Front matter (continued 3)

"A regular brick, the Captain."

Ravelli could not get over it.

At two o'clock I began to get ready; we were to start at four. I was fully equipped; nothing was missing. My pockets were stuffed with the endless little necessaries for which there was no room elsewhere: tooth-brush, medicine-case, string, pocket-knife, lighter, electric torch. Bouillon had conscientiously tidied me up and cleaned my equipment. In consideration of what I owed him, I had tipped him ten francs. He hesitated. It was a large sum! I insisted upon his taking it. I did not like being indebted to people.

I was alone in our room. I had just slipped my swollen pack over my shoulder. My water-bottle was lying on a shelf above me. I reached out my hand to take it. Ugh! it slipped out of my hand, and fell on to the tiles.

Damn—oh, damn. Supposing it leaked!

I ran to a tap and began to fill it.

Yes, there was no doubt about it. It was done for!

I was in despair. Nothing worse could have happened to me. I knew the incomparable value of a few drops of moisture at critical moments. When you are exhausted and choked by the sun and the dust, there is nothing like a drop of water on a piece of sugar, or a thimbleful of rum to revive you. And on a route march too you are sustained by the mere thought that you are carrying with you this source of refreshment. And I who had taken such care, and was so pleased at having this clean well-corked water-bottle.... What odiously bad luck! My whole campaign seemed to me to be poisoned by it....

Bouillon arrived on the scene. Directly I had told him, distractedly, of my misfortune.

"Good heavens!" he said, "that it should 'appen just now! It's far too late to get it soldered!"

I sighed. He looked round the room.

"W'y not sneak one?"

As I shrugged my shoulders. He continued:

"I'll undertake the job if yer like?"

"But how?"

"Oh, I'll get one from someone or other."

"You mustn't touch Guillaumin's things, mind."

"No, 'e's in the section. Wot abaht this one?"

"De Valpic's?"

"All right! Wait a minute!"

"But I say, he...?"

I hesitated.

"He would notice it! The cases are marked, look...."

"Don't you go an' worry yerself abaht that now! You've only got to change them! You go an' keep an eye on the door...."

I went and watched the corridor. I was consumed by a lively remorse. But what did it matter! Each one must fend for himself! He would have to get out of the difficulty as best he could. After all there was nothing more usual in the regiment than these sly thefts. Why, someone had relieved me of one of my brushes only the day before yesterday! I blamed myself for my horrible selfishness, but I had practised it for so long. The opportunity was too tempting! Anything rather than to suffer, hour after hour, from thirst or the fear of thirst! And did I not promise myself—hypocrite that I was—to share my ration of water with the comrade I had despoiled?

In the twinkling of an eye Bouillon had dexterously drawn the two bottles out of their cloth cases, and effected the exchange.

"Nobody will ever be any the wiser!"

De Valpic came in soon after and noticed nothing.

I can hear the whistle. Quick march! We shook ourselves.... That was a never-to-be-forgotten moment.

I was in the rear of the section. I considered our column; expressions and attitudes at that moment imprinted themselves on my memory. Fifteen yards in front at the head of the section Guillaumin was marching along with his usual swing. I ran an eye over my half-sections. Here were Gaudéreaux and Trichet; there was Judsi, the buffoon, giving an imitation of the goose step; Lamalou with his képi à la Knut. Loriot, the man with the rupture, gloomy and already dragging his leg along affectedly; my corporals, Donnadieu, a little pale, sandy-haired man gripping the butt of his rifle convulsively. Bouguet, extremely fit, turning round to see that all his men were there.

It gave one the impression of a holiday parade. I have mentioned the windows decorated with bunting, the men's rifles and packs too were ornamented with little flags. And the flowers! In one section, Trichet, who was a gardener by trade, had procured great bundles of them. They had been distributed among the different half-sections. The other sergeants had been given roses or dahlias by their men. I had been forgotten, and when Bouillon, who was annoyed about it, had brought me some geraniums just as we were starting, I refused them with thanks! Quite unnecessary! I alone was clear-headed. You would have thought that I alone knew to what a sinister revel we were hastening.

Left! Right! We were all marching at the same pace, towards our mysterious destiny. For how many of us had Fate signed the order of arrest! I tried to pick out the first victims. Was it that block-head—Henry, I think, they called him—who would be picked up in a fortnight's time, with his leg or head torn off? A big dark fellow was laughing, showing his teeth in a huge guffaw. I mentally put him down as not being one of those who would come back. This ghastly game fascinated me.

On getting to the main street we halted for a time and waited to take our place in the regiment. The bugles passed by.

Sol mi: Sol do! La classe s'en va!

Then we followed the stream.

A line had formed three-deep along each pavement. All F——, all the neighbouring country was crowded there. Our departure effected the country even more than that of the regulars. These men from twenty-five to thirty years old were the married youth, who had taken root and founded a family. Drawn up in the doorways, or leaning from the windows, women and children, with all their heart, were shouting:

"Long live the 3rd...!"

A territorial called out:

"Halloa boys? We're coming on the day after to-morrow!"

"Hm! At a safe distance!" Judsi retorted gaily.

The men waved and smiled at their relations and friends who had come up, but nothing further; there was no chance of hanging behind, or falling out. Even Judsi soon gave up his tomfoolery; each one felt instinctively that a brave bearing would influence the people's confidence.

The clamour round us continued to increase:

"Long live France! Long live the 3rd...."

The distant voice of the bugles only reached us in snatches now, but we marched in step all the same. The collective excitement went to my head. I marched with my eye fixed in front of me, my rifle glued to my shoulder, a soldier among these soldiers.

When we got into the Avenue de la Gare, I caught sight of De Valpic, guide to the 2nd section. He had half-turned round, and was leaning to one side, with an anxious expression. I suddenly thought of his water-bottle, filled just as we were leaving. Drops must be trickling from it now at every step.

I was ashamed of myself. I despised myself. If I did not go quite as far as to vow to make amends for this villainy—and how I should have set about it I do not know—at least I swore that it should be my last; yes, the very last.

I was going to be born anew, and quite different. My heart was beating more warmly. Carried away by the rapidity of the pace, uplifted by the untiring acclamations of the crowd, it seemed to me that I was out-distancing the man I had been.

PART II

BOOK IV

August 9th-12th

CHAPTER I

UNDER WAY

The bugle sounded. We might get out.

Versailles. How these platforms swarmed! Ten convoys, like ours, with their carriages decorated in the same way with flags and branches of green leaves, scribbled over with harmless inscriptions and caricatures, had turned out, topsyturvy, this crowd of soldiers in chequered uniforms. The hubbub was tremendous. Everyone seemed in the best of spirits. There were flowers in every cap. We were forbidden to go far. As a matter of fact, no one thought of such a thing, we had to take care not to lose our company, and section. We hardly ventured as far as the fountains of drinking water. Having awaited my turn for it, I went up just after Judsi. I actually felt inclined to smack him on the back, he was so tantalising with his trick of drinking with his lips glued to the tap.

Guillaumin told me when I joined him that the halt was to last for an hour. We might take a turn! We amused ourselves for a moment, by watching some horses being entrained—by no means an easy job. They were hoisting them in with slings. Their place of export was marked "Remount depôt Saint-Lô." Guillaumin nudged me with his elbow.

"Some concentration, what!"

It was true. All the Brittany lines, most of those from Normandy and Atlantic coast, converged there, bringing with them the blood of a third, or almost a third, of France.

We got back into the train. Evening was coming on. Guillaumin and I were to keep order in the truck; forty men in our charge. To begin with everyone had submitted to the restrictions concerning the arrangement of packs and rifles. Now the confusion began. A lot of them had got hold of their packs again to make a pillow, and most of them began to shed their equipment.

Lamalou set about moving the seats. I interfered. He began to argue about it. Guillaumin had to join in, and Bouillon too.

We started off again. Were we going to skirt Paris on the north or the south? We soon found out. The train approached the gradient at Buc. We watched in vain for some aeroplanes. Judsi exclaimed:

"Wot are you thinkin' of! They've all gone orf to Berlin!"

There were brief stops at small stations. The same scene was repeated every time: idlers crowding up to the railings to cheer us and we replying with shouts of "Death to the Bosches!" "Down with the Kaiser!" solely out of politeness, in order not to disappoint all these people who had waited so long. There was no longer the frank enthusiasm there had been just now on leaving F——. The men were getting tired. The Red Cross members who distributed chocolate, fruit, and post-cards in profusion were no longer hailed with the same delight. Loriot and Lamalou ended by grumbling because they were so stingy with the wine.

The night fell, and with it what was left of cheerfulness. Judsi was the last to give in. He picked out well-known airs and set new words to them, ineffable drivel, beyond all description, and probably of his own composition. The coarsest sallies still raised a few laughs. These echoes of an inane merriment were becoming quite unbearable.

I thought of shutting the men up altogether. Guillaumin dissuaded me from doing so:

"Take care you don't get yourself disliked!"

It was getting dark. Corporal Donnadieu lit the section lantern. Where was it to be hung? To that hook in the middle of the ceiling. It swung backwards and forwards giving a flickering light.

Everyone was making preparations now, for going to sleep. A small number occupied the seats, the rest were stretched on the floor. They formed tangled groups in the shadows. Good-humoured elbow digs and expostulations were exchanged.

Guillaumin had lain down beside me, with his own head on his pack, and that of one of his corporals fitted between his knees. He became expansive and exclaimed:

"How's this for up-to-date comfort!"

