i had persuaded de valpic to report sick. then destiny stepped in. we started again that same night on the stroke of two o'clock. and when i went up to him during the first halt he begged me to strike his name off the list. he felt much better. he so much wanted to see the continuation, to be in at the big victory.

guillaumin, who appeared just then, asked if we were far from the frontier.

de valpic enlightened him. rather not! and judging by the direction we were taking we should soon be in that part of lorraine which had been annexed.

good! it would have been maddening to go a long way round.

we reached étain, where we had a warm welcome, as the bosches had not returned in spite of their boasting. we only went straight through the town.

it was a long stage, but we did not get over-tired in this mild weather. milestone succeeded milestone. metz: 43 km. 41, 40, 38.... guillaumin was exultant:

"a mere constitutional, what?"

and judsi:

[pg 279]

"we'll be sleepin' in their bloomin' country, to-morrow."

some of the men may have believed it. i thought it only right to moderate the enthusiasm.

"oh metz! we haven't got there yet. the siege is sure to be ghastly!"

the lieutenant who was passing, chaffed me:

"dreher, as pessimistic as usual? he'll never believe we're getting on, until he's in berlin."

we went into quarters at buxy. shortly after midnight there was an alarm. the artillery which we had not heard for some days was talking again. as old stagers we had missed the noise, it cheered us up.

but we grumbled when, having been called up and paraded in the church square, we were kept hanging about and freezing for an hour or more. the men "groused," and wanted to know why they couldn't be left to sleep in peace.

a lot of them wanted to "get down to it" again, and we had hard work to prevent them. a certain number sloped off in the dark. each platoon lost a few who never turned up again.

suddenly there was an uproar and crush at the other end of the square. we had to spread ourselves to keep order. playoust went to see what was up, leaving his half-section to take care of itself, with the natural consequence that it disbanded. he came back, raising his hands, with awful tales of the whole populace fleeing before the invaders! there was nothing to be done! this time the bosches were coming in dense masses, ravaging and setting fire to everything!

a group was formed round him. the men listened[pg 280] anxiously. he pulled a face. was he rotting, or speaking the truth? we never thought of interrupting. however someone did take it upon himself. it was de valpic, whom no one had counted on.

"that'll do, playoust! no tomfoolery!"

the other was quite taken aback. guillaumin and i saw the danger, and went to the rescue, turning his tales to ridicule. he tried to back out of it. the men were reassured, and began to laugh, and our own confidence was strengthened by it too.

yes, but what were we waiting for here? for orders, always orders! they were delayed for a good while longer, and when they did arrive, dumbfounded us! we were to fall back on étain.

there was nothing to be done but obey, so we retraced our steps along the road we had followed so gaily the day before. dissimulation was no longer possible. we caught up and mingled with the sad troops of fugitives. as long as the darkness lasted, we only half-realised what it meant. but what a ghastly vision of distress the daybreak brought us!

a dismal procession of women, children, and old men, many of them on foot, laden with packages and bags, or pulling and pushing wheelbarrows and hand-carts—the others huddled pêle-mêle in conveyances of all ages, shapes, and sizes, drawn by oxen, donkeys, and dogs. the whole populace, as playoust had said, people hurrying along, elbowing their way, getting hung up, and delayed. their heads were hanging, and they did not answer the stream of questions which burst from our ranks. babies' tears, and mothers' sighs. every other minute a cyclist, or a staff car cleared a way for itself, tooting and cursing.... and i remember an old, a very[pg 281] old peasant, perched on a big tilted cart brandishing his pitch-fork and shouting to us, as he pointed in the opposite direction:

"that's where they be, you slackers!"

i was glad when, by eight o'clock, we had out-distanced the gloomy horde, by our regular pace. but a long halt on the outskirts of étain condemned us to being caught up again by the mournful stream which flowed all day.

in the evening we set off again, and once more went through the little town. how it had changed since the day before!

consternation reigned.

we asked:

"what's happening?"

"they are there!" was the reply.

"there!" one would have thought they meant a hundred yards away! the inhabitants were turning out. i can see a well-dressed old woman, in mourning, on the pavement in front of her house, loading a waggon—her maid was helping her—with a confused medley of furniture, ornaments, clothes.

"you needn't be in such a bloomin' hurry, mother," shouted judsi; "can't you see we're here!"

"you won't stop them," she retorted.

"oh, steady on!"

she raised her voice till it became a shriek:

"you won't stop them, i tell you! it's just like it was in 1870!"

she raised her gaunt arm, her piercing voice carried well.

"old witch!" growled guillaumin.

we passed on, but could hear her apostrophising the platoons and companies behind us:

[pg 282]

"you won't stop them!"

her monotonous imprecation possessed our minds for a long time.

the night fell, but we marched on and on. what a day's march this was, too. having had a meal we managed to hold out. we advanced without thinking and yet what extraordinary sights we came across. the enormous column of fugitives was trailing along this roadway too. this time we were going up-stream, pushing northwards from étain.

but what were these soldiers scattered among the heart-breaking band. the moon was beginning to shine. we caught sight of uniforms, at first isolated, then in groups—all the troops mixed, and the ranks, too, apparently.... the strange thing was that it never occurred to us to ask what they were all doing or where they were going.... a few details only struck us. why so many foot-sloggers on horseback? this problem worried guillaumin. he sounded me several times.

