The Downfall
Part I
Chapter IV
On Tuesday, the 23d of August, at six o'clock in the morning, camp was
broken, and as a stream that has momentarily expanded into a lake resumes its
course again, the hundred and odd thousand men of the army of Chalons put
themselves in motion and soon were pouring onward in a resistless torrent; and
notwithstanding the rumors that had been current since the preceding day, it was
a great surprise to most to see that instead of continuing their retrograde
movement they were leaving Paris behind them and turning their faces toward the
unknown regions of the East.
At five o'clock in the morning the 7th corps was still unsupplied with
cartridges. For two days the artillerymen had been working like beavers to
unload the materiel, horses, and stores that had been streaming from Metz
into the overcrowded station, and it was only at the very last moment that some
cars of cartridges were discovered among the tangled trains, and that a detail
which included Jean among its numbers was enabled to bring back two hundred and
forty thousand on carts that they had hurriedly requisitioned. Jean distributed
the regulation number, one hundred cartridges to a man, among his squad, just as
Gaude, the company bugler, sounded the order to march.
The 106th was not to pass through Rheims, their orders being to turn the city
and debouch into the Chalons road farther on, but on this occasion there was the
usual failure to regulate the order and time of marching, so that, the four
corps having commenced to move at the same moment, they collided when they came
out upon the roads that they were to traverse in common and the result was
inextricable confusion. Cavalry and artillery were constantly cutting in among
the infantry and bringing them to a halt; whole brigades were compelled to leave
the road and stand at ordered arms in the plowed fields for more than an hour,
waiting until the way should be cleared. And to make matters worse, they had
hardly left the camp when a terrible storm broke over them, the rain pelting
down in torrents, drenching the men completely and adding intolerably to the
weight of knapsacks and great-coats. Just as the rain began to hold up, however,
the 106th saw a chance to go forward, while some zouaves in an adjoining field,
who were forced to wait yet for a while, amused themselves by pelting one
another with balls of moist earth, and the consequent condition of their
uniforms afforded them much merriment.
The sun suddenly came shining out again in the clear sky, the warm, bright
sun of an August morning, and with it came returning gayety; the men were
steaming like a wash of linen hung out to dry in the open air: the moisture
evaporated from their clothing in little more time than it takes to tell it, and
when they were warm and dry again, like dogs who shake the water from them when
they emerge from a pond, they chaffed one another good-naturedly on their
bedraggled appearance and the splashes of mud on their red trousers. Wherever
two roads intersected another halt was necessitated; the last one was in a
little village just beyond the walls of the city, in front of a small saloon
that seemed to be doing a thriving business. Thereon it occurred to Maurice to
treat the squad to a drink, by way of wishing them all good luck.
"Corporal, will you allow me—"
Jean, after hesitating a moment, accepted a "pony" of brandy for himself.
Loubet and Chouteau were of the party (the latter had been watchful and
submissive since that day when the corporal had evinced a disposition to use his
heavy fists), and also Pache and Lapoulle, a couple of very decent fellows when
there was no one to set them a bad example.
"Your good health, corporal!" said Chouteau in a respectful, whining tone.
"Thank you; here's hoping that you may bring back your head and all your legs
and arms!" Jean politely replied, while the others laughed approvingly.
But the column was about to move; Captain Beaudoin came up with a scandalized
look on his face and a reproof at the tip of his tongue, while Lieutenant
Rochas, more indulgent to the small weaknesses of his men, turned his head so as
not to see what was going on. And now they were stepping out at a good round
pace along the Chalons road, which stretched before them for many a long league,
bordered with trees on either side, undeviatingly straight, like a never-ending
ribbon unrolled between the fields of yellow stubble that were dotted here and
there with tall stacks and wooden windmills brandishing their lean arms. More to
the north were rows of telegraph poles, indicating the position of other roads,
on which they could distinguish the black, crawling lines of other marching
regiments. In many places the troops had left the highway and were moving in
deep columns across the open plain. To the left and front a cavalry brigade was
seen, jogging along at an easy trot in a blaze of sunshine. The entire wide
horizon, usually so silent and deserted, was alive and populous with those
streams of men, pressing onward, onward, in long drawn, black array, like the
innumerable throng of insects from some gigantic ant-hill.
About nine o'clock the regiment left the Chalons road and wheeled to the left
into another that led to Suippe, which, like the first, extended, straight as an
arrow's flight, far as the eye could see. The men marched at the route-step in
two straggling files along either side of the road, thus leaving the central
space free for the officers, and Maurice could not help noticing their anxious,
care-worn air, in striking contrast with the jollity and good-humor of the
soldiers, who were happy as children to be on the move once more. As the squad
was near the head of the column he could even distinguish the Colonel, M. de
Vineuil, in the distance, and was impressed by the grave earnestness of his
manner, and his tall, rigid form, swaying in cadence to the motion of his
charger. The band had been sent back to the rear, to keep company with the
regimental wagons; it played but once during that entire campaign. Then came the
ambulances and engineer's train attached to the division, and succeeding that
the corps train, an interminable procession of forage wagons, closed vans for
stores, carts for baggage, and vehicles of every known description, occupying a
space of road nearly four miles in length, and which, at the infrequent curves
in the highway, they could see winding behind them like the tail of some great
serpent. And last of all, at the extreme rear of the column, came the herds,
"rations on the hoof," a surging, bleating, bellowing mass of sheep and oxen,
urged on by blows and raising clouds of dust, reminding one of the old warlike
peoples of the East and their migrations.
Lapoulle meantime would every now and then give a hitch of his shoulders in
an attempt to shift the weight of his knapsack when it began to be too heavy.
