There is no need to tell how Henri and Jules, now converted intopoilus, joined the troops in their billets behind the lines at Verdun; how they went to a school of instruction, where they were coached in the minute and delicate, if not peculiar, art of bombing; how they learnt, in fact, to conduct trench warfare, and prepared for closer contact with the enemy. Nor need we tell how presently they were drafted into the city of Verdun, where it lies beside the River Meuse in a sleepy hollow facing the heights beyond, which lay between it and the Germans. After a residence there in billets, they crossed the river, and, mounting those heights, gained at length the communication-trenches which gave access to the French positions in the neighbourhood of Hautmont.
"And how do you like it?" the Sergeant in command of the platoon to which they were attached asked them as the dawn broke on the following morning, and every man in the trench stood to his arms in case of an attack by the enemy. "See you, Jules, and you too, Henri,"—for let us explain that our two young heroes were not entirely unknown to their comrades, that is unknown by name or by reputation; indeed, the regiment to which they were now attached had, like many another regiment, read of their exciting escape from Ruhleben, gloried in the event and in the spirit it showed, and were ready to welcome them heartily—"you two, Henri and Jules, here is a loophole for each of you. You see the parapet of the trench is strengthened with logs cut from the forest, and if you are careful not to poke your heads up above the parapet you have little to fear from enemy bullets. Look away down below you; the ground slopes gradually, and there is nothing to obstruct your fire but the stumps of trees which were cut down months ago. Now, look still farther, and I will tell you something of the position: there, to the left of you, is Brabant, just round the corner of the hill, though you can't quite see it, and to the left of that again, the river, with the village of Forges just across the water, and Bethincourt and the Mort Homme Hill close to it. Now look to your right. There's Gremilly lying near the railway, and farther along still, beyond Ormes, is Cincery, and south of it Etain, while immediately beyond are the heights of Douaumont, with Vaux closely adjacent."
Peering through their loopholes, Jules and Henri spent a useful and interesting half-hour in watching the scene before them. They were standing in a trench dug across the gentle slope of a hill which at one time, in those days of peace preceding the war, had been thickly clad with fir-trees—a slope now denuded altogether, and presenting only innumerable stumps, standing up like so many sentinels, while those nearer to the trenches had barbed wire stretched between them, making a metal mesh which would require most strenuous efforts to break. Not a soul was to be seen in front of them; not a figure flitted through the woods in the direction of the Germans' position, while as for the Boche, there was not one in evidence, though during that half-hour they detected the line which indicated the enemy trenches, and heard more than once the snap of a rifle.
"And it is ever thus, Henri and Jules," the Sergeant told them. "We stand to arms in the early morning, just as now, waiting for the attack which, it is whispered, will be made upon us, and which never comes. Indeed, to me it seems that the Germans have for days past given up all idea of an advance in this direction; and sometimes not even a rifle is fired, while the cannon is never heard."
If no one was to be seen in front of the French fire-trenches; or in front of the cunning pits where machine-guns were hidden, there was yet ample movement, and plenty of people, close at hand to drive ennui from the minds of Henri and his comrade. There were soldiers everywhere along the trench—merry fellows, who sat about the fire—for in this month of February the early mornings were very chilly—who smoked their pipes and laughed and chatted, and who watched as breakfast was made ready. There were men carefully attending to trench-mortars, others polishing their rifles, and yet others again who had crept by deep tunnels to the cunning positions in front and were busily attending their machine-guns; and behind, along the communication-trenches, in the support and reserve trenches, in a hundred and more dug-outs, there were morepoiluswith officers amongst them, hearty, confident individuals, living a curious existence, which had now lasted so many months that it seemed to have been their life from the very commencement. Farther beyond still, it was impossible to see, for Henri and Jules had their duties and might not leave the regiment; yet in hundreds of hollows there was hidden the deadly French soixante-quinze—the 75-millimetre quick-firing gun, which from the commencement of this gigantic conflict has controlled and beaten German guns of a similar calibre. Yet again, behind them, were other bigger guns, splendidly dug in and hidden cleverly with straw-thatched roofs, many of them no doubt once filling the embrasures of Douaumont and other forts which in times of yore had gained for Verdun the reputation of impregnability. Yet German leviathan guns had proved that they could now smash Douaumont or any other fortress to pieces within a few hours, whereas in the old times it had been a matter of days, when even the artillery was sufficiently powerful. Modern invention, high explosives, and scientific artillery had altered modes of defence, and the fort at Douaumont and the forts elsewhere encircling the sleepy town of Verdun were now but shells of masonry, mere billets for soldiers, while the guns were ranged out in the open.
What a busy scene it was behind the fire-trenches in which Henri and Jules were now standing. In a hundred cunning little nooks, in corners which one hardly expected to come upon, there were field-kitchens, where a fire might be kindled without attracting the enemy or his artillery-fire, and where soup—beloved of thepoilu—might be prepared for those on duty.
"Mon ami, it's a good thing to have warmth both without and within," said, the Sergeant who had already befriended our two heroes, beating his hands together to promote the circulation, and blowing upon his fingertips, for it was a chilly day this late February, 1916. "A man who is cold faces the enemy and the dangers attendant upon this sort of business with a courage which is perhaps a trifle damped, while if he be hungry also, and cold within, then indeed he is at a disadvantage. Come, a bowl of soup! Our cook is a specialist in its manufacture, and, myself, I think that the fellow is good enough to be chef even at the Astoria in Paris. You know the Astoria, my Jules?"
Jules treated the Sergeant to one of those amiable smiles of his. Did he know the Astoria Hotel? That aristocratic establishment in Paris. Were there many aristocratic parts of that famous city of which he was ignorant? It made Henri snigger indeed, remembering those days, now it seemed so long ago, when he and Jules had been among the elegants of the city. Yet, if these two young soldiers had known what luxury meant, and what it was to lead a life of gaiety, they were none the less good soldiers of France, destined to prove themselves, indeed, as noble as any of those comrades about them. Seated there on the fire-bench, where a man could stand and level his rifle in the direction of the enemy, they and the Sergeant sipped their bowls of soup with relish, dipping a crust of bread into it, and wanting nothing better. The outdoor life, their unusual surroundings—which had not yet become so familiar to them as to go without observation—the keen February air, the sense of danger impending, lent zest to appetites already healthy.
"I'd as soon dine like this as anywhere," said Henri, as he tipped his bowl up and his head back at the same time, and imbibed the steaming beverage. "Just fancy sitting down to a five- or six-course meal, as a fellow was accustomed to do in the days before this war commenced. A five-course meal, Jules! Fancy what we'd have said to such a thing in Ruhleben, where the meals were hardly recognizable."
