Part 2

At last, at about eleven o'clock, the train set off again without whistling, and very slowly. It went along timidly, so to speak, and as though it was afraid of coming into some unknown region which might be full of mysteries and ambuscades. In the distance I saw some signal lamps waved, and suddenly we stopped. What I then saw astounded me. I had thought we should draw up at a large platform where gangs of men would be waiting, in perfect order, to unload the train, sort out the packages, and pile them up in their appointed places for the carts to take them quietly away.

Instead of this the train stopped at some little distance from a small station standing by itself in the open country. I could make out some buildings, badly lighted, and around them a crowd of shadowy forms moving about. And drawn up alongside of our train were countless vehicles of all sorts and kinds in indescribable disorder, made all the more confusing by the darkness. Some of them were drawn up in some sort of a line. Others tried to edge themselves in and get a vacant place among the entanglement of wheels and horses. The drivers were abusing each other in forcible language. Every now and again there was an outburst of laughter interspersed with oaths.

All this time officials were running down the platform with papers in their hands, trying to read what was chalked on the vans. Enquiries and shouts were heard:

"Where is the bread?"

"Over here."

"No, it's not."

"Where is the officer in charge?"

Matches were struck. The few lighted lanterns there were were snatched from one hand by another. And in spite of all this apparent disorder the work went rapidly forward. Men climbed in through the open doors. Sacks and heavy cases were passed along. Porters, bending under their loads, slipped through the maze of vans and carts to the one they wanted and deposited their burdens.

After giving Wattrelot orders to prevent any one from invading our horse-box I slipped out and went towards the station office to look for the military commissary. I had great difficulty in making my way through the crowd of men who seemed to be rushing to take the train by assault in the darkness. Then I had to avoid breaking my neck in getting across the maze of rails, the signal wires, and the open ditches.

I got to the station. A number of wounded were there lying on the platforms; about a hundred of them, with their clothes torn, and covered with dust. They presented a sad picture. They were, it is true, only slightly wounded; but it cuts one to the heart to see soldiers in that plight, hauled out upon the ground without straw to lie upon or any doctor to attend to them. However, they had all had first-aid dressings. Below the bandages that bound their heads their feverish eyes gleamed in the light of the lanterns. Their bandaged arms were supported by pieces of linen tied behind their necks. Several of them were sitting on baskets, casks and packages of all kinds, and they were talking eagerly. Each man was relating, with plenty of gesticulation, the great deeds he had taken part in or seen. As I passed, I heard scraps of their conversation: "They were in the first line of houses.... Then, old chap, our lieutenant rushed forward.... You should have seen them scuttle...."

I was delighted to see that the _moral_ of those fine fellows didn't seem in the least affected. To hear them you would have thought the Germans had been driven back at all points.

I got a porter to tell me where the military commissary was. He pointed out an Artillery lieutenant, in a cap with a white band, talking to a group of officers. I introduced myself, and asked him if he knew anything about the state of affairs. Like everybody else, he could only give me very vague information. "However," he added, "I can confirm what you have heard about G. The First Corps has just retaken the town, which was defended by the Prussian Guard. It appears that our fellows were wonderful, and that the enemy has suffered enormous losses. However"--the lieutenant's voice trembled slightly, and the shrug of his shoulders betrayed his despair--"I have orders to evacuate the station, with all my men and my papers, so soon as the last train has been unloaded. I am to fall back towards L. How is one to understand what all this means?"

We looked at each other, without a word. Everybody felt dejected and doubtful. Not to understand!... To have to obey without understanding why! It was the first time I had really felt the grandeur of military service. You must have a soul stoutly tempered to carry out an order--no matter what, even if that order seems incomprehensible to you. There must have been in that corner of France, on the edge of that frontier which we had sworn should never be violated--there must have been thousands of officers, thousands of soldiers who would have given their lives rather than yield up one inch of ground. Then why abandon that station? Why say so bluntly, "To-morrow you will have no need to go so far north to bring supplies. We shall come nearer to you; _we_ shall withdraw ..."?

There I was again, allowing my mind to wander and to suffer. I tried to learn by what means I could get some information about my regiment.

"Well, it's very simple," said the Artillery lieutenant, very kindly. "Your commissariat officer will certainly have to come with his convoy to fetch supplies. Try to get hold of him. He will tell you all about it."

I grasped his hand and went off, glad indeed at the thought of seeing my regiment's uniform once more. And Providence seemed to guide me, for I thought I saw the very man I was looking for in the little booking office. But I had some difficulty in recognising him. He looked aged and worn. His beard had grown quite grey. Bending over the sill of the ticket office, he was in the act of spreading the contents of a box of sardines upon a slice of bread. Yes, it was he. How tired and disheartened he looked! I pushed the door open and rushed in:

"_Bonjour! Comment va?_"

"Ah!... It's you! What have you come here for, my poor fellow? Ah! Things aren't looking very rosy...."

