September 4, 2025 • 48 mins
06 - 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.
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.
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Chapter six 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,
(00:21):
Chapter six, Chapter six, A Tragic Night in the Trenches,
November three, nineteen fourteen. Imagine a little tiled room, some
sixteen feet by nine in which, for over a fortnight,
passing soldiers have been living, sleeping and eating. Imagine the
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furniture overturned, the broken crockery strewn on the floor, the
doors and drawers of the cupboards poured out, their modest contents,
scattered in the four corners of the house. Add to
this the 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,
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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 my squadron and I were lodged on
that memorable November evening. It was five o'clock a night
was already falling, the cold, damp, misty night of Flanders
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following on a dreary autumn day. Outside, the guns were
roaring far away. The Battle of Yessir was going on.
Our regiment had just been brought by rail from the
Rhems 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 were ever
a cavalryman. You must make up your minds, cheerfully to
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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 your country relies upon you
to stop them. Our good chasseurs left their horses at Elveding,
ten kilometers from here. They came on foot, hampered by
their heavy cavalry cloaks, dragging their riding boots through the
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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 grieved to say I was not
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at the head of my troop. I was unable to
take part in the epic battle around Bigschute, 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 brings tears to the eyes
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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 Jay, who fell bravely at the
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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,
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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 the reserve. They found billets in little forsaken farms,
some six hundred yards from the firing line. Our men
rested as well as they could all day, making beds
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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 our infantry socheurs 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
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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
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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 kilometers off
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towards Steenstrat the cannon were working away furiously, while only
a few paces from our shanty, A section of our
seventy fives was firing incessantly over the wood of big schute. 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.
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Day was dying and we had not seen a gleam
of the sunshine since morning. The sky was gray, a thick,
dirty gray. It seemed to be very low close upon us,
and I felt that the night would come by slow
degrees without any of the admirable symphonies of color that
twilight sometimes brings to battlefields, making the combatant fill that
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he is ending his day in apothsis. But those four
seemed to hear nothing in the gray 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,
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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 offices cast suspicious and inquisitorial
glances at each other over the cards. Once bade two hearts,
two of trumps, I double your turn, Major, But all
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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
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bullets began to whistle around 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 the objective. Obviously, the attack was not
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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
at us 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.
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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 up eyes to see, without uttering a word.
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In front of us was the dark line of the wood.
We scrutinized it sharply, this silent mass of trees and
bushes on which autumn had already laid the most splendid
colors of its palate, 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,
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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 violent, tinted veil across
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the sky. In spite of the tragic present, I could
not but admire the marvelous 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 heads.
At the same time, the fire of the German mortars
redoubled in intensity, and their great coal boxes big shells
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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
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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 heavily on our hearts
that it made us dumb and incapable of exchanging our thoughts,
or rather, one thought that haunted us all. What has
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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,
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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 cracking of the bullets and was heard
by the whole squadron. He had no need to repeat
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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
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word of command. We disposed our men in skirmishing order
in the ditch of the road passed in front of
our farm, parallel with the skirts of the wood. Our
squadrons thus formed a line from three hundred to four
hundred yards, capable of holding the enemy in check for
some time, if they had succeeded in taking their trenches
and were already pushing through the thicket. Kneeling on the
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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 a motion
in any of them. They were all looking straight before them,
trying to see whether some helmeted soldiers were emerging from
the bushes in the gathering shadow. What splendid soldiers the
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war had fashioned for us. They are no longer merely
the diligent and conscientious cavalrymen we took the 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
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of them now verges on temerity. I have had two
new men in my troops for a short time, Laducett
and Roger. They are territorials men of from thirty eight
to forty, who, wearying of the depot and envying their
juniors in the field, asked and obtained leave to rejoin
the regiment at the front. They fascinated me at once
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by their high spirits, their jovial chaff, and the cheerfulness
from which they undertook the most laborious of 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
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smothered laughter at that corner. Evidently Ladusette 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 mustache, 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
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of his neighbors 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 gaffored appreciatively and seemed
to be enjoying himself thoroughly. I rejoiced to think that
I had got two first rate recruits worthy to fight
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side by side with the fine fellows of my brave troop.
