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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 58231 ***
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+BATTLES AND BIVOUACS
+
+_OTHER NEW WAR BOOKS_
+
+
+
+
+ THE DIARY OF A
+ FRENCH PRIVATE
+ 1914-1915
+
+ By GASTON RIOU
+
+ Translated by C. and E. PAUL
+
+ _Large Crown 8vo, Cloth._ _5s. net._
+
+"M. Riou is rather more than a simple soldier. He is a writer of great
+gifts--narrative power, humour, tenderness, and philosophical insight.
+Moreover, his exceptional knowledge of Germany gives special value
+to his account of his experiences as a prisoner of war."--_Literary
+Supplement of the Times._
+
+
+ MY EXPERIENCES
+ ON THREE FRONTS
+
+ By
+ SISTER MARTIN-NICHOLSON
+
+ _Crown 8vo._ _4s. 6d. net._
+
+A vivid account of the author's experiences in Belgium and Russia and
+afterwards with the French and English troops.
+
+
+LONDON: GEORGE ALLEN & UNWIN LTD.
+
+
+
+
+ BATTLES & BIVOUACS
+ A FRENCH SOLDIER'S NOTE-BOOK
+
+ BY
+ JACQUES ROUJON
+
+ Translated by
+ FRED ROTHWELL
+
+ [Illustration]
+
+ LONDON: GEORGE ALLEN & UNWIN LTD.
+ RUSKIN HOUSE 40 MUSEUM STREET, W.C.
+
+
+
+
+ _First published in 1916_
+
+ (_All rights reserved_)
+
+
+_I' leur semble qu'i'faut parler de la Ramée, grenadier de Champagne,
+comme d'un prince dont auquel on ne risque rien de vanter toujours. I'
+vous lui mettent l'épée à la main qu'ça doit lui fatiguer le poignet
+furieusement et qu'on dirait qu'la Ramée n'a jamais fait autre chose
+d'aussi meilleur ... I'n'faut pas se battre tous les jours: i' n'y
+aurait plus de plaisir._
+
+(LE CONTE DE LA RAMÉE.)
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+ CHAPTER                                                PAGE
+
+ I. HUMES                                                 9
+
+ II. IN LORRAINE                                         28
+
+ III. AT THE DEPOT                                       51
+
+ IV. EN ROUTE                                            58
+
+ V. A BACKWARD GLANCE--THE BATTLE OF THE MARNE           79
+
+ VI. BEFORE FONTENOY                                     88
+
+ VII. OUR FIRST TRENCHES                                104
+
+ VIII. TWENTY-TWO DAYS IN THE TRENCHES                  117
+
+ IX. A LULL                                             158
+
+ X. BOMBARDMENTS                                        196
+
+ XI. CHRISTMAS                                          208
+
+ XII. THE CROUY AFFAIR                                  229
+
+
+
+
+BATTLES AND BIVOUACS
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+HUMES
+
+
+_Tuesday, 11th August, 1914._
+
+Five o'clock in the morning. _En route_ for the Gare de l'Est. All the
+same, as I turn the corner of the street in which I live, I experience
+a feeling of heartrending distress. I stop and glance back. Then I wave
+my hand to the window. Bah! I shall come back.
+
+It is a fine, sunny day. There are crowds of people in front of the
+station--men of every description, most of them wearing caps, but no
+shirt-collar, some with _musettes_[1] slung over the shoulder, others
+carrying a valise. A few belonging to the ranks are wearing uniforms
+quite out of date. Any amount of bustle and noise but no shrieks. Those
+who stay behind remain with cheeks glued to the iron railings, their
+eyes fixed on some particular individual until he is out of sight.
+
+On the platform I come across Verrier, a friend I have known all my
+life: at school, in the Latin Quarter, and during my military service.
+He is a tall, light-complexioned fellow, thin and pallid, very cool and
+self-possessed.
+
+We find that we are both to be sent to the same depot.
+
+As there are some seats unoccupied in a second-class carriage,
+we quickly take possession of them, delighted at the prospect of
+travelling elsewhere than on the floor.
+
+The train begins to move. We look at each other.
+
+"This time things are serious," remarks Verrier.
+
+Indeed, we have something more to think of than passing exams, at
+school or college, or being reviewed by the colonel.
+
+We spring to the window like the rest and shout out, "Vive la France!"
+
+Henceforward all our thoughts must be directed towards peace--peace
+along the path of victory.
+
+Our compartment is stiflingly hot. There are eight of us, belonging
+to every division of the service: artillery, cavalry, and infantry.
+Plunged suddenly into military life, we revive old memories and listen
+to interminable stories of stern adjutants and good-natured captains.
+A spirit of cordiality is immediately set up and at the same time a
+special brand of courtesy, for you have no idea to whom you may be
+talking; it is quite likely that the man in front of you will to-morrow
+be your corporal or your sergeant.
+
+Every one of us is determined to do his duty; this is so manifestly
+taken for granted that no one mentions the matter. William II comes in
+for severe criticism.
+
+"The whole thing's impossible. The Germans themselves will rise in
+revolt."
+
+"They will do nothing of the kind," interrupts one who has lived in
+Germany. "They will do their best to kill us all."
+
+"Whether they rise in revolt or not, they have Russia and England to
+deal with, and we also intend to do our share."
+
+General approval. No one doubts but that the victory will be
+speedy--within three months, or before Christmas at the latest.
+
+Provisions are distributed; we eat and drink. Toasts are passed.
+The train rumbles gently along; by noon we have only reached
+Villiers-sur-Marne. Along the whole length of the line stand people
+waving their handkerchiefs and wishing us good luck.
+
+Our stops are frequent and prolonged. From time to time we jump down to
+stretch our legs a little. A red disc bars the way. Behind our train
+waits another, which sets up a loud strident whistle. The engine starts
+afresh. A few kilometres farther along, another stop. At the stations
+they offer us fresh, clear water in pails; they even offer us wine.
+Everything is very welcome.
+
+It is sultry. Conversation begins to languish. Those who have a
+photograph of their children pass it round. We look at these portraits
+with the utmost sympathy and return them to the father, who apologizes
+for the fact that his eyes are brimming with tears.
+
+Night descends. The men, half asleep, drowsily nod their heads or drop
+them gently on to their neighbours' shoulders.
+
+
+_Wednesday, 12th August._
+
+About three in the morning we reach Langres. In the dimly lit station
+a thousand men are moving to and fro, asking questions. At the exit
+stand sub-officers, holding above their heads, at the end of a pole,
+large boards stating the numbers of the regiments. They collect their
+reservists and carry them off.
+
+Is there no placard containing our number? What are we to do? I show my
+paper to an adjutant.
+
+"The 352nd, 27th company? You must go to Humes."
+
+"Humes! Where is that?"
+
+"Have you come here for me to give you a lesson in geography? Find your
+way there as best you can."
+
+A few paces away a detachment is forming: it is that of the 352nd.
+There are a hundred of us, and we are started along the road. Dawn
+appears. An hour and a half's march in silence. The men stagger along
+drowsily.
+
+We reach Humes, a village five or six kilometres distant from Langres,
+situated in the valley of the Marne. The houses are low, with thatched
+roofs. The sergeant calls a halt in one of the streets.
+
+Shortly we hear a commanding voice say--
+
+"Second section, muster!"
+
+Men issue from a shed near by, elbowing one another, some with and
+others without arms: this is the second section. They fall into line,
+form fours, and march off to drill, to the repeated call of one, two,
+one, two!
+
+"Suppose we try to find the post-office?" says Verrier.
+
+On reaching it, we each scribble a postcard and return to the street,
+wondering what to do next.
+
+Before the sputtering tap of a street fountain stands a soldier at
+his ablutions, with bare breast, his red-trousered legs far apart. Of
+a sudden he gives a snort. I notice his closely cropped hair and his
+unshaven chin.
+
+"Reymond!"
+
+Reymond is a bosom friend of Janson's.
+
+"I believe you're right," drawled Verrier. "We have not met for about a
+dozen years, so I don't suppose he'll recognize us."
+
+Meanwhile, I call out--
+
+"Hello, Reymond!"
+
+The soldier stares at us from head to foot hesitatingly. We look like a
+pair of tramps, dirty and dishevelled, capless and collarless. Verrier
+affects a smoked eyeglass. Nevertheless, Reymond recognizes us.
+
+"Ah! It's you, is it? _Chouette!_"
+
+He has been here five days. Having been called up by mistake on the
+second day of mobilization, he was sent from Bernay to Langres, and
+then on to Humes.
+
+"Come along, let's have a talk over a bottle," he says.
+
+"What! Is there drink to be had at Humes?"
+
+"Rather! The beer they drink in these parts will take a lot of beating."
+
+Ten minutes afterwards one would think we had been the closest friends
+all our life. How fortunate to have come across Reymond! He is a
+painter, quite a gay companion, and possessed of that kind of assurance
+and self-confidence peculiar to certain bashful individuals. He is
+quite at home in the village, and carries us off to the office of our
+company. There he introduces us to the corporal, has our names enrolled
+in his squad, and supplies us with _gamelles_.
+
+"I suppose you have had nothing to eat?" he asks.
+
+"No."
+
+"Come along with me."
+
+He takes us to the cook.
+
+"Here are a couple of men who feel peckish."
+
+Our _gamelles_ are filled and we sit down on the ground. We mess
+together and eat our share of the grub.
+
+We are to receive our uniform to-morrow at the latest. Meanwhile, there
+is nothing left to do but wander about Humes. The Mouche is a pretty
+stream entering the Marne just on the outskirts of the village. There
+is a pool, a windmill, giant trees, and dung all over the place; cows
+and geese, poultry of every description, but few inhabitants. Soldiers
+abound.
+
+At nine o'clock, Verrier, Reymond and myself make our bed in the hay.
+All around may be heard the usual jokes and pleasantries of the mess,
+just as in times of peace. One may distinguish the thick, rolling
+voices of those from Burgundy and the Franche-Comté, the accent of
+the Lyons silk-weavers, and the peculiar intonations of men from
+the various provinces. Bursts of laughter, then snoring followed by
+silence. Down below, in a stable, the plaintive lowing of a calf.
+
+
+_Thursday, 13th August._
+
+Four in the morning.
+
+"Time to get up!"
+
+We shake and stretch ourselves. It is rather chilly.
+
+The men come down from the loft on a tottering ladder which has one out
+of every two rungs missing.
+
+In the street, the army cook, who has long been up and about, ladles
+coffee from a huge pot and fills the tins held out. In the tumult each
+man retires into a corner to avoid spilling the precious liquid.
+
+Six o'clock. We are marched out of the village in columns of fours.
+The country is charming; the meadows through which flows the Marne are
+lined with poplars.
+
+We return to quarters at ten o'clock. The sun's rays are beating down
+upon us. We baptize our street Dung Avenue.
+
+Fortunately for us, the impossibility of isolating ourselves prevents
+us from thinking of what we have left behind. Here solitude and silence
+are unknown.
+
+
+_Friday, 14th August_.
+
+This morning we march twenty kilometres. The company collects in a
+meadow which a bend of the Marne has converted into a peninsula. During
+the tropical hours about noontime we indulge in a siesta beneath the
+faint shade of the poplars.
+
+This life is an extremely healthy one; it constitutes a regular
+camping-out cure.
+
+We now take our meals at the Hôtel du Commerce, kept by M. Girardot,
+nicknamed _Père Achille_. It is a large building on the main road
+between Paris and Belfort. Out in the yard and in both dining-rooms
+every table is engaged. Just as in the canteen, there is shouting and
+smoking, whilst the men call for drinks by hammering vigorously with
+their fists on the table.
+
+Every evening amateur singers give us proof of their talent. The song
+relating the story of Suzette is a very popular one. No sooner is the
+last verse ended than "_Bis! bis!_" is roared out, and a willing encore
+is forthcoming. The artist raises his hand to his mouth and coughs,
+before recommencing, and every one joins in the chorus. The smoke
+rising from the pipes casts a dim mist over the lamps which hang from
+the ceiling.
+
+
+_Saturday, 15th August_.
+
+_Père Achille_ places his loft at our disposal, at the farther end of
+the yard, above the stable. Climbing a ladder, you find bundles of hay
+to right and left. In the centre is a large open space containing a
+folding-bed occupied by Vitrier, of the 28th company, a neighbour and
+friend of the proprietor.
+
+Here we shall get along quite comfortably, all the more so as we have
+also the run of a garden. There is an apple-tree, beneath whose shade
+we spend our leisure hours. Four stone steps enable us to go down to
+the river to wash our clothes or our persons. After all, cleanliness is
+a very simple matter, so far as we are concerned.
+
+I have just seen the lieutenant in command of our company, and have
+given him my name. I am to leave with the next detachment which joins
+up, either with the regiment in reserve or with that in the field,
+according as the one or the other is the first to need reinforcements.
+This war will certainly not last long; we must hasten to reach the
+firing line if we could see anything of it.
+
+What can be the matter? Letters take five or six days to arrive from
+Paris. The only journals we see are those of Langres: the _Petit
+Haut-Marnais_ and the _Spectateur_, nicknamed at Humes _Le Secateur_.
+We crowd around the cyclists who bring them and clear off their
+supplies in a few moments.
+
+The Paris journals have altogether stopped.
+
+
+_Sunday, 16th August_.
+
+The company musters at seven in the morning; the four sections, each in
+two rows, forming a square around the lieutenants and sub-officers.
+
+The lieutenant in command is a kind-hearted man, on whom the gravity of
+the situation weighs heavily. This morning he declares curtly--
+
+"The musters take far too long!"
+
+Profound silence.
+
+"Far too long. And I don't wish to speak of the matter again...."
+
+Gabriel reads the daily orders: "Every morning, drill and marching.
+Tuesdays and Thursdays, rifle practice. Afternoons, lectures in
+quarters from one to three; afterwards, Swedish gymnastics."
+
+This existence in the depot, a blend between barrack-life and drill,
+will not be so very pleasant every day. May the powers that be send us
+speedily to battle!
+
+This morning, at nine o'clock, military mass.
+
+The church is situated on an eminence above Humes. Once the threshold
+is crossed, profound silence. Silence in broad daylight! Well, well! It
+rather puts one out!
+
+There are flags around the walls. All the seats are occupied by
+soldiers and officers, _pêle-mêle_. A few peasant women are present,
+their sombre garments clashing with the blue and red uniforms.
+
+It is a musical mass, and the music is worthy of a cathedral: all the
+instrumentalists and singers of the depot have had their services
+requisitioned. How striking the contrast between this grave ritual and
+ceremonial, the successive chants and breaks of silence, and the rough,
+stirring military life we have been spending for several days past,
+made up of shouts and hay, of cattle and dung.
+
+A young priest has passed a surplice over his soldier's coat. His words
+are mild and kind, his sermon straight to the point, as he pleads the
+claims of family and country. The listeners weave their own dreams
+around his simple words as they fall upon the attentive and thoughtful
+assembly.
+
+The end of the mass brings with it a change; these men, who have
+suddenly been unexpectedly moved in spite of themselves, make up for
+an hour's silence and immobility by shouting aloud and hustling one
+another.
+
+Back at the hotel, with the aid of pipe and beer, they laud to the
+skies the priest's eloquence.
+
+Big Albert, for whom it has been impossible to find a pair of pants
+large enough in the stores, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand
+after he has emptied his glass, and says--
+
+"Believe me or not, as you please, but when that little priest spoke of
+our mothers and wives and children, well! I could no more keep back the
+tears than a woman!"
+
+And there he stands, with legs outspread and hands in pockets, his vest
+unbuttoned over his protruding paunch. Evidently _he_ is not subject
+to nervous attacks.
+
+Reymond, Verrier and myself have obtained a pass for Langres. Lunch
+at the hotel; napkins and tablecloth. What luxury! The young lady who
+serves us is very polite. We enter various shops to purchase chocolate,
+wax candles, writing-paper, blacking, a lantern and some of Molière's
+plays to read aloud in the loft.
+
+We return to Humes at six o'clock, shouting out songs at the top of our
+voice as the rain comes pouring down.
+
+
+_Monday, 17th August_.
+
+Five hundred men have been appointed to make up a detachment which
+is to hold itself in readiness to leave for the front at a minute's
+notice. My name is on the list, which includes men of the youngest
+classes and volunteers. It forms the contingent complement.
+
+We are fitted out from head to foot. First, we receive a blue muff with
+which each man immediately covers his _képi_. This is the rallying
+sign. Out in the streets, comrades who see us wearing a blue _képi_
+say--
+
+"Ah! So you are one of the complement?"
+
+We answer, "Yes," in a tone of modest indifference ill concealed by a
+big dose of vanity.
+
+A score of times every day we receive the order: "Those belonging to
+the contingent complement are wanted with everything they have at the
+office."
+
+There we receive small packets of provisions, such as coffee, sugar,
+condensed soup; on another occasion, a _musette_; then again a can,
+leathern straps, cartridges; for each separate article of our equipment
+a special journey is necessary.
+
+Such incidents as the following are quite common.
+
+A man enters the office of the company, salutes, and says--
+
+"Beg pardon, sergeant, but I have no sling for my rifle"; or, "I have
+no strap for my can"; or, "I have no suspension hooks."
+
+The sergeant, busy writing, answers his interrupter--
+
+"Will you go away! And quick, too!"
+
+The man disappears, as the sergeant remarks to the company generally--
+
+"Silly fellow, to come and ask me for straps whilst I am distributing
+_musettes_!"
+
+You are asked for the number of your rifle, your full name and address.
+Then you go to the bureau for your identification disc, your first
+field-dressing, and lastly you are called upon to give the names and
+addresses of those to whom information must be sent in case of death.
+Ah! This is something we had never thought of.
+
+Three legal functionaries and five sergeants, without counting the
+quartermaster, scribble away as fast as they can.
+
+Again we are mustered, and the lieutenant sees us arrive one by one.
+With a despairing gesture, he asks--
+
+"You call this a muster, do you?"
+
+The contingent complement gathers round the door, waiting. At first
+whispering goes on, then voices are raised, there is jest and laughter.
+Suddenly a sub-officer leaves the sanctum.
+
+"Stop this awful noise, will you! One can't hear oneself speak.
+Besides, what do you want here, lounging about the door? Off you go!"
+
+We disappear, though not for long. Within a very few minutes an orderly
+is seen hurrying about and shouting--
+
+"Quick! You are wanted at the office."
+
+The sub-officer who has just dismissed us from the doorstep greets us
+with the words--
+
+"Come, now, how is it that the men of the contingent complement are
+never to be found? Has some one to come and take you by the hand?"
+
+Rain has been falling ever since the previous day. Humes is now a
+marsh; the river overflows its banks.
+
+
+_Tuesday, 18th August._
+
+It is again fine. The contingent complement is back from march and
+drill, and I am resting on a form. All around is a regiment of hens and
+geese, geese with blue eyes just like those of a lady I once met and
+whom I suddenly call to mind.
+
+The ducklings waddle along in twos, plunge their beaks and roll about
+in the liquid manure, and when they have become transformed into little
+balls of filth, they march away with the utmost gravity to gargle and
+clean themselves in the river. Farther away are cows, sheep, and dirty
+children. In front of me lie heaps of dung, two on my right and one on
+my left; it is quite unnecessary for me to turn round, for I am certain
+there is another behind me. The glorious sun, however, compensates for
+everything, and the scenery is very picturesque.
+
+I spring to my feet as I hear the words: "The contingent complement is
+wanted at the office."
+
+I cross the meadow, pass the river by the narrow drawbridge, and
+ascend the pebbly road leading to the shed euphemistically called "the
+office." A gift: ninety-six cartridges; a piece of news: the contingent
+complement is expected to leave for the front at any moment.
+
+Both the gift and the piece of news are very welcome.
+
+Then follow musters upon musters; reviews by corporal, sergeant, chief
+of section; review by the lieutenant in command of the company.
+
+That evening, in the loft, Verrier and Reymond, who are to stay behind
+at Humes, minutely check the contents of my haversack and _musette_.
+They add a tin of preserves and complete my first field-dressing and
+sewing materials. Evidently they think that those in the fighting line
+run considerable risks. My own thoughts are all of home, after the war,
+of the peace and quiet of daily existence once this task is over.
+
+Vitrier, the fortunate possessor of a folding-bed, returns at nine
+o'clock. The lucky fellow evades all the drills and marches, and spends
+his days at home in the neighbourhood. He is a charming person, whom we
+have affectionately nicknamed "the Spy," because he is to be met with
+only after twilight or before dawn. "The Spy" has brought young Raoul
+up to the loft; a gentle, light-complexioned, pallid-looking youth. He
+talks like a book and is full of such aphorisms as--
+
+"For a man who, like me, is horrified at the very thought of death, a
+soldier's life is quite a mistake."
+
+As he removes his foot-gear, Raoul tells us that he has been this
+afternoon watching the trains full of wounded pass by.
+
+"My walk had a definite purpose, you see," he adds.
+
+Down below, we hear the faint tinkling of a bell, suspended from
+the neck of an enormous dog, which we have nicknamed the _chien à
+sonnettes_.
+
+In spite of his manifestly gentle disposition, this animal fills us
+with terror. He is always lying stretched at the foot of the ladder,
+and frequently in the dark we step on his head. To our amazement, he
+has bitten no one, so far.
+
+
+_Thursday, 20th August_.
+
+Is this the last réveillé in the loft? It has become a very comfortable
+spot. In the hay, where I lie wrapped up in a quilt, with a cotton
+nightcap coming over my ears, I would gladly sleep on into the middle
+of the morning. But it is five o'clock, and we must rise.
+
+Drill and march. In the afternoon, siesta and conversation beneath the
+apple-tree. The weather is gloriously fine. We wash our socks in the
+Mouche.
+
+Reymond has managed to secure an order; the lieutenant says to him--
+
+"Since you are a painter, paint my name on my canteen."
+
+He takes advantage of this diversion to avoid drill. He paints two
+white letters every day, and even then....
+
+
+_Friday, 21st August._
+
+When is the contingent complement to leave? Armed for war, we have seen
+nothing but the office. It's not enough.
+
+A change in our existence: the arrival of Lieutenant Roberty at Humes,
+and his appearance in our clan.
+
+The other day, at muster, there was a rumour abroad that we were soon
+to have a new sub-lieutenant from Alsace. Here he is, in the centre
+of the square; of medium height, _papier mâché_ appearance, very dark
+moustache, and the half-closed eyes of a myope. He wears red trousers
+and an extraordinary black coat, chimney-corner style, with a little
+gold lace at the sleeves. I look curiously at him, wondering where the
+deuce I can have seen that profile, so reminiscent of a tame jaguar.
+
+A voice calls me; it is that of the new sub-lieutenant.
+
+"Don't you recognize me?" ...
+
+"No, _mon lieutenant_, and yet ... really, I cannot remember your
+name...."
+
+"Roberty."
+
+Raising my hands, I say--
+
+"I beg your pardon, I have never seen you except in a dress suit."
+
+And indeed, I remembered on the occasion of more than one general
+rehearsal the elegant appearance of my confrère. Comparing to-day's
+silhouette with that of former times, I simply remark--
+
+"What a change! You look better in civilian clothes."
+
+Instead of getting angry with me he merely laughs. A few comrades
+approach. As Roberty has just come from Alsace, he tells us of the
+first attack on Mulhouse, in which he took part.
+
+"They say," remarks some one, "that the Germans scamper off as soon as
+they see the French?"
+
+"That's what they say at the depot, is it? Well, since you are about to
+leave for the front, you will see for yourselves."
+
+Roberty is bored to death at Humes, though he tolerates the Hôtel
+Girardot, with its garden and loft. He forgets his rank, and spends
+his leisure time with us. Discipline has already gained such a hold on
+us that at first we feel uneasy at such intimacy with a lieutenant.
+But really it is impossible to keep one's distance with Roberty. And
+now we have an additional comrade under the apple-tree or under the
+spiders' webs in the loft.
+
+News at last. The French have had to fall back in Alsace. A big effort,
+however, is soon to be made in the north. The Russians have crossed the
+Prussian frontiers. In spite of slight impediments, things continue to
+go well.
+
+
+_Saturday, 22nd August._
+
+By flattering the quartermaster I have had my haversack, which was
+slightly worn, exchanged for a new one. I put my things in it with the
+contented feeling of one who has managed to purchase a glass cupboard
+after years of economy.
+
+How calm it is to-day! In the corner where I have taken refuge with my
+writing materials geese are gobbling up haricots under my very feet, as
+pleased as Punch at their daring.
+
+The youths of Class 14 appear on the scene; they are mostly from the
+Vosges.
+
+We tell them--
+
+"Hullo, young ones! The war will be over before your training is
+finished."
+
+They agree with the sentiment, though vexed to think it may be true.
+And they assure us they would do everything required of them, if called
+upon, just as well as the older men.
+
+"All the same," we reply, "you can't expect us to want the war to
+continue merely to enable you to give an exhibition of your talents!"
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[Footnote 1: A _musette_ is a kind of brown cloth satchel worn by a
+French soldier over the right shoulder and containing his rations,
+etc.--_Translator's Note._]
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+IN LORRAINE
+
+
+_Sunday, 23rd August._
+
+This morning we started in the direction of Belfort. About midnight
+the whole of Humes was peacefully sleeping when the bugler sounded a
+prolonged call, repeated all over the village. In a twinkling we join
+our squads. It appears that the regiment at the front urgently needs
+reinforcements of five hundred men.
+
+The complement--no longer contingent--has mustered in the dark.
+After the roll-call we are summoned to the office for the last time.
+Distribution of rations and small loaves.
+
+At six o'clock the five hundred are ready to start. Our chief is a
+lieutenant of the reserve--a schoolmaster in civil life. Each man has
+picked a few flowers on the roadside to fasten a bunch to his rifle.
+The whole depot is present. Verrier and Reymond give me a vigorous
+handshake. Really the whole scene moves me, though for nothing in the
+world would I have it appear so.
+
+"Look out, there! Number! Form fours! Right wheel! Forward!"
+
+The column begins to move, and we thunder forth the _Marseillaise_
+with the utmost enthusiasm. I turn round to wave a last farewell to my
+friends.
+
+They return the gesture and shout, "_Au revoir!_"
+
+At Langres station we enter the train, which rumbles off in an easterly
+direction. I again have the luck to find myself in a second-class
+carriage. The same atmosphere and gaiety as when we left Paris for the
+depot. Almost all my companions have gone before their turn. They are
+convinced they will come back and see the end of the business. And they
+wish to be in at the victory. The heat is terrible.
+
+Perspiration trickles down faces already bronzed by a fortnight in the
+open air. There are ten in the compartment; all the same, at nightfall,
+we manage to drop off to sleep.
+
+
+_Monday, 24th August._
+
+Daybreak. The road is blocked; we advance but slowly, stopping several
+times in the course of an hour. We almost run into a locomotive and
+three carriages that have been overturned, the result of a recent
+catastrophe.
+
+During the night we have changed direction: instead of continuing
+towards the east, Gerardmer and the Schlucht, at Laveline we were
+shunted on to the line of Saint-Dié--Lunéville, across the Vosges. In
+the distance to the right we hear the roar of the cannon.
+
+Raon-l'Etape. All change! It is noon. To the east of the station is a
+semi-circle of mountains. In the direction of the Donon the cannonade
+is incessant, though it no longer forms a dull rumble: each shot is
+distinct from the rest. Of their own accord the men load their rifles.
+We fall back upon Rambervillers.
+
+It appears that things here are not progressing at all well. The 13th
+Corps, the van of which had reached Schirmeck, is now retreating before
+enormous forces. We see regiments file past: men and beasts look grimy
+and thin; there is a feverish look in their eyes, beneath the grey lids.
+
+The artillery pass along so exhausted that they totter in their
+saddles; they have their ammunition-wagons behind them, but no guns.
+
+Jokingly one of our men calls after them, not thinking what he is
+saying--
+
+"Well, well! where are the cannon?"
+
+Then they give us black looks and shrug their shoulders. Some one jerks
+his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the enemy. We insist no
+further.
+
+The men of the 13th Corps, who have been under fire for a fortnight
+without a break, see from our blue muffs, which still retain their
+colour, and from our comparative cleanliness, that we have just come on
+the scene. They call out to us--
+
+"You new ones there have come at the right moment. You'll find plenty
+to do!"
+
+An endless file of inhabitants fleeing before the invasion; they have
+heaped their goods and furniture on to great carts drawn by oxen,
+whilst they themselves follow behind, laden with baskets and bundles
+of all sorts.
+
+For a few minutes a young woman walks along abreast of our section. She
+is carrying a little girl, whilst another hangs on to her dress. On a
+perambulator, which she pushes along, are piled up clothes and various
+odds and ends.
+
+All these poor folk, seeing us proceeding in the direction of the west,
+know what it means: their homes abandoned, to be pillaged and burnt by
+the enemy.
+
+Women cry out to us--
+
+"This is the direction you should be taking, not that."
+
+And they point eastwards. They even add--
+
+"Are you running away?"
+
+The road mounts and descends through woods of fir-trees. A lieutenant
+of dragoons is sleeping on the side of a copse, his arm linked in his
+horse's bridle. To the right is a dense mass of smoke, occasionally
+broken by red glares of light: Baccarat is in flames. A pitiless
+sun beats down on all this misery and sadness. The cannon roars
+incessantly. A sound as of thunder is heard, doubtless coming from the
+fort of Manonvillers. Night falls, and the sky is lit up with flashes
+of light. An aeroplane darts past, quite close to the ground. Without
+waiting for the word of command, the whole detachment fires at it.
+
+Rambervillers is now in sight. We halt on the road. Prolonged
+discussion between the lieutenant and a staff officer.
+
+The lieutenant comes up to us--
+
+"We are on the wrong track; all the same we shall lay in a store of
+provisions and spend the night in the barracks of Rambervillers."
+
+It is now quite dark. We wait in a barrack yard, until finally the
+lieutenant says that we may enter the buildings. Meat is passed round.
+I have not the heart to cook and eat a piece. Since the previous
+morning, twenty-four hours on the railway and thirty kilometres on
+foot, in the heat of the sun. However new and fresh we may be as
+troops, a little sleep is more than welcome.
+
+Each man busies himself in finding quilt and straw mattress. The cannon
+are silent. For supper I dip some bread in my wine. It tastes good.
+
+
+_Tuesday, 25th August._
+
+Three in the morning. Everybody is up and about. How I should have
+liked to sleep a few hours longer! In the yard, by candle-light,
+the lieutenant presides over a distribution of coffee, haricots and
+potatoes. Our _gamelles_ must be taken down, filled and replaced on our
+haversacks.
+
+What is the direction we are to take? The east, in all probability.
+We halt at dawn by the side of a wood and make some coffee. Fires are
+lit and the pots begin to boil. Some of us make an attempt to roast a
+piece of raw meat at the end of a stick, when the order comes to start
+off once more. We swallow the burning liquid. The lieutenant informs us
+that the detachment is to be linked on to the left of the 105th. The
+cannonade is intense. In a few moments we shall be within the line of
+fire. Everybody is in the best humour imaginable.
+
+Now we are led along in a general movement, the purpose of which we
+naturally understand nothing; we have only to obey and keep our eyes
+open. Though full of spirit, we are quite bewildered and dumbfounded.
+In the first place, we expected to link up with our regiment; it
+appears that this regiment is fifty kilometres away. Then again, we are
+without officers: before leaving the depot, the detachment was divided
+into eight provisional sections of sixty men each. Several of these
+sections are commanded by a corporal, or even--a still more serious
+matter--by two corporals; it is so in our own case.
+
+We traverse a hilltop and look down into a valley. The sections advance
+at intervals of thirty paces, in columns of fours. So far everything
+has been as regular as at an ordinary drill. The lieutenant sends an
+order that we are to halt and lie down. Good! It is fine, and the sun
+is beginning to make itself felt. Soon the entire section is lying
+stretched on the ground.
+
+In front, a hill behind which the battle is being fought. The panting
+of the _mitrailleuses_ may be clearly distinguished, by reason of its
+regularity, from the intermittent rending and tearing of musketry
+discharges. Suddenly a shell bursts, a distance of two hundred yards
+away. The cloud of black smoke rises and disperses almost immediately.
+Then come other shells at regular intervals. Are we the enemy's target?
+No. His object is to reach a village on our right and a wood of
+fir-trees on our left; the black clouds appear in turn over a house in
+the village, near the church steeple, over the wood. Suddenly, from the
+edge of the wood, four thunderous claps go off. Shouts of joy, as the
+section exclaims--
+
+"Those are our 75's replying!"
+
+They are speaking now in all directions. We are greatly excited, for
+every one is delighted at the spectacle of a real battle obtained so
+cheaply. No one is afraid. Not a single heroic word is uttered; merely
+rapid interjections.
+
+"Ah! What a pity! There goes the steeple!"
+
+And indeed, the steeple falls crashing to the ground as though it were
+no more substantial than a child's toy. It must surely have been made
+of cardboard to have crumpled up so quickly.
+
+Still lying at full length on the grass, I pick a couple of flowers and
+place them in my pocket-book as a souvenir. Are we to spend the whole
+day basking in the sun?
+
+The other sections rise and advance; we do the same. We make our way
+towards a wood over the hill opposite.
+
+We skirmish along a road, beneath the firs. Near a tree, a dragoon, his
+breast bare and feet firmly planted on the ground, is having his back
+examined by a major; on his shoulder-blade is a large gash, from which
+the blood is dripping as from a tap. On the ground, by the wounded
+man's side--this is the first wounded soldier I have seen--lie his
+helmet and his arms, his coat and shirt.
+
+The roar of battle increases; it is as though invisible hands were
+beating away with huge sticks on a number of carpets. We think we
+recognize the enemy's _mitrailleuses_ by their _tacotacotac_, which
+continues for several seconds; whereas ours stop, begin again, stop
+once more, in less mechanical fashion.
+
+The roar of our 75's may be distinguished amid the deafening crash;
+they go off in fours, with a sharp, clear crack.
+
+The lieutenant arrives. We ask him--
+
+"Where are the others?"
+
+It is not his mission to tell us, but rather to send us over to a
+battery which is calling for infantry support.
+
+The four cannon are close at hand, small, and with mouth pointing
+upwards. They have not been marked, fortunately for the gunners and for
+ourselves as well. The lieutenant is on the watch a few yards away, and
+we hear the words of command. The enemy is drawing nearer; a short time
+ago he was 2,400 yards away, then 2,000, and now he is within 1,800
+yards.
+
+Soon the captain of the battery gives the order--
+
+"Bring up the limbers!"
+
+The horses are a little to the rear, in a hollow of the meadow. The
+guns are now silent; they are fastened to the carriages. In a few
+minutes they have all left. It is ten o'clock. And what of ourselves?
+
+An artilleryman passes along on horseback at a walking pace.
+
+Some one asks--
+
+"Why is the battery going away? Are we beaten?"
+
+He flings at us the mild though superior look of a horseman for a
+foot-soldier.
+
+"The Germans are firing at us from a distance of twelve kilometres with
+their 210's. It's right enough waging war, but not when the advantage
+is all on one side."
+
+And off he goes. I look back and see him tossing his head.
+
+A staff officer comes up at a gentle trot.
+
+"What are you all doing here?" he asks.
+
+"Artillery supports, _mon capitaine_."
+
+"Don't you see that your artillery is gone? You had better do the same.
+We are falling back."
+
+From the crest the section descends into a smiling valley, through
+which winds a stream. A hostile aeroplane flies right above us; it
+drops a fuse in the form of a smoking serpent.
+
+Ironical exclamations--
+
+"What's that filth? Just look at it!"
+
+Five minutes afterwards violent explosions are heard just overhead.
+The German artillery is peppering our retreat. Why is no one either
+killed or wounded? I cannot tell. A shell bursts right in the middle of
+a group of hussars, who disappear in the smoke. When it lifts, we see
+that both men and horses have been thrown to the ground, but they rise
+intact. Then every one within a radius of three hundred yards laughs.
+
+We cross the river one by one on a plank. A couple of stretcher-bearers
+carry off a light-infantryman all covered with blood; his face is
+livid, beneath the dust and perspiration. His head shakes loosely about
+on the stretcher, and his eyes wear a dull, indifferent expression.
+
+A few splinters fall harmlessly around. Assuredly the Germans are
+firing too high. I hear the remark--
+
+"Their artillery is no good, and they aim no better than a peasant
+could do."
+
+Noon. An implacable sun in a sky of crude blue. A glorious summer,
+really!
+
+The 75's begin again. Their silence was somewhat disturbing.
+
+We have been retiring for a couple of hours, and now we come to a halt.
+Why is this? If the Germans have beaten us, why do they not follow up
+their advantage? But then, in war a foot-soldier must resign himself
+to the fact that he may not know why he advances or withdraws. He sees
+only his immediate surroundings, nothing of any consequence.
+
+The guns are silent. Not a shot is heard. The order is given to pile
+arms. We proceed to a neighbouring stream to quench our thirst and
+refresh ourselves by dashing a few quarts of water over our heads. No
+shade anywhere to be seen; we shall have to lie down in the full glare
+of the sun. Each couple shares a box of tinned meat, which is spread
+between pieces of bread. A refreshing drink is followed by a good smoke.
