CHAPTER SIX

DAY BEFORE BATTLE OF VERDUN, EPARGES. _February_ 20, 1916.

At dawn the sky is unbroken. It is a veritable spring day that is here! A ray of sun in this spot--what good luck!

I feel this morning a delicious sense of joy and happiness to live.

A _poilu_, on the board walk, said to his friend: "This will be a great day for airplanes."

In effect, all morning our airplanes and those of the enemy described, at very high altitudes, frequent circles, recrossing the lines, girded by puffs of white smoke of breaking projectiles.

In spite of the joy which filled us all, we never spoke but of the next attack, the topic of conversation for the past several days.

We were at the turning point of the war; month after month, the ruin of the Central Empires became more certain, each hour that passed they became more enfeebled in human energy and in money! "_Parbleu_," said an officer, "their armies have been developing on the different fronts excessively, the strain on their troops has become very strong; and a military decision imposes itself upon them."

They wished to hasten the end of the war and the way to finish it is to attempt a great thrust, a decisive thrust, a desperate thrust--the propitious time is come, it is the moment to attack, there is not an instant to lose!

It was easily determined that a formidable battle was about to commence and that the shock would be heavy----

Here are some of the remarks that were passed back and forth at Eparges, the eve of the battle of Verdun. That night in the trenches there was a silence, a silence impressive. The night was calm and starry----

THE DAY OF _February_ 21, 1916.

I left Eparges at six o'clock in the morning. As before the day dawned magnificently. In a happy mood, I start out with Dr. Nicolas to find some of my _poilus_ on the menaced front.

An automobile was waiting on the Mesnil-sur-les-Côtes to take us to the north of Verdun.

On leaving at seven o'clock in the morning, the rumbling of cannon, heavy and uninterrupted, was heard: the battle of Verdun had commenced....

I did not intend to stop at Verdun, but on approaching the city, I saw the civil population fleeing _en masse_ toward the country, after 380's fell at regular intervals on the martyred city for about an hour.

After a short stop, I left again for Cumières and Côte-de-l'Oie, where I also had a squad of workers.

Leaving Bras, it was easy to determine that the enemy had launched his offensive on the right bank of the Meuse.

As far as the eye could reach the bursting of large projectiles was seen: they fell particularly on the forts, on the roads, on the cantonments, on the trenches.

The crushing noise produced by these large _Marmites_[21] became accentuated hour by hour; a curtain of smoke collected against the blue sky, and, with the brightness of the day, this spectacle certainly did not lack grandeur.

I still command a view of the battlefield seen from the Côte-de-l'Oie; columns of smoke go rolling on the banks of the Meuse. I had never seen such parallel artillery preparation up to that day.

Our _poilus_ cried:

"The 77's and 105's no longer exist!"

It could easily be seen that "something" was taking place on the right bank where the intensity of the artillery became greater hour by hour.

They fought stubbornly before Samonieux and we heard the noise of the machine-guns. I made the resolution to go and rejoin the men I had at Ornes, on the right bank, since it was they above all that were in the greatest danger.

* * * * *

The memory of the afternoon of this day will forever remain sad; I ask myself often how my comrade LeBlond and I had been able to reach Ornes.

We succeeded in reaching Bras toward two o'clock: the village was violently bombarded--human bodies and horses blocked the streets.

I went to pay my respects to General B---- whom I found in his fighting post, surrounded by his officers. He wished us good luck in affectionate terms.

We climbed Côte du Poivre and arrived at Louvemont toward three o'clock in the afternoon. In going through the village, our eyes commenced to be irritated by tear gas: the bombardment was infernal.

It was apparent that the enemy was undertaking a decisive action. The road which we traversed was hammered by numerous projectiles and there was nothing for us to do but forge ahead like automatons----

LeBlond had taken my arm, and, together, it was decided not to stop before any obstacle----

The nearer we approached Chambrettes the more dense became the fire.

At four o'clock the enemy piled up a barrage on the road and concentrated their fire on the farm: it rained projectiles of all calibers--of all big calibers, I know.

In a circle of 325 yards radius, there fell, certainly, four _marmites_ every second, of a caliber equal or superior to 21 centimeters. The ground trembled and a smoke, acrid and suffocating, enveloped us.

The 150 timed-shell from time to time rent the air with their furious screams like those of a cat when you step on its tail----

During my whole campaign never have I seen an equal density of fire.

Torn bodies of skirmishers were scattered here and there in this zone of almost certain death. Continuing our way we had escaped death more than once in this violent fire. We were covered with spurts of earth from bursting projectiles which fell close to us and those that fell around struck us with ricochetting fragments of steel.