It was a stifling evening. I was hot and uncomfortable, as I had not even had the courage to undo my belt. We had had a cold supper. The smell of cheese and sausage still hung about. It was the first taste of the promiscuousness. As long as the two doors were open, the atmosphere was breathable. But here was Bouguet, who had just lain down, shouting:

"What do you say to shutting the door. There's a beastly draught."

Some coarse aside of Judsi's raised roars of merriment.

Lamalou sat up.

"Let's shut the door."

I shouted from the end of the carriage:

"Steady on! You must leave room for a little air to get in!"

Lamalou took no notice.

"Didn't you hear?" asked Bouillon. "The sergeant's orders were to leave it open!"

Bouguet objected.

"Do you want us all to catch our death of cold, sergeant? Besides it's the rule that doors must be kept shut at night."

Guillaumin raised himself, and whispered to me:

"The chap's quite right, you know!"

"How's that?"

"The poilus will roll off into the scenery when they go to sleep."

This prospect was disquieting. I said no more, but let them do as they liked. A minute afterwards I complained of the stuffiness.

"Why not have the ventilator opened?" Guillaumin suggested.

"What ventilator?"

He was obliging enough to get up and feel about to find the bolt. The shutter slid along in the groove. A scrap of sky showed through, and some fleecy clouds shining in the moonlight. I announced that I should like to spend my night at the window.

"Are you quite off your chump? Try to have a snooze!"

"I'm not sleepy."

I groped along avoiding the slumberers and reached the seat near the wall. I succeeded in pulling myself up, and leaning my elbows on the opening, I breathed in the delicious night air.

Our convoy was crawling along at a monotonous pace, through the darkness. It seemed of an immoderate length, dark from end to end, except in the centre, where the light from the officer's saloon shone on the ballast. By leaning out while we went round the curves I could make out the fire in the engine, a curtain of purple, with fantastic shadows moving against it. Our whistle often blew, and others answered stridently from the distance. The regular clank of the wheels on the rails was audible, and a minute red dot could sometimes be seen at the end of a straight piece of line—the tail light of the train ahead of us.

There were thousands of fleecy clouds scattered over the sky, all lit up on the same side by the pale rays of the moon. We were leaving the Vallée de la Bièvre. The surrounding country was growing flat. A far-spreading horizon soon became visible beyond the open fields. Then the radiance of Paris rose into sight.

It was impossible to mistake it for the translucent band of a mysterious, tender blue which still lingered in the west. It resembled rather the afterglow of a sunrise or of a huge fire. The silhouettes of houses and trees stood out in the foreground like Chinese shadows against the glowing distance.

The City of Light! I revelled in the vision and the symbol, both equally imposing. What a part this city had played in history! How feverishly she throbbed to-day. I blamed myself for having failed to take advantage of the magnificent opportunity which had been within my reach the other day. Ought I not, with more fellow-feeling and enthusiasm, to have mixed with the crowd, and roamed day and night in search of the secret of Paris, which was also the secret of France! I remembered the boulevards brilliant in their multi-coloured lights, the crowd crushing against the windows of the big daily papers....

Fresh news would be appearing on the tapes at this hour. What would it be? We had not been able to get a paper all day, but a persistent rumour had reached us: "Mulhouse!" ...

Was it a prelude to victory? Was Paris illuminated? Perhaps.... But what if it were one of those ephemeral successes? What evil presentiment enslaved me? Was I still under Fortin's influence? (Fortin who was never mentioned now except in a whisper. We knew he was confined to his cell: awaiting trial by Court Martial.)

Paris! Why should I dream of defeat? Paris, our head and our heart! Paris as hostage! As martyr perhaps! I pictured the horde of Barbarians pitching their tents in the country we were slipping through, turning their guns on to the glittering capital. Where would their fury end? What would be left of these buildings, this glory, which seemed destined for immortality? These were gloomy visions. Sick at heart, I longed with more ardour than I had lately longed for anything on earth, for the miraculous miscarriage of this probability.

If there was one thing at which I was astonished, it was at not finding most of my companions at the ventilators like myself. To send Paris a last greeting! They must all, or nearly all, be feeling that all they counted dear, was shut up within those walls. I who had no one there—nor anywhere else either for that matter—this thought shook me. Nobody. My father? Was a stranger, as I have already said. I thought nevertheless of his farewell, of his fugitive tenderness, due to obscure ties of the blood. Who else was there? Laquarrière? If he thought of me it would certainly be to congratulate himself on being safely in shelter, while I was risking.... Nobody. There really was nobody!

And yet my eyes probed the darkness, my glance was unconsciously drawn in a certain direction.... In that suburb, I could imagine a street, a house, ... in that house someone ... someone who had written!—"We think of you a great deal...."

An idle dream and one which passed.

There was a metallic rattle. We were crossing the Seine. Still a few more miles to go, through the dark countryside. An important station was coming soon. Myriad lamps lit up countless railway lines.

Our speed slackened, till we slowed down to a walking pace. We slowly skirted endless pavements. I could distinguish retreating uniforms and piles of arms. An artillery sentry gave me a friendly wave.

"What station do you come from?" I shouted to him.

"Marseilles!" he replied.

His warm Southern accent had made me start. How many convoys had he seen rolling past in the same direction during the few hours he had been there with his battery. The concentration! The idea of this gigantic operation made one think: these trains whose time-tables had been arranged months, no years, in advance, these hundreds upon hundreds of trains flashing across the country in every direction; skirting gulfs and mountains, crossing the rivers, flowing in from every extremity of France, carrying the immense masses of war material, and the harvest of young men. Caught up in this huge mechanism, this invisible unity, what a small thing I was, for all my pride of intellect!

A new tack soon threw us off the main lines. I occasionally turned round to look into the interior of the carriage, where the men were sleeping, livid beneath the swinging lantern, like corpses, I thought, at the bottom of a sunken submarine.

I stayed like this for a long time, half-awake and half-dreaming. In what direction were we going? To Maubeuge? Or Châlons? I remember a long stop in the middle of the night on a siding on the outskirts of Noisy-le-Sec.

Some of the men were awake, eating bread and cheese. I felt a tap on my shoulder.

"Well, are you going to make up your mind to it?" Guillaumin asked me.

"To what?"

I yawned.

"To take a nap. Why you're so sleepy you can hardly stand up! Come along and lie down!"

"Where? There's no room!"

"What about my place?"

I declined it with thanks. He insisted. Oh, come along! It was his turn to take the air!

Very well. I gave in. We started off again. The outlook was no longer so attractive. The glow of Paris had faded into the distance, and the moon had just sunk behind the deep blue horizon.

CHAPTER II

HARASSED, ALREADY

When I woke, dawn was stealing in by the door which was once more open. Judsi had installed himself at it, his legs dangling outside. We all looked the worse for wear and had puffy faces.

Where were we? It was dreary, barren country, an indefinite switchback of bald ridges. The rocky part of Champagne apparently. Exactly. A few minutes later our train drew up at Rheims.

The weather was dull and drizzly. We felt cold when we got out: the men began to stamp their feet. We N.C.O.'s joined up together. Descroix and Humel complained bitterly of stiffness. The filthy carriages! Must have been made on purpose for us! Everyone was sighing for his coffee. Guillaumin preached patience. Frémont had wandered off to scribble a letter. De Valpic was pale and silent and heavy-eyed.

I left them and went in search of some clean water. When I came back, tidied up and much refreshed, coffee had been brought. The tin drinking cups were plunged at will into the "dixeys." It was scalding! A real treat! There was "rooty" too. And the sun came out: we were reviving.

Soon, a circle formed round Lieutenant Henriot. In order to make himself pleasant Playoust had put certain questions to him concerning the strategical situation. The other at once owned that he had had certain hints from the colonel—oh, it was official then!—certain indications....

I drew near. He spread out a map on a seat, and began to speak with great fluency.... I tried for a moment to follow him, but disobliging shoulders got in the way. He was pointing out certain landmarks and routes, and giving the names of towns and villages. It was all a closed book to me! I got tired of it and went off; I was inclined to mistrust these perorations by a subaltern.

Our train was shunted back, and we started again.

I was tired and peevish, and fumed at the length of our journey. Eighteen hours already, and we were nowhere near the end!

Our destination still remained a mystery, a problem which disquieted us.

Guillaumin plumped for Sedan, and worried me to tell him what I thought.

"What on earth does it matter to me?"

"Do you think they'll come back as far as that?"

To annoy him, I said:

"Sure to!"

He exclaimed:

"Well, to be going on with, you know we're at Mulhouse! Absolutely official!"

On the outskirts of Ste.-Menehould, there was a prolonged halt, without permission to get out. Another convoy was standing on a side line. There were some poilus on the platform. Bouillon drew attention to their regimental numbers. They belonged to our division. The men at once called to each other, and asked them to join in a drink. Everyone was delighted. It seemed little short of marvellous to find neighbours from their part of the world, Beaucerons, so far from home!

A new start. The country was becoming hilly and picturesque. There were some gorges and then a long tunnel. There was no more doubt about the direction we were taking! Corporal Bouguet, who had served his term with the 4th, was most emphatic: we were taking a bee-line to Verdun!

Good! the idea of fighting under the shelter of a powerful fortress was not displeasing.

Two hours more. The valley of the Meuse was reached, Verdun attained, and then left behind.... The deuce! Were they going to detrain us at the frontier in the first line...?

