Happy men, to come to war in a moment of victory, not to know the agony of retreat before a blow has been struck, a retreat which no one can explain! The vision of the Cuisy trenches, of a sunlit field of fire, has never for a moment ceased to be with me during all the days before Sommaisne. We had to retreat and we knew not why! Happy men indeed who come to christen their weapons amid the intoxication of a pursuit, without having had first to suffer the torture of a disaster such as we suffered!
V
BEHIND THE CROWN PRINCE'S ARMY
Sunday, September 13th.
"We are probably leaving Seigneulles to-day," the Captain said to me a short while ago; "let us hope we are not going to be kept constantly on the move again."
That hope is fervent within me, Captain! Meanwhile, what spirit of evil tempted me to eat all day long yesterday? Those eggs which a quartermaster of the 5th gave me were so deliciously fresh that I pricked two holes in the shells and ate them raw. Most luscious, too, were the contents of the gunners' frying-pan! Tender and roasted to perfection the fowl of which the captain offered me a wing; plump the rabbit my "fags" gently simmered over a slow fire behind our barn. But alas! what a night I spent!
The straw pricked my hands and face and feet; it was so burningly hot, too, that I yearned for the freshness of soft sheets, I was feverish. My stomach felt as heavy as a huge lump of lead. At times it was seized with strange palpitations; at others, it became as an indiarubber ball, inflated to the last degree. When I dozed, nightmares peopled the night, awakening me with such a start that I bumped my head against the staves of a gigantic tub behind which I had fixed up my bed of straw. By the time the morning came, I felt able to sleep a little, but with the broad light of day streaming in through the open door of the barn, there remained nothing else to do but to get up and dress. Legs feeble, mouth pasty, head void! What a triple fool I had been! And here I am with nothing before me but long marches!
Still, why complain when it is my own fault? I am not yet dead of indigestion, and to-morrow it will be gone!
I dip my nose in the miniature basin lent to Porchon and myself by the village doctor. I do not know in what kind of a basin the amiable doctor himself washes, but the one he has lent us is farcical. To dissolve the grime of a week's accumulation would alone necessitate buckets and buckets of water; and all we have is a few drops of cold water at the bottom of a pot about as big as a thimble, and our washing has to be done in a saucer. Happily, my orderly appears while I am still wallowing in the midst of my woes, bearing a camp pail filled to overflowing. I splash about to my heart's content, indifferent to the fate of the floor, which is generously watered. My nocturnal discomforts are soon forgotten. I feel better and am well content.
We depart at noon. My section is drawn up before the barn, each man with his pack on his back, his rifle grounded. No one is missing. I inspect them to find that they have all brushed their uniforms, washed and shaved. No speck of dust on either equipment or boots. Heads are erect, eyes clear, everything, in fact, most pleasing and satisfactory.
A peculiar silence invariably prevails during the last seconds before setting off on the march. It did so on the present occasion, until it was shattered by a sudden outburst of rifle fire in the distance. What can that be? Is it a joke? For since the day before yesterday, we have not even heard a single shell.