I counted the fires. Two to the right of the road, one of which seemed quite near, and had high flames shooting up, which cast a glow all round. Three to the left, and right in front of us at the axis of our march, a huge conflagration.
Spincourt? I had heard that name.
The guns were growling sullenly. I tried to work, myself up to a generous pitch of fury. These hamlets in flame, this blood-stained earth, was my France, my Lorraine!
But I was like a disconnected electric current.
We were told to lie down in the ditch where we slept. But not for long. We were made to get up and retire a little, and lie down again—we slept once more—then we returned to our first site. We obeyed without grousing, and this time the rest was more worth having. We dozed until daybreak.
The defilade along the white road continued. How many officers and men, with horror and despair at their hearts, did we meet that August dawn? Henriot came to find us. He was tortured with suspense at last. What were all these people doing? We shook our heads, hesitating to pronounce an opinion. It all passed as in a dream. Silent, preoccupied phantoms who seemed to be hastening towards some goal....
Now, however, some were to be seen whose pace was less rapid, and who did not detest being looked at—men who had been wounded, only slightly for the most part—who seemed to be saying, "We have done our bit!"
A few of us ventured to question them. Oh, what replies we got. A snare! A shambles! There were too many Huns! Each man claimed to be the only one left of his battalion or regiment.
A battalion sergeant-major, hit in the foot, gave us a graphic account. "The Bosches were coming out of a wood, our 75's loosed off a belt at them, and made pretty good shooting too. You ought to have seen the blighters dance! We were under shelter, not far off, enjoying ourselves enormously. They were blown up and fell in little pieces. Platoon after platoon cut up. Others followed them, to be met with the same fate. More still—until at the end of an hour, there was a thick rampart of dead bodies all along the edge of the wood. But new lots kept on coming up and crossing the obstacle, others shoving them on from behind. Our guns were beginning to stop talking—not enough shells. And the grey swarm slipped through into the plain. Suddenly we were threatened and attacked and overwhelmed. What could we do? Retire! We ran for our lives."