No, a few miles farther on, the train stopped in the depths of the country. There was a bugle call, and Henriot shouted:

"Here we are!"

"Where?"

"At Charny, the terminus. Out you get! And no disorder, you understand!"

In three minutes we were on the ground, arms and baggage and all.

The captain passed by.

"You're not over-tired?"

Lamalou thumped his chest.

"In the pink, sir!"

"So much the better, because you've got a nice little walk before you!"

Some long faces were pulled. It was nearly midday. We had had nothing to eat and the heat was killing.

"Now we return to business!" said Judsi.

We went into the neighbouring field through a gap in the hedge. Gaudéreaux bent down and picked up a clod of earth. He sniffed at it.

"Pooh!" he said. "It ain't up to ours!"

The lieutenant heard him, and reproved him for it.

"It's the same thing, it's French soil. It's what we are going to be killed for."

Did he count on producing an effect? The other gazed at him, dumbfounded!

A little walk indeed! I chewed the word with rage during the seven hours that this march lasted. Did they think it was the right way...? The right way to discourage the men!

No respite except the hourly halts, and they managed to cheat over them, by not whistling until the hour, or an hour and five minutes was up, or cutting them short by two minutes!

If there was one thing that astonished me it was the goodwill and endurance, which I saw manifested all round me. "Grouse," the first day? Oh no, that was out of the question! A praiseworthy resolution! When going through the villages, the men found a way, even when absolutely done up, of putting on a spurt, and making eyes at all the pretty girls!

Judsi sang snatches of very doubtful songs, which made some of them laugh, while others, their more flighty sisters, blew us kisses.

Corporal Bouguet all at once started a marching song: the men joined in the chorus: the captain did not interfere, but the commanding officer came rushing up, a pot-bellied puppet, perched up on his big horse. Oh, come along! What was all this? Would they shut up? Would they never think of the war as something to be taken seriously?

This rating was upsetting. Another incident helped to damp their spirits. The distracted group we passed on the roadside ... a lieutenant, a corporal, the cyclist, and an auxiliary medical officer, surrounding a man stretched on the ground, a reservist who had just fallen out. I caught sight of a violet face and glassy eyes.

The rumour spread that it was a fit.

The name of the man was soon discovered; he belonged to the 21st company, and was named Gaspard Métairie, a coppersmith from F——. Dead? Oh, yes! lying there like a log! I listened to the men's remarks. Poor wretch! It made one's heart bleed. So soon. And so stupidly. If it had been some of the Bosches' work there would have been nothing to be said. But like that! Simply tired out! Fathers of families, just think! Carrying the full weight!... But what was the good of fussing? The war would not be over this evening!

"Oh, a lot they care wot becomes of us," Loriot said. "I'm done, I am!"

He retired on to the footpath.

"What's the matter now?" I shouted to him.

"No good. Can't go on!"

"What can't go on?"

"I can't. I'm an old trooper, I am!"

He stopped and tried to sit down. The whole column slowed down, much interested and amused.

"March up, confound you!"

The captain overtook us.

"What's up?"

My nerves were on edge. I don't know what put the whim into my head, but I gave a dry description of the scene at which I had assisted, the verdict given by the Medical Officer, and the man's recriminations, swearing that he would make a point of falling at the first shot.

Loriot was hugging himself and pretending to be in awful pain.

The captain did not pronounce an opinion.

"Stay with him, Sergeant; you will report him to the Medical Officer."

So we waited. Loriot sulking and livid with rage. I irritated at the thought that this task ought to have fallen to Playoust, the sergeant of the day.

The companies, as they marched past included us in the same glance of ironical pity.

Surgeon-Major Bouchut recognised his "client," as he called him, at the first glance.

"Ah! It's hurting you, is it? Easy enough to say so! I can't examine you here. Come along, jump in there! We shall soon see!"

Under my very eyes, Loriot hoisted himself up into the ambulance, settled himself down comfortably, and began to chat with the orderlies.

Infuriated by my own stupidity and the delay it had cost me, I hurried on.

The road went up and up. I began to experience the smothered sensation in the shoulders and chest caused by having to carry a pack. Every hundred yards—and what a bore it was—the buckle of my sling came undone, as the point was blunted and did not catch properly, and the rifle slipped. An inconvenience which could not be remedied, and which seemed likely to pursue me throughout the campaign. It was about four o'clock; the sun was still blazing, drops of perspiration gathered inside the men's caps and occasionally trickled on to the ground. To think that this march was nothing: mere child's play.

The worst of it was that just as I was about to catch the others up, my right foot began to feel sore. I remembered that the evening they had delivered these boots.... At the first halt I quickly took off both boot and putties.

The inspection filled me with consternation. I had hoped my stocking alone was responsible for it.... Not at all, there was no irksome fold. It was the counter right enough. What was to be done? The fatal blister was gathering. The prospect of hours of atrocious pain stared me in the face. The little courage I had oozed away.

I was dying of thirst; I poured out a cupful. The water was warm, but it refreshed me all the same. Catching sight of De Valpic, lying down with sunken cheeks, I went up to him.

"De Valpic?"

He opened his eyes.

"Will you have ... a drink?"

"But you...?"

"I've got plenty, don't you worry. I noticed ... your water-bottle is leaking, isn't it?"

"Yes, I don't know how it happened. It's very troublesome."

"Hand me your drinking cup. There now. Wait a minute!" I half-filled it for him, added a few drops of Ricqles, and pulling my mess-tin out of my haversack offered him some sugar. He took two pieces, but greedily drank a mouthful without waiting for it to melt.

"Thanks; my throat was so terribly parched."

A wave of red flooded his cheeks.

"You're a good sort, Dreher."

I sat down beside him and asked him in a friendly way whether he was not awfully tired?

"I look it, don't I?"

"Oh! Just like everyone else!"

The whistle blew! I left him.

"Cheer up!"

But at the next pause I avoided looking in his direction. There was only enough water for me.

A few more miles. The men were grumbling quite openly now. From time to time one would fall out, and all at once, or little by little lose ground, and get left behind by the platoon. What was there to be said? I interfered no more. These fellows had not had a bite since five o'clock that morning.

Were we to leave these stragglers their rifles, or not?

The subaltern said they were to be taken away.

The result was that those who remained threatened to give up in their turn. Two rifles to drag about, not much! They were quite willing to do their bit, but they were not going to be put upon, not them!

Lieutenant Henriot changed his mind.

"Each man will keep his own rifle!"

"Too late now. How are we to find the owners of them all?"

He got scared.

"I was wrong. I made a mistake!" he repeated.

Guillaumin reassured him by saying all the poilus were sure to turn up.

One would have thought that it all amused him, the long day's march, the hunger and thirst,—everything. He kept on joking—rather too familiarly perhaps—with Lamalou and Judsi and those of our men who still held out. He even took it into his head to talk theatres to me! I soon sent him off with a flea in his ear, as may be imagined. He did not notice for some time that I was limping.

"Foot hurting you?"

"Yes."

He offered to carry my pack. I was on the point of allowing him to, but Lamalou, who was watching me furtively, jeered.

"Halloa, Sergeant! You following poor Loriot's example?"

"No. I've got a sore foot," I said; "but I am going to stick to it all right."

On my refusal Guillaumin took on another lame dog's pack. Lamalou soon followed his example.

I only kept on automatically. My heel must be quite raw. Perhaps I was risking the fate of my whole campaign. It couldn't be helped. In my heart of hearts I almost congratulated myself on this opportunity of escape.

We ended by breaking all ranks. Sections, platoons, and companies were all mixed up. We were just a herd, and at the entrance to a little hamlet when the order was passed down to shoulder arms no one budged. Not much! We're not so green as all that! Give us a bite o' some'at first!

But it was not to be so lightly disregarded! The captain rode down what remained of our column, and repeated the order, brandishing his whip furiously. The men made up their minds to obey it. We found out the reason for it afterwards.... A general surrounded by his staff, was watching us march past ... someone whispered that it was the general in command of the division.

It was unfortunate that this should be his first experience of us. He took stock of us superciliously; his forehead puckered in a frown of disillusionment. The men growled.

"Like to see you in our place, old chap, with an empty stomach, and a pack on your back!"

Oh, that arrival at our billets in Orne, a village of five hundred inhabitants, already overflowing with troops of all kinds. Oh, how depressed we were, both physically and morally. I was especially exhausted. There was a complete lack of any spirit of organisation among the authorities, and the troops were totally out of hand. We were obviously worth nothing at all!

Where and how did the men get food? Guillaumin luckily took charge of the whole section. I believe he bustled about, got hold of the mess-corporal, and was the first to arrive with a fatigue party, at the issue of rations which took place in the market-square towards midnight.

I had sacrificed my "posse," but I still had some bread and hard-boiled eggs left that I had brought with me from F——. I took off my accoutrements and boots and installed myself in the best corner of the stable reserved for our lot, and slept on the straw till five o'clock next morning.

CHAPTER III

IN BILLETS

The weather next day was glorious. A fine rain had fallen. The men now very clean and spruce, wandered about the village, with their caps cocked over their ears.

No danger threatened. No one would have thought we were at war. And as for the Bosches, let them go hang! The natives had certainly said, shaking their heads, that they had already seen some Uhlans on the neighbouring hills. Absurd inventions. A dragoon whom we questioned burst out laughing in our faces. The Bosches! They had indeed been across the frontier for twenty-four hours or so, over there towards Longwy. They were soon sent to the right-about. We might sleep in peace! We had the regulars in front of us, about twenty regiments of them!

