How tired we were that evening. Really absolutely done. We had been marching for twenty-four hours, almost without a halt. We were wandering in the middle of Argonne in that part of the Chalade, and the Four de Paris which were to be mentioned so often in the communiqués later on. The worst of it was that we had nothing to eat, except the remains of some bread crumbling at the bottom of our haversacks. We regretted having wasted the biscuits with which we had been so liberally provided two days before. There was a prolonged halt in the forest. At one time we caught sight of two motor-buses which cut across, following a transverse roadway. Our rations? We took it for granted and rejoined accordingly. But perhaps the conductors had not seen us. Several minutes went by. The commanding officer blew his whistle, and off we had to go again! Another march on an empty stomach!
A blast of recriminations blew from No. 1 platoon. They could put up with being knocked on the head, but at least give them something to eat. They were being cut down every day now. Yesterday there was no meat! Without rot, there was nothing more to be done but to "get down" to it. A snooze is as good as a[Pg 363] meal. It would only mean that a few would be taken.
They went on all the same. There was not a murmur among our men. Judsi still tried to cheer up his companions, but they weren't in the mood for it. Bouguet struck up with a song, but they joined in the refrain only once. He couldn't sing on an empty stomach either. And the rain began, heavy rain which soaked us through to the skin in a very few minutes.
"Rotten luck!" Gaudéreaux jerked out.
We went on without a halt, through the downpour, against the wind. We were on a by-road which soon got spoilt and broken. We slithered through the slush. Gusts of wind beat against us, water was dripping down our backs, freezing the sweat on our skins. That lasted for another two hours. A dozen miles or so without a pause. No one protested, each step must be bringing us nearer to shelter. There was only one question we asked ourselves, in an agony of mind: Should we get anything to eat?
At last they stopped us, two companies of us, in front of a farm. The rest of the battalion went on. The buildings already sheltered some gunners—four batteries of them. I remember their greeting which was anything but cordial. Oh, we were the last straw! As if they weren't packed like sardines already! Dirty foot-sloggers too! (I have already mentioned the antagonism between the different troops which was exasperated at such times.)
Our quartermasters quarrelled. But the first comers blocked up the coach-houses, their officers backed them up, the commanding officer had quite rightly reserved the only bed for himself. We stood in the yard for a long time, haggard and numb[Pg 364] with cold. We were finally penned in the stables—piggeries, in an indescribable state of filth, and reeking pestilentially. Someone went to get straw—a handful per man! We could have put up with everything if only we could have got a bite. But it was getting dark, and in this weather all hopes of the ration train hunting us out were dwindling. The gunners had hastened to lay hands on anything that the farm would produce in the way of eatables, bread, milk, eggs, a real raid. They finished swallowing these provisions under our very noses.
I can see us in that filthy stable. De Valpic had just lain down alongside the wall. He was worn out, and wanted to sleep, but the fits of coughing which shook him made him reopen his eyes. He was shivering. We all had faces mottled by exhaustion and starvation. Lamalou suddenly got up with an oath:
"Oh d——!"
There was a crack in the roof, from which drops were falling. A stream of water was soon trickling down.
Guillaumin came back. He had been to have a look at No. 1 platoon. There was schism in the Playoust "set." Hourcade and Descroix, it seemed, were still in possession of some "ruti" and a cheese. Descroix resigned himself to sharing it and favoured Playoust, but Hourcade turned a deaf ear. Little Humel would get nothing out of him—or the sergeant-major either. They neither of them demanded it, though they were both deadly white and worn out.
Guillaumin winked:
"If only we could find some way! I say, are you frightfully done up, to begin with?"
"Fit as a fiddle, I don't think! Why?"
[Pg 365]
"Look here."
He confided in me that he had interviewed the farmer's wife. There was not a village anywhere near, the nearest was nine miles away, and had been crammed with troops for the last week.
"Well?"
"But there was another farm much nearer, a rich one, quite hidden in the woods. Suppose we went to see?"
I raised some objections, for form's sake, but the adventure attracted me. A word to Bouillon. He at once wanted to join us. We told no one else; permission and success were equally uncertain. So we started off. It was getting dark. What a road it was! The mud was eighteen inches thick in places. Torrents of rain still, and the gloom was deepening. To begin with we forced ourselves to look where we were putting our feet, but we gave it up as a bad job. Squidge, splosh! We stoically followed in Guillaumin's tracks. We sank in half-way up to our knees, and came near to losing our balance or getting stuck.
When we had walked for three quarters of an hour, Guillaumin began to get worried. Half a mile the woman had told him.
We were lost? We thought of retracing our steps when he bumped against a gate in the dark.
"Ow! As if my nose wasn't thick enough without that!"
We began to make out the outlines of an obstruction. But everything seemed to be shut up. No light. We went to knock at the door. Not a sound. We knocked louder.
"Done!" I said.
"We'll soon see!"
[Pg 366]
Guillaumin raised his voice:
"Two petards of melinite to blow up your house!"
A few seconds passed. Then a window squeaked.
"Who's there?"
"France."
"What do you mean? France."
"France, that's quite enough."
"Wot d'you want?"
"Someone to open the door to us."
"We 'aven't got nothing."
"That's a fine story!"
"An wot abaht the Proosians?"
"Will you let us in, confound you!"
The man appeared to be frightened, and muttered: "'Arf a mo' till I gits into me breeches."
He came and undid the bolts.... A bent old peasant, carrying a candle in his hand.
"'Ello, on'y three of you! Might 'a bin fifty by the shindy you kicked up!"
He seemed to me to regret having given in so easily. We went into a low room.
"Well now," said Guillaumin, "What can you give us to eat?"
The old peasant looked us up and down. I could read in his face the mistrust and avarice of bad breeds.
"'Aven't I told you there's nothin'?"
Guillaumin shrugged his shoulders.
"What do you live on? Air?"
............