In the Field (1914-1915) Part 1

In the Field (1914-1915).

by Marcel Dupont.

PREFACE

In the following pages the reader will find no tactical studies, no military criticism, no vivid picture of a great battle. I have merely tried to make a written record of some of the hours I have lived through during the course of this war. A modest Lieutenant of Cha.s.seurs, I cannot claim to form any opinion as to the operations which have been carried out for the last nine months on an immense front. I only speak of things I have seen with my own eyes, in the little corner of the battlefield occupied by my regiment.

It occurred to me that if I should come out of the deathly struggle safe and sound, it would be a pleasure to me some day to read over these notes of battle or bivouac. I thought, further, that my people would be interested in them. So I tried to set down my impressions in my intervals of leisure. Days of misery, days of joy, days of battle.... What volumes one might write, if one were to follow our squadrons day by day in their march!

I preferred to choose among many memories. I did not wish to compose memoirs, but only to evoke the most tragic or the most touching moments of my campaign. And, indeed, I have had only too many from which to choose.

I shall rejoice if I have been able to revive some phases of the tragedy in which we were the actors for my brothers-in-arms.

Further, I gladly offer these "impressions" to any non-combatants they may interest. They must not look for the talents of a great story-teller, nor the thrilling interest of a novel. All they will find is the simple tale of an eyewitness, the unschooled effort of a soldier more apt with the sword than with the pen.

M.D.

I. HOW I WENT TO THE FRONT

The train was creeping along slowly in the soft night air. Seated on a truss of hay in the horse-box with my own two horses and that of my orderly, Wattrelot, I looked out through the gap left by the unclosed sliding door. How slowly we were going! How often we stopped! I got impatient as I thought of the hours we were losing whilst the other fellows were fighting and reaping all the glory. Station after station we pa.s.sed; bridges, level crossings, tunnels. Everywhere I saw soldiers guarding the line and the bayonets of the old cha.s.sepots glinting in the starlight. Now and again the train would suddenly pull up for some mysterious reason. The three horses, frightened at being brought into collision with each other, made the van echo to the thunder of their hoofs as they slipped, stamped, and recovered their balance. I got up to calm them with soothing words and caresses. By the light of the wretched lantern swinging and creaking above the door I could see their three heads, with p.r.i.c.ked ears and uneasy eyes. They were breathing hard and could not understand why they had been brought away from their comfortable stable with its thick litter of clean straw. _They_ were not thinking about the war, but they seemed to understand that their good times were over, that they would have to resign themselves to all sorts of discomforts, march unceasingly, pa.s.s nights in camps under the pouring rain, keep their heavy equipment on their backs for many days together, and not always get food when they were hungry.

Then the train would set off again with a noise of tightened couplings and creaking waggons. Whilst I was mechanically looking out at the darkness, dotted here and there with the coloured lights of the signals placed along the line, my straying thoughts would wander to the fields of battle and try to picture the scene on my arrival at the Front.

It was the 28th of August, nearly a month after the order had been given for mobilisation. And the armies had been fighting for some days already. What had happened? We could only glean part of the truth from the short official announcements. We knew there had been hard fighting at Charleroi, at Dinant, and in the direction of Nancy. But the result had not been defined. I thought I could guess, however, that these battles had not been decisive, but that they had cost both sides dear.

I was tempted to rejoice, fool that I was, to think that the first great victories would not be won before I joined my regiment. I had not yet been able to console myself for the ill-fortune that prevented me from starting with the squadrons of the first line. And yet I had to submit to regulations. The colonel was inflexible, and answered my entreaties by quoting the inexorable rule: In every cavalry regiment the sixth lieutenant in order of seniority must stay at the depot to help the major and the captain of the 5th squadron. They must a.s.semble, equip, and train the reserve squadrons of the regiment.

I shall never forget what those days were to me. Days of overwhelming work, when, in a tropical heat, I was busy from sunrise to sunset, entering the names of thousands of men, registering the horses, giving certificates, and providing food for the lot. It needed some skill to find billets for them all; the horses were lodged in stables, riding establishments and yards, the men in every corner and nook of the vast district. It was tiresome work, and would have been almost impossible but for the general goodwill and admirable discipline. But all the time I was thinking of the fellows away in Belgium boldly reconnoitring the ma.s.ses of Germans and coming into contact with the enemy.

