CHAPTER SEVEN

STORY OF A PAIR OF BOOTS, BAR-LE-DUC. _June_ 6, 1916.

I have just dined with General Pétain. I find myself in the little home of M. and Mme. Lévy, where I have put up during the last days of our sojourn in this city.

I occupy a pretty room looking out on the garden, at which I look every morning on awakening----

Seated on my bed, I do not think of sleep, but let my thoughts wander, fixedly regarding the flame of my candle!

All at once my eyes rest on the new boots which I have bought the same morning in Paris.

I begin to laugh. It had been very apparent to me that all my comrades had admired them----

Yes, I recall, when the general was talking to me, I heard one of them say to the other:

"What wonderful boots!"

* * * * *

That is not all! I got ready for bed--From to-morrow a new life opened for me--I began with the boots.

I unlaced them, but perceived with despair that, in spite of energetic efforts, I could not pull them off my feet----

Unnerved and swearing like a madman, using the furniture as a buttress, I painfully succeeded in getting one off--but the other? Impossible!

This damned boot did not seem to understand--I heard a noise in the room above. Decidedly it is M. and Mme. Lévy who are frightened!

* * * * *

The next day at seven o'clock in the morning, my orderly, Lefèvre, entered my room. He opened his mouth very wide on finding his lieutenant in a pretty white bed, a leg swinging over the side with a new boot on it----

MY LIFE BELONGS TO YOU! BAR-LE-DUC. _June_ 8, 1916.

"Capart!"

I turned around. It is _he_! I saluted respectfully.

"Are you settled?"

"Yes, general. I am glad for this opportunity alone to tell you how grateful I am for having been appointed by you. You can count on me no matter what circumstance. Ask of me what you will, my life belongs to you, general, I give it to you----"

Our glances met, and he said:

"I know it."

THE REGIMENT WHICH PASSES, NETTANCOURT. _July_, 1916.

The sun has just come up--I open my eyes. I am not wrong, it is the blowing of bugles that wakens me----

I jump out of bed and fling the large window clear up--my room is flooded with light----

It is a regiment which is passing--it comes straight from Dead Man's Hill. Our _poilus_ are tanned, but their faces are worn----

"My poor _poilus_, your uniforms are covered with dry mud, but you are magnificent----!"

The band plays "Sambre and Meuse" and I am so affected that I throw myself on the bed and sob like a child.

A LITERAL TRANSLATION, CAMP MAILLY. _July_, 1916.

I was assisting at some trench-mortar tests which have lasted several days. The President of the Republic, accompanied by a large suite, honored us by his visit to-day.

The camp presented an extremely unique aspect by reason of the great number of Russian officers and men, which one sees everywhere.

Out of consideration for the visit of M. Poincaré, a Russian Battalion gave an exhibition drill. When the President passed it in review, the Slavic troops became clamorous. They shouted in Russian something which must have meant:

"Long live the President of the French Republic."

From their gestures one of our _poilus_ was explaining the meaning to one of his comrades in back of me.

"Hear what the Russians said to the President:

"'You have seen me in the little bar around the corner.'"

AS THEY GO, A LITTLE VILLAGE IN THE ARGONNE. _August_, 1916.

The priest of R---- has invited me to have coffee with him. The kindly old man saw the German invasion in 1914. He had been rudely treated in his native hamlet, and he appeared--when one saw the ruins--to have had many days of grief. Two days of battle and this was all he knew of war!

The boches, on retiring, had set fire to four corners of the village and everything had been burned, save his church where he permitted some German wounded to seek shelter.

Our troops triumphantly entered the smoking ruins of the village at night----

"My brave boys," the priest said to them, "I embrace you and thank God----"

The _poilus_, stirred with the feverish lust of pursuit, demanded:

"Any Germans here?"

One of the men, gone completely mad, shouted:

"Where are they? I'll stick this bayonet through 'em----"

Then someone said:

"There are wounded in the church."

"I pleaded with them," the old priest said.

"My children, they are our enemies, but respect the wounded!"

"The wounded!" roared the other, "the wounded! I'll cut 'em to pieces!"

"They all followed me like a pack of hounds," the priest went on, "and I prayed to God for aid.

"The first one we saw, on entering the church, was a Bavarian stretched out in a pool of blood. Rolling his eyes up at me, he muttered:

"'A drink--I'm thirsty----'

"'_Nom de Dieu_, father, so you let your wounded die of thirst--that's a rotten trick! Here! drink this--you!' the _poilu_ said, handing his canteen to the boche----"

HE! NETTANCOURT. _August_, 1916.

"Since you are fighting near him--what is _he_?"

"PERSEVERING; "ENERGETIC; "TRIUMPHANT; "ARDENT; "INTREPID; "_Nil-melior!_"[27]

THE OLD TERRITORIAL ON SENTRY DUTY AT THE MONTMIRAL RAILROAD CROSSING. _September_, 1916.

I left Paris during the night in an automobile and am returning to General Quarters. I have fallen asleep on the way----

A brusque stop! I open my eyes----

An old territorial flashes a lantern in my face--a railroad track crossed the road----

"What is the name of this place, _mon petit_?"

