it was fortunate that we were three friends, three brothers, each less devoted to himself than to the others. how lonely it would have been otherwise! in billets we sometimes happened to come across friends from other companies: laraque, ladmirault, or holveck. there would be a handshake, and a few words, no more, and then we separated. they on their side lived for themselves. the breach between us and the other n.c.o.'s was widening.
i except breton, the quartermaster-sergeant, who, on the contrary, sided with us. we must needs do him justice for the care and cleverness with which he accomplished his task of commanding no. 4 platoon where hourcade seconded him badly, and keeping the books of the whole company under the captain's supervision. sturdy and square-shouldered, it was good to see him going off with the camp material towards the end of a long halt. he nearly always succeeded in hunting out suitable sites. his responsibility and the country life suited him. he no doubt looked forward to the military medal, and the sergeant-major's stripe, at the end of this venture. plucky under fire, and as much on the spot there as elsewhere, he always had his men well in hand. he had been won over by our conduct under fire. during his rare[pg 338] leisure moments, he would willingly come and joke in our little group, which he dubbed "the bachelors' club." the only trouble was that with him you had to drink, drink, drink, the whole time. no drunkenness, but good hard drinking! we refused to join him for the first few days, but he called us molly-coddles, and almost took offence. de valpic advised us to accept. we took turns to treat each other, here a pint, there a glass. after that it was a case of friendship till death, between him and us.
but the humel-playoust "lot"! ravelli might rightly be classed with them now. i have spoken of the complete transformation which had been effected in him. it was doubtful whether the poilus ever heard the sound of his voice. playoust had taken possession of him, getting hold of him through his weaknesses, flattering his corsican vanity, but making a laughing-stock of him, though he was too stupid to see it. they never left each other, and were on the most familiar terms. these days, so fertile in surprises, had completely deranged the sergeant-major who had always been rather shaky in the upper storey. he saw spies everywhere—in all the old women, and priests, disguises which had as a matter of fact been made use of. playoust spurred him on, for the amusement of the onlookers. the game was assuming alarming proportions. ravelli, at hazaumont, went to find the commanding officer, and handed over a list of suspects to him, which had been drawn slyly, by the other—all the parish priests in the neighbourhood! the captain was good-natured; he merely shook the poor sergeant-major:
"i shall keep my eye on you, my lad!"
later on, on the evening of "beauclair," ravelli[pg 339] only just missed throwing the whole division into a panic by yelling "the uhlans!"
trouble might have come of it. there was some question of reducing him to the ranks. his last chance of obtaining officer's rank was lost then.
but in spite of it he still continued to pin all his faith to playoust. his ears buzzed, and he was continually asking:
"is that firing, that we hear?"
"exactly."
and the wretch pointed out some fleecy clouds in the sky.
"look there. shells bursting!"
"good heavens! marked again!"
but one thing that was not so funny was that since the sergeant-major continued to arrange the rounds of duty, playoust made use of his power over him to get him to bully or favour certain men. de valpic as has been seen was their principal victim. but directly we got wind of the matter, breton warned ravelli that we had decided to report it to the captain. the threat was sufficient, the normal time-table was immediately reverted to. all he gained by it was that guillaumin, who was sickened by it, called him and his set, brutus! and blackguards! and refused point-blank to have anything to do with them in future.
yes, that's what it came to in the end.
the n.c.o.'s of each company stuck together and had nothing to do with the others. in the sinister hours of that retreat! i blush to have to report it!
hourcade was simply an unpleasant nincompoop. his only outstanding feature was his greed. if he had thrown in his lot with the humel-playoust set, it[pg 340] was because he considered that he was more likely to pick up titbits there than anywhere else—a folly which prevented him from tasting gaufrèteau's cooking! he stuffed into his haversack miscellaneous provisions, most of which he had shamefully gleaned from his men's rations. his mouth was always full. in billets, replete, not to say crammed, he quickly fell asleep and snored.
as for the two elementary schoolmasters, that was a simple matter: they hated us. not starting from to-day or yesterday, but from several years ago, and before that—from birth. they were envious, embittered fellows, suffering, so de valpic considered, from their semi-educated state. an ambiguous caste, despising the peasant and detesting the bourgeois, though we had nevertheless met and appreciated some lads belonging to the same class at the "peloton," who were hard-working, intelligent, and ambitious, and had taken top places at the end of the year. but these were vulgar and envious on a level with most of them. their physique was poor too. even descroix's strength, heavy and squat though he was, did not come near to ours; one felt that his blood had been impoverished and his muscles weakened by a studious youth, infrequent exercise, and poor nourishment. i considered him really repulsive with his flattened head, his stuck-out ears, his gaping mouth. i disliked him for all these signs of degeneration, and above all because of his deliberate cruelty towards the "viscount," and the brutal laugh with which he greeted playoust's spiteful tricks. humel, who was small and weakly, with a thin neck and bowed shoulders, and was always exhausted at the end of a day's march, inspired me with more indulgence. was he not[pg 341] the youngest of us since frémont had disappeared? once or twice i thought i saw a look of gentleness flit across his face, an expression which always attracts me. i had occasionally made certain advances. in vain. a fanatical disciple of his companions, he was not the least quick of them in administering offensive rebuffs.