"mounted scouts, do you think?"

i answered drowsily:

"of course!"

we advanced in silence, mechanically keeping our intervals, our columns of four. no more peasants, and only an infinitesimal number of civilians drifted down-stream now. the crowd was swelling though. transports and teams followed each other, rolling along, slipping and sliding. they were all military-limbered waggons, forage waggons, ambulance waggons, munition waggons, a sutler's van. battery after battery—an extraordinary state of confusion. here were mud-crushers whipping horses, some of which[pg 283] fell, there hussars on foot, dragging their worn-out beasts along.

we passed companies lying in the shade of the ditch, and envied them. there had been no halt for us for two hours at least. we had just climbed a hill; i was marching with half-closed eyes. guillaumin nudged me:

"heavens above!"

i opened my eyes. a large stretch of country lay before us, a dark undulating plain enamelled with monstrous glares.

i turned towards my companion.

"villages!" he murmured.

burning! that woke us up. we slowed down bewildered.

bouillon said:

"pore wretches, that's w'y they was doin' a bolt!"

i counted the fires. two to the right of the road, one of which seemed quite near, and had high flames shooting up, which cast a glow all round. three to the left, and right in front of us at the axis of our march, a huge conflagration.

spincourt? i had heard that name.

the guns were growling sullenly. i tried to work, myself up to a generous pitch of fury. these hamlets in flame, this blood-stained earth, was my france, my lorraine!

but i was like a disconnected electric current.

we were told to lie down in the ditch where we slept. but not for long. we were made to get up and retire a little, and lie down again—we slept once more—then we returned to our first site. we obeyed without grousing, and this time the rest was more worth having. we dozed until daybreak.

[pg 284]

the defilade along the white road continued. how many officers and men, with horror and despair at their hearts, did we meet that august dawn? henriot came to find us. he was tortured with suspense at last. what were all these people doing? we shook our heads, hesitating to pronounce an opinion. it all passed as in a dream. silent, preoccupied phantoms who seemed to be hastening towards some goal....

now, however, some were to be seen whose pace was less rapid, and who did not detest being looked at—men who had been wounded, only slightly for the most part—who seemed to be saying, "we have done our bit!"

a few of us ventured to question them. oh, what replies we got. a snare! a shambles! there were too many huns! each man claimed to be the only one left of his battalion or regiment.

a battalion sergeant-major, hit in the foot, gave us a graphic account. "the bosches were coming out of a wood, our 75's loosed off a belt at them, and made pretty good shooting too. you ought to have seen the blighters dance! we were under shelter, not far off, enjoying ourselves enormously. they were blown up and fell in little pieces. platoon after platoon cut up. others followed them, to be met with the same fate. more still—until at the end of an hour, there was a thick rampart of dead bodies all along the edge of the wood. but new lots kept on coming up and crossing the obstacle, others shoving them on from behind. our guns were beginning to stop talking—not enough shells. and the grey swarm slipped through into the plain. suddenly we were threatened and attacked and overwhelmed. what could we do? retire! we ran for our lives."

[pg 285]

henriot ground his teeth, and muttered:

"no, no, not that."

"you'll soon see!" said the other.

he saluted, and went on his way limping.

other accounts were in a different key. there was often a question of a defensive taken by us. we advanced, and lay down and fired. everything was going well, but then suddenly the hostile machine guns were unmasked. ran, ran, ran, ran. the famous crackle went on and on, mowing our lines down like corn. no use being plucky! what could we do? (that was the everlasting refrain.) escape! never to return again.

some badly wounded men appeared supported by three or four comrades who made use of the excuse to escape. there were very few orderlies and stretcher-bearers. one heard nothing but complaints, for the most part unjust, of the army medical corps. guillaumin undertook to see a zouave, who had just come a cropper, to the neighbouring dressing station. he came back disgusted. a major had grossly insulted him:

"oh, go to the devil! your pal's done for!"

a certain number, who were dragging themselves along in a sorry state, found the strength to exhort us, with a melodramatic gesture, to avenge them.

others pitied us:

"poor lads. you don't know what it is!"

"you think not!" retorted bouguet. "we had a taste of it at mangiennes!"

"pooh!" the others snorted with contempt. "mangiennes!" did we think that counted!

some gunners, black with powder, who were squatting in a cart, shook their fists at the foot-sloggers.[pg 286] the latter, absolutely broken down, and drunk with rage, returned their invectives. they were just on the point of pulling out their bayonets. our company commander, who had witnessed the scene, seized the most rabid by the collar. his tone and rank over-awed them.

an old sergeant, with touches of grey on his temples, followed, holding his cap in his hand, and repeating in a singsong voice:

"stick to your packs, lads!"

it was broad daylight now. all our poilus were up, taking in every detail of the show.

will you believe that in the end not one of us was seriously demoralised. warnings and narratives left us rather sceptical. we even felt an uncharitable tendency to rag survivors of the furnace. their hasty gait, their burlesque accoutrements! above all each tragic assurance: "i'm the only one left of the x——," raised storms of laughter. we had seen dozens and hundreds of bearers of that device march past! judsi exclaimed:

"don't cry about it, old chap! your chums are waiting for you in paris!"

i believe that at the bottom of our hearts each one of us felt na?vely convinced that our arrival would put everything right....

the realisation that we were witnessing a rout did however penetrate my consciousness at last, though still only in a vague way. vaguely too i dreaded lest our energy should suffer by it.

i was delighted when we got orders, about six o'clock, to leave the high road. we went across country for not more than four or five hundred yards.

[pg 287]

some trenches dug there appeared before us, as if by chance.

a french dirigible, the fleurus, passed high above our heads, and seemed, i do not quite know why, a happy omen.