how stiff i was. i stretched. every joint was aching. i started off, meaning to go all along the bit of line held by the platoon.

the trench was so narrow that the men had to glue themselves against the parapet in order to let me pass. i forced myself to give a friendly word of encouragement to each man. i suddenly bumped into a body. gaudéreaux! the poor fellow's skull had been crushed like a nut.

there were wounded men here and there. bouguet, who had had to give in and sit down, his face drawn with pain; and icard, with folded arms, as plucky as ever, though his shoulder had been ripped up by a splinter of shrapnel.

for whom was i looking? i did not realise it until de valpic hove in sight. there he was, safe and sound. what a relief! his cap was pushed back on his forehead, his cheek-bones were purple, and he had a scratch on his temple which was bleeding.

he had caught sight of me, and was coming up when i saw chailleux, our connecting file, appear behind him. he shouted:

"where's the lieutenant?"

"any orders?"

"yes, we're to fall back."

[pg 461]

"what?"

"in artillery formation."

i was disgusted.

"how absolutely idiotic."

de valpic exclaimed in a hoarse voice:

"we're outflanked on the right."

the edge of the wood sloped away on that side.

a sudden squall hurled us all to the ground. we were blinded by soil. de valpic was half buried. two yards from us a man, who was leaning against the parapet, reeled, but remained standing on his feet. horrors! his head was severed as if by the blow of an axe, just above the contorted mouth. de valpic who had freed himself, and was none the worse, except for feeling somewhat dazed, could not bear the sight of it. he tottered, and his eyes were dimmed. i went to his help, but he recovered himself immediately.

"carry on, carry on," he murmured. "you're needed over there."

i went back and found henriot feverishly repeating:

"now, don't let's lose our heads."

"it's a good job we're going to hook it," guillaumin said to me. "we're about done."

it was quite true. there were nothing but bewildered, dazed-looking men all round, with strained and haggard faces and trembling hands. they would not have counted for much against a resolute onslaught. the enemy, cautious and practical, seemed as busy as possible digging new trenches two hundred yards away from us.

i looked blankly at guillaumin:

"what do you think? are we done for?"

he began to chaff me.

"could we ever be done for?"

[pg 462]

the quartermaster-sergeant came round, with two of the men. all three were smilingly handing round their caps, collecting:

"please help the poor."

what did they want? ammunition? yes, a few extra rounds for the platoon which was to stay and cover the retreat.

i started. so some men were to be sacrificed. i put on a detached tone:

"which platoon has been warned for the job?"

"they drew lots," he said. "it's to be delafosse's."

no. 1. i hurried along to them, feeling that i could not go without shaking humel by the hand. he was touched by it.

"it means hell for us," he said. "but mind you fellows get off all right."

the men accepted their lot without keenness or bitterness. descroix was standing a few yards away. i took a step towards him.

"good luck, descroix."

"like to change places?" he snapped, in a fury.

i felt certain that he was going to be killed, and i was sorry that his last hour should not see his mind ennobled.

i dreaded this withdrawal. it always means more casualties than anything else.

at a pre-arranged signal, we all leapt out of the trench together, and bolted at the double, bending down as low as possible. bullets whistled past our ears, but no. 1 platoon retorted vigorously, and the enemy, as i have already said, seemed equally short of ammunition.

[pg 463]

by a lucky coincidence, the fury of the artillery had diminished. we reached the wood without losses.

arrived there, the difficulty was to slip through this inextricable tangle of leafy branches and jagged tree-trunks. everything was splintered and hacked, and struck one as being the work of drunken woodcutters.

we had to climb and hoist ourselves up and slither down the other side, and cut our way through. our accoutrements caught into everything, and the rifles impeded our progress. i bruised my leg badly against a treacherous stake. we nearly lost our way, having had to make a large circuit in order to avoid a lot of big trees which were still smouldering. an acrid smoke followed us, with which there was mingled a vaguely putrid stench. under the piles of foliage, hundreds of dead bodies were lying, which had been in a state of decomposition for four days.