Suddenly a dark figure emerged from the woods. 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. Don't fire, don't fire. We had fortunately
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recognized the uniform of our infantry chaseurs, but this increased,
rather than allayed, our anxiety. We naturally imagined the direst
catastrophs and feared the most terrible consequences when we saw
those in whom we had trusted, those who occupied the
trenches nearest to Big Chute beating a retreat. The first
of the fugitives came up to us. They seemed completely demoralized, haggard, ragged,
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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. Ow flank was turned. There
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were thousands of them. They came through the village and
enfilated 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 pitable
to hear, the tall figure of a lieutenant of foot
Chessers rose suddenly before us. He looked like a ghost,
and for a moment we thought he was about to fall,
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and an exhausted mass at our feet. His face was
covered with blood. The red mask in which his white
eyes formed two brilliant spots. Was horrible to see. His
torn tunic and all his clothing was saturated with blood.
He was gesticulating wildly with the revolver. He clutched in
his hands and seemed absolutely distraught. As he passed, the
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major seized him by the arm halt, halt, Look here,
you must rally your men. We can put up a
good defense 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'm going to form up by the artillery.
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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
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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
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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
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of shells and bullets filled the air with their strange
and terrible music. A man came out of the wood
and walked quietly towards It was not light enough to
distinguish his uniform, but his calm and placid bearing was
in marked contrast to that of the infantry schoffeurs. He
must have recognized the little group formed by the Major,
my comrades, and myself in the middle of the road,
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for he made straight for us. When he got to
within twenty paces of us, we recognized, to our joys
Sergeant Madeleine, 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
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attitude dispelled our fears at once, He gazed at us
with wide astonished eyes from under the peak of his shacko,
and came on quietly, as if he were taking a walk,
his hands in his pockets, murmuring in a tone of stupefication,
what on earth is the matter? Well, really, this is
a little too much, exclaimed the major. That's just what
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we want you to tell us. But I have nothing
to tell you, Major. The trench of the infantry Chaseurs
was taken. We are all right, But the colonelis 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,
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that we all felt inclined to laugh. Madeleine had already
given proof of his courage. He had even been mentioned
in orders for his valor, But we had never seen
him so placidly, good humored 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 to win our share of glory. Forward.
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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 dishes, began
their advance towards the wood, the enemy's artillery, shortening its range,
began to pour a perfect hail of shrapnel on our line.
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It was now almost pitch black, and there was something
infernal in that 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 raphael fire. The noise was incessant,
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and each shell, as it burst, illuminated 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 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 our
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third squadron. This time, the flash of the explosion had
not only lighted up a corner of the landscape. I
had had a glimpse of a terrible sight. You must
imagine the intense and rapid light 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
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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
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the major calmly giving orders pick him up gently. 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 Floss wounded,
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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,
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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
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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
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for them by perfect trust. The major had now rejoined us.
We were not to lose a moment in responding to
our colonel summons, and we were to remember that our
comrades of the second Squadron were bearing the brunt of
the enemy's attack. Alone. Forward we resumed our headlong advance.
It was more difficult in the darkness of the wood
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than at 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 mines were strung up to
fever pitch, and the 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
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with its fireworks. Suddenly I heard of 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
myne orders without a word. Forward. Time was precious. Every
minute might be fatal to our brothers in arms. We
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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 forward forward.
We were all breathless from our frantic rush, but no
one thought of slacking speed. I turned round to someone
who was trotting behind me. It was my noncommissioned officer.
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Without a moment's loss of time, he had to 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 la Giraldi,
Well he's killed, and Corporal Durand too, ah, and there
are many wounded. I made no answer. Oh, it was horrible,
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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 grass 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
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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
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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
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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
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spreading a dyphanous veil before our eyes. In the foreground.
