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In the Field (1914-1915)

<hr /> <h3>III. RECONNOITRING COURGIVAULTToC</h3> September 5th. The provisional brigade which had just been formed, with our regiment and the Chasseurs d'Afrique (African Light Cavalry), was paraded at dawn by our Colonel, who had taken command of it. The united regiments had been formed up under cover of a line of ridges, on the summit of which the watchful scouts stood out against the sky, looking north. The sun was already shining on the motley picture formed by the light uniforms of the dismounted troopers and the motionless rows of horses. They were all half asleep still. The Colonel had drawn up the officers of the brigade in front of the squadrons. He held a paper in his hand and read it to us in a resonant voice, full of unfamiliar vibrations. On hearing the first few sentences we drew closer around him as by instinct. We could not believe our ears. It was the first time we had heard anything like it since the outbreak of the war. When he had finished we were all amazed. Had we not been told the day before—when, together with the —— Corps, we crossed the Grand Morin closely pressed by the enemy's advance guard—had we not been told that we were going to retire to the Seine? And now in a few noble, simple words the Commander-in-Chief told us that the trials of that hideous retreat were over, and that the day had come to take the offensive. He asked us all to do our duty to the death and promised us victory. We returned to our squadrons in animated groups. Our delight was quickly communicated to the troops, who understood at once. The men exchanged jests and promises of fabulous exploits. They had already forgotten the fatigues of the fortnight's retreat. What did they care if their horses could hardly carry them further, and if many of them would be incapable of galloping? What did it matter? My fellow-officers and I were already making wonderful plans. Those of d'A., who had just finished his course of instruction as lieutenant at Saumur with honours, comprised vast movements of complicated strategy. They culminated in a prodigious but inevitable envelopment of the German armies, De F., more prosaic than the other, dreamt of Pantagruelian repasts liberally furnished with Rhine wines. O., a sub-lieutenant, just fresh from the Military College—which he had left with a No. 1, mind you—seemed like a young colt broken loose; his delight knew no bounds. As for our captain, Captain de la N., our kind and sympathetic chief, he was transfigured. The horrors of the retreat had affected him painfully, but the few lines that had been read to us had sufficed to restore all his joyous ardour. "Captain, the Colonel wants an officer." "Hurrah!" It was my turn for duty.... Just a few words of congratulation, some hands stretched out to me, and I went, leaving a general feeling of envy behind me. Here was I in the presence of the Colonel, who, with a map in his hand and surrounded by the superior officers, explained in a few short sentences what he required of me. "Take the direction of Courgivault. Reconnoitre and find out whether the village is occupied. You will report to me on the road which leads straight from here to the village. The brigade will follow you in an hour by the same road. I am sending two other parties towards such and such villages." And a few minutes afterwards I was on the road to Courgivault. I chose from my troop a corporal and four reliable fellows who had already given a good account of themselves. In advance I sent Vercherin, as scout, well mounted on his horse "Cabri," whose powerful haunches stood out above the tall oats. I had full confidence in his vigilance and his shrewdness. I knew his clear blue eyes, and that, if there were anything to be seen, he would see it better than any one else. I knew also that I should have no need to spur his zeal. On either side of me Corporal Madelaine, Finet, a sapper, Lemaître, and my faithful orderly, Wattrelot, rode along in silence in extended order at a considerable distance from one another. We had learnt by experience since the beginning of the campaign. We were on our guard now against Prussian bullets. We knew what ravages they made directly our troopers were imprudent enough to cluster together. Thus we ran fewer chances of being taken by surprise. The weather was splendid. How delightful, thought I, would it have been to walk over the fields, on a morning like this, with a gun under my arm, behind a good dog, in quest of partridges or a hare. But I had other game in view—no doubt more dangerous, but how much more exciting! The air was wonderfully clear, without the least trace of mist. The smallest detail of hedge and ditch could be easily distinguished. Our lungs breathed freely. We foresaw that the heat would be oppressive in a few hours' time, but the fresh air of the night still lingered, and bright pearls of dew still lay on the lucerne and stubble. What a joy to be alive in such