playoust had them all under his thumb. he was certainly smart, the rascal! i had been finely taken in at first by his look of a paris street-urchin. he worked his open-handed, happy-go-lucky appearance, which makes the type so attractive, for all it was worth. and all the time he was as slippery and vicious as he could be. he hardly ever risked anything more than a casual piece of insolence on us, and he was the only one of the lot who continued to say good-day to us or to shake our hands, while, privately, he never ceased to stir up his acolytes against us. it must be noted too that he made game of them, cynically letting them in for endless fatigues. i bore him all the more ill-will for it, because, for a long time, i had thought i recognised a kindred spirit in him. nothing had awakened in him—a proof that there was nothing lying dormant in him. what a hideous vision he afforded me of what i might have been.
let there be no mistake about it. what annoyed us most about them all was the sight of their flabbiness and slackness. since spincourt they had chucked the whole show and were continually saying that they didn't care a blow what happened!
their corporals were decent fellows and partially succeeded in making up for their deficiencies. their men were no worse than most. but in spite of it their lack of authority came nigh to being disastrous on several occasions. to begin with, it was an admitted fact[pg 342] that in their platoon they might get drunk with impunity. i remember the stink of wine and vomiting which rose from the stables where their men were billeted. how could de valpic's have escaped the infection? ravelli, who had been put up to it by the others, was always down on him. playoust was charmed when the soldiers and the inhabitants were at loggerheads with each other. he tacitly encouraged the foraging and marauding that went on. some of his poilus were mixed up in the rows at béthaincourt.
here is another occurrence which will serve to illustrate the different attitudes of mind. one grilling afternoon when we were passing the train of company waggons, the captain took it upon himself to give the most exhausted men permission to put their packs in the waggons. our men were too proud. their packs! they were quite capable of carrying them themselves, thanks! in the first platoon the n.c.o.'s were the first to unballast themselves; first, ten, then fifteen, then thirty of the men copied them. when that waggon was full, what should these fine gentlemen do, but set to work calmly to fill the next one that came along, which belonged to no. 20 company. the commanding officer, when he heard about it, came rushing up, inquired into the matter, bellowed like a bull and cancelled the permission. our men chuckled over the occurrence. the others were furious: he'd better not bully them! get away with him. they were fed up!
as the retirement went on the "set" kept up a stream of grumbles. the marches were too long. poor reservists, we were being killed! why did we halt so far from any well? was it true that all the filth was thrown into them? why was our company[pg 343] always given the most disgusting quarters? it was not surprising! our captain didn't get on with any one! who had to pay? we of course! and the baksheesh? who got the baksheesh? as there wasn't even a ration of brandy every day.
after "beauclair" things got even worse. we only caught scraps of their declamations because they put on the soft pedal when they saw us coming, just as they did with the officers. playoust among others was particularly good at posing as an excellent fellow who was never put out by anything. but out of the reach of "tell-tales" and "busy-bodies," their evil tongues wagged busily.
it was sickening! they declared. the commanding officers were the outside limit! according to them our brigadier-general, an old colonial, drank. the colonel was the kind of man to get us all hacked to pieces for the sake of keeping up his reputation for bravery. they gave us to understand they were delighted to see him wounded, and they would have been even more so if he had not been replaced by that old "dug-out." for that matter, you only need look at the result in order to see what our leaders were! hopeless! if we weren't done for we deserved to be. marches and counter-marches, bad management. we could hold the bosches when we got them to grips. there was nothing to beat a french soldier! but as for preparation. blimey! the slackers who had to look after that! descroix cast up his eyes, swearing that those responsible would be found among the old ministers and present deputies. he foretold retaliation in the shape of lawsuits, or riots. why was there such a lack of heavy artillery, of machine-guns, of searchlight apparatus, and armoured cars? why[pg 344] did we see nothing of the aeroplanes whose praises we had had drummed into our ears for years?
we were getting near to all the senseless recriminations of 1870. but they were not quite so serious this time, in spite of everything. they did not accuse poincaré of having been bribed, or joffre of being a traitor. they did not even go so far as to say that this war was absurd or unjust. we had to defend ourselves, after all! the most bitter complaints were of incompetence, and of the lack of foresight. enough to be demoralising!
