death of sergeant count charles d'ansembourg
by dr. duwez, army surgeon to the regiment of grenadiers
between the walls of sacks, by the breach hollowed out in the dyke, we could see the yser, its banks of mud, and its grey, tranquil stream. the green bank on the other side was reflected in it, surmounted by spikes lifting their sharp points towards the sky.
the raft glided along noiselessly. the man who was drawing the rope was crouching down at the water's edge and his khaki coat made him look like a big rat curled up. in the breach opposite, one or two anxious faces could be seen. the raft bunted against the edge. we were almost in the enemy's territory.
along the little dyke was a shallow trench hollowed out in the thick grasses. one had to bend almost double in order to be protected by the top of the trench. the yser, at our feet, made a bend and curved inwards towards dixmude. the pink and white ruins of this town could be seen in the background. the trench then continued higher up and very soon we were in the little post.
[pg 345]
it was there that sergeant d'ansembourg was lying. a soldier was endeavouring to staunch the blood which, flowing in long drops over the face and from the back of the wounded man's head, formed a little pool. the ball had struck him just above the right eye, near the temple. it had made a hole in the cap lying near the grenade. the wound was a mortal one; there was nothing to be done. all that remained of life was gently ebbing away.
as yet, the paralysis was not complete. some faculties still remained. when the wound was dressed, the poor man remained for a few seconds, holding his head with his hands, leaning on his elbow, as though wrapt in thought. he did not recover consciousness, though, for a single minute, nor did he utter a word.
he had on his waterproof coat, of a greenish colour, and his brown uniform with a leather belt. the refined outline of his sympathetic face could be seen. in the little excavation, with its steep approach, everything was the colour of the ground. the blood stains alone were a cruel contrast to the rest of the colouring.
presently a head appeared at the edge of our burrow. it was a soldier bringing with him a stretcher. he gave a leap and then came in on all fours. gently we laid the wounded man on the stretcher. bullets grazed the top of the earthen parapet, flinging rubbish and dust over us. the germans were there, quite near, only fifty yards away probably.
the wounded man lay there unconscious, his legs already paralysed, his arm clenched on his breast. we pushed the stretcher a little further forward, where the digging had been deeper. we were in a[pg 346] trench that had belonged to the enemy and had been won by our men. there were niches in the walls, which had served as refuge during bombardments. by crouching down, we could get right into these niches with our knees up to our chins. at the end of the passage were some sacks, used for protecting the sentinel. the sky was blue above us, but we could not look at it, as our attention was given to the man lying there before us.
"he was too daring," said a corporal. "yesterday, he came boldly in without stooping in the least. to-day i was here and, as i watched him coming in, i was just beginning to cry out: 'sergeant, what are you doing?' when i saw him sink down. he fell there, against the side first, and then he rolled down."
the man who spoke had the thin, stern-looking face peculiar to those who have suffered much during the war.
"i have seen plenty wounded," he continued, "but never anyone like that whilst i was speaking to him. you cannot imagine the impression it makes."
a man who was crouching down making the trench deeper, threw some earth over the parapet. some bullets dashed against it. the face of the wounded man grew gradually more and more lifeless and his breathing became more difficult. in order to take him away, we were obliged to wait until the blue of the sky grew fainter and the darkness came on. to attempt anything else meant certain death. everyone tried to say something, by way of helping to kill time.
"he was not even on duty. he volunteered to give a hand in taking the post. 'i am better qualified than the others, commandant,' he said, 'for risking[pg 347] my life. i am not married and i am not an only son. if i happen to disappear, i shall leave no one depending on me.'"
leaning against the parapet, we waited there. it began to get gradually colder and colder, and our heads and limbs were feeling more and more the fatigue of three days' consecutive bombardment. our eyes were fixed all the time on the motionless features of the man whom we had known so gay and so full of life.
in the distance a mine exploded, giving a sudden shock to the ground. a part of the trench had blown up, it was a piece of the "death trench" that had disappeared in the air. an a?roplane then came and shooting followed it. the cannon now made its voice heard. the time seems long when one is waiting and watching and, as the wounded man's face changed, our hearts grew fuller and fuller, and we suffered acutely as we watched this life passing slowly away. under the slight moustache, the white teeth could now be seen, the uninjured eye had lost its expression and brilliancy, and only one of the slender, sun-burnt hands moved.
the sky over our heads began to get paler and paler. the white clouds then turned grey and mauve. the hour was approaching for us to leave and, creeping along, we went to see how the land lay, in order to decide which way to go.
the green ground was all pierced with shell holes newly made in the dark earth. spikes were to be seen everywhere, ours made of wood, and the others of iron, protected by barbed wire. rubbish of all kinds strewed the soil. on the other side of the winding yser, the green and brown dyke looked like a cliff[pg 348] rising above the water, that wonderful dyke against which the barbarous wave of invaders had lashed in fury and then died away.
it was just the moment when the blazing light fades and every different colour stands out clearly.
the piles of the two landing stages, made of planks, were plunged in the water.
one of us pushing and the other pulling, we brought the stretcher to the little trench. the man who had been crouching like a rat at the riverside was to be seen again. he gave a low whistle and the raft came gliding along the water. on returning, weighed down by us, it dipped in front, thus breaking the wavelets.
the entrance was very narrow. we had to carry the wounded man through labyrinths of passages with their walls of sacks of earth. this dyke, which, from the other side, looks so beautiful in all its greenery under the blue sky, showed up its ugliness and misery on our side. the whole trench had been devastated by the bombardment and behind it was nothing but a chaos of torn-up earth amidst pools of water.
in the distance could be seen the plain, finishing in the horizon by a thin band of trees and houses, outlined in black against the sunset. the bushes nearer to us were of a dense, green colour and the sky gradually became livid and heavy, with a few streaks of bluish green.
darkness was coming over us and had already swooped down on the passages, with their medley of rubbish. the wounded man was now lying quite motionless, unconscious, with his eye swollen and his face rigid. he was wrapped round in a blanket.
caps in hand, officers and soldiers watched him pass away. with their earth-coloured coats, they[pg 349] looked like so many shadows. they listened in silence to the last prayers.
in the growing darkness, he was carried away along the path under the willow-trees. a mist was stretching over the plain and a fog was rising from among the reeds. for another moment we could see the dark outline of the stretcher-bearers.
how many we had known who had come amongst us young and joyous! and how many of them had we seen carried away in the darkness, along the path under the willow-trees!...