delicious surroundings, with the hope of victory in one's heart! I fancy that those who have not been in this war will not be able to understand me, for I have not the skill to explain clearly what I feel by means of written words. A more practised pen than mine is needed for such a task, a mind more accustomed to analyse feelings. I seem to have within me the inspiration of a strange power that makes me light as air, and inclined to talk aloud to myself. And if I wanted to speak I certainly should not find the words I wanted. Perhaps it is that I simply want to shout, to cry "Hurrah!" again and again. It must be that, for I find myself clenching my teeth instinctively to prevent myself from giving way to such an untimely outburst. Nevertheless, it would be a relief to be able to shout at the top of my voice and sing hymns of glory confronting the enemy. I should like to hear the whole army following my example behind me, to hear all the bands and all the trumpets accompanying our advance with those matchless war-songs which thrill the soul and bring tears to the eyes. Here I was, on the contrary, in conditions of absolute calm, of the most impressive silence conceivable. Until that day the country, at that hour of the day, had echoed with the innumerable noises made by an army in retreat. Thousands of cannon, limbers, and convoys had been passing along all the roads and all practicable by-ways monotonously and ceaselessly. Often, too, the first shots exchanged by the cavalry scouts of both the hostile armies could be heard. We heard nothing that day. In front nothing stirred: the country seemed deserted; the fields forsaken. Not a living creature showed itself. Behind us, too, there was complete silence. But I knew that an entire army was there, waiting for us to send information, before advancing to the fight. That information would direct its blows.... I knew my brigade was behind that rise in the ground, and that all, officers and troopers alike, were impatient to rush upon my tracks to the attack. I knew that behind them, lying by sections in the plough-land, thousands and thousands of infantrymen had their eyes fixed in the direction I was taking, and that hundreds and hundreds of guns were ready to pour out death. But that disciplined multitude was silent and, as it were, holding its breath, waiting for the order that was to hurl it forward. I felt in excellent spirits. It was upon me, and upon a few comrades, that the confidence of so many soldiers rested. It was to be by our directions that the regiments were to rush forward, some here, some there, carrying death and receiving death with, for the first time, the certainty of conquering; since for the first time the Commander-in-Chief had said that conquer they must. And not for an instant had I any fear of not being equal to my task. On the contrary, it seemed to me that I had been destined from all eternity to command this first offensive reconnaissance of the campaign in France.... I felt my men's hearts beating close to mine and in unison with mine. I had consulted my map before breaking into a trot, and had noticed that the road leading to Courgivault passed through two woods, not very deep, but of considerable extent. I soon came in sight of one of them, at about 500 yards distance, below a ridge which we had just passed. I called out to Vercherin, who had begun to spur his horse towards the wood, to stop. I knew that numbers of men had fallen by having acted in this way—a way we have at man[oe]uvres, when the enemy are our comrades with white badges on their caps, and when harmless blank cartridges are used instead of bullets. We had very soon learnt from the Germans themselves the way to reconnoitre a wood or a village, and also how they must be held. How much more dashing it would have been, more in the light cavalry style, to ride full gallop, brandishing my sword, with my five little Chasseurs into the nearest copse! But I knew then that if it were occupied by the enemy their men would be lying down, one with the soil, using the trees and bushes as cover, till the last moment. Then not one of us would have come out alive. We were reduced to employing against them their own tactics of mounted infantry. The good old times of hussar charges are past—gone, together with plumes, pelisses waving in the wind, Hungarian braiding, and sabretaches. It would be senseless to continue to be a horseman in order to fight men who are no longer cavalrymen and do not wish to be so. We should fight at a disadvantage, and since the opening of the campaign too many brave soldiers have paid with their lives for their delight in epic fights à la Lasalle. I searched the edge of the wood carefully with my field-glasses. Before entering it I wanted to be quite sure whether any movement could be discovered, whether any of the brushwood showed signs of being drawn aside by sharpshooters too eager for a shot. My men were on the watch, crouching in attitudes that would have pleased Neuville, their