To the right, I could barely guess the dim outline
of the battered mill and of the brunt farm flanking
the trench occupied by the foot chasseurs. Further off, however,
I could vaguely distinguish the rows of trees that marked
the first line of German trenches about two hundred fifty
yards away from us. To the left, the mist had
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a reddish tinge. No doubt, yet another house was burning
in the unhappy village of Bigschute. 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
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the left. On the other hand, the gunfire and rifle
fire were incessant in the direction of the bridge of Stinstrut,
defended by the brigade of mounted chasseurs. It seemed evident
that the Germans, having failed in their attempt to cross
the Yess Canal near us, were making a fresh effort
towards the north. However, it is not safe to rely
too absolutely, even upon the most logical deductions, for very
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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 luster, seemed to
make it more disconcerting. Persons assumed strange forms, and the
shapes of things were modified or exaggerated. Our dazzled eyes
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were mocked by depressing hallucinations. The smallest objects took on
alarming proportions, and whenever a slight breeze stirred the foliage
of the beet root 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,
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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
around Bigshute. 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
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relapsed into darkness and immobility. Towards Strenstraudt 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, and men began to feel hungry, and
when in each troop the chasseurs would set out panikin
in hand towards the smoking saucepan, where the cook awaited them,
wielding his ladle with an important air. But on this
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particular evening no one thought of eating. We seemed all
to feel that our work was not yet over, and
that we still had a weighted task on hand. It
was certainly not the moment to light fires and to
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.
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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 moonbeam struck full on their faces,
leaving their bodies surrounded in the darkness of the trench.
What a strange and comforting spectacle it was. In every
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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 chaseurs and look into their eyes without
a word. Dare I read so many noble and touching
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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 arrest and a delight.
As soon as it is over, they have to resume
the hard life of Cavalrymen on active service spend all
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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 the half destroyed or
abandoned villages. Quarters they must leave on the morrow. Yet
nothing seems to depress them. They preserve all of the
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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 no
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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 have come from the rattle of arms, orders given
in whispers, footsteps slipping on fat soil of plowlands, listening
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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 arose
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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 event
entful evening, with what ardor and unanimity? And also I
am bound to admit with what art these men proclaim
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their faith before rushing on death. One could imagine no
more magnificent temple for the prayers of the 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 mean noble and inspiring. The voices were true, and
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the execution admirable. But above all the singing conveyed a
disturbing impression of disciplined and ordered piety. To what length
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
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then dominating the tumult. We heard their trumpets sounding the short,
monotonous notes of the Prussian charge. I leaped back into
the trench independent fire. 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
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a feverish haste. I was deafened and bewildered by the
terrible noise of the firing in the narrow confines of
the trench. Twa 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 gray shadows running about in the fog.
Then not a single dark figure was visible on the
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pale background of the tragic scene. How many of the
dark 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?
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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 to us. But above all it was essential to
economize 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
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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,
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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.
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Then he raised his arm slowly, and a hoarse voice
yelled off. Other voices repeated the word of command and
were answered by a renewed hurrahs. Then the heavy line
of riflemen sprang up again and rushed towards us fire fire.
Once more, our trenches belched forth their infernal fire. We
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could now plainly see numbers of them fall. But they
suddenly threw themselves on the ground, just as before. But
instead of crouching motionless among the beet root, they began
to answer our fire. Innumerable bullets whistled about us. I
noted with joy that my men remained perfectly steady, and
they were aiming and firing deliberately, whereas at other points
the fusilaie was so violent that it cannot have been efficacious.
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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 him reserve, twenty five, perhaps thirty. Howard
it all end? I was just thinking of ordering my
troop to cease fire in order to reserve my ammunition
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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 silence,
I was obliged to intervene to subdue the joyous efferveescence
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caused in my troop. The men began to discuss their
impressions in tones of glee that might have become dangerous.