As there was not urgent need of reaching Ornes, we resolved to tarry a few instants in one of the shelters on the farm. We had 175 yards to go in a rain of steel and well-directed fire, or as dizzy a route as the ascension of Mount Cervin, for example.

We entered the telephone post at the precise moment the _poilus_ ascertained all underground lines had been cut----

The shells continued to fall so fast around us that we had the impression of being on the inside of a hermetically sealed autobus rumbling with great speed over a rough pavement.

A projectile burst at one corner of the shelter which crumbled from the force of the explosion and threw us all together in a heap--No panic!

I sensed the feeling that our last hour had come and the men, picking themselves up in silence, crowded into the corners save one who cried, gesticulating with his arms:

"Is--is that what you call a demolishing fire?"

* * * * *

Our objective was Ornes and if it became necessary to die I avowed that I would prefer to fall in the light, my eyes turned toward the sun. "If die we must," I say to LeBlond, on leaving the dugout, "I would rather be killed outside----"

"I am with you----"

Again we traveled over a space of 350 yards in a haze of fire and smoke----

A _marmite_ fell a few steps away, covering us with dirt--I see my comrade stagger, struck on the head with a large mass. Fortunately it is only a ball of turf which knocks him violently to the ground----

He picks himself up, and in a ringing voice:

"Yes, if that one will not get me a vacation, now, you will not be very _chic_!"

* * * * *

Some hours later we reached Ornes, having had to go through the barrage at Chambrettes, and another, of 305's, on the cavernous road along Chaume Wood. This road, so quiet a few days before, had become a veritable hell.

The village of Ornes, itself, was relatively calm that night, the infantry attacks not having begun up to the present, only between the Meuse and Herbebois Wood. The _poilus_ waited calmly all events that might be forthcoming, always ready to do their duty stoically and simply----

I had promised General B---- to give him news of our sector during the night, all the telephonic means of communication having been destroyed.

Again I traversed the entire road from Ornes to Bras; at Chambrettes the spectacle was fairy-like--our batteries on the one side fired in unison and their flashes illumined the heavens. In front of us the soaring shells came thick and fast from the forest of Spincourt and Forges Wood, intermittently brightening the darkness like a luminous _pianotage_, giving one the impression that every ten square yards there was an enemy battery.

The sky was ablaze on the horizon--it was the burning villages----

Yes, they began well the great battle, the greatest battle in the history of the world----

THE DAY OF _February_ 22, 1916.

Our impressions were precise, the battle was going to be rude. The enemy had accumulated a formidable heavy artillery, to which it seemed impossible to respond for the moment.

They sent over as many 210's as they formerly had 77's and as many 280's, 305's, 380's, and 420's as they had 105's and 150's.

The men all felt immediately at the beginning of the battle that the enemy would be stopped only by mere brute strength----

AT NOON IN A CELLAR IN THE VILLAGE OF CUMIÈRES.

During a very heavy bombardment we were lunching. We had a basket of oysters that came from Verdun. The merchant sold out his wares so that he could flee with the townspeople--The city is empty.

"_Allons_, if the oysters last, it will be possible to withstand the blow!----"

ROAD TO ORNES--NINE O'CLOCK AT NIGHT

The number of dead men and horses along the road to Ornes has increased----

The intensity of enemy artillery fire has not diminished, and the sound of the battle reaches farther to the right----

We pass wounded, alone or in little groups, dragging themselves to the rear----

CHAUME WOOD--TEN O'CLOCK AT NIGHT

A cry!

"Here--help!"

We stopped----

This cry is repeated several times. I enter the Wood. Guided by the sound of the voice and climbing over shattered and twisted trees, I end by discovering a human form cowering in a shell-hole----

"You're wounded?"

"Yes, in the head, the arms, in the legs and the heart----"

"_Mon vieux_, you bawl too much to be really wounded. Get up!"

The unfortunate arose and I read fear in his eyes.

"Where do you come from?"

"From Herbebois--they attacked with their flame-throwers--I saw my brother lieutenant, burning like a torch. My comrades stayed, but I know nothing more----"

THE MAGNIFICENT POILU, CHAMBRETTES. _February_ 22, 1916.

A column of infantry-munitions wagons halted at the fork in the road from Beaumont and Ornes; a 305 shell had dug a deep crater in the road which was cut in two.

These light wagons, in good order, could pass neither to the right nor to the left of the hole on account of wire entanglements.

Observed by the enemy, the convoy, after some moments, met with a veritable rain of projectiles, time and percussion, which fell around us.

Men, horses and mules were killed or wounded. A _poilu_ spontaneously took command of the column, his immediate superiors having been killed. The beasts reared and plunged, frightened by the flashes and explosions which succeeded each other rapidly. The men clinging to the bridles were killed on the spot before they could make a move!