The others, alleging that he was the strongest, were accustomed to make him
carry the various utensils that were common to the squad, including the big
kettle and the water-pail; on this occasion they had even saddled him with the
company shovel, assuring him that it was a badge of honor. So far was he from
complaining that he was now laughing at a song with which Loubet, the tenor of
the squad, was trying to beguile the tedium of the way. Loubet had made himself
quite famous by reason of his knapsack, in which was to be found a little of
everything: linen, an extra pair of shoes, haberdashery, chocolate, brushes, a
plate and cup, to say nothing of his regular rations of biscuit and coffee, and
although the all-devouring receptacle also contained his cartridges, and his
blankets were rolled on top of it, together with the shelter-tent and stakes,
the load nevertheless appeared light, such an excellent system he had of packing
his trunk, as he himself expressed it.
"It's a beastly country, all the same!" Chouteau kept repeating from time to
time, casting a look of intense disgust over the dreary plains of "lousy
Champagne."
Broad expanses of chalky ground of a dirty white lay before and around them,
and seemed to have no end. Not a farmhouse to be seen anywhere, not a living
being; nothing but flocks of crows, forming small spots of blackness on the
immensity of the gray waste. On the left, far away in the distance, the low
hills that bounded the horizon in that direction were crowned by woods of somber
pines, while on the right an unbroken wall of trees indicated the course of the
river Vesle. But over there behind the hills they had seen for the last hour a
dense smoke was rising, the heavy clouds of which obscured the sky and told of a
dreadful conflagration raging at no great distance.
"What is burning over there?" was the question that was on the lips of
everyone.
The answer was quickly given and ran through the column from front to rear.
The camp of Chalons had been fired, it was said, by order of the Emperor, to
keep the immense collection of stores there from falling into the hands of the
Prussians, and for the last two days it had been going up in flame and smoke.
The cavalry of the rear-guard had been instructed to apply the torch to two
immense warehouses, filled with tents, tent-poles, mattresses, clothing, shoes,
blankets, mess utensils, supplies of every kind sufficient for the equipment of
a hundred thousand men. Stacks of forage also had been lighted, and were blazing
like huge beacon-fires, and an oppressive silence settled down upon the army as
it pursued its march across the wide, solitary plain at sight of that dusky,
eddying column that rose from behind the distant hills, filling the heavens with
desolation. All that was to be heard in the bright sunlight was the measured
tramp of many feet upon the hollow ground, while involuntarily the eyes of all
were turned on that livid cloud whose baleful shadows rested on their march for
many a league.
Their spirits rose again when they made their midday halt in a field of
stubble, where the men could seat themselves on their unslung knapsacks and
refresh themselves with a bite. The large square biscuits could only be eaten by
crumbling them in the soup, but the little round ones were quite a delicacy,
light and appetizing; the only trouble was that they left an intolerable thirst
behind them. Pache sang a hymn, being invited thereto, the squad joining in the
chorus. Jean smiled good-naturedly without attempting to check them in their
amusement, while Maurice, at sight of the universal cheerfulness and the good
order with which their first day's march was conducted, felt a revival of
confidence. The remainder of the allotted task of the day was performed with the
same light-hearted alacrity, although the last five miles tried their endurance.
They had abandoned the high road, leaving the village of Prosnes to their right,
in order to avail themselves of a short cut across a sandy heath diversified by
an occasional thin pine wood, and the entire division, with its interminable
train at its heels, turned and twisted in and out among the trees, sinking ankle
deep in the yielding sand at every step. It seemed as if the cheerless waste
would never end; all that they met was a flock of very lean sheep, guarded by a
big black dog.
It was about four o'clock when at last the 106th halted for the night at
Dontrien, a small village on the banks of the Suippe. The little stream winds
among some pretty groves of trees; the old church stands in the middle of the
graveyard, which is shaded in its entire extent by a magnificent chestnut. The
regiment pitched its tents on the left bank, in a meadow that sloped gently down
to the margin of the river. The officers said that all the four corps would
bivouac that evening on the line of the Suippe between Auberive and
Hentregiville, occupying the intervening villages of Dontrien, Betheniville and
Pont-Faverger, making a line of battle nearly five leagues long.
Gaude immediately gave the call for "distribution," and Jean had to run for
it, for the corporal was steward-in-chief, and it behooved him to be on the
lookout to protect his men's interests. He had taken Lapoulle with him, and in a
quarter of an hour they returned with some ribs of beef and a bundle of
firewood. In the short space of time succeeding their arrival three steers of
the herd that followed the column had been knocked in the head under a great
oak-tree, skinned, and cut up. Lapoulle had to return for bread, which the
villagers of Dontrien had been baking all that afternoon in their ovens. There
was really no lack of anything on that first day, setting aside wine and
tobacco, with which the troops were to be obliged to dispense during the
remainder of the campaign.
Upon Jean's return he found Chouteau engaged in raising the tent, assisted by
Pache; he looked at them for a moment with the critical eye of an old soldier
who had no great opinion of their abilities.
"It will do very well if the weather is fine to-night," he said at last, "but
if it should come on to blow we would like enough wake up and find ourselves in
the river. Let me show you."
And he was about to send Maurice with the large pail for water, but the young
man had sat down on the ground, taken off his shoe, and was examining his right
foot.
"Hallo, there! what's the matter with you?"
"My shoe has chafed my foot and raised a blister. My other shoes were worn
out, and when we were at Rheims I bought these, like a big fool, because they
were a good fit. I should have selected gunboats."
Jean kneeled and took the foot in his hand, turning it over as carefully as
if it had been a little child's, with a disapproving shake of his head.
"You must be careful; it is no laughing matter, a thing like that. A soldier
without the use of his feet is of no good to himself or anyone else. When we
were in Italy my captain used always to say that it is the men's legs that win
battles."
He bade Pache go for the water, no very hard task, as the river was but a few
yards away, and Loubet, having in the meantime dug a shallow trench and lit his
fire, was enabled to commence operations on his pot-au-feu, which he did
by putting on the big kettle full of water and plunging into it the meat that he
had previously corded together with a bit of twine, secundum artem. Then
it was solid comfort for them to watch the boiling of the soup; the whole squad,
their chores done up and their day's labor ended, stretched themselves on the
grass around the fire in a family group, full of tender anxiety for the
simmering meat, while Loubet occasionally stirred the pot with a gravity fitted
to the importance of his position. Like children and savages, their sole
instinct was to eat and sleep, careless of the morrow, while advancing to face
unknown risks and dangers.
But Maurice had unpacked his knapsack and come across a newspaper that he had
bought at Rheims, and Chouteau asked:
"Is there anything about the Prussians in it? Read us the news!"
They were a happy family under Jean's mild despotism. Maurice good-naturedly
read such news as he thought might interest them, while Pache, the seamstress of
the company, mended his greatcoat for him and Lapoulle cleaned his musket. The
first item was a splendid victory won by Bazaine, who had driven an entire
Prussian corps into the quarries of Jaumont, and the trumped-up tale was told
with an abundance of dramatic detail, how men and horses went over the precipice
and were crushed on the rocks beneath out of all semblance of humanity, so that
there was not one whole corpse found for burial. Then there were minute details
of the pitiable condition of the German armies ever since they had invaded
France: the ill-fed, poorly equipped soldiers were actually falling from
inanition and dying by the roadside of horrible diseases. Another article told
how the king of Prussia had the diarrhea, and how Bismarck had broken his leg in
jumping from the window of an inn where a party of zouaves had just missed
capturing him. Capital news! Lapoulle laughed over it as if he would split his
sides, while Chouteau and the others, without expressing the faintest doubt,
chuckled at the idea that soon they would be picking up Prussians as boys pick
up sparrows in a field after a hail-storm. But they laughed loudest at old
Bismarck's accident; oh! the zouaves and the turcos, they were the boys for
one's money! It was said that the Germans were in an ecstasy of fear and rage,
declaring that it was unworthy of a nation that claimed to be civilized to
employ such heathen savages in its armies. Although they had been decimated at
Froeschwiller, the foreign troops seemed to have a good deal of life left in
them.
It was just striking six from the steeple of the little church of Dontrien
when Loubet shouted:
"Come to supper!"
The squad lost no time in seating themselves in a circle. At the very last
moment Loubet had succeeded in getting some vegetables from a peasant who lived
hard by. That made the crowning glory of the feast: a soup perfumed with carrots
and onions, that went down the throat soft as velvet—what could they have
desired more? The spoons rattled merrily in the little wooden bowls. Then it
devolved on Jean, who always served the portions, to distribute the beef, and it
behooved him that day to do it with the strictest impartiality, for hungry eyes
were watching him and there would have been a growl had anyone received a larger
piece than his neighbors. They concluded by licking the porringers, and were
smeared with soup up to their eyes.
"Ah, nom de Dieu!" Chouteau declared when he had finished, throwing
himself flat on his back; "I would rather take that than a beating, any day!"
Maurice, too, whose foot pained him less now that he could give it a little
rest, was conscious of that sensation of well-being that is the result of a full
stomach. He was beginning to take more kindly to his rough companions, and to
bring himself down nearer to their level under the pressure of the physical
necessities of their life in common. That night he slept the same deep sleep as
did his five tent-mates; they all huddled close together, finding the sensation
of animal warmth not disagreeable in the heavy dew that fell. It is necessary to
state that Lapoulle, at the instigation of Loubet, had gone to a stack not far
away and feloniously appropriated a quantity of straw, in which our six
gentlemen snored as if it had been a bed of down. And from Auberive to
Hentregiville, along the pleasant banks of the Suippe as it meandered sluggishly
between its willows, the fires of those hundred thousand sleeping men
illuminated the starlit night for fifteen miles, like a long array of twinkling
stars.
At sunrise they made coffee, pulverizing the berries in a wooden bowl with a
musket-butt, throwing the powder into boiling water, and settling it with a drop
of cold water. The luminary rose that morning in a bank of purple and gold,
affording a spectacle of royal magnificence, but Maurice had no eye for such
displays, and Jean, with the weather-wisdom of a peasant, cast an anxious glance
at the red disk, which presaged rain; and it was for that reason that, the
surplus of bread baked the day before having been distributed and the squad
having received three loaves, he reproved severely Loubet and Pache for making
them fast on the outside of their knapsacks; but the tents were folded and the
knapsacks packed, and so no one paid any attention to him. Six o'clock was
sounding from all the bells of the village when the army put itself in motion
and stoutly resumed its advance in the bright hopefulness of the dawn of the new
day.
The 106th, in order to reach the road that leads from Rheims to Vouziers,
struck into a cross-road, and for more than an hour their way was an ascending
one. Below them, toward the north, Betheniville was visible among the trees,
where the Emperor was reported to have slept, and when they reached the Vouziers
road the level country of the preceding day again presented itself to their gaze
and the lean fields of "lousy Champagne" stretched before them in wearisome
monotony. They now had the Arne, an insignificant stream, flowing on their left,
while to the right the treeless, naked country stretched far as the eye could
see in an apparently interminable horizon. They passed through a village or two:
Saint-Clement, with its single winding street bordered by a double row of
houses, Saint-Pierre, a little town of miserly rich men who had barricaded their
doors and windows. The long halt occurred about ten o'clock, near another
village, Saint-Etienne, where the men were highly delighted to find tobacco once
more. The 7th corps had been cut up into several columns, and the 106th headed
one of these columns, having behind it only a battalion of chasseurs and the
reserve artillery. Maurice turned his head at every bend in the road to catch a
glimpse of the long train that had so excited his interest the day before, but
in vain; the herds had gone off in some other direction, and all he could see
was the guns, looming inordinately large upon those level plains, like monster
insects of somber mien.
After leaving Saint-Etienne, however, there was a change for the worse, and
the road from bad became abominable, rising by an easy ascent between great
sterile fields in which the only signs of vegetation were the everlasting pine
woods with their dark verdure, forming a dismal contrast with the gray-white
soil. It was the most forlorn spot they had seen yet. The ill-paved road, washed
by the recent rains, was a lake of mud, of tenacious, slippery gray clay, which
held the men's feet like so much pitch. It was wearisome work; the troops were
exhausted and could not get forward, and as if things were not bad enough
already, the rain suddenly began to come down most violently. The guns were
mired and had to be left in the road.
Chouteau, who had been given the squad's rice to carry, fatigued and
exasperated with his heavy load, watched for an opportunity when no one was
looking and dropped the package. But Loubet had seen him.
"See here, that's no way! you ought not to do that. The comrades will be
hungry by and by."
"Let be!" replied Chouteau. "There is plenty of rice; they will give us more
at the end of the march."
And Loubet, who had the bacon, convinced by such cogent reasoning, dropped
his load in turn.
Maurice was suffering more and more with his foot, of which the heel was
badly inflamed. He limped along in such a pitiable state that Jean's sympathy
was aroused.
"Does it hurt? is it no better, eh?" And as the men were halted just then for
a breathing spell, he gave him a bit of good advice. "Take off your shoe and go
barefoot; the cool earth will ease the pain."
And in that way Maurice found that he could keep up with his comrades with
some degree of comfort; he experienced a sentiment of deep gratitude. It was a
piece of great good luck that their squad had a corporal like him, a man who had
seen service and knew all the tricks of the trade: he was an uncultivated
peasant, of course, but a good fellow all the same.
It was late when they reached their place of bivouac at Contreuve, after
marching a long time on the Chalons and Vouziers road and descending by a steep
path into the valley of the Semide, up which they came through a stretch of
narrow meadows. The landscape had undergone a change; they were now in the
Ardennes, and from the lofty hills above the village where the engineers had
staked off the ground for the 7th corps' camp, the valley of the Aisne was dimly
visible in the distance, veiled in the pale mists of the passing shower.
Six o'clock came and there had been no distribution of rations, whereon Jean,
in order to keep occupied, apprehensive also of the consequences that might
result from the high wind that was springing up, determined to attend in person
to the setting up of the tent. He showed his men how it should be done,
selecting a bit of ground that sloped away a little to one side, setting the
pegs at the proper angle, and digging a little trench around the whole to carry
off the water. Maurice was excused from the usual nightly drudgery on account of
his sore foot, and was an interested witness of the intelligence and handiness
of the big young fellow whose general appearance was so stolid and ungainly. He
was completely knocked up with fatigue, but the confidence that they were now
advancing with a definite end in view served to sustain him. They had had a hard
time of it since they left Rheims, making nearly forty miles in two days'
marching; if they could maintain the pace and if they kept straight on in the
direction they were pursuing, there could be no doubt that they would destroy
the second German army and effect a junction with Bazaine before the third, the
Crown Prince of Prussia's, which was said to be at Vitry-le Francois, could get
up to Verdun.
"Oh, come now! I wonder if they are going to let us starve!" was Chouteau's
remark when, at seven o'clock, there was still no sign of rations.
By way of taking time by the forelock, Jean had instructed Loubet to light
the fire and put on the pot, and, as there was no issue of firewood, he had been
compelled to be blind to the slight irregularity of the proceeding when that
individual remedied the omission by tearing the palings from an adjacent fence.
When he suggested knocking up a dish of bacon and rice, however, the truth had
to come out, and he was informed that the rice and bacon were lying in the mud
of the Saint-Etienne road. Chouteau lied with the greatest effrontery declaring
that the package must have slipped from his shoulders without his noticing it.
"You are a couple of pigs!" Jean shouted angrily, "to throw away good
victuals, when there are so many poor devils going with an empty stomach!"
It was the same with the three loaves that had been fastened outside the
knapsacks; they had not listened to his warning, and the consequence was that
the rain had soaked the bread and reduced it to paste.
"A pretty pickle we are in!" he continued. "We had food in plenty, and now
here we are, without a crumb! Ah! you are a pair of dirty pigs!"
At that moment the first sergeant's call was heard, and Sergeant Sapin,
returning presently with his usual doleful air, informed the men that it would
be impossible to distribute rations that evening, and that they would have to
content themselves with what eatables they had on their persons. It was reported
that the trains had been delayed by the bad weather, and as to the herds, they
must have straggled off as a result of conflicting orders. Subsequently it
became known that on that day the 5th and 12th corps had got up to Rethel, where
the headquarters of the army were established, and the inhabitants of the
neighboring villages, possessed with a mad desire to see the Emperor, had
inaugurated a hegira toward that town, taking with them everything in the way of
provisions; so that when the 7th corps came up they found themselves in a land
of nakedness: no bread, no meat, no people, even. To add to their distress a
misconception of orders had caused the supplies of the commissary department to
be directed on Chene-Populeux. This was a state of affairs that during the
entire campaign formed the despair of the wretched commissaries, who had to
endure the abuse and execrations of the whole army, while their sole fault lay
in being punctual at rendezvous at which the troops failed to appear.
"It serves you right, you dirty pigs!" continued Jean in his wrath, "and you
don't deserve the trouble that I am going to have in finding you something to
eat, for I suppose it is my duty not to let you starve, all the same." And he
started off to see what he could find, as every good corporal does under such
circumstances, taking with him Pache, who was a favorite on account of his quiet
manner, although he considered him rather too priest-ridden.
But Loubet's attention had just been attracted to a little farmhouse, one of
the last dwellings in Contreuve, some two or three hundred yards away, where
there seemed to him to be promise of good results. He called Chouteau and
Lapoulle to him and said:
"Come along, and let's see what we can do. I've a notion there's grub to be
had over that way."
So Maurice was left to keep up the fire and watch the kettle, in which the
water was beginning to boil. He had seated himself on his blanket and taken off
his shoe in order to give his blister a chance to heal. It amused him to look
about the camp and watch the behavior of the different squads now that there was
to be no issue of rations; the deduction that he arrived at was that some of
them were in a chronic state of destitution, while others reveled in continual
abundance, and that these conditions were ascribable to the greater or less
degree of tact and foresight of the corporal and his men. Amid the confusion
that reigned about the stacks and tents he remarked some squads who had not been
able even to start a fire, others of which the men had abandoned hope and lain
themselves resignedly down for the night, while others again were ravenously
devouring, no one knew what, something good, no doubt. Another thing that
impressed him was the good order that prevailed in the artillery, which had its
camp above him, on the hillside. The setting sun peeped out from a rift in the
clouds and his rays were reflected from the burnished guns, from which the men
had cleansed the coat of mud that they had picked up along the road.
In the meantime General Bourgain-Desfeuilles, commanding the brigade, had
found quarters suited to his taste in the little farmhouse toward which the
designs of Loubet and his companions were directed. He had discovered something
that had the semblance of a bed and was seated at table with a roasted chicken
and an omelette before him; consequently he was in the best of humors, and as
Colonel de Vineuil happened in just then on regimental business, had invited him
to dine. They were enjoying their repast, therefore, waited on by a tall,
light-haired individual who had been in the farmer's service only three days and
claimed to be an Alsatian, one of those who had been forced to leave their
country after the disaster of Froeschwiller. The general did not seem to think
it necessary to use any restraint in presence of the man, commenting freely on
the movements of the army, and finally, forgetful of the fact that he was not an
inhabitant of the country, began to question him about localities and distances.
His questions displayed such utter ignorance of the country that the colonel,
who had once lived at Mezieres, was astounded; he gave such information as he
had at command, which elicited from the chief the exclamation:
"It is just like our idiotic government! How can they expect us to fight in a
country of which we know nothing?"
The colonel's face assumed a look of vague consternation. He knew that
immediately upon the declaration of war maps of Germany had been distributed
among the officers, while it was quite certain that not one of them had a map of
France. He was amazed and confounded by what he had seen and heard since the
opening of the campaign. His unquestioned bravery was his distinctive trait; he
was a somewhat weak and not very brilliant commander, which caused him to be
more loved than respected in his regiment.
"It's too bad that a man can't eat his dinner in peace!" the general suddenly
blurted out. "What does all that uproar mean? Go and see what the matter is, you
Alsatian fellow!"
But the farmer anticipated him by appearing at the door, sobbing and
gesticulating like a crazy man. They were robbing him, the zouaves and chasseurs
were plundering his house. As he was the only one in the village who had
anything to sell he had foolishly allowed himself to be persuaded to open shop.
At first he had sold his eggs and chickens, his rabbits, and potatoes, without
exacting an extortionate profit, pocketing his money and delivering the
merchandise; then the customers had streamed in in a constantly increasing
throng, jostling and worrying the old man, finally crowding him aside and taking
all he had without pretense of payment. And thus it was throughout the war; if
many peasants concealed their property and even denied a drink of water to the
thirsty soldier, it was because of their fear of the irresistible inroads of
that ocean of men, who swept everything clean before them, thrusting the
wretched owners from their houses and beggaring them.
"Eh! will you hold your tongue, old man!" shouted the general in disgust.
"Those rascals ought to be shot at the rate of a dozen a day. What is one to
do?" And to avoid taking the measures that the case demanded he gave orders to
close the door, while the colonel explained to him that there had been no issue
of rations and the men were hungry.
While these things were going on within the house Loubet outside had
discovered a field of potatoes; he and Lapoulle scaled the fence and were
digging the precious tubers with their hands and stuffing their pockets with
them when Chouteau, who in the pursuit of knowledge was looking over a low wall,
gave a shrill whistle that called them hurriedly to his side. They uttered an
exclamation of wonder and delight; there was a flock of geese, ten fat, splendid
geese, pompously waddling about a small yard. A council of war was held
forthwith, and it was decided that Lapoulle should storm the place and make
prisoners of the garrison. The conflict was a bloody one; the venerable gander
on which the soldier laid his predaceous hands had nearly deprived him of his
nose with its bill, hard and sharp as a tailor's shears. Then he caught it by
the neck and tried to choke it, but the bird tore his trousers with its strong
claws and pummeled him about the body with its great wings. He finally ended the
battle by braining it with his fist, and it had not ceased to struggle when he
leaped the wall, hotly pursued by the remainder of the flock, pecking viciously
at his legs.
When they got back to camp, with the unfortunate gander and the potatoes
hidden in a bag, they found that Jean and Pache had also been successful in
their expedition, and had enriched the common larder with four loaves of fresh
bread and a cheese that they had purchased from a worthy old woman.
"The water is boiling and we will make some coffee," said the corporal. "Here
are bread and cheese; it will be a regular feast!"
He could not help laughing, however, when he looked down and saw the goose
lying at his feet. He raised it, examining and hefting it with the judgment of
an expert.
"Ah! upon my word, a fine bird! it must weigh twenty pounds."
"We were out walking and met the bird," Loubet explained in an unctuously
sanctimonious voice, "and it insisted on making our acquaintance."
Jean made no reply, but his manner showed that he wished to hear nothing more
of the matter. Men must live, and then why in the name of common sense should
not those poor fellows, who had almost forgotten how poultry tasted, have a
treat once in a way!
