Georges Lafond

“ It is Provence herself that sings.
Outside, the cannon roar and the shells fall like hail around the cantonment. Great shells tear up the ground with their gigantic blows.
War, horrors, blood, ruins, fear, the attack which is near at hand, death perhaps, all that exists no longer for them. It is all of no consequence to them; the air of their natal song transports them.
These men shut up in dark cellars, in dugouts, shaken by the terrific hammering of shells, are transported by their dream to the bright sunshine, the bright and cheerful atmosphere of their southern plains. ”

“ Sub-Lieutenant Delpos is a lover of its picturesqueness, of its color, its sun—we are in a deep sap lighted by a smoky candle—the sun means something to us, something fairylike and superhuman. To think that at that hour there are people living under clear skies, coming and going and breathing the strong sea breeze, and drinking in with their eyes that perpetual delight—a sunset on the rocks of Frioul! ”

“ I watch our blue-uniformed men at war, as they pass with a friendly and serious look, generously covered with mud. This is the artillery—slow marching—which is moving its cannon under a fantastic camouflage, a mockery of reality. A glistening slope of soaked earth is set in a frame of shattered trees, twisted into indescribable convulsions of anguish with the gaping wounds inflicted by the storm of iron. ”

“ We hear terrific explosions, the falling of roofs, and fires break out everywhere.
An order from the commander of the sector reaches us, “Maintain the position and hold on until the companies of reinforcements arrive.”
The bombardment becomes more and more violent. As the sound of each shell whistles through the air we wonder if this infernal machine is going to strike in our dugout this time. And every two minutes, mathematically, the uproar comes again and this unimaginable suffering continues some hours. At the sound of each shell we close our eyes. ”

“ That is all the concern they have about what is going on in the rear, or about the havoc and death the bombardment is launching at this moment on the cantonment where their comrades live. That is the egotistical indifference which long experience with danger gives, and the constant contemplation of death. The column marches along more carefully and wider awake, concealing themselves from the view of the enemy’s aerial observers which are to be seen high on the horizon in spite of the late hour and the twilight which has already begun to grow dark. ”

“ All day and nearly all night, too, we hear the shriek of French and Boche shells in the air. Batteries of heavy artillery search for their marks, but all that misses us and passes over our heads or strikes in front. We know that they aren’t aimed at us, and we take no interest in them. So with that fine carelessness of men long since accustomed to the worst dangers, we live in absolute security. ”

“ Everyone looks; there is nothing to see up there; bullets are elusive and invisible, but we make out the drama.
From his rapid evolutions, his sharp darts back and forth, his irregular and hurried spirals, we understand that the aviator has already been reached but is trying to baffle the fire which pursues him.
The tac-tac continues. It is incessant, implacable, ferocious. The silence of death hovers over men and things. All Nature seems to await the issue of the combat which is no longer doubtful.
I look at Grizard. Hand on the handle of the gun, he follows the evolutions of the aeroplane ”

“ To the right, to the left, in front, and behind, the shots fall like a hailstorm.
Cries, groans, oaths, and commands impossible to execute! It is Hell.
In an excess of generosity, doubtless to aid us in getting out of our difficulty, a well-aimed shell falls on a truck, sets fire to the gasoline tank, and the whole thing saturated with paint and covered with impervious canvas bursts into flames. ”

“ At the greeting of the flag of the glorious Chasseurs, a rag torn by machine guns, something gets hold of our throats, which the trumpets hurt with their sublime peal. If there are more beautiful spectacles, I do not know them. One minute here is worth years.
And I have said nothing of the people about, silent, all in mourning, their souls full of tears, which finally brim over. Men, hats off, motionless as statues, proud of becoming great through their children. Mothers, with seared faces, superbly stoic under the eye of the greater maternity of the great country. ”

“ My hands feel around on the mangled body. I feel the shattered limbs come apart under the clothes. I pull Morin out from underneath by his arms. He remains motionless for a moment. He is stupid from the shock and fright. I shake him. The arrival of a new engine of death which explodes beside us brings him back to reality and the imminence of danger.
This time we run as fast as we can, stumbling [260] over the débris, tripping over the dead, rolling into shell holes, tearing our clothes, hands, and faces on the barbed wire. ”

“ Some steps behind, Sub-Lieutenant Delpos stops to light his fine Egyptian cigarette. In spite of the early hour and the uncertain weather, and with no thought of the disagreeable march through the sticky mud of the communication trench, he is dressed with the greatest care. His bright tan leggings are elegantly curved; his furred gloves are of the finest quality, and the pocket of his jacket, cut in the latest English style, shows a fine cambric handkerchief, subtly scented. And arm in arm we follow the quick pace of our comrades, while he continues the interrupted story of his latest exploit. ”

“ As far as the crossing of the roads from Biaches to Herbècourt, we march along without much risk, but beyond there we are taken anew by a crossfire from the batteries of Barleux and Hem, and by the fire of a cursed machine gun. It seems to be hidden in the ruins of Flaucourt, but our artillery has not been able to spot it yet and silence it.
My twelve prisoners march along ahead silently with bowed shoulders. They understand that they must march along peacefully at the same pace as the four big fellows who form the escort, and that once out of this zone their lives are saved. ”

“ The lieutenant passes his canteen to me and as I drink the thin stream from its mouth I feel a wave of warmth.
Light comes, but it is very pale. Around us we hear the tread of feet on the hard ground and the slapping of arms across the chest.
We wait nervously. Presently we receive an order not to fire until the blast of the whistle.
Eight o’clock! Behind us, in the limpid azure, the red disk of the sun rises.
A shell cuts through the air; then another; then still another. Our artillery is firing on the Boche lines. ”

