Back Aa

In the Field (1914-1915)

<hr /> <h3>VI. A TRAGIC NIGHT IN THE TRENCHESToC</h3> November 3, 1914. Imagine a little tiled room, some 16 feet by 9, in which for over a fortnight passing soldiers have been living, sleeping, and eating; imagine the furniture overturned, the broken crockery strewn on the floor, the doors and drawers of the cupboards pulled out, their modest contents scattered to the four corners of the house; add to this windows without glass, doors broken in, rubbish of every kind lying about, brought no one can tell whence or how; and yet note that one or two chromo-lithographs, a few photographs of friends and relatives and certain familiar objects, still cling to the walls, evoking the life that animated this home but a short time ago, and you will get some idea of the place where my Major, my comrades of the squadron and I were lodged on that memorable November evening. It was five o'clock, and night was already falling, the cold, damp, misty night of Flanders following on a dreary autumn day. Outside the guns were roaring far away. The Battle of the Yser was going on. Our regiment had just been brought by rail from the Reims district, where it was, to the North of France, and thence to Belgium. Our chiefs had said: "You must leave your horses, you must forget that you ever were cavalrymen, you must make up your minds cheerfully to your new calling and become infantrymen for the time being. We are short of infantry here, and the Germans are trying to rush Dunkirk and Calais. Your country relies upon you to stop them." Our good Chasseurs left their horses at Elverdinghe, 10 kilometres from here. They came on foot, hampered by their heavy cavalry cloaks, dragging their riding boots through the atrocious mud of the ruined roads, carrying in their packs, together with their ration of bread and tinned meat, the huge load of one hundred and twenty cartridges; they arrived here in the firing line, and quite simply, as if they had never been accustomed to anything else, did wonders there and then. Yesterday, I grieve to say, I was not at the head of my troop. I was unable to take part in the epic battle round Bixschoote, the poor Belgian village which was retaken and then abandoned by us for the twentieth time. I was not present at the heroic death of the gallant and charming Colonel d'A., of the —— Chasseurs, the author of those heart-stirring pages—and among them "The Charge"—which bring tears to the eyes of every cavalryman. He died facing the enemy, leading his regiment to the attack under terrific fire, and when his men carried him away they ranged themselves round him to make a rampart of their bodies for the chief they adored. I was not able to share the danger of my young comrade, Second-Lieutenant J., who fell bravely at the head of his marksmen, in the middle of my beloved regiment, in which fresh gaps have been made by the enemy's bullets. My seniority had marked me out as officer of liaison to the General commanding our division. But this morning at dawn I came back to take my place in the firing line, and I think I shall be able to make up for lost time. The day has been absolutely quiet, however. After the fighting of the day before, and a night of sleeplessness and incessant alarms in the trenches, three of our squadrons, mine among them, were relieved before dawn and placed in reserve. They found billets in little forsaken farms some 600 yards from the firing line. Our men rested as well as they could all day, making beds of the scanty supplies of straw they found, washing themselves in pools, and renewing their strength in order to relieve the troops which had remained in the trenches; a squadron of our regiment, a squadron of the —— Chasseurs, and a section of infantry Chasseurs. Seated on a broken box, I was doing my best to write a letter, while Major B. and my brother officers O. and F., together with Captain de G., of the third squadron, took their seats at a rickety table and began a game of bridge. Here, by the way, is a thing passing the understanding of the profane, I mean the non-bridge player. This is the extraordinary, I might almost say the immoderate, attraction which the initiated find in this game, even at the height of a campaign. What inexhaustible joys it must offer to make its adepts profit by the briefest moments of respite in a battle to settle down anywhere and anyhow and give themselves up to their mysterious practices! I pause for a moment in my letter-writing to enjoy the sight, which has its special charm. Two or three kilometres off, towards Steenstraate, the cannon were working away furiously, while only a few paces from our shanty a section of our 75's was firing incessantly over the wood upon Bixschoote; overhead we heard the unpleasant roar of the big German shells; and in the midst of the racket I saw my bridge players dragging their table over to the broken window. Day was dying, and we had not seen a gleam of sunshine since morning. The sky was grey—a thick, dirty grey; it seemed to be very low, close upon us, and I felt that the night would come by slow degrees without any of those admirable symphonies of colour that twilight sometimes brings to battlefields, making the combatant feel that he is ending his day in apotheosis. But those four seemed to hear nothing. In the grey light I watched the refined profile of the Major bending over the cards just dealt by F. He no doubt has to speak first, for the three others looked at him, in motionless silence, as if they were expecting some momentous utterance. Then suddenly, accompanied by the muffled roar of the battle music, the following colloquy took place, a colloquy full of traps and ambushes, I suppose, for the four officers cast suspicious and inquisitorial glances at each other over their cards: <div class="block"> "One spade." "Two hearts." "Two