02 - In the Field. In the Field (1914-1915) by Marcel Dupont.

02 - In the Field. In the Field (1914-1915) by Marcel Dupont.  
I have merely tried to make a written record of some of the hours I have lived through during the course of this war. A modest Lieutenant of Chasseurs, I cannot claim to form any opinion as to the operations which have been carried out for the last nine months on an immense front. I only speak of things I have seen with my own eyes, in the little corner of the battlefield occupied by my regiment. 

Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:00):
Chapter two of In the Field nineteen fourteen nineteen fifteen.
This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in
the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please
visit LibriVox dot org. Recording by f n H. In
the Field nineteen fourteen, nineteen fifteen by Marcel du Pont,

(00:23):
Chapter two, The first charge, September four, six o'clock in
the evening. The atmosphere was heavy and stifling. The regiment
had been formed into two columns, to the right and
to the left of the high road from Vauchamps to Montemyral.
The men tired out, their faces black with dust, had

(00:43):
hardly dismounted when they threw themselves on the ground and
slept in a field of cut corn. The officers chatted
together in groups to keep themselves awake. Nights are short
when you're on campaign. The bivouac was pitched at midnight
and was to be struck at three o'clock in the morning,
And since six o'clock the battle had been raging, for
the enemy had engaged our rear guard almost immediately. This

(01:06):
had happened each day of that regrettable retreat. A gun
at the sambre and pushed on to the man. Each
day we had had to fight. Each day the enemy
was repulsed. Each day we were obliged to retire. Brother soldiers,
you who came through those painful hours, shall you ever
forget them? Shall you ever forget the anguish that wrung

(01:27):
our hearts? When as the sun was sinking, you, who
had seen so many of your comrades fall, had to
give up further portion of our sweet France, to deliver
up some of our lovely hamlets, some of our fields,
our orchards, our gardens, some of our vineyards to these barbarians.
You were ordered to do so. We have learnt since

(01:49):
then how important such sacrifices were, But at the time
we did not know, and doubt came into our minds.
We passed through cruel days. Nothing will ever efface the
impression of physical and moral prostration that came over us.
The regiment was sleeping, tired out, alone, calm, phlegmatic, the

(02:11):
colonel kept watch, standing in the middle of the road,
with his pipe between his teeth, beneath his ruddy, drooping mustache,
his cap pulled down over his eyes, his arms crossed
on the light blue tunic. He seemed to be ever
watchful shepherd of that immense flock. At such moments, the
chief must be able to seem unconscious of the self abandonment,

(02:32):
the disorder, and the exhaustion of his men. Human powers
have their limits. They had been expended for days without stint.
Every moment of cessation from actual fighting had to be
a moment of repose. The important thing is that the
chief should keep watch. Brave little chisseurs, sleep in peace.

(02:52):
Your colonel is watching over you. I looked at the
men of my troop on the ground in front of
their horses. How could I I recognized the smart, brilliant,
accoutered horsemen whose uniforms used to make such a gay note.
In the old fashioned streets of the little garrison town.
Under the battered shackos with their shapeless peaks, the tanned,
emaciated faces looked like masks of wax. Youthful faces had

(03:17):
been invaded with beards which made them look like men
of thirty or more. The dust of roads and fields
raised by horses, wagons and limbers had settled on them,
showing up their wrinkles and getting into eyes, noses and mustaches.
Their clothes patched as chance allowed during a halt under
some hedge, were enamels of many colored pieces. A few

(03:39):
more days, with such unremitting war, and we should avide
with the glorious tatterdomalions of the Army of Italy and
the somber of Muse, as Raphae paints them, with their
noses in the air, their mouths opened, their eyes half shut.
My chasseurs lage stretched out among the legs of their horses,
and slept heavily, poor horses. Four pretty creatures, so delicate,

(04:01):
so fiery in their glossy summer coats. They had followed
their master's fortunes. How many of them had already fallen
under the Prussian bullets. How many had been left dying
of exhaustion or starvation. After the terrible rides. They seemed
to sleep, absorbed in some miserable dream of nothing but
burdens to carry, blows to bear, and wounds to suffer.