A little soldier is lifted high by his frantic mule, which stands, straight up on its hind feet. He curses, he yells, while the timed shell churn the air with wailings like a dying child----

"I say you will not go back--at a time like this, _you_ mules _must_ not go _back_!"

* * * * *

A few seconds later he and his mule are on the ground, fastened, one to the other, by the bridle: the shell which killed him has almost stripped his body of clothes. I also was thrown to the ground, but I am not hit----

Bending over the man, I attempt to find, but vainly, his identification tag, so that some day the name of this obscure hero may be known----

The mule, stretched out at full length, essays to raise its head, still grasped by the hands of the corpse, and gives a couple of useless kicks----

It commences to snow----

THE DAY OF FEBRUARY 23, ELEVEN O'CLOCK AT NIGHT.

The major, commanding Ornes, says to me:

"This is what must be done! Our left has completely collapsed and we can be flanked at any moment. I have sent a reconnaissance to Herbebois Wood; the patrol has returned and tells me no one is there any longer----

"As you know the sector perfectly, you must go to Louvemont yourself to inform the Division of our situation. Take someone with you so that if one is killed the other can carry the information just the same! Be careful along the Chaume Wood, because from here to Chambrettes, you will meet up with a boche patrol. It has now become a first-line position. Keep your revolver in your hand----"

"Yes, major."

"Go, my friend."

"Thank you."

"Good luck----"

THE MATCHLESS POILUS, BEFORE CHAUME WOOD. _February_ 23, 1918.

The road from Ornes, before Chaume Wood, has assumed a fantastic appearance! The trees are fallen and the branches are entangled----

The beautiful countryside has become chaotic following this avalanche of projectiles of the preceding days. The bombardment is always frightful. The snow which has fallen the night before makes going bad and one slips and stumbles incessantly. How difficult it is to follow such a road at night when you haven't slept for three days!

Again I have been made a scout and I ask myself if I will be not soon, in my turn, one of these hideous corpses which I pass each instant and which have been snapped up by death along this damned road. It seems now as if the shells were searching you out and rifle bullets followed you----

In the semi-moonlit shadow I perceive two stretcher-bearers caught by death as they carry their wounded; the one in the lead is on his knees, the other already down, both clutching the handles of the litter.

I continue my route. Before arriving at the bifurcation of the two roads to Ornes and Beaumont, I cannot longer recognize my direction, so great has been the change in the aspect of the surroundings during the last three days.

I overtake two men who, en _pères peinards_,[22] happy at meeting someone, suggest we go together. They walk without haste; the terrain has become very difficult to follow and it is dark----

Suddenly one of them makes a false step, he has not seen an immense shell-hole, and he falls forward head first----

His comrade, on the edge of the crater, bursts with laughter.

"You're not crazy. You know well enough the subway is closed at this time of night!"

AT THE WEST CORNER OF CHAUME WOOD, MIDNIGHT.

"Who goes there?"

"France!"

Some _poilus_ hastily cross a part of the trench at the border of the Wood. The officer in command of them is one of my old comrades at Eparges----

"Tell me the news. How is it going?"

"I was going to ask the same question?"

"It's the third day. The attack will be held!"

"Yes, it must be held!"

We embraced each other and parted--I have never seen him again!

ON THE ROAD FROM CHAMBRETTES TO LOUVEMONT. _February_ 23, 1916.

Two men go along the road with a heavy step--we follow them.

"It's serious--but we'll get 'em. What an attack!"

"What a difference from Champagne!"

They stopped before a corpse, curled in a heap; he had certainly fallen to-day because we had not noticed him yesterday. With his big bloated lips and blackened face he might have been taken for a negro----

"How curious is the problem of life and death! Why him and not us?"

"Poor chap, poor old fellow. Let's go----"

THE POILU WHO HADN'T ANY SUSPENDERS. _The day of February_ 24, 1916.

The cannonade is frightful. There is a dumbfounding fire along the route--and we are right in the midst of the stricken zone.

"Look out, my friend, please don't stop, we'll all be shot to pieces----"

"I must pull up my pants--they've fallen down--I haven't got any suspenders----"

"You are not even reasonable--during such days we are living in historic moments--you can use twine just as well----"

THE PSYCHOLOGICAL POILU, ORNES. _February_ 24, 1916.

It is night----

The sky is ablaze to our left. They will perhaps attack at any moment. Shells rain around us four at a time and at regular intervals.

As the positions on our left have been forced back and our flank menaced, Chabert's sappers have hastily dug a small trench at the entrance to the village, facing the west.

The _poilus_ are waiting stoically for whatever may transpire. A man is curled up and, numb with fatigue, sleeps. One of his companions shakes him and says:

"_Mon vieux_, you cannot sleep. Wake up, because each minute we hold them now, it is a VICTORY!"

