"I do not think so, Lieutenant. He got a bullet in the arm as we were moving towards the pile of logs."
Not one sergeant! Not even a corporal! All those squads which become after a time a well-beloved family to those in charge of them, a family not to be parted from without sorrow and regret—here they are deprived of their leaders, to whom they look up constantly, who watch over them, who sustain them through long and difficult hours by the mere magic of their presence. I had known each one of them so well, those I had lost to-day! They were the men of my choice, men for whom a single word from me was sufficient, men who had never sought to shirk their duties, accepting their task whatever it was, and fulfilling it to the very best of their powers.
Others would take their places. What would they be like? And just when I had come to know these newcomers also, they would be struck down too, and would disappear, or perhaps my turn would come, or that of my men! Nothing lasting, nothing that the greatest of our efforts can make really ours, even for a day. The weariness of eternally beginning over again, the sadness of acquaintances ended with a mere farewell, all the minutes of our days and nights besieged by death, death which seizes on its victims in a second's space, which selects so blindly!
Unhappy above all men is he whose heart cherishes the memories of old affections and griefs through days unending! Close to me in the darkness someone is sobbing, sobs which cannot be choked down, which break out again and again, deep and heart-broken, bringing anguish to those who hear. I can see him who sobs, sitting in the ditch, hunched and huddled together beneath the burden of his sorrow. I know, too, why he sobs; I went up to him at once, and, as he knew me, he unburdened himself….
He had a brother who was in the half section he commanded. They had fought in the wood side by side and almost at the beginning of the business the other had received a bullet in the leg.
"He bled freely, Lieutenant; I helped him to walk; I wanted to dress his wounds. But the order came to retreat, because the Boches were advancing and were too many for us. I lifted him up and started to carry him. The bullets flew around us, many bullets. Then all at once it was as if he had been thrust forward, as if he had stumbled over a stump. He said nothing, but a second bullet had gone right through him. I had to support his whole weight then, and when I looked at him, his face was all white and his eyes staring. Still he recognized me and said: 'Jean, little Jean, leave me and get out of it.' I did not wish to do that, you may be sure. Was it possible to do such a thing? So I took him on my back, heavy as he was. I could not move quickly, you understand, yet even at that I seemed to hurt him. With every step I took he cried aloud in agony and did not cease pleading: 'You go on, Jean, leave me here, Jean;' and I went, yes, indeed, I went, when I saw the last blue coats disappearing over the hilltop and the Boches so close to us that I could hear the rustling of the leaves beneath their feet. It had been too much for my strength, you must understand; I had fallen to my knees and he slipped to the earth beside me. For the last time he said: 'You must go. You must not let yourself be killed because of me … let one of us remain alive at least.' I hung over him, I raised his head and kissed him, while all the time the bullets rained down, because the Boches had seen us and were firing at us. And then … I said good-bye to him … and then, and then I left him … and … and I left him out there … to die on the earth … in the midst of those savages….
"Is he dead, do you think? What has become of him? Where is he now? Perhaps out there he is calling for me, all alone in the night…. I do not know, I am here; perhaps I shall never know … oh, yes, I can see I shall never know, never…."
I have just told Porchon the story, and together we listen to those heartrending sobs.
Through the field behind us men are moving. We can hear the rustling of the dried leaves they are gathering; the falling flakes of earth from the roots they pull up; they have discovered some turnips. We remember then that so far we have eaten nothing.
It is cold. We shiver. We remain silent.