(04:24):
They were hanging their heads, but had not even the
strength to crop the green blades growing here and there
amongst the stalks of corn. I felt uneasy, wondering whether
they would still be equal to an effort for the
fight that was always likely and always desired. Suddenly, from
the ridge, some eight hundred yards behind us, coming down
like a bolt, I saw a horse at full gallop.

(04:46):
Its rider was gesticulating, wildly strange to say, though not
a word had been said, as though awakened by an
electric current, every man had got up and had fixed
his astonished eyes on the newcomer. He was an artillery
non commissioned officer. His face was crimson, his hair unkempt.
His cap had come off his head and was dangling
by the chin strap. With a violent jerk, he pulled

(05:09):
up his foaming horse. For a second, Where is the colonel?
The colonel, with one voice the whole squadron replied, there
on the road, what's the matter? He had already set
off again at full speed, had reached the colonel, and
was bending down towards him. Even at that distance we
could hear some of his words, eulens near the woods,

(05:30):
our guns, our teams. Then it was like a miracle,
without any word of command, without any sign. In a moment,
the whole regiment was on horseback, sword in hand. The
colonel alone had remained standing with the greatest calmness. He
asked the sergeant in an undertone for some information, and
the man answered with emphatic gestures. All eyes were fixed

(05:52):
upon the group. Everybody waited breathlessly for the order which
was going to be given and repeated by five hundred voices,
by five hundred men. Drunk with joy, we believed the
glorious hour was at last come, which we had been
awaiting with so much impatience since the opening of the campaign.
The charge, that indescribable thing which is the rais and

(06:14):
debtor of the trooper, that sublime act which pierces, rends
and crushes by a furious, onslaught, wild gallop with the
uplifted sword, yelling mouth and frenzied eyes. The charge, the
charge of our great ancestors, of those demigods murat LaSalle Curley, Kellermann,
and so many others. The charge we had been asking

(06:35):
for with all our hearts ever since the opening of
the campaign, and which had always been denied us. Ah
that famous German cavalry that set up its doctrine of
pushing the attack to the death. What hatred and what
contempt we had conceived for them. We had one desire
and only one to measure ourselves with them, and every

(06:55):
time we had seen their squadrons the result had been
eva that they had turned and return in good order
behind their lines of infantry, or they had drawn us
into some ambouscade under the pitiless fire of their deadly
machine guns. Were we at last to meet them and
measure our swords with their lances. The regiment moved off
in one body, behind the colonel, who was riding a

(07:17):
big chestnut horse as calm as at maneuvers led us
at a gentle trot, skirting little clumps of trees that
dotted the plane. A troop had gone forward in a
halo of glittering dust to act as an advanced guard.
Our horses seemed to have understood what we were about,
or was it we who had passed on to them
the fighting spirit that fired us? I felt behind me,

(07:41):
the thrill that ran through my men. The first rank
could not manage to keep the correct distance the yard
and a half which ought to separate it from its leader.
Even the corporal in the center allowed his horse to graze.
The haunches of mine torn to jaws. My gallant charger,
the fiery thoroughbred which had so often maddened me at
riding schools of the regiment, and at maneuvers. By his

(08:03):
savageness and the shaking he gave me. Torn to Ajours
gave evident signs of excitement by his pouring the ground
every now and then. He an officer's horse, seemed to
resent the close proximity of mere troop horses, And certainly,
under ordinary circumstances I should have fallen foul of the
rider impudent enough to ride close to his heels. But

(08:25):
on that occasion I merely laughed in my sleeve, knowing
that in a few minutes, when the charger begun torn
to Jrs, would soon have made them all keep their
proper distance. And something more, I took a pleasure in
looking at the faces of the men of the third squadron,
whose troops were riding in column abreast of us. Their
chins were raised, their eyes wide open, intent under the

(08:49):
shade of their cap peaks upon the slightest irregularities of
the ground ahead. The hands grasped their sword hilts tightly.
Major B, leaning well forward and roiding between the two squadrons,
was practicing some furious cutting strokes. What a grand fight
it was going to be, How we should rejoice to
see the curved sabers of our comrades rising against the

(09:11):
clear sky to slash down upon the leather chapasks of
our foes. We waited for the word that was to
let loose the pent up energy of all those tense muscles.
A trooper came back from the advance guard at full
speed and brought up his horse with the spur beside
the colonel. He reported in short sentences which we could
not hear. The colonel turned towards our captain, who was