"This place, captain, is--the railroad crossing!"

THE EVE OF THE RECAPTURE OF FORT DOUAUMONT. _October_ 23, 1916.

Major Armengaud and I left Nettancourt this morning by airplane to assist in the operations about to be unloosed before Verdun.

The weather is uncertain and some large running clouds are above us. Before landing at Lemme, it had been decided that we would make a short incursion over the lines----

Here is the Meuse! The two banks of the battlefield appear to me yellowish gray with the Douaumont Hill tinted red.

The cannonade is raging--I see the vivid flashes of shells leaving the guns and I hear loud detonations above the noise of the motor----

The weather is very nasty! Always it is the same thing. It will surely rain to-night!

We flew above St. Michel Hill at the moment when our 400 shell fell on Douaumont and on Vaux, throwing up columns of earth and smoke.

From Fort Douaumont rise big voluted shafts of smoke. Fortunately our artillerymen had found the joint in the armor----

Not a boche _avion_ in the air. What matter! This spectacle is so thrilling, that, for the moment, my machine-gun gets very little use----

The _poilus_ themselves must be there in the trenches, waiting the hour of attack. I cannot see them, but my heart and thoughts go out to them.

I had the impression from that very moment the recapture of Fort Douaumont was certain----

We landed in about an hour without a single incident----

DOUAUMONT. _October_ 24, 1916.

It is maddening. It is raining. At the aviation field where I am, everybody is effervescent. The first results of the day are magnificent, the _poilus_ advanced along the entire line!

Unluckily it is necessary to renounce any thought of flying and the attendant consternation is general. Some "cuckoos" essayed to go up in the driving rain. They kept close to earth--they flew blindly and were shot at a few times----

We must remain inactive and powerless all day, when the others are participating in the fête!

Toward two-thirty o'clock the dark clouds in the south, part----The "cuckoos" leave their hangars, although many of the pilots are skeptical of the weather----

At three-fifteen a blue canopy in the heavens--at last! The whirring drowns everything--everyone hurries--one after the other they shoot out and take the air. Soon, perhaps, it will be too late----After having described a large circle over the field to gain altitude, they leave in groups, going northward----

Major Armengaud and I have decided to leave in our turn. I am really thrilled, I avow, at the idea of flying during the battle----

* * * * *

Some instants after, roads, flat stretches, forests, flit by beneath us. At the end of ten minutes' flight, we were in a rather thick mist--but what matter----!

We fly over the Meuse to the north of Verdun--we are 4,000 feet high and penetrate a thick cloud. We reach clear space. The air is full of _avions_--there are more than eighty! _Chasse_ squadrons cross the horizon. The "sausages" are all up as usual. The sky is marvelous. There are vacant spaces of gilded light to our left--Verdun is somewhat in the haze. To the north the sky is clear--I see the most gorgeous spectacle that my eyes have ever beheld! The cannonade thunders and a thousand flashes burst from the mouths of our guns. Our exploding projectiles form a regular and mobile parabola, marking the advance of our troops----

The enemy reacts but feebly and his barrage is laid down over our old lines. Shell-holes filled with water appear like cups brimming with molten gold! To the west the sky is reddish scarlet; to the east all is steel blue----

We return closer to earth. Our barrage has gone beyond Fort Douaumont--our 400's are still breaking on Fort Vaux; great columns of dirt rise more than 125 yards in height----

Douaumont is ours!----

I jumped straight up in my seat; I laughed, I shouted, I wept----

Two _avions_ flew very low. The daring Captain de Beauchamp soared over the du Hély ravine; it looked as if we would skid along the ground----

We circled over the battlefield like a great bird that has discovered its prey and is ready to sweep on it!

The _poilus_ themselves, whom we regarded as the messengers of victory, swarmed around the superstructure of the Fort and signaled us! They waved their handkerchiefs and flapped their great-coats like birds' wings in order that we might recognize them.

I frequently turned to Major Armengaud, shouting:

"Douaumont, Douaumont is ours!"

* * * * *

Suddenly our motor became silent--Armengaud tapped me on the shoulder. I turned and he cried:

"We must land!"

We were at that moment at a fixed altitude and I saw Armengaud twist to the right and to the left in the fuselage, looking for a safe spot to land----

All at once the wind whistled loudly and we assumed a dangerous slant. At certain moments the machine rocked--it did not seem to be going ahead--then it recovered its nose.

"I do not see a place to put it!" Armengaud cried:

"Douaumont, Douaumont is ours!"

It did not matter to me, although we fell; it was perhaps death, but--Douaumont was ours!

The ground seemed to approach very rapidly; Major Armengaud guided his airplane toward a little prairie north of Dugny, bordered by two gullies. We landed easily on the ground, but our "cuckoo" broke a hidden telephone wire----

"_Hein!_ what do you think about it, Capart?"

"What a spectacle--you're an ace, major!"

I jumped at the same moment under the fuselage to connect the telephone wire he had cut. At the same time the major examined his motor--it was a trivial matter and soon repaired!