no trumps." "I double." "Your turn, Major." </div> But all of a sudden paf! paf! The four players had thrown down their cards, and we all looked at each other without a word. Suddenly we had just heard above us that strange and indefinable crackle made by bullets fired at close range as they tear through the air just above one. No doubt was possible; something extraordinary was happening near the trenches, for the crackling increased mightily, and hundreds and hundreds of bullets began to whistle round us. F. sent the table rolling to the other end of the room with a kick, and we all rushed out after the Major. There is no more depressing moment in warfare than when one finds oneself exposed to violent fire from the enemy without being able to see whence it comes, or what troops are firing, and what is its objective. Obviously the attack was not directed against us, for between the trenches and the houses where we were there was a thick wood which entirely concealed us from the sight of the enemy. But on the other hand the shots could not have been fired from the trenches the Germans had hitherto occupied opposite us, for had they been the bullets must have passed high over our heads, and we should have heard only the characteristic whistle of shots fired at long range. For a moment, only a moment, we were full of dread. What had happened? What had become of the comrades who were in the firing-line? Grouped together in the little enclosure bordered with quick-set hedges where there were still traces of what had been the kitchen-garden of our farm, we strained our eyes to see without uttering a word. In front of us was the dark line of the wood. We scrutinised it sharply, this silent mass of trees and bushes on which autumn had already laid the most splendid colours of its palette. In spite of the dull light, what an admirable background it made to the melancholy picture of the devastated landscape! First, quite close to the ground, was a tangle of bushes and brambles, its russet foliage forming a kind of impenetrable screen, which, in bright sunshine, would have been a curtain of purple and gold. Then, pointing up into the misty sky, came the denuded trunks of the trees, surrounded by a maze of myriads of delicate branches, their ramifications stretching a violet-tinted veil across the sky. In spite of the tragic present I could not but admire the marvellous setting Nature offered for the drama in which we were destined to be the actors. The bullets continued their infernal music, whistling in thousands over our heads. At the same time the fire of the German mortars redoubled in intensity, and their great "coal-boxes" (big shells) burst with a deafening din a few hundred yards behind us, seeking to silence our guns. These, concealed in a hollow, answered vigorously. But what did it all mean? What was happening? We longed to shout, to call, to implore some one to answer us, to tell us what had been taking place behind the thick curtain of the wood. But the curtain remained impenetrable. In the few seconds we spent below that deserted house in the little trampled garden-close, under the rain of bullets that was falling around us, one dread oppressed us, and lay so heavy on our hearts that it made us dumb and incapable of exchanging our thoughts, or, rather, the one thought that haunted us all. "What has become of the second squadron? What has become of our Colonel, who had stayed in command? What has become of all our dear fellows there on the other side of the wood?" Uncertainty is indeed the worst of all miseries, because it makes its victims believe and imagine every horror. From our post we could see at the windows and doors of the little houses scattered among the fields the anxious and inquiring faces of our men. They, too, were tortured by uncertainty. They stood huddled together, looking in our direction, waiting for a sign or an order. Suddenly our doubts were dissipated. "To arms!" cried our Major, in a ringing voice that echoed above the crackling of the bullets and was heard by the whole squadron. He had no need to repeat the order. In the twinkling of an eye my troop had formed behind me, in squads. My men waited in absolute silence, their eyes fixed upon me, kneeling on one knee, and leaning on their rifles. I seemed to hear all their hearts beating in unison with mine; and knew their wills ready to second mine. The Major gave the word of command. We disposed our men in skirmishing order in the ditch of the road that passed in front of our farm, parallel with the skirts of the wood. Our squadrons thus formed a line of from 300 to 400 yards, capable of holding the enemy in check for some time, if they had succeeded in taking our trenches and were already pushing through the thicket. Kneeling on the road behind them, I looked at my men. They were lying flat on the ground on the slope of the ditch; they had loaded their rifles, and I could not distinguish the slightest trace of fear or even of emotion in any one of them. They were all looking straight before them trying to see whether some helmeted soldier were emerging from the bushes in the gathering shadow. What splendid soldiers the war has fashioned for us! They are no longer merely the diligent and conscientious cavalrymen we took pleasure in commanding, and whose smartness we admired in peace time. The stern experience of the battlefield has hardened, strengthened and ennobled them. Their faces are manlier; their discipline, far from relaxing, has become more thorough; their courage has developed, and, in most of them, now verges on temerity. I have had two new men in my troop for a short time: Ladoucette and Roger. They are Territorials, men of from thirty-eight to forty, who, wearying of the depôt and envying their juniors in the field, asked and obtained leave to rejoin the regiment at the