+
+A hussar, galloping towards us, exclaims--
+
+"Castelnau is here. We shall soon have them caught as in a vice!"
+
+"Good!"
+
+For some moments the lieutenant has been in conversation with a
+general. He now comes up and gives the order to pick up our arms. Our
+turn has come at last.
+
+The general approaches.
+
+"You are fresh troops," he says, "and I rely on you to do your best
+to capture the positions we lost this morning. Reinforcements are
+announced. What we have to do now is to gain time."
+
+We ask for nothing more than to march forward. From time to time I
+catch the general's orders to the lieutenant: "Cross that village ...
+pass the bridge ... reach the heights ... make sure that the wood on
+the right is not occupied by the enemy ... do not lose contact with the
+main body...."
+
+We advance in fours. Each section moves along in the same direction
+at intervals of a hundred yards. The lieutenant--the only officer for
+these five hundred men--marches at the head of my squadron.
+
+On reaching the village mentioned, we find a peasant quietly leading
+three oxen to the watering-place. A little farther along two children,
+hand in hand, watch us file past. The houses are empty.
+
+Once again the open country. Passing under an apple-tree, I pluck an
+apple and eat it to quench my thirst.
+
+We cross a bridge. There are three roads before us. The lieutenant
+hesitates for a moment and then takes the middle one. No firing
+anywhere; perfect calm and silence.
+
+On reaching an elevation, we are greeted with a storm of bullets.
+
+I hear the orders to form a skirmish line, and to set our rifles at the
+800 yards range.
+
+Very soon we are being fired at from the front and from both sides. The
+lieutenant runs the entire length of the skirmish line. He brings the
+men forward in tens, according to regulations. I watch him and feel
+certain that he will be shot. No, he continues his course right in the
+thick of the bullets.
+
+If only we could see the enemy! But he is safe in his trenches or
+hidden in the wood, and is able to fire at us as he pleases.
+
+Lying flat on the grass, for the first time we hear the bullets whistle
+past. The enemy's fire, too well directed, sends the earth leaping into
+the air all around me. I imagine my head to be as large as a pumpkin.
+What a target! Whilst reloading, I notice an ant right in front of me,
+scaling some cartridge cases, and the thought comes to me--
+
+"What an advantage to be quite small."
+
+Hearing a cry, I turn my head and see a poor fellow with the blood
+streaming from his hand. The wounded man groans--
+
+"_Aie! Aie!_ Just what I expected!"
+
+Then he stands upright. He feels that he has paid his debt and is
+now out of the game. It no longer interests him, so off he goes. He
+proceeds about a dozen yards towards the rear, and then, of course,
+falls dead to the ground, riddled with bullets.
+
+The soldier on my right says--
+
+"Now I'm hit!"
+
+"Where?"
+
+"A flesh wound in the arm. Nothing serious."
+
+I am inquisitive enough to ask--
+
+"Does it hurt?"
+
+"I don't feel anything. For the moment there was a burning sensation.
+My arm is quite stiff."
+
+It is the turn of his other neighbour to ask--
+
+"Shall I dress it for you?"
+
+"No, thanks. I had better get back to the rear."
+
+"In that case, hand me your cartridges."
+
+"Of course. I was forgetting."
+
+The wounded man turns over on to his side, and with the bullets hailing
+down, quietly begins to empty his cases. His wound troubles him
+considerably, and he apologizes for his awkwardness.
+
+"How numb my hand feels!"
+
+Rules are rules, and regulations are regulations. Both soldiers have
+learnt, long ago in barracks, that sharpshooters advance in couples.
+They know that when one is wounded, the other must dress the wound,
+if possible, and in any case take the wounded man's cartridges. They
+think this is an opportunity to put into practice what they have learnt
+in theory. But what they do not know--and assuredly I am not going
+to undeceive them--is that the regulation they are following out was
+repealed over two years ago.
+
+A comic interlude. A man, in a panic of fear, refuses to advance. A
+bugler, who has just been ordered to take command of the section,
+addresses him as follows--
+
+"Forward! or you shall taste the butt-end of my rifle."
+
+Groans and lamentations.
+
+Then the bugler rises to his feet and says--
+
+"Join your comrades ahead."
+
+The other, utterly cowed, begins to crawl along the ground.
+
+"No crawling! On your feet at once; I'll teach you to show the white
+feather!"
+
+"You want me to be killed!"
+
+"If you don't go at once, I'll kick you."
+
+He gets up, whining and blubbering. The bugler accompanies him right to
+the line.
+
+"Now lie down!"
+
+The bugler, too, sinks to the ground. It is a miracle they were not
+both killed.
+
+Meanwhile, the German artillery is beginning to find its mark. We pay
+heavily for every step forward; soon all advance is impossible. We are
+even compelled to retire when the _mitrailleuses_ are directed upon us.
+
+After our leaps forward we now have to leap backward. A few yards in
+a declivity afford us a moment's respite, the balls passing over our
+heads. Taking advantage of this, I open my _musette_, hoping to enjoy a
+drink, and find that a bullet has smashed the bottle to pieces. Now we
+have to climb some rising ground, the German bullets following us all
+the way.
+
+The command is heard--
+
+"Fix bayonets! the enemy is in the village. We are outflanked!"
+
+Is this to be a hand-to-hand encounter? Nothing of the kind; the
+village is empty. The bayonets are sheathed.
+
+Flinging our rifles over our shoulder, we turn away, firmly persuaded
+that, after traversing another hundred yards and finding ourselves once
+again in the open, we shall all be shot.
+
+A wounded man, who has preceded us, calls to us as we pass. He is on
+his feet, though pale as death. His head is bandaged; there is a fixed
+glare in his eyes. The death sweat streams down his face, as he says
+hoarsely--
+
+"You're not going to leave me here, are you? Take me away! I am wounded
+in three places."
+
+"Come along, then; we'll carry you into this farm."
+
+"No, no! They'll come and finish me. Please don't leave me behind."
+
+One cannot tell the poor fellow that he will be dead before the
+Germans arrive. It is courting death for ourselves also, sure enough,
+but we take him tenderly by the arm and drag him away with us. Very
+speedily the end comes, and we leave him lifeless on the ground.
+
+It is six o'clock. What remains of the section is crossing a field of
+oats. The bullets still follow us, also occasional bursts of artillery
+firing. We have to pass in and out of the projectiles like ants
+making their way between drops of water trickling from the rose of a
+watering-pot. The man by my side falls to the ground and lies there
+motionless.
+
+Behind me I hear the snort of a shell.
+
+"That one's for me!" I say to myself.
+
+Instinctively I hitch up my haversack over my head. The shell explodes,
+and I am lifted into the air. Then I find myself flat on the ground.
+A stifling feeling comes over me; I tear off my cravat, coat and
+equipment, and I know no more.
+
+It is night before I regain consciousness. Where am I? I stagger to my
+feet, but immediately sink to the ground like a drunken man. Rain is
+falling, thin but penetrating. The ground on which I lie stretched is a
+veritable quagmire. I perceive that my shirt and trousers form my only
+covering. My senses are quite confused; surely the whole thing is a
+horrible nightmare!
+
+I am shivering all over, and my mouth is full of blood. What am I
+doing here all alone in the middle of the night, and half undressed? I
+feel myself all over; not a scratch. My watch and knife are in their
+place. After all, I am not dreaming. Then memory suddenly returns: the
+skirmish-line, the withdrawal under fire, the shell. I look around:
+everywhere on the horizon flames are to be seen. An occasional boom of
+cannon in the distance. I must have fallen between the lines.
+
+Forward, straight in front of me, come what may. I cross a wood, and
+fall into a stream, where I remain for some time in an almost fainting
+condition.
+
+The rumbling of carriage wheels makes me prick up my ears. I blindly
+feel my way in the direction indicated; I have lost my glasses. A
+short-sighted person without his glasses is in the mental condition of
+a drowning man. I am at the end of my tether. For three hours I have
+been crawling along; the rumblings draw near. Soon I hear the sound
+of voices; my heart stands still! What if the language is German! A
+good French oath reaches my ears. I run forward; the ground slips from
+beneath my feet, and I tumble headlong down a steep path into the midst
+of a convoy of stretcher-bearers.
+
+They bundle me into a pair of blankets, as I am now quite helpless. I
+ask what time it is: three in the morning. I must have been unconscious
+from six o'clock till midnight.
+
+
+_Wednesday, 26th August._
+
+At daybreak we reach Rambervillers. A major procures for me a _képi_
+and an odd coat, and sends me to the hospital.
+
+My one object now is to find a pair of spectacles. The streets are
+almost deserted. A few groups here and there, in one of which I notice
+a man wearing an eyeglass. Going up to him, I speak of my difficulty.
+Sympathetic and understanding, he takes me to an optician. All the
+shops are closed: for one reason, because it is seven in the morning;
+for another, because, as I am informed, yesterday's battle did not
+turn well for us--I suspected this from what happened to myself--and
+the Germans might enter Rambervillers to-day. Here is the optician's
+place; he has left the town, and his wife is on the point of abandoning
+the house and following him. She is quite willing to find me a pair of
+spectacles, and offers me a grog in the bargain.
+
+I reach the hospital.
+
+"What am I to do with you?" asks the major. "You will simply be taken
+prisoner if the Germans advance. There is an evacuation train at the
+station. Off you go!"
+
+This train is still almost empty: a few vans, some of which are fitted
+up with stretchers for the more severely wounded, and a number of
+third-class or second-class carriages.
+
+I enter one of the vans: three rows of forms, two against each side,
+and one in the middle. Between the two sliding doors is an empty space.
+I lie down and watch the reinforcements, announced yesterday, pass by.
+The men march along gaily and in perfect order.
+
+Desperate fighting is going on a few kilometres away. Wounded soldiers
+now pour into the station; they are being brought up direct from the
+firing line.
+
+Ha! here comes a man of my own squadron. He is wounded in the arm. On
+catching sight of me, he exclaims--
+
+"What! were you not killed?"
+
+"No, I am still alive, you see."
+
+"But you are reported dead. Some of the company saw you fall, hurled to
+the ground beneath a 210 shot."
+
+"Is that all?"
+
+The van fills up, but the stretcher-bearers continue to bring others.
+
+"There is no more room here, I suppose?"
+
+"There are already more than forty of us."
+
+"Close up a little. We must find room for every one."
+
+We do the best we can; I lean against the form in such a way that
+the sergeant seated in front of me places on it his two injured feet
+which have just been hurriedly dressed. It is a shell wound, and the
+wrappings are speedily soaked with blood.
+
+There is a man walking to and fro the entire length of the train
+outside; his head is bandaged, and his arm in a sling. On being
+told to enter the van, he makes a violent gesture of refusal, and
+continues his walk along the platform. A maddening performance, though
+necessary to numb his terrible sufferings and enable him to retain full
+consciousness. And this goes on for four hours.
+
+More stretchers, each bearing a pallid and grimy sufferer. Not a cry or
+scream, though occasionally some poor fellow, on being involuntarily
+hustled, utters a long-drawn-out "Ah!" and clenches his teeth. A quite
+young infantryman lies outstretched between the doors, both legs
+swathed in wadding. On asking how he feels, he feebly whispers, "Bien
+mal," and shakes his head.
+
+Another squeeze to make room for fresh arrivals. One of these exclaims--
+
+"What numbers of Germans have been killed! They're paying for this, I
+can tell you!"
+
+From every corner exclamations are heard approving of the sentiment.
+
+At two o'clock the train begins to move. Ever since dawn the boom of
+cannon has been heard without a break. A feverish sensation comes over
+me, and I close my eyes.
+
+How hot it is! To obtain a little air and leave as much room as
+possible for the more severely wounded, I sit down by the side of a
+sergeant-major on the edge of the truck, my legs hanging outside the
+carriage.
+
+The firs of the Vosges file past in a seemingly endless procession.
+At each station Red-Cross and volunteer nurses bring milk, bread and
+tea; frequently also cakes, eggs and preserves. Those of us who can
+walk serve the rest, leaving the van and returning with hands full of
+provisions.
+
+At nightfall I fling myself on the floor, under a form close to the
+wall. Out in the open country, stoppages are frequent. From time to
+time the engine-driver's shrill whistles keep the way clear.
+
+
+_Thursday, 27th August._
+
+The infantry sergeant has stretched his legs and placed his feet on the
+form under which I am lying. On awakening, I notice that the blood from
+his wound has been streaming over my hair and neck.
+
+About nine o'clock we reach Gray. The men-attendants remove a few
+severe cases which must be operated on without delay. One part of the
+station has been transformed into a hospital. There are any number of
+majors about, and they find plenty to do.
+
+I request permission to return to the depot; since I have no broken
+limbs, why should I stay on at the hospital? Accordingly I am sent to
+Chalindrey, where I have two hours to wait for the Langres train.
+
+I wonder if I can find a chemist's shop. One is pointed out to me.
+The chemist looks me over with considerable suspicion and mistrust. A
+shapeless _képi_, a dirty, threadbare coat, and an unshaven face all
+covered with mud are not prepossessing features. He asks--
+
+"My dear fellow, what do you do in ordinary times?"
+
+Respect for the journal causes me to hesitate somewhat. But then, this
+war excuses everything, and I confess--
+
+"I am on the editorial staff of the _Figaro_, monsieur."
+
+"Indeed? you don't look like it!"
+
+He laughs heartily, introduces his wife, and ... invites me to lunch.
+
+My hosts have three sons at the front; they attend to my wants as
+though I were one of these. Then they motor me back to Humes. I cannot
+find words to thank them, nor do I know how to tell them that I will
+not forget their kindness.
+
+The Hôtel Girardot and _Père Achille_ at the door! He recognizes me.
+
+"A ghost!"
+
+Everybody comes running up.
+
+Reymond, from the loft, thinks he hears my voice. He clambers down and
+stands amazed at my cadaverous appearance.
+
+"Can it be you, dear old fellow?" he asks. "Well, well, you are a
+pretty sight!"
+
+He grasps my hands; still I can find nothing to say. Then he carries me
+off to the lieutenant, the commander, the major.
+
+"Is there a bed for him?" asks the latter.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Well, let him have it at once, and don't let him be moved. If no
+complications show themselves to-morrow, he will be on his feet in
+three days."
+
+They hoist me into the loft. "The Spy" has left, and so I take
+possession of the folding-bed. Verrier, who has come running up, tucks
+me in. A corporal, who knows all about drugs, briskly rubs turpentine
+into my skin.
+
+"Anything fresh here?" I ask.
+
+"I should think so. Two days after you left a new detachment was sent
+out, including 'the Spy,' Raoul, and Lefranc."
+
+Lefranc was first violin at the Colonne concerts. He would sometimes
+come up into our loft and play Ravel and Stravinski for us. Down below
+in the stable slept a couple of muleteers. They shouted out--
+
+"Haven't you nearly finished up in the loft? How do you expect us to
+sleep with all this squeaking overhead?"
+
+Thereupon Lefranc played a slow drawling valse, and the muleteers
+calmed down.
+
+Reymond continues--
+
+"Roberty comes here every day now. It will soon be our turn to leave.
+Within a week Humes will probably see no more of us."
+
+"Do you belong to Class 4?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Then I must make haste to get well, in which case I may accompany
+you."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+AT THE DEPOT
+
+
+_Saturday, 29th August._
+
+I am now able to rise, and, with the aid of a stick, go to all four
+musters of the company. I recognize the heaps of dung, the geese,
+ducks and cows, and the snivelling little children. My comrades in the
+section regard me as "the one who has seen fire."
+
+
+_Sunday, 30th August._
+
+We are assured this morning that the Germans are in Amiens.
+
+
+_Monday, 31st August._
+
+I go to Langres to restore my outfit, for I have nothing left. All I
+had so carefully prepared or bought in Paris the few days preceding
+my departure--foot-gear, linen, repairing materials, field-dressing,
+tobacco, chocolate, toilet bag and writing-paper--utterly disappeared
+in the Vosges on the 25th.
+
+I take a real bath in a real bathroom, and the sensation is glorious.
+Former baths I had always taken in mechanical fashion, without
+thinking, but now I savour and relish the joy and delight of it.
+
+The most contradictory rumours are abroad; some proclaim great
+victories, others a rapid advance of the Germans by the north. There is
+entire confidence, however.
+
+
+_Tuesday, 1st September._
+
+Réveillé at three o'clock. The men who are well trained and ready to
+leave, and those who are weakly and more or less raw, are divided out
+into separate companies.
+
+The lieutenant delivers an energetic little discourse on the subject of
+discipline; the new-comers, unaccustomed to being harangued by their
+commanders, regard him as some bloodthirsty tiger.
+
+They murmur sadly to one another--
+
+"What beastly luck to fall in with such a tartar!"
+
+Useless to explain that the lieutenant is a charming fellow, and that
+this is only his way, the new-comers sorrowfully shake their heads.
+
+Five hundred men are to leave to-day. Verrier is one of the number, so
+we make due preparations for his departure.
+
+At seven in the evening the detachment leaves Humes. Shall we ever see
+Verrier again? Where is he going, and what is taking place? Reymond
+and I return to the hotel with downcast mien. Just one drink before
+climbing the ladder up into the loft. Assuredly it is sadder to stay
+behind than to depart.
+
+
+_Wednesday, 2nd September._
+
+Whenever we are free we have interesting conversations under the
+apple-tree with Lieutenant Roberty. The month of September will decide
+the war. On the 1st of November we shall all be back home.
+
+In the Paris journals of the 29th August we read of "the situation of
+our front from the Somme to the Vosges...."
+
+The Somme! We thought this phrase was simply a local _canard_, that by
+a typographical error the word _Somme_ had replaced the word _Sambre_.
+We imagined that fighting was still going on in Belgium. And the
+communiqué of the 30th states that the Imperial Guard received a check
+at Guise....
+
+We read, without any great interest, details upon the constitution
+of the new ministry. No doubt the situation is serious. There is no
+infatuation here. We are still in quarters, with just the ordinary
+drill.
+
+
+_Thursday, 3rd September._
+
+We muster. The 27th is drawn up for marching, so we shall not be here
+long.
+
+Three from the 28th pass into our squadron: Varlet, an electrician, a
+short, dark fellow with a large, pointed nose and faithful, intelligent
+eyes; Jacquard, a little man who vainly tries to shout as loudly as
+Varlet, whose voice is that of a mob orator; lastly, Charensac, who
+comes from Auvergne, and resembles Sancho Panza in being as broad as
+he is tall. The latter man has a roguish little dark moustache, and
+a beard that covers his neck. He wears his _képi_ on the back of his
+head, over his neck. His paunch protrudes in the same extravagant
+fashion. The fellow seems determined to treat the war as a huge joke.
+These three march in the second rank; Reymond and I in the first, along
+with Corporal Bernier and a Doctor of Law named Maxence.
+
+The latter four have rather long legs, whereas Varlet, Jacquard, and
+Charensac have short ones.
+
+The result is that we hear them grumbling as they march--
+
+"Not so fast; we cannot follow you. One would think you had been
+feeding on gazelle's flesh!"
+
+The tall ones take longer strides than ever. When we halt for a moment
+words are bandied about, and a quarrel seems imminent.
+
+
+_Friday, 4th September._
+
+This morning I was able to march twenty kilometres. I have regained my
+old form.
+
+Out in the streets there is talk of a possible departure for Paris. The
+depot may be transferred to some town in the centre of France.
+
+We learn that the Government has left Paris for Bordeaux.... This is
+rather astonishing news.
+
+When will this life in depots and barracks come to an end? When others
+are fighting and being killed, to mount guard by the watering-trough
+for the purpose of preventing soldiers from washing their socks is
+intolerable.
+
+
+_Saturday, 5th September._
+
+No marching or drill to-day, since the order to leave may arrive any
+moment.
+
+The English, says the communiqué, have taken ten cannon in the forest
+of Compiègne....
+
+The Germans at Compiègne?... The train from Paris did not arrive this
+morning. It is becoming quite stifling here.
+
+What is worse than the official dispatches is the multiplication of
+fantastic news. A famous airman has been shot as a spy; a mined forest
+in the neighbourhood of Lunéville has been fired, destroying three
+German army corps....
+
+From Brittany a telegram reaches me dated 31st August. It has been only
+five days on the road!
+
+Just now there returned to the depot with a bullet in his arm a man who
+left on the 23rd August, like myself. He has been a sergeant-major,
+belonging to Class 1886, who gave up his stripes and joined again.
+As I had seen him fall, I imagined he was dead. Like a couple of old
+soldiers, we recall the plain strewn with projectiles and all the
+incidents of that day on the battlefield. On the evening of the 25th he
+counted seventeen villages in flames.
+
+Whilst boasting of our campaigns, Reymond, who is just behind us,
+recites--
+
+ Dost remember, Viscount, that half-lune we captured from the enemy at
+ the siege of Arras?
+
+ What's that thou say'st? A half-lune indeed! It was a full lune, I
+ tell thee....
+
+
+_Sunday, 6th September._
+
+At the seven o'clock muster the quartermaster reads out the orders for
+the day--
+
+"Sunday, rest and labour [_travaux_] incidental to the cleanliness of
+the body."
+
+The word _travaux_ will give some faint indication of the trouble
+needed to get the dirt out of one's skin.
+
+Washing of clothes and a bathe in the Mouche. Eager perusal, beneath
+the apple-tree, of letters and journals three days old.
+
+Endless discussion and jokes on the "considerable factor" of which Lord
+Kitchener can say nothing more than that it will come to the help of
+the Allies. At Humes the watchword is "_Cherchez le facteur!_" ("Find
+the postman!")
+
+No defeat has been announced, and yet the Germans are at Senlis! No
+use trying to understand, as we used to say in barracks. Fighting and
+killing is going on whilst we are doing nothing but chatter beneath the
+apple-tree.
+
+
+_Monday, 7th September._
+
+A comrade receives a letter from his mother telling him of the possible
+entry of the Germans into Paris. Most improbable; how are we to
+believe such a thing? And yet the terms of the letter are most distinct
+and detailed. By common consent we leave this subject of conversation
+and begin to speak of the Russian victories.
+
+
+_Tuesday, 8th September._
+
+We now form part of a detachment of five hundred men with our friend
+Roberty in command. We shall proceed to the front either this evening
+or to-morrow.
+
+This morning an engine-driver told us at the station that in the
+neighbourhood of Reims the French have made great hecatombs of Germans.
+He saw the corpses heaped up in piles. One piece of good news at all
+events.
+
+I take my leave of the Girardot family; we shake hands and drink
+healths. Then I fondle and caress the huge dog, the _chien à
+sonnettes_, whose bell gives forth a more melancholy tinkle than ever.
+
+The campaign at Humes is ended.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+EN ROUTE
+
+
+_Wednesday, 9th September._
+
+The order to leave came this evening. Our detachment is to join up with
+the 352nd.
+
+Final preparations: all the tins of preserves we had piled up in
+Girardot's loft are divided out amongst the men of the squadron; these
+tins--_foies gras_, tongue, knuckle of ham, corned beef--are called
+_Rimailhos_, because of their calibre.
+
+At seven in the morning we leave Humes. The entire depot is present,
+and the people of the district bring us flowers with which we adorn
+our rifles. Roll-call. A short address by the commander of the depot.
+Shouts of "Vive la France!" _En route_ as we thunder forth the
+_Marseillaise_.
+
+At Langres station we pile up our rifles. A few innocent fellows
+scribble postcards, whilst we poke fun at them.
+
+"Do you mean to say you're writing? You know it will never reach its
+destination!"
+
+There is a sense of satisfaction, however, in sending a thought to
+those at home.
+
+The train is ready. Our haversacks are strapped on and we line up on
+the platform. The regulations order silence, but each man is shouting
+with all his might. When the train begins to move, there are ten heads
+and shoulders pressing out at the windows. We again shriek out the
+_Marseillaise_. In point of fact, where are we going? Where is the
+352nd? No one knows, not even Roberty.
+
+He has chosen our squadron to supply a police guard for the train. This
+is a sign of favouritism: the police guard fills three first-class
+compartments, whilst the other poor fellows are piled in tens in
+third-class carriages, or even in vans. At each station the guard jump
+down on to the platform, bayonet fixed, and helmet strapped round the
+chin. Theoretically they must see to it that no one leaves the station.
+In reality they say to their comrades, who disperse in every direction--
+
+"Fetch me a quart, old man! See, here's my can! You understand I cannot
+go myself as it is my business to prevent any one leaving."
+
+Belin, our corporal, has served nine years in the Foreign Legion, and
+so he knows the ropes. The gentlest and pleasantest of companions. In
+the two first-class carriages, besides Roberty, are Reymond and myself,
+Maxence, whom I have already mentioned, a handsome fellow from the
+Franche-Comté, head taller than the rest of us, a lawyer and big landed
+proprietor, who knows Verlaine by heart, and lastly, Jacquard, Varlet
+and Charensac.
+
+The day is spent in eating preserved food, smoking pipes, playing
+cards, and roaring out songs and jokes.
+
+Sometimes the train stops for a couple of hours in the open country.
+Men go off into the fields for the sheer pleasure of disobeying orders
+and stretching their limbs; when they see the train once again on the
+move they come running up like madmen and soon overtake it, for the
+driver carries us along at a jog-trot pace.
+
+A comic alarm during the night: sudden firing in the neighbourhood
+of Troyes. Is the train being attacked, in the way we read about
+in a schoolboy's romance? Our valiant men, leaping up from sleep,
+immediately cram cartridges in their rifles and jump out on to the
+track. Simply a few petards exploded on the rails. Now we can sleep.
+
+
+_Thursday, 10th September._
+
+Corbeil. Six hours' forced inactivity! We make some coffee along
+the track. A train full of wounded enters the station. We hurry to
+the doors of the vans and find that they are packed with soldiers
+of all sorts, lying _pêle-mêle_ on the floor, arms, legs and heads
+intertwined. The uniforms are unrecognizable and in rags, covered with
+dust and blood.
+
+And we, who are proceeding to the firing line, gaze open-mouthed on
+those who have just come back from it. Evidently there is terrible
+fighting going on, but the wounded have little to say. With a shake of
+the head they remark--
+
+"Yes, yes, things are progressing ... but it's a tough business!"
+
+"We are winning, are we not?"
+
+"Yes, but it takes time!"
+
+Bayonet charges, frightful whirling gusts of shot and shell, fields and
+woods strewn with dead, the moaning of the wounded; such is a summary
+of what each man has witnessed, just a tiny corner of the battle. No
+clear general impression. Unshaken confidence in the final result,
+along with a consciousness of the difficulty of the task.
+
+A carriage filled with German prisoners. We elbow one another to catch
+a glimpse of them. One of them, his shoulder and arm all twisted up,
+asks--
+
+"Are you reservists?"
+
+Some one nods assent.
+
+Thereupon he says--
+
+"I, too, am a reservist like you."
+
+Anxious to create a feeling of sympathy, he exhibits his wound.
+
+I say to him--
+
+"_Mon garçon_, you shouldn't have gone to war."
+
+No sooner has one train left the station than another steams up; for
+several hours the wounded file past without a break.
+
+At five in the evening the lieutenant, after a long conversation with
+the station-master, announces that the detachment is to cross Paris.
+Delirious joy.
+
+We reach the Gare de Lyons and, shouldering arms, proceed in columns of
+fours to the Gare Saint-Lazare.
+
+Our men hail every taxi-cab driver they see.
+
+"I say, old man, just go and tell my wife ... or my mother ... or my
+sister, will you? She lives in such a street, such a number. Hurry up
+and bring her along."
+
+"All right!"
+
+Off goes the chauffeur. Half an hour after he is back with the whole
+family, and, amid the emotion and excitement of so unexpected a
+reunion, slips away without a thought of payment.
+
+Halt in front of the Cirque d'Hiver. We pile our rifles and take off
+our haversacks. The crowd collects around and proves very emotional.
+Useless to say to one's friends or relatives--
+
+"Don't carry things too far, we are not coming back, we are only going!"
+
+The good-natured public will listen to nothing; they give us credit and
+treat us as heroes just the same.
+
+A second halt at Rue Auber. The crowd around grows larger and larger.
+It appears that Paris has been really threatened. This morning's
+communiqué, however, states that the enemy has retired a distance of
+forty kilometres.
+
+At the Gare Saint-Lazare more than two hundred out of the five hundred
+men belonging to the detachment have their family around them.
+
+At nine the train is waiting and we have to leave. We embrace and
+shout, laugh and cry, promise to return soon and to write.
+
+Roberty, Reymond and I have made up our mind to travel first-class. In
+one of the compartments a very stylish, gentlemanly-looking individual
+has installed himself. Strapping my helmet under my chin, I assume a
+tone of voice at once firm and courteous, and say--
+
+"I beg pardon, monsieur, but you are occupying a seat reserved for the
+chief."
+
+The gentleman, abashed, vaguely stammers some excuse or other,
+hurriedly snatches up his valise and travelling rug and looks for
+another seat.
+
+When he has gone, I remark--
+
+"What a bouncer!"
+
+The three of us sprawl at our ease over the six seats, posing as
+well-to-do persons off on a holiday.
+
+We walk along the passage. A wounded corporal, belonging to Class 12,
+promises us victory, and is intoxicated at the prospect.
+
+In reply to our questions, he says--
+
+"You ask if we have got them? We're simply sweeping the ground with
+them! I killed one this afternoon, a sergeant. Here's his shoulder tab
+and his belt clasp. Read the words on it: _Gott mit uns_. What brazen
+effrontery!
+
+"Just think, he was running away. I caught him up and gave him a dig
+with my bayonet between the shoulders. Then, do you know what the cur
+did? He actually turned round and wounded me. I gave him another thrust
+and finished him off.
+
+"I could never have thought it would give one so jolly a feeling to
+kill a man."
+
+After a moment's reflection--
+
+"After all, this is an ugly cut in the thigh. He might have maimed me
+for life."
+
+"That's perhaps what he wanted to do."
+
+The wounded man sinks into a meditative mood. All through the night we
+roll along until we reach our station, when we descend and march away
+for the front.
+
+
+_Friday, 11th September._
+
+About noon we enter the devastated zone at Dammartin: the telegraph
+lines have been torn down. Right and left of the road trees lie
+stretched on the ground; heaps of ashes are all that remains of the
+hayricks. In a ditch lies a corpse in red trousers and blue coat. Most
+of the men of the detachment have not yet been in the fighting line,
+and this is the first dead man, left lying on the ground, that they
+have seen. They are considerably moved, and even surprised.
+
+We reach Nanteuil-le-Haudouin. The station has been destroyed. A convoy
+of provisions and supplies passes, escorted by cuirassiers. A glorious
+sunset.
+
+A prolonged halt in front of the _mairie_. The place is full of troops
+and the mayor is at loss where to put us up.
+
+"Go to Wattebled's farm," he says to the lieutenant.
+
+This is a fine farm, though situated at the farther end of the town.
+The farmer is serving. Officers of the enemy have lodged in the
+building and have left the place in a dreadful condition. All the
+cupboards and wardrobes have been ransacked, and the contents flung
+about the rooms. The cellar is empty; broken bottles lie in every
+corner.
+
+The beds, however, have been left intact. We quickly stretch ourselves
+at full length, delighted to rest after travelling for two nights and
+three days. The dinner has been nothing to boast of--neither bread nor
+wine, and scarcely any light.
+
+
+_Saturday, 12th September._
+
+Whilst awaiting fresh supplies, which postpone our departure several
+hours, we explore the district. Those stores whose proprietors were
+absent have been methodically pillaged; whatever could not be carried
+away has been broken to pieces. In the wine and tobacco shops nothing
+but the walls are left standing.
+
+On the doors, chalk inscriptions indicate which German troops were
+quartered there. The inhabitants are still somewhat scared; they can
+hardly believe in their good fortune at finding themselves safe.
+
+We obtain as much rum and wine as we want from a wholesale wine dealer!
+The Germans had had time neither to remove nor to destroy his barrels
+and hogsheads. The news spreads like wildfire through the quarters.
+
+Each squadron delegates a man laden with cans slung over his shoulder.
+They press around the barrels in an endless file. An artillery officer
+wishes to prevent the infantry from approaching the wine store,
+especially his own men. Howls and protests. Lieutenant Roberty has to
+intervene before we can enter the place.
+
+Meanwhile, the stores have arrived. Whilst the pots are boiling we
+improvise a lunch for twenty-five in the large dining-room. The manager
+lends us napkins and a tablecloth, plates and glasses, and even a
+_jardinière_ for putting flowers on the table. Our ordinary fare
+includes a fillet of beef and we have bought three fowls. Each man
+brings his own wine and bread.
+
+This sybaritic life, however, cannot last indefinitely. At two o'clock
+we make our way through a district which has witnessed terrible
+battles. Arms and equipments, _képis_ and helmets and cloaks strew
+the ground. The smell of decomposing bodies passes in whiffs; it
+proceeds mainly from dead horses, still unburied, rotting away, their
+bodies all swollen and their legs rigid. By the side of a stack of
+hay three German corpses await the services of a grave-digger. Their
+greyish-green uniform seems to harmonize with the colour of the hay.
+
+At the halt, in a carriage left behind by the enemy, we find Berlin
+journals telling of victories in Belgium, along with a confused mass
+of note-books, night-lights--very convenient articles, these,--a
+broken phonograph, and German postcards all containing wishes that the
+recipients may have a good time in Paris, etc.
+
+Peasants come along with tales that uhlans are lurking in the
+neighbourhood. We waste a couple of hours in sending patrols to scour
+the woods. Not a single uhlan to be seen. We are caught in a shower
+of rain and reach Lévignen at nightfall, wet through. The silence and
+solitude are intense. Enormous gaps in the houses have been made by
+shells. The gamekeeper--perhaps the only inhabitant--proposes to the
+lieutenant that the detachment be lodged in the church. By the light of
+candles which are speedily lit, the men make the best of the situation,
+only too pleased to be out of the rain. The church, however, is too
+small. Half the detachment wanders about the abandoned village as the
+downpour continues.
+
+At all hazards we enter a house. No one is there, but we find beds, a
+stove and wood. There is no water, however, for making coffee, so I
+fill a large bowl with the rain streaming from a spout. A few tins of
+preserved meat and some wine have been left behind, so the lieutenant,
+Belin, Reymond, Maxence and myself easily manage to make a good meal
+and to sleep under a sheltering roof.
+
+
+_Sunday, 13th September._
+
+It appears that there is a dead German at the _mairie_. We go to look
+at him. There the fellow lies, stretched on the floor. His head is
+concealed beneath his arms; his sides, back and legs have been stripped
+bare by a shell explosion and he has evidently dragged himself here to
+die. A smell of decomposing flesh puts us to flight.
+
+The detachment again starts off early across a devastated land. We are
+gaily received by the inhabitants of Villers-Cotterets, who, delivered
+from the enemy a couple of nights previously, fête the French troops
+incessantly marching into the town.
+
+We quarter ourselves in the goods station, already partly occupied by
+wounded soldiers awaiting evacuation. Two Red Cross ladies, who had
+remained during the occupation, are kept busily employed. One of them
+appears behind a huge pot filled with coffee, from which the wounded
+help themselves. A German, his field-grey uniform in tatters, his jaws
+contracted and arms and legs all twisted up, is dying in a corner
+between two men attendants who do their best to relieve his agony.
+Other Germans, more or less wounded, lie _pêle-mêle_ on the straw near
+our own men. No disputes or quarrels, victors and vanquished are alike
+exhausted.
+
+The town gives more than ever the impression of a grand review. This is
+the headquarters of the Sixth Army; motor-cars rush up and down; in the
+streets are soldiers of every description, staff officers, generals. A
+40-h.p. motor-car, flying the Stars and Stripes, stops in front of the
+_mairie_: immediately we imagine that the United States ambassador has
+come to offer peace on behalf of Germany, and we discuss the terms and
+conditions we must lay down.
+
+Flanked by gendarmes, a knot of prisoners files past. They are in rags,
+covered with dust, and appear worn out. Soldiers and civilians line
+the road and watch them intently; not an exclamation is uttered; on
+every face is a look of radiant gaiety, forming a striking contrast
+with the surly expressions of the beaten Germans. Some of the latter
+have humble-looking, sensitive, fresh-complexioned countenances; these
+are the ones who must have committed the worst atrocities of all.
+
+We profit by the general confusion and good humour to slip into a hotel
+reserved for officers and indulge in a luxurious repast.
+
+It is also by dint of cunning and astuteness that Reymond, Maxence and
+myself manage to find lodging with some honest people who place at our
+disposal two bedrooms and a dressing-room. Only the previous week they
+had boarded a Prussian colonel who daily explained the mathematical
+reasons which would ensure the triumph of Germany. And then, only two
+days ago, he galloped off without finishing his demonstration. He was
+so hurried that he kicked down his bedroom door. He was daily in the
+habit of locking it himself, but in his excitement he had forgotten
+where he had put the key ... perhaps even where the lock was! My host
+points to the broken panels, quite pleased to have such a proof of
+German disorder and confusion.
