Chapter 3

And the sad procession went its way. I jumped the ditch at the side of the road, and struck across the fields, spurring straight for General T. At that moment the rifle fire became more violent. Some forward movement was certainly beginning, for the infantry sections, that were lying in cover at the bottom of the valley, began to climb up the slope of the ridge on which I was galloping. Suddenly my horse swerved sharply. He had just almost trodden upon a body lying on the other side of the low wall of loose stones that I had just jumped. I drew rein. A sob burst from my lips. Oh! I did not expect to see that so suddenly. A score of corpses lay scattered on that sloping stubble-field. They were Zouaves. They seemed almost to have been placed there deliberately, for the bodies were lying at about an equal distance from one another. They must have fallen there the day before during an attack, and night had come before it had been possible to bury them. Their rifles were still by their side, with the bayonets fixed. The one nearest to us was lying with his face to the ground and was still grasping his weapon. He was a handsome fellow, thin and dark. No wound was visible, but his face was strikingly pale under the red _chéchia_ which had been pulled down over his ears.

I looked at Wattrelot. The good fellow's eyes were filled with tears. "Come!" thought I, "we must not give way like this."

"Wattrelot, my friend, we shall see plenty more. You know, they were brave fellows who have been killed doing their duty. We must not pity them...."

Wattrelot did not answer. I galloped off again towards the big rick by which stood General T.'s Staff. I had already forgotten what I had seen, and my attention was fixed upon that small group of men standing motionless near the top of the ridge. German shells kept bursting over them from time to time. We were now about 100 yards off, so I left Wattrelot and my spare horse hidden behind a shattered hovel and went alone towards the rick.

But just as I was coming up to it I heard a curious hissing noise which lasted about the twentieth part of a second, and, above my head--how high I could not quite tell--vrran!... vrran!--two shells exploded with a tremendous noise. I ducked my head instinctively and tried to make myself as small as possible on my horse. A thought passed through my mind like a flash: "Here we are! Why on earth did I come up here? My campaign will have been a short one!" And then this other thought followed: "But I'm not hit! That's all their shells can do! I shan't trouble to duck in future."

And yet I was disagreeably impressed: a soldier who had been holding a horse just before about 30 yards from me ran down the slope, whilst the horse was struck dead and lay in a pool of blood, his body torn open.

But I was now close to the officers composing the Staff of the T. Brigade. They came towards me, supposing, probably, that I was bringing some information or an order. One of them was known to me, an infantry captain who had been in garrison at R. with me. We shook hands, and I explained the object of this unusual visit. He replied:

"Your regiment? You will find it to the left of the Army Corps. It's the regiment that ensures our _liaison_ with the ---- Corps."

"Well, Captain, it seems our troops are advancing. Things are going well!"

He shrugged his shoulders sharply. His eyes were hard and sombre as he gazed fixedly at the horizon in the direction of the enemy, and then said in an exasperated tone:

"Certainly, they are advancing. See those lines of skirmishers working along there to the right of the village. And those others further off, there where you see those puffs of yellow smoke. But that won't prevent us from beginning our retreating movement at noon. There are express orders. We must move together with the whole army. We shall sleep to-night 20 kilometres from here ... and not in the right direction!"

We looked at one another in silence. I didn't like to ask any further questions, nor to express my disappointment and the angry feeling that was becoming stronger in me. The sight of General T. calmed me at once. It seemed to tell me what my duty was, and to impose silent obedience and firm faith in our chiefs.

Standing alone, 100 yards in advance of his officers, whom he had told to remain concealed behind the enormous stack, the General was observing the struggle. He stood perfectly still, with his back slightly bent and his hands behind him. He had allowed his beard to grow, and it formed a white patch on his slightly tanned face. In front of him, at some little distance, two shells had just burst, falling short. The General had not stirred. He looked like a statue of sadness and of duty. I had thought of going and introducing myself; but I now felt that I was too insignificant a being to intrude myself upon a chief who was watching the advance of his brave soldiers, as a father watches over his children.

I turned and went away, quietly and slowly, with a feeling of oppression.

So I made my way back again, skirting the firing line behind the ridge, often obliged to pull up to allow troops to pass to reinforce the line. Now and then it seemed that the fighting had ceased at the spot I happened to be in, but I soon found myself again in the thick of the artillery and rifle fire. On all the roads I crossed there was a continual stream of wounded men limping along and stretcher-bearers carrying mutilated bodies. The heat had become tropical. It was nearly twelve o'clock. My head began to swim. My shako seemed gradually to get tighter and to press on my temples till they were ready to burst. I thought I should never find my regiment--never....