Some trenches had been dug at the approaches to the village, the 21st had spent the night in them. It was one of the regular amusements to go and look over them during the day-time. They were very unconvincing, casually hewn out and occupied. Orne's defensive organisation! Who could take it seriously?

"Blowed if I don't think our good time's beginning," said Judsi.

The villagers were really delightful. These poor dwellers by the Meuse! They did not have much of a time afterwards. Who would not have become embittered in their place? At the outset we were touched by their cordial, almost friendly reception. Many of us went in search of a bed. I believe that but few were found which did not already boast an occupant. Lamalou's experience was a case in point. Other attachments were formed. On the other hand, Playoust came to grief—the thing became known immediately—with the grocer's pretty wife. He revenged himself by attributing the mishap to the regimental sergeant-major.

The outstanding feature—which never varied throughout the campaign—was the catering. We N.C.O.'s messed together. But Descroix and his lot were already dissatisfied with this arrangement and suggested that each platoon should fend for itself.

I was doubtful about this, but Guillaumin took me aside.

"Leave them alone! It will suit us much better!"

He explained that he had made a great find in the shape of a top-hole cook, a real professional. He had been chef at Bernstein's!!! The fellow would perhaps consent to cook for three or four, but not a word!—or the officers would appropriate him. He made me acquainted with the prodigy, Gaufrèteau, a smooth-skinned, cold creature, very much on his dignity, who would not bind himself in any way.

Our comrades had managed somehow or other to get hold of some wine at twenty-four sous the litre, good pale Lorraine wine, on which they feasted among themselves. You had to pay two francs everywhere else for a much inferior quality.

Guillaumin determined he would not be outdone, and went off in search of it. He ended by coming back triumphant, bringing the same wine at 1 franc 20, and the wine merchant was to have the bottles back!

He poured out several bumpers and made fun of De Valpic for refusing to take any. I suggested adding some water to it. He ragged me in turn.

"What are you afraid of? If we've got to be knocked out at this job, at least let's have our money's worth first!"

This coarse tomfoolery maddened me. Was it an attitude of mind assumed for war-time, to match that of those poor brutes of troopers. I sarcastically twitted him with it. He was not at all annoyed.

"Just what I'm trying for!"

Thereupon he invited his corporals and mine to empty new bottles. I could not leave him in the lurch. All these people were drinking and rotting with him round the table in the kitchen of our farm. The place was filled with the smell of burning fat. What a scene, and what a pastime! I was bored to death.

"I'll see you later!" I said, and went off making some excuse. I should have liked to meet Fortin or someone of that calibre. A pity they'd left him at F——, but perhaps it might be lucky for him.

I took a turn round the neighbouring billets. Nothing but men lying about and a lot of them had spread into the fields round about, and were taking a nap in the shade.

My foot was better. I had painted it with tincture of iodine that morning and the day before.

I got out of the village without any difficulty. A sentry, far from stopping me, asked me for some tobacco.

A hill near by attracted me. I hoped to get a good view of the surrounding country from the top. My ideas on the topography of the neighbourhood were singularly confused. I knew the distance from Orne to Verdun, 18 km. 7., and I was inclined to think the Valley of the Meuse must lie somewhere near to southwards.

My walk was not at all satisfying. From the summit I had aimed at, I could see nothing but another ridge, crowned with a dark fringe of trees. There was no outlet through which I could get a view. I came back, tired and disappointed. Up there I had tried for a moment to give rein to my imagination. Here is my country—Lorraine, I said to myself, and I looked in vain for that serene melancholy, that voluptuous calm, in the landscape.... It was obviously yet another example of poetic exaggeration. It was not unpleasing country, but it was more like—oh, anything you like to name, Perche, or the country round Paris.

I went back. On the way I heard myself hailed from behind a hedge. It was Playoust's voice. I went up and found the whole set of sergeants from the 22nd. De Valpic alone was missing. I was surprised to catch sight of Guillaumin, with cards in his hands.

"What! You don't mean to say you're playing?" I said.

"Yes, they're teaching me!"

He explained with great gusto that they had come to fetch him to make up a second four (Frémont was there too). He had no gift for it. But he was sticking to it all the same. He had already lost one and threepence!

"And what about you, old boy? Do you know their blooming game?"

"Yes," I replied coolly, "but it doesn't appeal to me, you know!"

I did not linger. I bore him a grudge. If he was going over to that lot he was quite at liberty to do so, of course, but he need no longer count, as a matter of course, on my society—Oh dear, no!

I went to lie down. I yawned. I was bored to tears.

For the sake of something to do I emptied my pockets of their miscellaneous contents.

On pulling out the packet of letter cards which I had brought quite by chance, I thought: Hello, why shouldn't I write a letter?

But to whom should it be?

Not to my father. I had nothing to tell him.

As for my brother, I had not even got his complete address. I did not know what company he was in. My brother Victor!... Why should I be thinking of him particularly just now?... Where was he?... Somewhere in the Woevre. Not very far from me, no doubt.

What spirits was he in? War was the dream of their life, their goal, their one passion, to all these soldiers. What a bizarre idea it was. Simply a case of suggestion! What did they hope for from it, after all? For the space of a second I had a strikingly clear vision of him, calm and resolute, with his cap well down over his eyes, issuing his orders.

The idea again occurred to me of writing to someone—whom I knew. But I counted on my fingers; it was only three days; and it would be better to wait until I had something worth writing about.

When I went out again I found myself face to face with Henriot.

"Halloa, how are you getting on, Dreher?" he said.

"Pretty well, sir!"

"Pity we get no papers!"

I saw that he was bursting to have a talk, and, by Jove, it would be good policy to get on good terms with my immediate chief once and for all. I need only imitate Playoust; I asked him slyly what he thought was happening.

He needed no persuasion! He was fully aware of the fact that I had not been among his audience the day before, and ingenuously expressed his regret. De Valpic and I, he said, were the two best-read men in the company. He would so much like to exchange ideas with us!

As for exchanging ideas, all I was aiming at was to get him to trot his out ... to get at him in that way. At my request he went to fetch a map of the whole of our eastern frontier.

I led him on to various subjects which I wished to explore, without taking great pains about it: the composition of our army, the probable figure of our effectives, our system of fortified towns.

He replied at length, furnishing information collected and classed without much sense of criticism. He placed the ideas he had gleaned from the special courses for officers, on the same level with those picked up in certain technical reviews, and a great number of commonplaces borrowed from the daily papers.

But he fancied himself particular on the questions of strategy.

The German scheme was done for! Everything was based, you see, on the complicity or, at all events, the passivity of Belgium. They had concentrated four army corps in their camps in advance, Trèves, Malmédy, Atles-Lager. They would have hurled them simultaneously on to the left bank of the Meuse, and they could have gone straight ahead across the flat country. In five days they would have been in the Scheldt, on the way to Valenciennes. They would have reached the valley of the Oise, and from there have gone on to Paris. And it might quite likely have succeeded!...

He warmed to his subject.

They came to grief. The Belgians have demolished forty thousand men, a whole army corps. The English have had time to land, and we to fall into line. And what do you say to our retort in Alsace the other day? We are getting the entire control of affairs into our hands.

His forefinger indicated Mulhouse.

Look, we're back there again and firmly based there, for good, believe me! It's obviously ours. Take Strassburg? No, not at once. Invest it perhaps, that's all. But push straight on across the Rhine. It's not so easy, but we should spare nothing in order to do that! Just think! Once past the Rhine all we should have to do would be to go straight ahead, and cut Germany in half. Separate the Northern Provinces under Prussia, from Bavaria, which is not nearly so antagonistic to us really, and the Russians, after having taken Cracow and Prague, will soon be shaking hands with us!

He stopped talking and wiped his forehead. Gazing at his map he seemed to regret that it did not include the theatre of to-morrow's victories.

I gazed at him with surprise and mistrust. But he seemed so sure of his ground! I knew these theories were current in higher military circles. These daring anticipations reminded me of those expressed so many times in my presence by my father and brother.

How the thought of Victor pursued me! I could not restrain myself from mentioning him.

"Oh! What is he in?" said Henriot.

"The 161st St. Mihiel."

"A crack regiment that!"

"Have they been in action yet?"

"Probably!"

"And what about us?" I said. "Do you think we shall soon be engaged?"

"I should hardly think so. What is there ahead of us? Luxembourg. They violated it on August 2nd. A lot of good it did them! Their offensive turned northwards. Now they've got to defend themselves. I don't think they'll attempt anything much against the Stenay gap. I don't think we're much exposed!"

So much the better! I thought.

"I personally should have liked to fight in this part of the country."

"Do you come from near here?"

"Yes, from Villers-sur-Meuse, about fifty miles from here."

He added a few details. It was only his second post, and he asked for nothing better than to stay there as long as possible. His father had been master there before him, and was buried there.

We are Lorrains, you see, that's why I made such a point of being in the reserves.

I asked him naïvely if he had ever thought of war.

"What! We never thought of anything else!"

I suddenly recognised in him, the obstinacy and exaltation which had surprised me, as a child, in the inhabitants of Emberménil.

I had honestly forgotten that such rancour survived. After more than forty years! Revenge then was not simply an abstract pretext, it corresponded actually, to a desire, a hatred! The old furnace still threw out sparks in the new generation capable of setting the conflagration alight at any moment.

I could not help blaming this fury. The stupid dislike of resignation and discretion, of that which constituted men's happiness.