WOUNDED, BEZONVAUX. _Night of February_ 24-25, 1916.

Our artillery no longer responds. The order to fall back was given at five o'clock. My men are moving toward Verdun, conducted by Sergeant Thiébaut. I stop at Bezonvaux, hoping to find there my comrade Chabert. I have promised his mother, who has only this boy, that I will watch over him like a brother----

Followed by Corporal Poulet, who has remained with me, I wander around in the violently bombarded village. I enter the empty homes abandoned by their inhabitants, where our poor soldiers, tired out and saying nothing, lie stretched out on the floors. The big _marmites_ arrive at regular intervals, crushing houses and occupants----

Finally I end by discovering one of Chabert's sappers and say to him:

"Where is your lieutenant? Take me to him!"

"I don't know where he is--I believe he has been killed----"

The night is black and the air is filled with smoke and dust. One stumbles above all on plaster and bricks----

Sinister detonations and cries and groans. There is, in the air, the breath of catastrophe, yes, of catastrophe, which oppresses your chest.

The man who guides us is lost--he goes and comes, he makes us take wide detours, he is afraid and is nervous----

A large projectile falls at our side--the _poilu_ is knocked down, giving vent to a raucous cry as he falls. I fall myself to my knees and feel the heat of blood which runs down my chest. My left hand rests on the body of the sapper and I am conscious of it covered with warm blood----

Poulet raises me up, giving me a drink of brandy. Stray bullets whistle around us----

I am only slightly wounded and take Poulet's arm to direct ourselves toward Fort Douaumont where I will have it dressed.

How long and sad is this road. It is a veritable Calvary for me and I stagger lamentably; these last days have proven almost too much----

"Lieutenant, why doesn't our artillery respond any more?" Poulet asked me several times.

"I do not know, _mon petit_, we are going through grave times, but we must not get discouraged. Have confidence!"

CÔTE-DE-L'OIE. _February_ 25, 1916.

Someone who must be amazed is the surgeon-in-chief of Gondrecourt!

I arrived at his hospital in the early morning in Colonel Gency's automobile, who announced my coming by telephone----

A hospital attendant tore off my tunic, cut off my shirt, baring a bloody chest----

"We are going to give you an anti-tetanus injection, radiograph you, and to commence with, I'm going to call the surgeon-in-chief----"

While the attendant was gone, I hurriedly dressed myself and left--English fashion. Luckily Colonel Gency's automobile was still there. I had no fear of pain, or the boches, but I don't like doctors!

I went through Cumières like a shooting star would pierce a rain of projectiles and sought refuge at Côte-de-l'Oie, where I know they will not come to search for me----

FEAR, CUMIÈRES. _February_ 25, 1916.

Fear ... Oh! terrible thing! It is a contagious malady that has to be watched. All of us have inside a cowardly beast that awakens sometimes at the approach of danger----

Very violent bombardment to-day. The two chauffeurs who brought me here this morning left the machine at the entrance to the village. On returning from Côte-de-l'Oie I found them in a sappers' bombardment shelter where they sought refuge.

These men are green and grumble about things. Around them are some _poilus_ and a captain. The explosions outside redouble and I feel as if the whole world was ill at ease.

The two automobilists, to put on a bold front, speak of their machine "which must be demolished by this time" or "which must have been torn to pieces long ago," and by the trembling of their voices I divine that they are thinking of themselves in speaking of the "automobile."

Little by little the others chatted about the effect of the bombardment and they discovered that the dugout was not very solid and that an accident could easily happen. The captain appeared to me nervous and at once I felt that strange thing burning within me----

This anguish that grew inside is perhaps the result of these last days of fatigue during which we had not been able to rest an instant, day or night. It is, perhaps, the result of my wound of last night which still bleeds and makes my shirt stick to my body----

No, it is these two cowards, these two birds of bad luck that make us shiver----

At such times "you have got to kill fear," or one is lost. The means? Get out of this hole! the pretext----

I found it when the two chauffeurs recommenced their old story:

"Oh! our machine--how it is being riddled!"

"You," I said to him, "you sicken me with your machine. I'll wager that there is nothing the matter with it. Go and see and we'll find out for certain! It is not an order that I give you, but only that when the question is settled in your mind, you will leave us in peace----"

The cannonade grew worse at this moment and there was a literal downpour of shells in the village----

"You are not going? Then I'm going myself--and at least I will not have to listen to you any longer----"

I started toward the stairs when I heard LeBlond's voice in back of me, which said:

"You are crazy--you have vowed to get killed--it is suicide----"

I looked him in the eyes, to the depth of his soul, and murmured:

"I've got to--I want to go. Stay here!"

