August 25th-September 2nd
IN RETREAT
What memories I have of those days of retreat and disaster. Days when not only Victory, but Hope, also, hid her face! Chance and destiny and logic were so many forces crushing us. Everything was giving way. We suffered in every kind of way, from hunger, cold, heat, exhaustion, moral anguish, lack of news. Virile busy days, when the plan of salvation germinated in the brain of our leaders, when the work of redemption was accomplished in silence in the heart of each man and the nation at large. Days, I should weep not to have spent where I ought, as I ought!...
That afternoon, first of all, which we spent wandering in a forest. Surrounded? We were not far from it. The men were well aware of the sentries posted everywhere, and the patrol parties sent out to investigate in every direction.
One scene stands out particularly clearly in my memory. Those staff-officers we passed as I was going with my section to inspect a certain issue. The general seated on the edge of a slope with his head between his hands, his subordinates standing motionless a few steps away, respecting his meditation. A little farther on were the orderlies, holding their horses by their halters. An hour later as we were returning, we found them at the same place, and in the same attitudes, the general with his head still sunk in his hands, his aides-de-camp silently fixing their eyes on him.
A petrified tableau. So all these people expected nothing better than to have to give up their swords. I thought we were done for, but forced myself to distract the attention of my companions.