Laddo SAT's voice was heard, as usual above the din,
calling upon his absent wife to admire his exploits. Madame
Lado set if you could have seen that, But we
had to be on the quiveve. The German attack had
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been checked, but it might be renewed. We were fully
alive to the hurriage 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 would
diging new trenches. They no longer uttered the contemptuous guttle
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cries of cavalry cavalry. They had learnt to their cost
that these French caverrymen, 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
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hastily detached two troopers to man the listening posts, and
they slipped away silently. Then, as our captain had unfortunately
been summoned to Elveding that day on a special duty,
I went to look for the Major to make my
report to him. My men were seated themselves on the
rough ledges cut into the slope of the trench, their
carbines between their knee, and were talking together in low tones.
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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 fifty two dear s, Major, three aces Capital.
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This really was 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 picquet. Oh, all you who are
of necessity far from the scene of the conflict, good
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frenchmen and valiant French women, How I should have liked
you to see this picture. No doubt, you often wonder
whether those who were defending your homes against the cursed
invader will be able to bear the sufferings of this
war to the bitter end. You fear that they may
be losing their good humor and their dashing spirits. You
imagine them brooding with care worn faces and anxious souls,
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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 picquet 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. Oh.
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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 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 morale of
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his troop. Lageraldi 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 chateur to wander at
the melancholy of my charming young comrade. Time went on
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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 Bossinge bridge by which
we had crossed the USSA. 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
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fired at intervals alone reminded us that they were not
forsaken on Lieutenant all Is ready a corporal had come
out of the woods to tell O that the grays
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
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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 exultation of our advance, we knew the moral
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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
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to our men. The branches court at us and slashed
at 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
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beside it, their tunics thrown off, leaning on spade and pickaxe.
It was there, in a little ravage garden plot at
the foot of the 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
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the touching and simple burial right of soldiers. To me,
nothing could be more beautiful than such a last resting place.
Why should we desire richer tombs, sepulca stones, and sculpted 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
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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 day. All this is better than the most splendid obsequisies.
And what can be more touching than the poor little
bunches of wild flowers which the friends of the dead
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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 La Giraldi 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,
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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
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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
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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
around 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 be
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mown down by shot and shell. Then I shall remember
the gruesome moment to my dying hour. We all leapt
into the only available shelter, crouching together in the newly
dug graves. We were just in time. Bullets flew past
us the great coal box's berth without intermission. The uproar
was tremendous, beyond anything we had ever heard. It would
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be impossible to describe 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 net work of projectiles would be drawn more tightly
round us, and that one would fall into our holes,
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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 oh and me.
We would 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
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throw a few spadefuls of earth upon it. They would
put a plain wooden cross above, and with our name
and ranks, the number of our regiment, a date November third,
nineteen fourteen, and it would be better than any sumptuous monument. Hush,
listen between two explosions. In spite of the noise of
the German bullets, we distinctly heard the crack of our carbines.
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Our men are fighting, 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
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seemed an interminable race, the tolmult 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
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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. On the following day, November four,
at three in the morning, a battalion of the Regiment
of Lyne came to relieve us. It formed part of
that glorious twentieth corpse which has covered itself with glory
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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 infantryman defiled into the narrow trench, calm,
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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 admire your regiment. Your general
has just told us how your chasseurs have behaved. Accept
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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 despa and you
deserve it. Good night and good luck, Thank you, good luck.
Once more we passed through the wood to take up
our positions in reserve. Our men were beginning to feel
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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 Corpse, which is the admiration of
the whole army. Each man forgot his tortured nerves, his
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aching head, his weary legs, repeating to himself the magic
words your regiment is to be mentioned in despatches end
of chapter six recording by FnH. Visit www dot book
Ranger dot co dot uk.
Chapter six 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,
(00:21):
Chapter six, Chapter six, A Tragic Night in the Trenches,
November three, nineteen fourteen. Imagine a little tiled room, some
sixteen feet by nine in which, for over a fortnight,
passing soldiers have been living, sleeping and eating. Imagine the
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furniture overturned, the broken crockery strewn on the floor, the
doors and drawers of the cupboards poured out, their modest contents,
scattered in the four corners of the house. Add to
this the 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,
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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 my squadron and I were lodged on
that memorable November evening. It was five o'clock a night
was already falling, the cold, damp, misty night of Flanders
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following on a dreary autumn day. Outside, the guns were
roaring far away. The Battle of Yessir was going on.