I plied him with questions, and he answered in short incoherent sentences:

"Charleroi? Don't talk of it!... Our men? Grand!... A hecatomb.... Then ... the retreat ... day and night.... The Germans daren't.... Ah! a nice business, isn't it? We're retreating."

He told me where the regiment was, in a huge farm a long way off. He said he could take my canteen in one of his vans. As for me, I should have to manage as best I could next day to join my comrades. It would take some time to get my horses detrained, as the only platform was still being used for the vans not yet unloaded. "Thanks," said I. "Well, it's quite simple. To-morrow I go straight towards the cannon. Good-night." And I went off to finish my sleepless night, lying beside my horses. With my eyes fixed on the chink of the door, I waited, hour after hour, for the daylight....

When dawn broke I had already got Wattrelot and a couple of railwaymen who were still in the station to bring my horse-box up to the platform. The three horses were quickly saddled and ready to start. The freshness of the morning and the joy of feeling firm ground under their feet again made them uncommonly lively. Indeed, Wattrelot came near feeling the effects of their good spirits somewhat uncomfortably as he was getting into the saddle.

At last we started at a quick trot along a white and dusty road which led straight across fields still bathed in shadow. I went first in the direction my friend had vaguely indicated the night before. Wattrelot followed, leading my spare horse. The horses' footsteps resounded strangely in this unknown country where nothing else could be heard. Were we really at war? Everything seemed, on the contrary, to breathe perfect tranquillity. What a change from the feverish bustle of the station the evening before!

We rode through a rich and fertile countryside. The fields stretched out one after another without end, covering the rounded flanks of the undulating ground with their stubble, dotted with stacks and golden sheaves. A few hedges and some clumps of trees broke the monotony of the landscape. Here and there farms of imposing proportions appeared among the foliage. No shots were to be heard, nor any sound of marching troops. And this made me so uneasy that I began to wonder whether something had not happened during the night to shift the scene of the fighting without my knowledge. But I was about to see something which was to remind me, better than the noise of cannon, that the scene of the strife was not far off.

As the daylight became gradually brighter we distinguished figures moving round some straw-stacks--folks who had collected there to pass the night sheltered as much as possible from the cold and the morning dew. I thought they were soldiers who had lost touch with their regiments and had taken their brief night's rest in the open air. But I soon saw my mistake. As by enchantment, as soon as the first rays of the sun appeared the sleepers got up, and I saw that they were civilians, mostly women and children. They were the unfortunate country-folk who had fled before the barbarian hordes. They had preferred to forsake their homes, to leave them to the invader, rather than fall into his hands. They had fled, carrying with them the most precious things they possessed. They had come away not knowing where they would stop, nor where they could pass the night. And as soon as the twilight came and found them exhausted on the interminable roads, they had dropped down by the stacks grateful for a humble bed of straw. There they had stretched their aching limbs, the mothers had carefully made up little beds for their babies, families had nestled closely together, and often whole villages had gathered in the same fields and around the same stacks.

And when the daylight appeared they had got up hurriedly and the roads were already crowded with mournful pilgrims seeking refuge further and further inland. I must confess that I had not expected to see such a sight. It made my heart ache. I was seized with a fury and longed to be able to rush upon the enemy, drive him back across the frontier, and restore the dwellings forsaken by these poor folks.

What human being, however cold-hearted, could help feeling deep pity at the sight of those poor, weak and inoffensive creatures fleeing before invasion? There were pitiable sights on every hand. A mother pushing a perambulator containing several small children, whilst five or six others were hanging on to her dress or trotting along around her. Poor invalids, dragged, pushed, carried by all possible means, sooner than be left in the hands of the Prussians. Old men helped along by boys; infants carried by old men. And as they passed they all cast a look of distress at the officer who rode quickly by, averting his eyes. I thought I saw a reproach in those glances: they seemed to say to me: "Why haven't you been able to defend us? Why have you let them come into our country? See how we are suffering. Look at our little children, who cannot walk any further. Where are we to go now that, by your fault, we have left the homes of our childhood, and of our fathers and our fathers' fathers? Is that what war is?" I urged on my horse to get them out of my sight and to reach the fighting line as quickly as I could.

Suddenly the report of a gun sounded straight in front of me. Further off a few rifle shots were audible, and then guns again, accompanied by concentrated rifle fire. A kind of shiver passed through my whole body.

My first battle! I was going to take part in my first battle! I felt really mad and intoxicated at the thought of at last realising the dream of my life. But other feelings were mingled with it. I reflected: "What effect will it have upon me? I expect I shall come into the middle of the fight when I get over that ridge. Shall I duck my head when I hear the bullets whistling and the shrapnel bursting around me? I am determined to play the man. I know Wattrelot is close by, trotting behind me. He mustn't see the least symptom of nervousness in me."