they made tremendous fun of ravelli and his fears, which they shared at the bottom. especially the spies! they passed on their superstitious terror to their men. there could be nothing more depressing for them than to feel they were surrounded by a vague throng of enemies. it was like asking for hysterics. i remember how on the morning we were guarding part of the meuse, a group of refugees from montmédy came up, a family of five, including two children who implored us to help them across. they were fortunate in finding us. we showed them a ford and had them taken to the c.o. a little farther up the poor wretches had come across some men out of playoust's platoon, who had insulted them and threatened to shoot them.
and then there were the false reports, the pseudo-news, invented or rumoured, but always bad: italy entering the lists against us, or england's dilatoriness. we should have to pay damages! or else, one way of getting out of it would be to leave our friends, the russians, in the lurch. not a thing to boast about, perhaps! but it would cut short this war, and they were fed up with it!
[pg 345]
i am not exaggerating. they descended to these depths of ignominy. they were more at ease with de valpic who slept with them, and he reported similar conversations. it did not do to attach too much importance to it. there was probably a good deal of "side" about it. they were so jealous of us. or perhaps they thought it fine to pose, on their side, as people who were not to be humbugged, or again it might be simply the inconsequence of men who did not quite realise the situation, or the meaning of their words. each of them egged the others on.
and to think—de valpic inclined to the idea—that they were without doubt excellent frenchmen, who, when it came to getting killed, would do the thing in style!
in any case nothing exasperated guillaumin like their attitude. he announced his intention of going to the c.o. to get him to put an end to the scandal, at least twenty times. we restrained him, being opposed to all tale-telling. we endeavoured to prove to him that their wild talk had no effect. playoust had had the reputation of being a wag ever since the beginning. none of the men would take his nonsense seriously.
guillaumin did not give in:
"you'll see!" he said. "you don't realise that all that eats away and undermines.... it is bound to show itself in time!"
it was true enough! what a difference there was in the morale of the two platoons.
in ours, for instance, nobody ever reported sick unless he was suffering tortures. they made it a point of personal pride. in theirs, on the contrary! one morning, guillaumin, who was sergeant of the day, had[pg 346] put down eight men for medical parade. a mere trifle! he calmly undertook to cure them all by suggestion. his chief argument was that they would have to foot it for about five and a half miles, to reach the medical officer. five of the men had their names scratched; the rest stuck to it. it happened to be one of bouchut's bad days and he sent them all off with a flea in their ear.
and when we stormed beauclair, what a tragic exhibition they gave of themselves. when we left the wood in extended order, ready to charge, we looked round for no. 1 platoon, which was to support us on our right. not a sign of it to be seen. it made a cruel impression on us just as we were starting off with fixed bayonets. at last we saw lieutenant delafosse come out leading a handful of men, among them de valpic and his half-section. behind, a long way behind, was humel. we charged and saw no more of them. in the uproar which followed upon the occupation of the village, the incident passed more or less unnoticed. but we learnt that the c.o. had rated delafosse for it roundly. the latter, throwing off his reserve, frankly laid the blame on some of his n.c.o.'s who lacked go.... that was putting the case very mildly! de valpic assured me that he had heard descroix putting the drag on his men's eagerness. "don't hurry lads! the first lot will be napoohed!"
here again no penalties were inflicted; they would have been too terrible. the well-known sentence for every weakness in military law is: death.
this leniency was perhaps to be blamed. who can say what an ill-omened influence our comrades exercised during the days that followed? it was the[pg 347] most gloomy period of all. we abandoned first-rate positions without fighting. it was impossible to rely on any favourable information, however slight. rumours circulated, and were added to, concerning our reverse in the north. the replenishment of munitions which had up till then been well-organised was failing. we were, as i have said, repeatedly in danger of being cut off, or of getting under fire from the pursuing batteries. villages blazed behind us, or even on our flank—a palpable danger for our retreat. the ditches too were filled with soldiers, belonging chiefly to the regulars. who could blame them for it? boys of twenty, worn out by four weeks' overdriving, sleeping there, by the roadsides, for days and nights on end.
it was a bad example though. the temptation to copy them was so great. there were no more mounted police on the heels of the stragglers. even they were fighting, so we were told.
that was how our numbers dwindled. we had realised the danger, and our efforts were combined in preventing any men from staying behind. we kept on urging them: "come along now! only a few miles more. you surely don't want to fall into the hands of the huns!" and we laid to their charge abominable atrocities surpassed by reality.
at last we reached our goal. we lost only five men out of the platoon during that week, two of whom were ill, and two wounded. what leakage there was in no. 1 company! we got the exact figures from the quartermaster-sergeant, who had to draw up the numerical returns each evening. breton stormed, excellent fellow that he was!
"hang it all! poilus are too precious to lose!"
[pg 348]
one evening in descroix's platoon only twenty-nine men were left, out of thirty-five the day before, and breton cynically sneered: "six more done a bunk!"
