that march without halt or respite had led us to the neighbourhood of st. mihiel. there was some talk of our being told off for the active defence of toul. but the next day found us reascending toward the north-east. all the same ground to cover again. we made the best of a bad job.
we passed close to génicourt for the second time. henriot made no more requests, but his gaze lingered sadly on those roofs separated from us by the river; and from that day a secret spring seemed to have snapped in him.
after another hard day's march we again reached the meuse which we had left behind the day before, in order to cut south of verdun.
the river was not very broad at this point, only twenty yards or so, nor very deep, and there were numerous fords. the night was falling. the liquid sheet seemed heavier and darker than usual. guillaumin who was the first to go down to the bank shouted to me:
"i say, the water's red!"
i was loath to believe it; and yet ... i joined him and plunged my hand into it, and then drew it out. these dark stains—must be a bloody deposit! how horrible! i hurriedly wiped my hand on the[pg 315] grass. the rushes washed by the current were soiled in a like manner. those shapeless masses floating below the surface, if one looked hard, turned out to be corpses!
had there been fighting on these banks? no, up-stream, we learnt. furious attempts on the part of the germans to force this important piece of line. they had sustained terrible losses. their bodies, we were told, obstructed the course of the river; it could be crossed dry-shod.
we stayed there that night and the next morning—a repulsive halting place. an acrid odour rose from this charnel stream.
we luckily had a tale of victory to lull us to sleep: the enemy shattering themselves against the obstacle; artillerymen filing off mad with joy caressing their guns. one of their captains boasted that he had demolished more than six thousand bosches with his four batteries. how could we question such feats of prowess while a never-ending stream of human relics floated past on the stream at our feet? the best proof of our success arrived in the shape of an order to recross the meuse and advance again.
a few miles recovered! i greeted with a friendly glance the lovely hills and valleys that saw us again so soon, as victors.
we entered a village named hazaumont, which the teuton flood had submerged barely for an instant; and stayed there all day. we had to be on the alert as the guns were thundering in the neighbourhood, but it was a rest for mind and body nevertheless.
the few inhabitants who had stayed behind exploited the situation. i still laugh when i think of[pg 316] the old woman who was selling her bad wine at four francs a bottle.
judsi, when he learnt the price, gaped with astonishment, opened his hands, and dropped two bottles which he had seized. there was a resounding crash! and he retired, politely saying:
"too dear, madam!"
the old woman uttered piercing shrieks and lodged a complaint. a lot of good it did her. the captain requisitioned the entire contents of her cellar, at tenpence a bottle, indiscriminately!
we might once more have been at man?uvres. we ate and drank, and got a good afternoon's nap; what could we wish for more! one of guillaumin's corporals found a way of hiring himself out to give a hand to the publican in the village. he had his work cut out for him, dashing out from the tap-room to the tables in the garden, but he was richly rewarded for his pains, in the evening, by the great pailful of wine which he brought back in triumph.
he was hailed with delight. there were some abuses, of course. lamalou was heard to ask:
"any one got an empty haversack?"
he disappeared and came back with a rabbit, and a chicken.
the bosches had not pillaged much, only a few houses. i won't swear to it that certain others did not suffer by our doing. there were complaints by the mayor, and an inquiry; they spoke of a thief caught in the act.
the officers in command, on the contrary, closed their eyes to the orgies and drinking parties. discipline was relaxed, in fact. i was a little disquieted about it, in spite of the fact that, in our lot at all[pg 317] events, the men kept within certain limits. it is certain that they were feverishly anxious and eager to make the most of all the material benefits, which they might not enjoy for very much longer. and surely the thought that a lot of these fine lads would be under the ground to-morrow was a good enough excuse.
the place stank of spies. during our short stay, several were discovered, and had summary justice dealt out to them, which gave rise to a tendency to see them everywhere. every civilian fell under suspicion; there were repeated disputes between soldiers and villagers—ill usage and reprisals. we will draw a veil over it! it was sickening!
as to the general situation, the large majority never gave it a thought, and we others still knew nothing.
general pau was supposed to be striking a knock-down blow in belgium while castelnau on the other wing was pushing on the invasion of alsace. a superb enveloping movement! all that our army group in the centre, which served as a pivot, had to do, was to hold out, to avoid being broken through. this slight retirement, on our part, had been of small importance.
but matters were to be precipitated.
the same evening we leave béthain to march northwards towards the firing. we do not get very far. the moment our advance companies enter a village, a hail of "black marias" begins—there are heavy losses—we retire in disorder—an accomplice in the steeple is signalling to the enemy. we have orders to shoot him; he escapes. a deadly halt in a field.
and suddenly on the road close by a hullabaloo, a rout. that stream of fugitives, runaways, and wounded. we know all about that! spincourt over[pg 318] again! an infallible sign of defeat! surprise and bitterness—once more!
some battalions marched past in comparatively good order, troops from the south, who had fought as well as any of the others, but their accents and black beards tickled our sense of humour, and a stupid tale got about that they gave way without fighting.
terrible tidings were passed along, spread by the captain, a native of tarascon, i imagine, who ran up to one of our officers:
"where are you going?"