Jules at that moment was engaged in finishing a huge crust of bread, and, holding the remains of it up between fingers and thumb, and balancing his bowl of soup neatly in the other hand, was in the act of drinking from it, when a distant thud, a screaming sound, and then a terrific concussion close at hand sent his bowl flying, and the young soldier himself rolling from the bank upon which he had been seated. As for Henri, when Jules caught a view of what was left of that young fellow it was to discover his friend half buried in earth, a huge log lying right across his body, and the Sergeant, tumbled, inert and lifeless it seemed, over the log. Then willing hands came to their rescue, and within a moment or two all three were again seated on the bank, the Sergeant holding his head between his hands, still dizzy after that explosion, while Henri was carelessly brushing the dirt from his clothing.
"A TERRIFIC CONCUSSION SENT HIS BOWL FLYING AND THE YOUNG SOLDIER HIMSELF ROLLING FROM THE BANK""A TERRIFIC CONCUSSION SENT HIS BOWL FLYING ANDTHE YOUNG SOLDIER HIMSELF ROLLING FROM THE BANK"
"A TERRIFIC CONCUSSION SENT HIS BOWL FLYING AND THE YOUNG SOLDIER HIMSELF ROLLING FROM THE BANK""A TERRIFIC CONCUSSION SENT HIS BOWL FLYING ANDTHE YOUNG SOLDIER HIMSELF ROLLING FROM THE BANK"
"A near squeak, mon ami," laughed one of thepoilus, as he assisted Henri in his task; "that is the first shell that has come near us for days past, and I shouldn't mind if it were the last of them. Understand, my comrade, that shell-fire is not all very pleasant, and there are times when a man must sit in the fire-trench, crouching at the bottom, whilst they rain all round him, some bursting in the trench and shattering the traverses, some thumping pits behind or in front big enough for a platoon to camp in, and others blowing in the parapets, and smothering the fellows behind them. Rifle-fire is nothing to it—a mere pastime—for then, if a man keeps his head well down, there is but little danger."
Thud! In the distance another gun sounded. Thud! Thud! Thud! Sharp reports followed almost instantly, and found their direction, it seemed, from a thousand different points hidden by the forest country in front of the trenches directly north of the city.
Had Henri and Jules been elsewhere than in those trenches now assailed by the German artillery, had they, for instance, been in the neighbourhood of the fortress of Douaumont, or even on some more elevated position—if one were discoverable—they would have watched a sight on this 19th day of February which would have appalled them, and yet would have held them enthralled—so full of interest was it. Let us but sketch the view to be obtained from such a point.
MAP OF VERDUN SALIENT DURING OPERATIONS ON 21ST FEBRUARY, 1916MAP OF VERDUN SALIENT DURING OPERATIONS ON 21ST FEBRUARY, 1916
MAP OF VERDUN SALIENT DURING OPERATIONS ON 21ST FEBRUARY, 1916MAP OF VERDUN SALIENT DURING OPERATIONS ON 21ST FEBRUARY, 1916
From the heights of the Meuse, beyond and on which lay the French positions, crossing the River Meuse in the neighbourhood of Brabant, one looked down to a huge plain some hundreds of feet lower, the land falling abruptly in many parts, and the rolling hills traversed here and there by ravines, which gave easier access to the heights above than was to be found elsewhere. Everywhere woods were to be seen, woods of evergreen firs clothing the country thickly about the foot of the heights, and sweeping, to some extent, out into the plain beyond; woods, indeed, which masked the position of the enemy, which made it practically impossible to say how many troops were there, and whether the Germans had, as reports stated, made preparations for an attack on the Verdun salient.
A glance at the map will perhaps make the position even clearer, for there it will be seen that the French line, running from the west from the River Aisne, passed close to Varennes—which was in the hands of the enemy—struck north at Avocourt, skirting the foot of hilly ground, and so continuing to Malancourt. From there the trench-line ran due east to Forges, just north of the brook of that name, and, crossing the River Meuse a little north of the point where the brook Forges falls into the river, ran north and east via Brabant, and along the line already indicated, sweeping from Etain and St. Jean—its most easterly point—due south till it reached the neighbourhood of Fresnes, and then curving towards the west and south, where it again approached the river. St. Jean, the most easterly point of the line, may be said to have formed almost the apex of the salient made by the French trenches encircling Verdun, and the city of that name may be said for the purpose of our description to have filled a point along a line drawn across the base of the salient. Perhaps thirty miles in length, this line, represented by the River Meuse, presented numerous roads and crossings by means of which French troops could be marched to any point of the salient, and presented also at Brabant, to the north of it, and at its southernmost point, positions of much importance. Let us suppose for a moment that an overwhelming enemy force was disposed in the neighbourhood of Brabant, and another at the southernmost point of the base of the Verdun salient—where the French trenches again ran adjacent to the river—a blow driving in the French defences both north and south at the self-same moment would shorten that base to which we have referred, and would, as it were, narrow the neck of the salient dangerously; it would have the effect, indeed, of tying up the force of men holding the apex of the salient, and of limiting their means of retreat if that were necessary, and the power of reinforcing them rapidly from Verdun. It may be, indeed, that this plan was in the minds of the Germans when, on the 19th of the month in question, they commenced that bombardment the first shot of which had proved so nearly disastrous to Henri and his comrades, and which, commencing at that moment, played on the whole Verdun salient for two days and nights. Then on the 21st they opened their campaign against the city of Verdun and the Verdun salient with a mighty blow against the northern trenches, close to Brabant, where the French lines crossed the river, and in the course of a few hours opened the eyes of the French command—which, though well aware of an impending attack, was perhaps not fully informed as to the scale and significance of the German preparations. Indeed, in those first few hours of the bombardment of the northern sector of the salient, there was repeated on this Western Front the phalanx concentration which Von Mackensen had used against the Russians during the previous summer, when thousands of guns, arrayed against a comparatively narrow area, burst and blazed a way through it, or, more accurately perhaps, smashed the Russian trenches, and, unopposed by their artillery—for, as we have stated already, the Russians were wofully short of guns and ammunition—slew the unfortunate troops of the Tsar holding those trenches, forced their supports and reserves to fall back, and, having gained a certain depth of territory, moved forward and repeated the process again and again, thus compelling continual retirement.