Front. They fascinated me at once by their high spirits, their jovial chaff, and the cheerfulness with which they undertook the most laborious tasks. But I had not yet seen them under fire. I looked about for them in the line of skirmishers. I tried to distinguish them among all the backs and necks lying before me. And I very soon guessed that they were at the extreme right of the troop, for I heard smothered laughter at that corner; evidently Ladoucette was cracking some of the highly-spiced jokes characteristic of him. Yes, I saw his head lifted above the grass on the slope, his bristling moustache, his brilliant eyes, and sarcastic mouth. I could not hear what he was saying, for the firing was still furious, but I saw from the smiling faces of his neighbours that he had, as usual, found the right word for the occasion, the word that provokes laughter under bullet fire and makes men forget danger. Not far from him his inseparable chum, Roger, guffawed appreciatively, and seemed to be enjoying himself thoroughly. I rejoiced to think that I had got two first-rate recruits, worthy to fight side by side with the fine fellows of my brave troop. Suddenly a dark figure emerged from the wood, then two more, then another three, then more. Was it the enemy? Without waiting for the word of command some of the men pointed their rifles at the mysterious shadows running in single file towards us. <div class="block"> "Don't fire! Don't fire!" </div> We had, fortunately, recognised the uniform of our infantry Chasseurs. But this increased rather than allayed our anxiety. We naturally imagined the direst catastrophes and feared the most terrible consequences when we saw those in whom we had trusted, those who occupied the trenches nearest to Bixschoote, beating a retreat. The first of the fugitives came up to us. They seemed completely demoralised. Haggard, ragged, and black with dust, they crossed the road at a run. We tried in vain to stop them. As they passed us they shouted something unintelligible, of which we could catch nothing but the words: "They're coming, ... they're coming." Together with O., I succeeded in stopping two men, who were going along less rapidly, supporting a wounded comrade who was groaning and dragging himself on one leg. "Our flank was turned; there are thousands of them. They came through the village and enfiladed us. We had a great many killed ... our officer wounded. We must get back further to the rear." As they went off haltingly with their comrade, whose groans were pitiable to hear, the tall figure of a lieutenant of foot Chasseurs rose suddenly before us. He looked like a ghost, and for a moment we thought he was about to fall, an exhausted mass, at our feet. His face was covered with blood. The red mask in which the white of the eyes formed two brilliant spots was horrible to see. His torn tunic and all his clothing were saturated with blood. He was gesticulating wildly with the revolver he clutched in his hands, and seemed absolutely distraught. As he passed the Major seized him by the arm: "Halt! halt! Look here, you must rally your men. We can put up a good defence here." The officer wrenched himself free, and went off with hasty strides, calling to us without turning his head: "I know what I must do.... We can't hold a line here.... I am going to form up by the artillery." Two more men came by, depressed and silent, bent down by the weight of their knapsacks. They crossed the ditches by the roadside with difficulty, and were presently lost to sight in the fields amidst the gathering shadows. There was no laughter now in our ranks. The same thought was in every mind, the same despair chilled every heart. The Germans must have taken our trenches, and our brave comrades had all chosen to die rather than to retreat. And the enemy must be there before us, in that wood; they must be stealing up to us noiselessly. I fancied I could see them, gliding from tree to tree, holding their rifles high, trying to deaden the sound of their footsteps among the dead leaves. Presently they would reach the dark line that stretched before us, mute and mysterious; they would mass their dense reserves in the rear, and suddenly thousands of lightning flashes would illuminate the fringe of the thicket. I looked at my men again. There was no sign of wavering; not a word was spoken; their faces looked a little pale in the waning light. Above us thousands of shells and bullets filled the air with their strange and terrible music. A man came out of the wood and walked quietly towards us. It was not light enough to distinguish his uniform, but his calm and placid bearing was in marked contrast to that of the infantry Chasseurs. He must have recognised the little group formed by the Major, my comrades, and myself in the middle of the road, for he made straight for us. When he got to within twenty paces of us we recognised to our joy Sergeant Madelin, a non-commissioned officer of our second squadron, the squadron that had stayed in the trenches with the Colonel and the machine-gun section. I cannot describe the relief we felt at the sight of him. Though we could not tell what he was going to say, his attitude dispelled our fears at once. He gazed at us with wide astonished eyes from under the peak of his shako, and came on quietly, as if he were taking a walk, his hands in his pockets, murmuring in a tone of stupefaction: "What on earth is the matter?" "Well, really, this is a little too much!" exclaimed the Major; "that's just what we want you to tell us!" "But I have nothing to tell you, Major. The trench of the infantry Chasseurs was taken. We are all right. But the Colonel has sent me to say that there are signs of a German counter-attack on the left, and he wants you to reinforce him on that side with your three squadrons." He spoke so calmly and with such an air of