Did I not, however, vaguely envy this impassioned tone and face?

Why did I announce:

"I'm a Lorrain too, you know!"

"Really?" he said; "Oh well, I had suspected it, just from your name. What part do you come from?"

I told him. He was delighted. He had relations round about Lunéville.

"We are the only ones in the platoon. That ought to make us good friends, what?"

I felt that he was moved. I pretended to be. But I was chilled again. I only thought like the other evening, under my father's gaze: "I a Lorrain! In what am I a Lorrain?" And the idea that I should have brothers and foes, just because I was born on this side, and not on that side of a certain line, seemed to me grotesque.

It was about time for "cookhouse door" to go. Our card-players reappeared. I enjoyed first their surprise, then their only thin-veiled annoyance. It was particularly aggravating for the schoolmasters. Henriot, with his hand on my shoulder, was talking to me as to an intimate confidant. They began to wander round, anxious to interrupt us, but withheld from doing so by their deeply-rooted respect for rank.

Great Heavens! if I had guessed what would put an end to our conversation!

Henriot stopped abruptly in the middle of a sentence.

"Hsh! What's that...?"

"That dull distant rumble...."

The men scattered about in the road and in the yard, were listening intently. Corporal Bouguet who was passing muttered:

"No, it can't be...?"

It began again, like the echo of a peal of thunder....

Then the subaltern pronounced the word I had expected:

"The guns!"

"What?"

It ran along repeated from mouth to mouth. The guns! The guns! I shuddered with physical anguish. A battle in progress over there, quite near by, which I felt would draw us in and swallow us up. The guns! Were they the ones which would make a pulp of my body?

Guillaumin suddenly appeared and seized me by the arm.

"My heart's beating. How queer it is!"

I was stupid enough to swagger.

"It reminds me of the Camp of Châlons!"

CHAPTER IV

AN ALARM

The guns went on growling at intervals for an hour, and then stopped. Have I explained that our company was quartered almost in the open? Too much in the open, apparently. The order came round for us to clear out, and to squeeze into the smaller of the two farms which we occupied.

Nothing could have been more uncomfortable than the stable, or rather the cattle-shed which fell to our platoon. It might even have been a pig-stye to judge by the stink! They had contented themselves with throwing a thin layer of straw on the litter of dung. The men grumbled: Loriot most of all. I went to see for myself, the others were in the same predicament. They were openly discussing the ill-feeling which was beginning to establish itself between the commanding officer and the captain. Every time there was a particularly filthy billet going, it would be for the 22nd!

I was hesitating about lying down when Guillaumin came up beaming.

"Breton certainly has a flair for comfortable quarters; there's no denying it. Do you know what they've rooted out? A hay-loft. And a clean one, too! We'll have it all to ourselves. We must get hold of De Valpic."

We went to find him.

"Thanks, it's awfully good of you!"

He assured us, though, that he would prefer to sleep alongside some rick as it was fine to-night.

"You'll be frozen!"

"I shall get some fresh air!"

"As much as you could want!"

Guillaumin showed me the way. It was behind the outhouses. A ladder was leaning up against it. I caught sight of Playoust at the window. He drew his head in immediately. Descroix appeared.

"There's not room for two!" he shouted.

"How's that?"

Little Humel showed up beside him!

"Reserved for the first platoon! We invited Guillaumin, that's all!"

"Look here, what about me!" I said quite calmly.

"Impossible!"

I said to Guillaumin.

"You might have asked them before you came to fetch me!"

"Rot! They're fooling!" he said. "There's room in there for fifteen or twenty."

He gave me a shove.

"Get along up!"

I put my foot on the first rung and began to climb up. Humel had called for help. Descroix seized the ladder with both hands and shook it. I nearly took a toss.

"The brute!"

I jumped down. The others up there were howling with laughter. If I was sickened by it, Guillaumin appeared more offended. He set to work to blackguard them, in language very much to the point. Playoust tried to appease them: "Why make such a fuss! I was so fond of being alone. It was very good of them to offer him a place! Why not bring the viscount along too straight away?"

"De Valpic? He's going to sleep in the open air!" Humel yelped.

"Very well, then; why can't Dreher do the same thing!"

I considered it useless to insist. I should manage all right, I said to Guillaumin, but I advised him most strongly to take advantage of the stroke of luck—as he was so thick with them!

Not at all! He protested that nothing on earth would induce him to desert me. It was shameful, the way they had treated me. On active service all ought to help one another. How delighted the Bosches would have been if they had witnessed the scene.

Playoust retorted by jeering at us and reaped an easy harvest of guffaws among his accomplices. Guillaumin unexpectedly seized the ladder, and carried it off. I went with him laughing, while infuriated shouts followed us.

We got back to our stable.

"For us the dung!"

"Yes, like Job."

The smell was sickening, and the worst of it was that my place had been taken. Judsi was lying there snoring. I felt about him, he shook himself and let off an impropriety, which made me recoil. Luckily my faithful Bouillon hailed me. He made himself small and I was able to squeeze between him and Corporal Donnadieu, and with my handkerchief over my nose, I soon fell fast asleep.

There was an alarm in the middle of the night. A sudden clamour was heard in the road and the click of bayonets. To arms! To arms!

We leapt to our feet and went out. Outside there was nothing but tumult and bustling, indescribable confusion, terrified creatures bumping up against each other and seizing each other by the throat. I know my heart was thumping. A night attack? Good Heavens! It was very astounding.... And yet the enemy was not far away....

Five minutes of disorder and panic. We could not have offered the slightest resistance! What was happening? The captain had come down and was whistling incessantly. I groped about searching for my section and platoon. They were lost! This pale form! Lamalou, in shirt sleeves, by Jove, but armed, and shouting, and ready for anything....

What was the matter after all?...

At last the riddle was solved by De Valpic, who told us that a horse had got loose on the outskirts of the village, and its owner, a dragoon, had run after it shouting:

"Olga! Olga!"

A too zealous sentry had thought he heard "To Arms!" that was all.

We laughed ourselves hoarse. But one person who was not at all pleased was the captain. Awakened at the first movements, he had come rushing up in haste, and had whistled, as I said.... Guillaumin and I were the only ones to answer. We were the only two sleeping with our men. The others were in great difficulties. How were they to get down from the hay-loft without a ladder? In the dark! Jump? The regimental sergeant-major had sprained his foot slightly.... What! What! Had he been up there! He was the one to get the biggest wigging. He was horribly upset about it.

An explanation which followed between Guillaumin and Descroix nearly ended in their coming to blows. Playoust egged them on. Breton and I had all we could do to keep them apart.

One thing pleased me; a step Frémont took.

"I was with them," he said; "forgive me. They are idiots, but I couldn't get down. They're all in my platoon. They would have led me such a life. You're not annoyed with me, I hope?"

"Not at all."

The remainder of the night was calmer. From four o'clock onwards, however, the distant sinister rumbling became noticeable again. There must be something serious doing, for this music to strike up again at dawn!

We soon began to stretch and get up. Thanks to my little pocket-glass, I discovered some strange eruptions on my face. They worried me. What could they be?

"Spiders, 'rooky,'" Bouillon announced jovially.

I was at the pump in a bound, and spent quite a long time washing and soaping myself. In my absence, coffee was prepared and handed round. When I came back there was nothing left but a few lukewarm dregs.

I blamed Bouguet for it.

"In future you'll see that my coffee is kept for me!"

He kicked at this.

"I only have just enough for my section. Sergeant Donnadieu has one man less. It's his job to get yours."

I made enquiries. He was quite right.

CHAPTER V

A THUNDERBOLT

The cannonade, which increased in intensity hour by hour, made that morning a time of agonising suspense. For me, at least. The men who had already got accustomed to the noise, paid no more attention to it.

The regimental sergeant-major had been round to inspect accoutrements. Some of the men were dropped on, poor Gaudéreaux among others, as he had been unlucky enough to forget a rag for his rifle.

He was ordered confinement to barracks, but went out all the same. Ravelli who had met him in the village had him arrested and taken to the guard-room where he was sentenced by the captain to four days' confinement.

Lamalou commiserated him quite openly.

"That's what it is to be so bloomin' good-natured. Like to see 'em darin' to put upon me like that!"

The regimental sergeant-major who overheard him gave him a furious look, but actually was afraid to say anything and only revenged himself by slyly warning him for the next fatigue.

In the afternoon Lieutenant Henriot came to have a chat with Guillaumin and me. I noticed his anxiety to cause no more jealousy. Catching sight of Descroix and Humel who were getting some fresh air in the yard, he called them. In this way the circle became enlarged. Too much for me! I bolted.

When Guillaumin came to find me again, I put on a sarcastic tone:

"Thrilling, what?"

"Oh ... quite interesting! You seemed to be listening all right yesterday!"

"Couldn't help myself!"

I undertook to quote the conversation I had had the day before with the little subaltern. To be honest, I exaggerated grossly. I ridiculed poor Henriot, and put on a tremolo, to recall his words about his birthplace where he taught, where his father was buried.

It seemed as if Guillaumin only half liked this skit. He stopped me.

"He may not be a genius, but he's quite a good sort."

I was discontented with myself and with him.

I expected that we should be sent to relieve the 21st in the trenches. I was mistaken. It was the 23rd. Our turn was skipped. I don't know why.

This cannonade which still persisted and seemed to be drawing nearer, unnerved me. Where were they fighting? What approximately were the lines of tactical defence?