Here then, on the 19th February, 1916—a date which is destined to become historical—the Germans commenced on the Western Front, against the northern-most curve of the Verdun salient, a similar attack, an attack heralded by a storm of shells thrown from masses of artillery which had been collected for weeks past and hidden in the woods in that neighbourhood. There were guns dug in in every direction, guns which had been there, perhaps, since the commencement of the war; there were others artfully concealed in natural hollows; and there were yet again others, literally hundreds of them, parked close together in the woods and forests without other attempt at concealment—a huge mass of metal which, at a given signal, commenced to pound the French defences. Never before, without doubt, had such a storm of shell been cast on any one line of trenches; and continuing, as it did, for hours, ploughing the ground over a comparatively narrow stretch, it reduced everything within that selected area to a shapeless and tangled mass of wreckage. It was to be wondered at, indeed, that anything living could survive the ordeal. French trenches, stretching across the slope behind those meshes of laced barbed wire, were blotted out—were stamped out indeed—and soon became indistinguishable from the hundreds of cavities and craters and holes which marked the slopes across which they had run that morning. Fourteen-inch shells, seventeen-inch shells, and thousands of smaller missiles, ploughed through and rained over the line, and many a ponderous fellow found its way to the deep dug-outs and shelters which had long ago been prepared for such an eventuality. Smoke hid the sky on this 19th of February and the two days following, the smoke of bursting shells plunging upon the French positions, while the cannon which threw those shells were still hidden by the tangled woods clothing the ground occupied by the enemy. Yet, if the gallantpoilusmanning the French trenches were not in evidence, if, indeed, life was being stamped out of a number of them by this terrific avalanche of bursting metal, they were yet for all that not entirely unsupported, for already those guns behind the advance lines of our ally were thundering, while, overhead, fleets of aeroplanes were picking up the positions of German batteries, and were signalling back to those who had sent them.
Crouching in the depths of a dug-out, some thirty feet below the surface, a dug-out which shook and quivered as shells rained above it, Henri's comrades of the platoon smoked grimly, while that young fellow himself, once a Paris elegant, crouched in what was left of a fire-trench, now a mere shattered pit—and peered somewhat anxiously towards the open.
"And you are there still, mon ami?" called the Sergeant, when there was a five minutes' lull in the firing, "you find it warm perhaps, mon Henri? But you will hold to your post firmly—yes, you will do that, as will all our comrades."
His big, healthy, bearded face looked out from the narrow entrance of the stairs which gave access to the dug-out, and for a while he grinned, a friendly, encouraging grin, at our hero. Then those heavy thuds in the distance, and a loud burst close at hand, sent him diving back to shelter, leaving Henri alone, a pipe now gripped between his teeth, his rifle slung over one shoulder, standing his ground, gazing before him, waiting for the first sign of an enemy attack.
"It will come soon, yes, very soon," the Sergeant said, when another lull in the firing arrived. "They will go on blazing away, throwing tons of metal at us, till they think they have blotted us out of existence, and then—then you will see they will swarm to the attack, these Germans."
Yet that did not prove to be the case, for, as a matter of fact, the Germans, profiting by the lesson they had learned in Russia, and imagining that they could as easily—more easily, in fact—repeat their exploit on this Western Front, had set out to capture Verdun by the aid of their artillery alone, and had every confidence of smashing their way to the town with but little else, and with but little use of their infantry. Continuing their tempest of shells for many hours, till it seemed that not one French soldier could have survived the bombardment of that northern sector, they then sent forward their sappers and mere patrols to discover what damage had been wrought, and to take over the new position. Behind them, massed in amongst the trees, were German battalions, prepared to advance at once and dig in and secure what the guns had gained for them.
"Attention! The enemy are coming," Henri bellowed through the mouth of the stairway leading to that dug-out where his platoon was sheltering. "I can see them crossing the open."
"And the shell-fire, mon ami? It has ceased? No, surely not," came the voice of the Sergeant.
"Tiens! Halt a little, my friends," said the voice of an officer sheltering in an adjacent dug-out and coming at that moment to the exit from it, "one little moment, for shells still rain upon the position. Keep a careful watch, my gallant Henri, and warn us in due time."
Henri therefore once more stationed himself behind the battered edge of what had been once the parapet of a well-made trench, and peered through a broken loophole at the distant enemy. He could see scattered parties of men trailing across the open, emerging from the distant cover afforded by the trees, and marching steadily, without haste, it seemed, towards the French positions. Then, glancing to his left and to his right, he caught glimpses of other sentries like himself, solitary Frenchmen stationed in those battered fire-trenches to watch for the coming of the enemy—the thinnest of thin garrisons, indeed, placed there to guard the French lines from sudden attack, and to present as few men as possible to the devouring shells cast by the Germans. It was the policy, in fact, of the French commanders to expose their men just as little as was possible; to hold up the advance of enemy attacks with as few numbers as was consistent with safety; and in the event of massed attacks, where the pressure was enormous, to create havoc in the ranks of the enemy with their guns, their machine-guns, and their rifles—to kill Germans on every and any occasion, and then, if circumstances dictated such a move, to withdraw their slender garrisons to a line farther back, exchanging so many yards of territory willingly for the losses they had forced upon the Kaiser's soldiers. For this gigantic conflict in the West, this warfare devouring the nations of Europe, had, after the twentieth month of its outbreak, become more than ever a question of numbers. With teeming millions of soldiers at the commencement, Austria and Germany were able to fall upon their unprepared neighbours and almost to swamp their country; but the thin line of heroes who had dwelt in those trenches from the North Sea to the frontier of Switzerland had held the horde at bay, had kept it back until their comrades could rush to the rescue. Numbers were now far more equal; the toll of Germans taken by British and French and Belgians, and of Austrians and Germans by the Russians, had begun to tell upon the enemy effectives. Thanks to the mighty army which Britain had collected, the Allies were now greater in number than were the enemy, and, adopting a system devised by the French, were carefully saving their men, willingly giving ground if need be, if its tenure meant great losses, and always, both by day and night, taking every opportunity of killing Germans—yes, of killing Germans, of reducing the Kaiser's ranks, and of hastening the day when, with weakened numbers, Germany could no longer resist the onslaught of the armies of France and Britain and Belgium. Here, then, in front of Verdun, the French had but a mere handful in their first-line trenches—a mere handful—upon whom that torrent of shells was rained. Just a scattered, yet noble band, ready to hold up the assault which would most certainly follow.
Rifles cracked along the line while those sappers and patrols sent out by the enemy—who hardly believed life still possible in the shattered trenches—were shot down or driven back to cover. Henri then, peering over the trench, turned of a sudden and rushed to the entrance of the dug-out.
"Come!" he shouted. "Thousands of the enemy are coming from the shelter of the trees, and are massing in the open. It is an assault in force that we must resist."
Along that draggled line of trenches, which were almost blotted out of existence by now, and over which shells still rained in abundance, men whom the Germans imagined to have been killed long ago, to have been blown to pieces, popped out of the narrow entrances of dug-outs, clambered up the steep wooden steps from the caverns prepared in the earth, and, digging hard, made strenuous efforts to repair their trenches. Others sneaked along unsuspected galleries to holes far out in front of the line, where machine-guns were cunningly hidden; while, yet again, others plied to and fro along the communication-trenches, forcing their way past obstructions and falls of earth caused by the bombardment, hastening to procure more ammunition.