I came to a small village, and decided to stop and get some food for ourselves and for my horses, as they showed signs of distress. There, too, the streets were full of infantry, but, to my astonishment, none of them belonged to any of the regiments of my Corps. So I supposed I had passed its left wing without knowing it. Bad luck! I rode up the steep alleys, looking for some inn where I could put up, but all the inns were filled with hot, footsore soldiers, who seemed thankful for a moment's rest. They were sitting about wherever there was any shade to be found. With their coats unbuttoned, their neckties undone and shirts open, they were trying to recover their vigour by greedily devouring hunks of bread they had in their wallets, spread with the contents of their preserved meat tins.

At the door of the vicarage, near the pretty little church which could be seen from the surrounding country, I saw an old priest who was distributing bottles of white wine to an eager crowd of troopers. I heard him say in a gentle voice:

"Here, my lads, take what there is. If the Prussians come, I don't want them to find a drop left."

"_Merci, ... merci, Monsieur le Curé_."

All at once there was a frightful explosion quite close to us, which made the whole church-square quiver. A German "coal-box" had fallen on to the roof of the church, making an enormous hole in it, out of which came a thick cloud of horrible yellow smoke. A shower of wreckage fell all around us and made a curious noise. The windows of all the houses came clattering down in shivers. In a twinkling the little square in front of the vicarage was empty. A few men who were wounded fled moaning. The rest slung their rifles and went off quickly in a line close under the shelter of the houses. I was left alone face to face with the white-haired priest who still held a bottle of golden wine in his hand. We looked at each other greatly distressed.

"_Tenez, Monsieur l'Officier_," he said suddenly; "take some more of this. I am going to break all the remaining bottles, so that they shall not drink any of it.... Ah! the savages! Ah! the wretches!... My church!... My poor church!..."

And he went across his little garden quickly, without listening to my thanks. I handed the bottle to Wattrelot, who stuffed it into his wallet with a smile of satisfaction.

But a second "coal-box" soon followed the first. It was certainly not the place to stay in, so I decided to be off and postpone my luncheon until I could find a rather more sheltered dining-room. As I left the village I saw one of our batteries moving briskly away. It was the one that had been in action close to the village, and had probably been the target of the German gunners. It went rapidly down the slope. The drivers brandished their whips and brought them down upon the haunches of their jaded animals. They had to make haste, for the position had become untenable. The German guns were concentrating their fire on the hapless village and the neighbouring ridge. The formidable shells burst in threes. The ground shook. It was evident that very soon nothing would be left there but ruins.

I resumed my wanderings. I saw then that what the captain had told me was true. The retreating movement was beginning to be obvious. Whilst the firing grew more intense along the whole line small parties of infantry marched across the fields in an opposite direction to the one they had taken two hours previously.

So we were beating a retreat. However, I had seen it with my own eyes; not only had we held our ground along the whole line, but at several points our soldiers were making headway. And then suddenly, and without any apparent reason, we had to withdraw. It was enough to make one mad. We had to retreat over the soil of our France and give it up, little by little, to the hordes which followed on our heels.... I had slackened rein, and was allowing my horse to go as he liked over the country strewn with troops. He seemed to understand what was happening, and with his head lowered, as though he did it reluctantly, he slowly followed the direction the immense army was taking. I was seized with a deep feeling of hopelessness. I doubted everything; our men, of whose bravery and tenacity I had just seen proof; and our leaders, whose courage I knew. My head seemed to be on fire.

But I heard a ringing voice behind me, calling me by my name. I turned, and my sadness gave way to joy as I recognised two light-blue tunics with red collars. I had found the uniform of my regiment! and my hope revived. I felt I was no longer alone, and that we might yet accomplish great things.

In front of a score of our Chasseurs rode two good friends of mine, Lieutenant B. and Lieutenant of Reserve de C. What a pleasure it was to shake their hands, and to see their bronzed faces and dusty garments.

We now went on together, chatting merrily. C. knew the village where the regiment was to be billeted. We went straight for it at a trot. It was there that, at nightfall, I was going to find my chiefs again, my comrades and my men; and I should at last take my part in the fighting. I could not know what the days to follow had in store for me, but I did know that none could be so cruel for me as the day when I went to the Front. I was now in the bosom of my military family, and I looked forward to taking my share of danger at the head of the brave Chasseurs I knew so well. Doubtless I should now know where we were going; why we had to advance, and why to retire.

It seems that moral suffering is less keen when it can be shared with others. I shall never suffer again what I suffered that day.

II. THE FIRST CHARGE

_September 4._

Six o'clock in the evening.

The atmosphere was heavy and stifling. The regiment had been formed into two columns, to the right and the left of the high-road from Vauchamps to Montmirail. The men, tired out, their faces black with dust, had hardly dismounted when they threw themselves on the ground and slept in a field of cut corn. The officers chatted together in groups to keep themselves awake. Nights are short when you are on campaign. The bivouac was pitched at midnight and was to be struck at three o'clock in the morning.

