Some of our own men took me round them. Trenches finely made but, in the hurry, not so finished as those which the Italian workmen, turned on to this surprising task instead of digging the Metropolitan tunnels, have made near Paris.
The German trenches were distinguishable by their shape, more hurried, as of the attacking side. It was possible to follow the story—the trenches where the shell had burst well behind; the tell-tale breaks where the Germans had found the range; the trample and dead horses of cavalry charges.
At Penchard our —— division had suffered fearfully. Before they fired a shot the Germans had the range; and the men stood by helplessly or ran back—those who survived. But the Germans are far on the retreat now from Penchard!
At Poincy they played yet another trick, and paid for it. Beaten by our close fire from the trenches—how close I could measure—one in every three Germans got up and ran back, leaving two or three hidden. Our men came quickly up, taking no cover. From close range they were swept away by the unexpected fire. But they came back—with the bayonet! "And, sir, the Prussians don't like cold steel. But we left them no time to say so!"
At Chaucotin the peasants were burying many hundred Germans, by the trenches, in a wastage of swords, muskets, and broken saddles and arms. And in the distance, beyond the Marne and Ourcq, the battle we could hear still going on.
In Meaux, as I looked over the bridge, the steam-barges deep in the green shadow of the river below were moving slowly towards Paris with yet more wounded. The decks were bright with the blue-red guards.
Even on this side of Meaux overturned wagons, sunken barges, and the inevitable trenches and piled trusses told of some hours of the day-long battles. Further forward, on the Ourcq, were torn and scrambled banks, where, I was told, our cavalry drove the enemy actually into the canal. Our cavalry has done magnificently.
It was jolly in Meaux to hear good northern English, and English with a brogue, and to see the confident, bronzed faces. The men are in great heart. "I have had five weeks out of bed. It's a bit slow here"—this town was all but deserted—"but it's a lark. We've got 'em!"
Man to man, and against odds, on these fields the British and French have flung back the weight of the tide.
Beyond Chambery there was yet another sign—a collection of 150 German wounded, waiting to be brought down. At last we were following an advance, if only in a small corner of the great field.