"It's an attack in force; hold your fire, mes enfants!" shouted the Commander of that section of the trenches in which Henri and Jules were stationed. "See them! Thousands of Boches coming from the trees and marching towards us. Hold them a little while, my comrades, and then we shall repay them for all that we have suffered. Hold, my friends, for though these trenches are now but furrows and holes in the ground, they yet give shelter enough for men who love their country and who would resist those who are advancing."
Shouts came along the line; men called across the battered traverses to one another;poilussat at their machine-guns in those cunningly hidden pits, gripping the handles, their eyes riveted upon the sights and upon the enemy. Rifles were jerked into position, while men grabbed at packets of reserve ammunition, and, finding some convenient ledge, placed them close and handy.
"It will be a fight to the death, my Henri," called the Sergeant as cheerfully as ever, drawing at the stout pipe which he favoured—"a fight to the death; for not until we are wiped out shall Germans advance over this position."
Yes, it was to be a "fight to the death"; for the opening battle of the long series of tremendous conflicts which raged round Verdun for weeks later was to be amongst the most momentous and fiercest of them.
"They are coming! See them swarming from the trees yonder. Watch them tramping through the snow!
"Steady! Hold your fire! Let the guns alone deal with them. Bravo, mes amis, you are doing grandly! This is a day for the sons of France to let the enemy know they are still in existence."
Very quietly, with that sang-froid which the French possess, perhaps, above all others, with determination written on every face, both young and old, and with heroism shining from their features, those gallantpoilus, all along the line sweeping across the crest of the hills facing the Germans—a stretch of ground ploughed deep now into a hundred furrows, shattered and shell-swept, and blasted in a thousand places into deep pits and craters—watched first as those small advance-parties, sent by the enemy to reconnoitre the situation, were shot down or driven back to shelter; and watched now with straining eyes and with many an exclamation as a horde of grey-coated infantry debouched from the evergreen woods encircling the eastern and northern slopes of the approaches to their position, and, forming up there, advanced steadily to attack them. They were still a great distance away, yet within effective rifle range; but as yet the time had not come to deal with them from the trenches. There were the guns right behind, cleverly hidden, dug in, posted in many an odd corner, laid upon the enemy from many a crevice in the ground and many a convenient hollow. Indeed, already the sharp snap of those soixante-quinze had begun to punctuate the air, and shrapnel-bursts could be seen above the evergreen tree-tops upon the snow-clad slopes, and over hollows where the enemy were massing. But now, as the enemy cannonade died down a little, and that torrent of shells which had been hurtling upon the French trenches ceased a trifle, the din of the German bombardment was rendered almost noiseless, was shut out, as it were, was eclipsed, by the demoniacal rattle of those French 75's casting shell at the advancing enemy. The massed ranks marching from the cover of the trees, heads of columns appearing at the summit of many a ravine which gave access to the heights, battalions forming up outside their shelter, were smashed and rent by a tornado of shrapnel and shell which blew in the faces of the German formations, which severed the heads of columns from the bodies, which drove hideous gaps and holes in the centre of the ranks, and sent the mass, bleeding and broken and shattered, doubling back into cover.
But if the French had withstood that terrific bombardment to which a short sector of their front before Verdun had been subjected for so many hours, and had held on to a position, which others might well have termed untenable, with grim determination, the Kaiser's infantry were to prove on this eventful day—as on many another which followed—that they too were possessed of the strongest heroism. Governed by the strictest discipline, hounded on by armed officers if they showed the smallest hesitation, yet, to do them scant justice only, eager and ready for the fight in the majority of cases, the shattered ranks of the invader of France's soil re-formed under cover—under the shelter of the evergreen trees, under a persistent deluge of shrapnel from the 75's—re-formed, and, shoulder to shoulder, having debouched again into the open, set their faces once more uphill towards that shattered and battered line where the French were awaiting them.
No need to detach smaller parties to go forward and reconnoitre the ground, to tell them whether the enemy were still existing. It had been the sanguine hope of the Crown Prince—who was conducting this enormous manoeuvre—and his War Staff, that what had been done in Russia might well be repeated on the Western Front. Guns—a superiority of guns—guns and more guns, were the solution of the difficult problem which had faced the Germans for so many months past. That unbroken line on the west, those Frenchmen and soldiers of Britain and Belgium, in spite of their courage and tenacity, in spite of their trenches and redoubts and fortified positions which seemed impregnable, might yet be driven before the hordes of the Kaiser, and that with comparatively little loss; for, thanks to their gigantic preparations before the war commenced, Germany and Austria had still a preponderance of guns, and shells in amazing quantities. Here then was the opportunity: mass the guns—bring every available piece to this spot—and turn upon the enemy trenches such a torrent that trenches, redoubts, and fortified positions would be blotted out of existence, a way hewn through the Western line, with the expenditure of ammunition alone and with the loss of but few German lives. It was theory—German theory—which perhaps they were entitled to rely on, seeing what had happened in Russia; and yet a theory destined on this occasion, and in the weeks which followed, to prove utterly unreliable, utterly wrong, a grievous disappointment. For see! Those scattered parties sent to reconnoitre the battered ground had been killed or driven back; the preparations for a massed attack had been broken up and set at naught by the terrible 75's; and now, as the German infantry debouched again, and, marching swiftly forward, came into full range of the slopes which the guns would appear to have rendered absolutely untenable, such a storm of bullets swept the ranks that the mass quivered, rocked and reeled, and then halted. Torn by shrapnel from above, its lines rent by machine-gun and rifle-firing, the attackers stood and rallied for a moment; then shouts burst from them of terror, of hatred, and of execration, only to be followed by hoarse commands to move forward. Then the masses broke. Isolated units started to charge up the slopes, and soon the mass of men, now no longer shoulder to shoulder, scattered over the slope, keeping yet so close together that bullets could scarce miss individuals, came doubling uphill, their heads down, their bayonets flashing in the wintry sun, their feet carving wide zigzag paths in the snow with which the ground was covered.
"They come! Fire on them! Let go! And prepare, if they come closer, to meet them with the bayonet."
The shout went along that shattered trench-line, and men stood on what was left of the firebank, or leaned their pieces on the edge of a shell-crater or some pit into which they had crawled for shelter, and, turning the muzzles on the enemy, blazed into their masses. Rifles grew hot, ammunition became exhausted, and yet only for a little while, for men fell on every side, and their comrades gripped at the contents of their pouches. Half in and half out of a trench, the sides of which had been blown into the interior almost filling it up, lying full length on his stomach, Henri poured bullets into the enemy, as cool as any cucumber, while Jules lay beside him, picking off his man at every shot, laughing, gesticulating, and quivering with excitement.
"Tiens! It's done! They fly! Bravo!"