The noise of the guns became louder. "By the way!... I wonder what Wattrelot feels like!" I turned to look at him, and found his face a bit pale; but directly he saw me glance at his blue north-country eyes, his face lit up with a broad smile.

"Here we are, sir."

"Yes, Wattrelot, here we are. I'm sure you don't know what fear is!"

"Oh! no, sir."

"That's all right. Forward then! To the guns!"

We passed through a hamlet full of waggons and motors. Some orderlies were loading them up with rations and boxes. On one of these I happened to see the number of my own army corps. "I'm all right then," thought I, and turned to an adjutant of the Army Service Corps, who was superintending the work.

"Do you know where the Staff of the ---- Corps is?" I asked.

The man shrugged his shoulders to show that he didn't, and that he didn't care. What did it matter to him? His job was to get the goods loaded, forget nothing, and then to go to his appointed post where he would have to wait for further orders to unload his stuff in the evening. He had enough to do. What did anything else matter to him? However, he pointed in a vague manner: "They went over there...."

Off I started again over the wide undulating plain. The noise of the cannonade became louder and louder, and I now perceived traces of the work of death. At a turning of the road there were a couple of dead horses that had been dragged into the ditch. I cannot say how painful the sight was to me. Apparently a dead horse at the seat of war is a trifle, and no doubt I should very soon see it with indifference. But these were the first I had seen, and I could not help casting a glance of pity at them. Poor beasts! A month before they had been showing off their fine points in the well-kept stables of the artillery barracks. When I saw them their stiffened corpses bore traces of all their sufferings. Their harness had rubbed great sores in their flesh, in more places than one. Their glazed eyes seemed to be still appealing for pity. They had fallen down exhausted, finding it impossible to keep up with their fellows. They had been quickly unharnessed, so as not to block up the road; had been dragged on to the sunburnt grass, and it was there no doubt the death-agony that had already lasted for some hours had come to an end.

We went on, and, in the distance, here and there on the plain, which now stretched before us for miles, we saw more of them. I wondered how it was that so many horses had fallen in so short a time. It was not a month since mobilisation had been ordered, and hardly ten days since operations had begun. What a huge effort then the army must already have made!

But I soon forgot the poor beasts, for we were nearing the scene of the struggle. Behind the shelter of every swell in the ground were ammunition waggons. I went up to one of these and was astonished at what I saw. The limbers, which are always so smart in the barrack-yard, with their grey paint, were covered with a thick coating of dust or of hardened mud. The horses, dirty and thin, seemed ready to drop. Their necks were covered with sores, and they were hanging their heads to eat, but seemed not to have strength enough to take their food. Drivers and non-commissioned officers were sprawling about, sleeping heavily. Their cadaverous faces, beards of a week's growth and drawn features showed even in their sleep how exhausted they were. I could hardly recognise the original colour of their dingy uniforms under the accumulation of stains and dust.

It was now eight o'clock in the morning. The sunshine was beating hot upon the sleepers, but they seemed indifferent to this. They had simply pulled the peaks of their caps over their eyes and were snoring away, with their noses in the air and their mouths open. Beasts and men together formed a group of creatures that seemed utterly depressed and worn out. I could never have believed it possible to sleep under such conditions, with the guns booming unceasingly in all directions.

I went up the nearest ridge and thence got a glimpse of a corner of the battle. I had expected to see a sight similar to that which had delighted us at manoeuvres; troops massed in all the depressions of the ground, battalions advancing in good order along the roads, and mounted men galloping about on the higher ground. But there was nothing of the sort.

In front of me, about 600 yards off, and under cover of the brow of a hill carpeted with russet stubble, I saw two batteries of artillery, firing their guns. I looked intently. The pieces were in perfect line and the gunners at their posts. The shots were fired at regular intervals and with cool deliberation. The gunners took their time, and seemed to be working very casually. I had expected to see them fairly excited: the men running under a hail of shells, teams brought up at a gallop as soon as a few salvoes had been fired, and the guns whirled off at full speed and lined up in battery again some hundreds of yards further off.

On the contrary, these guns seemed to be planted there for good. The limbers, which were massed to the rear under cover of a slope, looked very much like the sections of munitions I had seen just before. The men were sleeping in the shadows of their horses, and the horses were asleep on their feet in their appointed places. The only man standing was a stout-looking adjutant who was walking up and down with his hands in his pockets. With his eyes on the ground he seemed to be counting his steps. And meanwhile, the two batteries went on firing salvoes of four at a time. When one was finished there was a pause of two or three minutes. Then the other battery took it up.