carbines ready, looking with all their eyes and listening with all their ears. Nothing! I called Vercherin with a low whistle. The silence was such that he heard it. He understood the sign I made him, and, holding his carbine high, he went slowly towards the wood and got into it quickly by the road. My heart beat for a moment when I saw my scout getting near the thick border-line of trees; but now I breathed again. We went in after him, each one by a different opening, and we passed through it as quickly as the horses' legs and the difficulties of the ground would allow. On arriving at the further side I was glad to see my four companions emerging, almost at the same moment, from the thick woody tangle. I could see their grave and confident faces turned towards me. On the ridge in front of us, near a solitary tree, stood Vercherin, clear against the sky and motionless. We had soon rejoined him, and from this height we saw on the next hill the second wood which hid the village of Courgivault from our view, about a kilometre further off. I feared very much that this second barrier might be used by the enemy as a formidable line of defence, and on that account I ordered the approach to be made with still greater precautions than before. But, as in the first case, we found it empty, and passed through without let or hindrance. I expected to see Courgivault at once, but a rise in the ground hid it still. I took advantage of this natural cover for getting my men forward without risking a shot. Then, still preceded by Vercherin, we debouched on the plateau on which the village stood. Those who have found themselves in a similar situation know by experience the sudden emotion that is felt when one sees a few hundred yards off the objective of one's mission, the decisive point one has to reach, cost what it may; the point where one is almost sure to find the enemy in hiding, where one has a suspicion that he sees one, is watching one, silently following all one's movements, and only waiting for the opportunity of picking one off by an unerring shot. I stopped my men for a moment. Surrounded by green meadows and stubble-fields dotted with apple-trees, lay the grey outskirts of the village It was a very ordinary collection of houses, some of them big farms, others humble cottages. The tiled roofs formed a reddish mass, and above them rose the squat church tower. With my glasses I could distinguish the clock-dial, and could see the time—a quarter past six. But this clock seemed to be the only thing in the village with any life in it. I looked in vain into the gardens and orchards, which formed a belt of flowers and foliage, for signs of the peaceful animation of country life. And yet it was the time of day when one usually sees housewives coming out of the cowsheds, with their sleeves tucked up and their feet in clogs, carrying pails full of fresh milk—the time when the heavy carts and reaping machines lumber slowly along the brown roads on their way to the day's work. Was it the war that had driven away all those poor village folk, or was it the rough fist of the Teuton that kept them prisoners locked up in their cellars and threatened with revolvers? And yet, from where I stood, nothing could lead me to suppose that the village was occupied by the enemy. I could not distinguish any work of defence. There did not seem to be any barricade protecting the entrance. No sentinel was visible at the corners of the stacks or under the trees. To the south of the village, pointing in our direction, the imposing bulk of a large farm protruded, like the prow of a ship. It seemed to form an advanced bastion of a fortress, represented by Courgivault. Its walls were high and white. At the end a strong round tower was planted, roofed with slates; and this enhanced the likeness to a miniature donjon. The road we had followed, winding between the fields, passed, so far as we could judge, in front of its principal entrance. Opposite this entrance there was apparently another road at right angles to the first, its direction marked by a line of trees which bordered it. Along this road, separated by short intervals, a dozen big stacks had the appearance of a threatening line of battle facing us, so as to bar our approach to the village. All these things were steeped in the same atmosphere of silence, which certainly had a more tragic effect than the din of battle. I was impressed with the idea that the two armies had withdrawn in opposite directions, and that we were left behind, forgotten, at 100 kilometres distance from both of them. But we had to come to the point. At a sign from me Vercherin reached the first tree of a long row of poplars. The row started from the farm and bordered the road we were following up to about 100 yards from the outer wall. By slipping along from one tree to another he would be able to get near in comparative safety. Suddenly I saw him stop quickly and, standing up in his stirrups, look straight ahead towards the stacks. There