At last, at eleven o'clock on the 28th of August, the colonel's telegram came ordering me to go at once and replace my young friend, Second-Lieutenant de C., seriously wounded whilst reconnoitring. At six o'clock in the evening I had packed my food, strapped on my kit, and got my horses into the train. I set off with a light heart, and my fellow-officers of the Reserve and of the Territorials, who were still at the depot, came to see me off.

But how slowly the train travelled, and what a long way off our little garrison town in the west seemed to me when I thought of the firing line out towards the north! I made up my mind to try to imitate my faithful Wattrelot, who had been snoring in peace for ever so long. I stretched myself on the golden straw and waited impatiently for the dawn, dozing and dreaming.

At about eight o'clock in the morning the train stopped at the concentration station of N. What a crowd, and yet what order and precision in this formidable traffic! All the commissariat trains for the army muster here before being sent off to different parts of the Front. The numerous sidings were all covered with long rows of trucks.

In every direction engines getting up steam were panting and puffing.

In the middle of this hurly-burly men were on the move, some of them calm, jaded and patient. These were the railwaymen, who went about in a business-like way, pus.h.i.+ng railway vans, counting packages, carrying papers, checking lists, and giving information politely and willingly.

The rest were soldiers, lost, bewildered in the midst of this entanglement of lines which seemed inextricable. They were asking each other questions, swearing, laughing, protesting, and then they got into a train and were promptly hauled out and sent to another. But, with all this, there was no disorder, no lack of discipline.

Everywhere the same admirable composure reigned that I had already noticed at the station of my little garrison town.

With Wattrelot's help, I tidied myself up for a visit to the military authorities of the station. After many difficulties, and after pa.s.sing through the hands of a number of sentries and orderlies on duty, I came into the presence of a kindly captain, to whom I stated my case: "These are my marching orders, Captain; I am to join the ---- Light Cavalry. Do you know where it is just now?"

The captain raised his hands to Heaven with a look of despair: "How am I to know where any regiment is now? You can't expect it. All I can do for you is to couple your truck on to the commissariat train of your army corps. It will take you as far as the terminus, and there you must see what you can do."

I went back to my horses. After various excursions. .h.i.ther and thither which took up the whole morning I at last managed to get my horse-box coupled to the train. Wattrelot and I, together with the Territorial section that served as guard, were the only pa.s.sengers. The whole train was composed of vans stuffed with food supplies and mysterious cases, packed into some separate vans carefully sealed. Our departure was fixed for two o'clock, and meanwhile I had a chat with the Territorial lieutenant who commanded our escort. I tried to find out from him what had happened at the Front. He did not know any more than I did, and merely told me how sorry he was for his own ill-luck: "You know, our job is no joke. We start after luncheon, travel all the rest of the day and part of the night, sleep where we can, and the next day we go back again in the empty train. It takes still longer to get back. And the day after we begin all over again."

And the worthy man quietly folded his hands on the "fair roundness" of his figure. He looked a good sort of fellow. He did his job conscientiously; put his men into the third-cla.s.s compartments a.s.signed to them; saw that they had their cartridges, and gave them some fatherly counsel; and then he invited me into the second-cla.s.s compartment reserved for him. But I declined, as I preferred to travel with my horses. The train jolted off. The heat was tropical. We had pushed our sliding-door wide open, and, seated on our packages, we contemplated the smiling summer landscape as it pa.s.sed slowly before us. And I came to the conclusion that we had found out the pleasantest way of travelling:--to have a railway carriage to yourself, where you can stand up, walk about and lie down; to go at a pace that allows you to enjoy the scenery of the countries you pa.s.s through; and to be able to linger and admire such and such a view, such and such a country mansion or monument of olden days! That is a hundred times better than the shaking and rush of a _train de luxe_.

I was delighted and touched by the sympathetic interest shown in us by the people. Everywhere old men, women and children waved their handkerchiefs and called out, "Good luck!... Good luck!"

The worthy Territorials answered back as best they could. One felt that all hearts were possessed with one and the same thought, wish, and hope,--the hearts of the men who were going slowly up to battle, and those of the people who watched them pa.s.s and sent their good wishes with them.

