Fields of Victory

by Mrs. