How stiff I was. I stretched. Every joint was aching. I started off, meaning to go all along the bit of line held by the platoon. The trench was so narrow that the men had to glue themselves against the parapet in order to let me pass. I forced myself to give a friendly word of encouragement to each man. I suddenly bumped into a body. Gaudéreaux! The poor fellow's skull had been crushed like a nut.
There were wounded men here and there. Bouguet, who had had to give in and sit down, his face drawn with pain; and Icard, with folded arms, as plucky as ever, though his shoulder had been ripped up by a splinter of shrapnel.
For whom was I looking? I did not realise it until De Valpic hove in sight. There he was, safe and sound. What a relief! His cap was pushed back on his forehead, his cheek-bones were purple, and he had a scratch on his temple which was bleeding.
He had caught sight of me, and was coming up when I saw Chailleux, our connecting file, appear behind him. He shouted:
"Where's the lieutenant?"
"Any orders?"
"Yes, we're to fall back."
[Pg 461]
"What?"
"In artillery formation."
I was disgusted.
"How absolutely idiotic."
De Valpic exclaimed in a hoarse voice:
"We're outflanked on the right."
The edge of the wood sloped away on that side.
A sudden squall hurled us all to the ground. We were blinded by soil. De Valpic was half buried. Two yards from us a man, who was leaning against the parapet, reeled, but remained standing on his feet. Horrors! His head was severed as if by the blow of an axe, just above the contorted mouth. De Valpic who had freed himself, and was none the worse, except for feeling somewhat dazed, could not bear the sight of it. He tottered, and his eyes were dimmed. I went to his help, but he recovered himself immediately.
"Carry on, carry on," he murmured. "You're needed over there."
I went back and found Henriot feverishly repeating:
"Now, don't let's lose our heads."
"It's a good job we're going to hook it," Guillaumin said to me. "We're about done."
It was quite true. There were nothing but bewildered, dazed-looking men all round, with strained and haggard faces and trembling hands. They would not have counted for much against a resolute onslaught. The enemy, cautious and practical, seemed as busy as possible digging new trenches two hundred yards away from us.
I looked blankly at Guillaumin:
"What do you think? Are we done for?"
He began to chaff me.
"Could we ever be done for?"
[Pg 462]
The quartermaster-sergeant came round, with two of the men. All three were smilingly handing round their caps, collecting:
"Please help the poor."
What did they want? Ammunition? Yes, a few extra rounds for the platoon which was to stay and cover the retreat.
I started. So some men were to be sacrificed. I put on a detached tone:
"Which platoon has been warned for the job?"
"They drew lots," he said. "It's to be Delafosse's."
No. 1. I hurried along to them, feeling that I could not go without shaking Humel by the hand. He was touched by it.
"It means hell for us," he said. "But mind you fellows get off all right."
The men accepted their lot without keenness or bitterness. Descroix was standing a few yards away. I took a step towards him.
"Good luck, Descroix."
"Like to change places?" he snapped, in a fury.
I felt certain that he was going to be killed, and I was sorry that his last hour should not see his mind ennobled.
I dreaded this withdrawal. It always means more casualties than anything else.
At a pre-arranged signal, we all leapt out of the trench together, and bolted at the double, bending down as low as possible. Bullets whistled past our ears, but No. 1 platoon retorted vigorously, and the enemy, as I have already said, seemed equally short of ammunition.
[Pg 463]
By a lucky coincidence, the fury of the artillery had diminished. We reached the wood without losses.
Arrived there, the difficulty was to slip through this inextricable tangle of leafy branches and jagged tree-trunks. Everything was splintered and hacked, and struck one as being the work of drunken woodcutters.
We had to climb and hoist ourselves up and slither down the other side, and cut our way through. Our accoutrements caught into everything, and the rifles impeded our progress. I bruised my leg badly against a treacherous stake. We nearly lost our way, having had to make a large circuit in order to avoid a lot of big trees which were still smouldering. An acrid smoke followed us, with which there was mingled a vaguely putrid stench. Under the piles of foliage, hundreds of dead bodies were lying, which had been in a state of decomposition for four days.
My great object was to avoid getting separated from my men. I shouted to them continually, and they followed as best they could. Some of the wounded, Bouguet among them, dragged themselves along heroically.
Suddenly, as I was balancing myself on a huge fallen oak, there was a spurt of flame, and a deafening report. I was flung into the under-wood. I got up at once, and, directly the smoke began to clear away, looked round for the lieutenant. I had a terrible feeling that he was pulverised.
No, I soon discovered him, stretched under some bracken. He was motionless. I bent over him and saw that his eyes were open and full of tears.
"Hit?" I said.
[Pg 464]
He stammered: "Yes. The th-thigh. I'm—done for."
I looked. There was a large tear in his trouser, and underneath I caught a glimpse of—such a mess!
I made a movement as if to look for his field dressing. Pink froth appeared on his lips:
"Not—w-worth it," he stuttered.
"Is there anything I can do for you?"
I should have liked to pick him up in my arms and carry him away, poor Henriot.
He made an attempt to unbutton his tunic. I helped him. He nodded approval. I think he wanted to get hold of some photograph or letter—the tradition of the dying soldier, whose eternal nobility moved me.
His strength forsook him.
Of my own accord, I fumbled in his pocket, took his letter-case and held it out to him. He half-opened his eyes again, and raised himself. His lips moved. His eyelashes fluttered. He took a breath and fell back. I did not know whether he was dead, or had only fainted.
Another shell burst just by. Something struck my cheek. I put my hand up. There was blood on it. But it was only a fir-cone which had been flung down.
I turned towards Henriot again. Our men were scattered in the distance. It was impossible to call any one back, and equally impossible to carry him without help. He and I were alone, face to face. What was it he had wished to confide in me? This incomplete scene was becoming tragically mysterious.
"Good-bye, good-bye," I murmured, perhaps to a dead man.
[Pg 465]
I took the letter case with me, and stumbling beneath the weight of my pack, plunged into the thicket in pursuit of my companio............