"
I gave him a smack on the shoulder, and told him—and how sincerely I meant it—that we owed him a hundred times more!
CHAPTER VII
SOCIALISM
Useful! I was making myself useful! The captain's words rang in my ears.
I remembered how I had wondered quite lately what use my life was, and who in the world would have suffered by it, or missed me if I had disappeared. Instead of which I filled a place well, to-day. My death would have been a loss. I certainly exaggerated the importance of my rôle, but the satisfaction each evening of having kept intact or added to the strength which was given to me, was so sweet to me.
It did me more credit, perhaps, than some of the others. I had always professed not only a lack of curiosity about all manual labour, but a disgust of it. It was the stupidity of a young intellectual inclined to consider everything which did not show off the superior play of thought as a vulgar task. Who would dream how far I carried this detachment? The farthest I ever got, towards the end of my term of service, was to do up the buckles of my pack,—Guillaumin always had to help me. I had begun to realise during the last few days what grandeur may lie in the fulfilment of humble duties. A leader of men, especially in the modest sphere in which I gravitated owing to my lowly rank, has no right to shirk any subjection. He does not get into touch with his subordinates, orinspire them with complete esteem and confidence, unless he succeeds in proving to them that even in the field of everyday tasks, he is cleverer, better informed, and more expert than they are. The complete man calmly considers all the difficulties which may arise, from the most trivial to the most serious, and being unworthy of none of them, considers none of them unworthy of him.
So I no longer avoided, but rather sought, occasions to expend myself. I followed Guillaumin's example, and drew on all I had read and remembered. To speak the truth, when I tried, inexperienced as I was, to put my ideas into practice, my advice was not very much to the point.
Bouillon doubled up with laughter when I told him to damp the case of his water-bottle, or again when we got to our quarters that rainy evening and I advised him to stuff his boots with dry straw.
"Go an' teach yer grandfather! Just take a look at yours, an' see if I 'aven't done it!"
The last of mypoiluscould have put me right on endless questions of a practical nature. Quite so! But I could be useful to them in other ways. Once when arms were being cleaned, Gaudéreaux had seen fit to take his repeating apparatus to pieces, and came to grief over putting it together again. He called me to his aid. It was a difficult problem. Guillaumin certainly offered me his help, but I refused it, anxious to find out how to do it myself. It took me a long time, but I succeeded at last, which was satisfactory.
There was a large field open to me. I had retained the knowledge I had acquired as an instructor of recruits. It was not a question of worrying the men with theories, but they willingly collected to havefriendly chats, and ended by enjoying the séances, where one evening, after having explained the principles of orientation to them, I taught them how to recognise the Great Bear and the Polar Star. On other days we went into other matters: to do with the advance under fire, of the artillery and infantry (we knew all about that!), of the supply of ammunition and the commissariat; or of subjects vaster still—Germany's ambitions, and the causes of the present war. When we were marching we organised competitions in judging distances. We picked out a tree or a house, and then each one had to calculate how many steps he expected to take, and count them afterwards to see how far out he was. Lamalou proved to be extraordinarily gifted in this respect. He was never more than twenty yards out. We would find a way of making use of that.
After a few tentative ventures, I found my bent. I had always been interested in medicine. A handbook on hygiene, which De Valpic lent me, completed my sketchy equipment. The next thing to be done was to put it into practice. The soldiers suffered chiefly, as usual, from sore feet—a crop of blisters and sores. I preached cleanliness first, and methodical greasing. But the sore places, some of which were septic, must be cured. Most of the men seemed entirely ignorant of how to treat a blister. Guillaumin and I arranged a demonstration one evening with great success. Once having won their confidence, we treated them for various little ills—diluted tincture of iodine did wonders.
One great danger was the water, which caused a great deal of diarrhœa. It was not always possible to boil the contents of our water-bottles. I had somepermanganate of potash; a few crystals placed in the water-buckets assured a relative sterilisation. Our platoon made it a point of honour to have as few men as possible at sick parade. We only had two in a week. Trichet, who sprained his ankle, wept with rage at leaving us.