But Wattrelot interrupted my reverie: "Look over there, sir.... _Ça barde!_" I looked in the direction he was pointing out. And now I no longer felt the uneasy feeling that had come over me at the sight of what was going on here. Above a height that overtopped the hill on which I was, and about 1,500 yards away, the German shells were bursting incessantly. We could distinctly hear the sharp sound of the explosions. In the clear blue of the sky they made little white puffs which vanished gradually and were replaced by others. Their gunners could not have been firing with the same coolness as ours, for the white puffs increased in number. The noise they were making on the spot must have been deafening. From where I was we heard the explosions following one upon another without intermission.

But what was most thrilling was to watch one of our own batteries in action under this avalanche of projectiles. The slope on which it was placed was in shadow still. Against this blue-grey background short flames could be seen flashing for a second at the muzzles of the guns. And the four reports reached us almost at the same moment. The gunners could be seen just as calm under fire as the others here. The German shells, that tried to scatter death among them, burst too high. They were trying to annihilate this battery, which was no doubt causing terrible ravages among their men. But the broken fragments fell wide, and our gunners worked their pieces gallantly. This was something that more than made up for my touch of disappointment at first. My hope revived, and I started off at a trot straight in front of me, getting past the ridge, under cover of which the pair of batteries were plying their guns.

No sooner had I gained the further slope than I understood that what I had seen hitherto was only the background of the battle. From this spot a violent rifle fire was heard in every direction. In the meadows were a large number of infantry sections crouching behind every available bit of cover. On the opposite slope long lines of skirmishers were deployed. And dotted about everywhere, above their heads, rose puffs of smoke--white, black, and yellow--the German shells bursting. The noise of them was incessant, and the spot where we were seemed to me very quiet, in spite of the firing of the two batteries close behind us.

Everything was wonderfully coloured by the sunshine. The red trousers of the soldiers, lying in the grass, showed up brightly. The mess-tins on their knapsacks and the smallest metal objects--buttons, bayonet-hilts, belt-buckles--glittered at every movement. On my left, in a dip of ground with a little river running down it, a gay little village seemed to be overflowing with troops. I rode towards it in haste, hoping to find a Staff there which could give me some information.

The streets were, in fact, full of infantry, lying about or sitting along the houses on both sides. In the middle of the main road was a crowd of galloping orderlies, cyclists and motor-cyclists. I felt rather bewildered in all this bustle. However, these people seemed to know where they were going. They were, no doubt, carrying orders or information. And yet I could see no chief officer who appeared to be busying himself about the action or directing anything. Those who were not sleeping were chatting in little groups. The soldiers of different arms were all mixed together, which had, perhaps, a picturesque effect, but was disconcerting.

Suddenly I heard some one call me by my name. I turned round and hesitated a moment before I recognised in an artillery captain with a red beard, a former friend who had been a lieutenant in a horse battery at Lunéville. Yes, it was he. I recognised him by his grey eyes, his hooked nose, and his ringing voice.

"Eh, _mon cher!_ What are you doing here? You look fresh and fit!... What are you looking for? You seem to be at sea."

I explained my position to him, and asked him to tell me what had happened.

"Oh! that would take too long. Your fellows were at Charleroi with us; they had some experiences! But hang it if I know what they are doing with us. We beat them yesterday, my friend. Our men and our guns did wonders. And now there's talk of our retreating further south. I don't understand it all. Ah! we have seen some hot work, and you will make a rough beginning.... Looking for your regiment, are you? I haven't seen it yet to-day. But you see that Staff right over there behind those stacks?... Yes, where those shells are bursting.... That's General T. He can help you; only, you see, he's not exactly in clover. T. has been splendid; always under fire, cheering on his men. They say he wants to get killed so as not to see the retreat...."

I knew General T. well. He commanded a brigade in our garrison town of R. And a kindly chief he was, clear-minded, frank, and plain-spoken. I soon made up my mind to go to him and see what help I could get to enable me to rejoin my regiment. It would be a pleasure, too, to see him again.

I measured the distance with my eye--a kilometre, perhaps. There was no road, and to go across the fields would not be very easy, as there were walls and hedges round the meadows. I took the other way out of the village, and just as Wattrelot and I were leaving it we saw some wounded men arriving. They came slowly, helped along by their comrades, and there were such a number of them that they blocked the road. Those faces tied up with bandages clotted with perspiration, dust, and blood; those coats hanging open; those shirts torn, and showing lint and bandages reddened with blood; those poor bandaged feet that had to be kept off the ground--all this made a painful impression on me. No doubt this was because I was not accustomed to such sights, for others hardly took any notice of it.

"The ambulance! Where is the ambulance?" cried the men who were helping them along.

"At the station," answered some soldiers, hardly looking round; "go straight on, and turn to the left when you get to the market-place."