my great object was to avoid getting separated from my men. i shouted to them continually, and they followed as best they could. some of the wounded, bouguet among them, dragged themselves along heroically.

suddenly, as i was balancing myself on a huge fallen oak, there was a spurt of flame, and a deafening report. i was flung into the under-wood. i got up at once, and, directly the smoke began to clear away, looked round for the lieutenant. i had a terrible feeling that he was pulverised.

no, i soon discovered him, stretched under some bracken. he was motionless. i bent over him and saw that his eyes were open and full of tears.

"hit?" i said.

[pg 464]

he stammered: "yes. the th-thigh. i'm—done for."

i looked. there was a large tear in his trouser, and underneath i caught a glimpse of—such a mess!

i made a movement as if to look for his field dressing. pink froth appeared on his lips:

"not—w-worth it," he stuttered.

"is there anything i can do for you?"

i should have liked to pick him up in my arms and carry him away, poor henriot.

he made an attempt to unbutton his tunic. i helped him. he nodded approval. i think he wanted to get hold of some photograph or letter—the tradition of the dying soldier, whose eternal nobility moved me.

his strength forsook him.

of my own accord, i fumbled in his pocket, took his letter-case and held it out to him. he half-opened his eyes again, and raised himself. his lips moved. his eyelashes fluttered. he took a breath and fell back. i did not know whether he was dead, or had only fainted.

another shell burst just by. something struck my cheek. i put my hand up. there was blood on it. but it was only a fir-cone which had been flung down.

i turned towards henriot again. our men were scattered in the distance. it was impossible to call any one back, and equally impossible to carry him without help. he and i were alone, face to face. what was it he had wished to confide in me? this incomplete scene was becoming tragically mysterious.

"good-bye, good-bye," i murmured, perhaps to a dead man.

[pg 465]

i took the letter case with me, and stumbling beneath the weight of my pack, plunged into the thicket in pursuit of my companions.

i did not catch them up until i got to the other side of the wood. guillaumin was looking out for me!

"what's become of henriot?"

"gone west, i think. a 'jack johnson.'"

"poor fellow!"

and then:

"you'll take command of the platoon?"

i hesitated:

"why not you?"

"you're the senior."

as a matter of fact, i had come out a few places above him at the end of our time at the "peloton."

there was an agitated fusillade behind us, increasing in intensity—delafosse's platoon at work.

i shouldered my rifle, and went to report the lieutenant's death to the captain. he said, curtly:

"you've got your platoon commander's certificate. you're senior to guillaumin."

(how on earth did he know?)

he continued: "you will immediately become acting sub-lieutenant. if we both get through safely, i'll see that you get your commission."

he got back on to his horse, which his orderly brought up, and leaning across the animal's neck, said:

"in case the matter interests you, we are retiring because we chose to. our line has not been forced. it's the enemy who can't hold out any longer. only there's a detachment of landwehr trying to turn us southwards."

i thanked him with a beam.

[pg 466]

as i drew near to the platoon, guillaumin raised his voice:

"your new subaltern, lads!"

"good luck to him!" bouillon exclaimed.

there was a subdued murmur of satisfaction and approval. i must be forgiven for having noticed it. it was one of the great moments of my life.

i signed to them to be silent. guillaumin shook my hand.