My little cures were appreciated. Men came to ask my advice now, even from No. 1 platoon. I had some idea of massage and set up a surgery. The men appealed to me in doubtful cases. One evening, I remember, the party sent on ahead to choose the camp had picked some mushrooms on the way. Breton insisted on their waiting for me. I really was not very well up in the matter. However, I did not quite like the look of the valvular formation at the base, and ordered them to throw them away. They obeyed without protesting. I learnt shortly afterwards from De Valpic, that it had saved a good many lives.
How much joy I got out of my disinterested efforts! Not only that of useful labour accomplished. The incessant contact, our conversations, the services rendered mutually, made me fonder of each of my companions every day. I was getting into touch with the people again. I no longer considered, as I used to, that it would satisfy me to live in the bosom of a restricted caste of beings brought up in the same way as I had been. I suddenly once more became aware of the ascendency of certain doctrines.
Social morality had always seemed to be a poor morality for those on the right side of the barrier, as I was. Now I realised my mistake. There should be neither oppressors nor oppressed, neither dominators nor dominated,—alliance and not confusion ofthe different social classes. "Each for all and all for each," as the old saying is. Were we not all co-operating with the same heart in the same work? If between these soldiers and me there was a dissimilarity in education and disposition, if I, at their head, was exempt from the most thankless fatigues, did that prevent reciprocal collaboration and esteem, or stop any one being satisfied with their fate? No, no. Prunelle agreed; the chief thing was that each class should know the other, then it would not be long before they appreciated each other, and recognised each other as brothers, and not such very different brothers either!
This idea, in particular, clung to me. Disparities due to education and upbringing, to the style of life, are, to a certain extent, exterior. How little they count for in comparison with the tongue, the customs, and disposition which are shared in common by the sons of one nation and which draw them together. Between the people and the aristocracy the difference is simply that which exists between youth and ripe middle age. The people are like a young and lusty lad, who only asks to be allowed to grow! What were the common sense of an Icard, the animation of a Judsi, the self-denial of a Bouillon, if not the deep-rooted qualities of our soil and race? There is enjoyment in breathing them, when one also exhales them!
CHAPTER VIII
A TEMPTATION
Howtired we were that evening. Really absolutely done. We had been marching for twenty-four hours, almost without a halt. We were wandering in the middle of Argonne in that part of the Chalade, and the Four de Paris which were to be mentioned so often in thecommuniquéslater on. The worst of it was that we had nothing to eat, except the remains of some bread crumbling at the bottom of our haversacks. We regretted having wasted the biscuits with which we had been so liberally provided two days before.
There was a prolonged halt in the forest. At one time we caught sight of two motor-buses which cut across, following a transverse roadway. Our rations? We took it for granted and rejoined accordingly. But perhaps the conductors had not seen us. Several minutes went by. The commanding officer blew his whistle, and off we had to go again! Another march on an empty stomach!
A blast of recriminations blew from No. 1 platoon. They could put up with being knocked on the head, but at least give them something to eat. They were being cut down every day now. Yesterday there was no meat! Without rot, there was nothing more to be done but to "get down" to it. A snooze is as good as ameal. It would only mean that a few would be taken.
They went on all the same. There was not a murmur among our men. Judsi still tried to cheer up his companions, but they weren't in the mood for it. Bouguet struck up with a song, but they joined in the refrain only once. He couldn't sing on an empty stomach either. And the rain began, heavy rain which soaked us through to the skin in a very few minutes.
"Rotten luck!" Gaudéreaux jerked out.
We went on without a halt, through the downpour, against the wind. We were on a by-road which soon got spoilt and broken. We slithered through the slush. Gusts of wind beat against us, water was dripping down our backs, freezing the sweat on our skins. That lasted for another two hours. A dozen miles or so without a pause. No one protested, each step must be bringing us nearer to shelter. There was only one question we asked ourselves, in an agony of mind: Should we get anything to eat?