I went out. Nothing was said, but all looked at me, stupefied----

* * * * *

Ah! _mes enfants_, how it fell!

When I took the first steps outside my legs trembled and I believed I would be incapable of accomplishing the task I had imposed upon myself. Fear shook me. I walked along the street. Gradually I felt stronger. Suddenly, after a few minutes' walk, I felt as calm as if I had been walking along a promenade at Nice----

Despite the flurry, the smoke and brick dust which I had to breathe, I continued the route, taking pleasure in my folly, experiencing an unhealthy and dangerous joy----

Soon, I found myself at the side of the machine which had not been touched, but an unexploded 100-shell was half buried on its flank----

I lifted the shell out and, carrying it in my arms, took the road for the shelter. The returning was effected like my going, through a cloud of dust and smoke of bursting projectiles. Never had a walk done me so much good and when I entered the dugout with my "precious souvenir" I thought:

"This time I am armored!"

I walked through the group of men and deposited the shell on the captain's table.

"What was that you said? You are both chumps and your machine is uninjured, but I found this alongside of it. I make you a present of it so it will be a reminder of to-day----"

And immediately they smiled and became themselves again----

K. C., VERDUN. _February_ 28, 1916.

It is night, but a terrible night--the battle is unchained. The heavens, black as ink, are brightened each instant by the flashes of explosions.

German shell which fall in the city make a louder noise than during the preceding days, as if they broke in a cellar----

Not a cry--not a wail--stoicism----

On the roads around the city there is a great bustle of camions, gun carriages and caissons. Then there is the hasty shuffling of troops going into action to-night, and who will relieve their comrades holding the line over there.

All these movements are made silently, without cries, without useless words, but everything moves rapidly----

I direct myself toward the city, when suddenly a small machine stops at my side. A man of athletic stature, who was seated at the chauffeur's side, jumps lightly out of the machine and approaches me.

He flashes his electric pocket lamp, no doubt to see who I am. At first I had taken him for an Englishman, by reason of his khaki uniform.

"Officer?" he said to me.

"Yes, what can I do for you? You are English?"

"No, American."

"American!"

"Yes, I'm a K. C."

"_Cassé!_[23] Who is it that is hurt?"

I said this with such an accent of chagrin and almost of despair, that he broke into a loud laugh.

"No, not _cassé_, but K. of C.," and he held up his sleeve on which were found the two letters.

He then spoke volubly enough in English, of which I could not understand a single word, but which certainly must have been of lively interest, to judge by the heat of his discourse. Fortunately he continued in French:

"Lost the road----"

"Where are you going?"

"Fort Souville----"

"What are you doing?"

"We are picking up the wounded of the Second Army. We must go quick----"[24]

"Yes, time is money----"

"No, time is blood."

"I will give you one of my men who will accompany you----Thiébaut, take these gentlemen to Fort Souville, by the Etain road----"

"Thank you!"

"One second! I wish I could talk English so that I could commend you for what you are doing. Then, you Americans have crossed the ocean to mix in this hell and to succor our wounded----Wait! You are a fine type, and I am proud to grasp your hand! Good luck!"

"Good-bye--Good luck to you!"

SOUILLY. _February_ 28, 1916.

An uninterrupted file of camions extends from Bar-le-Duc to Verdun. It is like an endless chain which never stops day or night.

A _poilu_, who is breaking stones in the road, says to his neighbor:

"This battle will be called in history, 'the Battle of Camions.'"

THE DETERMINED POILUS, VERDUN, BEVAUX BARRACKS. _March_ 1, 1916.

I have just left "General Quarters" and meet two _poilus_ of the 20th Corps.

"Where are the trenches?"

"What trenches----?"

"The trenches where they are fighting."

"We are returning from vacation and want to be in it!"

"It is twelve miles from here."

"We can do that easily on foot--we will be guided by the sound of the cannon."

THE SUMMIT OF DEAD MAN'S HILL. _March_ 2, 1916.

There is nothing to say, but we desired to keep in touch with some _poilus_ in a bombardment dugout 225 yards from the spot where we now are. The communicating trench is blocked up and it is in full view that we have to leap over this stretch of ground----

It was toward the end of the day, but one could yet see very well. Scarcely had we gone a step along the road to Béthincourt than Guéneau, LeBlond and myself were seen by the boches. They turned their cannon and machine-guns on us--yes, three 105's which came over seemed deposited by hand. The first covered us with earth at some yards to our left; the second fell a short distance to the right on the edge of the road.

"Let's get out of here, _les copains_,[25] fifty yards farther--quick!"