(09:34):
behind him, leaning forward over his horse all attention and
with his sword lowered, receiving the orders given in an undertone.
We only heard the last sentence, I shall support you
with the rest of the regiment. Thank Heaven, thought I
it is we. It is our dear squadron that is
to have the honor of attacking first. Every man pulled

(09:55):
himself together. Every man felt conscious of all the glory
in store for us. Every man prepared to perform exploits
which we felt sure would astonish the rest of the
regiment of the Army and of France. Forward, Forward, Forward.
The troops had already ridden past the colonel at an
easy gallop, and we suddenly found ourselves strangely isolated in

(10:16):
that vast tract of country which a few minutes before
we had passed over in a body. There was a
succession of yellow and green fields, with here and there
some leafy thicket. On our left, surrounded by orchards, rose
the gray and massive buildings of the farm of bel Air.
In front of us, some few hundred yards off, there
was a dark line of wood, the lower part of

(10:37):
which was hidden from us by a slight rise in
the ground. Hardly at the first troop reached the top
of the brow. When some shots were fired at us,
we at once understood again we were to be deprived
of the pleasure of measuring ourselves with the Ulans. At
close quarters, we saw distinctly on the edge of the wood,
kneeling and ready to fire, some fifty sharp shooters in

(10:58):
gray uniform and round cap apps with peaks. We recognized
them easily. It was one of their cyclist detachments that
had slipped into the wood and had been quietly waiting
for us, with rifles leveled. As usual. Their caverry had
retired under the cover of their line. What did it
matter to us? The wood was not thick enough to
prevent our horses from getting through, and the temptation to

(11:21):
let the fellows have a taste of our steel was
too strong. I rejoiced at the thought of seeing their
heavy boots scuttle away through the trees. I resolved to
have a thrust at the skirts of their tunics to
help them on a bit. The captain understood the general
feeling form up, he cried in a twinkling. A moving
wall had been formed to the music of merrily klinking

(11:42):
stirrups and scabbards and jangling metal, and the gallop towards
the wood began just at that moment. Its skirts were
outlined by a circle of fire, and a violent fusillade
rang out. Bullets whistled in all directions, and behind me
I heard the heavy sound of men and horses falling
on the hard ground. In my troop, a horse without
a rider broke away and came galloping towards me. What

(12:05):
did it matter? Forward? Forward? We were about two hundred
yards off. We spurred our horses and got into our stride. Suddenly,
a horrible fear took the place of the martial joy
that had urged us to the fight. We were all
struck by the same discouragement, the same feeling of impotence,
the same conviction of the uselessness of our sacrifice. We

(12:26):
had just realized that the edge of the wood was
surrounded with wire, and that it was behind this impassable
barrier that the Prussians were calmly firing at us as
at a target. What was to be done? How could
we get at them and revenge our fellows who had fallen?
For one second, a feeling of horror and impotent rage
passed like a deep wave over the squadron. The bullets

(12:48):
whistled past us, But the captain adopted the wisest course.
He saw that retreat was necessary. He had behind him
more than a hundred human lives, and felt they must
be so for better and more useful sacrifices. With a
voice that rose above the noise of the firing, he shouted,
follow me in open order, and he spurred in an

(13:10):
oblique direction towards the nearest depression in the ground. But
the movement was badly carried out. The men, disheartened, instead
of spreading out like a flight of sparrows, rushed off
in so compact a body that some more horses were
knocked over by the Prussian bullets. How long had those
few seconds seen to us? I wondered, by what sort
of miracle it was that we did not lose more men,

(13:33):
But what an uncanny tune the innumerable bullets made in
our ears as they pursued us like angry bees. At
last we got under cover. Following a gully, the squadron
reached at little wood, behind which it was able to reform.
The sweating horses snorted loudly. The men, sullen mouthed and dejected,
fell in without a word, and dressed the line in

(13:56):
the fading light. The roll was called by a non
commissioned officer in a subductu voice, whilst I looked on
distressfully at the sad results of the useless charge. And
yet our losses were not great. Three troopers, only slightly wounded, who,
far from grumbling at their mishap, seemed proud of the
blood that stained their tunics and their hands. The men