astonishment that we all felt inclined to laugh. Madelin had already given proof of his courage, he had even been mentioned in orders for his valour, but we had never seen him so placidly good-humoured under fire as on this occasion. All our fears were at once put to flight, and we thought only of one thing; to fly to the help of our comrades and win our share of glory. <div class="block"> "Forward!" </div> The officers had advanced in front of the line of skirmishers. All the men sprang up in an instant, and the three squadrons dashed forward full speed. But at the exact moment when our men, springing out of the ditches, began their advance towards the wood, the enemy's artillery, shortening its range, began to pour a perfect hail of shrapnel on our line. It was now almost pitch dark, and there was something infernal in the scene. The shells were bursting at a considerable height above us, some in front, some behind. They made a horrible kind of music. There must have been at least two batteries at work upon us, for we could no longer distinguish even the three characteristic shots of the German batteries in rafale fire. The noise was incessant, and each shell as it burst illumined a small section of the battlefield for a second. It just showed a tree trunk, a bit of wall, a strip of hedge, and then the darkness fell again over this point, while another was illuminated by the crash of a new explosion. At one moment a sudden horror gripped me. To my left a shrapnel shell fell full on the line of the third squadron. This time the flash of the explosion had not only lighted up a corner of landscape; I had had a glimpse of a terrible sight. You must imagine the intense and rapid light cast by a burning magnesium wire, accompanied by a deafening noise, and in this brief light the figures of several men, weirdly illuminated, in the attitudes induced by the terror of certain death, and you will get a faint impression of what I saw. Then, suddenly, everything fell back into darkness, a darkness that seemed more intense than before after the glare of the explosion. I dimly discerned bodies on the ground, and shadows bending over them. I did not stop, but I heard the voice of the Major calmly giving orders: <div class="block"> "Pick him up! Gently...." </div> But the wounded man shrieked, refusing to allow himself to be touched; his limbs, no doubt, were shattered. No matter! Forward! Forward! We rushed on towards the wood, where we hoped to get some protection from the avalanche of shells. A voice called out names behind me: "Corporal David killed! Sergeant Flosse wounded; leg broken." My men were running forward so impetuously that presently they were on a level with me. What fine fellows! I half regretted that some hostile troop was not waiting for us ambushed in the wood. We might have had a splendid fight! But would there have been a fight at all? Would the Prussians have ventured to measure themselves against these dare-devils, whom danger excites instead of depressing? Well, we were at the edge of the wood at last, waiting till the Major came up with us. Leaning against the trees, my Chasseurs took breath after their race. I passed swiftly along the line to make sure that all my men were safe. They were all there, and I was relieved to find that I had no losses to deplore. The joys and sorrows of war had forged a bond between us that nothing could break. I had soon learnt to know each one of them, with his virtues and his faults, and I felt them to be, without exception, worthy fellows and brave soldiers. Each time death struck down one of them, I suffered as at the loss of a beloved brother, and I believe they repaid my affection for them by perfect trust. The Major had now rejoined us. We were not to lose a moment in responding to our Colonel's summons, and we were to remember that our comrades of the second squadron were bearing the brunt of the enemy's attack alone. <div class="block"> "Forward!" </div> We resumed our headlong advance. It was more difficult in the darkness of the wood than on the soft earth of the fields. We stumbled over roots, and got entangled in brambles; men fell, picked themselves up again, and went on with an oath. There was no more chaff; all minds were strung up to fever pitch, and strength was giving out, while the storm of shrapnel continued overhead, cropping the branches, and lighting up the tangle of leafless trees and bushes at intervals as if with fireworks. Suddenly I heard on my right, not far behind me, screams and calls for help, rising above the turmoil of battle. I saw my men stop for a moment, looking round. But they hurried on again at my orders without a word. <div class="block"> "Forward!" </div> Time was precious. Every minute might be fatal to our brothers in arms. We could now hear the familiar sound of our cavalry carbines quite close to us. We were approaching the trenches where the second squadron was making its heroic stand. <div class="block"> "Forward! Forward!" </div> We were all breathless from our frantic rush. But no one thought of slackening speed. I turned round to some one who was trotting behind me. It was my non-commissioned officer. Without a moment's loss of time he had run to see what had caused the cries we had heard, and now he had come back at the double to report to me. "Sir, in the third troop, Sergeant Lagaraldi...." "Well?" "He's killed, ... and Corporal Durand too!" "Ah!" "And there are many wounded." I made no answer. Oh! it was horrible! Two poor fellows so full of life and spirits not an hour ago! In spite of myself I could not help thinking for a few minutes of the two shattered, quivering bodies lying among the grasses of the forest. But I thrust away the gruesome vision resolutely. We could only think of doing our duty at this supreme moment. Later we would remember the dead, weep for them, and