De Valpic to whom I happened to put the question, informed me.

"The Loison and the Othain."

"What are they?"

"Tributaries of the Meuse. They both join the Chiers, near Montmédy."

"You are well up in it."

He smiled; he was going in to lie down as usual.

The firing was still going on. I said to Bouillon:

"We may be going up one of these days!"

"Where to?"

"Into the firing line."

"Good luck!"

"Really, good luck?"

"The sooner we go there, the sooner the war will be over!"

"But ... supposing we stay there?"

"Oh well, one end's as good as another!"

Towards evening someone announced that there was a convoy of wounded on the road. Frémont happened to be beside me. I took him by the arm:

"Are you coming to have a look?"

He hesitated. I took him along.

In the principal street a string of carts was filing past, carrying unearthly beings with sunken eyes, and blackened, ravaged faces. They were silent and had dirty bandages, some on their heads and some on their arms.

Our poilus had hurried up, and were forming a hedge. They ventured to question those who seemed the least affected.

"Well, lads? So you've given 'em a knock?"

Most of them did not reply. A few shook their heads.

"Nothing to be done."

"More likely them?"

They made a painful impression. More carts followed, these last drawn at a foot's pace. Orderlies signed to us that they contained the badly wounded.

Their time was up. Why bother to transport them even?

A vehicle passed at a trot going in the opposite direction empty.

"What have you done with your cargo?" shouted another driver.

"Going to load up again! Poor lads, turned into corpses, they are!"

Frémont had turned very pale.

"Let's be off!" he murmured.

"Oh, rot!" I said rather fiercely. "Let's see as much as we can.... We may be in their place to-morrow."

He stayed. A low cart appeared, containing two stretchers. On one of them was an officer with a bloodless face. He had a compress on his neck which dripped dark blood. On the other there was a young beardless corporal, whose respiration was rapid but even. Although awake, he persistently kept his eyes closed. What could his wound be? The orderly gave an expressive glance. A great-coat which had been thrown over the man hung down at the knee-joints. His two legs were gone.

"No, no, come away!" Frémont repeated with a shudder.

The horror of it! And it might so easily have been my turn to agonise to-morrow! By the fault of the politicians who had let loose this war! I cursed the allotted task, the yoke laid on so many, and my own acquiescence.

Then my attention was distracted. An N.C.O. in the 30th who took an opportunity of getting out when his cart stopped—the horse had lost a shoe, I believe—asked for a drink. Someone offered him wine.

"No. Water!"

An uncanny voice, hoarse with fever. They brought him some water. He drank large gulps of it. I watched him. What was the matter with him, with his dark ringed eyes and pinched, mask-like face, and his body bent so queerly!

He began to speak in short, staccato sentences. He described the engagement which had taken place the day before. The long wait in the trench under shell fire in the full glare of the sun. They had not seen the Bosches, but knew they were quite near by. The weariness and the enervation which increased as the day went on. The longing to be done with it, for the losses were becoming serious. The effect of the damned fairy tale accredited by the newspapers and even by the communiqués, according to which the enemy could never stand up against the bayonet. You could see the men half-pulling them out, the precious things, and looking at them longingly, so slim and sharp and shining...!

And then at the end of the day the stroke of madness...! Word had been passed along, no one knew where it started from, "Fix bayonets: Charge!" The order rolled on from company to company. They had got up man by man then in ranks.... Forward! They had rushed out, they were covering the ground at a tremendous pace. They felt that their opponents were there, petrified. They were just on the point of falling upon them. They yelled. No retort. Quicker, quicker! It was really marvellous...!

But suddenly they realised their mistake. Too late. There was an echo of terror. Along this plantation of trees there was a river. They calculated its width. Not very wide, but too wide to clear at a jump, all the same!

"The Othain?" I suggested.

"How should I know!"

And then—it was all pre-arranged of course!—then the enemy had opened fire with their machine guns at two hundred yards. They all flung themselves flat!... What a panic there had been. The men had thrown themselves desperately into the dark icy water, drowning themselves among the rushes under the very eyes of their companions.... The rest who had no entrenching tools with them, or packs either, were reduced to digging themselves in with their pocket knives and their nails. The enemy, who were coming nearer, calmly continued to ply their infernal "tea kettle" for a whole hour. The result being that there was not a man left out of the two battalions engaged. Not one, untouched! All killed or wounded!

"And what about you, Sergeant?" asked Donnadieu, the little red-haired corporal.

"Me?"

He pulled a wry face.

"Napoo'd!"

"How do you mean, napoo'd," I exclaimed.

"Yes, I've got a ball in my stomach—and as they have not operated——"

Ah! that explained his being so doubled up! He climbed back into his cart.

"Well, so long, you fellows. Hope you'll have better luck."

He added:

"Oh! it's blooming funny, this war!"

We were subdued and silent. Then Judsi jeered.

"Oh, dash it all, the bloke must be pilin' it on. We may 'ave been mauled a bit, likely as not, but wot about them—with our 75's——"

"You're right there," Bouillon exclaimed.

Another private, who was wounded in the arm, shouted gaily as he passed.

"The comedy's over for this child."

"Wot, you don't mean to say you're legging it after the first act, you waster?"

He had good reason to rejoice. I would have given all I possessed to be in that man's shoes.

After this, excitement reigned. The rumour spread that a start was near, in fact imminent. The subaltern assured them in vain that he knew nothing of it, that he did not think.... The men repeated the words picked up by the captain's orderly.

"Luckily there'll be a moon to-night!"

Curfew time arrived, however, without anything happening and we turned in.

But a little before midnight the quartermaster's voice was heard at the door.

"Turn out! Marching kit!"

We were in full harness in no time. I went out. I came across Henriot and asked him.

"Are we really off?"

"Yes, yes."

"Any news?"

"Hm! I've just had a talk with a subaltern who's come down from the Woevre."

"From what part exactly?"

"Flirey."

The name struck me. I remembered having heard it in my father's mouth.

"Is he still there, the subaltern you mentioned?"

"I think so; yes, look there!"

I caught sight of the silhouette of a cavalry officer. I went up to him spurred on by a singular presentiment.

"I hear you've been near Flirey during the last few days, sir...."

"Exactly."

I tried to make out his regimental number.

"Did you by any chance come across the 161st?"

"Rather! I was attached to them for rations for three days!"

I hesitated.

"You don't happen to remember a Lieutenant Dreher?"

He repeated:

"Dreher?"

"Yes."

"A big fair fellow; a good-looking chap?"

"Yes."

"His picket was surprised. He was killed!"

"No!"

"Excuse me; I saw him being carried away. He had a bullet in his head. Did you know him, Sergeant?"

BOOK V

August 12th-13th

CHAPTER VI

ON THE WAY TO THE FIRING LINE

My brother! My brother killed! I went off, without a word in reply, and lost myself in the darkness. I was stupefied. My brother killed! I was on the point of fainting. And then, in a few minutes, I regained my control. I had the impression of having advanced a stage; of an awakening.

Finished, and done with my rôle as on-looker in all these things. No more detached, distant pity for me like that with which I had been inspired by those dying men just now. How my blood rushed through my veins. I conjured up a vision of my brother alive, leading his men. I saw him totter and fall. They picked him up, stone dead! With a hole through his forehead! That was the end. There was no more to be done but to make the sign of the cross over all that remained of him!

Henriot passed me again, buckling the strap of his revolver. He asked me casually:

"Well, did you speak to him?"

I was on the point of saying to him.

"My brother ... you know, my brother."

But a feeling of shyness prevented me, the idea of confiding in anyone was repugnant to me.... Guillaumin appeared in his turn, his képi worn square; I did not say anything to him either: the idea of forcedly conventional phrases sickened me.

We formed into platoons. Roll-call. Nobody missing in our lot.

The men were joking in spite of our instructions. Judsi's nasal intonations could be distinguished.

"Halloa, Loriot, you old rotter, you going to march? Didn't the M.O. recognise you?"

Each one's a bigger fool than the last!

Loriot shrugged his shoulders.

Corporal Donnadieu was the only one who looked thoughtful and absorbed. An agriculturalist, with delicate features, and a sandy moustache; I liked him for his conscientiousness and zeal. He suddenly turned to me, and said in a whisper:

"So we're going up to the front, you think, Sergeant?"

"I believe so."

"Already?"

"Already."

"How many will stay there?"

He looked as if he were reckoning up the number of victims around us. I said wearily:

"Oh, as to that!"

He was silent. I asked him if he was married.

"Yes, Sergeant."

"Any children?"

"One of fifteen months, and another ... on the way!"

Looking down at the ground, he sighed.

"How stupid it is to fight!"

I thought how in our camp, and no doubt in the opposite camps too, nearly every individual was privately thinking the same thing! And yet each one bowed his head and went on. Poor human race!

We started off. The night was cool and clear. A good one to march on.

Guillaumin came to keep me company. He announced that he was in "the pink" and joked below his breath with his men and mine, whom he already knew better than I did. He forced me to share his good humour. It may be imagined that I did not rise much, though I avoided looking too anxious. I dreaded a direct question and intended to withdraw into myself alone with my sorrow.

He ended by getting tired of it and left me, but then it was the subaltern's turn to hang on to me. It was difficult to escape him. It was in vain that I purposely arranged to walk so that he was forced to the side of the road, where he kept stumbling over endless obstacles such as ruts and heaps of flints. He did not lose heart, and I had to put up with a new explanation of the situation. Then he tried to make out where we were. Every other minute I saw him consulting his map with the aid of his electric torch.