+
+
+_Monday, 14th September._
+
+When shall we see white bed-sheets again? Such luxury has turned our
+heads, and Villers-Cotterets, intact and full of life, in the midst
+of a scene of ruin and desolation, seems to us the very capital of the
+world! The dull growl of the cannon is heard away in the distance.
+
+An abundant supply of fresh meat, preserves and wine. _En route_ for
+the headquarters of the Army Corps, where directions will be given us
+for joining the regiment.
+
+A long march through the forest. More dead horses and that intolerable
+stench of decomposing flesh which strikes one brutally full in the face
+like a lash.
+
+The roar of cannon draws nearer. We halt in a field. A detachment of
+prisoners passes along the road.
+
+Still the wounded come; in groups of twos, threes and fours they make
+their way, after a summary dressing of their wounds, in the direction
+of the ambulance, hobbling along, leaning on sticks or on a comrade's
+shoulder.
+
+They ask--
+
+"Is it far to Villers-Cotterets?"
+
+"Fifteen kilometres."
+
+"_Ah! Là là!_"
+
+Amongst them are men of the 352nd. Having met at the depot we recognize
+one another, and ask--
+
+"Are the enemy retreating?"
+
+"No, it seems as though they were determined to halt by the river."
+
+We also learn that shells are beginning to fall a few hundred yards
+distant.
+
+At the entrance to Ambleny, near the Aisne, a staff captain stops
+Roberty: it is impossible to cross the bridge in the daytime; the
+headquarters have been transferred to Vic-sur-Aisne, which place it is
+too late to reach to-day. We are quartered in an abandoned saw-mill.
+
+Our last _Rimailhos_ supply us with a solid meal. There comes a knock
+at the door--a lost soldier in search of food and lodging. We invite
+him in. On seeing our repast, a broad smile illumines his face, and he
+remarks--
+
+"How lucky I fell in with you!"
+
+As the lieutenant gives him a copious portion and pours out a generous
+bumper of wine, the man says, his mouth full of food--
+
+"_Merci_, Monsieur Roberty."
+
+"What! Do you know me?"
+
+"A little. And you also (indicating myself). I am a waiter in Lavenue's
+restaurant. I served you at lunch the day following the mobilization."
+
+Greatly moved, we grasp his hand effusively, and say--
+
+"Excuse us, old man, we did not recognize you."
+
+He quite understands, whereupon Roberty adds--
+
+"Now just remain seated; I'm going to serve you myself."
+
+Dinner over, we offer him the corner containing the most abundant
+supply of straw, and fall off to sleep.
+
+
+_Tuesday, 15th September._
+
+A long detour to reach Vic-sur-Aisne. Halt in front of the keep by
+the castle moat. The lieutenant goes for orders to the staff at
+headquarters. Whilst awaiting his return we watch German prisoners as
+they come and go in the enclosure.
+
+A hostile aeroplane is hovering above the town. Received with a brisk
+fusillade and exploding shrapnel, it disappears. The general in command
+of the corps passes by on horseback, followed by a numerous staff.
+Lined up, behind our piles of arms, we salute. A fine subject for an
+Academy picture.
+
+Roberty returns; the regiment is in the first line, between Fontenoy
+and Port-Fontenoy. _En route_ to join it.
+
+We proceed along the Aisne in Indian file over a bombarded road. On our
+left, behind the hill, fighting is taking place; always the same sound,
+as of carpets being beaten or planks being nailed down. Here comes a
+battalion of our regiment; the other is in the trenches. A bivouac is
+installed on the side of a hillock in a meadow surrounded by trees.
+Evening descends. We build huts made of trusses of straw, torn from a
+neighbouring stack. The stack melts away and finally disappears, having
+been transformed into a little negro village. The fire needed for the
+cooking of our meal sets up great flares of light, ... too great, in
+all probability, for a hail of bullets whistles about our ears. Where
+does it come from? Mystery!
+
+"Put out the fires and lie flat on the ground!" shout the officers.
+
+The bullets continue; some strike the ground with a sharp, cracking
+sound, others ricochet and glance off! _Piou! Piou!_
+
+I lie there and wait until this storm of iron, more irritating than
+dangerous, has passed. The thought enters my mind--
+
+"How bothering! It has even lost the attraction of novelty for me now."
+
+As one who has already seen fire, I feel impelled to address a few
+words to my neighbours, Maxence and Sergeant Chaboy. Curious to gather
+their impressions, I crawl up to them and slyly ask--
+
+"Well, raw ones, what do you think of the stew?"
+
+They are both asleep. As I receive nothing but a snore for an answer, I
+do not insist.
+
+Firing ceases as suddenly as it began. We rise to our feet; one man is
+wounded and a _gamelle_ shot through. That's all.
+
+After fire comes water; an implacable shower beats down upon our poor
+straw shelters, penetrating right through and laying them flat on the
+ground. The place must be left.
+
+At the foot of the hill, the village of Port-Fontenoy. Every house is
+full of troops. Not the tiniest shed or loft is available. And here
+stands the colonel, buried beneath his hood, his face lit up by the
+intermittent lights coming from his pipe.
+
+"Those who have just come from the depot," he says, "had better make
+shift in the yard here."
+
+We make shift.
+
+Reymond and Roberty slip away under a cart; I follow suit. Two others
+join us. Here, at all events, we are somewhat sheltered from the
+rain. I feel the ground: it is a bed of dung, and soft to the touch.
+Somebody's muddy shoe is pressed against my face; my back is being used
+as a pillow by the lieutenant. Huddling together, we feel the cold
+less. We have had no dinner, merely some _pâté de foie gras_ spread
+between biscuits as hard as wood. There is a strange odour about our
+hands, and the dining-room is anything but comfortable.
+
+
+_Wednesday, 16th September._
+
+The night has been a long one, rain falling all the time. We burst out
+laughing when we discover how dirty we look.
+
+The order comes to cross the wood and reach the crest of the hill,
+beyond which something is happening--something serious, to judge by the
+noise. On the other bank of the Aisne, scarcely a kilometre distant,
+the small station of Ambleny-Fontenoy is being bombarded. The volleys
+pass over our heads, making a noise like that of a tram skidding over
+the rails. A flaky patch of white smoke indicates where the explosion
+takes place.
+
+We make wagers as to where the next shell will fall.
+
+That one--looking in the air to see the snorting projectile pass--will
+be for the station.
+
+_Pan!_ The red roof crumbles in. At that moment a train enters the
+station. The Germans see it; a projectile falls twenty yards in front
+of the engine; another, ten yards in front; a third, well aimed, but a
+little short. The engine-driver does not lose his head; he reverses the
+engine. Four consecutive explosions on the very spot the locomotive has
+just left.
+
+Applause and shrieks of joy.
+
+Both train and station seem very much like Nuremberg toys. One must
+reflect if emotion is to be genuine.
+
+The sun's rays speedily dry our coats on our backs. Some of the men
+sleep, whilst the artillery duel redoubles in intensity.
+
+Varlet has gone into the village to make lunch. He returns, furious,
+with dishevelled hair and empty hands.
+
+"Well! Where's lunch?"
+
+Varlet vociferates--
+
+"Lunch, indeed, _Zut!_ You'll have to tighten your belts a little more.
+A _marmite_ fell right in the middle of it all."
+
+Varlet tells his tale: he heard the whistling sound, and knew that
+he was in for it. He had just time to plunge head first into a dog's
+kennel.
+
+"When the thing exploded," explains our cook, "there was only my head
+inside, the dog prevented me from entering farther."
+
+Good-bye to lunch and the toothsome dishes. Belin is exasperated.
+
+"How will my squadron manage for meals now?" he wonders.
+
+Prowling about, we discover a little grotto, a comfortable shelter in
+case of bombardment. Meanwhile, each man makes his own conjectures.
+Shall we attack this evening or to-morrow? Manifestly we have not been
+brought here to take an afternoon nap in the sun.
+
+Suddenly an order comes that we are to be quartered at Port-Fontenoy.
+The deuce! This is the point of impact, the magnet that draws all the
+shells of the district.
+
+A barn full of hay and straw. We fling ourselves on to the ground and
+sleep comes instantaneously.
+
+About two in the morning Jacquard, whose turn it is to stand sentry
+before the door, shakes Roberty, who is soundly sleeping.
+
+"_Mon lieutenant_, shells are falling in the yard, we shall all be
+blown to pieces if we stay here!"
+
+Roberty, whose capacity for sleep is quite out of the common, turns
+over on to his side and growls--
+
+"All right! don't disturb me. To-morrow I will look into the matter."
+
+Jacquard, offended, returns to his post.
+
+
+_Thursday, 17th September._
+
+Standing on a slight eminence, we watch the shells, from early dawn,
+falling on to the station.
+
+In the evening we return to Port-Fontenoy. This time the squadron
+lodges in a goat-shed. It is very warm and intimate.
+
+
+_Friday, 18th September._
+
+The 6th battalion comes down from the outposts. What a state they
+are in! They have just spent four days and nights in the first line,
+in trenches improvised and devoid of shelter. And yet _we_ thought
+ourselves dirty!
+
+They look haggard and dazed, and are covered with mud from head to
+foot. We crowd around. Their first words are--
+
+"Have you any tobacco? All ours is finished."
+
+We supply them with tobacco, even with a superior brand of cigarette.
+
+Thereupon interest in life returns, and they consent to talk.
+
+"And what of Verrier? Is he alive?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Which company?"
+
+"The 23rd."
+
+Reymond and I run off in the direction indicated.
+
+In front of a grotto some men are lying on the ground.
+
+"Is this the 23rd?"
+
+"It is."
+
+"Is there any one here named Verrier?"
+
+Then Verrier himself, pale, emaciated and in rags, rises from the
+grotto, like Lazarus from the tomb. A Mephistophelean goat-beard, which
+he has grown, makes his long face appear longer than ever. He sees us
+holding out our hands to him, but he bursts out, without the slightest
+greeting--
+
+"Tell me, a war like this can't last a fortnight longer, surely, can
+it?"
+
+This question puts us into a jovial mood.
+
+"The war, old fellow? It will last a couple of years," we assure him.
+
+"Well, then," sighs Verrier, "let me sit down."
+
+We carry him off to Lieutenant Roberty. Then we place him in the
+sunshine, bring him coffee and tobacco, and lend him a brush. He feels
+better.
+
+This evening the men of our detachment are distributed out amongst the
+various companies. The whole of our squadron becomes the first squadron
+of the 24th. Roberty is in command of the first section. He obtains
+permission for Verrier to be transferred from the 23rd to the 24th. How
+fortunate to be shoulder to shoulder again! It is so much easier to
+fight with one's friends by one's side.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+A BACKWARD GLANCE--THE BATTLE OF THE MARNE
+
+
+This evening, in the goat-stable, Verrier shows us his coat, pierced
+by seven shrapnel holes. Two of the rents are repeated in the seat of
+his trousers. There is a hole in his pants; the shrapnel discreetly
+proceeding no farther.
+
+"I've had a rough time of it," affirms Verrier.
+
+"Tell us what you've been doing."
+
+Verrier, however, is no prattler.
+
+"I will read from my note-book," he says; "that will not take so long."
+And he begins--
+
+ "Left Langres September 1st, nine in the evening. After sixteen
+ hours in the train, reached Noisy-le-Sec on the 2nd. The station is
+ filled with wounded from the north. Some moan and lament, others,
+ with half-closed eyes, seem on the point of death. All have enormous
+ dressings, stained with blood. Nurses eagerly attend to their needs.
+
+ On the platforms, _pêle-mêle_ with the soldiers, stand groups of
+ families, refugees from Belgium, the Ardennes and the Aisne. Women,
+ seated on enormous bundles, weep all the time, though they keep an
+ eye on the urchins as the latter play with the soldiers.
+
+ At Argenteuil-Triage we cross a train of English infantry: open,
+ clean-shaven, boyish faces, laughing heartily. They are in spick and
+ span condition. We shout greetings to one another. In the distance I
+ perceive the Eiffel Tower, which seems to me the finest monument in
+ the world. At Argenteuil, Archères, and all the stations, stand women,
+ children, and old men along the line, cheering us as we pass, and
+ sending kisses after us.
+
+ On the night of the 3rd we are still _en route_. The lines are
+ blocked, causing detours and occasioning delays. At Mantes we learn
+ that the German cavalry have put in an appearance at Compiègne and
+ Senlis. We are informed that the Government is leaving for Bordeaux.
+ We descend at Bourget, and at Chennevières-les-Louvres rejoin the
+ regiment, which has been put to a severe trial at Proyart, in the
+ Somme. It is then sent to the rear and entrusted with the duty of
+ protecting the retreat. I am transferred to the 23rd company.
+
+ On the 4th we take up our quarters at Moussy, Seine-et-Marne. The army
+ headquarters have been set up here. Not a single inhabitant; shops
+ all closed and houses abandoned. Impossible to procure anything, even
+ by offering gold. On the other hand, there is considerable military
+ animation; troops file past on their way to take up new positions.
+
+ On the 6th of September we are up at one in the morning and depart
+ at two. The road is obstructed: an artillery regiment, teams of
+ pontooners, stretcher-bearers, a supply train. The cannon is rumbling
+ in the north. We have the impression of being at drill; the same
+ gaiety and _insouciance_. We think of nothing but singing, eating, and
+ drinking.
+
+ Arrival at Dammartin, where scarcely a hundred out of fifteen hundred
+ inhabitants are left.
+
+ At noon, _en route_ in the direction of Meaux, across ploughed land. A
+ scorching sun.
+
+ Only at six in the evening does the regiment form in battle line. The
+ two battalions, under the protection of strong patrols, form a solid
+ front; the companies in sections, four in a line, at a distance of
+ fifty paces. The officers have left their mounts. The advance is very
+ slow; not a word is said. The cannon make a deafening din. Numerous
+ stacks of straw are aflame.
+
+ Night comes on. The order is given to fling away our cigarettes.
+ Shortly afterwards: Supplies ready! Fix bayonets!
+
+ On the horizon, light appears all around.
+
+ The regiment reaches the border of a village which, after a violent
+ fight, has just been retaken from the enemy. Ours the mission to keep
+ it at all costs.
+
+ Supper at ten. We sleep in the open air.
+
+ We are up at four in the morning of the 7th of September. The German
+ artillery opens a violent fire on the village, which we cross at a
+ run, bent double, Indian file, keeping close to the walls. Not one of
+ us is wounded. We come down into a ravine, above which hover a couple
+ of Taubes. At no great height they pass to and fro, without appearing
+ to suffer from the violent fusillade directed against them. They are
+ trying to find the very batteries in aid of which my section has been
+ sent out.
+
+ The shells begin to rain down upon us in uninterrupted streams. We
+ rush into a wood skirting the ravine. We form a carapace. Two hours on
+ the ground, without stirring, crouching up against one another, our
+ haversacks over our heads. Each explosion covers us with dust and hot
+ smoke. Stones, clods of earth, branches of trees fall on our backs and
+ set our _gamelles_ clanging. The company loses five dead and a score
+ wounded. Corporal Marcelin has his head torn off by my side. During a
+ pause we lunch. At one o'clock the performance recommences. Again a
+ carapace is formed. An artillery officer shouts to us as he passes--
+
+ 'You are in a very dangerous zone.'
+
+ No doubt of that!
+
+ This evening we bivouac out in the open.
+
+ The 8th of September, _en route_ at four in the morning. We are massed
+ in reserve behind stacks of straw, where we see something of the
+ battle. The Germans appear to have the advantage. Their guns shower
+ upon us huge projectiles which, on bursting, release a heavy black
+ smoke. Violent replies by our 75's. A village to our right is aflame.
+ Gusts of artillery fire on Fosse-Martin and the farm of Nogeon.
+ Conflagrations are seen on all sides. An ambulance is girdled with
+ flames.
+
+ General Joffre's order of the day is read aloud by a sergeant: 'Die
+ rather than retreat.' The impression it leaves is profound. The paper
+ passes from hand to hand, each man peruses it in silence. We are given
+ a few explanations on the battle being fought, and the arrival of the
+ 4th Corps is announced. In effect, we soon see a number of regiments
+ advancing.
+
+ In the afternoon, an endless stream of wounded, coming for the most
+ part from the village which has been burning ever since morning.
+ Fighting is going on from house to house. Some of the men have
+ terrible wounds, still undressed, from which the blood is streaming.
+ A dragoon, who remains on horseback, has his left foot blown away,
+ with the exception of the heel, which still hangs to the leg. An
+ infantryman, his shoulder almost torn from his body, has abandoned his
+ coat and converted his shirt into a sling to support his arm.
+
+ The village on the right has had to be evacuated by our troops. We
+ must recapture it. The 5th battalion of the regiment is retiring, with
+ standard unfurled, the 18th and 20th companies, in front, forming two
+ successive lines of skirmishers; the 17th and 19th a short distance
+ behind. Anxiously we watch them leave. At six o'clock the battalion
+ returns, having made good the loss. The village has been retaken
+ without a struggle, the Germans, driven back in other quarters, having
+ had to abandon it.
+
+ We spend the night in a barn at Fosse-Martin. Distribution of
+ provisions and tobacco. We make ourselves some coffee. Close by is an
+ ambulance: broad streams of blood flow from it on to the road. The
+ stretcher-bearers set out with dark lanterns in search of the wounded.
+
+ One o'clock in the morning, bustle and confusion. A sentry calls out:
+ 'To arms!' Everybody rushes out with fixed bayonets. A false alarm, it
+ was only a fire: a stack of hay aflame about two hundred yards away.
+ The company spends the rest of the night in a neighbouring field of
+ corn, but there is no more sleep for me.
+
+ On the following day the 23rd is appointed to support the artillery.
+ This time we dig trenches. These we cover over with straw and beetroot
+ leaves; and whenever a hostile aeroplane is signalled we disappear.
+ Everybody laughs and jokes. Games of cards are started down in our
+ holes. We have ravenous appetites.
+
+ The firing sounds farther away. There is a rumour that the enemy is
+ retiring.
+
+ We remain where we are until the following afternoon, the 10th
+ September. Everything is perfectly quiet. After a gay lunch we stroll
+ about a little. We notice French aeroplanes returning to headquarters
+ at Brégy.
+
+ In the evening we are quartered at Bouillancy, abandoned on the 7th
+ by the Germans after a severe struggle: roofs and walls knocked in,
+ windows and blinds broken and torn down. A few houses are still
+ burning, but all the inhabitants have fled. I try to start a
+ conversation with an old fellow and his wife who are obstinately bent
+ on remaining behind and have lived here several days, hiding in their
+ cellar. They are quite stupefied with the recent events, and it is
+ impossible to obtain any information from them.
+
+ Out in the fields stretcher-bearers are picking up the French and
+ German wounded; in many cases gangrene has set in, as they have been
+ lying there for five days unattended.
+
+ On the morrow we start again and cross a corner of the battlefield.
+ In the trenches lie piles of German corpses. The French dead--all
+ belonging to the 4th--have their faces covered with a white cloth.
+ Bands of territorials pour petrol over the dead horses and set fire to
+ them; they exhale a pestilential odour.
+
+ Rain begins to fall and the dust is converted into mud. The regiment
+ reaches Villers-Cotterets by way of the forest. There are manifest
+ proofs that the German retreat has been a very disorderly one. The
+ ground is strewn with rifles and loaders, outfits, yellow haversacks,
+ and broken bicycles.
+
+ A few of the inhabitants have already returned to the villages. They
+ are beginning to become more reassured, but they are very hungry. The
+ Germans have emptied the cellars and carried off everything eatable.
+
+ At ten in the evening we reach Villers-Cotterets, which the enemy
+ occupied for eleven days, and from which he fled this very morning at
+ half-past nine. At eleven our light cavalry entered. The damage is
+ insignificant.
+
+ We leave Villers-Cotterets on the morning of the 12th. At the exit of
+ the town the road is strewn for three or four kilometres with the most
+ diverse objects, mainly broken bottles.
+
+ We halt at Coeuvres. A convoy of prisoners. They scarcely utter a
+ word, remain aloof, and seem contented with their lot. They are
+ ignorant of the fact that England is at war with Germany.
+
+ On Sunday, the 13th, we return to the danger zone. On both sides the
+ cannon is thundering away. North and south, east and west, hayricks
+ and farms are aflame. The regiment quarters at Ressons-le-Long.
+
+ On the 14th, at four in the morning, alarm. We cross the Aisne on a
+ bridge of boats, near Fontenoy. The church steeple threatens ruin if
+ it falls. We climb a steep hill; the ground is strewn with the dead
+ bodies of French and Germans. Last night a terrible hand-to-hand fight
+ with bayonets took place here, and the road is dotted with pools of
+ blood. Many of the bodies have remained in the position in which they
+ received the death-blow: an officer is kneeling on the ground in the
+ attitude of reloading his rifle. His complexion is waxen, his eyes
+ glazed, and his mouth open. Another lies stretched full length across
+ the path, his arms outspread in the form of a cross. We have to stride
+ over the body.
+
+ On the top of the hill the company deploys along a footpath in
+ skirmish line. We now discover that the enemy is less than four
+ hundred yards distant. A German battery pours in a raking storm of
+ shells. No holes anywhere about, not the slightest hillock behind
+ which to shelter. I am hurled into the air and fall back on the same
+ spot. Wounded men shriek for help or die in agonies of convulsion;
+ others run to the ambulance. The man by my side is shot dead; from
+ his skull flows a stream of blood which gradually covers the whole of
+ his face. I remove his haversack and use it to protect my own head.
+ Then I fall asleep. When I awake I find that I am surrounded with dead
+ bodies. The few survivors lie there absolutely motionless, for no
+ sooner does a head rise than a bullet hisses past and artillery firing
+ recommences. I pretend to be dead.
+
+ At five in the evening, what remains of the company crawls away in
+ the direction of a little wood, a few hundred yards in the rear. For
+ a whole hour, in the darkness of the night, I hear a wounded man moan
+ piteously: '_Maman! Maman!_'
+
+ During the 15th, 16th, and 17th, we are favoured by the uncertain
+ shelter of the wood. The rain is pouring down in torrents. The
+ cannonade and rifle fire continue without interruption. A few more men
+ are wounded. On the evening of the 17th, the relief is effected to the
+ accompaniment of a hail of bullets."
+
+Verrier has finished his reading.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+BEFORE FONTENOY
+
+
+_Saturday, 19th September._
+
+The regiment is appointed to be an Army Corps reserve. We cross
+the Aisne early in the morning and prepare support trenches three
+kilometres in the rear. This is the first time we play at digging holes
+in the ground. It appears that the Germans dig them, and that they
+prove useful. Navvies' picks and shovels are distributed. We work in
+twos; one digging hard and the other clearing away the earth whilst the
+first man is resting. By the end of the day the section has dug up a
+trench deep enough for one to walk in without being seen.
+
+This evening we are quartered at Ressons-le-Long, in an old round
+tower, of venerable aspect, adjoining a farm.
+
+The regiment has left the east and proceeded northwards, before coming
+down in the direction of Paris. Then it took part in the battle of the
+Marne, and finally stopped on the banks of the Aisne. Still no letters!
+
+The battalion claims the services of a postman, a busy,
+anxious-looking man. From time to time he stops and opens his bags in
+some quiet corner and blurts out about a hundred names, which he reads
+from envelopes chosen indiscriminately. A few of the men are there.
+
+Sometimes there is a Dubois who answers: "Present."
+
+The postman looks up sternly.
+
+"Dubois what. What's your other name?"
+
+"Dubois, Charles."
+
+With a scornful shrug of the shoulders--
+
+"The letter I have here is for Dubois, Emile. Why do you make me lose
+my time?"
+
+The same thing happens with the Duponts, the Durands, and the Martins.
+The one present never possesses the right Christian name.
+
+The postman throws back the letters into his big bag and continues his
+round.
+
+"They're always asking for letters," he grumbles, "but when I bring any
+they never come for them."
+
+"They" frequently have a good reason for not coming, they may well have
+met their death between two posts.
+
+The postman finds his bags swelling in bulk a little more every day; he
+becomes more anxious and careworn than ever.
+
+Sinister rumours are spread regarding his intentions.
+
+"He says that if the men are not there when he calls out the names
+to-morrow, he will burn everything left in the bag."
+
+"The deuce! But did he mention where the distribution was to take
+place?"
+
+He has done nothing of the kind; the hour and place of distribution are
+the postman's secret.
+
+
+_Sunday, 20th September._
+
+We are up at three in the morning. The guns begin to boom. Gradually
+day appears. Returning to our trenches we see flashes leaping from the
+cannons' mouth along with tiny puffs of smoke.
+
+The view extends over the valley of the Aisne. The Germans are making
+desperate efforts to cross the river.
+
+From our position in reserve we watch cyclists rushing along the road.
+The colonel comes and goes, and gives orders, smoking his huge pipe the
+while. A telephone has been fitted up in a haystack, from which he does
+not wander far, as the tinkling call is continually being heard. It is
+raining. We cover our trenches with sheaves of straw gathered from the
+neighbouring field and await events, crouching deep in our holes.
+
+Roberty keeps us posted in what is taking place. Being a lieutenant, he
+is privileged to apply for the latest information from the colonel. At
+two o'clock the enemy takes Fontenoy, and his vanguard has descended
+right to the bridge of boats. He is stopped short by a company of
+engineers. The Germans are decimated by a well-directed fire; those who
+are not killed return in disorder. Our regiment is charged with the
+task of recapturing Fontenoy.
+
+We fix our haversacks, take in a supply of provisions and _en route_.
+The descent into the valley is through a wood. Roberty roguishly
+declares--
+
+"Boys, our chances of death have gone up ninety per cent."
+
+Halt at a crossing, near the Aisne, as we await the order to attack. We
+place our haversacks on the ground, rest our rifles against them and
+sit down. An hour passes. Two batteries of 75's are firing away behind
+us without a pause. The rain continues.
+
+The lieutenant is summoned to the colonel. He returns with a smile and
+announces--
+
+"Our chances of death are down; Fontenoy has been recaptured without
+our help. The artillery have compelled the Germans to evacuate. We
+shall spend the night at Gorgny."
+
+
+_Monday, 21st; Tuesday, 22nd; and Wednesday, 23rd September._
+
+Three days well occupied. We are quartered in a wretched-looking farm,
+reeking with manure and filth of every kind.
+
+We rise at a quarter to three. It is quite cold. We hurry to the
+kitchen, where Varlet and Charensac, the cooks of our section, are
+preparing coffee and cooking beefsteaks. They have not slept at all; in
+fact, they only received supplies about ten at night, for revictualment
+carts can approach the line only in the dark. The fire flames up in the
+vast country chimney, lighting up the whole room. The farmer and his
+wife, grumbling and blink-eyed, are seated in a corner.
+
+The coffee is very hot; already we feel better. It is followed by a
+quart of broth. Then Varlet portions out to each man a small piece of
+calcined meat: the beefsteak for the noon meal. _En route_. And now
+begins what Reymond calls the "noble game of the beetroot field."
+
+I am fully convinced that in times of peace beetroots are extremely
+useful. This year, however, they poison the very existence of the
+foot-soldier, already sufficiently embittered. Ploughing one's way
+through fields of beetroots is enough to make one hate the war. Your
+foot twists and slips about in all directions. Hurled forward, you
+bruise your nose against the haversack of the man in front. Pulled
+backward, you receive from the man behind a blow in your ribs with
+the butt-end of his rifle. The night air is filled with groans and
+complaints. Where are we going? How can the officers find their way in
+the dark? One after another, feeling our way, each man runs in the wake
+of a fugitive shadow. On reaching the edge of the wood, we lose the
+path. The column is broken. Which direction are we to take? The wrong
+one, of course. Then heart-breaking rushes to and fro; we find every
+company except our own. Finally, day appears.
+
+Arrival at the trenches. Distribution of shovels and picks, and
+quick--to work. A very pleasant form of exercise: if it is raining you
+wallow about in mud; if it is dry you swallow sand all the time.
+
+Close by us belch forth our 75's, which the Germans would fain
+dislodge. Gradually the enemy's artillery riddles the entire plain with
+shot of every calibre.
+
+Nothing lessens that noisy good-humour peculiar to ourselves. The
+only thing that troubles us is with reference to eating and drinking.
+At such times as these, this is no easy problem to solve in the case
+of persons endowed with a good appetite. Only a few days ago we had
+scruples about cleanliness, and seized every opportunity of washing
+ourselves. Now we never think of it. It takes an effort to imagine
+what life must have been like in the good old times of peace and
+civilization--forty days ago!
+
+I have not had my shoes off since we left Villers-Cotterets.
+
+Roberty dispatches Jules, his orderly, to hunt about for something fit
+to eat. Off goes Jules; he is a man of poaching instincts, and being of
+seductive manners, receives unlimited credit. Along difficult paths,
+known to none but himself, he reaches Ambleny, or Ressons, or Gorgny.
+After several hours' absence he returns in triumph, bringing a large
+pot filled with an abominable cold stew which the squadron tastes.
+
+"It is made of a rabbit and an old hen," he explains. "I had them
+cooked together, along with some potatoes to make it more consistent."
+
+In a huge _musette_, Jules has also brought some white bread just
+baked, a number of pears, two pots of preserves, and a few bottles of
+wine. "This is good cheer!" we say.
+
+And so the day passes. If there is nothing to do we carve fantastic
+animals out of beetroots: one way of obtaining our revenge on that
+odious vegetable.
+
+At twilight we give up our picks and shovels and go down towards the
+village. A second edition of the noble game of the beetroot field.
+
+It is nine o'clock before we reach the farm. We receive our provision
+supplies, have them cooked, and eat our supper; it is nearly midnight
+before we are asleep. And we have to be up before three in the morning!
+
+During the night of the 23rd, Roberty awakes us to give news of the
+war. In the first place--and this explains the French retreat after
+Charleroi--the enemy attacked us with no fewer than thirty-three corps.
+Then again, it appears that the Germans have recaptured oriental
+Prussia.... Consequently, we cannot trust too confidently in the
+Russian steam-roller.
+
+We drop off to sleep again.
+
+
+_Thursday, 24th September._
+
+The regiment crosses the Aisne along the bridge of boats, and passes
+through Port-Fontenoy, which the recent bombardments have severely
+tested. Those killed last Sunday have been removed by our engineers.
+Our goat stable is in ruins. It was indeed time for us to remove.
+
+We reach a ravine close to the first line. The cannonade is more
+violent than ever.
+
+The most recent news brought by the cooks state that Generals Castelnau
+and Maunoury, to be precise, have decided on a general offensive. The
+regiment is to take part in it.
+
+What kind of special wire is it that connects a kitchen with
+headquarters? It is round the fires on which dinner is being cooked
+that we receive the most minute information regarding the slightest
+intentions of the heads of the army. This is due not only to the
+power of divination possessed by cooks, but also to the fact that
+these latter, when they go every evening to the train for a supply of
+eatables, are brought in contact with the drivers who have come from
+the rear.
+
+Milliard, the postman of the company, arrives with two bags full of
+letters. Everybody rushes up to him. These are the first letters that
+have reached us since we left Humes. Milliard calls out the names. All
+round him are the chief corporals of the squadron who answer "Present!"
+for the men, and often, alas! "Dead!" "Wounded!" or "Missing!"
+
+Regarding the letters, a brilliant idea has at last entered Roberty's
+brain. He says: "If each company's letters are called out before the
+men of the company, instead of shouting them before an indiscriminate
+mass or before nobody at all, the letters themselves and those for
+whom they are destined would have a better chance of being brought
+together." The commander has sanctioned a trial of the system.
+Sergeant Milliard, of the 24th, searches in the bags. Knowing us well
+by name, he finds our letters. Wonderful! Some of the men burst into
+tears; others slip away, their trembling hands grasping the precious
+missives on which the familiar handwriting is seen.
+
+Such excess of happiness emboldens one, and Milliard is asked, though
+in somewhat hesitating accents--
+
+"Suppose I entrust you with a letter, what will become of it?"
+
+"I will take it to the postman's van for you."
+
+The deuce!
+
+"And you think it will reach its destination?"
+
+"Certainly; I can promise you that."
+
+Thereupon the letter is timidly placed in Milliard's hands.
+
+About five in the afternoon, Charensac assures us with a knowing air--
+
+"Castelnau has put off the attack."
+
+
+_Friday, 25th; Saturday, 26th; Sunday, 27th September._
+
+We recross the Aisne and again begin to dig holes. The trenches are
+soon deep enough, covered with foliage. We rest, surrounded by picks
+and shovels. It is very hot. Some write or talk; others roll about on
+the grass.
+
+The shells mostly pass far above our heads. Of a sudden, however, three
+of them burst too near to be pleasant. Quickly returning to our holes,
+we form a carapace. Is it over? No, a fourth explosion is heard. But no
+harm is done.
+
+
+_Monday, 28th September._
+
+The night is spent guarding the bridge of boats so heroically defended
+on the 20th by a company of engineers. No incident worth mentioning; a
+few spent bullets fall near the sentry-box.
+
+In the morning we mount to the trenches and the day is spent idling
+about the grass. We have surrounded a corner of the meadow with
+branches of trees, sharpened and driven into the ground. No enemy,
+however excellent his observation glasses, could possibly discover our
+whereabouts. It is almost as peaceful as under the apple-tree of _Père
+Achille_. A fencing match, with sticks for swords.
+
+Whenever the hum of an aeroplane is heard, the usual cry is raised--
+
+"An aeroplane! Quick! To earth!"
+
+Like rabbits we run and hide in our holes.
+
+Jules appears, carrying a hen which he has come across somewhere and
+which Varlet has cooked without drawing or eviscerating it. The mistake
+is regrettable. All the same, Corporal Belin goes too far in refusing
+his share, protesting he will not eat a morsel of "that filth." Varlet
+gets vexed. Being accustomed to speak at public meetings, he has a
+tongue. But Belin, who has served nine years in the Foreign Legion, has
+principles of his own.
+
+"I have served in Morocco and Western Algeria," he says, "and have
+often gone without food altogether, but I have never seen any one cook
+a hen undrawn."
+
+And he sticks to his opinion.
+
+Thereupon Varlet calls him a savage.
+
+"A savage!" shrieks Belin, "a savage because I refuse to eat a hen's
+entrails!"
+
+The dispute becomes embittered. Varlet forgets his position. Belin
+points to his red stripes and furiously sputters out threats.
+
+The lieutenant intervenes and peace is made. Varlet acknowledges that
+it would have been better to draw the fowl, whilst Belin consents to
+eat a wing without making a wry face about it.
+
+
+_Tuesday, 29th; Wednesday, 30th September._
+
+For the time being, at all events, the sector is to be organized for
+the defensive. The positions held by the enemy before Fontenoy can only
+be taken, we are informed, by siege. The Germans have constructed very
+strong trenches and lodged their reserves in grottoes sheltered from
+all possible bombardment, i.e. in subterranean quarries of which there
+are several in these parts.
+
+On the other hand, the Russians are neither in Berlin nor anywhere near
+it.... _Allons!_ The war will not come to an end next month.
+
+Evidently in Paris they are considering the possibility of a winter
+campaign. Ladies are knitting woollen vests for us!
+
+We shall see. In a soldier's life one must not dwell too much on the
+future, seeing that the entire situation may change from day to day.
+
+
+_Thursday, 1st October._
+
+At dawn we leave for Le Châtelet, a hamlet perched on the heights
+overlooking the left bank of the Aisne, in front of Vic. A magnificent
+view over the valley. The company is to remain quartered here several
+weeks, to organize the position. The farm in which we are to lodge is
+surrounded by beautiful meadows.
+
+We sleep on mattresses in a loft. If our stay here is to be prolonged,
+I feel that I shall resume my old habits of cleanliness.
+
+
+_Friday, 2nd October._
+
+Alas! Réveillé at two in the morning. The situation has changed. The
+24th goes down to Gorgny, and with arms piled and haversacks on the
+ground, is waiting in the enclosure of the château. At five comes the
+order to depart. _En route_ for Courmelles, somewhere to the south of
+Soissons.
+
+A forced march of thirty kilometres through the night. At eleven
+o'clock we reach Courmelles, utterly worn out. Whilst waiting until our
+quarters are ready, we lie down _pêle-mêle_ on the road alongside the
+houses. A Moroccan brigade crosses the village. The moonlight projects
+a bluish light on to the rapid and silent march of these men, wrapped
+in great hoods and with enormous haversacks towering above their heads:
+Mâtho's mercenaries. They are going in a northerly direction.
+
+The squadron sleeps in a loft abounding in straw. To cover my body I
+have a potato sack, which I use as a hood in the daytime.
+
+
+_Saturday, 3rd October._
+
+At ten in the morning we are still asleep, snugly ensconced in the
+straw. For a month we have not once had a sufficiency of sleep.
+
+Lieutenant Roberty summons us: Reymond, Maxence, Verrier and myself.
+His room is at our disposal for a wash and a change of linen. For this
+evening he converts his bed into two and shares it with us.
+
+I receive a wire from Paris, which was dispatched on the 18th of
+September. A fortnight on the way! Evidently letters take less time: a
+good thing, too!
+
+Many of the houses in Courmelles have been abandoned. In one of them
+the squadron makes arrangements for meals, a corporal--in ordinary
+life a mountebank--acting as cook. He whistles a number of popular
+airs whilst making a fricassee of three rabbits in an iron foot-pan.