pray for them. The darkness was no longer so dense. The tangle of trees in front of us was less thick, the branches seemed to be opening out, we were near the edge of the wood. And at the same time, in spite of the mad beating of my heart and the buzzing in my ears, I was conscious that the cannonade had ceased, at least in our direction, and that the bullets were no longer coming so thickly. The German attack was probably relaxing; there was to be a respite. So much the better! It would enable us to pass from the wood to the trenches without much danger, thanks to the darkness. We had arrived! One by one our men slipped into the communication trench. What a sense of well-being and of rest we all had! The little passage in the earth, so uninviting as a rule, seemed to us as desirable as the most sumptuous palace. We drew breath at last. We felt almost safe. But still, there was no time to be lost. While the Major hurried off to take the Colonel's orders I climbed up on the parapet. Night had now fallen completely, but the moon was rising. Indeed, it would have been almost as light as day but for a slight mist which was spreading a diaphanous veil before our eyes. In the foreground to the right I could barely guess the dim outline of the battered mill and the burnt farm flanking the trench occupied by the foot Chasseurs. Further off, however, I could vaguely distinguish the row of trees that marked the first line of German trenches, about 250 yards away from us. To the left the mist had a reddish tinge. No doubt yet another house was burning in the unhappy village of Bixschoote. There was a sudden silence in this little corner of the great battlefield, as if our arrival in the firing line had been a prearranged signal. On our right, too, the intensity of the fire upon the trenches occupied by the —— Territorials diminished. To the left, on the other hand, the gun fire and rifle fire were incessant in the direction of the bridge of Steenstraate, defended by the —— Brigade of mounted Chasseurs. It seemed evident that the Germans, having failed in their attempt to cross the Yser canal near us, were making a fresh effort further to the north. However, it is not safe to rely too absolutely even upon the most logical deductions, for very often the event upsets the most careful calculations and frustrates the wisest plans. The moon was now shining with extraordinary brilliance, and the fog, far from veiling its lustre, seemed to make it more disconcerting. Persons assumed strange forms and the shapes of things were modified or exaggerated. Our dazzled eyes were mocked by depressing hallucinations; the smallest objects took on alarming proportions, and whenever a slight breeze stirred the foliage of the beetroot field in front of us we imagined we saw a line of snipers advancing. I had great difficulty in preventing my men from firing. It was necessary to eke out our cartridges with the utmost care, for, owing to some mistake in the transmission of orders, our supplies had not been replenished since the day before, and we had used a great many in the fighting round Bixschoote. A like prudence was not, however, observed all along the line, for every now and then the trenches would be suddenly illuminated at a point where for a few seconds a useless volley would ring out. Then everything relapsed into darkness and immobility. Towards Steenstraate, too, the firing seemed to be dying down. I looked at my watch. It was half-past six. This was the hour when as a rule our men began to feel hungry, and when in each troop the Chasseurs would set out, pannikin in hand, towards the smoking saucepan where the cook awaited them wielding his ladle with an important air. But on this particular evening no one thought of eating. We seemed all to feel that our work was not yet over, and that we had still a weighty task on hand. It was certainly not the moment to light fires and make soup; no doubt the Prussians were brewing something for us of a different kind, and it would never do not to return their compliments promptly. Ready? Yes, we were ready. I turned and looked back into the trench. All my brave fellows were standing, their eyes turned to me, and seemed bent on divining by my attitude or gestures any new effort I might be about to ask of them. The pale light of the moonbeams struck full on their faces, leaving their bodies shrouded in the darkness of the trench. What a strange and comforting spectacle it was! In every eye I read calm courage and absolute confidence. Whenever I feel weary or depressed, inclined to curse the slowness of our advance and the thousand miseries of war, I need only do what I did that evening. I need only turn to my Chasseurs and look into their eyes without a word; there I read so many noble and touching things that I am ashamed to have felt a momentary weakness. They do not ask the why and the wherefore of things. They live from day to day, weighed down by hard work. To them the actual fighting is a rest and a delight. As soon as it is over they have to resume the hard life of cavalrymen on active service, spend all their time looking after their horses, fetching rations and forage, often from a considerable distance, cleaning harness and arms, and every night contriving some sort of quarters for themselves and their beasts in the squalor of half-destroyed or abandoned villages, quarters they must leave on the morrow. Yet nothing seems to depress them. They preserve all the eagerness of the first few days and that imperishable French gaiety which is an additional weapon for our troops. That evening I felt them vibrating in unison with me more keenly than ever. There was little doubt that I should have to appeal to their courage again presently, for something unusual was happening in front of us. It was maddening not to be able to pierce the luminous