Loubet had already kindled the fire into a roaring blaze; Pache and Lapoulle
set to work to pluck the goose; Chouteau, who had run off to the artillerymen
and begged a bit of twine, came back and stretched it between two bayonets; the
bird was suspended in front of the hot fire and Maurice was given a cleaning rod
and enjoined to keep it turning. The big tin basin was set beneath to catch the
gravy. It was a triumph of culinary art; the whole regiment, attracted by the
savory odor, came and formed a circle about the fire and licked their chops. And
what a feast it was! roast goose, boiled potatoes, bread, cheese, and coffee!
When Jean had dissected the bird the squad applied itself vigorously to the task
before it; there was no talk of portions, every man ate as much as he was
capable of holding. They even sent a plate full over to the artillerymen who had
furnished the cord.
The officers of the regiment that evening were a very hungry set of men, for
owing to some mistake the canteen wagon was among the missing, gone off to look
after the corps train, maybe. If the men were inconvenienced when there was no
issue of ration they scarcely ever failed to find something to eat in the end;
they helped one another out; the men of the different squads "chipped in" their
resources, each contributing his mite, while the officer, with no one to look to
save himself, was in a fair way of starving as soon as he had not the canteen to
fall back on. So there was a sneer on Chouteau's face, buried in the carcass of
the goose, as he saw Captain Beaudoin go by with his prim, supercilious air, for
he had heard that officer summoning down imprecations on the driver of the
missing wagon; and he gave him an evil look out of the corner of his eye.
"Just look at him! See, his nose twitches like a rabbit's. He would give a
dollar for the pope's nose."
They all made merry at the expense of the captain, who was too callow and too
harsh to be a favorite with his men; they called him a pete-sec. He
seemed on the point of taking the squad in hand for the scandal they were
creating with their goose dinner, but thought better of the matter, ashamed,
probably, to show his hunger, and walked off, holding his head very erect, as if
he had seen nothing.
As for Lieutenant Rochas, who was also conscious of a terribly empty
sensation in his epigastric region, he put on a brave face and laughed
good-naturedly as he passed the thrice-lucky squad. His men adored him, in the
first place because he was at sword's points with the captain, that little
whipper-snapper from Saint-Cyr, and also because he had once carried a musket
like themselves. He was not always easy to get along with, however, and there
were times when they would have given a good deal could they have cuffed him for
his brutality.
Jean glanced inquiringly at his comrades, and their mute reply being
propitious, arose and beckoned to Rochas to follow him behind the tent.
"See here, Lieutenant, I hope you won't be offended, but if it is agreeable
to you—"
And he handed him half a loaf of bread and a wooden bowl in which there were
a second joint of the bird and six big mealy potatoes.
That night again the six men required no rocking; they digested their dinner
while sleeping the sleep of the just. They had reason to thank the corporal for
the scientific way in which he had set up their tent, for they were not even
conscious of a small hurricane that blew up about two o'clock, accompanied by a
sharp down-pour of rain; some of the tents were blown down, and the men, wakened
out of their sound slumber, were drenched and had to scamper in the pitchy
darkness, while theirs stood firm and they were warm and dry, thanks to the
ingenious device of the trench.
Maurice awoke at daylight, and as they were not to march until eight o'clock
it occurred to him to walk out to the artillery camp on the hill and say how do
you do to his cousin Honore. His foot was less painful after his good night's
rest. His wonder and admiration were again excited by the neatness and perfect
order that prevailed throughout the encampment, the six guns of a battery
aligned with mathematical precision and accompanied by their caissons,
prolonges, forage-wagons, and forges. A short way off, lined up to their rope,
stood the horses, whinnying impatiently and turning their muzzles to the rising
sun. He had no difficulty in finding Honore's tent, thanks to the regulation
which assigns to the men of each piece a separate street, so that a single
glance at a camp suffices to show the number of guns.
When Maurice reached his destination the artillerymen were already stirring
and about to drink their coffee, and a quarrel had arisen between Adolphe, the
forward driver, and Louis, the gunner, his mate. For the entire three years that
they had been "married," in accordance with the custom which couples a driver
with a gunner, they had lived happily together, with the one exception of
meal-times. Louis, an intelligent man and the better informed of the two, did
not grumble at the airs of superiority that are affected by every mounted over
every unmounted man: he pitched the tent, made the soup, and did the chores,
while Adolphe groomed his horses with the pride of a reigning potentate. When
the former, a little black, lean man, afflicted with an enormous appetite, rose
in arms against the exactions of the latter, a big, burly fellow with huge
blonde mustaches, who insisted on being waited on like a lord, then the fun
began. The subject matter of the dispute on the present morning was that Louis,
who had made the coffee, accused Adolphe of having drunk it all. It required
some diplomacy to reconcile them.
Not a morning passed that Honore failed to go and look after his piece,
seeing to it that it was carefully dried and cleansed from the night dew, as if
it had been a favorite animal that he was fearful might take cold, and there it
was that Maurice found him, exercising his paternal supervision in the crisp
morning air.
"Ah, it's you! I knew that the 106th was somewhere in the vicinity; I got a
letter from Remilly yesterday and was intending to start out and hunt you up.
Let's go and have a glass of white wine."
For the sake of privacy he conducted his cousin to the little farmhouse that
the soldiers had looted the day before, where the old peasant, undeterred by his
losses and allured by the prospect of turning an honest penny, had tapped a cask
of wine and set up a kind of public bar. He had extemporized a counter from a
board rested on two empty barrels before the door of his house, and over it he
dealt out his stock in trade at four sous a glass, assisted by the strapping
young Alsatian whom he had taken into his service three days before.