+It is dinner-time. The rabbits are not fit to eat; they are burnt, and
+have an after-taste of soap. We turn up our noses, and I am the only
+one willing to taste the stew. I become nicknamed "the eater of filthy
+food," but this does not trouble me in the slightest. Luckily there is
+an enormous dish of fried potatoes, and the baker has consented to sell
+us some hot white bread.
+
+Varlet and Charensac have gone for a stroll to Soissons. They had
+to cut across fields to escape the gendarmes, who pursued them a
+considerable distance. They return hot and perspiring, greatly excited,
+and laden with rare dainties: any quantity of tobacco, chocolate,
+preserves, dubbing, writing-paper, couch grass brushes and pipes.
+
+Soissons is filled with English soldiers and business seems very
+thriving. The town is exceedingly animated. Every one is overjoyed at
+the thought that the place is free of the enemy.
+
+
+_Sunday, 4th October._
+
+Still resting. Optimists assure us that the regiment is to stay a month
+at Courmelles.
+
+Letters long overdue now arrive along with the first parcels. One of
+them contains butter!
+
+Roberty's orderly, Jules, is nothing if not bold. Under the pretext
+that it is Sunday, he offers to shave us and cut our hair. He has not
+the faintest idea of the hair-dresser's art, though he is delighted
+at his prospective occupation. I am his first victim. The villain
+manages to convert my hair into a miniature staircase. Then he shaves
+me, and to the accompaniment of such remarks as "That's right!" "I'm
+improving!" he tears away the skin along with the hair. Terrified, I
+have not even the courage to request him to stop. The operation ended,
+I press little pads of wadding on to my bleeding chin and make my
+escape. My comrades hold their sides with laughter, Jules chuckles with
+pride and vanity as he asks--
+
+"Next one?"
+
+The lieutenant sends for me--
+
+"Guess who's here?"
+
+"A civilian?"
+
+"Come down and see."
+
+Girard! Maxime Girard of the _Figaro_. I press his hands with mingled
+affection and violence. After repeating a dozen times: "How small the
+world is, after all! To think of seeing you here!" we plunge at once
+into intimate conversation.
+
+Girard is even dirtier than I am. His face is entirely covered with a
+thick layer of dust. Nose and trousers are of the same greyish tint.
+Cheeks and chin are covered with a downy beard. His coat possesses only
+one row of buttons, but he is just as much a gentleman as ever he was.
+
+The mountebank corporal has promised to provide a good dinner; we may
+therefore invite Girard. He visits the kitchen. On seeing that we have
+at our disposal glasses and plates, dishes and a soup-tureen, a table
+and chairs, he slips away and only returns at the dinner-hour, shaven,
+brushed and washed, a man of the world.
+
+After coffee, benedictine, cigars and pipes. Girard relates his
+campaigns, which resemble our own: bullets and shells, marches,
+orders and counter-orders, dust and mud; wounded men passing to the
+rear and comrades falling dead. Then the precipitate falling back of
+the Germans, the welcome halting-places where you shake off all your
+troubles and worries so successfully that you actually think the war is
+over!
+
+
+_Monday, 5th October._
+
+On to the plain from which one gains a sight of Soissons, the battalion
+mounts to visit some old German trenches. There is a fine view of the
+town and of the cathedral of Saint-Jean-des-Vignes, one tower of which
+has been shot away. Firing continues away towards the north.
+
+Three English companies are drilling: array in skirmish line, advance
+against hostile fire, muster in two rows. The various movements are
+carried through with all the regularity and precision of a ballet dance.
+
+The thirteenth-century church at Courmelles is delightful to behold;
+the apse being pure Roman. We visit it as tourists.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+OUR FIRST TRENCHES
+
+
+_Tuesday, 6th October._
+
+The commander of the company announces that the regiment is to take the
+first line, to relieve the English in the trenches of Bucy-le-Long. We
+set off gaily at seven in the evening, after taking an affectionate
+leave of Girard.
+
+Out in the open, the order comes to fling away our cigarettes. Things
+are becoming serious. We pass through the suburbs of Soissons; the
+cathedral appears dimly in the moonlight. At the corner of a street
+lies a dead horse. All along the main road are the bivouacs of Alpine
+troops. Vénizel. Here the English are guarding a level-crossing;
+strapping fellows in khaki, who smoke pipes and shout "Good-night!"
+to us. Then a bridge, the crossing of the Aisne, an open plain, a
+village, a steep hill, a wood as dark as Hades. In spite of the cold
+wind we are perspiring freely. It is nearly midnight. We reach a sort
+of semi-circle dotted with sheds or huts made of the branches of trees.
+The Germans, it appears, are six hundred yards distant. Not a shot is
+fired. The night is very clear.
+
+The company halts, and the men immediately lie down flat, with rifles
+ready, awaiting orders.
+
+Roberty calls for two volunteers from each squadron to go on post duty.
+Reymond and I stand up, and Belin goes with us. The English officer,
+who appoints us our places, looks very elegant in his cloak, which
+falls behind in broad folds; he leans on a large stick, walks briskly,
+and gives his orders and directions with the utmost courtesy and
+consideration.
+
+Several hundred yards forward, in the direction of the enemy. Here is
+the post line; every two hundred yards a group of six English soldiers
+is lying flat on the ground amongst the beetroots, alongside of the
+road. They stand erect and we take their places. We admire these
+fine-looking soldiers, so well-equipped and under perfect discipline.
+In a low tone of voice the officer gives the order to fire upon
+everything that passes before us.
+
+Yesterday the English captured a German patrol.
+
+To take post duty at night, in an unfamiliar sector, is a novel
+experience. For the first time you have the impression that you are
+waging war: war such as your imagination depicted it, war according to
+the story-books of your boyhood.
+
+Corporal Belin explains that we must be careful not to take the waving
+of a beetroot leaf for the advance of an enemy.
+
+Every two minutes he counts off: one! and each man must answer in file:
+two, three, four, five, six.
+
+Thus he makes sure that no one is asleep. The prolonged whistle of the
+bullets as they pass makes us open our eyes. We can hear dull sounds in
+front of us: the Germans are camping, cutting down trees. A dog barks.
+Carts rumble along: the German supplies, no doubt. The roar of cannon
+in the distance.
+
+It is bitterly cold. Hoar-frost shows itself on our coats and on the
+beetroots. My jacket is in my haversack: I take it out and tie it round
+my neck by the sleeves. Impossible to keep warm.
+
+Reymond passes me a small bottle.
+
+"Taste. This must be something especially good; it comes from home."
+
+I take a good drink.
+
+"Gracious! How strong it is! And what a strange taste!"
+
+It is Reymond's turn to drink, he smacks his lips and reflects. Finally
+he says--
+
+"I believe it's arnica."
+
+We do our best to keep awake. Belin counts: One! I answer: Two, and a
+snore escapes me. A dig in the ribs brings me back to the reality of
+things.
+
+"Well! Didn't I say: 'Two'?"
+
+"You did," whispers Belin ironically; "but you said it with a snore."
+
+"Even if I snore, I don't fall asleep."
+
+"That's news to me," affirms Belin with all the authority of his nine
+years' campaigns.
+
+The better to keep awake, we begin to talk. Reymond asks a question.
+
+"I say, Belin, this is a real outpost, is it not?"
+
+"Certainly."
+
+"In case of attack, what becomes of the outposts?"
+
+"In case of attack, the outposts are invariably sacrificed," answers
+Belin with calm assurance.
+
+
+_Wednesday, 7th October._
+
+At five o'clock Belin takes us back to the rear. We are dreadfully cold
+and our teeth are chattering. A good drink of hot coffee, followed by a
+mouthful of brandy, and we fall asleep.
+
+The position dominating Bucy-le-Long and the plain of Vénizel was
+carried last month by the English and a body of Zouaves. They drove the
+Germans from the valley back to the heights and only halted on reaching
+a plain which extends to the horizon, a vast field of beetroots cut by
+the main road between Maubeuge and Paris.
+
+The English trenches lay between the hill and the wood. Here and there
+are large shelters for seven or eight men, a sort of rabbit-hutch; the
+roofs, made of the trunk's of trees, are covered with a thick layer of
+earth.
+
+In front of the road, pickets planted in the field in quincunx form and
+connected together by wire.
+
+Here and there on the wires hang empty preserve tins, which strike
+against each other at the slightest movement. If a hostile patrol
+reaches the wire-work, it starts the warning tins, and the alarm is
+given. This system of defence we look upon as both formidable and
+ingenious.
+
+Everywhere we find evidences of English comfort: the road leading
+to the verge of the wood is swept and kept in perfect order; the
+descending footpaths are improved with wooden stairs and balustrades,
+signposts indicate the direction of the village, of lavatories, etc.
+On the slope of the hill are numerous sheds made of boughs, for the
+men of the reserve company. Half-way up is a wash-house, surrounded by
+flat stones and shaded by oaks. The English have brought spring water,
+emptying it into large wooden buckets, so that it is possible to have a
+bath whenever one pleases.
+
+We explore this negro "exhibition" sort of village. The enemy is a few
+hundred yards distant, though nothing makes us anticipate an attack. A
+dead calm, magnificent weather, a soft light gilding the oaks, beeches
+and the birch-trees now reddening with the autumn tints.
+
+Our allies and predecessors have left behind quantities of provisions,
+tins of corned beef, gallons of whisky and cigarettes. The discovery of
+such wealth fills us with childish joy. Decidedly the first line is an
+abode of delight, a peaceful haven of rest.
+
+The shelters assigned to Roberty's section are large and substantial,
+if not very airy. You enter on all-fours through an opening less than
+thirty inches square. This opening serves both as door and window; it
+is closed by a screen made of leafy twigs.
+
+"I believe we've struck the vein," says some one, signifying that we
+have found a veritable mine of prosperity and happiness.
+
+Guard duty is not very tiring: a couple of hours by day, and the same
+number by night.
+
+
+_Thursday, 8th October._
+
+The very last thing we expected was a holiday. Nothing to do but sleep
+and dream, rise late, prattle to one another and write letters. We
+lounge about, chatting with the cooks who have lit their fires in some
+secluded glade; or else, lying smoking on the grass, gaze upon the
+smiling village. In the background, at the other end of the valley,
+hills ascending into the grey-blue of the sky. The landscape somewhat
+commonplace; though charming, there is nothing theatrical about it.
+
+It is so mild that I take a tub in the open air. To crown our
+happiness, the postman brings us a number of letters and parcels.
+
+The German shells pass high above our heads and come crashing down all
+over Bucy.
+
+Even night sentry duty is a pleasure, consisting as it does of a stroll
+along the road, with some one to talk to all the while. This is the
+only time in the day when one can chat at one's ease, talk of Paris and
+one's family, exchange ideas which have no bearing on the next meal or
+the state of one's stomach. Our safety is assured by the outposts. A
+glorious moonlight night, the peace of which is but emphasized by the
+firing of the sentries.
+
+
+_Friday, 9th October._
+
+We have not yet received our coverings; the consequence being that
+we awake with frozen limbs. This morning, the country is white with
+hoar-frost. Belin makes us chocolate in the morning, a rice pudding
+at noon, and tea at four. Considerable freedom is allowed in the
+composition of the meals, which last three hours. At lunch we begin
+with sardines and eggs, followed by apple marmalade. Then Jules arrives
+from Bucy, bringing with him a roasted fowl, every morsel of which we
+eat. Lastly, the cooks of the squadron bring soup and coffee.
+
+War is full of unexpected incidents: a month of the second line had
+utterly exhausted us; whereas the close proximity of the enemy now
+gives us the impression of a picnic.... All the same, one of the
+outpost men has just been killed.
+
+At ten in the evening, the 352nd is relieved and leaves the first
+line for a three days' rest in the rear. We are broken-hearted at the
+prospect.
+
+The battalion is quartered at Acy-le-Haut, on the left bank of the
+Aisne.
+
+
+_Saturday, 10th; Sunday, 11th; and Monday, 12th October._
+
+Jules has found for Roberty, Maxence, Reymond, Verrier and myself,
+a house where the mistress consents to cook for us and lend us
+mattresses. Varlet, who is to remain at the official quarters in his
+capacity as cook, promises to warn us in case of alarm. Our landlady
+looks after us like a mother; for lunch she serves us with roast veal,
+and for dinner with beef stewed in _daube_. These we shall look back
+upon amongst our souvenirs of the war....
+
+On Sunday morning, Gabriel, a sergeant of the 21st, former
+quartermaster of the 27th at Humes, was killed at drill! Whilst
+rectifying the position of one of his men, he shook the rifle which was
+still loaded. The shot went off without the trigger, which was very
+loose, being touched. The poor fellow received the bullet full in the
+mouth.
+
+The interment takes place in the afternoon. The coffin is carried
+through the streets of Acy. All the women of the village have brought
+flowers. Behind the body walks Belin, holding up the cross, his
+Moroccan and Algerian medals on his breast. Gabriel was head of the
+section: his men follow with hastily prepared wreaths. The 21st company
+renders the usual funeral honours.
+
+Absolution is pronounced in the church. The windows are broken to
+pieces; their debris still hang from the bays.
+
+The silence is profound. Gabriel was much loved and willingly obeyed.
+This very week he was to have been appointed sub-lieutenant. Nothing is
+more heart-breaking than to die by accident in war.
+
+On Monday evening we return to the trenches. There is a rumour that the
+Germans have taken Antwerp.
+
+
+_Tuesday, 13th October._
+
+When it rains, the first line loses its charm. The whole day must be
+spent lying flat on the ground, for the ceiling of the dug-out is too
+low to allow of a sitting posture. In wet weather the hours spent on
+sentry duty pass very slowly.
+
+This evening, at seven, whilst quietly chattering away by
+lantern-light, firing is heard on the left. We look at one another. The
+firing draws nearer.
+
+Roberty orders us to pick up our rifles. We are soon running along the
+road, slightly crouching forward, for the bullets strike branches of
+trees on a level with our heads.
+
+We rejoin the rest of the section and take aim. Belin hesitates before
+ordering us to fire.
+
+"Wait until we see the lights of the enemy's fire."
+
+But no light appears, and after half an hour the firing inexplicably
+ceases. We return. At midnight another alarm, as incomprehensible as
+the former. Three or four men are wounded. The utmost calm throughout
+the rest of the night.
+
+
+_Wednesday, 14th; Thursday, 15th; Friday, 16th; Saturday, 17th October._
+
+We are evidently carrying on a siege war, though of course no one
+expected that it would be a ride over. Apart from the four hours'
+sentry duty, we have nothing to do. Jules continues to go backwards and
+forwards between the trenches and Bucy for supplies. The fire for our
+own private cooking is not allowed to die out.
+
+Last night Reymond and myself were up from one till three. A terrible
+artillery duel was being fought in the right sector, towards Vailly.
+The sky was streaked with great flashes of light. No firing on our side.
+
+We are sitting close to our dug-out, discussing Wagner, rifle in hand.
+The conversation, which began on a low key, quickly grows animated,
+and the hum of our voices goes out upon the night air. Suddenly the
+leafy screen, which serves as a door, divides, and Roberty appears on
+all-fours. His head is enveloped in a _passe-montagne_ and the little
+we see of his face expresses annoyance and irritation.
+
+"Aren't you two going to hold your tongues?"
+
+"Well, we are only having a word or two. Cannot one talk in war-time?"
+
+"You've been preventing me from sleeping the last quarter of an hour,
+with your intellectual...."
+
+"Intellectual, indeed! Didn't you go to the _Ecole Normale_ as a boy?"
+
+"You're a couple of idiots. If I hear another word, you must take the
+consequences."
+
+He disappears into his kennel. We resume our conversation, though
+almost in a whisper.
+
+
+_Sunday, 18th October._
+
+The regiment quarters on the other bank of the Aisne, at Billy. Jules
+has gone on in advance with some of the men, to make preparations. He
+finds a suitable house. We take advantage of the darkness to slip away
+without a sound, after telling the rest of the squadron where to find
+us in case of alarm. The house is comfortable, and there are beds in
+it. Roberty, feeling unwell, rests on one of them.
+
+
+_Monday, 19th October._
+
+What an extraordinary war! We have had nothing to do for three weeks!
+
+To-day: more "labour" to ensure bodily cleanliness.
+
+At night we loiter slipshod about the house and try to read. We are
+bored to death.
+
+
+_Tuesday, 20th; Wednesday, 21st; Thursday, 22nd; Friday, 23rd October._
+
+The same monotonous idle life in quarters. A couple of hours' exercise
+in the morning. Review in the afternoon: hair review, for instance.
+Before the men, bare-headed and standing at attention, passes the
+lieutenant, who judges whether or not each individual's hair is of the
+regulation length. With certain dishevelled shocks facing him, he makes
+a gesture indicative of despair, as though he would conjure them away.
+The barber follows, note-book in hand, jotting down the names of those
+who are to pass through his hands.
+
+What is the reason of this aversion for the clipper? And why does the
+soldier insist on being long-haired? Is it because the ancient Gauls
+were long-haired? Anyhow, there is an eternal struggle between the
+officers, solicitous of the men's health, and the _poilus_, who think
+more of the esthetic side of the matter--generally a debatable one.
+
+There is again a rumour that our regiment is to be sent for a rest
+into the centre of France. The cooks of the first squadron mention
+Bourges; those of the ninth, Tours.
+
+Another rumour is that Germany is proposing peace to Russia.
+
+
+_Saturday, 24th October._
+
+As we see from letters and newspapers, civilians share in all the
+agitation and excitement of the war. We are out of all this. By the
+aid of successive communiqués, those left behind follow the various
+incidents of the great war on all the fronts at once. Perhaps, too,
+they receive the _Bulletin des Armées_, not a single number of which we
+have yet seen....
+
+They will not have lost a crumb of information! Whereas for a month and
+a half we have been moving from quarters to outposts and back again,
+thinking of nothing but eating and drinking, sleeping and resisting
+cold. At bottom, nothing more resembles the army on a peace footing
+than the army on a war footing: fatigue duty, reviews, cleaning and
+polishing arms, sentry duty, and musters. Nor can the soldier be said
+to be more serious.... To-morrow, it may be, we shall have to leave the
+trenches and fight. Good, that is our business, the thing we are here
+to do. When the moment comes, shall we feel ourselves carried away in
+a whirl of excitement, as civilians do? Nothing of the kind. We shall
+crawl along the ground, make a few rushes, perhaps have a fall, though
+without seeing or understanding anything. And on the morrow, unless we
+are dead, we shall return to oblivion.
+
+Even courage--and there _is_ such a thing--is but a matter of habit,
+one might almost say of negligence. We do not excite ourselves about
+shells; if we did, life would be altogether impossible; the French
+soldier will not admit that anything should make a complete change in
+his existence. Accordingly, he comes and goes, gets into and out of
+scrapes and difficulties as though nothing mattered.
+
+But we _do_ get bored, because present-day warfare is colourless and
+dull, like our uniforms. Those at home, however, suppose us to be in
+the thick of it all the time, standing with bayonet fixed and head
+flung back, ferocious and hirsute, blood-stained and sublime. Is it in
+this light that history will depict us? I hope not, both for its own
+sake and for our own.
+
+Now I must be off to clean some potatoes. The battalion is returning to
+the trenches shortly.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+TWENTY-TWO DAYS IN THE TRENCHES
+
+
+_Sunday, 25th October._
+
+Roberty, our lieutenant, has been evacuated. We saw him leave in the
+ambulance. We are very sorry, as he is the first friend to drop out of
+our life so far.
+
+Two months' intimacy, pleasure and pain shared hourly by us all, have
+enabled us to appreciate at his true worth this officer with whom
+Reymond and myself have been on the most intimate terms, and who
+valued his rank only in so far as it enabled him to make the life of
+his men more tolerable. I am not speaking merely of ourselves, his
+close friends; every soldier of the section did more than obey him.
+They dreaded his displeasure, and looked quite discomfited if by
+any chance they had made him angry. Roberty slept on straw with the
+first squadron, partaking of the same food as the rest. He cheerfully
+performed every duty that fell to an officer's lot.
+
+Every evening, in the trenches, he went himself to arrange about the
+outposts. His task finished, he would come back to us in our shelter
+and engage in a friendly chat and smoke.
+
+"Even in the Foreign Legion," remarked Belin, "I never saw that done."
+
+Raising his index finger, he added--
+
+"But though he made himself one of us, I never respected any officer
+more than I respected him."
+
+No, we were not very gay last night as we gathered sorrowfully round
+our lieutenant's bed.
+
+"So it's decided that you are to go?" I said to him. "Well, there'll be
+precious little fun in fighting with you away!"
+
+He was suffering much, and made no answer. When, however, the
+stretcher-bearers came for him, he spoke to us somewhat after the
+fashion in which Mazarin, on his death-bed, recommended Colbert to the
+youthful Louis XIV--
+
+"My children, though I have done much for you, I crown all my kindness
+by leaving you Jules. You have seen him at work; he has every possible
+vice. Make use of his virtues as well."
+
+Once more we admired the goodness and generosity of our kind chief,
+whom, alas! we were to lose. Our last words were--
+
+"Thanks for everything. You have been a real brother to us, and we will
+never forget you."
+
+Then the ambulance carried him off. Immediately afterwards we found
+Jules in a corner, looking the picture of despair. The lieutenant's
+departure was for him the end of a dream.
+
+"Come here, Jules. The lieutenant has advised us to take you along.
+Will you come?"
+
+"Of course," replied Jules. "We shall get along all right. Just now the
+adjutant asked me if I would do something for him. He did not even
+look at me! And that, after being the lieutenant's orderly! Naturally I
+would rather be with you."
+
+With Roberty away, one of the charms of the war has disappeared.
+Everybody in the section looks troubled and careworn. Never again shall
+we see his like!
+
+Our friend Varlet takes off his apron as a sign of mourning. He has
+been the cook of the squadron.
+
+"The lieutenant," he says, "is the first man I ever took pleasure in
+obeying. Now that he is gone, I will cook no more!"
+
+
+_Monday, 26th October._
+
+It may be on account of the departure of the lieutenant, anyhow, the
+jovial pleasant life of the past no longer obtains in the first line.
+
+This morning we are told to dig a branch, i.e. a winding passage
+between five and six feet in height, which will link up the old English
+trenches with the outpost line. The enemy is firing.
+
+A sergeant, who left Humes with the Roberty detachment, receives a
+bullet in his head. The stretcher-bearers who carry him off pass
+right in front of us. The wounded man looks as lifeless as a log. The
+dressing about his forehead is red with blood. We salute, and then dig
+away with pick and shovel harder than ever.
+
+At nightfall the company occupies a new sector in a wood, on the top
+of a hillock. Here there are no more trenches, but instead, along the
+road which ascends and descends between the trees, are huts made of
+branches and earth, capable of sheltering three of us at most.
+
+
+_Tuesday, 27th October._
+
+A day of rest, with the sun shining upon us. We have received blankets
+and coverings. They are very welcome.
+
+Artillery duel. The game has its rules. This morning, for instance,
+it is the Germans who silence the French artillery; i.e. they cover
+with projectiles our supposed emplacements or sites. Whilst this is
+happening, our gunners leave their cannons deep buried in the ground
+and go away for a quiet pipe in a safe shelter. When the Germans cease
+firing the French will begin. Then the maddening crack of the 75's,
+the hoarse coughing sound of the 105's, and the 155's will indicate
+that the turn of the French artillery has come to reduce the enemy to
+silence.
+
+All this firing goes on far above the head of the foot-soldier. Still,
+it is to be hoped that no shot, fired too short, may fall on our group
+and involve us in the discussion, in spite of ourselves.
+
+Whilst this cannonade is going on we write letters, looking up from
+time to time to see where the little puffs of smoke mark the explosions.
+
+
+_Wednesday, 28th October._
+
+A bad night. Yesterday, at muster, Sergeant Chaboy explains--
+
+"The first and second squadrons are ordered to leave the trenches. You
+will advance 150 yards nearer the enemy. There you will dig an advance
+trench. You will have your work cut out to be completely underground by
+dawn. You understand?"
+
+It is quite clear. At nine o'clock the half-section is mustered. It
+has rained, and the road through the wood is muddy and slippery. A few
+resounding falls. We reach the entrance of the winding passage. Some
+parts are so narrow that we cannot negotiate them either front face or
+sideways, because of haversack and _musette_. Thereupon we force our
+way through, causing clods of earth to fall to the bottom. The depth
+of the branch is not the same throughout; from time to time we have to
+proceed on all-fours. A _gamelle_, a bayonet or a can are noisy objects
+which respond to the slightest touch.
+
+On reaching the outpost trenches the men scale the parapet. This must
+be done quickly and in silence. At the faintest sound the Germans would
+begin a hellish fire; the French would return it, and between the two
+we should be swept away.
+
+The sergeant says in low tones--
+
+"This is the spot. Crouch down and begin."
+
+Some of the men have shovels, others work with knives and bayonets, but
+principally with their hands. In half an hour every man has erected a
+small parapet.
+
+Perspiration is pouring from us. At that moment it begins to rain. We
+continue to dig.
+
+In front of the workers some of the men keep watch, hidden in the
+beetroots. They try to see through the darkness if anything stirs in
+front.
+
+About two in the morning my hole is about three feet deep, and is
+protected by nearly two feet of earth. I am covered with mud. Utterly
+exhausted, I fling myself down by the side of the trench, and, wrapping
+my cover over my head to protect me from the rain, I fall into a heavy
+sleep and begin to snore. My neighbour wakes me with a crack on the
+head from his shovel handle.
+
+"Idiot! do you want them to use us as a target?" he remarks affably.
+
+"I'm too sleepy to care whether they do or not."
+
+Whereupon I turn over on to my side and fall asleep again. An hour
+afterwards I awake, quite frozen, and begin to dig with renewed vigour.
+The deeper the trench becomes the fewer precautions do we take. At dawn
+we chatter and laugh aloud. The Germans make no sign of life; perhaps
+they are afraid of the rain.
+
+What luck! We are relieved by two fresh squadrons. We reach the second
+line, listening as we go to the good-humoured banter of men who have
+spent the night under cover.
+
+A pretty picture we make! For a hood I have flung over my head a
+potato-sack, and over my shoulders a wet bed-cover, as our grandmothers
+used to do with their cashmere shawls. Hands and coats, _képis_ and
+puttees are all covered with sticky yellow mud, whilst our rifles are
+useless, owing to the barrel being stopped up and the mechanism filled
+with earth.
+
+
+_Thursday, 29th October._
+
+The 24th have spent the night in the grotto, the paradise of the
+trench. The grotto is the name we have given to a deep subterranean
+quarry, whose passages, thirty feet in height, penetrate right into the
+hillock.
+
+It has three passages. In the right one a room appears as though it had
+been specially constructed for our squadron; this we win by main force.
+Of course, it is as dark as an oven, so we fix wax candles in the
+jutting ledges. A bayonet dug into the ground with a candle tied on to
+the handle is used by such as want a light for their own personal use.
+
+Here we are in perfect safety. This is one of the few places on the
+front where one is completely sheltered from any kind of projectile. In
+these depths we scarcely hear the roar of the cannon at all.
+
+At nightfall the entrance assumes quite a romantic aspect: a Hindu
+temple or Egyptian hypogeum, with its blue shadows and vivid lights. By
+moonlight it would make a fitting scene for the witches in Macbeth. Not
+long ago we should have spoken of Fafner's cave, _Fafner's Höhle_!
+
+In the interior the sharp-edged stone also gives the impression of
+theatrical cardboard scenery; the atmosphere is that of the Quarter:
+shouts, songs, and laughter, ringing commands echoed by the sonorous
+vaults--
+
+"The 24th, get the potatoes ready!"
+
+"Muster for fatigue duty!"
+
+And so on. No need to speak in whispers or to put oneself under the
+slightest restraint. This is a real place of refuge, rendered neutral
+by nature, and in the direct line of fire. Neither rain nor shot has
+any chance at all.
+
+Until further orders the company will spend one night in the trenches
+and one in the grotto alternately.
+
+The letters! Milliard the postman's service has become an official one.
+Henriot has been appointed to help him. No fear of this latter botching
+the correspondence; he passes the whole of his time in writing endless
+letters which his wife answers with equal patience and enthusiasm.
+Whenever by chance the post brings him nothing, Henriot falls into a
+state of grim silence and replies to all questions with an injured
+sneer.
+
+
+_Friday, 30th October._
+
+Since last evening there has been a continuous fusillade in the
+direction of the fort of Condé. The Germans are furiously bombarding
+the second line of our sector. A convoy of munitions passes along the
+road. Two gunners are wounded. We hear them cry out in the night--
+
+"This way, comrades! Help! Ah! ah!"
+
+An aeroplane skims over the lines. We judge by the sound of the motor
+that it is flying very low.
+
+At daybreak the bombardment redoubles in intensity, and continues
+all day long. Our batteries reply, the 155's, as they pass over the
+trenches, making a sound which resembles the rustling of a gigantic
+silk dress.
+
+Silence follows. We needed it badly. Fortunately, the company sleeps in
+the grotto. At eight o'clock, well wrapped in their bed-covers and with
+a muffler round the neck and head resting on haversack, the men sleep
+the sleep of perfect security.
+
+
+_Saturday, 31st October._
+
+The section is on picket. Every time an aeroplane passes and the
+lieutenant, armed with his glasses, declares it to belong to the enemy,
+we fire at it. From time to time the machine may pitch a little, or
+ascend out of reach. Assuredly, this is not the sort of game for
+foot-soldiers.
+
+The commander of the company to-day addressed us as follows--
+
+"Above the grotto are buried four Englishmen, killed here last month.
+On All Saints' Day you would not like their tombs, which you have seen
+so often, to appear neglected. Make some wreaths, and we will all go
+together and place them on the graves of those who died in defence of
+our soil. It is not your commander, it is your comrade who asks this of
+you."
+
+The men silently leave the ranks and set out into the wood. In less
+than an hour they have made up beautiful wreaths of ivy and holly.
+Chrysanthemums have been found in a garden which the Germans had
+forgotten to plunder. The graves, indicated by a couple of crosses,
+have become pretty tombs, similar to those one sees in a village
+cemetery.
+
+The entire company lined up on the hillock for the simple ceremony. Our
+lieutenant saluted in memory of our unknown brothers who have given
+their lives for France. We shouted aloud: "_Vive l'Angleterre!_" The
+picket rendered the honours due, and each man returned to his post.
+
+These dead heroes are Lieutenant B. MacCuire and Privates H.C. Dover,
+R. Byrne, and Ford, of the Royal Dublin Fusiliers.
+
+In offering these flowers to their memory, our thoughts were directed
+to the mourning families of the dead soldiers.
+
+
+_Sunday, 1st November._
+
+A hot sun and a brilliant day, the right weather for a fête. The first
+line is calmer than ever. Not a cannon shot is heard.
+
+
+_Monday, 2nd November._
+
+Three months since mobilization took place. We must allow for another
+three months before peace is declared. I have a row with Reymond
+because he pushed me and upset my coffee. Quarrel. Reymond is chosen to
+go on outpost duty; I ask permission to accompany him. Reconciliation.
+Corporal Davor conducts us through the winding passages, comes out in
+the field of beetroot, gets lost and makes straight for the German
+lines. He discovers his mistake just in time and we beat a retreat.
+Sergeant Chaboy, making his round, stops to have a few words with us.
+
+"Expect to be fired upon shortly," he says. "An attack is brewing from
+the direction of Condé."
+
+After a silence, he adds--
+
+"If the shells fall in too great numbers you may withdraw."
+
+"When do shells fall in too great numbers for an outpost?" asks the
+corporal timidly.
+
+With a vague gesture, the sergeant leaves us to solve the problem
+ourselves.
+
+The moon is at the full, and it is so light that Reymond is able to
+make a sketch and I to write a letter, as we await the promised attack.
+Nothing happens, however. Sleep is our only enemy. Reymond puts on his
+poncho, wraps a red silk handkerchief round his head, and, pretending
+to strum away on a shovel as though it were a mandolin, softly hums a
+_malagueña_.
+
+
+_Tuesday, 3rd November._
+
+The lieutenant calls out--
+
+"I want some one with his wits about him to act as telephonist at the
+artillery observation post."
+
+I modestly step forward.
+
+After a moment's hesitation the lieutenant remarks--
+
+"Good! Off you go."
+
+I reach the first line trench. An emplacement two yards square has
+been dug in the trench branch and covered with corrugated sheet-iron.
+An artillery captain is seated here on a high stool looking through a
+telescope. By his side is the telephone.
+
+The captain explains--
+
+"I am off to inspect my battery. During my absence, sit here and keep
+your eyes glued to the telescope. What you see is one of the entrances
+of the fort of Condé, about five kilometres distant. If you find the
+enemy mustering, telephone immediately. The spot is marked, our guns
+will be fired, and you will be able to see what happens."
+
+I take up my post. After a short time small silhouettes begin to
+move about within the field of vision. Gradually I make out German
+foot-soldiers coming and going unarmed. Evidently they have mustered
+for some fatigue duty or other. For the first time there appears before
+my eyes the horrifying spectacle of invasion--the enemy's forces moving
+about on French territory as though it were their own.
+
+Quitting the telescope, I spring to the telephone.
+
+"Battery number 90!... _Mon capitaine_, a muster is forming.... Yes, at
+the very spot you mentioned."
+
+Four almost simultaneous detonations from the battery. Whilst the salvo
+is on its way I return to the telescope; the four shells fall right on
+the muster, raising into the air enormous columns of earth. The smoke
+dissipates. Staring with all my eyes, I see little grey figures scatter
+in every direction. Five cavalry, riding just outside the zone of
+explosion, dig their spurs into their horses' sides and flee. Not a
+living soul to be seen. Looking hard, I imagine I notice dead bodies on
+the ground.
+
+Apparently, at the spot under surveillance, there are works to be
+completed, for on three occasions that morning fresh musters form. I do
+not succeed in making out what they are doing, but on each occasion a
+salvo from the battery scatters them.
+
+The captain to whom I wire the results is delighted.
+
+"Don't let them go," he answers. "Any movement in the spot marked will
+be dealt with as the others have been. They have no idea where we are."
+
+I return to my watch. A mere foot-soldier in charge of a battery may
+well feel proud. How nice to be some one "with his wits about him."
+
+
+_Wednesday, 4th; Thursday, 5th November._
+
+My rôle as observer is rendered ineffectual by a dense mist.
+
+Alpine infantry from the _Midi_ relieve us. The company goes down
+to quarter at Bucy-le-Long. We have now been in the trenches twelve
+days. None the less do we receive the order to "be ready for every
+eventuality."
+
+
+_Friday, 6th November._
+
+After a passable night in the cellar of a house in ruins, we send out
+Jules, as usual, to find decent lodging for us. He does so and brings
+us to see it. It is a large bedroom where it is possible for us to
+remove our boots, change our linen, shave, and generally make ourselves
+presentable. The luncheon is a substantial one. Seated round the table,
+we look almost like normal human beings once more. Besides, our hands
+are actually clean!
+
+This night, our undressed carcasses slip into white bed-clothes. It is
+two months since we have had such a treat!
+
+
+_Saturday, 7th November._
+
+At six in the morning Varlet enters like a whirlwind--
+
+"Get up at once, lazy-bones! Muster in half an hour."
+
+"Bah! You're joking!"
+
+"Come now; quick, into your clothes! We are going back to the trenches."
+
+So this is the promised eventuality!
+
+At half-past six the company musters in a farmyard. The order to
+leave has not yet come. Seated on our haversacks, we snatch a hasty
+breakfast. Fortunately, Reymond has received some good cigars, which he
+passes round. He sings us a Spanish song--
+
+ _Padre capucino mata su mujer,
+ La corta en pedazos, la pone a cocer.
+ Gente que pasaba olia tocino:
+ Era la mujer del padre capucino._
+
+This means: "The Capuchin monk has killed his wife, cut her in pieces
+and set her to cook. The passers-by say there is a smell of burning
+fat. That's what is left of the wife of the Capuchin monk."
+
+This absurd song puts us in good humour.
+
+At three o'clock, _en route_ for the trenches. The men say to one
+another--
+
+"We are off at last."
+
+For the moment at least the company is to support the batteries
+installed in the wood above the road from Bucy to Margival. The 75's
+are booming away. What is going to happen? Nothing at all. Night falls.
+We sit or lie on the ground along the road awaiting orders, chatting,
+smoking, and jesting to kill time. Milliard and Henriot mount the hill.
+We prepare to receive them. But how is it that they are armed and
+equipped? Above all, why do they come empty-handed? And that, just at
+the time we expect our letters? Milliard simply remarks--
+
+"Well, we're here."
+
+Henriot is in one of his silent moods; we can get nothing out of him.
+
+"Where are the letters?"
+
+"Letters, letters," says Milliard, irritated, "you all think of nothing
+but your letters."
+
+This reply fills us with consternation. Something serious must have
+happened for our postman to speak in this strain.
+
+Some one remarks peevishly--
+
+"The company is to attack this evening or to-morrow morning. If any
+one gets a bullet through the head and dies without receiving his
+letters it will be all your fault."