"Look, we're following this road."

He must have made a mistake, at some cross roads. Contrary to his expectation we did not cross the high road to Étain. Then he tried to take his bearings by the heavens, the Great Wain, and the Polar Star.

I no longer even pretended to take an interest. I thirsted for solitude. I took advantage of a moment when he left me to go to the captain, to sign to Bouillon. With this place filled, I was saved.

I went on automatically like a beast of burden. The weariness, and perspiration, the crushing weight of the pack, the bumping of the haversack and the water-bottle, the pressure of the crossed straps, all that combined, almost took away the consciousness of existence. A vague regret survived, however.

I mechanically repeated to myself from time to time: "My brother has been killed, my brother has been killed...." But these words conveyed hardly anything to my mind, my grief seemed to be numbed. I confusedly flattered myself that just now, at the first respite, it would awake, awful and sweet, and envelop me in its generous flood.

Another obsession, this one very ordinary and almost humiliating, was the rubbed place on my heel. It was not cured and I had struggled in vain to break the counter. The same rub at each step. On the uneven, stony surface of the bad roads we were following, I often made a false step. So great was my exhaustion that I no longer even took the trouble to throw my weight on to the tip of my foot in order to lessen the painful contact.

A high road at last. In a neighbouring field we caught sight of some teams and forage and ammunition waggons.

"An artillery park," Henriot shouted across Bouillon's head.

A little farther on we passed a troop of cavalry wrapped in their long dark blue greatcoats. Our poilus expressed their envy of them aloud.

"War's a picnic to those chaps!"

It was still quite dark—we were going through a forest when the cannonade started again, abrupt and violent. So near this time. Everyone started at it.

It rumbled and roared on every side. It felt exactly like being in the middle of a battle. And what a striking contrast there was between the silence, the sweet-scented air, and the calm of the woods, and this crashing and thundering! We were alone on this road, the moon had just risen; a gentle breeze caressed the little flowers on the slope, and the moss damp with dew.

Day was breaking when we left the wood.

We advanced across a slightly sloping upland.

"Halt!"

Rows and rows of piled arms stretched away into the distance. There was a brigade, or perhaps a division there. We counted on a rest worth having. But a whirring noise was heard. We looked up. One, no two German aeroplanes, like the silhouettes of evil-looking birds, were easily recognisable.

A neighbouring company fired a volley at them. They continued to flutter above us turning and twisting insolently. The men shook their fists at them. And the same thought occurred to us all: What were our aeroplanes doing? A third Taube arrived and dropped a rocket.

"The devil!"

"Look out!" shouted Henriot. "We've been marked right enough! We shall catch it hot!"

The alarm was given. We scattered at the double and threw ourselves down, and shivered in the icy dawn. The expected shells did not come. The captain sent for the subaltern.

"To give him a wigging," said Descroix.

Playoust jeered.

"He talked of catching it hot! I see he was quite right about it!"

The warning had sufficed. The big detachment collected there, seemed to have evaporated. Some platoons were disappearing ahead over the neighbouring ridge.

Were we to follow? Not at all. We were taken back, on the contrary, as far as the wood. We all went into it, and the order was given to pile arms. We might rest, but were not to go far away!

CHAPTER VII

I EXAMINE MY CONSCIENCE

I went to lie down a little way off, at the foot of a tree. At last I had a free moment. At last I belonged to myself!

The funereal refrain resounded in me anew: Victor killed! I expected.... Dead, dead, my brother! A procession of regrets was bound to follow! In spite of myself, paltry worries came back to annoy me, my sore foot as usual. I lost my temper. Despicable solicitude! When I had been so hard hit!

Revolving these thoughts in my mind, I was suddenly seized with terror, with that terror which always freezes me at the sudden disappearance of any being with whom I have come into contact. But for all this terror I must confess that I was only moderately afflicted, however reluctant I might be to admit it.

It went no doubt to prove that I was incapable of moral suffering. It filled me with shame. I longed ardently to overcome it. But in what way? Who could believe that I went as far as to ask myself, "What happens when one loses an only brother; how does one feel?"

And then all at once I lost patience. Come along! Come along! Let's be frank. Had I not sworn long ago to avoid all juggling with words. No shammed grief for me! Quite true I had lost my brother! But what was he to me? I remember the impression, corroborated so often, that we had nothing in common. He, the classical type of soldier, a slave to his convictions. I, reared on philosophy, moulded of doubt and detachment. A brother to whom I had never for a moment opened my heart, with whom I had had no intimate converse. How pitifully trite, too, our correspondence had been! He for his part lived engrossed in the wife chosen and schooled to his liking, and in his children, who interested me only as being pretty little creatures. My brother simply by an accident of birth! I obviously could not mourn for him in the same way as for someone I had loved!

This reasoning calmed me. But the question still persisted mechanically: "Then whom did I love?" Suddenly the answer, the cruel answer, presented itself: "No one on earth! I was quite alone!"

Why was the thought of my heart withered beyond all help, so odious to me to-day? Why, in order to dispel it, was I driven to conjure up the sorrow which years and years ago had made my child's heart bleed?

My mother. My sweet mother. Fourteen years had passed in vain, since that terrible day; the wound had never healed. She had been ill no time; a bad attack of influenza, a great deal of fever, threatened pneumonia. I had spent part of the afternoon in her room. She complained of nothing but thirst. I got her what she wanted and reminded her when it was time to take her medicine. She was not very much pulled down. I remember that she had congratulated me on obtaining a good place in Latin prose. Some artless remark on the maid's part had tickled us both.... And that night the hospital nurse who had arrived a few hours before, knocked at my door, panic-stricken.... It was all over. What a thunderbolt it had been.

I felt my heart swell and my eyes fill again at the memory of it! I still mourned for her to-day, for her, for her! So I was not quite lacking in all humane feeling. And it was not my fault if the present stroke of destiny failed to move me at all deeply.

I felt softened, however. The dear shade exhaled some tender property. I had been my mother's confidant as a child. It was to me that she liked to unbosom herself, morning and evening, as she bent her harmonious face over my face. She used to say to me: "We two understand each other, don't we?"

Had she not once or twice gently and seriously confided in me the secret of certain fears? Supposing anything were to happen to her, she seemed to fear for the future union of the family. She felt that she was the bond between us, that as long as she was alive, she concentrated our affections. My father, without entirely fathoming her, adored her, and so did my brother, though brought up away from her at school. If she were the first to go.... It was an odd presentiment.

So my mother had foreseen this estrangement between beings of the same blood; had grieved about it beforehand. Alas! she could never have believed that the breech could have yawned so large.... If she could have suspected that a day would come when her Michel would hear of the other's death with dry eyes and an untouched heart, what bitterness it would have been to her! The thought weighed on my mind.

I got up and walked a few steps. I was limping slightly.

Boom! Boom! Boom! Ever since it had been light, the deafening uproar had redoubled.

Frémont who was lying on his side gave me a friendly wave.

"What are you doing there?"

"Writing my diary."

He waved a bundle of closely written sheets.

"My wife can't grumble! I sent her the same amount yesterday."

"Are you telling her that we can hear firing?"

"Rather not! I'm giving her a description of our humdrum existence at Orne."

"Will you lend me your stylo, when you've finished?" I asked.

"Half a minute! I'm just ending it off."

He got up.

"I recommend you to try my desk; this big stone. Most handy! Got some writing paper?"

"Yes, thanks."

I settled down. The idea of writing had been put into my head by the sight of Frémont. By doing so it seemed to me that I might atone for or lessen my lack of....

I sent my condolences first of all to my father, to whom Victor was everything; his sole object in existence. Fragments of a recent conversation floated across my mind. In what a voice he had said: "They will nearly all stay there!" The old Spartan! But had he not counted too much on his strength of mind.... And yet, no. I was certain of his unshakable constancy. I foresaw that in case of victory, the old man would not utter a complaint, but would congratulate himself on having contributed to it by his loss.

Oh, come along. It had got to be done.... Luckily I need not write much. The noise of the cannonade was a good excuse for brevity. A few sentences would be enough, a suitable expression of my compassion. I signed it. Then I wrote a line to my sister-in-law. That of course was obligatory. Poor little woman! A widow, at twenty-four, with two kids.... The idea of her loneliness and misery saddened me. My pen raced over the paper. I was soon at the end of a sheet.

I fastened up these letters with a sigh of relief at having done my duty. But it suddenly struck me that I could not send them. They would run the risk of getting there before the official intimation. I shuddered at the idea.

Then why should I have been in such a hurry?

Meanwhile I felt about in my pocket, and pulled out a third card. Did I realise at once where my steps were taking me? I think not. I had only written the heading.... And yet! I was smiling; but I was strangely troubled.

A line to announce this loss which clouded my campaign, a pitying allusion to the misery of the survivor. What should I add? I was not dissatisfied with the manly words in which I describe us as sending a friendly greeting to a few beings in the world, just as we were about to hurl ourselves into the ghastly furnace.

I re-read them with a smile, half-tender, half-sceptical, and slowly and rather dreamily, I addressed the envelope.

Mademoiselle Jeannine Landry rue Faidherbe. St-Mandé.

When should I be able to despatch this letter?

Perhaps I should fall with it on my breast....

And people would think I had been writing to my fiancée!

CHAPTER VIII

AWAITING OUR CUE

I had got up again. The inflamed place on my heel was becoming intolerable. I resigned myself to taking off my shoes and stockings.