(14:16):
whose horses had fallen had already come up, jogging heavily
over the field of licern that stretched out before us.
One man alone was absent. Parquin, a good little fellow,
energetic and well disciplined, whose good humor I found especially attractive,
both under fire and in camp. But he would come,
in no doubt. Chalhard, his bed fellow told me that

(14:39):
his horse had stumbled and thrown him. He thought he
had even seen him get up directly after the charge
had passed. Mon, Lieutenant, Mon, lieutenant, your horse is wounded.
I had dismounted in a moment, and tears came to
my eyes. I had forgotten the anger in impatience that
torn to Jure's savage temper had so often caused me.

(14:59):
What had they done to my brave and noble companion
in arms? A bullet had struck him inside the left
thigh and penetrating it had made a horrible wound as
large as my hand, from which the blood was streaming
all down his leg. Two other bullets had hit him,
one in the flank and the other in the loins,
leaving two small red holes. The noble animal had brought

(15:21):
me safely back, and then, as he still stood on
four trembling legs, his neck raised, his nostrils dilated, his
ears pricked. He fixed his eyes on the distance and
seemed to look approaching death in the face. Poor taunt
as yours. You could not divine the pain I felt
as I patted you gently, as gently as I should
touch a little suffering child. But I had to shake

(15:44):
off the sadness that wrung my heart. The day was
gradually sinking, and Paquin had not come in. Two of
the men quickly put my saddle on the horse of
one of the wounded troopers, while Surgeon Major p in
the growing dusk, attended to the seriously wounded men stretched
on the grass. I made up my mind to go
out and see whether my little chasseur was not lying
out on the scene of the charge. Cahard Finette, Monette valley.

(16:08):
I want you at a gentle trot. We sailed out
from the cover of the wood. My four men, dispersed
at wide intervals to the right and left, stood up
in their stirrups from time to time to get a
better view. The guns were silent. Now and again one
or two isolated shots were heard. Night had almost fallen.
On the horizon. A long reddish streak of light still

(16:31):
gave a feeble glow. Everything was becoming blurred and mysterious.
In front of us stretched the disquieting mass of the
wood that so lately had rained death on us. Above
our heads, flocks of black birds were wheeling and croaking
back When Baquin backuin, my chasseurs shouted their comrade's name,
but no voice answered. We were certainly on the ground

(16:53):
the squadron had ridden over every now and then we
came across the body of a horse marking our mournful course.
A poor mayor with a broken leg neighed feebly, as
if appealing for help to us stable companions. Pack When back,
when pack, When no response, We had to turn back
and rejoin the others. Ar has many of these moments

(17:15):
of pain, when we have to control our feelings, forget
those we love, those who are suffering, those who are dying,
and think of nothing but our regiment, our squadron, our troop.
Paquin's name would be marked on the roll as missing,
a solemn word which means so many things, a word
that leaves a little hope but gives rise to so
many fears. Over the fields under a brilliant moon, the

(17:38):
squadron retired in silence. Those who have served in war
know that solemn moment, when after a day's fighting, each
corpse arrives at its appointed place. Of rest. It is
the moment when, in normal life, nature falls asleep in
the peace of the evening. It is the moment when,
in villages and farms, lights appear in the lower windows

(17:58):
behind which the family is seated around as steaming soup
tureen after the day's work. It is some time now
since we have tasted the exquisite peace of those moments. Instead,
we have grown used to hearing over a wide country
a monotonous and barbarous uproar caused by the thousands of cannon, limbers,
bands and vehicles of every kind, which are the very

(18:19):
life of an army. All these things rumble along methodically
in the dark, clanking and creaking towards a goal invisible
and yet sure. Above this huge chaos, voices rise in
various keys, soldiers astray asking for their road, van drivers
urging on their footsore teams, words of command given by

(18:40):
leaders striving in the dark to prevent confusion among their units.
This is the reverse of the shield of battle, the
moment when we feel weariness of mind and body, and
the infinite sadness of remembering those who are no more
away in the distance. Two villages were in flames luridly
lighting up some corner of the scene. That evening seemed

(19:02):
to me sadder and more distressing than ever. End of
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