+
+Milliard makes a gesture expressive of regret.
+
+"You see," he confesses timidly, "Henriot and I have just heard that
+the 24th is to attack, and so we simply left the letters to look after
+themselves. We thought you might not be pleased; but then, really, we
+had not the heart to remain behind."
+
+Henriot the taciturn screws up his courage to add a final sentence--
+
+"We could not leave our mates to be killed all by themselves."
+
+Then a harsh voice is heard saying--
+
+"It's all very fine to come along and get killed with one's comrades.
+But if you fall, there will be no one to attend to the correspondence.
+And once more our letters will be left lying about anywhere! You've
+thought only of yourselves in the whole matter."
+
+At seven o'clock the 24th retires to the grotto to sleep.
+
+
+_Sunday, 8th November._
+
+Sabbath rest until five in the evening. Evidently there is to be an
+attack. Instead of returning to our huts in the wood, we follow the
+path leading to Crouy alongside of our former trenches. At half-past
+six firing is heard; our infantry are beginning the assault. Violent
+cannonade on both sides. Lights flash through the dark sky. Lying on
+our backs, with rifle within reach, we wait for the shells to fall
+in our small corner. We chat and laugh to make the time pass more
+pleasantly.
+
+I exchange with Reymond a few confidential remarks, justified by the
+impending danger. Some one on all-fours pulls me by the sleeve. It
+is Belin, and he wears a most serious look. Belin is no longer our
+corporal, alas! he was appointed sergeant to the 21st last month.
+
+"Ah! It's you, is it?"
+
+"Well!"
+
+"Listen, I have news for you."
+
+We twist round, and with heads touching one another, Belin continues--
+
+"This is very serious. The captain has just called together the heads
+of the sections and explained to them the mission on which he is
+sending our two companies. The engineers are going to destroy with
+melinite the German barbed-wire; they are to be protected by two
+patrols of eight men each."
+
+"Well?"
+
+"Then the 21st and the 24th will attack the trench."
+
+"Not a bad programme," remarks Reymond, filling his pipe.
+
+"I don't consider it one bit reasonable," says Belin gravely. "We shall
+all be demolished."
+
+Silence. Reymond lights his pipe, his head buried in the lap of my
+coat, so that the flash from his flint may not be seen.
+
+"I came straight away to warn you," adds Belin.
+
+"Very good of you, old fellow, to think of us. But what can we do in
+the matter?"
+
+"Nothing at all."
+
+"Shall we tell the others?"
+
+"No, indeed! I mentioned the matter to you because you are old friends.
+But you must not utter a word to the rest; it would only make them
+uneasy."
+
+This reflection on the part of the sly old fellow makes us quite proud.
+A grasp of the hand in the dark, a muttered word of thanks, and Belin
+glides away as noiselessly as he came.
+
+"Maxence, Verrier!" we call out softly.
+
+"What is it?"
+
+"Come here!"
+
+On their approach we give them the news. They merit such confidence
+just as much as we do.
+
+Then we await the order to attack. Unless.... For, after all, what
+is an order? We used to discuss the point with Roberty. It is what
+immediately precedes a counter-order.
+
+And, as a matter of fact, the order is countermanded. It is half-past
+ten.
+
+The company is put in reserve; swallowed up in a quarry, somewhat
+similar to our usual grotto, though the entrance is dangerous.
+
+We gain access to it along a narrow passage, very slippery, steep and
+winding; a sort of toboggan covered with pebbles.
+
+A candle, quick! We gather round the flame.
+
+"Boys," says Reymond, "since we are not going to die immediately,
+suppose we break into my best _pâté de foie gras_?"
+
+Agreed unanimously. We summon Varlet and Jacquard, and the six of us
+devour some famous sandwiches. Unfortunately, there is nothing to drink.
+
+And now to sleep. We unfasten the bed-covers and extinguish the candle.
+It is midnight.
+
+Five minutes afterwards, alarm! Everybody is on his feet. The attack is
+to take place at dawn. We silently leave the grotto. The two patrols
+whose duty it is to crawl to the enemy's barbed-wire are appointed.
+They start, escorted by engineers, who carry large white petards nailed
+to planks.
+
+The section penetrates into a broad, deep branch, dug by the English a
+month ago. Endless zigzags. Finally we reach a path lined with lofty
+poplars. It is pitch-dark and very cold. We tumble into holes, and feel
+about for corners where we may sit down and take a moment's breath. The
+ground is covered with frozen mud. Where are we? Where is the enemy?
+
+An order is whispered round--
+
+"When you hear an explosion, you must jump out of the trench and run
+forward as fast as you can. Pass on the order."
+
+We pass it on. What is most troublesome in an attack is the waiting
+part. I sit down against a tree and lean on my haversack, which I do
+not remove. My feet are in a hole. Maxime and I press against each
+other for support and warmth. We fall into a deep sleep. Another Sunday
+wasted!
+
+
+_Monday, 9th November._
+
+We awake at dawn and rub our eyes. Well! What of the attack?
+
+"There has been no attack without us," says Maxence.
+
+It has not taken place, after all. The adjutant at the head of the
+patrol recognized the impossibility of reaching the German wires
+unseen. Belin was right; the programme could not be realized.... We
+must try something else.
+
+We find ourselves in a ravine close to the road leading to Maubeuge;
+in front is a field of beetroots, lying amongst which are the bodies
+of two Zouaves. The ravine has been converted into a trench by the
+English, who have constructed here and there little straw-thatched
+huts. Though the rain has stopped, we splash about in the mud; the
+mist is icy-cold. We try to keep out the cold with mufflers, gloves,
+_passe-montagne_; but--how are we to warm our poor feet? It is useless
+to stamp the soles of our boots on the ground, or knock them against
+the trunk of a tree. The soup reaches us in a congealed condition.
+
+At three o'clock the infantry come to replace us. Gladly do we give way
+to them, and the company retires to Bucy. We sleep at "La Rémoise," a
+combined café and grocer's store. The mistress agrees to serve dinner
+and allows us to sleep under the tables of the large dining-room, on
+the floor. Quite enough to satisfy us this evening.
+
+
+_Tuesday, 10th November._
+
+At "La Rémoise" we do not feel at home; we must find something better.
+On the other side of the street is a house intact. There I find two old
+people, brother and sister, and after a little bargaining they consent
+to receive Maxime, Verrier, Reymond, myself, and Jules, for Roberty's
+former orderly will not leave us. I go off to inform my mates that I
+have found a lodging-place.
+
+"Bring all your belongings, I have found a _ratayon_ and a _ratayonne_
+willing to provide us with meals and sleeping accommodation."
+
+In the dialect of Soisson, a _ratayon_ is an ancestor.
+
+The house is all on the ground-floor, and is entered by five stone
+steps. Two windows and the door in the middle. The kitchen is in a
+small building to the right.
+
+Our hosts sleep on mattresses in the cellar. They leave us the two main
+rooms, and light a small stove which speedily warms the place.
+
+The brother shows me a shell from a 210 gun, and splinters of the same
+calibre. These he has placed on the window-sill, a place where one
+would expect to see a petunia.
+
+"I picked up these dirty things in the yard," he explains.
+
+The sister asks us what we do as civilians. Reymond is a painter, to
+confess which somewhat worries the old dame. But Maxence is a landed
+proprietor, and Verrier a government official....
+
+"I see you are respectable young men," she remarks. "And so I will fry
+you some potatoes."
+
+"A good idea, but would you mind--though we don't insist on
+this--frying a pailful of them?"
+
+"Very well, and for dinner I will stew a rabbit."
+
+Excellent. We brush our coats and give ourselves a good wash with hot
+water. We spend the whole day in the neighbourhood of the stove, and
+taste the full delight of being warm and clean.
+
+At twilight the _ratayonne_ brings in an oil-lamp. What a nice pleasant
+thing an oil-lamp is! It immediately fills one with a sense of intimacy
+and quiet.
+
+The old lady enters with a pot of boiling tea. She sets a bowl before
+each of us, brings small teaspoons and powdered sugar, and adds--
+
+"The rabbit will be ready at half-past seven. It is a fine plump one."
+
+We chat away. The war news is good.
+
+"Everything seems to point to peace before long. The whole of Europe
+will be exhausted within three months from now."
+
+Such are the declarations I do not hesitate to utter. The rest nod
+their heads in approval. Verrier, however, is by nature an enemy to all
+joy, and so he adds--
+
+"Then you were making a fool of me when you told me at Fontenoy that
+the war would last a couple of years! What true prophets you are!"
+
+A great roar of laughter silences him.
+
+"Better prophesy," says another, "the possible departure of the 352nd
+for a town in the centre. This is looked upon as certain, and it would
+suit me splendidly."
+
+"If only we could get away from the roar of the guns for a fortnight!"
+
+"Don't be too full of self-pity; life is worth living to-night, at all
+events."
+
+And indeed our refuge seems the very abode of peace and quiet.
+
+The door opens noisily, and Varlet, a short, bearded man, smoking a
+thick pipe, shouts out--
+
+"We are going back to the trenches."
+
+We all exclaim--
+
+"No, no! We have heard that tale already; you told it us the day before
+yesterday."
+
+"Well," jeers Varlet, "it wasn't a joke then, and to-night it's a
+serious matter. Muster in twenty minutes. Get ready."
+
+Thereupon we make a rush to our haversacks. Everything is scattered
+about: boots and suspenders, bed-clothes and tins of preserves.
+Everybody speaks at once.
+
+"You're taking my belongings!"
+
+"Look a little more carefully. Surely I know my own business!"
+
+"We shall meet again in the trenches."
+
+A couple of hours will surely be insufficient to restore order out
+of such chaos. All the same, twenty minutes after the arrival of
+the messenger of woe, we have rejoined the section, fully armed and
+equipped, perspiring and out of breath, though not forgetting a single
+pin.
+
+Our hosts are at the door. The old dame is heartbroken. She keeps
+repeating--
+
+"You cannot go without dinner, you poor creatures! What of my rabbit?
+Since you have paid for it, take it with you. Are you going away on an
+empty stomach?"
+
+"We cannot help it! Such are the horrors of war!"
+
+We glance round the little house and take our departure, somewhat
+angrily, though we pass it off as though some one had played us a
+practical joke.
+
+We muster in the dark.
+
+"Number off in fours!"
+
+Each man barks out his number. Then comes the command--
+
+"Right wheel! Quick march!"
+
+"Where are we going, sergeant?"
+
+"Back to the grotto, to spend the night."
+
+And to think of our poor stew! I now understand why the word "rabbit"
+is sometimes used to express a rendez-vous which comes to nothing.
+
+
+_Wednesday, 11th November._
+
+Distribution of tent canvas to each man. At three o'clock the company
+mounts to the outposts. Verrier, who has been unwell for some days
+past, remains in the grotto. It rains the first part of the night.
+
+In the first-line trenches there is no cover: two upright walls of mud.
+We sit on the ground when we are tired. Maxence says--
+
+"Fling a cover over my head, so that I may smoke a cigarette without
+being seen."
+
+Not a shot fired to-day.
+
+
+_Thursday, 12th November._
+
+A fine, cold day. The morning mist clears away. Absolute calm. At eight
+o'clock the cooks, fully equipped and with rifles slung across their
+shoulders, bring in the soup. A bad sign. They say--
+
+"The company attacks at a quarter-past ten."
+
+"Ah! Good!"
+
+The chiefs of the section confirm the news. The men whistle in a tone
+that is full of meaning. This time it seems to be serious.
+
+Charensac, a big fellow, is particularly lively. Though no longer a
+cook, he is in possession of the latest news.
+
+"General attack along the whole front," he explains.
+
+Then he gives forth one of his war-cries--
+
+"_Oh dis!_ _Oh dis!_ _Oh dis!_ _Oh dis!_"
+
+Charensac is fond of uttering cries devoid of meaning.
+
+We walk to and fro in the trench. The artillery are preparing the
+attack, and the shells shriek past overhead. The enemy makes no reply.
+What a din! Impossible to think at all.
+
+Verrier, who, acknowledged to be ill, had remained in the grotto all
+yesterday, comes rushing up, perspiring and out of breath.
+
+"What are you doing here? This is not the time----"
+
+"It is not the time to leave one's mates," he replies.
+
+He seats himself on the ground and waits.
+
+"Suppose we open a few tins of food," remarks Reymond. "I feel terribly
+hungry."
+
+Reymond is always ready for a bite or a sup. Nor is he ever
+downhearted. The acceptance of the inevitable forms part of his hygiene.
+
+We eat, standing, a piece of tunny with our fingers, after cutting
+slices of bread which serve as plates. Impossible to exchange a dozen
+words. The explosions of the 75's double in intensity. The roar is
+deafening.
+
+Quarter-past ten. Forward. The fourth section leaves the trenches.
+The fusillade gives out a ripping sound with almost brutal effect.
+The first section, our own, proceeds one by one into a branch, which
+gradually becomes less deep, and finally runs out on to the open
+ground. The bullets whistle past. We run ahead with bent bodies, one
+hand clutching the rifle, the other preventing the bayonet sheath from
+beating against the leg. It is our business to reach what seems part of
+a trench a hundred yards ahead, where we shall find temporary shelter.
+
+Verrier stumbles. The thought comes to me--
+
+"There! He's hit!"
+
+Running up to him, I call out--
+
+"Wounded?"
+
+He makes a vague sign indicating that he is not hurt, but points to his
+panting breast. He has no more breath left.
+
+Here is the trench, into which we leap. Now the bullets pass over our
+heads.
+
+Reymond is by my side. The spurt has put us out of breath also. We
+smile at each other.
+
+"Things are serious this morning, eh?"
+
+"I should think so!"
+
+The firing becomes more intense. Some one in front cries--
+
+"_Maman!_"
+
+We all give a start and look at each other. Who is the man who uttered
+that shriek of distress?
+
+We hear some one say--
+
+"It's Mignard. He is killed."
+
+From eight to ten men of the section engaged crawl towards us, groaning
+and moaning.
+
+Little Ramel is amongst them, but he says not a word. His face is
+perfectly calm as he advances on all-fours.
+
+"What's the matter with you, Ramel?"
+
+"A ball in the abdomen."
+
+We check our impulse to exclaim "_Diable!_" and help him to come down
+into the trench without shaking him. Poor Ramel, the life and soul of
+his squadron! He talks quietly to his comrades, and dies in the course
+of the night.
+
+Another has been hit a fraction of an inch from his eye; the bullet has
+ploughed his cheek and passed out near the cerebellum. A circuit. He
+walks sturdily along, and calls out to us--
+
+"Don't I look pretty?"
+
+We hardly dare look at him, the sight is so frightful. One entire
+half of his face is streaming with blood, the other half is laughing.
+Evidently the poor fellow has not begun to suffer yet, for he remarks
+blusteringly--
+
+"This isn't the time to ogle the ladies, is it?" And he points to his
+torn eye.
+
+Corporal Buche also drags himself along, making signs that he is in
+pain. Through shot and shell his moans reach us.
+
+Poor Buche! When we crossed Paris, as we came from the depot, he sent
+for his wife. Mad with joy, she arrived at the Gare Saint-Lazare, and,
+in spite of the rush and tumult, immediately found her man. And how she
+kissed and embraced him! It lasted half an hour, without a word being
+spoken. From time to time they stopped to gaze into each other's eyes
+at arm's length. Then the kissing began again.
+
+Finally Madame Buche raised her face towards us and declared stoutly--
+
+"We were married on the 1st of August, 1914. I suppose you think this
+very droll?"
+
+"Not at all!"
+
+Certainly it is anything but droll now to see Buche wounded, tortured
+by pain. Jestingly we had said to his wife--
+
+"Don't take it so much to heart, Madame Buche; he's sure to come back,
+you love him so well."
+
+He comes right up to us, and we question him--
+
+"Is it a bad wound?"
+
+"I should think so. My elbow's completely shattered. It hurts
+abominably."
+
+"Only your elbow? Lucky fellow! We were beginning to be afraid it might
+be serious."
+
+"What! Isn't it enough?"
+
+"Off you go now, old man. You have played and won; there's nothing more
+you can do here."
+
+His thoughts fly to his wife, and he sighs--
+
+"We were so gay and lively at the Gare Saint-Lazare!"
+
+"You must tell us about it to-morrow. What are you complaining of when
+you'll soon be on your way to see her again?"
+
+Each one of us thinks--
+
+"I should be quite content to escape as cheaply as Buche has done."
+
+Naturally those badly wounded say very little, even when they succeed
+in reaching us.
+
+The order comes to advance towards another trench we can just make
+out, even farther forward. Lying flat amongst the beetroots, we crawl
+along like serpents. No one is either gay or sad or over-excited even.
+Maxence, a huge fellow, is the only one who proceeds on all-fours.
+
+Reymond growls out--
+
+"The megatherium! He'll get himself killed!"
+
+Bullets strike the ground all about us. I can think of nothing but my
+haversack and _musette_, my can and bayonet sheath which will insist on
+slipping between my legs. The ground is soft and slimy. I do my best
+to keep the barrel of my rifle clean. Take care the cartridge cases
+don't fly open! Crawling along in this fashion is no sinecure. Smoking
+distracts me, and so I keep my pipe between my teeth. My nose is almost
+poking into Reymond's heels. From his coat pocket slips a sketch-book.
+Recognizing its mauve cover, I pick it up, the result being that I am
+more embarrassed than ever in my anxiety not to lose it.
+
+Reymond descends head foremost into a hole. I follow him.
+
+"Look out, there's some one dead here."
+
+"Take your sketch-book. You dropped it just now."
+
+Evidently he is unnerved, for he answers--
+
+"What the deuce do you expect me to do with that? You might have left
+it where it was."
+
+The ungrateful fellow!
+
+A few comrades join us. We crowd as well as we can into the trench,
+taking care not to tread upon the dead body.
+
+The lieutenant in command of the company has walked across the open
+space which, at his orders, the men have had to crawl across. He now
+appears before us, safe and sound.
+
+"Who is dead over there?" he asks.
+
+"Mignard has had his brains blown away, _mon lieutenant_. A ball right
+in the forehead, just as he was scaling the parapet."
+
+Mignard's haversack is unbuckled. His cover is unrolled and wrapped
+round his head.
+
+More wounded men returning. Here comes one groaning more loudly than
+the rest. A bullet has pierced his arm above the wrist. He grins as he
+shakes his injured paw.
+
+"What's the matter with you?"
+
+"I'm certain my arm's broken."
+
+"Move your fingers."
+
+He lifts them up and down like a pianist.
+
+"That will be nothing at all. Shall I dress it for you?"
+
+I cut the sleeve of his coat and shirt. The wound consists of two tiny
+holes of reddish-brown, one the entrance, the other the exit of the
+bullet.
+
+"Just a little iodine on it?"
+
+Scared out of his wits, the other says--
+
+"No, no; it would burn too much!"
+
+I dress the wound, and when it is finished say to him--
+
+"Off you go, old fellow; either return to the front or go back to the
+rear, as you please."
+
+He chooses the rear. Another who has done his day's work.
+
+Reserve squadrons come up. Jouin runs along at full speed instead of
+crawling. The lieutenant, perceiving him, shouts out--
+
+"Down with you! Down!"
+
+Jouin either does not or will not hear.
+
+"Hear him laughing, the idiot!" remarks the lieutenant, quite furious.
+
+Jouin is at the edge of the trench. One more leap and he will be safe.
+Just then he stops, looks fixedly at his hand, and falls to the ground.
+Parvis, his mate and friend from childhood, rushes up to him and says,
+after a moment's examination--
+
+"He has a couple of bullets right in his chest. Nothing to be done."
+
+"Well, then, come down; it will be your turn next."
+
+"No, I must stay; he is still breathing."
+
+A continuous and indefinable sound, like the gurgle of a bottle being
+emptied.... It is Jouin in his death agony, which lasts fully a quarter
+of an hour. Parvis holds his friend's hand, watches his face pale and
+his features become rigid. He seems not to hear the bullets whistling
+about his ears.
+
+At last he leaps into the trench, remarking--
+
+"He is dead."
+
+Then, with a shrug of the shoulders, he adds--
+
+"His own fault, idiot as he was!"
+
+Parvis does not understand the meaning of a funeral oration.
+
+A straggler comes creeping up through the beetroots.
+
+"A little more quickly!" exclaims the lieutenant. "Do you want me to
+come and fetch you?"
+
+The man makes a sign that he is utterly exhausted.
+
+"Are you wounded?"
+
+He shakes his head, indicating that he is not.
+
+Reymond looks at him.
+
+"Why! It's Verrier! Poor old fellow!"
+
+It is indeed Verrier, whose one thought has been all along to join his
+friends. His strength, however, betrays him, and he lies there flat on
+the ground.
+
+The lieutenant understands--
+
+"You'd better return, Verrier. I must send you back to the grotto."
+
+A voice answers, as though from a distance--
+
+"Ah! Thanks! Thanks!"
+
+And he quietly returns, exposed to the enemy's fire all the way. I look
+back after him, and when he makes too long a pause, I remark--
+
+"It's all over. Verrier's dead."
+
+I am mistaken, however, for he soon resumes his crawl. Finally he
+disappears.
+
+What time is it? Half-past one. How slowly the hours pass!
+
+Two sections of the company are stopped in the open, close to our
+trench, by deliberately aimed infantry firing.
+
+A lieutenant makes a sign to Sergeant Chaboy, who comes up--
+
+"Take your half-section and bear away to the right of the sections now
+in action. When you are on a level with them, open fire and hang on to
+the ground you take."
+
+Another crawl through the beetroots. A fine sport. Without the loss
+of a man, Chaboy deploys his two squadrons. Some fire whilst others
+are digging holes. There is only one spade for each squadron, but we
+scratch away with knives and hands. Very soon we have before us a pile
+of earth sufficiently high to stop the bullets.
+
+The sergeant sends Jacquard to inform the lieutenant that his orders
+have been executed. We see Jacquard trot away on all-fours with such
+agility that, though it is no time for jesting, we cannot refrain from
+poking fun at him.
+
+"He runs like a rat," says Varlet.
+
+"Or, rather, like a tatou" (an armadillo).
+
+The expression catches on at once. Jacquard returns at a speedy run.
+His eyes shine, and his complexion is heightened. Before flattening
+himself on the ground he watches the shells burst, and exclaims in
+triumph--
+
+"Our projectiles are falling right in the German trenches!"
+
+"Bravo, rat-tatou." (A _ratatouille_ is a stew of meat and vegetables.)
+
+The hours pass. Impossible to advance. The fusillade, intense to right
+and left, slackens in front. Some of the men fall asleep on the spot.
+Night comes on. The cannonade and the firing almost cease. A cold,
+clear night and a starry sky. Profound calm. Seven o'clock.
+
+The lieutenant orders our half-section back into the trench. The 24th
+has been dealt with severely--thirty dead and twenty wounded.
+
+Shall we be relieved to-night? It is sufficiently dark for us to move
+about behind the trenches and remove the numbness from our limbs.
+
+"Look out, Jouin is there," says Parvis.
+
+It is usual to continue to call the dead by their names.
+
+We form a circle round the body, touch one another on the shoulder and
+shake hands. We are the more conscious of the value of life from the
+fact that its tenure in our own bodies is so uncertain.
+
+Mignard, a cover flung over his shattered head, still lies at the
+bottom of the trench. We shall have to raise him and place him by
+Jouin's side in the field of beetroots, unless we wish to spend the
+night with him. He is very heavy. The cold touch of his lifeless hands
+sends a thrill through my whole body.
+
+But very soon sleep alone occupies our thoughts. The lieutenant remains
+awake. He looks over the parapet without once removing his eyes.
+Reymond rolls himself in his cover; I do the same. We throw over our
+bodies the big poncho, and, close pressed to each other, sleep at the
+bottom of the trench.
+
+
+_Friday, 13th November._
+
+About two in the morning some one gives me a shake--
+
+"Come along; it's your turn to keep watch over there among the
+beetroots."
+
+There is a smile on the lieutenant's face as he adds in grumbling
+accents--
+
+"I never heard any one snore as you do!"
+
+I take up my post, lying flat on the ground, at a distance of fifty
+yards in front of the trench. I do all I can think of to keep awake.
+There is a dense mist over the land. After a couple of hours I am
+relieved. It is raining, of course!
+
+The daybreak is dull and unpleasant. Are we to attack again? No.
+Yesterday we only had to create a diversion, so the lieutenant
+explains, and compel the Germans to direct their fire upon our sector.
+This artillery fire has been sprinkling the plain ever since eight
+o'clock. The shells shriek overhead and burst away to our left. We
+remark, jokingly--
+
+"That's nothing; the 21st will catch it all."
+
+During the night a section of the 23rd company, remaining in reserve,
+has linked up our trench, by means of a branch, with the rear trenches.
+We are delighted at the idea that we shall no longer have to crawl over
+exposed country.
+
+The day seems as though it would never end, and nothing happens.
+Reymond and I, tired out, and seated side by side in a sort of sofa
+hollowed out in the trench wall, feel not the slightest inclination
+even to speak. At night the 23rd replaces us and the 24th retires to
+the grotto.
+
+On reaching it, after forty minutes in the branches, the grotto seems
+more than ever a paradise to us all.
+
+Each man has his own tale to tell.
+
+Sergeant Moricet shows his coat with a hole right in the middle of the
+breast; his pocket-book has stopped the bullet, though all the papers
+in it are cut in pieces.
+
+Corporal Chevalier has been bleeding at the nose ever since the
+previous evening. At the moment of attack, as he was crawling along,
+a huge beetroot, hurled forward by a ball, struck him full on the
+nose. He thought he had swallowed a 210. He now spends all his time in
+padding his swollen organ.
+
+In the stone bedroom the men are very kind and attentive to one
+another--
+
+"I hope I'm not in your way, old fellow? Have you enough room to
+stretch yourself?"
+
+"Yes, thanks. Oh! I beg your pardon if I kicked you."
+
+Each man fusses over the other as though to thank him for not being
+killed.
+
+The men lie on the ground against their haversacks, their rifles
+supported against the wall, with cans and all accoutrements hooked on
+to the guard. The first squadron is complete. Corporal Matois is a big,
+bearded peasant, from the neighbourhood of Langres, a roughly built
+countryman. He is really the best character I know.
+
+Charensac, squatting in a corner, is stuffing into his haversack a
+flannel belt some one has given him. He has already stored away seven
+shirts, which he intends to carry home with him after the war.
+
+Everything offered him he takes. "Look here, Charensac, would you
+like this?" Without looking, he shouts out from the other end of the
+room: "Thanks, old fellow!" It may be what remains at the bottom of a
+sardine tin, a piece of sausage, chocolate, cigars, a pair of socks,
+nothing comes amiss. Charensac's stomach is a veritable pit. His
+haversack, another pit, weighs over sixty-five pounds. Huge shoulders
+and the flanks of a bull are needed to carry it. He has also two
+enormous _musettes_, which form baskets projecting on either side. His
+comrades frequently regard him as a mule. They assure him that he will
+kill himself. Nothing, however, can rob him of his imperturbable good
+humour. The only time his face assumes an expression of seriousness is
+when he affirms: "You should never throw anything away."
+
+Yes, Charensac is quite unique. Never have I seen any one else live
+through trench warfare with such constant joviality. The men, speaking
+generally, in spite of their wonderful morale, do not look upon war as
+a sort of holiday.
+
+Extremely tall and well built, strong as a Turk, a full-moon face
+enlivened with cunning little eyes, a voice of thunder, a Gargantuan
+appetite, an ant's rapacity and a dormouse's capacity for sleep, such
+is Charensac, the gas-fitter from Auvergne. For a packet of canteen
+tobacco, worth exactly three farthings, you may obtain from him the
+most extraordinary things, for instance, silence for a space of
+twenty-four hours. Brawling and uneducated as he is, however, he can
+count his change quite well, and it is impossible to cheat him. We
+often say to him: "Charensac, you are nothing but matter!" "Charensac,
+you make a god of your stomach!" "Charensac, you have every possible
+vice, you are a disgrace to the first squadron!"
+
+His optimism cannot be shaken by such insults, for he sees in them our
+inexhaustible goodness of heart.
+
+Henriot coldly looks on at Charensac's evolution. He is a Parisian
+printer, intelligent and well educated, indifferent to danger, a
+taciturn fellow, tall and solidly built, almost bald, with the face of
+a Socrates.
+
+Mauventre, all nose and forehead, always wears a woollen cap, similar
+to those affected by chestnut sellers. The wretched fellow has a
+perpetual dread of shells and bullets. Never does the company muster
+without Mauventre remarking sadly--
+
+"A projectile is bound to drop right in the middle of us."
+
+Briban, a native of Dijon, has a parrot's profile on the body of a
+shepherd-spider. And finally, Pierrot, nicknamed "_Piaf_," a Paris
+drayman, possesses the classic physique of a Zouave.
+
+_Piaf_ and Briban are now our cooks. Briban is called the "Fireman,"
+because, having had his head-gear removed by a bullet in September,
+after going for a whole week in a cotton cap, he at last found in a
+field a fireman's _képi_, of which he took immediate possession.
+
+The first company also includes Verrier, Maxence, Varlet, Jacquard,
+Reymond and myself. A fine squadron.
+
+Sergeant Chaboy enters.
+
+"Have you room for me here?"
+
+We shout out: "_Vive Chaboy!_" and welcome him affectionately, for he
+has manoeuvred his half-section beneath the enemy's fire without losing
+a single man.
+
+At nine o'clock the lieutenant calls for volunteers to pick up the
+dead. Varlet, Jacquard, and Charensac offer themselves; they are
+anxious to bring back two old chums with whom they served before war
+broke out. They return at midnight.
+
+
+_Saturday, 14th November._
+
+Eight bodies are laid out here, in front of the grotto, with their
+uniforms all torn and muddy. We try to recognize them.
+
+Around the bodies things follow their ordinary course: fatigue duty,
+men sweeping and digging the road. The cooks are busy about the fire.
+Ten men ordered to dig a grave at Bucy cemetery set off, shovel or pick
+on shoulder.
+
+Belin runs up; he has not been able to get away from his company
+sooner. On finding us all alive, he lifts his hands in the air and can
+scarcely contain himself for joy. The 21st has only a few wounded.
+
+We spend the day in relishing the pleasure of being alive; a sensation
+unknown to civilians.
+
+The relief arrives--a battalion of _Alpins_--and we leave the trenches
+just as boys leave school on breaking-up day, with feelings of
+unpolluted joy, and also the thought that the return is in the dim
+distance and somewhat problematical.
+
+The company is quartered at Acy-le-Haut, where it sojourned in October.
+At midnight we have to hoist ourselves into a loft by the aid of a
+ladder, two-thirds of whose rungs are missing. We sink softly into
+bundles of hay. For twenty-two days, with the exception of two rests of
+twenty-four hours each at Bucy, we have not left the trenches. Outside
+it is freezing hard.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+A LULL
+
+
+_Sunday, 15th November._
+
+The feelings of utter exhaustion which come over us from time to time
+do not last long. You think yourself at the last gasp, and yet the
+following day you are as fresh as possible.
+
+This morning we are taken in charge by Madame Gillot, who lodged us on
+the 9th October. We receive a warm welcome--
+
+"What, you are all alive!"
+
+Milliard, the postman, brings us over twenty parcels; we are admirably
+revictualled both in food and in warm clothing.
+
+
+_Monday, 16th November._
+
+Reymond's birthday; he is thirty years of age. To celebrate the
+occasion, we organize a special lunch.
+
+In the afternoon the lieutenant reviews each man's supplies of food:
+his haversack, spread open at his feet, must exhibit to the officer's
+vigilant eye two tins of corned beef, a dozen biscuits, two little bags
+containing sugar, coffee, and two tablets of condensed soup.
+
+One of our men has neither biscuits nor corned beef. Questioning glance
+of the lieutenant. Evasive gesture of the man, who immediately stands
+at attention.
+
+"Have you eaten your two tins of corned beef?"
+
+A sign of assent.
+
+"Your biscuits too, naturally?"
+
+Another sign of assent.
+
+"Ah! And why did you eat your tins of corned beef?"
+
+"_Mon lieutenant_, one evening I was hungry...."
+
+"Better and better! If the men begin to eat their reserve supplies
+whenever they are hungry, there will be no army left!"
+
+That evening we laughingly relate the incident to Belin. Being an old
+soldier, he cannot get over it.
+
+"Eat one's reserve supplies without orders! If he had been in the
+Foreign Legion he would have received eight days' prison for every
+biscuit missing. The lieutenant was right.... You have your dozen
+biscuits and two tins, at all events?"
+
+"Of course, don't make such a fuss."
+
+Belin makes a friendly review to assure himself of the fact.
+
+Thin and sharp-featured, his capote well brushed and stretched, and the
+lower part of his trousers rolled inside his leggings, Belin exhibits
+subtle poisings of his body and impressive movements of his arm as he
+points to the sky. He knows how to shout out the "_Hô Mohâmed!_" the
+rallying cry intended to reach the ears of the comrade who has gone
+astray.
+
+The ways and manners of civilians in warfare baffle him considerably.
+Roberty would say to him--
+
+"Strange how much you lack understanding of Parisian humour and fun."
+
+Belin, however, is a brave fellow, he has travelled, read, and fought a
+great deal. Though we pay him a certain deference, we are very fond of
+him.
+
+
+_Tuesday, 17th November._
+
+As we are resting we become somewhat like civilians, and await the news
+with an anxiety unknown at the front, where one's horizon is limited to
+a field of beetroots.
+
+The papers bring fresh details of the frightful battles of the Yser.
+The German offensive seems to have been broken. What will they attempt
+now?
+
+This morning our attack of the 12th is honoured by the following
+communiqué: "We have made slight progress between Crouy and Vregny."
+Multum in parvo. Here's something to make us proud, but more especially
+something to make us modest and patient when we think of what those men
+are going through who are fighting in the North, living and dying in
+the thick of it all. It is they who are the real heroes.
+
+From the letters we receive it is manifest that we also are regarded
+as heroes; people will insist on considering as a gigantic struggle our
+life as navvies and troglodytes! How absurd! Such lavish use should not
+be made of these fine expressions, so well deserved by those who have
+fought at Ypres, Nieuport, and Dixmude.
+
+Here, too, we may deserve them some day. Meanwhile, let us do a little
+gardening.
+
+
+_Wednesday, 18th November._
+
+We leave Acy to return to the trenches. Madame Gillot stands lamenting
+at her door.
+
+"Ah! my poor men, I wonder if I shall ever see you again?"
+
+"Very good of you to think of us, Madame Gillot."
+
+The company occupies a new sector in the front line. No dug-outs here,
+the ground is too hard to do anything. We take sentry duty in the
+middle of the beetroots, in a sort of trough dug in the ground, twenty
+yards in front of the trench. It is snowing.
+
+
+_Thursday, 19th November._
+
+At dawn hoar-frost covers the whole field. A little beyond the barbed
+wire are three small mounds, covered with snow: the bodies of those of
+the 24th who died. It is freezing hard, so we stamp our feet on the
+ground. Red faces emerge from _passe-montagnes_. I carefully press my
+nose between my woollen-gloved fingers; the sensation of feeling the
+warmth come gently back is delicious. A few cannon shots from time to
+time, as though to explain our presence here.
+
+The day is spent in walking as quickly as possible between the two
+frozen walls of the trench. When I cross Reymond, each of us, before
+turning round, gravely salutes the other and says: "_Buon di!_ _Buon
+di!_" like the grotesque doctors in _Monsieur de Pourceaugnac_.
+
+The company, returning to the grotto to sleep, brings back the bodies
+of eight men, killed on the 12th and picked up between the lines,
+thanks to the heroism of an auxiliary doctor named Wallon.
+
+Yesterday I received a sleeping-bag made of a kind of soft oil-cloth,
+lined with flannel: a notable event in a soldier's life. This evening,
+wrapped in my cover, I enter my sleeping-bag and pull down the edges
+over my head.
+
+
+_Friday, 20th November._
+
+The trees are now entirely stripped of leaves. The country looks cold
+and dismal.
+
+The eight bodies are laid out in a line in front of the grotto: the
+second time we have had such a sight before our eyes. This one is
+Mallet, who was on guard with us in the train which brought us to the
+depot. He was a little stout fellow, quiet and taciturn, with a brown
+beard. War was not at all his vocation, and he would frequently remark
+with a sigh: "I am certain I shall be killed."
+
+Ill-omened words which should never be spoken.
+
+Mallet wore a medallion on his breast.... The night before the attack
+he had said quietly to a friend--
+
+"If I die, send this medallion to my wife."
+
+The friend now tenderly unclasps it from his capote. As this latter is
+being removed from the body, the cloth, covered with frozen mud, is as
+stiff as cardboard.
+
+After a prolonged examination we recognize Corporal Lion, whose
+good-natured face has been rendered unrecognizable by a wound. He is
+another who, speaking of his young wife and children and his past
+happiness, had imprudently said: "It's all over with me.... I shall
+never come back!..." There is some difficulty in taking from his
+shrivelled finger the wedding-ring, the gold of which still shines a
+little beneath the enveloping mud.
+
+Our nerves are now too hardened for such a sight to affect them.