“ Suddenly, the bombardment, which seemed to have ceased, begins again. First two shots, then repeated more and more rapidly, and only in our direction. A shower of splinters beats around us, wounds the two horses and cuts the reins.
They run away at a mad pace with wild plunges through the fields. Gondran is wounded in the hands and is helpless; he clings to the smokestack; the wounded are tossed about. They shout from the pain of their re-opened wounds and hang on as best they can to the handle of the kettle. ”

“ The blood of men will flow on them, and to-morrow their sweetness will be mingled with the charnel-house of corpses ... our corpses.
Nature has never seemed to me so moving. Tears come to my eyes. It is not fear. No, it is not that. There are times when one may be afraid. Here we realize that fear is a reflex impression, ridiculous, and above all useless; that the minutes which are left are perhaps too numbered to waste in vain sentiments. ”

“ The order to go back is given.
For two hours we make our way through the communication trench, now only a stream of mud in which we sink to our ankles.
We advance, dejected, silent, heavy with fatigue, depressed by the thought of those we have left behind, whom we shall never see again, as was our wont, even yesterday at the cantonment.
The lieutenant is in the lead, leaning on his baton, silently, chewing on his eternal cigarette.
We finally reach the end of the trench at Froissy and come out on the main road. ”

“ A gust of foul air hits me in the face, and I stop on the threshold gasping for breath. I see Saux asleep, his head on my saddle, and rolled up in horse blankets. Burette is asleep beside him.
Burette, the quartermaster, spent three months in the heavy artillery. He is an enthusiast on horses, but his equestrian ability is far from equaling his love for it. His style produces many falls, but they don’t discourage him.
I wake up Saux, who gets up dizzily. Is he half drunk, I ask myself. That’s not like him at all. ”

“ This time the artillery preparation won’t be insufficient.
We have guns, little and big, of every kind, of every caliber, from the little howitzers set low on their plates with their large muzzles like those we used to see on the terrace of the Invalides up to the great naval guns, long, lean and sharp, like a cigar, monumental guns of unheard-of size mounted on gigantic platforms, with covered turrets, new and odd foreign cannon, long as a train and mounted on rails.
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And there are projectiles such as the wildest imagination could not dream of. ”

“ A sort of arched door still stands at the entrance, without a scratch. It is nearly new and its brilliant ironwork seems a challenge in the midst of this destruction.
The communication trench starts on the spot where the high altar used to stand. We follow it under the ruins, through the orchards which it furrows, adjusting our steps to each other, and keeping our eyes on the man ahead.
Above our heads nature awakes; the sky appears clear now; and branches of trees with their buds and blossoms hang over the parapets.
It is five o’clock and broad daylight when we reach the proposed emplacement. ”

“ A machine-gun driver should be able to drive in the saddle the leading team of horses and put the heavy caisson of ammunition through the most difficult evolutions. Again, he should be able to drive on foot the mule loaded with his pack-saddle and through the most impossible and sometimes the most dangerous paths.
We had scarcely begun to swallow a cup of thick, smoking, regulation coffee in a room of the cantonment, furnished with special skill, when Sub-Lieutenant Delpos—smart, carefree, smiling, a cap on the back of his head and a song on his lips—arrived. ”

“ One walks on a moving wave, as if tossed about on the bridge of a ship. A displacement of air throws one to the right, the next one to the left. They march swaying like drunken men.
I approach....
Some steps in front of what was the “Servian” trench is the beginning of Hell.
Men, officers, and stretcher-bearers are crouching in holes in half-blown-in saps, waiting for a lull which for several hours has not come.
The sick and wounded, haggard and frightened, do not dare to make a move outside the precarious [235] shelters which even the smallest shell would destroy and bury them alive. ”

“ There is none here who has not a good record. When said of one that means little, but when said of all it is worth telling.
There are artillerymen, cavalrymen, and sailors who have become foot soldiers through their different changes; and not only are all arms represented, but all professions, all classes and all temperaments. Jacquet, a poet and musician, a dreamer with an exquisite soul, is an accurate gun layer. Finger drives milk wagons in Paris, but with his gigantic hands he manipulates with delicacy the wheelwork of his Hotchkiss. ”

“ A frightful odor assails our nostrils in the smoke which encircles us.
A heavy rolling roar, boring through the night like the noise of an express train coming out of a tunnel at high speed, comes from over there, from the black hole where the enemy is. ”

“ That is our objective which we must occupy to prevent the enemy’s reserves coming up.
We draw nearer; my heart begins to beat violently. It is nervousness. It is the beginning of the end.
Suddenly a sharp noise stops me; then another beside my ear. Instinctively I throw myself on the hill. A sergeant falls near me without a word. He is dead, a bullet in the middle of his forehead.
We are under the fire of a machine gun which defends the approach to our objective.
The bullets whistle in a continuous buzz around us. A sharp burning pain, like a sting ”

“ At the edge of the canal is a large stable for the canal horses, and a crowd of drivers, gunners, and cyclists have taken refuge there. It falls apart when a great shell strikes it. A terrible cry goes up and the building bursts into flames all over, like tow soaked in oil. ”

“ It serves as a roof against bad weather, the rain and snow; a protection against dampness, mud and vermin; planted on two stakes, stretched to a door casing, it protects the fires for cooking from draughts; in the more comfortable cantonments in the rear, where the straw is clean and abundant, where the men are at last able to take off their shoes, and their muddy leggings and their trousers heavy with dampness, it serves as the bed clothes; and, finally, at the last hour it is in the tent canvas that they collect the bodies with their torn and shattered limbs. ”