There was no more singing. There was no more talking. Occasionally an oath. We discarded knapsack, clothing, food, even letters, in hope of relief, and marched on toward our goal with groans.
At last we stopped. We were in the midst of a black plain, lighted only by a few dim fires, where the mud was almost knee-deep. We threw ourselves down, broken, inert masses, without strength to spread a blanket on the ground, asleep before we touched the earth. We had covered seventy kilometres in one forced march, and no longer heard the cannon.
Thus we slept, like brutes, until morning. It was not long. The early light shone on a marsh made humpy by the bodies of men sleeping under the mist. There were soldiers of all departments of service; Zouaves, infantry, cavalry, artillery, fallen where they happened to be, without order, and all but a few still sleeping. These few had lighted large bonfires, where they warmed themselves. The light of the fires also attracted many women, children, and old men, who stretched toward the grateful warmth limbs stiffened by cold. The fires were fed with branches of trees, broken parts of wagons, anything ready at hand without too much effort to gather.
The result was a more or less comforting warmth for the benumbed creatures who crowded around, in a surprisingly promiscuous assemblage. Some were heating soup made from heaven knows what, others attempted to dry their shirts and blouses, soaked by sweat and rain. The rain had ceased, but the sky remained gray, covered with hostile clouds. The vision was limited by a low-hanging fog. On the road, the procession of retreat continued to roll, disordered, in nervous haste and at the same time slow. The underofficers reassembled our troop. We must start again, enter the column surging along the road, resume the flight, take up the march, press on still farther, and gain ground.
With the new day the cannon again began to roar. It seemed quite near, although one could not say exactly where the thundering came from. One felt hunted down, without knowing the location of the enemy who pursued so relentlessly. So the ranks were formed. Those who still had knapsacks lifted them again to the shoulder, and again we marched.
The first steps were difficult. Every joint was stiff, every muscle ached, and we swore with every stride. Soon we warmed up to the exercise and advanced more easily. The pace was set for five kilometres an hour, and every one followed.
Yo had found some wine, no one knows where. He poured a drop in the cup of each of his neighbors, and it seemed quite refreshing. We managed to keep going the entire morning. After a repose of two hours we started again, always toward the south, always pursued by the cannon, which seemed to move even faster than did we. We neared Vervins. The outlying parishes indicated it at each kilometre, and we were only surprised that the enemy had preceded us. It was nevertheless true. He went like the wind, regardless of broken bridges, obstructed roads, opened ravines. However fast we went, he went too fast even for us to follow. He was ahead of us and behind us. He was reported on both sides of us. He seemed to be everywhere.
This is the way of the retreat. However rapid it seems, it is exceeded in speed by the enemy. Every difficulty retards the troops in flight; obstructed roads, slow-moving army wagons, necessary destruction. The enemy pushes on. He sends forward his cavalry quite indifferent to the condition of the land. He takes strategic points, he occupies mountains, he bars passes. We must make a détour to cross a river over which he leaps. We must save munitions which weigh heavily and impede our course. We must watch for a safety which he disdains. He comes and breaks the embryonic resistance which he encounters, overthrows battalions already in rout, sweeps away regiments already disorganized. You believe he is behind, he is really in front. You go to the right, he is there. You return to the left, he has forestalled you. Those hours of torture, when difficulties accumulate to impede flight, when the mother’s weakness detains the son, when the weight of a child is a crushing burden! Those hours of agony, when all about is burning, when terror is spread abroad, when only menace is seen on every hand! Those who have lived through such hours will never be able to efface them from the memory.
We arrived at Vervins, already attacked by the enemy, but defended by a screen of troops with some cannon. From the distracted town, where the detonations rocked the houses and made the window-panes rattle, one could watch the battle. Some aeroplanes were flying about overhead like great birds of war. They were the first military aircraft, still incomplete and badly armed. From them the observer could see but little, and he was obliged to descend to earth to bring his information. Such as these machines were, they interested us much, and seemed to fulfil in the air a remarkable mission.