In the Field (1914 to 1915)
M >> Marcel Dupont >> In the Field (1914 to 1915)Note: Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
http://www.archive.org/details/InTheField
+------------------------------------------------------------+
| Transcriber's Note: |
| |
| Any obvious typographical errors have been corrected in |
| this text. For a complete list, please see the bottom of |
| this document. |
| |
+------------------------------------------------------------+
IN THE FIELD (1914-1915)
The Impressions of an Officer of Light Cavalry
by
MARCEL DUPONT
Translated by H. W. Hill
London
William Heinemann
London: William Heinemann, 1916.
TO
GENERAL CHERFILS
A TRIBUTE OF
SINCERE GRATITUDE
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
Chasseurs, 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.
_The Editor of SOLDIERS' TALES will be glad to read diaries or
notebooks of those returning, in any capacity whatsoever, from the
Front with a view to inclusion in the Series. Contributions must
be strictly truthful and should be written with no effort at fine
writing. They are intended to tell truthfully the experiences and
the feelings of the writers. They should be sent by registered
post to the Editor, "Soldiers' Tales," 21, Bedford Street, W.C.,
and they may be accompanied by sketches and photographs. All
contributions printed will be well paid for. Contributions should
be of 30,000 words and upwards in length._
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE
I. HOW I WENT TO THE FRONT 1
II. THE FIRST CHARGE 57
III. RECONNOITRING COURGIVAULT 76
IV. THE JAULGONNE AFFAIR 102
V. LOW MASS AND BENEDICTION 152
VI. A TRAGIC NIGHT IN THE TRENCHES 178
VII. SISTER GABRIELLE 226
VIII. CHRISTMAS NIGHT 258
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 passed; bridges, level crossings, tunnels. Everywhere I saw
soldiers guarding the line and the bayonets of the old chassepots
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 pricked 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, pass
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
assemble, 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 masses 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, pushing 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 passing
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 hither 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 passengers. 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-class compartments
assigned to them; saw that they had their cartridges, and gave them
some fatherly counsel; and then he invited me into the second-class
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 passed 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 pass 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 pass 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 pass 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 passed 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 rushing 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 accumulated 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 assured 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 assurance 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
passionately 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 passed 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 space, try to make out the
movements of the clashing 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 shiver 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 space, 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 grass, 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 passed 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 shining 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 passed 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 bloody 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:
"Where is the bread?"