The sergeant of Henri's platoon, one arm dangling helpless by his side, stretched out a brawny hand and gripped our hero's, while Jules—the somewhat hysterically inclined Jules—laughing uproariously, would have embraced the gallant Henri if the latter would have allowed it.
Officers shook hands with their men, whilepoilusturned and congratulated one another: for the thing was done. That handful of men which manned what was left of the French trenches had shattered the first German attack made upon the Verdun salient; and, with the help of the deadly soixante-quinze, had driven the Germans back to the place from which they had started—had driven back all who were still living.
"See them, those Germans still lying out there in the open," cried the Sergeant, standing now, his head and shoulders exposed, forgetful of his wounds, pointing down the snow-clad and trodden slopes to the part where the Kaiser's infantry had debouched from the forests. "See, the place is grey with their bodies; they are piled high one upon another, and there must be hundreds of them. Good! This is a devilish war, mes amis, a devilish war; for see how we gloat over their losses. But listen still more: this is France, and none shall invade her save at their peril."
For a while silence settled down over the scene of that sanguinary conflict, the guns of either side going out of action, while once more no sign was to be perceived of the Germans. Yet it was evident enough already that gigantic preparations had been made to beat in and flatten the Verdun salient; and, surprised to some extent as the French undoubtedly were, not by the attack itself, but by the immensity of the German arrangements for it, that lull after the first attack was at once put to service. Where possible, reinforcements were sent up to the front, while everywhere spades and picks were plied with energy.
"It's life or death to us," said an officer cheerfully as he came amongst the men of Henri's platoon. "See how the line has been broken up and our trenches smashed out of all recognition. But the Germans, too, have been smashed for a while, and therefore, while they rest, let us work and prepare other shelters. But wait! Yes, I have a message from the Commander. The Sergeant who was wounded has made a report. Tell me, then, where are those two men, Henri and Jules, who came from Ruhleben to bear their part in this fighting?"
Smeared with earth, coated with the soil of France from their steel helmets down to their army boots, their hands and faces grimy, their hair dishevelled, and yet their faces shining with enthusiasm and courage, Henri and Jules stood to attention before the officer and waited.
"So it is you, you two," he said, regarding them for some few seconds—"you two, Henri and Jules—names which everypoiluseems to know most thoroughly—then, attention! These are the Colonel's words, uttered on the report of that Sergeant, who states that Henri and Jules showed conspicuous courage and determination, and have set a fine example to their comrades: you are no longer just plain soldiers of France, you are now entitled to wear the stripes of a corporal. And now, Corporal Henri, and you, Corporal Jules, back to your digging."
If our two gallant young heroes had laboured before with energy, they now put the utmost exertion into their work; for see what had happened! They were corporals, and had won promotion so early after joining the French army, not because of any social position they may have had in those days, now so long past, when these two young elegants thought of little that was serious; no, they had won promotion for bravery in the face of the enemy, because of the example they had set, because, indeed, they were good soldiers. It made them flush all over; it made them more determined than ever to prove themselves of value to their comrades; and, as we have said, it set them digging with such furious energy that those about them marvelled, and then, taking an example from them, well knowing that the time available for improving their shelter was limited, they too redoubled their efforts, till the perspiration was pouring from them.
It was perhaps two hours later, when dusk was falling and the wintry air was filled with snow-flakes, that the silence—that unnatural silence which had hung for so short a while about the northern area of the Verdun salient—was broken by a salvo of enemy guns, and then by a roar, as each one of the two thousand and more pieces joined its voice in the chorus.
"Into your dug-outs! Take shelter! Get below as fast as you can!"
The order sailed along those broken trenches, now repaired in some measure, and sent men, who were not to remain on duty, down into the cleverly-constructed holes prepared for such an eventuality. And then commenced once more that terrible rain of shells, those devastating explosions, those upheavals of earth, and that process of smashing the French trenches. The dusk grew, until the darkness of night had fallen, and still the guns pounded, searching every inch of the line and not sparing a single corner. Yet, in spite of the gunners' efforts to do their best for the Kaiser, there were still nooks and crannies where Frenchpoilussheltered, where men controlling search-lights played their beams over the slopes before them, and presently those self-same beams, flung along the broken face of the wooded country below, discovered movement.
"Another attack; men creeping from the forest and forming up out in the open. Let us hope that our gunners and observation-officers see them," said an officer who stood behind Henri at his post in the fire trench. "Now, my friend, shout into the dug-outs to warn the men, for it seems to me that very soon we shall need them."
Running along the trench, Henri put his head through the narrow opening of each of the dug-outs, while the men on either side of him did likewise. Then, returning to his post beside the officer, he watched, just as he had watched earlier in the day, though under different conditions; for then, but for the indifferent visibility of the atmosphere, the scene was clearly outlined to him; but now, what with the flakes of snow whirling hither and thither, what with the trampled snow-slopes between the trenches and the German positions, what with the cold, flickering beams of the search-lights, everything wore a strangely weird and ghostly appearance. Yes, ghostly, for the beams, travelling along those scattered lines of grey corpses down towards the fir-trees, made play with their figures. It looked, indeed, in that curious light, as if some of them were kneeling, and as if others were rising to their feet and were advancing uphill; and behind them, at the fringe of the woods, there were others, hundreds of others, seeming to stand still just now, and different in no way in appearance from those others lying out before them. But wait! In a little while, in a few minutes indeed, they were moving, they were sweeping on under the cold, inquisitive beams of the search-light, on under the pelting hail of shrapnel which the French 75's were now hurling at them, and, crossing those irregular lines of grey corpses, dashing to the assault, were charging uphill at a rate which threatened to bring them to grips with the French in a very few moments.
"Into the trenches! Stand to your rifles! Open fire on the enemy!"
Hoarse commands were called along the battered trenches, while once again men came stumbling up the wooden steps of their dug-outs, or went creeping along secret channels to machine-gun posts well in advance of the trenches.
"Now, let go at them; we have them in the open!"
A machine-gun immediately in front of Henri, hidden in a pit which was indistinguishable from the hundreds of others formed by exploding shells, suddenly spluttered, and, as Henri looked, the first line of German troops, racing uphill immediately before that gun, fell flat, was wiped out, and became non-effective. But other figures filled the place, men pushed themselves, or were pushed, forward into the vacated position, and without halt, without pause, or so much as a waver, torn though it was and shredded by the storm of bullets, that German mass still came charging uphill. Nothing stopped it. Suffering appalling losses, their front blown in in fifty different places, the enemy yet re-formed their ranks, and though, perhaps, retarded in their charge, were not definitely halted. Shouts were coming from that mass, shouts of men worked into a fever, of men crazy with terror or with hatred; of men perhaps drugged for this terrible ordeal, and who, having determined to capture the position, were prepared to welcome death rather than fail in their object.