In a few bounds we were away from that dangerous spot. The third shell burst, in effect, exactly on the place we had just left----

We are at this instant at the point where the road from Béthincourt starts to the top of Dead Man's Hill. A little wagon is turned upside-down, with the stiffened remains of the horse and its swollen belly still in the shafts.

We just had time to crawl into a shell-hole behind the carcass which hid us from the enemy and served as a shield. Our protector gave off nauseating puffs of a very rich scent:

"It is _drôle_," observed Guéneau, "that Dead Man is nothing but a rotting horse!"

CARNAVAL! DEAD MAN'S HILL. _March_ 7, 1916.

The cannonade was elaborate to-day--What desolation! This moonlighted scenery would sadden you profoundly--enough that man be that heartless he can utterly destroy and ruin nature beautiful, even to the very roots. The machine-guns sputter intermittently. Someone shouts:

"Ah! Wonderful! How strange it is!"

"What is the matter with you?"

"Lieutenant, to-day is _Mardi Gras_!"

IMAGINATIVE EXPRESSIONS, VERDUN. _March_, 1916.

The sector is being frightfully bombarded and all one can do is to wait for the attack----

"Good morning, _mon petit_, is it going?----"

"Yes, lieutenant, it's bad in the aquarium--has been that way all morning. I've changed my sex three times since you saw me a short while ago----"

MY ORDERLY HABERT, VERDUN. _March_, 1916.

I have just returned from Verdun, worn out by fatigue, at the beginning of the afternoon, with the idea of getting a few hours sleep in the silent and empty house of Monsieur Louis. Habert, alone, had not left it. I had taken him as an orderly for the reason he was the father of five children. Besides, he is not a warrior and it is plainly uncomfortable for him to wait on us when the shells break around _Rue sur-l'eau_.[26]

I am dying with envy to get into bed. I climb the stairs to the first floor where the bed is made. Habert has found a pretext not to accompany me----

The shells whistled angrily and fell thick and fast on the city. They seemed to say: "Ah! you wish to sleep--but just try it." At the end of a few seconds I slept profoundly----

What good sleep, what a deep sleep, during which Death itself would come without one knowing it----

I had, nevertheless, the vague sensation of having been shaken and left dizzy by an explosion that prevented my making a movement. I finished by opening my eyes. The room was yet filled with dust and smoke; the window frame and part of the wall were thrown on the quilt! It was with difficulty that I could extricate myself and I shouted:

"Habert! Habert!"

Not a reply----

Immediately I imagined that the poor boy had been killed. My clothes had been scattered around the room and I descended the stairs four at a time without taking the time to even put on my trousers----

"Habert! Habert!"

He wasn't in the dining-room, nor in the kitchen where there were some broken glasses----

I opened the cellar door. The rascal was behind it with a bottle of my prune brandy in one hand and a little glass in the other----

"_Nom de Dieu!_ I catch you at it! You carry away and drink my prune brandy while your lieutenant is shelled in bed. To-morrow you will go into the first-line trenches, _misérable_--to the trenches, you understand me----"

I read in his mocking eyes with his half-penitent air:

"I'm easy about it, you like my chicken fricassée too well."

A REGAL DINNER, VERDUN.

_March_, 1916.

"Habert, we have as guests to-night, two colonels! Dinner on the table at seven o'clock and let everything be perfect.

"Your assistant and yourself will be in white from head to foot: breeches, jacket, socks, shoes and white gloves."

"Good, lieutenant."

"That is not all--wait before you speak--rice powder on your hair, so that it will all be regal--your hair well combed. Have you got a comb?"

"Yes, lieutenant."

"By the way, you have never told me--do you know how to use a tooth brush?----"

"To shine the brass?"

"They use them also for other things--I want a candelabrum on the table and have the candlesticks polished. Now for the menu--No, I forgot the flowers. You will find them in the basket that came from Bar-le-Duc with the provisions--Where was I?"

"The menu, lieutenant."

"Ah, yes. Appetizers--four or five different kinds--oysters, tomato soup, grilled sole, chicken fricassée--your specialty--goose livers and romaine salad, fruit, dessert, coffee.

"Wine! The best that _père_ Louis has left us--with the goose livers, the champagne--with coffee my prune brandy, but be ready and if I call you be prompt. A roaring fire on the hearth--Good!"

"Lieutenant, I do not believe that will be enough--I would serve a steak before the chicken----"

* * * * *

At the appointed time we go to search for Colonels Peigné and Benoit, who have not left the cellars in the Citadel since the beginning of the offensive, that is to say for three weeks--and they underwent a nerve-racking siege of it----

We brought them through the city and then "home" by the _Rue-sur-l'eau_. During the meal we thanked them several times for having accepted our modest repast so graciously.

Ah! Our "modest dinner!" And we all "vaccinated the tomato" as Habert called it. Soon there was no thought of bombardment and all the preoccupations--What a feast!