At one station where we stopped a group of girls dressed in white were waiting on the platform under the burning rays of the sun. With simplicity, grace, and charming smiles they distributed chocolate, bread, and fruit to all the men. The good fellows were so touched that tears came to their eyes. One of them, an elderly man with a small grey pointed beard, could not help saying: "But _we_ aren't going to fight, you know. We are only here to take care of the train."

"That doesn't matter. That doesn't matter. Take it all the same. You are soldiers, like the others.... _Vive la France!_" And all the thirty Territorials, in deep and solemn tones, repeated "_Vive la France!_"

What a change had come over these men who, people feared, were ripe for revolt, undisciplined, and reckless! What kindness and grace in the women who stay at home and suffer! An old railwayman said to me: "It has been like that, Sir, from the first day of the mobilisation.

These girls pa.s.s their days and nights at the station. It is really very good of them, for they won't make anything by it." The old working man was right: "They won't make anything by it." And yet I am sure that many soldiers who have pa.s.sed that station on their way to the Front will keep the same grateful remembrance that I still have.

I shall never forget the group of girls in white on the sunny platform of the little station; I shall never forget the simple grace with which they prevailed upon the men to accept the good things they offered and even forced upon them. I thanked them as best I could, but awkwardly enough, trying to interpret the thoughts of all those soldiers. And when the train had started again on its panting course, I felt sorry I had not been more eloquent in my speech; that I had already forgotten the name of the little station, and never thought of asking the names of our benefactresses.

We were now getting near the fighting zone, and I already felt that there was a change in the state of mind of the people. They still called out to us: "Good luck!... Good luck!" But earlier in the day this greeting had been given with smiles and merry gestures; now it was uttered in a serious and solemn tone. At the station gates and the level crossings, the eyes of the women who looked at us were more sad and profound. They fixed themselves upon ours, and seemed to speak to us. And even when their lips did not move their eyes still said "Good luck!... Good luck!"

We saw motor cars rus.h.i.+ng along the roads, and could distinguish the armbands on the men's sleeves, and rifles in the cars or lying in the hoods. And yet daily life was going on as usual. There were workers in the fields, tradespeople on the doorsteps of their shops, groups of peasants just outside the hamlets. But yet a peculiar state of mind was evident in each one of these people who were going on with their daily work. And all these acc.u.mulated cares, all these stirred imaginations, produced a strange atmosphere which infected everything, seemed to impregnate the air we breathed, and quenched the gaiety of the men in our train. Wattrelot and I were overcome by a kind of religious emotion; we felt as though we were already breathing the air of battle.

At about six o'clock we arrived at the station of L., where the train stopped for a few minutes. The platforms were crowded with Staff officers. A soldier a.s.sured me that the chief Headquarters were here.

I wanted to question some one and try to get some authoritative information as to what was happening at the Front. It seemed to me that I had a right to know, now that I was on the point of becoming one of the actors in the tragedy in progress a few leagues off. But directly I came up to these officers I felt my a.s.surance fail me. They looked disturbed and anxious. There was none of that merry animation that had reigned in the interior and that I had expected to find everywhere.

And then a strange and ridiculous fear came over me; the fear of being looked upon as an intruder by these well-informed men who knew everything. I imagined that they would spurn me with scorn, or that I should cause them pain by forcing them to tell me truths people do not like to repeat. It also occurred to me that I was too insignificant a person to confront men so high in office, and that I should appear importunate if I disturbed their reflections. But I was now quite sure that the official announcements had not told us all. Without having heard one word, I felt that things were not going so well as we had hoped, as every day in our little town in the west we tried pa.s.sionately to divine the truth, devouring the few newspapers that reached us.

A pang shot through me. I now felt alone and lost amongst these men who seemed strangers to me. Crossing the rails, I got back to our train, drawn up at some distance from the platforms. The sun was on the horizon. In the red sky two monoplanes pa.s.sed over our heads at no great height. The noise of their engines made everybody look up. They were flying north. And I felt a desire to rush upwards and overtake one of them and take my seat close to the pilot, behind the propeller which was spinning round and sending the wind of its giddy speed into his face. I longed to be able to lift myself into the air above the battlefields, and there, suspended in s.p.a.ce, try to make out the movements of the clas.h.i.+ng nations.