At last they stopped us, two companies of us, in front of a farm. The rest of the battalion went on. The buildings already sheltered some gunners—four batteries of them. I remember their greeting which was anything but cordial. Oh, we were the last straw! As if they weren't packed like sardines already! Dirty foot-sloggers too! (I have already mentioned the antagonism between the different troops which was exasperated at such times.)
Our quartermasters quarrelled. But the first comers blocked up the coach-houses, their officers backed them up, the commanding officer had quite rightly reserved the only bed for himself. We stood in the yard for a long time, haggard and numbwith cold. We were finally penned in the stables—piggeries, in an indescribable state of filth, and reeking pestilentially. Someone went to get straw—a handful per man! We could have put up with everything if only we could have got a bite. But it was getting dark, and in this weather all hopes of the ration train hunting us out were dwindling. The gunners had hastened to lay hands on anything that the farm would produce in the way of eatables, bread, milk, eggs, a real raid. They finished swallowing these provisions under our very noses.
I can see us in that filthy stable. De Valpic had just lain down alongside the wall. He was worn out, and wanted to sleep, but the fits of coughing which shook him made him reopen his eyes. He was shivering. We all had faces mottled by exhaustion and starvation. Lamalou suddenly got up with an oath:
"Oh d——!"
There was a crack in the roof, from which drops were falling. A stream of water was soon trickling down.
Guillaumin came back. He had been to have a look at No. 1 platoon. There was schism in the Playoust "set." Hourcade and Descroix, it seemed, were still in possession of some "ruti" and a cheese. Descroix resigned himself to sharing it and favoured Playoust, but Hourcade turned a deaf ear. Little Humel would get nothing out of him—or the sergeant-major either. They neither of them demanded it, though they were both deadly white and worn out.
Guillaumin winked:
"If only we could find some way! I say, are you frightfully done up, to begin with?"
"Fit as a fiddle, I don't think! Why?"
"Look here."
He confided in me that he had interviewed the farmer's wife. There was not a village anywhere near, the nearest was nine miles away, and had been crammed with troops for the last week.
"Well?"
"But there was another farm much nearer, a rich one, quite hidden in the woods. Suppose we went to see?"
I raised some objections, for form's sake, but the adventure attracted me. A word to Bouillon. He at once wanted to join us. We told no one else; permission and success were equally uncertain. So we started off. It was getting dark. What a road it was! The mud was eighteen inches thick in places. Torrents of rain still, and the gloom was deepening. To begin with we forced ourselves to look where we were putting our feet, but we gave it up as a bad job. Squidge, splosh! We stoically followed in Guillaumin's tracks. We sank in half-way up to our knees, and came near to losing our balance or getting stuck.
When we had walked for three quarters of an hour, Guillaumin began to get worried. Half a mile the woman had told him.
We were lost? We thought of retracing our steps when he bumped against a gate in the dark.
"Ow! As if my nose wasn't thick enough without that!"
We began to make out the outlines of an obstruction. But everything seemed to be shut up. No light. We went to knock at the door. Not a sound. We knocked louder.
"Done!" I said.
"We'll soon see!"
Guillaumin raised his voice:
"Two petards of melinite to blow up your house!"
A few seconds passed. Then a window squeaked.
"Who's there?"
"France."
"What do you mean? France."
"France, that's quite enough."
"Wot d'you want?"
"Someone to open the door to us."
"We 'aven't got nothing."
"That's a fine story!"
"An wot abaht the Proosians?"
"Will you let us in, confound you!"
The man appeared to be frightened, and muttered: "'Arf a mo' till I gits into me breeches."
He came and undid the bolts.... A bent old peasant, carrying a candle in his hand.
"'Ello, on'y three of you! Might 'a bin fifty by the shindy you kicked up!"
He seemed to me to regret having given in so easily. We went into a low room.
"Well now," said Guillaumin, "What can you give us to eat?"
The old peasant looked us up and down. I could read in his face the mistrust and avarice of bad breeds.
"'Aven't I told you there's nothin'?"
Guillaumin shrugged his shoulders.
