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 man?uvres 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.

[pg 197]

"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!"

[pg 198]

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.

[pg 199]

"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[pg 200] 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."

[pg 201]

"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[pg 202] 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 na?ve 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.

[pg 203]

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?"

[pg 204]

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?"

"that was just at the beginning! it was up to the bosches to advance. we let them cross the river.... heavens! how they swarmed! then all at once the 75's began to talk!... their bridges were smashed up at once. and the arms and legs and heads that were flying about!... it appears to have been highly entertaining!"

"and now?"

"we're pursuing them. bringing up reinforcements, and masses of artillery!"

he added:

"but we've been badly cut up!"

"in ours?"

"if you saw the ambulance, just over there!"

frémont interrupted:

"halloa! that our lot starting?"

"yes, there was something doing down there."

"au revoir, dagomert, old chap!"

we hurried along. the men had got their packs on, and were assembling without any more signs of emotion than when starting for an ordinary route march. the lieutenant's excitement was in striking contrast with the phlegmatic appearance of the rest. he was fussing and running up and down.

"entrenching tools.... entrenching tools in your belts! cartridges where you can get at them!"

[pg 205]

"don't you worry!" murmured lamalou testing the mechanism of his rifle.

henriot came up at once.

"made up their minds at last. not a bit too early either."

he had a wild look in his eye. it pleased me to excite him still more:

"things are not going badly you know!"

"what! what! have you heard something?"

i repeated the information the motor-cyclist had given us. he hurriedly consulted his map.

"on the bank, you say? we're pursuing them? oh, but that means a great victory!"

the captain blew his whistle. we formed into a semi-circle.

"my friends ..." he began.

armed with a piece of straw, humel was tickling his neighbour's neck. this childishness shocked me.

the captain said only a few words. he was nothing of an orator. i was afraid for a moment that his speech might end in gibbering. he recovered himself and concluded. and the men seemed moved by it. it didn't take much to do the trick!

the company formed up again, by platoons, in columns of four. i considered my companions, one by one, with passionate curiosity.

bouillon was licking his lips, topping that last bit of cheese! judsi had got hold of siméon, and was ragging him, telling him that big louts like him would be the first to be knocked out. siméon was genuinely amused by the idea. lamalou was calmly blackening icard's, the miller's, sight. they might all have been a hundred miles away from the battle-field where more than one of them would fall!

[pg 206]

and guillaumin? i asked him how he felt.

"pretty fit, thanks. i've had a good nap!"

it did not seem to occur to him that i might be solicitous about his morale.

they were all heroes then. my goodness no! simply happy-go-lucky! there was a slight distinction though, and whatever it was, they scored by a propitious frame of mind. i was afraid that i might show up badly, being the only one to remain clear-headed. what could be done about it? i forced a wry smile.

then i saw that corporal donnadieu was looking very unhappy and depressed. his nostrils looked pinched, and he was gazing at the ground.... he was obviously not keen to fight. i felt sorry for him. he was no doubt thinking of his wife, of his two children, one of them on the way....

i caught sight of frémont, standing stock-still in the rear of the first platoon. i knew what he was dreaming of too. i repented at the thought that i might have impaired his courage yesterday. a persistent shadow seemed to have clouded his face ever since ... i only hoped that he too might get through.