* * * * *

They spoke of it a long time, it appears, in the humid cellars of the Citadel....

THE PILLAGER, VERDUN. _March_, 1916.

It is night! I have just walked through Verdun, which is always being bombarded. As I was passing in front of a house, I heard a noise inside, the door was half-open--I entered the hallway----

In the bedroom at the side there was a series of loud noises as if someone was trying to move furniture----

I open the door. I flash my electric torch and perceive a soldier lugging a large wooden chest like a common house thief.

He has not seen me, but turns brusquely at the flash of the light. He is kneeling on the floor and regards me fixedly.

"What are you doing there? Surely it is your sister's house or you wouldn't be kneeling that way! Perhaps I interrupt you?"

He shot me a wicked glance and looked furious at having been caught in flagrant wrong.

"That's not right, what you're doing there, no, it's not right."

"I do nothing wrong, I came here to sleep for a few hours on a bed!"

"In the meanwhile you make enough clatter to wake the neighbors, if there are any, and visit the storeroom----"

"I'm doing nothing wrong, I assure you----"

"We will talk it over! I am wondering why I didn't blow out your brains when I found you pillaging the home of poor people--Here you soil the glory and honor of your comrades. Go! you disgust me!"

"Me also, I have been through hell like the others, and perhaps to-morrow I shall be killed--yes, I will be killed, I swear it. I'm honest--I no longer know what I'm doing. It's true it's not right. What must I do? I've seen all sides of it--I know no more. Arrest me--here I am!"

"Go join your comrades! Go quick. You have time to make reparation--you know what. This secret will rest between you and me. Now go!"

The man took himself away without daring to look back and I watched him disappear into the night----

PRECIPITOUS DEPARTURE, VERDUN. _March_, 1916.

To-day I returned to Verdun, and LeBlond and I have taken a rest in the comfortable home of M. and Mme. Louis.

These worthy persons quit the city with the former's sister, Mme. Joannie, and Habert, our orderly, watches the premises.

We have just received a letter from Mme. Joannie dated at Bar-le-Duc, recounting at length her terror and vexation happily over. She must have left so precipitously the necessaries and also the superfluities! She requested us to make a visit to her room and forward the more important objects we should come across.

We then entered her room and apart from a few broken glasses everything was still arranged as it was on the day of her departure. Dresses, trinkets, yellow photographs, stuffed animals, dignifiedly seemed to be awaiting her return----

In a corner of the sideboard--her false teeth! Poor, poor Mme. Joannie, you must have been afraid to have abandoned them!

"She was afraid of swallowing them," said Habert, between his teeth.

THE POILU WHO LOOKED FOR A "GOOD" WOUND, VERDUN (RIGHT BANK). _March_, 1916.

We are at work in a narrow position, at the entrance to Tavannes Tunnel. The bombardment is incessant and the air this morning is saturated with that odor of ether and sour apples which we have all breathed down there----

One of my _poilus_, his helmet resting on his ears, strikes a blow with ardor, although he appears to be in a very bad humor, I assure you--There is no doubt about it for a single instant, seeing him sink the stakes anchoring the wire entanglement with heavy blows of the hammer as if he wanted to smash them----

A 105 arrived, breaking a few yards from him, a large fragment skidded on the ground, hitting him on the head----

I see the man make a bound and fall flat on the ground----

With his two hands he tears off his blue helmet, completely crushed, and, contemplating it with bitterness, cries out:

"Damn!--with that, I'll never be sent to the rear!"

THE POETIC POILU. _March_, 1916.

In a dirty sector on a beautiful, sunshiny day----

"Ah! there you are, _mon gros_, why are you all dressed up?"

"I leave on vacation, lieutenant."

"Where are you going?"

"Paris."

"Lucky fellow! When you get there what will give you the greatest pleasure after all the hardships you have endured?"

"A woman's smile!"

THE POILU WHO NEVER SMILES, VERDUN. _March_, 1916.

This morning I was with a group of soldiers, laughing and joking with them. The newspapers had brought us good news and our joy manifests itself in loud bursts of laughter----

A man was seated aside from the others and had an absent and gloomy look. My attention had been drawn immediately by the expression of despair which one could easily read on his features. I lowered my voice and said:

"Look, sergeant, what is the matter with that _poilu_? He cannot enjoy himself and laugh like the others? His face is drawn and pale! Can you explain that----"

"Well, lieutenant, one night he had instructions that were not clear and a patrol came back into our lines. He believed it was the boches and fired. He killed a close friend----

"From that time he has always been sad and several times I noticed he cried at night. You will see, one of these days he will do away with himself----"

HOW THEY LIVE AND HOW THEY DIE, TAVANNES TUNNEL. _March_ 15, 1916.