As Honore was touching glasses with Maurice his eyes lighted on this man. He
gazed at him a moment as if stupefied, then let slip a terrible oath.
"Tonnerre de Dieu! Goliah!"
And he darted forward and would have caught him by the throat, but the
peasant, foreseeing in his action a repetition of his yesterday's experience,
jumped quickly within the house and locked the door behind him. For a moment
confusion reigned about the premises; soldiers came rushing up to see what was
going on, while the quartermaster-sergeant shouted at the top of his voice:
"Open the door, open the door, you confounded idiot! It is a spy, I tell you,
a Prussian spy!"
Maurice doubted no longer; there was no room for mistake now; the Alsatian
was certainly the man whom he had seen arrested at the camp of Mulhausen and
released because there was not evidence enough to hold him, and that man was
Goliah, old Fouchard's quondam assistant on his farm at Remilly. When finally
the peasant opened his door the house was searched from top to bottom, but to no
purpose; the bird had flown, the gawky Alsatian, the tow-headed, simple-faced
lout whom General Bourgain-Desfeuilles had questioned the day before at dinner
without learning anything and before whom, in the innocence of his heart, he had
disclosed things that would have better been kept secret. It was evident enough
that the scamp had made his escape by a back window which was found open, but
the hunt that was immediately started throughout the village and its environs
had no results; the fellow, big as he was, had vanished as utterly as a
smoke-wreath dissolves upon the air.
Maurice thought it best to take Honore away, lest in his distracted state he
might reveal to the spectators unpleasant family secrets which they had no
concern to know.
"Tonnerre de Dieu!" he cried again, "it would have done me such good
to strangle him!—The letter that I was speaking of revived all my old hatred for
him."
And the two of them sat down upon the ground against a stack of rye a little
way from the house, and he handed the letter to his cousin.
It was the old story: the course of Honore Fouchard's and Silvine Morange's
love had not run smooth. She, a pretty, meek-eyed, brown-haired girl, had in
early childhood lost her mother, an operative in one of the factories of
Raucourt, and Doctor Dalichamp, her godfather, a worthy man who was greatly
addicted to adopting the wretched little beings whom he ushered into the world,
had conceived the idea of placing her in Father Fouchard's family as small maid
of all work. True it was that the old boor was a terrible skinflint and a harsh,
stern taskmaster; he had gone into the butchering business from sordid love of
lucre, and his cart was to be seen daily, rain or shine, on the roads of twenty
communes; but if the child was willing to work she would have a home and a
protector, perhaps some small prospect in the future. At all events she would be
spared the contamination of the factory. And naturally enough it came to pass
that in old Fouchard's household the son and heir and the little maid of all
work fell in love with each other. Honore was then just turned sixteen and she
was twelve, and when she was sixteen and he twenty there was a drawing for the
army; Honore, to his great delight, secured a lucky number and determined to
marry. Nothing had ever passed between them, thanks to the unusual delicacy that
was inherent in the lad's tranquil, thoughtful nature, more than an occasional
hug and a furtive kiss in the barn. But when he spoke of the marriage to his
father, the old man, who had the stubbornness of the mule, angrily told him that
his son might kill him, but never, never would he consent, and continued to keep
the girl about the house, not worrying about the matter, expecting it would soon
blow over. For two years longer the young folks kept on adoring and desiring
each other, and never the least breath of scandal sullied their names. Then one
day there was a frightful quarrel between the two men, after which the young
man, feeling he could no longer endure his father's tyranny, enlisted and was
packed off to Africa, while the butcher still retained the servant-maid, because
she was useful to him. Soon after that a terrible thing happened: Silvine, who
had sworn that she would be true to her lover and await his return, was detected
one day, two short weeks after his departure, in the company of a laborer who
had been working on the farm for some months past, that Goliah Steinberg, the
Prussian, as he was called; a tall, simple young fellow with short, light hair,
wearing a perpetual smile on his broad, pink face, who had made himself Honore's
chum. Had Father Fouchard traitorously incited the man to take advantage of the
girl? or had Silvine, sick at heart and prostrated by the sorrow of parting with
her lover, yielded in a moment of unconsciousness? She could not tell herself;
was dazed, and saw herself driven by the necessity of her situation to a
marriage with Goliah. He, for his part, always with the everlasting smile on his
face, made no objection, only insisted on deferring the ceremony until the child
should be born. When that event occurred he suddenly disappeared; it was
rumored, subsequently that he had found work on another farm, over Beaumont way.
These things had happened three years before the breaking out of the war, and
now everyone was convinced that that artless, simple Goliah, who had such a way
of ingratiating himself with the girls, was none else than one of those Prussian
spies who filled our eastern provinces. When Honore learned the tidings over in
Africa he was three months in hospital, as if the fierce sun of that country had
smitten him on the neck with one of his fiery javelins, and never thereafter did
he apply for leave of absence to return to his country for fear lest he might
again set eyes on Silvine and her child.
The artilleryman's hands shook with agitation as Maurice perused the letter.
It was from Silvine, the first, the only one that she had ever written him. What
had been her guiding impulse, that silent, submissive woman, whose handsome
black eyes at times manifested a startling fixedness of purpose in the midst of
her never-ending slavery? She simply said that she knew he was with the army,
and though she might never see him again, she could not endure the thought that
he might die and believe that she had ceased to love him. She loved him still,
had never loved another; and this she repeated again and again through four
closely written pages, in words of unvarying import, without the slightest word
of excuse for herself, without even attempting to explain what had happened.
There was no mention of the child, nothing but an infinitely mournful and tender
farewell.
The letter produced a profound impression upon Maurice, to whom his cousin
had once imparted the whole story. He raised his eyes and saw that Honore was
weeping; he embraced him like a brother.
"My poor Honore."