The head which had formed yesterday had been pulled off. It had a very unhealthy look. An abscess would probably form.

What could I do? Report sick? For a sore on my foot! And just now too. But my claim would not be allowed. Bouchut would not look at me! I had seen poor wretches at the manœuvres forced to march with gory feet, and with septic gatherings from which blood oozed at the pressure.... No, there was no hope for me there! I must go on then, but in future should have to endure fresh torture at each step I took.

Guillaumin had joined me.

"Your foot again? Let's have a look!"

He bent down and examined it.

"The counter! Oh! be blowed to it! That is a bore! Why go out of your way to get something different from the regulation boots. I'm delighted with mine. Still it can't be helped. Something must be done for this."

I explained that I had treated myself with tincture of iodine.

"Diluted, I hope?"

"How do you mean?"

I learnt from him that the strength supplied now was too caustic.

"Some picric acid is what you want on there now."

"You haven't got any, I suppose?"

"What are you thinking of? I've got a little bit of everything!"

He went off and soon came back, with a small bottle and a brush which he carefully took out of a glass tube.

"Stings a bit, doesn't it?"

He had also brought a bit of linen. He deftly bound up my ankle. I admired his dexterity.

"Where did you learn it?"

"Hunting, of course! That's the way to get sprains."

He added:

"I think that'll do until to-morrow!"

He got hold of my boot.

"This filthy counter. That's what's the matter. If only there was a way...."

"Of doing what?"

"With some scissors.... I've got some of them too, in my housewife."

Another journey. When he had got back and adjusted his eye-glass he set to work to snip and shape. Particles of leather kept falling.

"You're not spoiling it?"

"Don't you worry! I'm an adept at this sort of thing!"

He had finished.

"Shove it on again. Well, how does it feel?"

The friction was actually much lessened.

"It will be the salvation of me, old chap!"

He made a good-natured grimace. I looked at his thick red nose, his sandy moustache with its piteous droop at the corners of his mouth, his oily hair tangled under the cap which was perched on the back of his head. There was a touch of the grotesque in his ugliness at this moment. A blundering simple soul too, and overtalkative. And yet ... what a good sort he was! He had that rarest of virtues, Kindness, the mark of real distinction of soul. What spontaneous gratitude he aroused in me. To think that quite lately I had hardly dared to defend him against Laquarrière's sarcasms. That would all be changed now. To-day my choice was made, and well made.

There seemed to be a lull in the fighting. The cannonade was less violent. I wished for a moment that the struggle might end without us.... Yes, but only on condition that the result was favourable. I was not without apprehensions on that score, for what a repulse that action, described to us the day before, must have been!

Guillaumin was hungry, and did not worry his head about anything else. Now or never was the time to stoke up. Before joining in the dance!

I took his advice. Before starting in the middle of the night, we had been given a cold meal, potatoes, bully beef, and cheese. We had some bread left. Having clubbed our provisions we ate our little feast on the moss.

"Like Robinson Crusoe, what!"

I made a point of getting my companion to take the largest helps.

When the last mouthful was swallowed, he lay down and shut his eyes.

"What do you say to a little snooze?"

I tried to imitate him, but could not get to sleep. A road ran through the wood, about a hundred yards away. Endless vehicles passed along it in an incessant string. My foot was not hurting me now. Why shouldn't I push on as far as that?

As I skirted our piles of arms I noticed an open haversack sprawling on its back apart from the others. Some undergarments were hanging out, and a squad book, and one or two other oddments were lying in the grass a little farther on.

I turned the offending object over with my foot and spelt the inscription traced on the square of grey canvas. Then I shouted:

"Judsi!"

He was seated with several others about twenty yards off.

"Judsi!" I repeated.

His neighbour, Lamalou, nudged him.

"Don't you hear the sergeant talking to you?"

"Wot's wrong?" he said without moving.

"Does this haversack belong to you?"

"Wot 'aversack? Yes, it might."

"What the deuce is it doing here?"

"Anything wrong with it?"

Judsi impertinently fixed his sly clown's eyes on me.

"You know the captain will not have untidiness or disorder. Why is your haversack open?"

The blackguard pretended to consider the matter.

"Probably ... 'cos it ain't shut!"

This reply overjoyed his audience. Loriot slapped his thigh. Lamalou nearly died with laughing. As for me, my cheeks burned. I went down on one knee, and pulled the iron rations out of the haversack with a jerk. Then I counted the biscuits. Ten instead of fourteen! Four were missing.

I went straight up to the man.

"Judsi, what have you done with your biscuits?"

"My biscuits?"

He tossed his head with a monkey-like grimace.

"No 'posse' either, p'r'aps!"

"Answer me. Four are missing already!"

"Ow dear, now, wot a business!"

There was dead silence round us. They knew that matters were coming to a head.

"You know that we are strictly forbidden to touch the biscuits without orders ..." I reminded him dryly.

"Oo's orders? The ministers'?"

Judsi looked round in search of applause. He did not get it. Loriot alone sniggered in a foolish sort of way. Lamalou cut him short.

"It's true enough that we have no right."

I emphasised his words.

"Lamalou knows well enough: he's seen some fighting and knows what it is!"

The ex-private in the African battalion again agreed. I continued:

"You understand that I, personally, don't care a hang. But a time might come when we were in a jolly tight hole and should be thankful to have our biscuits. And then it's not for us to argue about it. If it's forbidden, it's forbidden, and Sergeant Guillaumin and I are responsible...."

The argument carried weight. Somebody said:

"Not worth getting slanged about!"

Bouillon outdid him.

"Strikes me it ain't the sergeants wot worries you."

"You're right there!"

They were agreed on that point.

"Well, Judsi?" I began again less severely.

He tried to get out of it.

"W'en a bloke's starvin'!"

"Starving! You've had your haversack rations."

Bouillon gave him away.

"'E didn't take 'em. Couldn't bovver wif carryin' 'em!"

Judsi dropped some of his swagger. He got up sulkily, and slowly pulled one, two, three biscuits out of his greatcoat pocket....

"And the fourth?"

"Oh!... eaten!"

"Well anyhow, put those back."

He obeyed with very sour looks; then raising his clown's face, he said:

"'Ave to put up with a empty stummick all day then?"

"I don't want to get you into trouble," I said; "I shall not report you. But let this be understood in future.... The biscuits are sacred, see! Now...."

I looked round the circle.

"If your pals like to give up a little of their ration, that's their affair. Another time they'll find some way of making you carry your own...."

This Solomon's judgment perplexed the audience. Bouillon saved the situation by sticking a knife into a potato:

"'Ere you are, Judsi. 'Ere's a pertater. It's one o' yours by rights. I picked 'em up!"

Gaudéreaux split a piece of cheese. "Rooty?" Lamalou supplied some.

"Take that you old blighter. But another time you better mind or I'll catch you such a biff in the bottom ... just like the sergeant said."

I went away in a state of naïve contentment, thinking that I had not done badly. For the first time I had a glimmering of the meaning of the word Authority. To know how to command men!

I saw Lieutenant Henriot coming towards me from the edge of the wood in a state of wild excitement. He had his field-glasses in his hand.

"Oh, dear! oh, dear!" he cried. "What on earth are we waiting for? I ask you!"

I suggested.

"Well, but.... They seem to be holding us in reserve."

"That's all very well for an hour! But ever since this morning! What the devil is the use of us? Doesn't everything point to the fact that we ought to go to the rescue instead of crossing our arms? No orders.... No orders? And suppose the bearer of them has been killed or taken prisoner! There's only one rule that counts: the same that won all their victories for the Prussians in 1870. That is to keep on till you get to the guns. They're near enough, in all conscience. Never heard such a din."

He continued:

"And the moment was so well chosen! Look at all those chaps, how they are aching to get to work!"

I looked at him instead. Was he dreaming? The men were lying about in a circle after their meal. They certainly seemed resigned to their lot, but as for enthusiasm—not a sign of it. Nor even of that altogether physical excitement of which people speak. Henriot obviously attributed his own keenness to them.

He was most certainly in a state of exaltation. Was he to be envied? Probably. But my familiar spirit of analysis did not desert me. It was useless to pretend that the approach of a battle absolutely changes men's characters, that no one can say beforehand what he will do under certain circumstances. Nonsense. I was quite convinced that I should never be roused to acts of heroism and folly. All the better for that matter. The primordial quality of self-possession was the greatest safeguard for myself and for others. Poor Henriot. What childishness it was to be so set upon hurling himself into the fray. What difference would our presence make? Weren't we far better off resting in the shade screened from the glare of the midday sun?...

Descroix came and started Henriot off again. Frémont called me:

"Halloa! I was looking for you! If you want to send your letters, Dagomert is there on the road."

He was the brigade motor-cyclist.

"I'll go with you," I said.

Dagomert, a tall, pale fellow, with a comical expression, good-humouredly undertook our commission.

"Hand 'em over. I've got piles more already. I hope to have the luck to come across a post-office. They keep me on the run all right. I've just come from Censenvoye. It's a business getting along the road with all these troops, too!"

I asked him if he knew anything about the battle. How were things going?

He exclaimed:

"We've just given them a fine doing!"

"Seriously?"

A thrill ran through me. But I mistrusted these tales.

"We saw some wounded belonging to the 130th yesterday.... They didn't think it much fun!" I objected.

"I can understand that! Their regiment was wiped out!"

"Well, then?"