Their memory of the other war had not been at all obliterated, as I should have expected it to be. Most of them had heard from their parents what vexations and devastations their province had had to endure in those bygone days. They had before their eyes the ravages of the present war. Hang it all! If only the Bosches did not advance too far! We mustn't be beaten again.
And then as Corporal Bouguet very neatly expressed it, considering how long we had been pestered by having to put in two or three years' military service, we should be dolts not to give them a good thrashing once and for all, for the sake of gaining a quiet life!
Their spirit in fact was marvellous. It must not be forgotten that we were still retreating! There was never a sign of real discouragement. It was sometimes upsetting, certainly, to leave superb positions without firing a single shot. But if it must be! If, as was still rumoured, it was for tactical reasons to lead the enemy into a trap! The fantastic exploits attributed to the artillery still continued to fire our imagination. Once or twice we met convoys of prisoners. Halloa! Things must be on the mend! And then, why attempt to give any explanation? Things went well, because they went well. Even in the first platoon there was never any serious trouble, the bad seed did not bear. There was nothing worse than a little slackness, rather less energy.
There was plenty of marching. Yes, but nothing dismal about it most of the time, especially when we thought we were getting near to the enemy when there would be a volley of witticisms:
"Halloa! Trichet!" Guillaumin exclaimed. "I suppose you think Prunelle's sight too good, and that's why you're sticking your gun into his eye?"
They laughed; the jeweller was short-sighted and wore glasses.
The men were generally allowed to sing. When I saw they were beginning to flag, I shouted:
"Strike up, Bouguet! Let's have one of your songs."
"Which shall it be, Sergeant?"