a reconnaissance
from the diary of father hénusse, s.j., chaplain of the 84th battery
november 28, 1914. this morning, our dear captain had just begun reading the daily orders, when he suddenly exclaimed:
"ah, no, it begins to get on one's nerves! this footbridge is a regular see-saw. we cannot go on being fooled like this!" he threw the paper down on the table and went out of the room. something was evidently on his nerves.
i picked up the paper and read that, contrary to the aviation information received the last few days, there was a footbridge across the yser, between the milestones 15 and 16, on a level with the petroleum tanks and opposite the "nacelle." this was the tenth time we had been informed that this bridge existed, and just as many times we had been told that it did not exist. we were first ordered to destroy it with shells and then to stop firing there, as the objective was an imaginary one. this little game had unhinged our captain, and this morning he was more unhinged than i had ever seen him. when he came back, i saw by his face that it was one of the days of his big decisions. he was extremely reserved, and appeared[pg 288] to have his ideas concentrated on some subject. he did not utter a word and i said to myself, "either our captain is going to fulminate a 'note' or he is going to investigate that footbridge himself." i had guessed rightly. he put on his boots and gaiters, placed his browning behind his hip and his field-glasses in his breast-pocket, took up his cap, and made his exit, without even uttering his famous: "au revoir, my friends."
it was ten in the morning, and a regular november morning, grey, cold, and damp, but as a matter of fact no one took much notice of the weather. all day long we were inside the infamous little farm that we had nicknamed "taboo farm" because, in the midst of a plain ravaged by shells, it was the only building that had remained intact. two or three "saucepans" had fallen in the farmyard, shattering all the windows, but that was all. we replaced the window-panes by planks of wood and mattresses and lived in a little cavern-like room, sitting round a cracked stove, in which we only burned wood. as to showing our faces outside, that was not good enough. in the first place there was the mud, the terrible "polder mud," slimy, deep, and clinging. after walking ten steps, one came back with enormous cakes of about twenty pounds on each foot. and then there were the petroleum tanks, the two enormous tanks over yonder in the background of the yser. they dominated the whole region in its autumn bareness and were like two sentinels of death. for the last month they had been riddled by the firing, and the petroleum had flamed up. oh, the fine flames, lighting up with a glorious fire the dixmude victory! these tanks were now full of holes like sieves. one[pg 289] of them had given way and fallen in, but the other one was still standing and made an admirable observation-post for the enemy's artillery, so that we did not care to attract their terrible "saucepans" in the direction of "taboo farm."
at noon, our chief had not returned. we waited luncheon until one o'clock and then we decided not to wait any longer. the inevitable soup, made of preserved peas, and the pneumatic-tyre beefsteak disgusted me a little more than usual. i was feeling very anxious about the captain. i made enquiries two or three times at the battery, but the same reply came each time: "we have not seen him since this morning, when he came to give the command of the battery over to the lieutenant."
towards three in the afternoon, the door was opened noisily and in he walked. he looked tired out, but his eyes were feverishly bright. he was all be-starred with mud and, half joyfully, half wearily, in a way not at all like himself, he sank on to a chair.
"well, i always said so," he remarked. "there is no footbridge, but, my boys, it came very near there being no captain either." ... "what happened? tell us!" we all begged, crowding round him. "give me a beefsteak first. i am dying of hunger. and some coffee, too, for i am parched with thirst."
he then took his boots off, pitching one to the right and the other to the left, and his gaiters anywhere.
"there!" he said, at last. "i have been myself, for i had had enough of that nonsense. lieutenant zaeydydt, brigadier marteau, and i set off together. we could not stand that sort of thing any longer and i was determined to get to the bottom of it, if we had to go right there ourselves. things went all right as far[pg 290] as the yser, to the milestone 16. the last of the trenches occupied by the french territorials are there, but we could not discover anything that was of any use to us. looking out from there, towards the north, on a level with the tanks, there was something that looked like a footbridge over the yser, but it was not distinct enough for us to be sure about it and we decided to go on along the river.
"just then, the french howitzers opened fire on the tanks: all the firing was from eighty to one hundred yards too far. suddenly our good little eighty-four began to spit. you cannot imagine the pleasure it gave us to hear it quite near to its target. it was hitting a ruined house and each shot entered straight inside. it was the famous wine-shop, where we had been told there was a battery. all rubbish! there was no more a battery there than there is on my hand. all the same the firing was good.