But the sergeant quickly got the better of his emotion. He carefully restored
the letter to its place over his heart and rebuttoned his jacket.
"Yes, those are things that a man does not forget. Ah! the scoundrel, if I
could but have laid hands on him! But we shall see."
The bugles were sounding the signal to prepare for breaking camp, and each
had to hurry away to rejoin his command. The preparations for departure dragged,
however, and the troops had to stand waiting in heavy marching order until
nearly nine o'clock. A feeling of hesitancy seemed to have taken possession of
their leaders; there was not the resolute alacrity of the first two days, when
the 7th corps had accomplished forty miles in two marches. Strange and alarming
news, moreover, had been circulating through the camp since morning, that the
three other corps were marching northward, the 1st at Juniville, the 5th and
12th at Rethel, and this deviation from their route was accounted for on the
ground of the necessities of the commissariat. Montmedy had ceased to be their
objective, then? why were they thus idling away their time again? What was most
alarming of all was that the Prussians could not now be far away, for the
officers had cautioned their men not to fall behind the column, as all
stragglers were liable to be picked up by the enemy's light cavalry. It was the
25th of August, and Maurice, when he subsequently recalled to mind Goliah's
disappearance, was certain that the man had been instrumental in affording the
German staff exact information as to the movements of the army of Chalons, and
thus producing the change of front of their third army. The succeeding morning
the Crown Prince of Prussia left Revigny and the great maneuver was initiated,
that gigantic movement by the flank, surrounding and enmeshing us by a series of
forced marches conducted in the most admirable order through Champagne and the
Ardennes. While the French were stumbling aimlessly about the country,
oscillating uncertainly between one place and another, the Prussians were making
their twenty miles a day and more, gradually contracting their immense circle of
beaters upon the band of men whom they held within their toils, and driving
their prey onward toward the forests of the frontier.
A start was finally made, and the result of the day's movement showed that
the army was pivoting on its left; the 7th corps only traversed the two short
leagues between Contreuve and Vouziers, while the 5th and 12th corps did not
stir from Rethel, and the 1st went no farther than Attigny. Between Contreuve
and the valley of the Aisne the country became level again and was more bare
than ever; as they drew near to Vouziers the road wound among desolate hills and
naked gray fields, without a tree, without a house, as gloomy and forbidding as
a desert, and the day's march, short as it was, was accomplished with such
fatigue and distress that it seemed interminably long. Soon after midday,
however, the 1st and 3d divisions had passed through the city and encamped in
the meadows on the farther bank of the Aisne, while a brigade of the second,
which included the 106th, had remained upon the left bank, bivouacking among the
waste lands of which the low foot-hills overlooked the valley, observing from
their position the Monthois road, which skirts the stream and by which the enemy
was expected to make his appearance.
And Maurice was dumfoundered to behold advancing along that Monthois road
Margueritte's entire division, the body of cavalry to which had been assigned
the duty of supporting the 7th corps and watching the left flank of the army.
The report was that it was on its way to Chene-Populeux. Why was the left wing,
where alone they were threatened by the enemy, stripped in that manner? What
sense was there in summoning in upon the center, where they could be of no
earthly use, those two thousand horsemen, who should have been dispersed upon
our flank, leagues away, as videttes to observe the enemy? And what made matters
worse was that they caused the greatest confusion among the columns of the 7th
corps, cutting in upon their line of march and producing an inextricable jam of
horses, guns, and men. A squadron of chasseurs d'Afrique were halted for near
two hours at the gate of Vouziers, and by the merest chance Maurice stumbled on
Prosper, who had ridden his horse down to the bank of a neighboring pond to let
him drink, and the two men were enabled to exchange a few words. The chasseur
appeared stunned, dazed, knew nothing and had seen nothing since they left
Rheims; yes, though, he had: he had seen two uhlans more; oh! but they were will
o' the wisps, phantoms, they were, that appeared and vanished, and no one could
tell whence they came nor whither they went. Their fame had spread, and stories
of them were already rife throughout the country, such, for instance, as that of
four uhlans galloping into a town with drawn revolvers and taking possession of
it, when the corps to which they belonged was a dozen miles away. They were
everywhere, preceding the columns like a buzzing, stinging swarm of bees, a
living curtain, behind which the infantry could mask their movements and march
and countermarch as securely as if they were at home upon parade. And Maurice's
heart sank in his bosom as he looked at the road, crowded with chasseurs and
hussars which our leaders put to such poor use.
"Well, then, au revoir," said he, shaking Prosper by the hand;
"perhaps they will find something for you to do down yonder, after all."
But the chasseur appeared disgusted with the task assigned him. He sadly
stroked Poulet's neck and answered:
"Ah, what's the use talking! they kill our horses and let us rot in idleness.
It is sickening."
When Maurice took off his shoe that evening to have a look at his foot, which
was aching and throbbing feverishly, the skin came with it; the blood spurted
forth and he uttered a cry of pain. Jean was standing by, and exhibited much
pity and concern.
"Look here, that is becoming serious; you are going to lie right down and not
attempt to move. That foot of yours must be attended to. Let me see it."
He knelt down, washed the sore with his own hands and bound it up with some
clean linen that he took from his knapsack. He displayed the gentleness of a
woman and the deftness of a surgeon, whose big fingers can be so pliant when
necessity requires it.
A great wave of tenderness swept over Maurice, his eyes were dimmed with
tears, the familiar thou rose from his heart to his lips with an
irresistible impulse of affection, as if in that peasant whom he once had hated
and abhorred, whom only yesterday he had despised, he had discovered a long lost
brother.
"Thou art a good fellow, thou! Thanks, good friend."
And Jean, too, looking very happy, dropped into the second person singular,
with his tranquil smile.
"Now, my little one, wilt thou have a cigarette? I have some tobacco left."