"you deserve it, michel."

i only answered by a shake of the head. we started off again, and i was thankful that my cap threw my face into shadow. nobody guessed that my eyes were wet. oh, how extraordinarily buoyant, how strong i felt, both physically and morally!

the last barrier had fallen between these men's caste and mine. no more domination imposed by chance or force. i was the leader they would have chosen, just as i was the leader imposed upon them.

this was the only legitimate, the only true authority.

we were again traversing the same boundless plain, which yesterday had seen us braving the teuton artillery, but this time in a slightly oblique line. no shells escorted us, for a change! how good it seemed.

we were marching at a smart pace, and had put not far off ten kilometres behind us. the poilus were reviving. their behaviour delighted me. they marched with a will across the dry stubble. judsi began to rag:

"if only i'd 'a thought o' bringing my grub."

bouguet still kept up—a miracle of energy. he had got his arm in a sling. he was only sorry—no[pg 467] one could guess it however long they tried—that he was not allowed to sing.

we had had nothing to eat for forty-eight hours, and had been fighting for thirty hours almost uninterruptedly.

call us beaten men? nonsense! about-to-be victors!

only one thing worried me. the almost empty cartridge-pouches.

just then we unexpectedly came across the train of company waggons. we halted, and while the replenishment was going on, our men slanged the drivers roundly. slackers who had not been able, or had not wanted, to find us!

as for me, i looked for playoust, determined that he should pay for some of his delinquencies. but at the sound of his name a corporal looked up:

"a sergeant of that name?"

"exactly."

"well, he didn't last long!"

"what?"

"he was killed yesterday morning, just as we left nanteuil. we hardly saw him as a matter of fact. a shell splinter."

"you don't mean it!" i said, astounded.

the corporal went on: "probably a pal of yours, was he?"

"yes, yes!"

"he looked a good sort, and an amusing fellow, i should say, wasn't he?" he insisted.

"one of the best?"

"a ripper!"

a posthumous reconciliation!

the halt here was prolonged. coffee was made.[pg 468] the sun set in fiery splendour. our arms were piled up at a short distance from a cross-road. the traffic there was intense: waggons, lorries, and batteries. we drew each other's attention to four armoured motor machine-guns, which were the object of a great deal of curiosity. they were the first in use, i believe, and were going southwards.

in the growing gloom, guillaumin pointed out de valpic to me, deep in conversation with an officer in the dragoons. when the latter had hurried on, our friend came back to us.

"i've just seen my cousin de montjezieu. it's ripping the way one comes across people!"

"any news?"

"yes—interesting too."

we looked up anxiously.

in a few words he repeated the information he had just received. it was this. we were engaged in what might be called the second battle of the ourcq, for there had been another fought and lost, between the 4th and 7th, by the plucky divisions of reservists from the paris garrison. the great object of the staff had been to collect a large army of fresh men to place in the hands of the commander-in-chief, the 7th army corps coming from alsace, the 4th—that was ours—and then the divisions from africa which had just disembarked at marseilles. (so there was some truth in pomot's tales, i thought.) with all those combined we should pull it off. we had been withstanding the pressure brought to bear on our weakest point all that day. now we were going to take the offensive. if we managed to pierce their line...! from a certain thrill in his voice i imagined that that was not all.

[pg 469]

"what? what more do you know? out with it!"

de valpic hesitated for a moment: "and the decisive attack, the big push, is to come off to-night, according to my cousin!"

"do you believe it?"

guillaumin yawned. "i say, they're not counting on us, i hope!"

"why?" i said, sharply.

"we've done our bit!"

"that's no reason!"

"i'm sleepy."

"get down to it, old chap. we'll wake you in time for the fun."

he lay down in the ditch. the night reigned. searchlights swept the heavens. there was an occasional star-shell, and firing all the time. a fresh breeze got up.

some time slipped by. we were all, or nearly all, dozing. that vague fusillade in the distance would have been enough to upset us. but suddenly without a whistle, without a call, everyone was on his feet. the echo of a bugle-call was borne to us on the wind, coming from several miles away—impressive, rousing notes. the solemn sound of the charge. each man seized his arms ready to rush forward.

but it was not to be. the captain came by: "our turn will come, lads. go on resting for the present—sleep, if possible!"

he certainly had us well in hand. those few words from him were enough. the men lay down in the grass again, wrapping their greatcoats round them, and it was not long before they were sound asleep. stars were shining in the calm sky above us.