mist, behind which the enemy would be able to form up and take new positions without our knowledge. Down behind the line of willows we could now barely distinguish, we were aware of mysterious sounds, making a kind of distant murmur. They must come from the rattle of arms, orders given in whispers, footsteps slipping on the fat soil of plough-lands. Listening heads craned over our parapets. Each man was trying to hear, to understand, to see, and to divine, and each felt intuitively that the enemy was about to renew his assault. The most absolute silence and the most impressive calm reigned in our trenches. Yes, we were ready for them! Let them come! Then suddenly from the enemy's camp there rose a solemn, harmonious hymn sung by hundreds of manly voices. We could not distinguish the words uttered in the barbarian tongue. But the music was perfectly audible, and I must confess that nothing caused me so much surprise throughout this eventful evening. With what ardour and unanimity, and also, I am bound to admit, with what art, these men proclaimed their faith before rushing on death! One could imagine no more magnificent temple for the prayers of soldiers about to offer up their lives than the spacious firmament above and the luminous night around. We listened, touched and delighted. The hymn continued for some time, and the music seemed to me noble and inspiring; the voices were true and the execution admirable. But, above all, the singing conveyed a disturbing impression of disciplined and ordered piety. To what lengths these men carry their love of command and obedience! Suddenly the hymn broke off abruptly in a formidable uproar, above which rose thousands of voices shouting: "Hurrah! Hurrah! Cavalry! Cavalry!" Then, dominating the tumult, we heard their trumpets sounding the short, monotonous notes of the Prussian charge. I leaped back into the trench. <div class="block"> "Independent fire!" </div> The whole French line burst into a violent and deafening fusillade. Each man seemed full of blind rage, of an exasperated lust for destruction. I saw them take aim rapidly, press the trigger, and reload in feverish haste. I was deafened and bewildered by the terrible noise of the firing in the narrow confines of the trench. To our left, the machine-gun section of my friend F. kept up an infernal racket. But the German line had suddenly dropped to the ground. I could barely distinguish a swarm of grey shadows running about in the fog. Then not a single dark figure was visible on the pale background of the tragic scene. How many of the bodies we could no longer make out must have been lying lifeless, and how horrible their proximity must have been to the living stretched side by side with them! Our men had ceased firing of their own accord, and a strange silence had succeeded to the deafening din. What was about to happen? Would they dare to come on again? We hoped so with all our hearts, for we felt that if we could keep our men in hand, and prevent them from firing at random, the enemy could never get at us. But, above all, it was essential to economise our ammunition, for if we were short of cartridges, what resistance could we offer to a bayonet charge with our little carbines reduced to silence? The Germans must have been severely shaken, for they seemed afraid to resume the attack. Nothing was moving in the bare plain that stretched before us. During this respite an order came from the officer in command, passing from mouth to mouth: "Hand it on: No firing without the word of command." Then silence fell on our trenches, heavy and complete as on the landscape before us. Suddenly, on the place where the enemy's riflemen had thrown themselves on the ground, we saw a slim shadow rise and stand. The man had got up quietly, as if no danger threatened him. And, in spite of everything, it was impossible not to admire the gallantry of his act. He stood motionless for a second, leaning on his sword or a stick; then he raised his arm slowly, and a hoarse voice yelled: <div class="block"> "Auf!" [Up!] </div> Other voices repeated the word of command, and were answered by renewed "hurrahs!" Then the heavy line of riflemen sprang up and again rushed towards us: <div class="block"> "Fire! Fire!" </div> Once more our trenches belched forth their infernal fire. We could now plainly see numbers of them fall; then they suddenly threw themselves on the ground just as before. But instead of crouching motionless among the beetroot they began to answer our fire. Innumerable bullets whistled about us. I noted with joy that my men remained perfectly steady; they were aiming and firing deliberately, whereas at other points the fusillade was so violent that it cannot have been efficacious. I was very glad not to have to reprove my brave Chasseurs, for the uproar was so terrific that my voice would not have carried beyond the two men nearest to me. I calculated the number of cartridges each of them must have in reserve; twenty-five, perhaps thirty. How would it all end? I was just thinking of ordering my troop to cease firing, in order to reserve my ammunition for a supreme effort, if this should be necessary. But something happened which checked this decision. F.'s machine-guns must have worked fearful havoc among our assailants, for suddenly, without a cry and without an order, we saw them rise and make off quickly right and left in the fog. <div class="block"> "Silence!" </div> I was obliged to intervene to subdue the joyous effervescence caused in my troop. The men began to discuss their impressions in tones of glee that might have become dangerous. Ladoucette's voice was heard, as usual, above the din, calling upon his absent wife to admire his exploits: "Madame Ladoucette, if you could have seen that!" But we had to be on the qui vive. The German attack had been checked, but it might be