Tavannes Tunnel, everyone will tell you, leaves a memory of hell. It constitutes a natural shelter for troops in reserve in the sector of Vaux. The enemy bombarded the extremities of the Tunnel with gas shell and those of a large caliber----

During the long months we had dead piled up at the entrance to these villainous holes, because access was had by means of two passageways, opening to the sky, with each side of the rocky walls very abrupt----

When shells burst in this limited space, it was impossible to get under cover and the corpses of our dead accumulated at the two outlets of the Tunnel!

Those who met in Tavannes Tunnel must have hated the spot. They groped around blindly awaiting anything!

At times, I believed myself that I would be one of these kind of bugs, black and stinking, that one crushed under foot!

* * * * *

One day the moment arrived to send re-inforcements to a place very near there. There was nothing to say but get going immediately! A sergeant took command of the little column----

"Forward, _mes enfants_!"

The cannonade raged and it was "bad" outside--The 150 timed-shell and the big 210 percussion shell followed each other rapidly, searching out the more nervy ones----

The sergeant left the Tunnel first, briskly ascending the incline, believing he was followed by his men. He turns and perceives they are not there--yet!

"_Nom de Dieu!_ what are you doing, you laggards! Are you coming to-day or to-morrow!"

They came out, the _poilus_, but with head and back bent as if under a shower of rain. They hurried, without precipitation, because of the steep climb. Now that they have left the Tunnel, they are all right----

They creep along worm-like and the file of men, like beads on a rosary, extends from the entrance to the Tunnel to the waiting sergeant.

Suddenly an explosion, flurry, smoke--right in their midst, _les pauvres_!

For some instants they all disappear in the cloud--but there is "horizon blue," crumpled bodies and a spinning helmet----

Finally the cloud clears away; there are still some men around him and the sergeant shouts again:

"_Nom de Dieu!_ you laggards! Are you coming to-day or to-morrow!"

They hurry on, striding over the bodies of their comrades who have fallen----

ANXIOUS HOURS, VERDUN. _March_, 1916.

To-night we sent one of our men to the Citadel of Verdun to send a package of papers to Colonel Benoit.

We were at table--Habert lighted the lamp and night had fallen. Our orderly had scarcely placed the rabbit stew on the table than three violent raps were heard at the door.

An old Territorial, with a dejected air, entered the dining-room, and we saw by his bearing he came to announce a misfortune----

"What is it you have, _mon petit_?"

"Are you Lieutenant Capart?"

"Yes----"

"I am returning your papers--we found them on the man who carried them--he has just been killed and your name was seen at the top of the papers and I brought them to you."

"Our sapper has been killed! How did it happen?"

"The shell struck him squarely, killing three other _poilus_. He is in shreds, lieutenant. Good night, lieutenant----"

LeBlond and I were astounded at the death of this brave boy, who had just left us. With sadness we turned over the papers in his handwriting and covered with his blood. Habert's features were pale and dejected.

The news extinguished our appetites and we sat gloomy and silent before the excellent meal Habert had prepared for us----

* * * * *

An hour later one of our _poilus_ arrived by the _Rue-sur-l'eau_, and said to us:

"You know the news?"

"Yes, we have heard the sad thing--_Pauvre petit_----"

"He sends his respects to you, lieutenant, and asks if you have received your papers all right----"

"_Voyons, voyons_--whom are you talking about?"

"But--about your secretary----"

"We were just informed he had been killed----"

"No, lieutenant! he was slightly wounded in the arm and will be away a few days on leave. These Territorials from the South of France always see the dark side of things----"

Our supper was spoiled that night, but we breathed easier----

COCO, VERDUN. _March_ 25, 1916.

I left the region of Verdun to-day. An order calls me to Paris. I decided to bring Coco with me, because Coco is the "last civilian in Verdun."

The poor little parrot is ill at ease in his cage since Madame Louis went away and since the bombardment of the city began.

When window panes were smashed his feathers bristled up and his frail little body began to tremble----

I placed the cage in the machine that takes me to Bar-le-Duc--Repeatedly during the journey the bird cries:

"To Hell with the Crown Prince!"

It is surely Habert who has taught him this new "song"----

FOOTNOTES:

[21] Marmites--German shells of big caliber.--Tr.

[22] As they leave the trenches, muddy, unshaven, dirty, red-eyed.--Tr.

[23] Cassé means wounded, hurt or smashed, and when pronounced sounds very much like "K.C."--Tr.

[24] This is the first time the author saw a member of the Knights of Columbus actively engaged in succoring wounded at the immediate front.--Tr.

[25] A familiar expression, friends or companions.--Tr.

[26] A street in Verdun.--Tr.