"And what if they reach us, what then?" asked Henri of the officer still beside him, who in the meanwhile had seized the rifle of a wounded soldier and was emptying it into the ranks of the enemy. "What then, mon Capitaine? A charge with the bayonet—eh?"
"Yes, a charge with the bayonet! Make ready for it; pass the word to right and left! Fix your bayonets and make ready!"
But every bayonet along the line was already fixed, for indeed it is the habit of French troops to carry them so. Only, the men who wielded them, were they ready? Were they as full of courage and determination as were those Germans now so close to them? They, the handful ofpoiluswhom the French High Command had alone spared for the protection of their front lines, had they the nerve, the grit, for a hand-to-hand combat? Shouts came from many a man, loud cheers burst from the throat of many a bearded veteran, while one young officer sprang on the battered parapet of a trench, and stood there facing his friends, calling to them, exhorting them, as the rays of a search-light played on his figure; indeed, for more than a minute he stood there, sharply outlined, a sight for all eyes, a figure which attracted the attention of everypoiluwithin reach of him. And then, what a yell burst from the throats of the soldiers; they leapt from the trenches, and as the scattered beams, falling for just a few seconds here and there amongst them, lit up their figures, they could be seen massing on the pitted and furrowed ground in front, prepared for a last encounter.
"Charge! At them with the bayonet! Bravo, mes enfants!"
A tall, lithe officer—a colonel—was in front of the men already, his sword waving overhead, his head turned towards the men as he led them.
"Charge!" he shouted, though the sound was swept away and lost in the turmoil of cheers from the French soldiers who heard him, and in the shattering reports of those French 75's, which, blazing hard in the rear, registered still upon the enemy.
Then those gallantpoiluswho had poured over the parapets of their trenches—where such still existed—springing from shell-holes where they had taken shelter, and emerging from every sort of odd and unexpected corner, joined in one frantic mob, swept down under the rays of the search-light upon the enemy, and, plunging into their midst, commenced at once a desperate hand-to-hand encounter.
So it was where Henri and Jules were stationed, and the tale was repeated in a hundred different places. Indeed, on this 21st February, when the Germans had confidently anticipated a "walk-over", and when such an event as a massed attack, or even the loss of a considerable number of their infantry, was hardly contemplated, they found themselves held up entirely, with whole ranks of their divisions swept away, and with the ground in front of Brabant, Haumont, and along the northern face of the Verdun salient littered with their killed and wounded. That torrent of shells, which should have killed every one of the slender garrison of Frenchmen, had failed in its effect; while the hope of gaining Verdun, the capture of which was to influence the whole world, and particularly wavering neutrals, was as far away as ever. That desperate attack made during the darkness broke down as others had done, and the Germans—those who were left of them—fled to the cover of the evergreen pine-trees, leaving thepoilusof General Joffre's armies to stagger back to their battered trenches, there to prepare—not to rest, not to sleep, for that was out of the question—but to resist still further.
Down below, in a subterranean chamber, there burned a cheerful fire, a chimney taking the smoke and flames up through the ground above and into the open. Seated about it, more dishevelled than ever, their chins bristly now, and their faces and hands stained a dull, dirty colour, sat Jules and Henri and others of their comrades, resting for a time, while men of their regiment watched for them.
"And, believe me, it has been a fight of fights," said one bearded veteran, lolling back against the earth wall of the dug-out, a cup of steaming coffee gripped in one huge, dirty hand, and a hunch of cheese in the other. "A fight more bitter than any that has gone before it, and one which will become more desperate. Allons! Here is death to the Kaiser!"
He smiled round at his comrades, whose faces were lit up by the rays from the flickering flames, showing a gleaming row of teeth, and steady eyes, and features which displayed not the smallest trace of fear, or even of anxiety.
"Death to the Kaiser—to the butcher who sends his troops to such slaughter!"
Tossing his head backwards, he let the contents of the cup gurgle down his throat, then, smacking his lips, he held the vessel out for a further ration.
Steps on the wooden stairway leading into the dugout just then attracted the attention of the whole party, and soon there arrived another comrade—a junior officer—to swell their numbers, to tax the limit of accommodation down below to the utmost. As dirty as any of his men, dirtier perhaps, he bore about him traces almost of exhaustion, and, throwing himself on the ground, silently accepted the drink and food which were at once offered him. It was not, indeed, until he had finished his meal, and until he had almost smoked the contents of one pipe-load of tobacco, that he opened his lips to thepoilus.
"And then, Monsieur le Lieutenant," began one of thepoilus, a cheerful young fellow, who, indeed, was in civil times the chum of this young officer, "you've been far, mon Commandant, you have brought news to us? For did you not leave us a while back to pass along the communication-trenches? What, then, is the tale? And are there supports and reserves at hand to reinforce us?"
Again it was to be noted that there was not a sign of anxiety on the face of this young soldier, nor in the tones which he adopted. He merely smiled and shrugged his shoulders, in fact, as the officer shook his head decidedly.
"No! No supports, and no reserves at present," he said. "We must fight it out to a finish."
"Bien! To a finish, my friends!" chirped in the bearded warrior, sipping at a fresh cup of steaming coffee. "Then it is not for us to grumble, but rather for the Boches. For, see, desperate men who cannot be relieved, and who will not surrender, fight like rats in a trap, and such beasts were ever venomous. And so, Monsieur le Lieutenant, there are none to help us?"
"None!" came the cheery answer. "The position is as clear as daylight. It is only now that our High Command is able to perceive that the Germans have launched a stroke at Verdun, which is stronger, and likely to be fiercer, than any that have preceded it on any other portion of the line. They tried, these Boches, to burst their way through Ypres in April, you will remember, having failed to do so in the previous October. They have tried their hand in other parts, and always with failure. Now it is the turn of Verdun—a salient like that at Ypres, and one which must be held against all oncomers. You ask the fortunes of our other troops. Listen, then, my friends; for by dint of crawling and creeping, often across the open—for communication-trenches have been obliterated—I was able to reach a centre where information had been gathered. We, here, in the neighbourhood of Brabant, stand firm, thanks to the heroic fighting of our comrades."
"And thanks, monsieur, to the noble leading of our officers," declared the bearded veteran; whereat thepoilusclapped their hands in approbation.
The officer's face was radiant at such a compliment, which, let us observe, was thoroughly well deserved; for if thepoilu, the common soldier of the French armies facing the Germans, had fought well, his officer had indeed set him a magnificent example.
Much need, too, had thepoilusholding the Verdun salient for the best of officers. For the German onslaught, though it had failed so far, had at least the prospect of future success because of the surprise effected. Not that the attack was entirely unexpected on the part of the French, but surprise was great at the vast preparations and massed guns and infantry the actual attack had disclosed to our ally. Those guns had first deluged every few yards of the twenty-five miles of trenches from Brabant to Troyon, and later, swinging round, had been concentrated on a narrow sector of four miles perhaps, a sector occupied by Henri and his friends and other Frenchmen.