Our regiment had just been brought by rail from the
Rhems 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 were ever
a cavalryman. You must make up your minds, cheerfully to
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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 your country relies upon you
to stop them. Our good chasseurs left their horses at Elveding,
ten kilometers from here. They came on foot, hampered by
their heavy cavalry cloaks, dragging their riding boots through the
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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 grieved to say I was not
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at the head of my troop. I was unable to
take part in the epic battle around Bigschute, 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 brings tears to the eyes
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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 Jay, who fell bravely at the
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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,
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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 the reserve. They found billets in little forsaken farms,
some six hundred yards from the firing line. Our men
rested as well as they could all day, making beds
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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 our infantry socheurs 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
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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
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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 kilometers off
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towards Steenstrat the cannon were working away furiously, while only
a few paces from our shanty, A section of our
seventy fives was firing incessantly over the wood of big schute. 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.
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Day was dying and we had not seen a gleam
of the sunshine since morning. The sky was gray, a thick,
dirty gray. It seemed to be very low close upon us,
and I felt that the night would come by slow
degrees without any of the admirable symphonies of color that
twilight sometimes brings to battlefields, making the combatant fill that
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he is ending his day in apothsis. But those four
seemed to hear nothing in the gray 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,
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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 offices cast suspicious and inquisitorial
glances at each other over the cards. Once bade two hearts,
two of trumps, I double your turn, Major, But all
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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
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bullets began to whistle around 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 the objective. Obviously, the attack was not
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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
at us 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.
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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 up eyes to see, without uttering a word.
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In front of us was the dark line of the wood.
We scrutinized it sharply, this silent mass of trees and
bushes on which autumn had already laid the most splendid
colors of its palate, 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,
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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 violent, tinted veil across
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the sky. In spite of the tragic present, I could
not but admire the marvelous 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 heads.
At the same time, the fire of the German mortars
redoubled in intensity, and their great coal boxes big shells
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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
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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 heavily on our hearts
that it made us dumb and incapable of exchanging our thoughts,
or rather, one thought that haunted us all. What has
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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,
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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 cracking of the bullets and was heard
by the whole squadron. He had no need to repeat
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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
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word of command. We disposed our men in skirmishing order
in the ditch of the road passed in front of
our farm, parallel with the skirts of the wood. Our
squadrons thus formed a line from three hundred to four
hundred yards, capable of holding the enemy in check for
some time, if they had succeeded in taking their trenches
and were already pushing through the thicket. Kneeling on the
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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 a motion
in any of them. They were all looking straight before them,
trying to see whether some helmeted soldiers were emerging from
the bushes in the gathering shadow. What splendid soldiers the
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war had fashioned for us. They are no longer merely
the diligent and conscientious cavalrymen we took the 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
(12:03):
of them now verges on temerity. I have had two
new men in my troops for a short time, Laducett
and Roger. They are territorials men of from thirty eight
to forty, who, wearying of the depot and envying their
juniors in the field, asked and obtained leave to rejoin
the regiment at the front. They fascinated me at once
(12:25):
by their high spirits, their jovial chaff, and the cheerfulness
from which they undertook the most laborious of 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
(12:47):
smothered laughter at that corner. Evidently Ladusette 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 mustache, 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
(13:09):
of his neighbors 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 gaffored appreciatively and seemed
to be enjoying himself thoroughly. I rejoiced to think that
I had got two first rate recruits worthy to fight
(13:31):
side by side with the fine fellows of my brave troop.