And since six o'clock the battle had been raging, for the enemy had engaged our rearguard almost immediately. This had happened each day of that unforgettable retreat, begun at the Sambre and pushed beyond the Marne. Each day we had had to fight. Each day the enemy was repulsed. Each day we were obliged to retire.

Brother-soldiers!--you who came through those painful hours--shall you ever forget them? Shall you ever forget the anguish that wrung your hearts when, as the sun was sinking, you, who had seen so many of your comrades fall, had to give up a further portion of our sweet France; to deliver up some of our lovely hamlets, some of our fields, our orchards, our gardens, some of our vineyards, to the barbarians?... You were ordered to do so. We have learnt, since then, how important such sacrifices were. But, at the time, we did not know ... and doubt came into our minds. We passed through cruel days, and nothing will ever efface the impression of physical and moral prostration that overcame us then.

The regiment was sleeping--tired out.

Alone, calm, phlegmatic, the Colonel kept watch, standing in the middle of the road. With his pipe between his teeth, beneath his ruddy drooping moustache, his cap pulled over his eyes, his arms crossed on his light-blue tunic, he seemed to be the ever-watchful shepherd of that immense flock. At such moments the chief must be able to seem unconscious of the self-abandonment, the disorder and the exhaustion of his men. Human powers have their limits. They had been expended for days without stint. Every moment of cessation from actual fighting had to be a moment of repose. The important thing is that the chief should keep watch. Brave little Chasseurs! sleep in peace; your Colonel is watching over you.

I looked at the men of my troop, on the ground in front of their horses. How could I recognise the smart, brilliantly accoutred horsemen, whose uniforms used to make such a gay note in the old-fashioned streets of the little garrison town?

Under the battered shakoes with their shapeless peaks, the tanned and emaciated faces looked like masks of wax. Youthful faces had been invaded by beards which made them look like those of men of thirty or more. The dust of roads and fields, raised by horses, waggons, and limbers, had settled on them, showing up their wrinkles and getting into eyes, noses, and moustaches.

Their clothes, patched as chance allowed during a halt under some hedge, were enamels of many-coloured pieces. A few more days of such unremitting war, and we should have vied with the glorious tatterdemalions of the armies of Italy and of the Sambre et Meuse, as Raffet paints them.

With their noses in the air, their mouths open, their eyes half shut, my Chasseurs lay stretched out among the legs of their horses and slept heavily. Poor horses! Poor, pretty creatures, so delicate, so fiery, in their glossy summer coats! They had followed their masters' fortunes. How many of them had already fallen under the Prussian bullets; how many had been left dying of exhaustion or starvation after our terrible rides! They seemed to sleep, absorbed in some miserable dream of nothing but burdens to carry, blows to bear, and wounds to suffer. They were hanging their heads, but had not even the strength to crop the green blades growing here and there among the stalks of corn.

I felt uneasy, wondering whether they would still be equal to an effort for the fight that was always likely and always desired.

Suddenly, from the ridge some 800 yards behind us, coming down like a bolt, I saw a horse, at full gallop. Its rider was gesticulating wildly. Strange to say, though not a word had been said, as though awakened by an electric current, every man had got up and had fixed his astonished eyes on the newcomer. He was an artillery non-commissioned officer; his face was crimson, his hair unkempt, his cap had come off his head and was dangling behind by the chin-strap. With a violent jerk he pulled up his foaming horse for a second: "Where is the Colonel--the Colonel?" With one voice the whole squadron replied: "There, on the road. What's the matter?"

He had already set off again at full speed, had reached the Colonel, and was bending down towards him. Even at that distance we could hear some of his words: "Uhlans ... near the woods, ... our guns, our teams...."

Then it was like a miracle. Without any word of command, without any sign, in a moment the whole regiment was on horseback, sword in hand. The Colonel alone had remained standing. With the greatest calmness he asked the sergeant in an undertone for some information; and the man answered him with emphatic gestures. All eyes were fixed upon the group. Everybody waited breathlessly for the order which was going to be given and repeated by five hundred voices, by five hundred men drunk with joy.

We believed the glorious hour was at last come, which we had been awaiting with so much impatience since the opening of the campaign. The charge! That indescribable thing which is the _raison d'être_ of the trooper, that sublime act which pierces, rends, and crushes by a furious onslaught--wild gallop, with uplifted sword, yelling mouth, and frenzied eyes. The charge! The charge of our great ancestors, of those demi-gods, Murat, Lasalle, Curély, Kellermann and so many others! The charge we had been asking for, with all our hearts, ever since the opening of the campaign, and which had always been denied us!

Ah! that famous German cavalry, that set up its doctrine of pushing the attack to the death, what hatred and what contempt had we conceived for them! We had one desire, and one only--to measure ourselves with them. And every time we had seen their squadrons the result had been either that they had turned and retired in good order behind their lines of infantry, or they had drawn us into some ambuscade under the pitiless fire of their deadly machine-guns.