"to occupy that village."
"impossible, my dear fellow!"
"how's that?"
"we've just come from there! it's raining bommmbs!"
our halt lasts an eternity. the firing is drawing nearer. a moonless night. we hate the feeling of passing on to the front, without having heard ourselves shout to any one, to get out of the way—one of the rare occasions when one wishes instinctively to retire. not far behind us, we felt, was the meuse. yes, there we could make a stand!
the village we entered a few hours ago is on fire. the stream on the road is becoming less dense. the report once more spreads that we are cut off, or at all events forgotten, it appears.
or sacrificed? the colonel warns us that our division has orders to protect the retreat, to hold out to the last extremity. that revives our courage! but i consider. a division to form a rear-guard? how many corps were there crowded there!
they at last decided to take us back. the wan dawn—the "coal-boxes" beginning again. at one[pg 319] point their crash passes so low above our heads that we should like to bend right down to the ground. we are surrounded on all sides by the terrible detonations. a hundred yards from us a platoon of the 23rd battalion is pounded to pieces—an abominable sight!
we have the strength to make our way.... but the lowlands and ditches and woods are running over with wounded; and men who have come to the end of their strength succumbing to over-work and hunger. mounted police scour the roads, in increasing numbers, and beat the bushes, shaking men by the collars who seem to be asleep, but sometimes turn out to be dead.
our instructions were explicit. by midday not one of our men was to be on the right bank of the meuse.
at this point my recollections of places and dates become rather involved. three, four days.... what happened? we march and march, and we fight. but there are no long engagements.
we expect to hold each prepared and organised position. no! we are turned and overwhelmed. we have to break up, pursued by hostile projectiles. and what a nightmare the taubes are. they harry you hour after hour, dropping grenades and bombs, and also messages which we have neither the time nor the inclination to read. incredibly daring pilots descend to within fifty yards! we fire on them in a fury, with "archibalds" and rifles and revolvers. all in vain! nothing touches them. the bird flies off.... i've seen some of the lads exasperated to such a pitch that they began to throw stones.
the line of the meuse? far from it! we could not[pg 320] hold it for an hour. the germans had just crossed it at consenvoye and elsewhere.
an insane circuit began. souilly, montfaucon, exermont, tailly—i won't be answerable for the order in which they came.
the most striking episode occurred at beauclair.
some uhlans were said to be resting in the village. we were ordered to chase them out of it. for once in a way our artillery prepared the way for us, by peppering it for a good hour. then a whistle was blown—we were hanging about on the outskirts—"fix bayonets! charge!"
we rushed the village, marvelling, in spite of the preparation, at such an easy success. then we saw that the enemy had been warned and had evacuated it just before the bombardment had begun. the horrible part was that we had destroyed this village for nothing, nothing at all. not a house was left standing, not a strip of wall spared. some of the inhabitants, some women, came out of the smoking remains. they had taken refuge in the cellars during the devastating cyclone,—many of them had been killed there. mad with rancour, among the ruins, they hurled taunts at us:
"ah. it's you! it's your work, is it! even the bosches are better than you!"
that evening, we retired again after severe fighting. a night march, in zigzag formation, and in the morning bewilderment. we had retired too quickly, it seemed, leaving all our artillery unsupported, and in the greatest danger.
we ourselves were surrounded, so it was said. this time it was really serious! we were assured that the situation was as desperate as it could be.
[pg 321]
our colonel, the one like dumény, had got a splinter in his thigh. the new one collected his officers and pointed out that no choice was left but to surrender or perish. his had been made he added, tapping his revolver. (henriot was my authority for these details.) someone or other, he said, had gone as far as to suggest cutting up the colours to prevent them being left in the hands of the enemy. each n.c.o. and each private should carry away a shred.
they had got as far as that! and then a young staff-captain dropped into the middle of them shouting;
"for heaven's sake, sir, send someone to relieve the guns!"
he energetically took the direction of the operations into his own hands. a certain battalion was to play a certain part! such-and-such a company as flankers. and there was not a minute to be lost!
he was a born leader! we would have followed him wherever he chose.
our counter-attack was successful, and enabled the gunners to bring their batteries and ammunition waggons back.
there was talk, the same day, of an extensive advantage obtained in our neighbourhood. we triumphantly thought we had done with these retrograde marches.
no such luck! at night, orders came as usual to beat a retreat. we were entering on another stage of our fantastic itinerary. a flight—as we were being pursued. the hamlets of argonne again burst into flame behind us. one evening twelve torches could be counted blazing beneath the lowering sky....
[pg 322]
astounding rumours began to spread. the most persistent, but also the one which found the least credence, was this:
"laon and la fère invested!"