+Emotion has become calm and considerate, and each of us thinks--
+
+"Well, if I were in his place, would there be around my body nothing
+but this cold and gloom of winter?"
+
+The sergeant summons me along with Reymond and Maxence to go on
+cemetery duty--
+
+"Take a shovel or a pick and go down to Bucy."
+
+In the old cemetery surrounding the church, a lieutenant indicates the
+spot where we must dig a grave for eight men.
+
+We set to work.
+
+Shortly afterwards a tumbrel brings along the bodies. Two attendants
+lay them out in a line. Meanwhile, the hole is growing larger. Our
+shovels encounter old rust-coloured bones, and even an entire skull,
+which is deposited on the edge of the grave.
+
+At eleven o'clock the work is finished; we return to the grotto for
+lunch. Above Bucy a duel is being fought between a French and a German
+aeroplane; the rapid sharp cracks of a _mitrailleuse_ reach our ears.
+Suddenly a jet of flame streams from the German machine, which makes
+straight for the north, leaving a trail of smoke in its wake. It is
+hit; the French machine, after circling around, follows after.
+
+On reaching the grotto we learn that the enemy bird fell within our
+lines on the Maubeuge road. The pilot has succeeded in making good his
+escape, but our 75's have opened fire upon the machine, which is still
+burning.
+
+At five in the evening the section is guarding the telephone at
+Pont-Rouge, on the Bucy road. The light infantry have constructed a
+hut, which will just hold ten men. Three very comfortable bedsteads,
+and in one corner a rustic-looking chimney-place, where a magnificent
+fire sheds its genial warmth. Here we come to roast ourselves in turn,
+in the intervals of sentry duty.
+
+The cold is bitter; the mud of the beaten track is frozen hard. The
+roads themselves bristle with clods of frozen earth.
+
+The Pont-Rouge road, which leads direct to the enemy, who is
+entrenched three hundred yards away, is blocked by a rampart of
+sand-bags. These bags are covered with blood. It was here that the 5th
+Battalion, on the 12th of this month, deposited their wounded and dead.
+A few broken rifles heaped up along the copse, _pêle-mêle_ with various
+military equipment.
+
+Balls whistle in our ears; sometimes they ricochet on the frozen ground
+and glance off with a singing sound.
+
+
+_Saturday, 21st November._
+
+To-night the thermometer is 13° Centigrade below zero. I have slept
+very well, in the open air, rolled in canvas wrappings at the bottom
+of the trench. On waking I see Jacquard's hirsute beard, kind innocent
+eyes and red nose. The rest of his face is swathed in chestnut-coloured
+wool. Quick, my bottle and a good mouthful of brandy. Just in time, for
+the cold has surprised us during the night and frozen me to the very
+bones. I pick up my can, which I had laid aside during sleep: it is
+full of icicles. The coffee is frozen.
+
+The cold has brought out a number of fantastic costumes. One of my
+comrades looks like a bashi-bazouk, another like a chorus singer in
+_Boris Godounow_. To write a letter I put on great red woollen gloves,
+a grey muffler, and a blue _passe-montagne_. I also wear trousers of
+green velvet; the effect being quite good.
+
+All the same, it must not be imagined that we look disguised. At
+muster, the blue uniform reappears and the usual military aspect of
+things; we remain soldiers beneath our fantastic accoutrement, having
+all become so without an effort of will. Adaptation to the drudgery and
+difficulties of the profession comes about insensibly.
+
+Luckily, the wind is not blowing in the direction of the trench; but
+the enemy's bullets pour in a raking fire. Maxence, who is extremely
+tall and too careless to bend down, just misses being killed on two
+occasions. His calm is most exasperating. We shriek at him--
+
+"_Sale rosse!_ I suppose you'll be happy when you've got a bullet
+through your head. And you think it will be a joke for us to carry you
+away dead, a giant like you?"
+
+"He weighs at least a hundred and eighty pounds," growls Jacquard, who
+is a dwarf in comparison.
+
+After all, frost is better than rain and mud.
+
+
+_Sunday, 22nd November._
+
+The squadron's new quarters at Bucy are not very luxurious: an
+abandoned building, considerably broken up, windows smashed, doors and
+casements torn away. Along a narrow flight of stairs, we gain access to
+two square rooms.
+
+Fortunately the people next door are willing to lodge us. Inside the
+wide street-door is a little yard; to the right, a rabbit-hutch which
+is empty; to the left, a ground-floor room with cellar and loft.
+Doubtless the house is protected from enfilade firing, for it has
+remained standing, though a 77 has made a slight breach in it, above a
+sign-post on which we read: "Achain, mattress-maker."
+
+We enter, meeting with a cordial reception.
+
+"It's a poor place," says the woman, whose round face is framed in a
+black shawl, "but we will give you every attention."
+
+Poor, indeed! Nothing of the kind. The windows are unbroken, the roof
+intact, the doors will shut, and there is a fire in the stove. In a
+small room a couple of beds and a mattress laid on the floor are to be
+placed at our disposal.
+
+The owners of the house sleep in the cellar. The consequence is that we
+are masters for the time being, one of the advantages-perhaps the only
+one--of the bombardment.
+
+Numbers of parcels arrive. Beneath the stupefied gaze of the Achains,
+we unpack tins of preserved food, which Jules arranges on a sideboard.
+Jules explains that we belong to the most refined and select classes
+of society. It is a mania of his to proclaim everywhere that we are
+persons of distinction. We make our appearance, tired to death and
+covered with mud, bundled up in mufflers, with shaggy cadaverous
+faces, carrying rifles, haversacks, pipes, mud, and making a horrible
+clatter. Our hosts, troubled by such an invasion, at first manifest a
+certain degree of reserve, but Jules speedily finds reassuring words;
+he exhorts us to mend our manners, and pays court to the ladies. A most
+valuable fellow, Jules!
+
+He is a native of Franche-Comté. Evidently this district does not
+produce thin sorry-looking specimens of humanity. Jules possesses the
+frame and physique of a wrestler. His big shining face, flanked with
+enormous ears, is illumined by two small eyes which give the impression
+that he may be a very difficult person to deal with.
+
+Jules is a born orderly. He has far more opportunities for exercising
+his subtlety behind the trenches than on the line; his vocation is to
+supply us with stores from outside the recognized limits. When on this
+quest, he fears no one and will go anywhere.
+
+In September he had not been a couple of hours on duty before giving
+proof of his abilities: he found Roberty's canteen, which had gone
+astray during the retreat, replenished our store of tobacco, and
+brought back with him a rabbit, a fowl, three litres of wine and a
+bottle of spirits.
+
+"You can put this latter into your coffee," he said; "it will then be
+worth drinking."
+
+On the day we enticed him away, Jules, having lost his lieutenant,
+had also lost his position as orderly, and forfeiting his privileges
+occupied a lower position in the ranks. The adjutant, whose offers
+he had scorned, told him dryly that he would return to the squadron
+without any position at all. Jules did not like disputes, and pretended
+to submit to his destiny. He resumed his place in the squadron,
+though only to occupy himself with our personal affairs, in spite of
+officials, roll-calls and laws.
+
+The personal affairs of six soldiers in the second class do not seem a
+very serious matter, especially in such busy times. Still, it took all
+Jules' activity to attend to them.
+
+"I say, old fellow, we are coming down from the outposts this evening
+and sleeping in the village. Run along and find us a house."
+
+Jules pretends to be considerably embarrassed. He raises his arms,
+takes his _képi_ between his first finger and thumb, and scratching his
+head with his other three fingers, says--
+
+"That's just your way! Jules, find me this, or Jules, find me that!
+This very morning, Jules cut the roll-call to do your messages, and the
+corporal marked him absent."
+
+"Come! come! not so much talk. We shall be in the village by nightfall.
+You must get there before us. We rely on you for beds and dinner."
+
+"What if I am caught by the gendarmes? Or suppose I meet the colonel?"
+
+Then we appeal to his vanity--
+
+"You can easily outwit all the gendarmes in the place. And a fellow
+like you is clever enough to make up some plausible tale that will
+satisfy the colonel."
+
+An appeal is also made to his interests. Nothing further is needed,
+and when, five minutes afterwards, some one calls for Jules, he has
+disappeared.
+
+The lodging is found and dinner in full swing. Jules confides to the
+company in general--
+
+"At first the mistress refused to lodge six soldiers. But I talked her
+round. Besides, I gave her to understand that you were real gentlemen."
+
+The natives of the South of France may be braggarts; anyhow, this one
+from the Franche-Comté could easily give them points. If mention is
+made of a farmer's wife or even of some lady of the manor within a
+radius of ten leagues, Jules begins to cluck like a hen, to slap his
+hands on his thighs, and with appropriate gestures he gives us to
+understand that he knows the lady in question very well indeed.
+
+In his own district he was attached to a farm, and in his leisure hours
+he most certainly gave himself up to poaching.
+
+Not on account of the war will he abandon his petty occupations. No,
+indeed, something must be done to break the monotony of trench life.
+
+From time to time, in spite of gendarmes and regulations, Jules trips
+over to Soissons. He returns with an entire bazaar in his _musettes_.
+
+"I sell it all again, you know, at cost price," he explains. "There are
+times when I lose."
+
+"Of course!"
+
+The other day he brought back a small hunting carbine. He also managed
+to procure the whole paraphernalia required for making snares and traps.
+
+He is away for hours at a time, prowling about the woods, risking a
+court-martial a score of times, all to bring back a few tom-tits. On
+his return, blood and feathers are sticking to his fingers.
+
+"You savage!" exclaims Verrier. "Doesn't war provide you with
+sufficient opportunities to satisfy your bloodthirsty instincts? Why
+should you go and kill tiny birds like these?"
+
+"Don't cry over it; I am going to cook them for you, along with a few
+slices of bacon...."
+
+To-day, thanks to Jules, we are _en famille_ with the Achains. The
+little girl, ten years of age, has pretty blue eyes and light hair,
+confined in a black shawl, like her mother's. She looks at haversacks,
+rifles, and _musettes_, and asks in drawling accents--
+
+"Do you really carry all these things on your back?"
+
+Indeed, the haversacks do look of a respectable size: on the top the
+cover, rolled in the sleeping-bag; to the left, a tent canvas; to the
+right, a rubber mantle; in the middle, a cooking utensil; inside, linen
+and tobacco, a thread and needle-case, slippers, a large packet of
+letters, and reserve provisions. The whole weighs nearly thirty-five
+pounds. The _musettes_, too, are of enormous bulk, swollen with
+provisions, toilet utensils, a ball of bread, evidently so called
+because it is flat, spirit-flask, knife, fork, and spoon, a tin plate,
+and lastly a few packets of cartridges. At the bottom is a confused
+mass of tobacco and matches, bread-crumbs, and earth.
+
+Sergeant Chaboy announces _en passant_--
+
+"Be ready at five o'clock, my boys. It is the section's turn to act as
+artillery support at the Montagne farm."
+
+The Germans are beginning to fire upon the village. At four o'clock the
+bombardment is at its height. Impossible to remain in the streets.
+
+The light begins to fade, and the projectiles become fewer and fewer.
+The section musters.
+
+The Montagne farm is isolated right in the centre of a plain which
+overlooks Bucy, and on which several batteries of our 75's have been
+installed.
+
+Every day the Germans pour showers of projectiles on to the position.
+This evening their shells set fire to a straw-rick. The flames illumine
+the whole summit, throw into relief the desolate outlines of the trees,
+and project their lurid reflections on to the surrounding buildings.
+We hear the crackling of the straw as the flaming sprays are carried
+away in the distance. The section slowly advances towards the farm in
+columns of twos. We halt on reaching a stable, where we find a quantity
+of thick litter. All the better, for it is bitterly cold; several
+degrees below zero.
+
+At midnight I am on guard with Reymond in front of the door. It is a
+clear, starry night. We hide ourselves in a corner against one of the
+pillars of the doorway, to obtain shelter from the icy north wind. Here
+we stand for a couple of hours. What is there for us to do? We begin
+by expressing, as Anatole France says: "most innocent thoughts in most
+crude terms."
+
+Away in the distance the dull roar of a cannon. The shrieking sound
+draws nearer.
+
+"Appears as though it were meant for us!"
+
+The shell whirls past and bursts a hundred yards from the door.
+
+A grunt of satisfaction on finding that the explosion has taken place
+at a safe distance.
+
+One observation: the shrieking of shells almost at the end of their
+course reminds one of the howl of a dog baying the moon.
+
+Shots follow one another. Every minute the distant "boom," then the
+hissing sound, which gradually grows more intense, and finally the
+explosion, a rending crash close at hand, followed by vibrations and
+the noise of broken branches. Not the slightest refuge for us.
+
+"Not often have I been annoyed as I am this evening," remarks one of us.
+
+"Nor I either!" remarks the other.
+
+"They might have waited till we had finished sentry duty before
+bombarding us."
+
+Renewed explosions. The door slightly opens, and the head of Corporal
+Chevalier appears.
+
+"Is the bombardment pretty violent?"
+
+"Bah! Nothing extraordinary."
+
+"The fact is--the lieutenant has sent me to say that, if things begin
+to look too serious, you may return. Useless to get killed for nothing."
+
+We would gladly have profited by the permission. Chevalier, however,
+does not belong to our squadron. Consequently we politely reply--
+
+"All right, corporal, our best thanks to the lieutenant. We may as well
+finish our watch."
+
+Chevalier's head disappears. The door shuts. Fresh shells.
+
+"How stupid of us to swagger in this way!" we reflect.
+
+On coming to relieve us, the two following sentries, after muffling
+themselves up by lantern light, ask--
+
+"A pretty heavy bombardment just now, eh?"
+
+I have the audacity to reply--
+
+"Ah! We did not even pay attention to it, we were talking."
+
+And so, "_La tempeste finie, Panurge faict le bon compaignon_," as
+Rabelais said.
+
+
+_Monday, 23rd November._
+
+The lieutenant appears at the door and calls out--
+
+"Everybody under shelter, to the grottoes. The bombardment is beginning
+again."
+
+At that moment, indeed, a projectile dashes down upon one of the farm
+buildings, smashing in the stable roof. To reach the grottoes we have
+to run a hundred yards through the darkness. We are in the open. Those
+who have candles light them. _Tableau_. The grotto has been transformed
+into a sheep-fold. Several hundreds of sheep are moving to and fro,
+bleating all the time in stupid fashion.
+
+Meanwhile, the German artillery is raining upon the farm and its
+outhouses. A fowl is killed on a dunghill by a shrapnel ball. What with
+the boom of the cannon and the bleating of the sheep, the hours pass
+very slowly. Reymond, however, pilots us over the grotto as though it
+were a gallery of Roman catacombs. Provided with a piece of candle,
+he mumbles away like a sexton: "_Questo è la tomba di santa Cecilia;
+tutto marmo antico!_" When the cannonade stops, out in the yard he
+organizes a fancy bullfight, in which each of us, supplied with the
+necessary accessories, in turn impersonates the bull, the espada, the
+banderillero, the picador, or the disembowelled steed.
+
+We play like schoolboys at recreation time, until we are quite out of
+breath with laughter and exertion, and then sit down on the very spot
+around which shells have so recently been falling.
+
+The Prussians have fired forty thousand francs' worth of munitions and
+have killed a fowl, which, by the way, our own gunners have eaten!
+
+On the section returning to Bucy, the general impression is summed up
+in the remark--
+
+"After all, it has been rare sport!"
+
+
+_Tuesday, 24th November._
+
+Snow is falling, and so we remain indoors. The postman's visit
+forms our only distraction. After yesterday's uproar the guns are
+quiet to-day. No set of men are ever so capricious as gunners. The
+inhabitants of Bucy, who have spent a day and a night crouching
+in their cellars, walk about the streets this afternoon as though
+everything were once more normal. There is little damage done to the
+streets, since the Germans mainly fired with their 77's.
+
+
+_Wednesday, 25th November._
+
+A lieutenant is chatting at the hospital door with the major. All of a
+sudden he falls to the ground. We gather round him, and find that he
+has received a bullet in the abdomen. The street opposite the hospital
+being perpendicular to the German trenches, spent bullets sometimes
+take it in enfilade, and an accident happens.
+
+During roll-call, which takes place in the main street, a shrapnel
+explodes on a neighbouring house. Broken tiles rain down upon us.
+Instinctively we "form a carapace." The lieutenant has not stirred a
+muscle. "Surely," he remarks, "you are not going to get excited over a
+little falling dirt. Attention!" We all line up and stand at attention.
+The next moment the ranks are broken, and each man returns to his
+quarters, laughing and joking at the incident.
+
+After all, we make a jest of everything. This is the secret of that
+dash and enthusiasm boasted of in the official communiqués, and about
+which civilians must have the most vague ideas. The good humour that
+has stood a campaign of four months must be in the grain; at all
+events, it is of quite a special kind.
+
+The source of our morale lies in the fact that we accept life as we
+find it.
+
+This evening the company returns to the trenches and sleeps in the
+grotto.
+
+
+_Thursday, 26th November._
+
+The frost has disappeared; now we have a thaw with its inevitable filth
+and mud. The entrance of the grotto is a veritable sewer. We enter
+along slippery slopes, almost impassable.
+
+Latest news from the kitchens: the regiment is about to leave for the
+fort of Arche, near Epinal, unless it goes on to Amiens ... unless,
+again, it remains here.
+
+This evening, in the grotto, Maxence lies on his back smoking a
+cigarette. He murmurs softly to Reymond, who is making a sketch, some
+lines from the _Fêtes galantes_--
+
+ _Au calme clair de lune triste et beau
+ Qui fait rêver les oiseaux dans les arbres
+ Et sangloter d'extase les jets d'eau,
+ Les grands jets d'eau sveltes parmi les marbres._
+
+Varlet, naked down to the waist, turns round and round, rolling himself
+in his flannel girdle, one end of which is held tight by Meuret, who
+is always ready to lend a helping hand. Mauventre, _Piaf_, and the
+"Fireman" are playing cards with the corporal, making comments on each
+move. Charensac crouches down, drawing up an inventory of the wealth
+he has stored away in his haversack. The rest, rolled snugly in their
+coverings, sleep and snore.
+
+
+_Friday, 27th November._
+
+Our artillery vigorously bombards the enemy's trenches. Nothing to do
+except watch the shells--and the rain--fall.
+
+
+_Saturday, 28th November._
+
+In the front line the section occupies a new sector, not yet completed.
+A misty maddening rain chills us to the very bones. Impossible to see
+twenty yards in front of one. The kind of weather which gives you the
+impression that the sun has left this world and will never return.
+
+
+_Sunday, 29th November._
+
+The 24th goes down to Bucy at six in the evening.
+
+Our hosts know the hour we are to be relieved. They expect us.
+
+"_Sainte Vierge_, what a filthy condition you are in!" exclaims Madame
+Achain.
+
+We are delighted to see our beds once again. Madame Achain would gladly
+change the bed linen, if she had any--but she has not, and one must not
+be too dainty in war time.
+
+
+_Monday, 30th November._
+
+Another quiet day spent by the fireside in conversation, playing cards
+and writing letters.
+
+This morning Jacquard is charged with the making of our chocolate. When
+the six bowls, filled to the brim, are on the table, he calls out--
+
+"Come, messieurs, breakfast is waiting, messieurs!"
+
+How grandiloquent it sounds!
+
+We appear, only half awake, slouching along in slippers and old shoes.
+If perchance the chocolate is boiled too much or too little, if it
+is too thick or too thin, then the patient Jacquard must submit to
+sarcastic reproaches, to complaints from men who, most assuredly, would
+not tolerate the slightest inconvenience!
+
+
+_Tuesday, 1st December._
+
+To-day we are road-labourers, an occupation lacking interest, though
+preferable to that of grave-digger.
+
+The section has been ordered to clean the Pont-Rouge road, in
+anticipation of the visit of the general. We start with shovels and
+brooms on our shoulders. Luckily, it is not raining. The Pont-Rouge
+road is filthy; that, however, is its slightest defect: it is also
+infested with projectiles. We are not enthusiastic about the work. No
+one is wounded.
+
+
+_Wednesday, 2nd; Thursday, 3rd December._
+
+At eight o'clock the company musters in a farmyard, proceeding to a
+field north of Bucy for drill. The soil is ploughed by huge shells
+which daily continue to fall. Fortunately they have so far chosen a
+different hour from ours, thus avoiding unpleasant encounters. Here
+we have section school: "Count off in fours! Right wheel! Line up!
+Shoulder arms! Right! Left turn!--Left!"
+
+The men manoeuvre in very lethargic fashion. Even the words of command
+have no life in them. The sergeant shouts out--
+
+"Right-about turn!--Right!"
+
+He adds--
+
+"This isn't a march at all, it's a paddle!"
+
+Towards the end of the drill we deploy in skirmish line, and fling
+ourselves on our knees before a hail of imaginary bullets.
+
+"Let each man practise the right position for charging. Fire three
+cartridges at the enemy debouching at the outskirts of the wood. Three
+hundred yards--Fire!"
+
+The lieutenant pleads with us--
+
+"Come, come, if you will drill well for five minutes I will march you
+back to quarters."
+
+It is the greatest mistake in the world to drill without putting one's
+heart into it. As Belin emphatically says--
+
+"Troops that cannot do manual exercises are no better than a flock of
+sheep."
+
+And the rascal is right, too, as he always is.
+
+
+_Friday, 4th December._
+
+At night the company musters to mount to the trenches. On the right,
+for a few hundred yards, we proceed along the side of the wood, whilst
+to the left stretches an endless field of beetroots, in the midst of
+which the Germans are entrenched. In this field has been dug the branch
+leading to the first line. It is completely dark, and the ground is
+quite soft; the twenty-five minutes' crossing of this branch is a most
+disagreeable piece of work. We knock against all sorts of corners, slip
+about, and fall against the slimy walls.
+
+Passages open out from time to time; these are second-line trenches,
+or else branches connecting together the various sectors. Moreover,
+first- and second-line trenches resemble the branches, though somewhat
+wider and provided with earthen parapets in the direction of the enemy.
+
+We are all on duty until nine o'clock. The Germans fire their rifles to
+inform us that they are there. We blaze away in their direction for the
+same reason.
+
+About ten everything is calm. It is raining. Earth and sky seem blended
+in one general flood.
+
+Varlet, with his hood, looks like a dwarf out of some book of fairy
+tales; Jacquard wears a knitted helmet, out of which emerges a
+fan-shaped beard; he covers his shoulders with an oil-cloth stole. He
+looks like a chorister masquerading as a crusader. Reymond, draped in a
+huge khaki poncho, might have been a member of the Holy League.
+
+The walls of the trench are slippery and fall in. There are but few
+dug-outs, scarcely any of which can be used because of the water
+finding its way through the badly jointed planks. The only possible
+shelter consists of kennels made on the surface of the ground, into
+which a man may coil himself. Take care, however, lest they fall in!
+
+We can do nothing but submit to the rain, and let ourselves be
+submerged. This is no longer war, it's a deluge.
+
+
+_Saturday, 5th December._
+
+Everybody must be up on watch duty before dawn. This is the regulation
+hour for counter-attacks.... As a rule it is the quietest time of the
+day. About seven the cooks bring coffee and letters. After swallowing
+the one and devouring the others, there remains but little to do; we
+doze about, play cards, perhaps, in case we find a sufficiently dry
+spot. Or we may be sent off on a cleaning expedition, scraping the mud
+away from the floor of the branch trench.
+
+About noon the cooks appear again--
+
+"Lunch-time!"
+
+There are two of them--_Piaf_ and the "Fireman" in shirt-sleeves--one
+carrying the dish full of meat, the other carrying the two big vessels
+containing respectively soup and coffee.
+
+They fill our plates and _gamelles_. Our hands are caked with earth.
+The "Fireman" pours out for each man a little of the mess alcohol--a
+nasty mixture containing tincture of iodine; we swallow it like whey.
+Frequently there is wine to drink. We drag out the meal to kill time.
+
+From half-past three onwards we are very impatient. We shall not be
+relieved before nightfall. By reason of the narrowness of branches and
+trenches it becomes most difficult to make room for the new arrivals.
+They can pass along only when we squeeze ourselves into a corner, like
+herrings in a barrel. To-night the company is not going down into the
+grotto; it must occupy another emplacement, also in the front line.
+
+Appearance of a German engine which we immediately nickname the
+"torpedo"--a formidable explosion preceded by no hissing sound
+whatsoever; a blinding flash, prolonged vibrations, projectiles
+flung in every direction. At first we are somewhat stupefied. As I
+am carrying an order from the lieutenant to the adjutant, a torpedo
+explodes on the parapet, lifts a couple of men off their feet and
+covers me with earth. No one is hurt. This new invention seems to make
+more noise than it does injury--on condition, of course, that the
+projectile does not come down direct on the trench itself.
+
+
+_Sunday, 6th December._
+
+This morning the sun is shining! How pleasant not to have one's head
+bowed and one's back bent before the storm! Several days of incessant
+rain have transformed the trenches into streams of mud. We sink over
+our ankles in a slimy, yellowish cream. Third night in the first line.
+
+
+_Monday, 7th December._
+
+We are relieved at five in the afternoon. We run through the branches
+in all the greater hurry because we are going to our quarters. Every
+dozen steps we slip or stumble.
+
+I managed to reach the Achains' before the rest to order dinner. On the
+threshold I have to answer the invariable question: "No one missing?" I
+reply gaily--
+
+"Of course not, but we are all very dirty and tired, and as hungry as
+wolves."
+
+After removing our trappings and leaning our rifles in a corner, whilst
+awaiting the arrival of our friends, we relate the paltry happenings of
+the last four days: the dark nights and heavy rainfall, the skirmishes,
+the bombardment, etc.
+
+"And what of you here, has much damage been caused?"
+
+The fact is that our village is being shelled almost daily, but the
+inhabitants scarcely pay attention to it. They have acquired somewhat
+of our mentality as soldiers, just as we have adopted something of
+their peasant nature. They know that in war one must be astonished at
+nothing.
+
+No, this time no great damage has been done.
+
+"A 150 shell exploded in Madame B.'s garden, over there on the right,
+and _père_ Untel just missed being killed in his loft by a spent ball."
+
+We remark gravely--
+
+"All the same, things look bad."
+
+We shake our heads just as old fogies do when the crops are likely to
+prove a failure.
+
+One old dame asks anxiously--
+
+"At all events, you'll not let them come back here?"
+
+At this moment our comrades burst in, Jacquard at the head, haversack
+on back, pipe in mouth, muddy and all muffled up. His big face, with
+its shaggy beard, beams with goodwill. He brandishes his big rifle in
+his small arms and thunders forth--
+
+"Let them come back! No indeed, my good woman; they'd have to pass over
+our bodies first!"
+
+We approve of what he says, and succeed in calming him down.
+
+The mistress, an optimist, declares in her country accent--
+
+"Shall I tell you what I think?"
+
+"Certainly."
+
+"Well, then, some fine day they will clear off without any one
+suspecting it."
+
+"_Mon Dieu_, for my part, I shouldn't object if----"
+
+Our existence is now as well regulated as that of any Government
+official: four days in the trenches, four days at Bucy, four days in
+the trenches, and so on.
+
+How glad we are to get back to the house and our old habits!
+
+Yes, we keep to these habits, though they are far different from those
+we followed in the bygone days of peace. It may be that we do so
+because we know them to be so fragile and uncertain, like ourselves,
+and at the mercy of the least of the hazards of war.
+
+After dinner, then, one game of cards, two, three. Some other game as
+an occasional novelty, though we always return to the noble game of
+manilla.
+
+Milliard goes from house to house with the letters for each squadron.
+Here he comes. A sound of footsteps in the yard. We raise our heads;
+is it he? It is. He knocks on the window-pane. We all spring to the
+door. The postman is welcomed as eagerly as though he were the bearer
+of victory and peace. He draws up to the lamp, reads the envelopes, and
+sits down. If there are but few letters he apologizes.
+
+Henriot and he chatter away by the fireside for a few minutes.
+
+"Come, boys, quick, give me your letters," says Milliard. "I have three
+more squadrons to serve."
+
+Our thanks follow him right into the yard.
+
+To bed early this evening.
+
+
+_Tuesday, 8th December._
+
+We do the best we can to clean our clothes. A knife has to be used for
+scraping coats and puttees, to which great scales of mud are sticking.
+Disputes burst out. Who is the first for the hand-basin?
+
+Some such remark as the following is heard--
+
+"You're not going to keep it all to yourself, as you did last time, I
+suppose?"
+
+The charge of selfishness is the one most frequently hurled at another
+man's head.
+
+"You make use of it yourself first," says one man, "and then you think
+of others."
+
+"Well, and what of yourself? Yesterday you refused me a bar of
+chocolate, because of the trouble it would have given you to unfasten
+your haversack."
+
+"And you, the other day when preparing mess, didn't you go away and
+leave me to carry a huge pail all alone? Did you, or did you not?"
+
+Such is the conversation of heroes!
+
+The whole of the first day in quarters is spent in cleaning. At night
+all six of us appear shaven and brushed, combed and washed, and the
+_far niente_ begins. A feeling of boredom comes over us. There is
+nothing to remind us that we are at war, none of war's accoutrements,
+at all events. Reymond has adopted a colourist's costume to rest in: a
+black and yellow streaked cap, a short green woollen jacket, blue cloth
+trousers, grey gaiters, a violet girdle from which hangs a broad knife
+in its sheath, a red and white-specked tobacco-pouch, and a long wick
+of orange-coloured tinder. The effect seems to him harmonious, and the
+lieutenant who happened to pass along and dropped in a few minutes ago
+appeared delighted and somewhat surprised.
+
+The rest content themselves with a more sober get-up, though just as
+little military in style: blue cloth or chestnut velvet trousers,
+slippers, and frequently a woollen cap.
+
+Nothing happens of a nature to enliven our existence. Drill in the
+morning, but this is something it is impossible to "cut."
+
+Between meals I write letters. Maxence, seated near the fire, with his
+legs crossed and his hand under his chin, smokes cigarettes. He muses,
+and at the same time keeps an eye on a rice pudding on the point of
+boiling over. This native of Franche-Comté feasts on the most insipid
+things, and obstinately refuses to drink wine or to eat cheese. Fond of
+hunting, he chatters away to Jules, who comes from the same province.
+Landed proprietor and poacher discuss the different methods of tracking
+a hare, and talk seriously about other matters connected with hunting.
+In a corner Varlet reads everything he can lay his hands on, even old
+illustrated journals. Sometimes he starts off on an expedition and
+brings back a leg of mutton. Jacquard, a jack-of-all-trades, is always
+doing something, either cooking or repairing. Verrier, our treasurer,
+slowly and minutely brings the accounts up to date, with the gravity
+and seriousness he bestows on everything he undertakes. Simply watching
+him roll a cigarette enables one to see that he never does anything
+lightly.
+
+About noon the _Petit Parisien_ reaches Bucy. The reading of the
+communiqué and the dispatches gives us to understand how impossible
+it is to foresee the end of the war. Six months ... a year.... Such
+are the hypotheses we once laughed at, though now they appear logical
+enough. At bottom, we believe there will happen something unexpected
+and formidable which will bring victory and peace....
+
+Then we begin to discuss matters. Since all six of us are bound by the
+ties of true friendship, there is nothing upon which we are of one
+mind: Varlet, a working electrician, who has often found it difficult
+to make ends meet, considers that everything is not for the best in
+the best of all societies. Maxence, with a stake in the land, regards
+Varlet as a dangerous customer. Jacquard, who is in the hosiery
+business, is a well-balanced individual, very optimistic, who reads
+between the lines of every dispatch the coming entry of the Russians
+into Berlin, and the complete exhaustion of Germany. Verrier is a
+moderate and restrained sort of fellow. He says: "I am just going to
+sleep a little," or "eat a little," or "wash myself a little." Always
+"a little." We call him: "not too much," or sometimes _Verrierus
+tristis_, the silent. He forms an interesting contrast to the exuberant
+Reymond.
+
+Mother Achain and her little daughter, their heads enveloped in black
+kerchiefs and their hands clasped on their knees, smile quietly as they
+watch us bawl and gesticulate. Father Achain, in the darkest recess of
+the room, between fireplace and bed, is everlastingly drawing away at
+a pipe that has gone out. From time to time he walks to the door and
+stands there for a while. On returning, he says--
+
+"There's some heavy firing going on above the Gué-Brûlé."
+
+
+_Saturday, 12th December._
+
+Bad news from Russia....
+
+At six in the evening we return to the trenches. Whilst marching
+along, our company crosses some light infantry.
+
+"Hullo!" they say, "here come the foot-soldiers."
+
+And what scorn they would convey by the word "foot-soldiers!"
+
+Well, and what are they themselves, after all?
+
+
+_Sunday, 13th December._
+
+The whole day is spent in the grotto. It rains so heavily that fatigue
+duty is suppressed. We are all either sitting or sprawling on the
+ground, engaged in reading, writing, or eating by the light of a few
+candles. A practical joke, repeated again and again, and of which
+we never tire, consists in taking aim at some one intently reading
+a letter or a book, and hurling at his candle a shoe, a loaf, or a
+_gamelle_. Sometimes a nose is hit instead of the candle. Thereupon
+huge guffaws ensue. Varlet, who considers that I am in a sad mood this
+evening, cannot resist the temptation of taking me by the feet and
+dragging me on my back three times round the room. I laugh heartily.
+Then we both crawl about on all-fours, look in the chopped straw for my
+pipe, tobacco-pouch, knife, and the small change that has dropped from
+my pocket.
+
+Another distraction: we have to carry from the grotto to the first-line
+trenches great rolls of barbed wire, as wide as a barrel and several
+yards in length. The things are most difficult to handle. On reaching
+the outposts, we hoist them over the parapet.
+
+Henriot and Milliard, having fastened up the letters and parcels in
+bags, place these bags on to a barrow and mount to the trenches. The
+ascent is steep, and the barrow sticks in the mud. From afar we see our
+two friends climbing the hill. Some one shouts out--
+
+"Letters!"
+
+Thereupon there is a rush in the direction of the postman. A dozen men
+are now wheeling the barrow along. Then come the questions--
+
+"Is there a letter for me? Tell me if my parcel has arrived?"
+
+If the answer is in the affirmative--
+
+"Quick, give it to me; hurry up!"
+
+Then the distribution takes place very speedily, for Milliard never
+gets in a temper. We enter the grotto, and at the foot of one of the
+great pillars supporting the vault Milliard attends to his business.
+His silhouette and those of the men around show up black against
+the background of light formed by the opening of the grotto. A
+dismal-looking tree, standing on a rising ground, exhibits its leafless
+branches.
+
+When the weather is fine the distribution takes place outside skirting
+the wood, whose leaves we have seen first turn yellow and then fall to
+the ground....
+
+Milliard says--
+
+"Don't crowd around; you shall all be served in turn!"
+
+We group around him.
+
+"Now for the parcels!" Milliard calls out the names.
+
+"Present! Here!"
+
+The parcel flies above our heads in the direction of the answer.
+
+
+_Monday, 14th December._
+
+We are now in the first line, sometimes keeping a watch over the field
+of beetroots, sometimes, pick or shovel in hand, digging and clearing
+away.
+
+The entire plain is furrowed with a vast network of fortifications. The
+Germans construct listening posts eighty yards distant from our own. In
+a few more weeks the wires will be touching one another.
+
+From our front lines project antennæ or feelers, portions of trench
+driven as near as possible to the enemy, and connected with the main
+trench by a deep zigzag branch.
+
+For sheltering purposes we build small huts somewhat resembling those
+in which the bodies were deposited in the catacombs. Here the men keep
+themselves dry, at all events. A couple of tent canvasses unfolded in
+front of the opening are a protection from the cold, and enable one to
+light a candle without making oneself a target for the enemy.
+
+During the night, over a sector of one kilometre, there are fired on an
+average a thousand rifle shots which neither kill nor wound a single
+man. The object of this fusillade is simply to prevent the patrols
+from moving to and fro between the lines.
+
+
+_Tuesday, 15th December._
+
+For some days past I have been feeling shaky. Really I shall have to go
+to the hospital. The day sergeant passes through the trenches and calls
+out--
+
+"Any one ill to-day?"
+
+"Yes, I am."
+
+He writes down my name.
+
+"Is that all? Come, now, there must be some one else. Is any one tired
+belonging to the 24th?"
+
+He goes from squadron to squadron picking up those who are sick.
+
+Five _poilus_ give themselves up. As a matter of fact, it is not very
+pleasant to report yourself ill in the first line. You have first to
+make your way through the branches, then go down to Bucy along a road
+that is being bombarded, and finally return to where you started unless
+the major gives his verdict that you are to be "exempt from trench
+service."
+
+At the top of the village, alongside a small hill, a temporary hospital
+has been fitted up in a rather fine-looking house, abandoned by its
+owners at the time of the offensive of von Kluck. The lawns are
+ornamented with statues.
+
+In the centre of the yard patients await the hour of the doctor's
+visit. Few serious cases; chiefly the wan expressions and dejected
+looks of tired men.