Suddenly a dark figure emerged from the woods. 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. Don't fire, don't fire. We had fortunately
(13:54):
recognized the uniform of our infantry chaseurs, but this increased,
rather than allayed, our anxiety. We naturally imagined the direst
catastrophs and feared the most terrible consequences when we saw
those in whom we had trusted, those who occupied the
trenches nearest to Big Chute beating a retreat. The first
of the fugitives came up to us. They seemed completely demoralized, haggard, ragged,
(14:18):
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. Ow flank was turned. There
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were thousands of them. They came through the village and
enfilated 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 pitable
to hear, the tall figure of a lieutenant of foot
Chessers rose suddenly before us. He looked like a ghost,
and for a moment we thought he was about to fall,
(15:04):
and an exhausted mass at our feet. His face was
covered with blood. The red mask in which his white
eyes formed two brilliant spots. Was horrible to see. His
torn tunic and all his clothing was saturated with blood.
He was gesticulating wildly with the revolver. He clutched in
his hands and seemed absolutely distraught. As he passed, the
(15:25):
major seized him by the arm halt, halt, Look here,
you must rally your men. We can put up a
good defense 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'm going to form up by the artillery.
(15:47):
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
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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
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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
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of shells and bullets filled the air with their strange
and terrible music. A man came out of the wood
and walked quietly towards It was not light enough to
distinguish his uniform, but his calm and placid bearing was
in marked contrast to that of the infantry schoffeurs. He
must have recognized the little group formed by the Major,
my comrades, and myself in the middle of the road,
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for he made straight for us. When he got to
within twenty paces of us, we recognized, to our joys
Sergeant Madeleine, 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
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attitude dispelled our fears at once, He gazed at us
with wide astonished eyes from under the peak of his shacko,
and came on quietly, as if he were taking a walk,
his hands in his pockets, murmuring in a tone of stupefication,
what on earth is the matter? Well, really, this is
a little too much, exclaimed the major. That's just what
(17:56):
we want you to tell us. But I have nothing
to tell you, Major. The trench of the infantry Chaseurs
was taken. We are all right, But the colonelis 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,
(18:19):
that we all felt inclined to laugh. Madeleine had already
given proof of his courage. He had even been mentioned
in orders for his valor, But we had never seen
him so placidly, good humored 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 to win our share of glory. Forward.
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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 dishes, began
their advance towards the wood, the enemy's artillery, shortening its range,
began to pour a perfect hail of shrapnel on our line.
(19:05):
It was now almost pitch black, and there was something
infernal in that 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 raphael fire. The noise was incessant,
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and each shell, as it burst, illuminated 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 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 our
(19:48):
third squadron. This time, the flash of the explosion had
not only lighted up a corner of the landscape. I
had had a glimpse of a terrible sight. You must
imagine the intense and rapid light 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
(20:09):
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
(20:31):
the major calmly giving orders pick him up gently. 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 Floss wounded,
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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,
(21:20):
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
(21:42):
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
(22:03):
for them by perfect trust. The major had now rejoined us.
We were not to lose a moment in responding to
our colonel summons, and we were to remember that our
comrades of the second Squadron were bearing the brunt of
the enemy's attack. Alone. Forward we resumed our headlong advance.
It was more difficult in the darkness of the wood
(22:23):
than at 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 mines were strung up to
fever pitch, and the 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
(22:47):
with its fireworks. Suddenly I heard of 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
myne orders without a word. Forward. Time was precious. Every
minute might be fatal to our brothers in arms. We
(23:07):
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 forward forward.
We were all breathless from our frantic rush, but no
one thought of slacking speed. I turned round to someone
who was trotting behind me. It was my noncommissioned officer.
(23:28):
Without a moment's loss of time, he had to 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 la Giraldi,
Well he's killed, and Corporal Durand too, ah, and there
are many wounded. I made no answer. Oh, it was horrible,
(23:50):
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 grass 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
(24:11):
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
(24:34):
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
(24:57):
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
(25:18):
spreading a dyphanous veil before our eyes. In the foreground.