renewed. We were fully alive to the courage and tenacity of our enemies. I could distinguish nothing ahead in the increasingly thick white fog. All I could hear was the sound of pickaxes on the ground and the thud of falling clods. The enemy had, no doubt, decided not to attack again and were digging new trenches. They no longer uttered their contemptuous guttural cries of "Cavalry! Cavalry!" They had learnt to their cost that these French cavalrymen, at the sight of whom their own are so ready to turn back, could hold their own equally well against German infantry. I thought we might count on a little respite. The battlefield was silent, save for the faint cries occasionally uttered by the wounded. I hastily detached two troopers to man the listening-posts, and they slipped away silently. Then, as our Captain had unfortunately been summoned to Elverdinghe that day on special duty, I went to look for the Major to make my report to him. My men had seated themselves on the rough ledges cut in the slope of the trench, their carbines between their knees, and were talking together in low tones. As I passed a friendly smile lit up their faces. I walked slowly along the narrow trench, careful not to tread on the feet of the talkers. As I approached a point where the trench, following the direction of the wood, formed an abrupt angle, I heard two familiar voices exchanging the following words: <div class="block"> "Fifty-two!... Tierce major...; three aces!" "Capital!" </div> This was really the limit! I turned the corner and came upon Major B. and F. seated on the ledge, quietly playing cards by the brilliant moonlight. As their tiny retreat could not accommodate four players, they were solacing themselves with a game of piquet. Oh, all you who are of necessity far from the scene of conflict, good Frenchmen and valiant Frenchwomen, how I should have liked you to see this picture! No doubt you often wonder whether those who are defending your homes against the accursed invader will be able to bear the sufferings of this war to the bitter end; you fear that they may be losing their good humour and their dashing spirits; you imagine them brooding with careworn faces and anxious souls when, the excitement of the encounter dying down, they think of what the morrow may bring forth. How I wish you could have seen Major B. and the gallant Lieutenant F. playing piquet in the trench where they had just repulsed a furious German attack, which might have been renewed at any moment! I left them to go on with their game, and went in search of my comrade O. I found him in the middle of his troop, talking amicably with his men. After the enemy had ceased firing he had sent a party of sappers to dig the graves of the two non-commissioned officers who had fallen in the wood. We retired into a corner of the trench, and there he told me of the grief he felt at this loss, a grief he was doing his best to hide, so as not to injure the moral of his troop. Lagaraldi had just got his promotion, and was a soldier of the highest promise; Durand was the model corporal, clean, cheerful, and active. And, even if they had been but mediocre troopers, I knew too well what we officers feel when we lose even a passable Chasseur, to wonder at the melancholy of my charming young comrade. Time went on, and there were no signs of a fresh attack. The enemy's artillery seemed to be neglecting us, and to be bent upon the destruction of the Boesinghe bridge, by which we had crossed the Yser. His great shells flew over our heads with a sinister roar, and a few seconds later we heard the explosion far behind us. The German trenches in front of us were silent. A single shot fired at intervals alone reminded us that they were not forsaken. "Mon Lieutenant, it's all ready." A corporal had come out of the wood to tell O. that the graves were dug. When we had sent word to our chiefs, and placed our non-commissioned officers in temporary command, our strange, sad procession of mourners left the trenches and slipped through the thicket in single file. There were four officers, the Lieutenant-Colonel, Major B., O., and myself and four non-commissioned officers. It would have been dangerous to deplete the firing line further. With heavy hearts we retraced our steps through the wood we had so lately passed through in all the exaltation of our advance. We knew the moral anguish we were about to feel in rendering this last service to our young brothers-in-arms. It was unhappily by no means the first time we had held such a ceremony, but never had I been present at one in such tragic circumstances, nor in such impressive surroundings. We hurried along, almost running in our anxiety to return quickly to our men. The branches caught at us and slashed our faces, the dead leaves and twigs crackled under our tread. Above us the shells still sang their funeral song. We had now come in sight of the burial-ground. In the moonlight, at the edge of the wood close to the spot where our gallant fellows had fallen, we could distinguish newly-dug earth, and four silent men standing beside it, their tunics thrown off, leaning on spade and pickaxe. It was there. In a little ravaged garden-plot, at the foot of great trees which would guard these graves, they had dug two holes, which, by night, looked extraordinarily deep and dark. Ought we to lament or to envy the touching and simple burial rite of soldiers? To me, nothing could be more beautiful than such a last resting-place. Why should we desire richer tombs, sepulchral stones, and sculptured monuments? We are all equal upon that field of death, the battlefield at the close of day. And there can be no fitter shroud for him who has fallen on that field than his soldier's cloak. A little earth that will be grass-grown and flower-spangled again in the spring, a simple cross of rough wood, a name, a