I resolved to have a talk with the engine-driver of a train returning to Paris empty. He told me in a few words that the French army was retreating rapidly, that it had already recrossed the Belgian frontier, and that at that moment it was fighting on French soil. He told me this simply, with a touch of sadness in his voice, shaking his head gently. He added no comments of his own, and I did not feel equal to any reply. Full of foreboding, I returned to my train and Wattrelot. He had heard what the engine-driver had told me, and he said not a word, but looked out into the distance at the fiery sky. We sat down side by side and said nothing.

So we were retreating. Then all our calculations and dreams were shattered. All the fine plans we officers had sketched out together were folly. We were wasting time when, bending over our maps, we foresaw a skilful advance on the heels of Belgium's invaders, followed by a huge victory, dearly bought, perhaps, but one that would upset the German Colossus at a single blow. The whole thing was an illusion.

And I thought what a fool I had been. I thought of my regiment. How much of it was there left? How many of those good fellows were lying dead on foreign soil? How many friends should I never see again? For I imagined things to be worse than they really were. I felt absolutely despondent. What my mind conjured up was no longer a retreat in good order but a rout.

The train had begun to move again. The sun had set, and over the horizon there was but a streak of pale yellow sky lighting up the country. I sat down in the open doorway with my legs dangling outside, and as I breathed the first few whiffs of fresh air I felt somewhat relieved. The calm around was such as to make one forget that we were at war. Darkness came on by degrees.

Suddenly my heart began to beat faster, and I rose with a nervous movement. Wattrelot too had started up from the straw he had been lying on. We both exclaimed in one breath: "Cannon!" It was a mere distant growl, hardly audible, and yet it was distinct enough to be a subdued accompaniment to the thousand noises a train makes as it goes along. We could not distinguish the shots, but gradually the dull sound became louder and seemed to be wafted towards us by a gust of air. Then it seemed to be further off again, and almost to die away, and again to get louder. There is no other earthly sound like it. A thunderstorm as it dies away is the only thing that could suggest the impression we felt. It sends a kind of s.h.i.+ver all over the surface of the body. Even our horses felt it. Their three heads were raised uneasily, their eyes shone in the twilight, and they snorted noisily through their dilated nostrils.

Leaning out, I saw the heads of the Territorials thrust out of the windows. They, too, had heard the mysterious and stirring music. No one spoke or joked. Their bodies, stretching out into s.p.a.ce, seemed to be asking questions and imploring to know the truth. We came nearer to the sounds of the guns and could now distinguish the shots following one another at short intervals. The air seemed to be shaken, and we might have thought we were but a few paces off.

The train had pulled up sharply in the open country. It was still light enough for us to make out the landscape--meadows covered with long pale gra.s.s, bordered by willows and tall poplar trees gently swaying in the evening breeze. In the background a thick wood shut in the view. The railway line curved away to the right and was lost to view in the growing darkness. Now that the train was motionless the impressive voice of the cannon could be heard more distinctly. The long luminous trails of the search-lights pa.s.sed over the sky at intervals.

Impatient at the delay, I got down and walked along the line to the engine. It had stopped at a level crossing. At the side of the closed barrier, on the doorstep of her hut, with the light s.h.i.+ning upon her, sat the wife of the gatekeeper, a child in her arms. She was a young woman, fair and pale. She seemed somewhat uneasy, and yet had no idea of quitting her post. She was talking in a low voice to the engine driver and stoker of our train. I tried to get some information from her. "_Mon Dieu, monsieur_," she said, "I know nothing, except that the guns have been firing all day long since yesterday, and even at times during the night. The sound comes chiefly from the direction of G. Some soldiers, who went by just now with carts, told me the Prussians got into the town yesterday, but that it was to be retaken to-day; and that there were a great many dead and wounded."

My hopes revived a little. I saw at once in my mind the German attack stopped on the river Oise, our armies recovering, drawing together and driving the enemy back across the frontier. Our engine-driver explained to me that we had come quite close to the terminus, but that we should have to wait some time before we could get in. Other trains had to be unloaded and shunted to make room.

I went back to my van. Night had fallen, and it must have been about nine o'clock. The guns had suddenly ceased firing. Our lantern had burnt itself out, and the rest of our wait was made more tedious by darkness. An empty train pa.s.sed us, and then silence fell once more upon the spot where we waited anxiously to be allowed to go forward towards our brothers-in-arms. Oh! how I longed to join them, even if it were only in the middle of a b.l.o.o.d.y and difficult retreat; how I longed to be delivered from my solitude!

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

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

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