To the right, I could barely guess the dim outline
of the battered mill and of the brunt farm flanking
the trench occupied by the foot chasseurs. Further off, however,
I could vaguely distinguish the rows of trees that marked
the first line of German trenches about two hundred fifty
yards away from us. To the left, the mist had
(25:40):
a reddish tinge. No doubt, yet another house was burning
in the unhappy village of Bigschute. 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
(26:01):
the left. On the other hand, the gunfire and rifle
fire were incessant in the direction of the bridge of Stinstrut,
defended by the brigade of mounted chasseurs. It seemed evident
that the Germans, having failed in their attempt to cross
the Yess Canal near us, were making a fresh effort
towards the north. However, it is not safe to rely
too absolutely, even upon the most logical deductions, for very
(26:24):
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 luster, seemed to
make it more disconcerting. Persons assumed strange forms, and the
shapes of things were modified or exaggerated. Our dazzled eyes
(26:44):
were mocked by depressing hallucinations. The smallest objects took on
alarming proportions, and whenever a slight breeze stirred the foliage
of the beet root 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,
(27:05):
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
around Bigshute. 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
(27:26):
relapsed into darkness and immobility. Towards Strenstraudt 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, and men began to feel hungry, and
when in each troop the chasseurs would set out panikin
in hand towards the smoking saucepan, where the cook awaited them,
wielding his ladle with an important air. But on this
(27:49):
particular evening no one thought of eating. We seemed all
to feel that our work was not yet over, and
that we still had a weighted task on hand. It
was certainly not the moment to light fires and to
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.
(28:14):
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 moonbeam struck full on their faces,
leaving their bodies surrounded in the darkness of the trench.
What a strange and comforting spectacle it was. In every
(28:36):
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 chaseurs and look into their eyes without
a word. Dare I read so many noble and touching
(28:57):
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 arrest and a delight.
As soon as it is over, they have to resume
the hard life of Cavalrymen on active service spend all
(29:18):
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 the half destroyed or
abandoned villages. Quarters they must leave on the morrow. Yet
nothing seems to depress them. They preserve all of the
(29:39):
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 no
(30:00):
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 have come from the rattle of arms, orders given
in whispers, footsteps slipping on fat soil of plowlands, listening
(30:23):
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 arose
(30:46):
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 event
entful evening, with what ardor and unanimity? And also I
am bound to admit with what art these men proclaim
(31:07):
their faith before rushing on death. One could imagine no
more magnificent temple for the prayers of the 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 mean noble and inspiring. The voices were true, and
(31:31):
the execution admirable. But above all the singing conveyed a
disturbing impression of disciplined and ordered piety. To what length
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
(31:54):
then dominating the tumult. We heard their trumpets sounding the short,
monotonous notes of the Prussian charge. I leaped back into
the trench independent fire. 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
(32:16):
a feverish haste. I was deafened and bewildered by the
terrible noise of the firing in the narrow confines of
the trench. Twa 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 gray shadows running about in the fog.
Then not a single dark figure was visible on the
(32:37):
pale background of the tragic scene. How many of the
dark 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?
(33:00):
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 to us. But above all it was essential to
economize 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
(33:22):
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,
(33:46):
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.
(34:06):
Then he raised his arm slowly, and a hoarse voice
yelled off. Other voices repeated the word of command and
were answered by a renewed hurrahs. Then the heavy line
of riflemen sprang up again and rushed towards us fire fire.
Once more, our trenches belched forth their infernal fire. We
(34:28):
could now plainly see numbers of them fall. But they
suddenly threw themselves on the ground, just as before. But
instead of crouching motionless among the beet root, they began
to answer our fire. Innumerable bullets whistled about us. I
noted with joy that my men remained perfectly steady, and
they were aiming and firing deliberately, whereas at other points
the fusilaie was so violent that it cannot have been efficacious.
(34:52):
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 him reserve, twenty five, perhaps thirty. Howard
it all end? I was just thinking of ordering my
troop to cease fire in order to reserve my ammunition
(35:13):
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 silence,
I was obliged to intervene to subdue the joyous efferveescence
(35:34):
caused in my troop. The men began to discuss their
impressions in tones of glee that might have become dangerous.