"What do you live on? Air?"
We certainly looked like marauders. I interfered to reassure the man.
"We'll pay you all right!"
Guillaumin whispered:
"Don't know so much about that."
I had my own idea. I opened my purse to show the silver and gold in it.
The old fellow considered me. He looked from my hands to my eyes where he tried to read my intentions.
"For you three?"
"For us, to begin with."
"Hm! Would an omelette do you?"
"With some ham?"
He would see.
We sat down at the table. The man went to call at an inside door.
"Louise!"
A young country girl appeared, with a hypo-critical expression and heavy features. She lacked real grace, but was built on a generous scale, her waist well-marked, and her bosom firm beneath the dress which she had popped on hurriedly.
"My eye!" murmured Bouillon.
The old man said a few words in patois and the girl knelt down in front of the grate and began to work a bellows. It was not long before some flames sprang from the dying embers. In a hand's turn she had laid the table for us. Five minutes later a frothy golden omelette was dished up for us.
We had never been so ravenous. We simply guzzled. We had taken off our great coats, which were stiff with rain. When his first pangs were assuaged, Guillaumin began to cheer up.
"A pretty good idea of mine, what?"
With a glance at the girl I made some joke under my breath, about the servant girl being, perhaps, the old man's mistress.
Bouillon was eating too gluttonously to take a partin the conversation, but he laughed continually for no reason at all, pouring down bumpers of some rather poor wine which the old man had brought us with many sour looks. His face was turning purple, his dog's eyes glistened. How I loved him, taking his share of our animal contentment.
The peasant seated at the end of the room had lit a pipe and was watching us out of the corner of his eye.
"It's stupid to pay!" repeated Guillaumin. "Let's give him an I O U."
His funds must have been coming to an end.
"Don't worry! This is my show!" I said.
In order to avoid any trouble, I had made up my mind to pay whatever the old fellow claimed.
Guillaumin ventured to suggest:
"I say we ought to take something back to De Valpic."
"And to ourpoilus!"
I called the old man, who got up slowly and came to us looking rather anxious but crafty too.
"And now what about something for our pals?"
"They ain't comin', are they?"
"That depends."
"Wot does it depend on?"
"Upon what you give us for them."
This seemed to upset him. He sniffed and stopped talking.
"When I say give," I corrected myself, "I mean sell."
"'Ow many of 'em is there?"
"About forty."
The peasant threw up his arms like a clockwork figure.
"Forty. Jokin', ain't you? Now if it 'ad a' bin five or six, p'raps we might 'a managed some'ow!"
Guillaumin rapped on the table, and assumed a threatening air, which was rendered even more grotesque and terrifying by his great nose.
"You'd better take care we don't bring them along! I've an idea they'd manage to find something!"
The old man's face hardened. I again intervened.
"I tell you we'll pay. Now tell me the price of a chicken."
"Ain't got none!"
"What, not in your cellar?"
"Ain't got none."
"Will you take ten francs apiece?"
"Ten francs?"
He rubbed his hands.
"That's talkin',' that is!"
Guillaumin exclaimed:
"Five francs, not a halfpenny more. It's pure robbery!"
I continued:
"I should want several!"
"How many?"
I looked at the others interrogatively.
"Eight or ten—a dozen if you've got them!"
"A dozen chickens at ten francs? That's a hundred and twenty francs?"
"Yes."
"I'll just have a look, but I won't promise nothing!" he said as he went off.
When he had gone out, without bothering about the girl who was leaning against the chimney-piece, and watching us slyly, Guillaumin slated me. Ten francs apiece. He never heard of such a thing. Was Icrazy? A hundred and twenty francs! No. It couldn't be allowed. I should want the cash some day or other. I didn't realise.... The old chap was sickening. It would serve him right if we cleared him out of everything and left him an order payable at the end of the war. So that was settled? What?
But I shook my head, and stuck to it. I had spent a relatively infinitesimal sum up till now. The chance was too tempting!