+
+Here comes the major. He has just finished breakfast with the
+colonel, who is staying at the château opposite. He is from the
+Vosges--young-looking and slim, average height, of ruddy complexion,
+with a rough voice and dark, piercing eyes. As each man awaits his turn
+he questions the attendants--
+
+"Is the major in good humour this morning?"
+
+The examination begins. The patients enter in batches of ten. They
+disrobe in a corner, jostling and being jostled by their neighbours.
+They run a great risk of never seeing their clothes again, for these
+latter are deposited along the wall, and speedily become trampled about
+the floor.
+
+The major sits in front of a table, near the window. He spends half a
+minute with each man.
+
+Sometimes a man has a variety of ailments. He suffers all over: head
+and loins, liver and heart and feet.
+
+"Clear out at once!" exclaims the major.
+
+Those who come from rural districts all complain of the stomach, an
+organ which is just as likely to represent to their minds the bronchi
+as the intestines. The doctor accordingly asks--
+
+"Which stomach? The one that eats or the one that breathes?"
+
+Every one receives his deserts. The genuine cases are "exempt from
+trench service"; those who are war-worn and tired out are exempted from
+some particular duty. As for the rest, the major writes opposite their
+names on the sergeant's card the words, _Visite motivée_, a cabalistic
+formula implying that there was no reason whatsoever why they should
+have come up for examination.
+
+Things are carried on just the same as in barracks; the same tricks are
+employed. The other day Jules unhesitatingly placed on the stove the
+thermometer which the attendant had put in his armpit. The mercury rose
+to 430 Centigrade! The doctor nearly had a fit. Jules is still outside
+the hospital walls.
+
+At the exit those officially recognized as ill appear with radiant
+faces; those who have met with a snubbing and are declared to be well
+have drawn features and generally the air of a man at death's door.
+
+Opposite my name the major has written, "To be kept in hospital." I
+look as though I had won the first prize in a lottery, and already feel
+considerably better.
+
+The attendants carry me off to their room, a regular paradise. A
+105 shell has fallen right on the staircase, reducing everything to
+matchwood on its way, but the rest of the place is intact: beds, a
+large fire, a good table, lamps. We play at cards, smoke, chat, do
+anything to kill time. Outside, for a change, the rain falls harder
+than ever.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+BOMBARDMENTS
+
+
+_Thursday, 17th December._
+
+I leave the hospital and make my way to the Achains' to wait for my
+five mates, who at nightfall will come down from the trenches with the
+rest of the company. I lay the cover: heavy plates with pieces broken
+off, tin forks and spoons, thick glasses. No knives; each man must
+supply his own.
+
+Here they come at last.... What a state they are in! Mud from head to
+foot. Quick with their letters, slippers, and something to eat. We stay
+up late, chatting by the fireside.
+
+
+_Friday, 18th December._
+
+This evening the section is on guard at the Montagne farm, but Reymond,
+momentarily requisitioned for some design work at the commander's
+bureau, remains at Bucy; I also stay behind, having just left the
+hospital.
+
+This Montagne farm is anything but a pleasant spot. Yesterday another
+light infantryman was carried away with his head shattered by a 150-gun
+shell.
+
+Our friends start at four. We should be glad to see them back again
+already.
+
+"Now, be careful. No nonsense, remember!"
+
+A _tête-à-tête_ dinner, a very quiet affair, after which we lie down on
+our beds.
+
+"How comfortable!"
+
+Yes, indeed, this is the real thing. We might almost imagine ourselves
+back in civil life!
+
+The low-roofed room, which receives air and light only by way of the
+door, was evidently white-washed long ago. There are spiders' webs in
+every corner. The floor consists of beaten earth. The walls are bare
+except for two chromos--Nicholas II and Félix Faure--just visible
+beneath fly-stained glasses. The beds take up almost the entire space
+available. We sleep right through the night and late into the next
+morning. The hours spent in profound slumber represent so much gained
+from the war.
+
+
+_Saturday, 19th December._
+
+Yesterday we were right in feeling anxious about our friends. From
+daybreak onwards the farm has been bombarded over our heads. The shells
+roar with varying intensity as they pass, according to their size. The
+little ten-year-old girl, skipping about the yard in her _sabots_, hums
+out--
+
+"There! That's a 210 at least, and this one a 105. Oh, that little
+one's but a 77!"
+
+A loud crash, however, sends her flying into the cellar. When she comes
+up again she tremblingly clutches her mother's skirt. Madame Achain
+gives her a good shaking.
+
+"What's the matter with you, little stupid?"
+
+"Oh, I'm frightened of the shells!"
+
+"A fine tale, indeed! Look at these _messieurs_, are they frightened?"
+
+These _messieurs_, quietly seated, affect an impassive attitude, to
+reassure the child.
+
+About three o'clock a lull. We walk over to visit the hospital
+attendants. A hearty welcome, cups of tea, every one very polite.
+A couple of armchairs are provided for us by the fireplace. We are
+treated like lords of a manor.
+
+The Germans are now firing upon Vénizel, some distance farther away.
+The petrol works seem to be in flames. Our hosts invite us to view the
+spectacle from the second floor. It is hazy, however, and nothing can
+be distinguished except a dense cloud of yellowish smoke on the other
+bank of the Aisne.
+
+"Really, you have no luck at all!" exclaim the attendants; "generally
+we can make out Vénizel as distinctly as though we were in the town
+itself."
+
+Soissons also is being violently bombarded.
+
+At night our friends return from the Montagne farm. Varlet affirms--
+
+"We were awfully sorry for you. You missed the _marmites_ falling all
+about your ears."
+
+A couple of projectiles, it seems, had fallen right on to the
+cattle-shed; a shrapnel had crashed through the dormer-window of the
+stable where the squadron lay stretched on the ground, and riddled the
+door with bullets. The section had to take refuge in the grotto-like
+sheep-fold in the midst of the sheep, now bleating louder than ever.
+
+
+_Sunday, 20th December._
+
+The hours pass very slowly. This morning, for a couple of hours, we
+had to return to the trenches, to clear away the earth and make them
+deeper, and so counteract the ravages of the rain.
+
+Back in Bucy, each of us settles down in a corner with a book or
+newspaper. During the past few days we have resumed a liking for
+printed characters. People may send us books, no matter on what
+subject, if only they will help to pass the time. Whatever takes the
+poor soldier out of a purely animal life to some extent is welcome.
+
+Another shower of projectiles on Bucy. The windows shake and the little
+girl begins to cry. Madame Achain sighs.
+
+"Do the savages want to demolish our house?"
+
+Suddenly there is a lull. Why does a bombardment begin? Why does it
+stop? A mystery: the designs of gunners are inscrutable.
+
+Girard, a hospital attendant, pays us a return visit. We thank him for
+his kind intentions.
+
+"Oh, it's nothing at all," he says.
+
+Is Bucy to become a society rendez-vous? Girard, who just misses
+falling as he seats himself on a tottering chair, remarks cheerfully--
+
+"What nice quarters you have here!"
+
+Madame Achain is flattered; so are we.
+
+The village streets are strewn with sulphur from to-day's shells.
+A hayrick has been set on fire and a horse killed close to Madame
+Maillard's.
+
+Varlet takes me to see this Madame Maillard. Arm in arm we pass along
+the main street. Right and left ruined and disembowelled houses
+alternate with buildings almost or wholly intact.
+
+Poor village! Last September it was a pretty little market-town, like
+many another on the banks of the Aisne, where the houses have a style
+distinctively their own. The white stone doorways and flights of steps,
+the violet slate roofs of Champagne and the Ile-de-France, match the
+staircase gables of neighbouring Flanders. Now the bright, cheerful
+houses are dilapidated and shattered; the tax-collector's house is
+empty, so is the baker's. Nor has the church been spared; the recent
+cannonade has added to the former ruin and desolation.
+
+The civilians, too, are away. We talk to those who have stayed, and
+daily make progress in the dialect of the place. We know that _ce
+ch'tiot ila_ means "this little boy," as we have already discovered
+that parents and grandparents call themselves _tayons_ and _ratayons_.
+Brave civilians! No one ever mentions them. Now, this isn't right. Not
+only have they seen the young ones leave for the front, not only do
+they live through the horrors of war, but many of them have relations
+in neighbouring villages occupied by the enemy. Scarcely any are left
+except women and old men. The latter have passed through 1870; they
+give their reasons for their present confidence in the result of the
+war and tell of the miseries of former days.
+
+On the town hall square are drawn up the carriages of the regimental
+train. Opposite are two ruined hovels and a farm, the roof of which has
+fallen in, a yard strewn with debris, now the playground of dogs and
+cats, ducks and hens. Between two calcined pieces of wall stands Madame
+Maillard's little house. We knock at the door.
+
+"Come in!"
+
+We now find ourselves in one of the gayest corners of Bucy; a very
+select place, moreover, to which one can only gain admittance by
+introduction. Here Milliard the postman is the oracle, along with
+Henriot, his acolyte. Here lodges the _train de combat_, i.e. the
+conductors of the regimental carriages. These infantry, who ride on
+horseback all the same, form a separate corporation. Even their dress
+is different from that of other soldiers: leather jackets and spurs.
+Their names are Charlot, Petit-Louis, and Grand-Victor. Their functions
+take them to Soissons and bring them daily into contact with the
+rearguard service.
+
+Varlet, as a friend, has requested permission to introduce me. His
+request has been backed by Milliard and Henriot.
+
+"Bring him along, then," they said.
+
+At any hour of the day one can always find at Madame Maillard's white
+wine, cards and tobacco. In a corner Henriot is sorting the letters.
+Milliard, after noting the parcels in a book, encloses them in a big
+bag.
+
+"Are the letters for Achains' ready?" asks Varlet.
+
+"Yes, here's the packet. We will bring you the parcels shortly."
+
+The first thing we do on our return is to shout out--
+
+"We have each had a pint of white wine at the _train de combat_."
+
+"White wine, impossible! You lucky fellows!"
+
+I have no idea why white wine is so scarce. In war there are hosts of
+things one cannot understand at all.
+
+
+_Monday, 21st December._
+
+During the night a regiment of territorials have arrived who have not
+yet seen fire. They make a fine _début_, for Bucy is subjected to a
+heavier bombardment than ever; explosions for three hours without a
+break. A rain of iron splinters and balls falls upon the roof of our
+lodging. The tiles come toppling down into the yard. Varlet, who has
+gone for some of the famous white wine to the _train de combat_, rushes
+into the room, looking horribly scared as he clasps three bottles
+to his breast. At the corner of the street he had encountered two
+shrapnels.
+
+"The first," he said, "went on its way, but I thought the second had
+got me. It knocked a piece off the doorpost beneath which I had rushed
+for shelter."
+
+"Oh, _you_ wouldn't have been any great loss, but the bottles----"
+
+The house shakes with the shock of the explosions, which come nearer
+and nearer. _Sabots_ are clattering in the yard. The Achains and the
+women from neighbouring houses hurry to take refuge in the cellar.
+We should be wise to follow their example. That, however, would mean
+leaving the lunch, which is simmering on the fire! Besides, there's
+something attractive in the idea of brazening the thing out.
+
+The explosions continue. By way of the chimney, which serves as an
+acoustic tube, we hear the dull, distant detonation as the shell leaves
+the gun, then the hissing sound, which increases in volume, and finally
+the violent explosion a few yards away.
+
+A projectile crashes through the roof of the house opposite.
+
+"Suppose we go and see how they are getting along in the cellar?"
+anxiously suggests Jules.
+
+In a corner crouch the Achains and five or six other women. Sighs and
+lamentations; invocations to Jesus and Mary!
+
+"Is the house demolished?" asks Madame Achain.
+
+"No, not yet."
+
+At this very moment a shell bursts in the yard.
+
+Ten minutes afterwards, Maxence, who prefers to be more at his ease,
+mutters--
+
+"It's not very pleasant here. I'm going up."
+
+We follow him. The six of us return to the common room above. Well,
+suppose we lunch. We take our places at the table, whilst Jacquard
+carries a pan full of haricot beans to the refugees in the cellar.
+
+Finally the bombardment ceases. Once more the streets are strewn with
+sulphur. By a miracle nothing is set on fire. A light infantryman and
+eight horses are killed. Some more rubbish is scattered about the
+village, where, by the way, life is soon going on as usual.
+
+At five the company returns to the front line. The engineers have
+constructed shelters for the squadron, six feet below the surface,
+stoutly propped up by large pieces of timber. One of these tiny
+habitations is assigned to us, a tolerably warm and perfectly secure
+sort of room, where one can come for a nap between two watches, and,
+a more important matter, speak aloud, smoke, and light candles. The
+shelters of the previous days, being unsupported, have all been washed
+away by the rain.
+
+Then comes a violent fusillade, beginning far away to the left, with
+a sound as of rending cloth; it spreads over the whole line. The
+lieutenant comes out of his dug-out; he orders Jacquard and myself to
+start the beacon burning.
+
+We both try to light the great acetylene lantern, opening the tap when
+it should be closed, and closing it when it should be open. At last,
+to our great surprise, the flame bursts forth. A corporal leaps on the
+little fuse-projecting rifle and fires it. The fuses rise into the air
+and fall to the ground, shedding a strong white light over a radius of
+three hundred yards.
+
+Sergeant Chaboy gives the command to fire. So we load and fire, until
+our rifles are burning hot. Each man's hundred and fifty cartridges are
+all gone in less than an hour. Firing slackens on both sides. A sudden
+return to a state of dead calm.
+
+Munitions are distributed around. Only one man wounded in the 24th: a
+corporal, who was with a patrol that went out just before the alarm.
+He was surprised by the fusillade when on the point of rejoining his
+men, who had already returned to the trench. Caught between two fires,
+he crouched behind a small elevation, and instinctively protected his
+head with his right arm. This arm received six bullets, French and
+German alike. The sergeant in command of the patrol goes out into the
+hail of iron to bring back the wounded man, and returns intact, though
+his clothes are torn to shreds and his hands are all blood-stained. The
+corporal's arm is reduced to pulp, and his thigh has also received a
+ball. The hæmorrhage is stopped as well as circumstances permit.
+
+The lieutenant comes round and says--
+
+"Keep your eyes open, the attack will certainly recommence."
+
+Has there really been an attack?
+
+"They do that sort of thing to prevent our falling asleep," growls one
+man.
+
+The rain has stopped. Each man leans against the trench wall and
+groups form. We converse in low tones, hiding the light of the pipes in
+the hollow of the hand, and await events.
+
+At midnight a fresh alarm. The fusillade upon Crouy begins again, and
+in a few seconds is raging along the entire line. The cannon also are
+firing. The field of beetroots is lit up by fuses. We maintain an
+uninterrupted fire under the quiet command of Sergeant Chaboy. A few
+balls ricochet into the trenches and eight men are wounded.
+
+After forty-five minutes of furious firing everything again becomes
+calm. A few more salvos and a final crackling of the _mitrailleuses_,
+and it is over. Profound silence throughout the rest of the night. We
+cannot understand it.
+
+The company has spent thirty thousand cartridges, perhaps without
+killing a single German.
+
+
+_Tuesday, 22nd December._
+
+Still in the first line, though in a sector farther away from the enemy.
+
+Reymond invites a few friends to inaugurate an exhibition of drawings
+he has just finished. Into the recesses of the trench walls enormous
+beetroots are fitted. On the slices of these hard white roots (they
+resemble in no way the beetroot of the salad-bowl), cut clean through
+with a chop from a spade, Reymond has sketched, with a violet crayon,
+some of the heads of the section.
+
+Here, with its prominent skull and nose, we have the pessimist
+Mauventre, who at the faintest distant roar of the cannon sighs--
+
+"Here come the _marmites_! They'll be the death of us all yet, see if
+they're not!"
+
+Reymond has well caught the anxious, troubled features of this intrepid
+soldier.
+
+On another slice of beetroot is the droll silhouette of Corporal Davor,
+his startled face almost hidden between his shoulders and his arms
+akimbo. Davor goes about, at night-time, to stir up those on sentry
+duty.
+
+"Keep a watch on the right. Keep a watch on the left."
+
+One source of diversion for us is to assume, whenever he passes, the
+indifferent air of one who ridicules the German attacks.
+
+We all figure in the collection. Varlet is a striking type, with his
+badger profile immoderately lengthened out by a pipe in the form of a
+shell or conch, which appears to be soldered on to his nose.
+
+The beetroot haunts our very dreams. Since we are fated to be tormented
+with the beetroot for all eternity, we may as well extract what fun we
+can from it.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+CHRISTMAS
+
+
+_Wednesday, 23rd December._
+
+The third day in the front line. The section is on guard at the
+telephone. There is a good _gourbi_ or hut provided for each
+half-section. Two hours' sentry duty on the Vregny road, along which a
+spent ball comes whistling from time to time.
+
+A pleasant diversion; Captain P---- of the Flying Corps arrives from
+Paris in a motor-car, and sends for Reymond and myself.
+
+We go down to the car, which has come to a halt below the grotto. Muddy
+and slimy, enveloped in multi-coloured wrappings, rifle and cartridges
+hanging on to our persons, pipes in mouth and bearded faces, dirty and
+grimy, we all the same greet the captain with a very martial military
+salute.
+
+He has brought us an enormous hamper of provisions. What luck! We are
+now assured of keeping up Christmas-eve. He also brings us letters, and
+offers to take back any messages from ourselves. In a dreamy maze of
+wonder we gaze upon this astonishing individual, who will be in Paris
+to-night, and whose surroundings are something else than fields of
+beetroots.
+
+Whilst engaged in conversation, a 150 shell falls a few yards from the
+car. It fails to explode.
+
+Captain P---- briefly gives us the news. The war will last longer than
+people think; perhaps another five or six months. We ourselves, it
+appears, are in a very quiet sector, neither attacked nor attacking,
+just mounting guard.
+
+
+_Thursday, 24th December._
+
+A bright sun, fine and cold weather. The company go down to the grotto,
+where they are to sleep to-night. Consequently we shall celebrate our
+Christmas-eve "beneath these vaults of stone" as the song goes in _Don
+Carlos_.
+
+Here comes the postman. What a heap of parcels! We spend the afternoon
+in unpacking them; the war is forgotten; our main preoccupation is
+to prepare a dinner to which the squadron will all contribute. Jules
+has gone down to Bucy; for once he has received the lieutenant's
+permission. His errand is to bring back some wine.
+
+Crouching in a corner, with a bayonet-candlestick by my side, I write
+away. The man next to me becomes irritated by my silence and evident
+preoccupation.
+
+"What are you writing?" he asks.
+
+"A letter to my servant."
+
+"Well! That's the very last thing I should have expected you to do."
+
+"You fool! I'm giving her instructions to send out my New Year's gifts,
+telling her to buy boxes of sweets and chocolates, and giving her the
+addresses to which they are to be sent, with my card."
+
+No sooner have I spoken than a whole string of epithets--snob,
+_poseur_, dandy--comes down on my devoted head. I reply in very
+dignified fashion--
+
+"Oh, indeed! Then you cannot even tolerate ordinary politeness in a
+man?"
+
+"Politeness! Just look at yourself in a mirror. You would be better
+employed in giving yourself a scrub down."
+
+At eight o'clock the corner of the grotto containing the first squadron
+is illuminated with a goodly number of candles.
+
+In the first place, for a successful Christmas-eve celebration we must
+have some sourcrout--Alsatian, of course. There are five large tins of
+it, along with a knuckle of ham. Then follow all kinds of sausages,
+one of which has come from Milan. We speedily dispatch it, at the same
+time exhorting our "Latin sister" to join in with us. Carried away by
+an irresistible impulse, the squadron takes by assault several _pâtés
+de foie gras_. The dessert is most varied: pears, oranges, preserves
+in jars, in tubes and in pails, a pudding which flames up when you
+apply a match to it, and, last of all, a drink which the cook has most
+carefully prepared: coffee with the real odour of coffee.
+
+It is past ten o'clock. The bottles are empty. Every one is very gay
+and lively; no one intoxicated.
+
+So pleasant an evening cannot end without music.
+
+The concert begins with our old marching songs, those we used to sing
+at drill, or when tramping the dusty roads, to quicken our speed, songs
+which we run the risk of forgetting in this accursed war where we
+scarcely stir a foot. The words are not invariably to be recommended,
+but the familiar swing and rhythm which used to make us forget the
+weight of our haversacks, this evening make us forget our burdens of
+worry and _ennui_. Most conscientiously do we brawl out the tunes. The
+great advantage of the grotto lies in the fact that one can shout as
+loud as one pleases.
+
+The lieutenant lifts up the tent canvas with which we have barricaded
+our den.
+
+"Well! This is something like! You are doing it! May I come in?"
+
+"Of course, _mon lieutenant_!"
+
+We give him a seat on an empty bag, and the concert recommences.
+
+Singers, with some pretence to a voice, try hard to carry off their
+sentimental or grandiloquent ditties, but it is the motley repertoire
+of absurdity and ridicule that meets with the success of the evening:
+the songs of Montmartre, artistes' refrains, fertile in spicy nonsense.
+We mark time by tapping our empty plates with the back of the hand.
+The noisy merriment is intensified when we come to the chorus.
+
+With frenzied enthusiasm the squadron shouts out the chorus of Hervé's
+_Turcs_--
+
+ _Nous, nous sommes les soldats
+ Et nous marchons au pas,
+ Plus souvent au trépas...._
+
+And now Charensac comes forward.
+
+"Make way for the Ambassador of Auvergne," barks out Varlet.
+
+"Quite right, I am from Auvergne, and I'm going to dance the _bourrée_."
+
+He dances it, all alone. Some of the audience, making a humming sound
+with their hands, the rest whistling or else beating time with cans and
+_gamelles_, form an improvised orchestra, half Spanish, half negro. The
+dancer's big round face, flanked with little tufts of black whiskers,
+lights up. He is both the Auvergnat and his betrothed--advancing,
+receding, seeming to escape from himself. When you think he is utterly
+exhausted, he still finds it possible to shout out in joyous accents--
+
+"Now, ladies and gentlemen, a collection for 'l'artisse.'"
+
+And he mimics in succession a lion-tamer and a lady walking the tight
+rope. The sous rain down into his _képi_.
+
+Thereupon Charensac strikes a lyrical vein. He sings in the _patois_
+of Auvergne, and, being in an expansive mood, relates the whole of his
+life, from his birth down to the present day, forgetting nothing, not
+even his wedding festivities, in the course of which he assures us that
+he thrashed his mother-in-law.
+
+Charensac's eloquence is made up of hiccoughs and invocations, songs
+and laughter, but we understand all the same. We gather that this giant
+of an Auvergnat is a compound of landowner, estate manager, Government
+official, and representative of his syndicate at the _Bourse du
+Travail_. I find I have had to come to the front to learn that a keen
+sense of the rights of property is not incompatible with the spirit of
+revolutionary claims.
+
+Charensac stops for a moment, exhausted. Thereupon Reymond, who has had
+his eyes fixed on him for some time, leans on his elbow, and from the
+corner in which he has been lying, remarks--
+
+"You don't know whom you make me think of, Charensac, always shouting
+and stuffing like a huge ogre? I'll tell you; you remind me of old Ubu."
+
+"Who's old Ubu?" asks the other.
+
+"Old Ubu----" begins Reymond.
+
+Startled, I burst out--
+
+"You're not going to tell the first squadron who old Ubu was?"
+
+"Don't you interrupt."
+
+And Reymond explains. In profound silence we listen as he relates how
+Ubu was the first man who recommended that eight bullets should be put
+into a rifle, because with eight bullets it is possible to kill eight
+of the enemy, and you have that number the less to account for. The
+thing that delights the first squadron is Ubu's prophetic description
+of the modern battle: "... We have the foot-soldiers at the foot of
+the hill ... the cavalry behind them to burst upon the jumbled mass of
+combatants, and the artillery round by the windmill here to fire upon
+them all." The men clap their hands in delight and exclaim knowingly:
+"Yes, that's it! The very thing!"
+
+Finally Reymond says that Ubu, like Charensac, was a sort of enormous
+giant, with a voice of thunder and an insatiable appetite.
+
+After this, Charensac is never called anything but old Ubu, and as
+the sly rascal sees here a new excuse for the satisfaction of his
+appetites, he accepts the surname with enthusiasm.
+
+Old Ubu will become popular in the 352nd Regiment, and rightly so. In
+warfare it is necessary to evoke the shade of Jarry as frequently as
+that of Homer.
+
+Midnight. A procession of magi moves along the galleries. Reymond, a
+muffler wrapped turban-wise round his head and majestically draped
+in the folds of a poncho, carries the myrrh in a _gamelle_. The tent
+pickets serve the purpose of sceptres. Some one walks backwards in
+front of the kings, with an electric lamp raised above his head. This
+represents the star.
+
+The star guides us back to our _crèche_, where the candles have just
+flickered out. Kings and shepherds lie _pêle-mêle_ on the ground, and
+the loud snoring soon proves them to be sound asleep.
+
+
+_Friday, 25th December._
+
+At half-past six the sergeants shout into the grotto--
+
+"Up, 24th, and fully equipped!"
+
+"What's this?... What's the matter?"
+
+"Get up at once; within a quarter of an hour we must be in the fighting
+line."
+
+Each man, half-awake, puts on his boots and his puttees and fastens on
+his haversack.
+
+Muster in front of the grotto: a frightful din. From Crouy to Vailly
+every single battery keeps up an uninterrupted fire on the German
+trenches. What an awakening we are giving them for their Christmas!
+
+In a few words the lieutenant explains the day's programme--
+
+"Attacks on the left as soon as the bombardment is over. In front of
+Bucy we are commanded not to move. The 24th must hold the support
+trenches and keep in readiness 'for any eventuality.'"
+
+The usual thing!
+
+This morning the fighting emplacements are not very dangerous. The
+company deploys along the path which skirts the ridge on a level with
+the grotto. This is the first line as it was at the beginning of
+November; to-day the first line is over five hundred yards forward.
+
+Men belonging to the 23rd relate how the Germans have been singing
+hymns all night long. They must have been celebrating their triumphs;
+our artillery will bring them all back to their senses. The shells
+hammer away at the frozen soil, tearing it up when they explode.
+Impossible to hear oneself speak in the midst of the uproar. The sky
+is pale blue, gradually assuming a darker tint. The sun is shining
+brightly, but it affords no warmth. Each man sends out from his mouth
+tiny clouds with every breath.
+
+On the road between the loop-holes there are still to be seen some of
+the branch-constructed shelters in which we lodged a couple of months
+ago. With the exception of two on sentry duty, we are going to finish
+here our interrupted Christmas dreams.
+
+In war-time, unless he is sent on guard or given fatigue duty, the
+foot-soldier makes his bed anywhere and anyhow. In case he has
+insufficient room he shrinks into as small space as possible, his knees
+touching his chin. The cartridge cases of the man behind him dig into
+his ribs, and those of the man in front crush his stomach, the hilt of
+the bayonet finds a place between two other ribs, whilst the sheath
+always seems twisted and bent.... Well, it can't be helped. You just
+settle down as well as you can, and you dream, whether awake or asleep.
+
+From time to time some one will growl out, "Its impossible to sleep
+with such a noise going on!" and off he falls at once into a deep
+slumber.
+
+A joyless day seems in store for us. Shall we be attacked? Or are we to
+attack?
+
+A brief distraction takes the form of a young mouse, which comes out of
+its hole close to our feet, and is by no means startled by the sight
+of six _poilus_ seated around on the floor. Soon it scampers away, but
+immediately reappears and fastens its impudent eyes upon us. The roar
+of the cannon does not seem to disturb its tiny ears. It is neutral. I
+quietly put out my hand, but evidently the gesture is too familiar, for
+the mouse re-enters its trench and appears no more.
+
+At two o'clock the 24th are ordered to equip and muster. It appears
+that we are to relieve the 23rd in the first line.
+
+News arrives: our attack in the direction of Crouy has succeeded only
+partially. The artillery duel is coming to an end. We appreciate the
+silence that follows.
+
+We are fixed up in the first line. I spend a couple of hours with
+Verrier at the listening post, anything but a pleasant spot. The
+Germans are fifty yards away. By risking an eye at the loop-hole we
+distinctly make out their wires and the mounds of earth behind which
+they are. At night we have to keep our ears alive to the faintest sound
+to prevent ourselves from being taken prisoners or massacred by a
+patrol party.
+
+An interlude. The Germans are imitating the cries of various animals:
+cock and dog, calf and pig.
+
+We ask for news of the Kaiser. They reply--
+
+"He's quite well, thanks. We'll see you again shortly in Paris."
+
+A single though expressive word is our retort.
+
+Again they shout to us from the enemy's trenches--
+
+"A merry Christmas! Send us some wine."
+
+Then they sing the _Marseillaise_!
+
+
+_Saturday, 26th December._
+
+This morning we found the water frozen in our cans.
+
+The cooks, when bringing in the soup, assure us that the Hindus have
+been sent for to make an attack on Crouy. They describe minutely how
+they are dressed.
+
+"There is a fellow in the _train de combat_," says "the Fireman," "who
+has come across them at Soissons."
+
+Thereupon Jacquard cannot contain himself for joy. Being of a most
+optimistic temperament, he sees the Sikhs and Gurkhas coming down
+Hill 132 and cutting our invaders' throats. He endeavours to give his
+foolish face an expression of ferocity, and explains how the Hindus
+attack.
+
+"The beggars glide about noiselessly in the dark, like serpents.
+Impossible to hear them coming. Before you are aware they are upon
+you, cutting your throat with the big knife they hold between their
+teeth...."
+
+"_Bigre!_ Lucky for us they're on our side."
+
+But where has Jacquard, who has never travelled beyond the
+neighbourhoods of the Rue de Sentier and Levallois-Perret, obtained
+such detailed information about the warlike habits of these distant
+peoples?
+
+Meanwhile there is a dead calm; they forget to relieve us. The section
+returns to Bucy after forty hours' outpost duty. We quarter in a
+half-ruined house which contains scarcely enough room to lie down in.
+We sleep in higgledy-piggledy fashion with our comrades, the feet of
+one man against the face of another, and vice versa.
+
+
+_Sunday, 27th December._
+
+No means of returning to the Achains', the company being fixed up
+at the other extremity of the village. I knock at the door of the
+Ronchards, the brother and sister who showed us hospitality one
+afternoon last month. They place at our disposal a large well-warmed
+room, where we can all six sleep on an enormous litter of straw.
+
+Mademoiselle Ronchard has not yet recovered from her disappointment at
+our not eating her rabbit stew. The stove begins to roar and we come
+back to life again.
+
+A detail: we find ourselves covered with fleas. An energetic hunt
+commences. It is not without results.
+
+We hear a voice in the street and rush out. The Montagne farm is a mass
+of flame, the result of a bombardment which has lasted several hours.
+The entire hill is illumined; even from this distance we can hear the
+roar of the fire. Beams fall to the ground and flames of fire rise into
+the air. Dark silhouettes are seen in the neighbourhood. Without a
+word we gaze long at the sinister spectacle. Some one simply remarks--
+
+"The pity of it all!"
+
+We return to the Ronchards.
+
+
+_Monday, 28th December._
+
+Thaw and rain, creating mud and all the old troubles over again. We
+remain indoors at the Ronchards'.
+
+How calm and quiet this evening! There are six of us, feet in slippers,
+sitting round the table. Some are reading, others writing by the soft
+light of a lamp. Are we the same persons who, only the day before
+yesterday, were wallowing in the trench between two walls of mud? Are
+we really at war, at the front, with the enemy less than a mile away?
+Our friends and relatives, whose letters betray constant anxiety on our
+behalf, invariably imagine us in the thick of the fight. If only they
+could know, this very moment, that we are in such comfortable quarters,
+that there is such an element of peace in our sad surroundings!
+
+The howling wind makes us appreciate by contrast the joy of being under
+cover. The distant firing sounds like the noise made by a cart as it
+jolts along over the pavings.
+
+
+_Tuesday, 29th December._
+
+An hour's drill this morning in the shell-ploughed fields, manual
+exercise and section school, just to remind us that we are soldiers.
+Hair review by the lieutenant in the afternoon. The entire company
+must pass through the barber's hands.
+
+Charensac bursts into our room, shouting out, "Good day. How are you,
+my young friends?" His voice upsets us completely, and we roughly
+inquire whether he has not yet learnt the value of silence after five
+months of warfare. Thereupon he explains in his gibberish--
+
+"Don't get angry. I know some one at Crouy who has received a supply of
+benedictine and all sorts of good things to eat. I at once thought of
+you, for I know my generous little mates will pay for me a drink...."
+
+He is absolved. A bottle of benedictine is worth considering at certain
+moments of one's life, and so Charensac starts for Crouy, supplied with
+funds, precise instructions, and promises.
+
+In ordinary times the road to Crouy is probably as good as any other
+road. But these are not ordinary times. Shells are continually falling,
+and a portion of the village of Crouy itself is in the hands of the
+enemy. A German machine-gunner, whom we know well, opens fire when any
+one passes a certain corner. Charensac, however, disdains the very idea
+of peril; he is very brave. The other day, when he was brawling away as
+usual, his weary neighbour interrupted him--
+
+"_Ah! là, là_, you wouldn't make such a noise if we were attacking."
+
+Charensac replied, not without an air of dignity, speaking
+instinctively of himself in the third person, as though he might have
+been Cæsar or Napoleon--
+
+"Don't trouble yourself about Charensac. Just keep by his side when
+there is hot work to be done, then no one will ever be in a position to
+say that you were afraid."
+
+And, as a matter of fact, Charensac continues to make fine sport of
+war, even in the midst of danger. Certainly I have never met his like
+before.
+
+Charensac returns in the course of the evening. We all run to meet him.
+He tosses off a glass of benedictine, accepts a flannel girdle, two
+pocket-handkerchiefs, a bar of chocolate, a camphor sachet for killing
+fleas, and then he retires to sleep, shrieking joyfully.
+
+
+_Wednesday, 30th December._
+
+From noon to four o'clock we clean out the branch trenches, which the
+rain has transformed into mud puddles.
+
+
+_Thursday, 31st December._
+
+Morning drill during a brief spell of sunshine.
+
+Belin comes to dinner.
+
+The year about to begin will be a year of peace and victory, of our
+return home.
+
+We do not wait for midnight before going to bed, though we first wish
+one another a happy 1915.
+
+
+_Friday, 1st January, 1915._
+
+Not everybody has followed our example of sobriety in letting in the
+new year. This morning some unsteady walking is visible in the streets
+of Bucy and Bacchic songs fill the air.
+
+At five the company returns to the grotto.
+
+
+_Saturday, 2nd January._
+
+A fight against mud, which we scrape away from the road. At noon we
+proceed to the first line; for some time past, relieving forces have
+been sent out in the daytime. Passing through the branch is a difficult
+matter, for we wade in mud up to the knee.
+
+Two hours' duty at the listening post. A calm night. Occasional firing.
+
+
+_Sunday, 3rd January._
+
+The cooks bring in the soup at ten o'clock and inform us that we shall
+be relieved in the evening instead of at noon. Mud and war! Five
+more hours of this sort of work! This is what we call, like all good
+Pickwickians, "Adding insult to injury, as the parrot said when being
+taught to learn English after being taken from his native land."
+
+From four to six, Verrier and I, facing each other as we lean against
+the trench walls, await the relief without speaking a word, our eyes
+obstinately fixed on our boots.
+
+The return at night along the branches; the mud is thicker and more
+plentiful than ever. Frightful oaths and the continual exhortation--
+
+"Gently ahead! We cannot follow you."
+
+Shades glide behind one another, accompanied by the sound of the
+_gamelle_ chains. The head of the company has already reached the
+grotto whilst the rear is still waiting in the first line till its turn
+comes to march away.
+
+The branch opens out on to a very uneven path, scarcely visible through
+the wood. In the profound darkness we hear the outbursts of rage and
+the curses of the men. The rifles knock against the branches. There
+is another path skirting the wood, over exposed ground. A few balls
+whistle past, chiefly during reliefs. We have to advance in Indian
+file, carefully planting our feet in the steps of the man in front
+because of the many holes in the ground. Fifty yards of a steep ascent,
+slippery as soap. The falls multiply. Wonderful to relate, there are no
+broken bones; not even a sprained ankle.
+
+At last we reach the grotto. Candles and pipes are lit. Each man
+removes his equipment and his coat and flings himself on to the straw.
+After a brief rest we dine, seated round a newspaper which serves for
+a tablecloth. Our comrades left behind in the grotto have kept the
+parcels which have arrived whilst we have been in the first line. We
+manifest a schoolboy's delight in unfastening them.
+
+
+_Monday, 4th January._
+
+In front of the grotto the sections muster in columns of fours. A few
+stragglers arrive, buckling on their haversacks.
+
+The sergeant welcomes them with the words--
+
+"Don't hurry, I beg of you. I suppose I'm here to wait for you."
+
+The company goes down to Bucy. Within a short time the six of us are
+installed with the Ronchards.
+
+Another hunt for fleas. A vigorous offensive is necessary to prevent
+ourselves being devoured alive. The labour required to keep one's body
+clean becomes something herculean. The mud on coats and puttees refuses
+to dry. We give up the struggle.
+
+
+_Tuesday, 5th January._
+
+Whilst the rest are away at drill I stay behind, the major having
+exempted me from duty. I seize the opportunity to do the house work and
+Jules gives me a helping hand.
