Observers
By Artillery Captain M—- C—-
Leaning on my beam, I looked out into the night. It was a beautiful winter night, dreamy and peaceful. A vague gleam of moonlight hovered over the serene space, touching the fleecy clouds which were floating in the sky. And yet everything was sad with an infinite sadness.
From the summit on which I was perched, I looked out on every side on an immense horizon, and on every side it was a desert of death and desolation. In front of me were the Germans. Five hundred yards separated us from their outposts and that was the only side where there was no water. To the right, to the left, and behind us was the inundation, a great humid street, which, as far as the eye could see, shone strangely under the wan moonbeams, a weird shroud, covering, in its icy folds, thousands of corpses buried in the mud. Here and there, a dark spot could be seen in the water. It was all that remained of a farm, a charred, crumbling skeleton, or there was a dead beast breaking through the winding-sheet, or a human corpse turning its grimacing face to the moon. There were two, not far away from me, that I knew well. For some months, they had been my daily companions. The first one was a German with a ravaged face, showing all its teeth in a horrible grin. The other one was a Belgian. Only the face emerged and the water splashed round it, leaving green shreds on its grey cheeks. A dark bird was poised on its nose, pecking at its gnawed eye sockets. Oh, shades of heroes! Can the glory that surrounds you with its halo not cover the remains of your poor profaned bodies?
There was a deadly calm and the cold wind made the trembling reeds rustle. Every breeze brought me a whiff of fulsome decay. Nothing broke the silence, except the funereal croaking of the birds of prey and the wail of the sea-gulls, which kept hovering in long flights over the deserted space. Oh, the sadness and the infamy of war! This then is your work, oh brutal and barbarous force, the rights of which men dare in our days still affirm and glorify!
Presently, some stealthy footsteps were to be heard. It was the guard being relieved. On the long footbridge, which was all that united our men with the outpost, a line of silent figures passed. A flash was to be seen, lighting up the darkness, and this was immediately followed by about twenty shots. The troop passed underneath my observation post. There was a fresh flash, and a bullet struck the wall under my feet. There was a cry followed by a long groan. It was a wounded man. He was carried away and the others went on to occupy the trenches.
Our order here had been to hold out to the very death. Retreat was impossible anyhow. To be convinced of this, one had only to look at the immense stretch of water which separated us from our first lines, that dark band in the distant horizon.
The change of guard was scarcely finished when I heard a well-known strain coming from afar. It was a "saucepan" on its way: "Ou-oû-ou-oû!..." It was a fifteen calibre.