At the end of half an hour we got the motor running and once more rose in the air.

Darkness fell and the atmosphere was biting cold. The wind sang in the wings of the machine. When we reached the environs of Lemme, above the forest, it seemed as if we were standing still. It became more and more obscure and I asked myself how we could land. It was black below, but, here, it seemed as if we flew through a sea of blue. The woods appeared a sombre tint and the mist which clung to the branches looked like clusters of fleece on Christmas trees----

The little lights underneath us flickered one after the other, enlivening the vista more and more as they grew more numerous. Streams of camions on the different roads resembled long, phosphorescent worms----

Masses of clouds, strung out like attenuated lawn veils, fluttered quickly past, between us and the ground, completing the fantastic sketch----

I turned yet again. Back of us, one could still perceive the last scintillations of the battle! The bursting shell, which we heard no longer, became long, vivid flames that rose above the horizon----

* * * * *

During those hours I experienced the most stirring moments of my life, and one of the greatest epochs in the history of the world! Thanks, dear bird!

We arrived above the aviation field; the major shouted at me:

"Lean over to the right and keep your eyes open----"

We watched the ground closely so as not to be smashed. What matter, once more, because we are still under the spell of the sight we have just seen----

Descending slowly, our eyes commenced to be accustomed to this obscurity. We recognized the contour of the field, and our old "cuckoo" dropped gently on earth----

And that's how we assisted in the recapture of Fort Douaumont!

WHAT PASSES IN YOUR MIND WHEN FALLING 10,000 FEET, VADELAINCOURT. _October_ 25, 1916.

To-day I went up on a rocket test at a very high altitude. Suddenly one of the rockets burst in the propeller, and it snapped like a pistol shot--the horizontal rudder also was damaged----

The descent commenced by great jerks and it seemed as if the machine would collapse and fall apart----

Flameng, my pilot, made a sign "that it could go very bad with us----" We went through a great cloud and I began to believe we would crash to earth. Despite three accidents in two days, this will be very pretty, I say to myself. I thought that after what I had seen these last three months, it would be absolutely idiotic to die in a bed, and I began to laugh at the idea----

The _avion_ lands like a butterfly on a prairie----

THE MARQUIS AND THE MARCHIONESS, NETTANCOURT. _November_, 1916.

We had gone to take a turn around Avocourt Hill; the air was magnificent. We were 7,000 feet high directly above the spot we were going to land----

The major stopped his motor and commenced to descend in circles; I recognized the château, the village, the station----

On a road in the fields, a man, a woman, and a dog--even at this altitude it was impossible not to know them, the three characteristic specimens of a bygone age, more fanciful than Nature herself!

I pointed my finger toward the ground so that Major Armengaud might see them also. He looked and likewise began to laugh----

I swear, it was _drôle_: like three big flies jigging on the bald head of an old man!----

THE MAN WHO KNOWS THE SECTOR BETTER THAN ANYONE, AINES. _December_ 1, 1916.

I am not sure of the road. It is night and as we are close to the lines I stop the machine----

I see a _poilu_ and beckon him over.

"Do you know this territory well?"

"I know this sector better than anyone----"

"How is that?"

"Because I'm the gravedigger of the Regiment!"

PRISONER CHATTER, PEPPER HILL. _December_ 15, 1916.

Night falls--victorious day--success along the whole line----I go by foot along the road from Louvemont, something I have not done since the first days of the battle of Verdun. The German prisoners and wounded, in their field-gray uniforms, dirty with mud, descend the hill in little groups, their arms raised.

Some of them approach our men, saying:

"War finished--War finished!"

"I believe you're telling tales," was the reply of a _poilu_.

BRAS, PEPPER HILL. _December_ 16, 1916.

I assisted yesterday the second attacking party, at Pepper Hill.

I have just passed the night at Froideterre,[28] which has been well named--At dawn the sound of the battle diminished. On leaving the shelter where I had been installed, I saw, a few steps away, an airplane, its tail in the air, that I had noticed the night before----

At Brigade Headquarters I was asked to interrogate two young German officers who had been captured on the backbone of Pepper Hill----

I go back to Bras over the same route that I came. The ruins of the village are flooded with mud. For a whole year, day in and day out, I was once at Bras, but then it was a pretty village with inhabitants----

To-day there is nothing more than ruins, mud and dead bodies----

PRAYER AT NIGHT, A LITTLE VILLAGE IN SWITZERLAND. _December_ 26, 1916.

On entering the door, I hear Anne-Marie, who is saying her prayer _du soir_.

"Lil' Jesus, protect papa, who is at war, mamma, my grandparents, my little brothers----"

"Louder, Anne-Marie, the good God is neutral and does not hear----"

FOOTNOTES:

[27] The first letter of each word spells Pétain, the general who assumed command at Verdun, finally breaking the thrust of the Crown Prince actually being maneuvered at this time. General Pétain's strategy upset the boche plans, causing them to abandon Verdun as a by-road to Paris.--Tr.

[28] Cold-Ground.--Tr.