regimental number, a date—all this is better than the most splendid obsequies. And what can be more touching than the poor little bunches of wild flowers which the friends of the dead gather on the banks of ditches, and which are to be seen days afterwards, faded and yet so fair, hanging on the humble crosses? Such was to be the portion of Lagaraldi and Durand. Why should we pity them? We will weep for them, we will not pity them. They were there, lying side by side in their cloaks, the turned-up capes of which shrouded their heads, and we bared our own in silence. Each of us, consciously or unconsciously, breathed a prayer, each set his teeth and tried to restrain his tears. But we were not destined to pray in peace to the end. At the moment when the Lieutenant-Colonel was about to express our sorrow and pronounce the last farewell the enemy's mortars, suddenly changing their objective, began to bombard the part of the wood on the edge of which we were standing. What was their idea? Did they think our reserves were massed in the wood? However this may have been, a formidable avalanche descended above and around us. The first salvo literally cleared the wood close by us. A great tree, cut through the middle, bent over for an instant and then rolled gently to the ground with a great crackling of broken boughs. At the same time the German bullets began to whistle round us by thousands, apparently determined to draw us into their frenzied saraband. Death seemed for a moment inevitable. We could not hesitate; we had to take cover, or to be mown down by shot or shell. Then—I shall remember the gruesome moment to my dying hour—we all leaped into the only available shelter—crouching together in the newly-dug graves. We were just in time. Bullets flew past us; the great "coal-boxes" burst without intermission. The uproar was tremendous, beyond anything we had ever heard. It would be impossible to describe the horror of those minutes. Those graves, all too spacious for the poor bodies we were about to commit to them, were too small to shelter us. We pressed one against the other in the strangest positions, hiding our heads between the shoulders of those who were lying in front of us; we thought every moment that the network of projectiles would be drawn more tightly round us, and that one would fall into our holes, transforming them into a ghastly charnel-house. This idea occurred to me suddenly and obsessed me. Yes, yes, presently the great snorting, whistling, pitiless thing would fall between O. and me. We should feel nothing; there would be no pain. We should be only a little heap of bloody clay, and to-morrow at daybreak our comrades would but have to throw a few spadefuls of earth upon it. They would put a plain wooden cross above, with our names and ranks, the number of our regiment, a date: "November 3, 1914." And it would be better than any sumptuous monument. <div class="block"> "Hush! Listen!" </div> Between two explosions, in spite of the noise of the German bullets, we distinctly heard the crack of our carbines. <div class="block"> "Our men are fighting!" </div> We all understood, and with one bound we were up and running frantically through the wood. How was it that none of us were killed? How did we manage to escape the shells and bullets which were cropping the branches and felling the trees around us? I shall never understand or forget this experience. When at last we sprang breathless into our trench after what had seemed an interminable race, the tumult had died down again and only occasional shots broke the nocturnal calm. The reason of the sudden renewal of the fighting was given at once by F. "Bravo!" he cried; "we have retaken the infantry Chasseurs' trench!" This was a great consolation to us, for we were all full of regret at the loss of this little piece of ground. It had prevented us from feeling quite satisfied with our day. Now all was well. Our task was accomplished. <hr /> On the following day, November 4, at three in the morning, a battalion of the —— Regiment of the Line came to relieve us. It formed part of that glorious 20th Corps, which has covered itself with glory ever since the beginning of the war, and fought all along the front from Lorraine to Flanders, always arriving at the moment when picked men were needed to make a last desperate effort. It had come up that evening, and was at once on the spot. In the cold, luminous night, the heavily laden infantrymen defiled into the narrow trench, calm, silent, and serious. The officer who was to take my place presented himself smartly, as if on the parade-ground. "Lieutenant X." I gave my name. "My dear fellow," he said, "I am delighted to shake hands with you. Allow me to say how much we all admire your regiment. Your General has just told us how your Chasseurs have behaved. Accept my congratulations. We could not have done better ourselves. The cavalry is certainly taking first place as a fighting force. Your regiment is to be mentioned in despatches, and you deserve it. Good-night. Good luck!" "Thank you! Good luck!" <hr /> Once more we passed through the wood to take up our position in reserve. Our men were beginning to feel the fatigue of those two days without sleep and almost without rest. But joy, stronger than bodily fatigue, predominated. It hovered over our harassed troops. Above all, they were proud of having been appreciated and congratulated by their brothers-in-arms of the crack corps which is the admiration of the whole army. Each man forgot his tortured nerves, his aching head, his weary legs, repeating to himself the magic words: "Your regiment is to be mentioned in despatches!" <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

1 of 2

2 of 2

Update Required To play the media you will need to either update your browser to a recent version or update your Flash plugin.