The peasant reappeared. He brought the poultry back with him, tied by their legs. They were squalling hard and were certainly very fine birds. His forehead was wrinkled; he must be afraid we might give him the slip and be off with the booty. His face cleared when I laid the purse on the table. But when I pulled a hundred-franc note out of my pocket, the old fellow waved it aside, and pointed to the purse.
"None o' that now! You've got that amount in solid gold!"
"Take this note?" I retorted.
"Give me gold, gold!"
"Why on earth should I?"
I had not foreseen this pretext for cavilling when I had flattered myself on avoiding a scene. I refused to give in. The old chap kicked against the pricks. Paper-money? Wot good was that to any one nowadays, you wouldn't get a hunk of bread for it!
He obviously distrusted me. I was on the point of losing my temper. Guillaumin angrily dubbed the old man a robber and a blooming Bosche. The latter got annoyed and made as if to take back his poultry. Bouillon kept his eyes fixed on me, and wasonly waiting for a sign to hurl himself upon the old man.
For a fantastical instant I was tempted to let him have his way. I was enraged, and disgusted. More than that, I was suddenly seized with a longing to loot. It would be a wonderful opportunity. What risk should we run? None at all. It would simply be one more picturesque scene to add to our store of memories.
At that moment, the servant girl happened to cross the bottom of the room. Her dress fell into lines which suggested the rounded form beneath. Bouillon was looking at her too, and Guillaumin also. His big red nose was quivering. The blood rushed to my head, and desire took possession of me. We all three exchanged a look of feverish bestiality. Plunder the old man, violate the girl. Nothing could be easier—some strange madness urged us on—the beast in us was raising its head.
A vision of Jeannine passed through my mind, but it held no power to restrain me, for was it not purely a physical impulse? It did not count in my eyes. No one would ever know anything about it, I repeated to myself. Why not indulge this whim? It was a sinister moment. We had each taken a step towards the girl, whose face contracted.
CHAPTER IX
AT PEACE WITH MYSELF
Andthen, after all, something stopped me, something I had never experienced before. Was it prejudice? Or moral restraint? I had no time to examine my feelings. Was it self-respect? Yes, that, without doubt. No one would ever know anything about it, but I should know about it myself!
"Make up your mind!" I said to the man.
Had he an inkling of the danger he had been in? In any case he acquiesced without a word, and took the note, to which I added a louis.
I commandeered the rest of the bread, and three dozen eggs, which the girl was to boil till they were hard. She bustled about, but it took some time.
I paid for everything at three times its value, without turning a hair. The old man got a second louis, and to show his satisfaction, threw in a packet of salt!
I will not dwell upon our return journey. Bouillon had hung a cord round his neck with the poultry dangling at each end of it, in two bunches. They struggled and made a deafening din and twice over almost tripped him up. He gravely warned them:
"If you do that a third time, I shall lose my temper!"
Thirty yards farther on, he stopped.
"Got a pin?"
I handed him one without understanding why he wanted it.
He turned away. I became aware of a wild flapping, and then a faint rattle. "Next please!"
"I'll learn 'em not to be so bloomin' fond o' flies!"
He pricked them behind the head, one after the other, sighing.
"If only they was some o' them Bosches!"
When he entered the stable in front of us half an hour later, with the chaplet of chickens round his neck, the men were stupefied. Then an uproar arose.
"Oh! the cannibal!" cried Judsi.
"Good biz; grub at last!"
The men who were asleep had to be shaken and roused up. Their faces broke into broad smiles, their eyes lit up. Things went very quickly when once they were all up. Some of them had already been told off to pluck, to light fires, and do the roasting. Everyone hurried into the yard. Guillaumin and I slipped down beside De Valpic and told him all about our pranks. Guillaumin gaily gave him an account of the longing which had seized us, to despoil the old man, and violate the girl. It was a tremendous joy to have a conscience clear enough to be able to joke about it. De Valpic smiled in response. One felt how his whole being was yearning for the nourishment of which he had been deprived for nearly forty-eight hours.