Were we at last to meet them and measure our swords with their lances?

* * * * *

The regiment moved off in one body behind the Colonel, who, riding a big chestnut horse and as calm as at manoeuvres, led us at a gentle trot skirting the little clumps of trees that dotted the plain. A troop had gone forward in a halo of glittering dust to act as an advance guard.

Our horses seemed to have understood what we were about. Or was it we who had passed on to them the fighting spirit that fired us? I felt behind me the thrill that ran through my men. The first rank could not manage to keep the correct distance, the yard and a half, which ought to separate it from its leader. Even the corporal in the centre allowed his horse to graze the haunches of mine, "Tourne-Toujours," my gallant charger, the fiery thoroughbred which had so often maddened me at the riding schools of the regiment and at manoeuvres, by his savageness and the shaking he gave me. "Tourne-Toujours" gave evident signs of excitement. By his pawing the ground every now and then he, an officer's horse, seemed to resent the close proximity of mere troop horses. And certainly, under ordinary circumstances, I should have fallen foul of the rider imprudent enough to ride close to his heels. But on that occasion I merely laughed in my sleeve, knowing that in a few minutes, when the charge had begun, "Tourne-Toujours" would soon have made them all keep their proper distance, and something more.

I took a pleasure in looking at the faces of the men of the third squadron, whose troops were riding in column abreast of us. Their chins were raised, their eyes wide open, intent, under the shade of their cap-peaks, upon the slightest irregularities of the ground ahead. Their hands grasped their sword-hilts tightly. Major B., leaning well forward, and riding between the two squadrons, was practising some furious cutting-strokes. What a grand fight it was going to be! How we should rejoice to see the curved sabres of our comrades rising against the clear sky to slash down upon the leather _schapskas_ of our foe! We waited for the word that was to let loose the pent-up energy of all those tense muscles.

A trooper came back from the advance guard at full speed, and brought up his horse with the spur beside the Colonel. He reported in short sentences, which we could not hear. The Colonel turned towards our Captain, who was behind him, leaning forward over his horse, all attention, with his sword lowered, receiving the orders given in an undertone. We only heard the last sentence: "I shall support you with the rest of the regiment."

"Thank Heaven!" thought I; "it is we; it is our dear squadron that is to have the honour of attacking first." Every man pulled himself together. Every man felt conscious of all the glory in store for us. Every man prepared to perform exploits which, we felt sure, would astonish the rest of the regiment, of the army, and of France. Forward! Forward! Forward!

The troops had already ridden past the Colonel at an easy gallop, and we suddenly found ourselves strangely isolated in that vast tract of country which, a few minutes before, we had passed over in a body. There was a succession of yellow or green fields, with here and there some leafy thicket. On our left, surrounded by orchards, rose the grey and massive buildings of the farm of Bel-Air. In front of us, some few hundred yards off, there was a dark line of wood, the lower part of which was hidden from us by a slight rise in the ground.

Hardly had the first troop reached the top of the brow when some shots were fired at us. We at once understood. Again we were to be deprived of the pleasure of measuring ourselves with their Uhlans at close quarters. We saw distinctly on the edge of the wood, kneeling and ready to fire, some fifty sharp-shooters in grey uniform and round caps without peaks. We recognised them easily.

It was one of their cyclist detachments that had slipped into the wood and had been quietly waiting for us with rifles levelled. As usual, their cavalry had retired under cover of their line.

What did it matter to us? The wood was not thick enough to prevent our horses from getting through, and the temptation to let the fellows have a taste of our steel was too strong. I rejoiced at the thought of seeing their heavy boots scuttle away through the trees. I resolved to have a thrust at the skirts of their tunics, to help them on a bit.

The Captain understood the general feeling. "Form up!" he cried.

In a twinkling a moving wall had been formed, to the music of merrily clinking stirrups and scabbards and jangling metal; and the gallop towards the wood began.

Just at that moment its skirts were outlined by a circle of fire, and a violent fusillade rang out. Bullets whistled in all directions, and behind me I heard the heavy sound of men and horses falling on the hard ground. In my troop a horse without a rider broke away and came galloping towards me. What did it matter? Forward! Forward!

We were about 200 yards off. We spurred our horses and got into our stride.

Suddenly a horrible fear took the place of the martial joy that had urged us to the fight. We were all struck by the same discouragement, the same feeling of impotence, the same conviction of the uselessness of our sacrifice. We had just realised that the edge of the wood was surrounded with wire, and that it was behind this impassable barrier that the Prussians were calmly firing at us as at a target. What was to be done? How could we get at them and avenge our fellows who had fallen? For one second a feeling of horror and impotent rage passed, like a deep wave, over the squadron. The bullets whistled past us.