was no need for him to make any sign to me. I understood that he saw something, and I galloped up to him at once. He was as calm as usual, only his blue eyes were a little more dilated, and he spoke more rapidly, with an accent I had not heard before. "Mon Lieutenant, ... there behind that stack, it seemed to me ... I thought I saw a head rise above the grass...." I looked in the direction he pointed to with his carbine, which he held at arm's length. I saw nothing but the silent and peaceful village; I had the same impression of a hateful and depressing void. And, strange to say, our two horses, whose reins had been hanging loose on their necks, appeared to be suddenly seized with a simultaneous terror, and both at once turned right round. I managed to bring mine back by applying the spur, and while Vercherin, who was carried further, came back slowly, I used my glasses again, to make a closer inspection of all the points of the village. Then, at the very moment that I was putting the glasses to my eyes, I saw, at less than 100 yards distance, a whole line of sharpshooters, dressed in grey, rise quickly in front of me. For one short moment a terrible pang shot through us. How many were there? Perhaps 300. And almost at the same time a formidable volley of rifle shots rang out. They had been watching us for a long time. Lying in the grass that lined the road leading to the farm or else behind the stacks, with the admirable discipline which makes them so formidable, they had carried out their orders. Not one of them had shown himself. The Hauptmann (captain) alone, no doubt, put up his head from time to time in order to judge the favourable moment for ordering them to fire. It was he, no doubt, very fortunately for us, who had been perceived by Vercherin just for one moment. If it had not been for the prudence which we had gained by experience not one of us would have escaped. Fortunately every one of my men had kept the place exactly that I had assigned him. Not one of them flinched under the storm. And yet, Heaven knows what sinister music the bullets played around our ears! We had to be off. I made a sign which was quickly understood. We all turned and galloped off towards the little depression we had emerged from just before. The bullets accompanied us with their hateful hissing, which made us duck our heads instinctively. But inwardly I rejoiced at their eagerness to lay us low, for in their hurry they aimed badly. We had almost reached our shelter when I suddenly saw to the right of me "Ramier," Lemaître's horse, fall like a log. As I was trying to stop my mare, who showed an immoderate desire to put herself out of danger, I saw both horse and rider struggling for a moment on the ground, forming a confused mixture of hoofs in the air and waving arms. Then "Ramier" got up and set off alone, neighing sadly, and with a limping trot that did not look very promising. But Lemaître was already on his legs, putting his crushed shako straight on his head. A bit stunned, he seemed to collect his ideas for an instant, and then I saw his good-natured ruddy face turned towards me. It lit up with a broad grin. "Any damage, old fellow?" I asked. "Nothing broken, sir." "Hurry up, then." And there was Lemaître, striding along with his short legs and heavy boots, jumping ditches and banks with a nimbleness of which I declare I should not have thought him capable. It is curious to note the agility the report of a rifle volley lends to the legs of a dismounted trooper. Lemaître came in to the shelter in the valley as soon as I did; and almost at the same time Finet, the sapper, brought in his old road-companion "Ramier," which he had been able to catch. It was painful to see the poor animal; his lameness had already become more marked. He could only get along with great difficulty, and his eyes showed he was in pain. I glanced hurriedly at the spot where the bullet had struck him. The small hole could hardly be seen against the brown skin, just at the point of the left buttock. "Just wait here for us; I shall be back in a moment." I wanted to see if to the east of the village I could note anything interesting, and I turned round towards my other troopers, whose horses were panting behind us. I was horrified to see Corporal Madelaine's face streaming with blood. "It is nothing, sir ...; it passed in front of my nose." He wiped his face with the back of his hand. It had indeed been grazed by a bullet. One half-inch more, and the good fellow's nose would have been carried off. Fortunately the skin was hardly broken. Madelaine went on: "It's nothing; ... but my mare...." He had dismounted, and with a look of distress showed me his horse's blood-stained thigh. "Attraction" was the name of his pretty and delicate little grey mare, which he loved and cared for passionately. A bullet had pierced her thigh right through, and the blood had flowed down her leg. I calmed him by saying, "Come, come; it will be nothing. Go on foot behind that wood, and get quietly