We went to supervise the cooking. In the twinkling of an eye the men had built up piles of branches, and succeeded in lighting them, though the yard was soaking. The chickens had been plucked and dressed and were roasting fast, threaded on to bayonets whichwilling volunteers were turning conscientiously under Gaufrèteau's direction. By his orders, too, bowls were put under them to catch the fat dripping from them. In half an hour's time, he pronounced the birds cooked to a turn. We presided over the division. Nothing was to go out of the platoon!
The battalion sergeant-major came and hung about.
"Halloa. Some looting been going on!"
"No," said Bouillon, "the sergeant paid, and a good price too."
Ravelli stood in the mud near by, and sniffed the good smell. But a remnant of dignity forbade him to beg. We ended by taking pity on him, and offering him a fine fleshy bone, which he set to work to gnaw like a dog.
I was tormented for quite a long time—poor wretches that we are—by the paltry fear that the men might not realise to the full to whom they owed the windfall. They had quite cheered up, and I saw them grouped round the fires which still flickered, and lit up their delighted faces, chewing the remains of their bones and munching their eggs. Perhaps they imagined that the company's mess-balance had paid for the feast. In any case their gratitude to my companions was just as great as it was to me. I should have liked to monopolise it!
Then I shook off this paltry thought. What was all this about benefactors and debtors. A lot there was to be proud about, in having paid, when I had the money to pay with. One felt that the good fellows would every one of them be capable of a similar action, rather than surprised at it!
Candour, simplicity of soul. Another effort. I was pulling myself up to it.
Guillaumin and I had reserved one whole chicken for ourselves. We took the best half of it to De Valpic. Alas! his appetite failed after the first mouthfuls, and he had great difficulty in getting through it.
We had decided to offer the captain a wing. Guillaumin, who had undertaken to be the ambassador, soon came back. Ribet had refused it—oh, as nicely as possible assuring Guillaumin that he needed nothing. If we had a portion over, let it be for one of his men, who had their packs to carry!
Henriot must have got wind of this reply, for his was identical. The third one, Delafosse, we knew nothing about him; nobody thought about him. But Breton, when he was invited, did not turn up his nose at it, and came to revive himself by us. He congratulated us:
"These bachelors knew how to look after themselves—and no mistake!"
And what about the Playoust set. De Valpic having timidly suggested that we might—Guillaumin exploded:
"Never! Low-down cads like that! Why they'd let us starve without turning a hair."
I backed him up, and De Valpic said no more.
We three each put part of the remains on one side. It was rather shocking, I admitted to myself, to be thinking of our future hunger, when comrades at hand were suffering the pangs of present hunger.
But after all! I had done enough for others to last me for one day!
I had gone out into the yard again. It was almost deserted now, but I came across Humel. He pretended not to see me. His cap, which was cockedover one ear, gave him a cheeky look, but I caught sight of his haggard face and sunken cheeks by the light of one of the bonfires which was still smouldering. I turned round:
"I say, Humel!"
He stopped, and aggressively snapped:
"Well? What do you want?"
"You've had nothing, have you?"
"Had nothing ... what do you mean?"
"To get your teeth into!"
He hesitated:
"A lot you care!"
I went up to him, and put my hand on his shoulder:
"Like a bit of chicken?"
He made a movement as if to free himself, and then thought better of it, and said more gently:
"Have you got some left?"
"Yes, and a hard-boiled egg. Wait a bit!"
I went back into the piggery, and very stealthily—I did not want Guillaumin to see me—took out my mess-tin, which contained my provisions for the next day, then I rejoined Humel.
"Here you are."
We went and sat down in the shade on the curb of the well.
"You can use my mess-tin."
The poor boy began to eat hurriedly, and in silence. I told him, in a joking tone, the story of our expedition; and meanwhile stealthily examined his thin profile. He was a mere boy. A younger brother, this lad too, younger not only in years.... He was thirsty. I pulled up a bucket of water for him and we drank out of the same mug.
Then making a violent effort to get over what I think was timidity he said to me:
"Thanks very much."