As to the German infantry, they were in great numbers. Indeed, there were some seven German army corps massed against the Verdun salient; while the French, with incomplete information of the intending coup to be attempted by the enemy, had but two army corps to defend the positions. Moreover, time would be required in which to bring up reinforcements; for, be it remembered, the Verdun salient is pushed out to the east of the River Meuse, and though there are bridges crossing the river, they are not so numerous as to allow of huge forces being rapidly transferred across them. A still more important factor in the position was, perhaps, the distance those reserves must be brought before they could stand shoulder to shoulder with their comrades. It is not mis-stating the fact on the night of the 21st February when we assert that those two French army corps, holding a trench-line extending over some twenty-five miles, stood, for the time being and for many hours to come, alone between the enemy and their objective. They must fight not only to retain their positions, but must fight for time—time in which General Joffre and his commanders could rush reinforcements to assist them. Yet, though the battle had only lasted one single day, it had proved every man in those two corps a stanch fighter, every one determined to resist to the utmost.
"We here, in the neighbourhood of Brabant, my friends, hold fast as you know," said the officer, his eyes shining with enthusiasm. "Though the enemy have poured shot and shell on us, though they have blown our positions up and obliterated our trenches, we are here; and, indeed, do I not see before me a most cheery and merry company? Yes, another cup of coffee as I smoke and talk. It is cold outside, and somehow coffee soothes a man's nerves after such an ordeal. Well, then, here we are, firm, and not thinking of retiring yet awhile. On the line to Haumont, they, our comrades, hold their battered trenches, and, like ourselves, have taught the enemy a severe lesson. Then, passing to our right, you get to the Bois de Caures, which this morning was held by a French garrison. If we in this position were plagued with the fire of enemy guns, in that strip of forest our friends have been deluged, and their positions torn asunder and blown to pieces, even their dug-outs often being penetrated. The place became untenable, and yet it has been of assistance in the fighting. It was mined, and when the Germans, held off till that time by our sharpshooters, launched a division at it, our fellows slipped away before the enemy, and, waiting till the Germans were in the wood and pouring into the battered trenches, fired the mines, killing hundreds of them."
There came grunts from that bearded veteran, a gleam of his even white teeth, and muttered remarks from the others seated about the fire in the dug-out.
"Terrific!" exclaimed Henri. "Absolute murder; yet, what would you?"
"Yes, what would you?" repeated the officer. "It is France, it is liberty, it is the right to live as we wish for which we fight, against the oppression of a people who look upon might as right, and who, if they could, would deprive France and Britain and all the Allies of their liberty. So, murder! Yes, my comrade, but, as you observe, necessary. If the Kaiser, seeking for some great event, casts his hosts of men at us, our duty is plain; not an inch of ground of the sacred soil of France must be rendered up unless absolutely necessary; while the enemy, if they advance, must advance over the corpses of their comrades. But let me proceed. The Bois de Caures was evacuated, and then the southern end of it seized once more by some of our gallant fellows. Then there was fighting on the line to Ornes and at Herbebois, and there, too, the garrisons held their positions, having fought throughout the day and inflicted enormous losses on the Boches. Elsewhere I cannot tell you what the position is, though there is rumour that all is favourable."
Taking it in turns to go on duty, to watch the ground in front of them or to repair their battered trenches, that slender garrison which the policy of the French High Command had placed in the first line of trenches about the salient of Verdun waited with calm confidence for the morrow—for the 22nd February. Nor had they long to wait ere the conflict once more reopened. Guns had boomed throughout the night, and shells had continued to rain about them, but now, as light broke, and they hastily gulped down their breakfast, the bombardment increased in intensity along that northern sector, while presently enemy troops could be seen forcing their way up a ravine which cuts its way between Brabant and Haumont.Poilusin positions there were driven back for a moment by flame-projectors, which were used freely by the enemy—spurts of flaming liquid were scattered over them, and sometimes whole lengths of trenches set burning. Then the torrent of shells which was pouring upon the northern sector was increased, though that had seemed almost impossible, in the neighbourhood of those two places. Brabant and Haumont were shattered, the village of the latter name being flattened out and destroyed utterly. Shells ploughed the ground behind the French front position, so that communication-trenches, which had suffered severely on the previous day, and support- and reserve-trenches were blown to pieces and out of all recognition. Indeed, as the day passed, the slender garrison in that part were forced to abandon whatever protection the ground had previously given, and, retiring before the enemy, to fight a rear-guard action in the open. Some three or four miles of country behind that front line was indeed searched by the enemy guns; some indication of the enormous expenditure of shells indulged in by the Kaiser. The French left, resting on the River Meuse and the centre, was thus forced backward, though the gallant garrison of Herbebois still held on, together with a force of men on a hill just south-west of them. Some success had in fact fallen to the German phalanx attack on the Verdun salient. General von Haeseler, who was nominally in command, though acting under the orders of the ambitious Crown Prince of Germany, had by his smashing artillery-fire, though not by his infantry attacks, forced the French to abandon a portion of their trenches, and had indeed shortened that line to which we have referred previously—that line which formed an imaginary base to the Verdun salient. In fact, he had contrived to narrow the neck of the salient, though not yet very greatly, and thereby had limited the space across which the French troops could retire in the event of the abandonment of the salient being necessary.
Repeating the process on the following day—for by then the French had fallen back to their second line, now badly battered, at Samogneux and Hill 344—these new positions were assailed with such a torrent of shells that by the evening they were absolutely untenable, and a further retirement was essential. Indeed, by the morning of the 24th, the French left, as it lay on the River Meuse, was withdrawn to the famous Pepper Hill, so that the distance between the new first line and the city of Verdun was considerably decreased, while that imaginary base-line, across which the French must retreat if the salient was to be evacuated, was still further shortened. But elsewhere, where artillery-fire had given the enemy less assistance, where, indeed, massed guns could not be spared to blaze a path towards Verdun, desperate fighting held up the advance of the Germans. At Herbebois and Ornes and on to Bezonvaux there was hand-to-hand fighting of the most desperate nature, while at Maucourt—an advance position held by the French—terrific execution was done to the masses of troops hurled forward by the Germans. Here masked French quick-firing guns caught German columns of attack, twenty men abreast and hundreds deep, at close range, and blew them into eternity. Yet the hordes still came on, with a bravery never surpassed, and, in spite of every effort, in spite of a superb display of courage and tenacity, the French were forced to retire up the slopes towards Bezonvaux, and so in the direction of the fortress of Douaumont perched up aloft and looking down upon the scene of this sanguinary conflict. Towards the former of these two places the garrison of Ornes was also compelled to beat a retreat, finding itself at Bezonvaux, at the mouth of a ravine, which ascends the heights leading to that fortress already mentioned, which was to be the scene of a terrible battle in days now near at hand. To portray all that occurred on this eventful 23rd February would be almost impossible, and certainly beyond the scope of these pages; yet one must mention the case of those gallant Zouaves and African sharpshooters, who, to the north of Douaumont, recaptured a wood between Herbebois and Hill 351, which is just to the south-west of it, and lies in front of Beaumont. Here, in spite of an avalanche of shells which was poured upon them, and of murderous attacks launched in their direction, they held out for quite a considerable period, and, having in turn retired upon the Bois de Fosse, were eventually compelled to fall back upon the plateau of Douaumont.