under cover with Lemaître. I will soon come and join you." And I went off with Vercherin, Finet, and Wattrelot. I tried to get round to the right of Courgivault. But now that the first shots had been fired we were not allowed to come nearer. As soon as we appeared a violent fusillade burst from the outskirts of the village, which forced us to beat a rapid retreat. There was no longer any doubt about it; Courgivault was occupied, and occupied in strength. Under the shelter of a bank I quickly dismounted, and Wattrelot took my horse's bridle. Whilst I knelt on one knee and on the other wrote my report for the Colonel, Vercherin and Finet, at an interval of 100 yards, kept a good look-out on the ridge for the enemy's movements. I handed my message to Wattrelot: "Take this to the Colonel, and quickly. I will wait here for the brigade." I then rode slowly to the corner of the wood, where Madelaine and Lemaître were posted, whilst Wattrelot went off at a trot across the stubble. But a sad sight was awaiting me. Lemaître was standing in great grief over poor "Ramier," lying inert on the ground and struggling feebly with death. His eyes were already dull and his legs convulsed. Every now and then he shuddered violently. I looked at Lemaître, who felt as if he were losing his best friend. And, indeed, is not our horse our best friend when we are campaigning—the friend that serves us well to the very last, that saves us time and again from death, and carries us until he can carry us no longer? I dismounted and threw the reins to Lemaître: "Don't grieve, my good fellow; it is a fine end for your 'Ramier.' He might, like so many others, have died worn out with work or suffering under some hedgerow. He has a soldier's death. All we can do is to cut short his sufferings and send him quickly to rejoin his many good comrades in the paradise of noble animals. For they have their paradise, I am sure." But Lemaître hardly seemed convinced. He shook his head sadly, and said: "Oh, mon Lieutenant! I shall never be able to replace him. Such a good animal! such a fine creature! He jumped so well.... And his coat was always so beautiful; he was so sleek and so easy to keep.... No, I shall never find another like him." "Oh! yes, you will." However, I must confess my hand trembled as I drew my revolver. One horse the less in a troop is somewhat the same as one child the less in a family. And, besides, it means one trooper unmounted and the loss of a sword in battle. Lemaître was right. "Ramier" was a good old servant, one of the kind that never goes lame, can feed on anything or on nothing, and never hurts anybody. It was hard to put an end to him; but since he was done for.... I put the muzzle of my revolver into his ear. I did not wish him to feel the cold metal; but his whole body shuddered, and his eye, lighting up for a moment, seemed to reproach me. Paff! A short, sharp report, and "Ramier" quivered for a moment. Then his sufferings ceased, and his stiffening carcase added one more to the many that strewed the country. Whilst Lemaître slung his heavy package on his shoulders and went off to return to the regiment with Corporal Madelaine, who was leading "Attraction," I went back to my observation post, not far from Finet and Vercherin. Silence and gloom still hung over Courgivault. Suddenly, behind me, coming out of the wood, I saw a cavalry troop in extended order, riding in our direction. They were Chasseurs d'Afrique. I recognised them by the large numbers of white horses, which made light patches upon the dark green of the thicket, and almost at the same moment a dull report resounded in the distance. A curious humming noise was heard above our heads, and a shell fell and burst at the foot of the stacks in the possession of the Prussian infantry. It came from one of our batteries of 75-millimetre guns, which was already getting the range of Courgivault. My message had reached the Colonel. The battle of the Marne had begun. <hr /> Under a superbly clear sky, lit up by myriads of stars, the brigade, in a high state of delight, crossed the battlefield on returning to camp. Above our heads the last shells sent by the enemy were bursting in bouquets of fire. We paid no attention to them. Meeting some battalions of infantry on their way to reinforce the line, we were asked for news, and shouted: "Courgivault, Montceau ... taken, lost, then retaken with the bayonet by the brave infantry of the M. Division. Enemy's regiments annihilated by our artillery, which has done magnificently...." Little by little the firing died away along the whole line. Fires, started by the shells, lit up the battlefield on every side, like torches set ablaze for our glory. All hearts were filled with joy. It hovered over the blood-stained country, from which arose a kind of intoxication that took possession of our souls. How splendid is the evening of a first victory! <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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