I replied:
"Look here, old chap, don't you think we ought all to be pals?"
As he nodded in agreement, I ventured on to more ticklish ground. With all sorts of precautions, and wordy extenuations, I let him see how necessary it was, in the present circumstances, not to let the men's morale be shaken. It was for us in particular, who mixed with the troops to preach it to them, and to practise what we preached. There were so many shining reasons to hope. Complaints were so harmful.
It was a dangerous subject, I repeat. Humel was already chafing under my remarks and beginning to protest—(Where is the man who will submit to being taught his business?)—I went off at a tangent, just in time, and roundly abused Playoust and Descroix—Humel I affected to accept, to consider that as far as he was able to, he tried to react against a troublesome state of mind; I considered him the only N.C.O. who counted in No. 1 platoon, as De Valpic was too ill but I hoped that he would redouble his efforts!
The most transparent ruses were successful. Humel gave up rebelling. I do not know whether he flattered himself that he was like the portrait I drew of him, but he nodded approvingly. When you catch people doing wrong they are so grateful to you when you do not humiliate them.
We shook hands heartily when we separated. I kept his youthful fist in mine for a minute:
"Au revoir, my lad!"
"See you to-morrow!"
One more on our side, perhaps!
I went to lie down on our dung-heap. My companions were already asleep. I looked affectionately at Bouillon and Guillaumin for a moment—then I scribbled a few lines to Jeannine, and lay down at peace with myself.
BOOK VIII
September 2nd-7th
CHAPTER X
NEWS AT LAST!
Thenext day reinforcements arrived from our depôt. There were forty men for the company, one of whom was an N.C.O. called Langlois—seven men for the section.
The poor wretches were very much depressed. They had been detrained at Bar-le-Duc, and sent off to find us, in charge of a subaltern. They had been wandering about for three days, with little or no food. They were worn out when they joined us. Their feet were bleeding, and in their eyes was the reflection of horrible visions. Oh, those fields of corpses! And the smell! Several of them were sick once more at the mere recollection of it. Or again, in other places—those bodies buried in haste—the arms and feet sticking out of the ground! And then, on the second evening they had suddenly found themselves in the firing line. Bullets whizzed past their ears—Zzp, Zzp—and shells surrounded them. Several of their men had already been killed.
It must be added that these men left F—— five days before under a gloomy impression. News had just got through of our regiment of regulars who since the very beginning had been fighting a few miles away from us, though we had never come across them. And what news it was! Leaving Longuyon on the morning of the 21st, engaged that evening at Ethes, and thrown back on Tellencourt, they had been, so to speak, volatilised, during those two days. Their losses had been enormous. One battalion had been wiped out and another was missing—the only hope was that the whole of it might have been taken prisoners—the third had been saved by the self-possession of a company commander.
When one thought of the recruiting, to a great extent local—The regulars! All the young harvest! The flower of the country! A great many of ourpoilushad a younger brother, sometimes two or three, among these troops which were said to be exterminated. They were to be seen with anxious eyes, and quivering nostrils, hazarding some name or other, in an agony of suspense. Details were generally lacking, but a trenchant reply would sometimes come:
"Killed, killed!"
"Killed?"
"Exactly."
What a blow it was. Some of them staggered, but most of them bowed their heads and said nothing. Then seized with compassion, I would go up to them.
"Poor old chap!" I soothed them with a vague hope—how many of the missing would turn up again?
What I was more anxious about than anything else was, as may be imagined, the general situation. What was happening? I feverishly questioned Langlois.
He was a school-master too, but from Paris. Playoust's set had immediately tried to get hold of him, but he made it quite clear that he intended to remain neutral, on good terms with us. He had an interesting head. He was sunburnt, and had intensely blue eyes, a big nose with a narrow bridge, and a determined chin. Besides that, he was slim and muscular, and had a graceful carriage. There was a look of a musketeer or condottiere about him—a look which was deceptive for that matter, as I soon realised. He was a good sort, but nothing beyond that. His intelligence was limited.