+
+It is Jules' dream to become a _valet de chambre_ in Paris. His views
+on life as lived in the capital are unusual and lacking in precision.
+
+He says to me--
+
+"When peace is proclaimed, won't you take me back with you?"
+
+"Listen to me, Jules, I don't want to hurt you, but I cannot afford
+more than one servant."
+
+"Nonsense, a man like you!"
+
+"Yes, you see how badly society is built up."
+
+Jules goes over his good points--
+
+"You know me well; I can easily adapt myself to things. With me, you
+may have your mind at peace, I would take charge of everything, and you
+would not even need to pay me."
+
+Such disinterestedness sends a shudder through me.
+
+"You agree?" asks Jules.
+
+"But--don't you see, I'm tied down here."
+
+"How stupid you are! Things will not always remain as they are now."
+
+"And what if I am killed?"
+
+"Don't talk like that. It would be a pity!"
+
+He sticks to his idea, for he has chosen me to assist him in the
+realization of his dreams. Finally he remarks--
+
+"You will leave me free to go out whenever I want, won't you? And every
+morning I'll go and kill some little birds for you."
+
+In the evening we chat away with quite civilian freedom of mind. We
+forget both what we are engaged upon, and where we are. Plans for the
+future are discussed without any one thinking of making the remark that
+our talk is very silly. We pay attention neither to our odd-looking
+accoutrements, nor to our unshaven chins. We are not even aware of our
+tired condition.
+
+We go out into the yard for a quiet smoke. It is very mild; the sky is
+lit up with stars, as in times of peace. Away towards the north we hear
+the firing of the sentries. The cannon is booming on our left.
+
+Reymond does not feel sleepy; neither do I.
+
+"Suppose we write an article for the _Figaro_?"
+
+Agreed. I set to work. After scribbling away for an hour, I hand a few
+sheets across to Reymond. After reading them, he declares--
+
+"How idiotic!"
+
+I feel hurt.
+
+"Then write the article yourself, since you are so clever."
+
+"It's not my business; I'm a painter. Begin it all over again."
+
+I obey. More sheets and a further reading by Reymond.
+
+"This time it's not quite so bad. Suppose we go over it word for word."
+
+At two in the morning we are still at it. Our aim is to set forth
+nothing but facts, and at the same time to thrill our readers.
+
+
+_Wednesday, 6th January._
+
+It's all very well to play at being journalists, and to spend the
+night in writing, but this morning we must all be ready for drill at
+half-past seven. The two collaborators are snoring away. Varlet wakes
+us by walking over our bodies.
+
+"Come now, up! you two journalists."
+
+The journalists refuse to budge.
+
+"You'll be marked absent!"
+
+"Don't trouble about that."
+
+At ten o'clock our comrades return. Our absence has passed unnoticed,
+the very thing upon which our modesty and laziness combined were
+relying.
+
+At noon--
+
+"Quick! Muster in half an hour. We return to the trenches."
+
+The usual stir and commotion in alarms of this kind.
+
+Afternoon and night are spent very quietly in the grotto.
+
+
+_Thursday, 7th January._
+
+The 24th occupies fresh positions between Bucy and Crouy, still in the
+first line. The weather is dreadful; it is useless to gaze through the
+loop-hole, you cannot see a yard in front of you.
+
+A dull, unpleasant day. This evening, seated by Reymond's side in a
+dug-out, which luckily is waterproof, I recopy by candle-light the
+article for the _Figaro_, taking down the words at his dictation,
+with tongue protruding, like a schoolboy, to make my handwriting more
+legible. From time to time the rain, oozing through the ceiling, drops
+a tear-stain on to the copy.
+
+When the sheets of paper are filled, I carefully put them away safe
+from the wet. They will be in the postman's hands to-morrow.
+
+Four hours' sentry duty now to divert our minds. Those who pass by tell
+us that the shelters are falling in upon the sleepers. Several times
+during the night we have to go to the help of our buried comrades.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+THE CROUY AFFAIR
+
+
+_Friday, 8th January._
+
+This morning at half-past six, our artillery opens fire over a sector
+of several kilometres. Fifty guns each fire a hundred and twenty-five
+shots, a formidable total. The Moroccans carry two lines of trenches
+above Crouy and, along with the light infantry, obtain a footing on the
+upland. An important success, it appears. The German counter-attack is
+ineffectual. Their artillery is directed upon our trenches and upon the
+ground in the rear.
+
+Are we to attack shortly? The question is asked of the lieutenants, but
+they cannot answer it.
+
+From noon onwards firing grows more intense; it is a tempest of iron
+until five o'clock. Storms of German shells beat down upon Bucy, whilst
+our own 75's crash their projectiles on to the trenches opposite. In
+the midst of the din we distinctly note the roar of the heavier shells
+passing overhead with the sound as of a slowly moving train over an
+iron bridge.
+
+As though the rain were not enough, a hailstorm begins to lash our
+faces. Thunder-claps alternate with the roar of cannon. The sky is lit
+up with lightning flashes. We are in a state of utter stupefaction when
+the hour of relief arrives.
+
+On reaching our Ali-Baba cave, we learn that a 210 shell fell this
+afternoon in front of the grotto on a spot which for months we have
+regarded as absolutely sheltered. Sergeant Martin has been hurled into
+the air and the cooks flung _pêle-mêle_ on to the ground. Even in the
+galleries the men have been lifted off their feet by an irresistible
+shock. It is discovered that no one has received any real harm except
+Sergeant Martin, whose left leg has been cut off close to the pelvis.
+Debris of red cloth and of flesh are still strewn around the enormous
+hollow dug by the projectile.
+
+
+_Saturday, 9th January._
+
+After a delightful and dry night spent in the grotto, we are sent to
+clean out the branch trenches. Jacquard remains in the grotto busily
+occupied in arranging in a box our store of chocolate tablets.
+
+Outside, the dance continues: 75's, 77's, 90's, 105's, 155's, and 210's
+plough their way through the air. With hands crossed on the shovel
+handle, and one foot on the iron, we watch these latter shells fall
+around the Montagne farm, and upon Le Moncel and Sainte-Marguerite:
+first a black cloud, then a red star-like flash and finally a
+thunderous explosion.
+
+The enemy is trying to find our batteries. From time to time four
+shots from a 75 follow one another in rapid succession as though to
+say: "Don't concern yourself." The spectacle is so fascinating that we
+do not feel at all inclined to work.
+
+Violent fusillade from the direction of Crouy.
+
+Towards evening the rain stops a little; so does the firing. The
+company is again installed in the first line.
+
+Verrier, Reymond, Maxence and myself are appointed to occupy in turn
+two loop-holes and a dug-out. This latter is not an attractive place:
+a cavity of three cubic yards dug in the side of the trench. There is
+scarcely room to move one's body, and a few inside repairs are quite
+indispensable.
+
+No sooner have we arrived than the corporal in charge declares--
+
+"There are four of you for this post. Arrange amongst yourselves
+as regards the hours, but I want always to see two of you at the
+loop-holes."
+
+"All right."
+
+Two of us then mount guard; a simple matter in the daytime. It consists
+in walking about the trench, smoking one's pipe. An occasional glance
+opposite to see that nothing stirs.
+
+Those left in the dug-out are busily occupied. First, there is the
+cleaning to be done. Our predecessors have left bones and pieces of
+waste paper lying about, and the sight is sickening.
+
+"_Ah, là là!_ Could they not have removed their own filth themselves?"
+
+Then three tent canvases are opened out upon one another in front of
+the entrance to the dug-out. This is a delicate operation: no space or
+chink must be left between this improvised doorway and the walls of
+earth; first, in order to stop the draughts--it is extraordinary how
+one fears draughts in the trenches!--and then to keep out any light
+calculated to make our presence known to the Germans.
+
+A cover on the ground to serve as a carpet. Two small niches in the
+wall for placing candles. A piece of plank, held up by two tent pickets
+driven into the wall, forms a shelf: the refuge of pipes, _gamelles_,
+and stores. Two bags on the ground to lean upon.
+
+This task ended, one can take breath. It is now the time for
+letter-writing, the ever-recurring formula: "I am writing to you from
+the first line of trenches, close to the Germans. All the same, don't
+be anxious about me, there is little risk...." We read the paper and
+find that all foot-soldiers are looked upon as heroes. There it is, in
+print. These things flatter us greatly. After all, it's something to be
+a foot-soldier!
+
+Generally everything is quiet at this hour; like ourselves, the Germans
+are preparing dinner and bed.
+
+The time comes for us to sit down to our meal. One man only remains on
+guard. The other three dine gaily, and at considerable length. When the
+conversation becomes too noisy, the sentry gives a kick at the tent
+canvas. Every ten minutes the poor fellow draws aside the screen and
+asks--
+
+"Aren't you going to relieve me soon? I'm terribly hungry."
+
+We reply--
+
+"All right, there'll be something left for you. Remove that head of
+yours; you're letting in the cold."
+
+He resigns himself to his lot, well aware that any one under cover is
+privileged to swear at a wet dog.
+
+From time to time he fires a shot into the dark, just to make him
+forget his hunger. He puts himself _en liaison_ with the entries right
+and left of him.
+
+Finally he hears the words--
+
+"Come along, your turn for dinner. One of us will take your place. Just
+wipe your boots and don't soil the carpet."
+
+He glides into the hole, which exhales a blended odour of stew,
+tobacco and fighting. A broad smile appears on his face as he says:
+"That smells nice." And he believes it too. He perceives his portion
+simmering away on a soldier's chafing-dish. Speedily comes fresh cause
+for anxiety--
+
+"Where's my coffee? I'll wager you've not kept it warm for me!"
+
+Indignant protests.
+
+"See! There's your coffee. We've even kept a cigar for you. Would you
+like to begin with a couple of sardines?"
+
+After which, his hosts add, pretending to shiver with cold--
+
+"Careful, all the same, you're wet through. Don't stir, or you'll upset
+everything in the room."
+
+At eight o'clock' dinner is over. Each man cleans his plate and his
+knife and fork with a piece of bread.
+
+Preparations for the night. Two are going on watch duty and two to
+sleep; relieving one another every four hours. The two privileged ones,
+who are able to digest their meal at leisure, light their pipes, pass
+the bottle of spirits, and are speedily fast asleep.
+
+The two sentries stand with their back's to the rain. They hide their
+pipes in the hollow of the hand.
+
+"What weather!"
+
+"Dreadful!"
+
+One man coughs. The other remarks--
+
+"Suppose we move from here; you'll wake the children."
+
+Maxence and myself occupy the dug-out from eight till midnight. We
+smoke a few pipes. The post has brought newspapers. Our accoutrements
+hang on nails driven into the timber which props up the shelter.
+Maxence, who has been somewhat fidgety for some minutes, remarks--
+
+"I don't care! I'm going to put on my socks; it will be far more
+comfortable."
+
+"And suppose the lieutenant comes along.... And what if the Germans
+attack?"
+
+"Eh?"
+
+He hesitates, his hand on the point of unrolling his puttee.
+
+"Nonsense! Those over in front won't stir an inch."
+
+I succeed in persuading him not to remove his boots. Well wrapped in
+our coverings, we talk before going to sleep.
+
+I am interrupted by an exclamation in the trench--
+
+"The Germans are in the branch trench! Look out!"
+
+We spring to our accoutrements and arms. A hundred yards to the right a
+brisk fusillade is going on.
+
+"Who was it shouted, 'Look out!'?"
+
+"A man of the fourth section, the one on guard at the listening post,"
+placidly answers Verrier, who has already fixed his bayonet to his
+rifle, though retaining his cigarette between his lips.
+
+"Well! Where are the Germans? There is nothing to be heard!"
+
+We begin to scent one of those tragi-comic incidents frequent in
+warfare. The lieutenant passes, an electric lamp in hand. As he strides
+away towards the right, he gives the order--
+
+"Everybody at the loop-holes!"
+
+The command is obeyed.
+
+In half an hour's time he returns.
+
+"Well! What was the matter?"
+
+Thereupon, half-smiling, and half-angry, he relates--
+
+"It was a German patrol that had taken the wrong direction. Our
+sentry was watching, sheltered by a tarpaulin stretched across two
+pieces of wood. He hears the sound of voices and heavy steps, and,
+crash! something splits the tarpaulin and falls with a howl on to his
+shoulders. It was a German! Stupefied, the sentry calls out: 'To arms!'
+Everybody comes rushing from the shelters, and there is a fine uproar.
+Meanwhile, the German scales the parapet and clears off. The patrol had
+already disappeared."
+
+When the lieutenant has gone, we make our way through the three or four
+hundred yards of deserted, winding branches to visit the heroes of the
+adventure. They look very shamefaced.
+
+The corporal seems uneasy.
+
+"Do you think the lieutenant will give me the lock-up for this?"
+
+Indignantly he adds--
+
+"But what fools they were to come along here! Is that the way an enemy
+patrol goes to work?"
+
+Evidently, if the enemy in future approaches our lines without taking
+the usual precautions, he will no longer be playing the game!
+
+The sentry especially has a very sickly look.
+
+"Why didn't you stick your bayonet into the fool of a German?" some one
+asks.
+
+"My bayonet was sheathed. Do you fix your bayonet when on sentry duty
+in the trench? It's only in the illustrated papers that you find such
+silly things!"
+
+The escaped German, whom we baptize Fritz, has left his Mauser behind.
+What sort of a story will Fritz have to tell on returning to his own
+lines without his rifle? Will he be kicked unmercifully? Or will he be
+clever enough to make up a tale of heroism which will win him an iron
+cross?
+
+A stormy night. Rifle shots. Patrols peppering one another.
+
+The voice of a wounded German calls for help, a plaintive, wailing
+voice; he wishes to surrender, his comrades have left him, and he begs
+us to come for him.
+
+"Come along. We'll do you no harm."
+
+There is no reply. Most likely a feint to draw some of us into an
+ambush.
+
+
+_Sunday, 10th January._
+
+This morning we notice that the Germans have profited by the darkness
+to dig an attack branch, enabling them to pour a raking fire into our
+trenches. This part of the sector is becoming difficult to hold. We
+receive the impression that the enemy is preparing an ugly surprise.
+
+At noon we are relieved. The glorious sunshine puts us in good humour.
+A profound sense of security and repose inside--or in front of--the
+grotto, whilst a heavy cannonade is preparing an attack on Hill 132.
+
+The attack is made at sunset. The Moroccans and light infantry carry a
+third line of trenches, and fortify themselves on the upland, almost
+touching the Perrière farm.
+
+
+_Monday, 11th January._
+
+The whole afternoon we stand at the entrance of the grotto watching the
+big projectiles fall upon Bucy. _Vr--ran!_ _vr--ran!_ In the evening,
+silence again reigns; the 21st and 24th go down to Vénizel, on the
+Aisne, a distance of four kilometres from Bucy.
+
+For the first time since the 15th of November we are about to find
+ourselves out of rifle-shot range. How glad we should be if we could
+put ourselves for a week out of earshot of the cannons' roar!
+
+It rains in torrents. Our quarters have been badly arranged; no one
+knows where he has to go. Lieutenants shout; sub-officers raise their
+arms in despair. We men wait, the rain pouring down upon us.
+
+Finally comes an order: our squadron is on guard, and we must occupy
+a pinnace moored on the right bank of the Aisne, above the bridge. We
+follow the banks of the swollen stream, and then cross a wood, the
+first few trees of which are partially under water. A faint light is
+seen: it is the pinnace. We enter one by one along a shaky plank which
+threatens to give way. And now we are yachtsmen. This is one of the
+most curious incarnations of our life as soldiers.
+
+The squadron--which, for the occasion, we call the crew--occupies the
+'tween decks. There is a big petrol lamp and a good stove. The skipper,
+mobilized on the spot, and his wife, seem very nice people. And what a
+pleasant refuge!
+
+Varlet brings letters and parcels. Our joy knows no bounds. Reymond,
+tricked out in a sky-blue cap, repeatedly mounts on to the deck.
+
+"Are you on the watch?" asks the corporal.
+
+"Yes. Fine breeze north-north-west. In twenty days we shall reach the
+Cape of Good Hope."
+
+With a stubby little pipe in his mouth, his shaggy beard, and his
+manner of walking with legs apart as though the boat were rolling, he
+looks exactly like a seasoned old salt.
+
+There are fourteen of us in the boat, and we are all covered with
+vermin. The corporal, neck and breast bare, is engaged in minutely
+picking his shirt; he burns his fleas in the stove, and at each
+immolation gives an exclamation of wild satisfaction.
+
+The capotes are hardened with mud, and the bayonets, which usually
+serve as candlesticks, are covered with wax drippings. As for our
+rusty, stopped-up rifles, they will only be fit for service after a
+thorough cleaning.
+
+I feel somewhat feverish, and sit down apart from the rest. A
+formidable slap on my back: Charensac's way of showing his affection.
+Heart-broken to see me ill, he shouts confidentially into my ear--
+
+"What's the use of fretting, old fellow?"
+
+"Just leave him alone for the present," advises the corporal.
+
+Charensac brightens up more and more as he eats. He is just as happy
+and pleased in a pinnace as he would be anywhere else.
+
+Seeing that his comrades are writing letters, he goes to and fro,
+brawling out--
+
+"Ah! ah! So my little mates are working. Good! Mustn't disturb them
+now."
+
+In spite of the smell of rancid oil and tar we are quite content
+because we are dry, and so we sit up till two in the morning. Finally,
+each of us picks out a corner, wraps himself in his cover, and falls
+asleep on the floor.
+
+
+_Tuesday, 12th January._
+
+The whole morning on the deck of the pinnace. An infernal cannonade
+is roaring on the upland. How they must be enjoying themselves! About
+eleven o'clock, as I was beginning to brush my capote, Charensac and
+Meuret come running up, out of breath, and sputter out--
+
+"To arms! The Germans are advancing."
+
+Various exclamations. We hastily equip ourselves.
+
+When the section is mustered, the lieutenant first makes us cross the
+bridge of Vénizel and pass along the left bank of the Aisne, i.e.
+in the direction opposite to the seat of battle. Here we begin to
+descend with the stream. The swollen waters, of slimy yellow, carry off
+debris of every kind. After proceeding a kilometre, we reach a wooden
+bridge. The flood is so strong that the current threatens to wash over
+the flooring. This bridge has been constructed by the English; it
+still bears inscriptions in their language. We cross; again we find
+ourselves on the right bank. To reach the trenches we shall have
+to traverse, in open daylight, the plain of Vénizel, which is three
+kilometres wide, and under the enemy's fire from the neighbouring
+heights.
+
+"In columns by twos, forward!"
+
+Scarcely have we started in the direction of Bucy than we are greeted
+by a shell, then by two, followed soon by three. We are being fired
+upon. A command is given that the four squadrons should follow one
+another at intervals of fifty yards.
+
+On reaching the first houses in Bucy we find considerable excitement.
+Gunners, sword and revolver in hand, exclaim--
+
+"Don't go in that direction! The Germans are at the sugar-mill of
+Crouy."
+
+A horseman gallops up, coming from the line. As he rides past we ask--
+
+"Well, good news?"
+
+He frowns and makes a wry face. Evidently there is hard fighting going
+on.
+
+The section climbs in the direction of the trenches. Half-way up,
+we meet a few men and a lieutenant of another regiment. They wear a
+haggard look, and seem uncertain of their movements.
+
+"Where are you going?" asks our lieutenant.
+
+"I've not the faintest idea," says the other. "This is all that's left
+of my company. We have just been mined."
+
+One man, still in a very shaky condition, explains--
+
+"For days past we have been hearing a scraping noise underground. Then,
+of a sudden, _v'lan_! We are all blown into the air! Our poor comrades!"
+
+Over the entire upland, between Missy, Bucy, Crouy, and the
+Paris-Soissons-Maubeuge road, the battle is being waged. The Germans
+counter-attack at several points. The artillery duel is a terrible one.
+
+I am quite out of breath. As well as I can, aided by Charensac, I climb
+the steep and muddy slope leading to the first-line trenches. Really, I
+must throw out some ballast.
+
+Thrusting my hand into my _musette_, I take out a couple of tins of
+preserved lobster. These I mechanically hand across to Charensac,
+who, woebegone, makes a sign that he does not want them. This is one
+of the saddest impressions of fatigue and weariness that I have ever
+experienced. If Charensac has come to this pass, we _are_ in a state! I
+say--
+
+"Well, then; the more's the pity! Away they go!"
+
+I fling the two tins on to the road, Charensac sighing as he watches
+them disappear.
+
+At the top of the slope we start along the hollow way bordering the
+upland. We are up to our knees in mud. Exhausted, I sit down on the
+ground, but a shrapnel explosion a few yards away proves to me that
+this is neither the time nor the place to rest.
+
+I rejoin the section just as it is passing close to a battery installed
+above the way, and partially concealed by foliage. The captain walks
+to and fro under the balls. Accosting our lieutenant, he asks--
+
+"Where are you going?"
+
+A vague gesture is the reply.
+
+"You don't know? Then come along with me, you can defend my guns."
+
+We have to pass before one of those mouths spitting out fire without
+a break. Our lieutenant politely remarks that it might be prudent to
+interrupt the firing, to avoid accidents. The captain, with a somewhat
+disdainful smile, condescends to give the order--
+
+"Cease firing, to allow the foot-soldiers to pass."
+
+Our section disappears in a branch in front of the four cannons. Some
+men keep watch and fit up loop-holes and firing embankments. The rest
+fling themselves on to the ground. The enemy's artillery plays upon us.
+A 77 shell, which does not explode, comes to a stop on the edge of the
+parapet, close to a gabion. Its pointed nose projects over the trench
+as though to see what is taking place.
+
+Charensac glides up to my side with the two tins of lobster in his
+hands! On reflecting over the matter, he could not tolerate the loss
+of such wealth, and so, at the risk of a dose of shrapnel, he actually
+went back to pick up my preserved food. It's a case of principle; not
+only will he waste nothing himself, he will not see anything belonging
+to others wasted. And he actually refuses to accept them for himself!
+I finally overcome his scruples by reasoning with him somewhat as
+follows: "I tell you I threw them away, they are not mine. Keep them
+yourself, you old fool. And take care that the Germans let you live
+long enough to eat them."
+
+He thanks me heartily for the trouble he has taken.
+
+The day ends without any serious incidents to ourselves. When evening
+comes, the section retires into a dug-out. A piece of bread and a tin
+of _foie gras_ is all we have to eat after a twenty-four hours' fast.
+At eleven o'clock comes the order to rejoin the rest of the 24th. The
+company is put on reserve, and we go to sleep in a neighbouring grotto.
+
+
+_Wednesday, 13th January._
+
+Five in the morning. In obedience to command, I rise, but find that I
+can scarcely stand on my legs. I am quite sick; on trying to put on my
+things, a feeling of dizziness comes over me.
+
+I give up the struggle and stagger away to see the lieutenant.
+
+"_Mon lieutenant_, I feel ill and can scarcely stand."
+
+"Yes, that's very evident."
+
+"Do you think there will be anything of importance happening to-day?"
+
+"I don't think so; the company is now in reserve. Remain here. You may
+go down to the hospital shortly."
+
+I lie down again in a corner, on a pile of stones, which seems as soft
+as eider-down, so great is my fatigue. By candle-light my companions
+rapidly equip and arm themselves. Reymond and Verrier, Maxence and
+Jacquard, disappear; I have not even the strength to call after them
+_au revoir!_ Henriot and Varlet grasp me by the hand.
+
+"Come now, old fellow, you're not dead yet."
+
+"I feel very near it."
+
+"You'll soon be all right. See you again shortly."
+
+And off they go. I am left alone in this unfamiliar grotto, which is
+larger, colder, and more forbidding in appearance than our former one.
+I again fall into a heavy sleep.
+
+Ten o'clock. A succession of dull sounds is heard above the vault: the
+roar of cannon. I hear whispers and wailings. A relief post has just
+been installed in the grotto, and I recognize the voices of the major
+and the attendants. Stretcher-bearers continue to bring in one wounded
+man after another. What can be the matter?
+
+I sit up. They tell me that fighting has been going on over the whole
+upland for more than four hours.
+
+"And where is the 24th?"
+
+"The 24th is in reserve."
+
+Good. I lie down again and instantly sink off to sleep.
+
+Noon. The same dull heavy sounds, even more frequent than a couple of
+hours ago. I rise to my feet, still in a very shaky condition. No one
+is near me, except a few wounded Moroccans who have dragged themselves
+here. Somewhat uneasy, I proceed to the entrance of the grotto. The
+spectacle is a bewildering one. Squalls of shells are falling; bullets
+are whistling past. About twenty yards away are a few straggling
+soldiers, firing and shouting. A light infantryman, with glaring eyes,
+screams out--
+
+"A rifle! Give me a rifle! Mine won't fire any longer. A rifle! Here
+they come!"
+
+And the wounded drag themselves painfully along, trying to find
+shelter. I question one of them. Things are going ill with us. The
+Germans are advancing; they will be here any moment.
+
+A lieutenant, as he passes, calls out--
+
+"Those of you who are wounded and are able to walk, go back, unless you
+want to be taken prisoners."
+
+Go back. An easy thing to say. I know the ways leading to the hospital,
+they catch all the spent balls; besides, the German artillery must be
+sweeping the slopes.
+
+Moreover, I cannot stand upright. Now I'm in for it, I shall surely
+be taken. A feeling of inexpressible anguish comes over me; my head
+whirls. I try to reflect, but can only repeat: "Prisoner. I'm going to
+be taken prisoner." My one dread and horror!
+
+Once more I thrust my head outside. There is nothing to be done; no
+means of passing. The road is ploughed up with projectiles. Returning,
+I tear up a few letters. All around me are none but Moroccans. The
+first shock passed, my presence of mind returns, and I clearly see what
+is going to take place: a rush of Germans into the grotto, the massacre
+of the wounded Moroccans, and of myself along with the rest. No, I
+prefer to die outside rather than in this hole. It can't be helped; I
+must try to reach the hospital.
+
+Again I find myself at the entrance of the grotto. I measure the
+distance to be traversed: the most dangerous part is the crossing of
+the road. Afterwards, the tree-covered slope descends abruptly to Bucy;
+the balls will pass over my head.
+
+There will also be shells coming crashing down, but I have no choice;
+if I stay here, I am done for.
+
+Gathering up my remaining strength, I rush out. The road is crossed.
+I fling myself flat on to the ground, to recover my breath. Now I see
+Bucy and a part of the ravine. Shrapnel and projectiles are bursting
+on every side. I am perfectly calm; I do not miss an atom of the charm
+of the situation. But my chances are poor. Forward! I descend gently,
+holding on to the trees. My _musettes_ are choking me. With my knife I
+cut the two straps. Ah! now I breathe better. Another effort; the first
+houses are in sight.
+
+"You cannot pass here! Where are you going?"
+
+"The lieutenant has authorized me to go down to Bucy."
+
+"You're not wounded?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Then you cannot pass. Those are my orders."
+
+He is a light infantry corporal, a finely built soldier, with a strong,
+obstinate expression on his face. He continues--
+
+"I see you are in a sorry plight, but it was the commander himself who
+gave me my orders: 'Only the wounded are to pass.'"
+
+"Very good. You are right. It's wrong of me to be ill."
+
+I sit down by the corporal's side, partially protected by a bit of
+crumbling wall. He informs me that a terrible battle has been raging
+ever since the morning, that after an awful bombardment our first
+lines have been overthrown, and that we hold only the road which is on
+a level with the grottos. At any moment this last line may be broken
+through, and the Germans will then pour down on Bucy.
+
+A perpetual stream of wounded. After a rapid inspection the corporal
+allows them to pass. The roar of cannon is deafening; it shows no signs
+of stopping. The balls sing above us, some crash into the ground:
+_ffuutt...._
+
+"The thing that worries me most," remarks the corporal in confidential
+accents, "is that I have left my haversack up there with my watch in
+it. A silver watch! I'm dreadfully afraid I shall never see it again!"
+
+I do not dare to confirm his fears.
+
+I look anxiously in the direction of the ridge on which fighting is
+going on. My fatigue and weakness are such that I am almost indifferent
+to everything; there is but one settled determination in my mind: not
+to be taken prisoner.
+
+An hour passes. The firing seems to be dying away. The wounded continue
+to stagger along to the hospital; they give us bad news.
+
+"Ah! the deuce!" suddenly exclaims the corporal. "We are giving way!"
+
+Actually we see small silhouettes come tumbling down the slope. This is
+the end; the line must have been broken.
+
+"Off you go, if you are able to walk. There is no reason why you should
+stay here any longer. _Nom d'un chien_, if only I can get back my
+haversack!" he continues.
+
+A rapid handshake and I move away. I proceed along one of the streets
+of Bucy, keeping close to the walls. Shells batter down on to the
+houses around. Another couple of hundred yards and I reach the
+hospital. Look out! A dangerous crossing, and a raking fire along this
+road. A company of Moroccans is in reserve: all the men side by side,
+leaning against the walls. They await the order to attack. With eyes
+fixed on me, they laugh and seem to be watching for the moment when I
+shall be bowled over like a rabbit.
+
+No loitering here: either I shall get across or I shall not. Well, here
+goes! I dash forward and find myself in the hospital yard. Two shells
+explode on the stable. The major recognizes me.
+
+"Ah! It's you, is it? Well, you're a lucky fellow! Come in, quick."
+
+I lie down at the foot of the stairs, exhausted by my latest effort. I
+am so sleepy I can scarcely keep my eyes open.
+
+Without a pause the major is signing evacuation orders.
+
+"Clear out, fast, those who are able to walk. Bucy may be taken any
+moment."
+
+The wounded go hobbling away along the grapeshot-riddled road, the
+balls giving forth their odious buzzing sound all the time. Two carts
+are harnessed, and in them a score of badly wounded men are heaped
+together.
+
+As in a dream, I recognize comrades of the 352nd. They tell me that
+the 21st has been exterminated. Ah! And Belin? No one can give me any
+information.
+
+"What of the 24th?"
+
+"It was in reserve still a short time ago."
+
+Where are my comrades? Poor fellows. Here comes Lieutenant R----, the
+lieutenant of my section. He is hopping on one leg, with a bullet in
+his thigh. No sooner do I see him than I ask--
+
+"Where are my comrades?"
+
+"Ah, yes, I know whom you mean. Well, all five were uninjured an hour
+ago. That's all I can tell you. Things are pretty hot!"
+
+I help him to get into the cart.
+
+"Are you not coming too?"
+
+"No, _mon lieutenant_, I am not wounded."
+
+"Good-night, then, and good luck."
+
+I wait another hour. The ridge is still being held, otherwise the
+Germans would be here. I don't know where to put myself so as not to be
+in the way. I feel worse than I should with a bullet in my skin, but a
+sick man, surrounded by others suffering from bleeding wounds, must be
+aware that he is a bore and a nuisance.
+
+An infantry sergeant, who has just been brought down on a stretcher,
+has a gaping wound in the abdomen, caused by a shell explosion. He
+wears a calm though sad expression, and scarcely seems to suffer at
+all; he simply turns his eyes to right and left, watching the movements
+of the attendant who is dressing the wound.
+
+All the time cries and calls are heard alternating with the crash of
+explosions.
+
+"You stretcher-bearers, go and fetch a cook who has just lost both his
+legs, close to the wash-house."
+
+"And you others, don't stay in the yard; you'll get killed."
+
+"The wounded, as they enter, must leave their rifles at the
+street-door."
+
+The major perceives me, lying on the ground.
+
+"See, here's an evacuation order. Off you go to Septmonts."
+
+It is half-past four. As it is beginning to get dark the bombardment
+slackens. I grasp a few hands.
+
+"_Au revoir_, old fellow. You'll get there all right."
+
+I cross Bucy. Stupefied, the inhabitants stand at the doors. There are
+ruins everywhere. A few of the women are in tears. The road to Vénizel:
+four kilometres straight across the plain. My fevered excitement
+sustains me, along with the one obsessing idea: If only I can reach the
+bridge I shall not be caught.
+
+The hours seem to drag along on leaden footsteps. In the distance I see
+a column on the march; they are reinforcements. At last! A battalion
+of Zouaves. Khaki-coloured _chechias_, infantry capotes and velvet
+trousers form their accoutrement; there is nothing about them of the
+classic Zouave. As I come up I salute the commander, and say to him--
+
+"Make haste. They are still holding out up there."
+
+"That's right; we'll soon be with them."
+
+Boom! Four shrapnels right on the front section, on a level with which
+I find myself. No harm done, however.
+
+It is getting dark. I continue to advance, somewhat shakily, but that
+matters little.
+
+The bridge! I show my evacuation order to a captain. So gently does he
+say the words: "Pass, my dear fellow," that a scruple comes over me,
+and I say--
+
+"I am not wounded, you know, I am only ill."
+
+Vénizel. I meet Perron, the head stretcher-bearer of the 352nd. He is
+going to Billy, to bring away some wounded. He offers to accompany
+me, and takes my arm. Two more kilometres in the dark. Fortunately we
+know the country well. The cannon having stopped, the sudden silence is
+somewhat disconcerting. There is a buzzing sound in my ears.
+
+Perron knows no one at Billy, so I take him to the people who found
+accommodation for us in October. They have not forgotten Lieutenant
+Roberty.
+
+"He is surely not dead?" they ask.
+
+"No, he has been evacuated."
+
+"And your other friends?"
+
+"Ah! yes, where are they? This morning they were still alive, but
+now----"
+
+A man belonging to the 21st saw Belin about noon, engaged with his
+bayonet in the trenches. By questioning everybody, right and left, I
+learn that in all probability the 24th company has lost fewer men than
+any other of the regiment.
+
+My hosts prepare a bed for Perron and one for myself. I can no longer
+see clearly, so I turn in and go to sleep.
+
+
+_Thursday, 14th January._
+
+Twice in the night I awake with a start. Bare-footed and in my
+nightshirt, I run outside to listen. They are our own troops passing in
+the direction of Vénizel. The Germans will not cross the Aisne.
+
+At eight in the morning I continue my way, with a wounded man belonging
+to the 21st. Billy is a very excited place.
+
+I perceive Sergeant Chevalier of the 24th. At once he reassures me:
+Verrier, Reymond, Varlet, Maxence and Jacquard are safe and unhurt. The
+company has suffered but little: five or six killed, a score of wounded.
+
+What a relief! I make my way towards Septmonts in almost a gay mood,
+half supporting the man of the 21st, who is wounded in the arm, and
+half supported by him. My companion tells me that he has been engaged
+in hand-to-hand fighting in the branches, and has fired point-blank on
+the Germans. The more they killed, however, the more there seemed to be
+left.
+
+Unfortunately, no one can tell me anything of Belin!
+
+At Septmonts an ambulance doctor examines me thoroughly.
+
+"Good; I must pack you off to bed. Go and see Desprès."
+
+Desprès has a small pavilion near the château, containing beds for
+about a score of sick and wounded. He is the hospital attendant. Busily
+engaged as he is, running from one bed to another, he gives me some
+food, and I speedily find myself tucked in between the white sheets.
+How calm and quiet it is here! I feel more tired and feeble than ever.
+
+
+_Sunday, 17th January._
+
+For three days I have been resting here under the watchful care of
+Desprès, who bestows as much attention on his patients as would a
+mother. It puzzles me exceedingly how this excellent and kind-hearted
+fellow manages to get through his various duties. In the intervals of
+sweeping out the room, I learn that his wife lives in the neighbourhood
+of Montdidier, right in the heart of a bombarded district. The family
+is scattered; the home must be in ruins. He utters not a word of
+complaint, but devotes himself whole-heartedly to his task of soothing
+and consoling us.
+
+Finally I receive news of my friends: a long letter from Reymond,
+brought by one of my wounded companions. He writes as follows--
+
+ "Well, you are an old humbug, giving us the slip in this fashion!
+ Still, you're a lucky fellow, though now you must take good care of
+ yourself. Perron informed us that you were at Septmonts. We have been
+ ordered to take a rest, but our present surroundings are nothing to
+ boast of. I myself am terribly lame, and my feet bleed a great deal.
+ Verrier can scarcely breathe; his coughing is painful to listen to.
+ Maxence, under an attack of acute dysentery, has that pretty green
+ complexion you remember seeing when we were down at Fontenoy; Varlet's
+ knee is as big as a child's head; Jacquard is laid up with bronchitis.
+ We take up all the doctor's time, when he makes his rounds.
+
+ The regiment held its ground long enough to enable reinforcements to
+ arrive. The whole of our squadron was there.
+
+ Belin is living. He came out without a scratch, though he fought like
+ a madman. I'll see you again before long, old fellow...."
+
+As I lie in my bed I read the letter again and again. This evening, I
+am able to get up and sit on the doorstep. The rain has stopped. How
+well I appreciate the peace and quiet of this place as I listen to the
+roar of the cannon and the crack of the rifles in the distance.
+
+
+_Printed in Great Britain by_
+
+UNWIN BROTHERS, LIMITED, THE GRESHAM PRESS, WOKING AND LONDON
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Battles & Bivouacs, by Jacques Roujon
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 58231 ***