The morning of the 24th, as it dawned, discovered, indeed, a critical change in the positions held by our noble allies. The northern face of the salient had, as we have described, been driven in, and the handful of troops holding it had been forced to retire over some four miles of country, fighting in the open, infantry and gunners fighting a terrific rear-guard action, and doing their utmost—and doing that most gallantly—to hold up a further advance of the enemy. That imaginary base-line which we have mentioned as running across the base of the salient, where the winding River Meuse traces its path amongst the hills, had been dangerously shortened, and already Germans were massing in the neighbourhood of Vacherauville, close down to the river, under the shadow of the Côte du Poivre, where they hoped to drive in their wedge, and to further shorten that line across which French troops must retreat if indeed the salient was to be evacuated. And towards the east, towards the apex of the salient, outlying advance-parties of the French had been driven in by sheer weight of guns and numbers, and were now back on the heights of the Meuse, their line drawn from that held by their comrades in the neighbourhood of Louvemont, close to the Côte du Poivre, round about Douaumont and its village, and so to Vaux and south of it. Here, indeed, we must leave them for a moment, while we return to Henri and Jules and their comrades, entangled in that country to the north which had been ploughed, almost every foot of it, by the torrent of shells poured upon it by the Kaiser's artillery.
Stealthily creeping away from their advanced positions, and leaving these dull-grey lines of German dead stretched out before them—a ghastly indication of their prowess—the troops fell back in clusters, clambering from shell-hole to shell-hole, creeping behind any cover which was to be discovered, and making the utmost use of the darkness.
"And so it is you—you, Jules?" cried Henri, as dawn broke on the early morning of the 23rd and discovered his comrade. "Well, I never!"
It was typical of the gallant and gay Jules that he grinned in the face of his chum, and repeated the observation.
"Well, I never! And what a sight to be sure! We were gentlemen when escaping from Ruhleben compared with our condition now. What a mess to be in, to be sure—and how hungry I am!"
"Hungry, mon garçon?" cried a sergeant near them, one of their own battalion; "then there's good news for you; for if our commanders have not been able to send us reinforcements, they have at least not forgotten that we are living men. There is food close at hand, and our cooks are preparing it."
In the lines which the troops had now gained in those trenches dug some time before, and sweeping across the slopes of Pepper Hill (Côte du Poivre), there were indeed welcome comforts for the men who had so gallantly held up the advance of the Germans, and who had more gallantly still, and with greater fortune, endured the terrible ordeal of that shattering torrent of shells poured for hours now upon them. Back behind the fire-trenches cooks were busy over their braziers, while already kettles of steaming soup and coffee and long rolls of bread were being conveyed to the soldiers. It was a happy, a grimy, and a decidedly confident band of men who sat down that early dawn to prepare once more for the enemy. Dishevelled, their chins covered with dirty bristles, steel helmets lost in numerous cases, clothing torn, and equipment absent, this band of heroes was nevertheless as jovial as it was hungry.
"Better get as much sleep as you can now, my friends," said an officer as he came along the trench. "A few men to keep watch will be quite sufficient, and the rest had better turn in to their dug-outs or lie down here at their posts. It won't be for long, my lads, I can tell you, for the Germans are not likely to rest now they have got us moving. Wait, though; is there a man amongst you not too fatigued to creep forward and reconnoitre?"
"There is, mon Capitaine; I am that man."
"And I also—here; ready and eager."
The two voices were those of Jules and Henri, who happened to be quite close to the officer as he was speaking, and who, leaping to their feet from the fire-bank, at once stood at attention, their eager faces turned towards him.
"You—ah!"
The officer surveyed them both critically.
"Henri and Jules—our particular Henri and Jules—mon Capitaine," called out the sergeant who had been speaking to them a little while before, and who, like the regiment, knew our two heroes thoroughly. "Henri and Jules, who joined us from Ruhleben, and preferred to fight in a battle such as this rather than stay in safety—though not in comfort—in Ruhleben."
"Ah! Henri and Jules, of course. And you are ready?" smiled the officer.
"Ready, mon Capitaine!" the two answered.
"Then strip off your packs and equipment, and take only your rifles and bayonets and ammunition; creep down through the trees yonder, and, if you can, let us know what's happening."
Down below, towards the foot of the lower slopes of the Côte du Poivre, overlooking the village of Champneuville and the Côte de Talou, stretched a strip of wooded country, those same evergreens which, towards the north and elsewhere, had given the Germans such tremendous opportunities for completing preparations for their attack upon the salient. Sliding down the hill, diving from one shell-hole to another—for already the German artillery had turned its attention to this new French position—creeping along any fold in the ground which offered even the smallest shelter, Henri and Jules soon gained the woods, and plunged into them.
"It's as likely as not that the Germans have already sent reconnoitring-parties here," said Henri in a whisper, as they crouched at the edge of the wood and gathered breath again after their exertions. "That is a thing which one would anticipate, and of course our commanders will expect that just as we do, so that it seems to me our duty is to steer clear of such parties, as we should do in any case, to push beyond them, and to ascertain what's happening towards the north."
"Quite so! At your orders, Henri," smiled Jules, as full of merriment as ever. Indeed, the fiercer the conflict had grown, the more desperate the efforts of the Germans had become, and the more terrifically the fighting had developed, the higher had this young fellow's spirits risen. Of fear he showed not a trace, though of excitement he showed every evidence. Sparkling with wit, as lively as a cricket, wonderfully cheery, he had stood in the forefront of the battle, not grim like many a comrade, not with teeth set and hands and fingers clenching his rifle, but jovial, smiling, yet with a deadly earnestness masked by his merry manner.
"Lead on, my Henri," he said. "Under your directions we made not such a bad success of that affair in Germany. Let's see now what you can do in this part of France when we have soldiers and not civilians to deal with!"
Plunging on into the wood, it was not long before they heard voices to their left, and, creeping forward, discovered a German officers' patrol sheltering under the trees and munching their breakfast. A dozen yards farther on there were some seven or eight men, while voices still farther to the left demonstrated the fact that there were other parties.
"No matter," said Henri; "we have already said that we expected Germans to be in the wood. What we want to know is where the main force is. Let's push on and do our duty."