"we left the territorials and went on, half crawling. we made good progress along the river just below the towpath. a hundred yards farther on were two french sentinels, who wished us good luck, and then two belgian sentinels belonging to the 2nd chasseurs. we could see nothing but their heads emerging from a hole, and after this we met no one. to the left, was a great sheet of inundation, to the right, was the yser, and beyond, apparently nothing but deserted ruins. we kept on our way and, presently, came up against a huge tree lying on the ground and barring the towpath. we had to go round this obstacle and we first passed behind the ruins of a little house, built on the roadside. we were now advancing towards the inundation. it was all terrible. ruins of houses broke the surface of the lake here and there. some[pg 291]times we saw the dead bodies of horses and of cows there, too. there was also a dead man, a poor young belgian chasseur. he must have been there since the dixmude battle. he was fair-haired, half buried in the mud, his gun under his arm and his head thrown back, so that his pointed beard was skyward and he was wearing an eyeglass. we were now once more on the towpath and were a little nearer the famous footbridge. it was only a hundred yards from us. we stood still and at once understood. on looking at the map, you will see on the left bank of the yser the two petroleum tanks near the towpath, where we then were. on the right bank is the "nacelle," as indicated on the map, but at this spot, 150 yards above the tanks, the yser makes a bend and, consequently, what is at the water's edge on the left bank looks, from where we are, as though it were on the right bank. now on the left, starting from the tanks and projecting over the river, are two big pipes, by means of which the boats get the petroleum on board, and these two pipes, seen projecting on the right bank, are what had been taken for a footbridge, and it is on this imaginary footbridge that we have been firing like imbeciles.
"farther on, there is a footbridge facing the road which crosses the last 'e' of oudstuyvekenskerke on the map. just as we had taken note of this, we heard 'bzim! bzim! bzim!' and a whole collection of balls broke up the ground around us. we threw ourselves flat down first, and then began to concert. where had they come from was the first question. it was not possible to decide that, but, instinctively, we suspected the petroleum tanks and the terrible house with turrets, to the left of the petroleum tanks,[pg 292] and the cemented cellar, between the house and the tanks, where we could see the black mouths of the loopholes. we decided to rush along the towpath and bury ourselves in the deserted trenches along the bank sloping down to the river. we went along like three zebras. 'bzim! bzim! bzim!' we were in our holes though—for our refuge was not a regular trench, but separate holes made for single riflemen and divided by earth.
"zaeydydt was in one hole, marteau in another, and i in a third, separated from each other by the distance of a yard to a yard and a half. we were quiet for a few minutes, getting our breath again, and then we began a fresh consultation, without being able to see each other. as there were about twenty of these holes, we decided that we would each spring out, turn round on our stomachs, so that our legs should drop into the next hole, and then slip down bodily into it. this we did, and the boches must have had an amusing sight if they were watching us. three men springing out of a hole, pirouetting on their stomachs, and disappearing into the next hole. each time we were greeted by the same volley, 'bzim! bzim! bzim!'
"i now know something of the sensations of my rabbit-brothers, when the shooting season commences. just at that moment, i remembered that i had not said a word to our chaplain, our dear, good chaplain, before starting on this expedition. i regretted this, but at the same time i did not know what i could have said to him.
"we reached our last shelters in this way. the lieutenant joined me in my hole. he was laughing like a lunatic, but i was not laughing at all.
[pg 293]
"'marteau! brigadier marteau!' i called out. there was no reply.
"'good heavens! had he been hit at the last hole?'
"'marteau!' i called again and a voice that sounded a long way off replied, 'captain!'
"'are you whole, my boy?'
"'yes, captain.'
"'well played then! now listen. the tree that lies across the road is fifty yards from us. we are going to run to it at full speed, jump over it, and lie down behind it to get our breath again. the lieutenant will lead off.'
"de zaeydydt started and bullets whizzed through the air and exploded. he reached the tree, got mixed up in the branches, and rolled on the ground. i thought he had been hit and i shuddered. he got up again, cleared the tree, and disappeared. i said to myself, 'my dear boy, you are too short to scale that. you had better go round the tree again and the house.' 'marteau,' i called out, 'i am going to start. follow me.' i sprang out. marteau followed me and there was a shower of bullets, but our hour had not yet come—and we got through safely.
"we were very soon in the french trenches and the soldiers welcomed us heartily. they had not expected to see us again. our return journey, from the time we had seen the first bullet to the last one, had taken an hour and twenty minutes. ah, i forgot to tell you that we had taken notes on the map and from the last 'e' of kaesteelhoek, there was a gleam from a boche battery. that battery will hear from us to-morrow!"
the beefsteak and the coffee now put in an appear[pg 294]ance, and our captain started on his meal like a wolf that had been starving for a fortnight in the snow. he is now sleeping and i am noting down this souvenir of the war, by the side of a fire which is smoking badly, as it is raining and raining outdoors....
december 6, 1914. great joy at our battery. our captain has received the order of leopold for his fine reconnaissance, november 28, 1914, on the yser.