Laddo SAT's voice was heard, as usual above the din,
calling upon his absent wife to admire his exploits. Madame
Lado set if you could have seen that, But we
had to be on the quiveve. The German attack had
(35:55):
been checked, but it might be renewed. We were fully
alive to the hurriage 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 would
diging new trenches. They no longer uttered the contemptuous guttle
(36:18):
cries of cavalry cavalry. They had learnt to their cost
that these French caverrymen, 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
(36:39):
hastily detached two troopers to man the listening posts, and
they slipped away silently. Then, as our captain had unfortunately
been summoned to Elveding that day on a special duty,
I went to look for the Major to make my
report to him. My men were seated themselves on the
rough ledges cut into the slope of the trench, their
carbines between their knee, and were talking together in low tones.
(37:03):
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 fifty two dear s, Major, three aces Capital.
(37:25):
This really was 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 picquet. Oh, all you who are
of necessity far from the scene of the conflict, good
(37:45):
frenchmen and valiant French women, How I should have liked
you to see this picture. No doubt, you often wonder
whether those who were defending your homes against the cursed
invader will be able to bear the sufferings of this
war to the bitter end. You fear that they may
be losing their good humor and their dashing spirits. You
imagine them brooding with care worn faces and anxious souls,
(38:06):
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 picquet 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. Oh.
(38:29):
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 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 morale of
(38:51):
his troop. Lageraldi 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 chateur to wander at
the melancholy of my charming young comrade. Time went on
(39:14):
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 Bossinge bridge by which
we had crossed the USSA. 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
(39:36):
fired at intervals alone reminded us that they were not
forsaken on Lieutenant all Is ready a corporal had come
out of the woods to tell O that the grays
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
(39:58):
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 exultation of our advance, we knew the moral
(40:20):
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
(40:41):
to our men. The branches court at us and slashed
at 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
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beside it, their tunics thrown off, leaning on spade and pickaxe.
It was there, in a little ravage garden plot at
the foot of the 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
(41:26):
the touching and simple burial right of soldiers. To me,
nothing could be more beautiful than such a last resting place.
Why should we desire richer tombs, sepulca stones, and sculpted 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
(41:47):
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 day. All this is better than the most splendid obsequisies.
And what can be more touching than the poor little
bunches of wild flowers which the friends of the dead
(42:10):
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 La Giraldi 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,
(42:31):
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
(42:55):
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
(43:15):
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
around 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 be
(43:36):
mown down by shot and shell. Then I shall remember
the gruesome moment to my dying hour. We all leapt
into the only available shelter, crouching together in the newly
dug graves. We were just in time. Bullets flew past
us the great coal box's berth without intermission. The uproar
was tremendous, beyond anything we had ever heard. It would
(43:58):
be impossible to describe 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 net work of projectiles would be drawn more tightly
round us, and that one would fall into our holes,
(44:21):
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 oh and me.
We would 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
(44:43):
throw a few spadefuls of earth upon it. They would
put a plain wooden cross above, and with our name
and ranks, the number of our regiment, a date November third,
nineteen fourteen, and it would be better than any sumptuous monument. Hush,
listen between two explosions. In spite of the noise of
the German bullets, we distinctly heard the crack of our carbines.
(45:06):
Our men are fighting, 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
(45:27):
seemed an interminable race, the tolmult 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
(45:47):
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. On the following day, November four,
at three in the morning, a battalion of the Regiment
of Lyne came to relieve us. It formed part of
that glorious twentieth corpse which has covered itself with glory
(46:09):
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 infantryman defiled into the narrow trench, calm,
(46:29):
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 admire your regiment. Your general
has just told us how your chasseurs have behaved. Accept
(46:50):
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 despa and you
deserve it. Good night and good luck, Thank you, good luck.
Once more we passed through the wood to take up
our positions in reserve. Our men were beginning to feel
(47:11):
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 Corpse, which is the admiration of
the whole army. Each man forgot his tortured nerves, his
(47:34):
aching head, his weary legs, repeating to himself the magic
words your regiment is to be mentioned in despatches end
of chapter six recording by FnH. Visit www dot book
Ranger dot co dot uk.
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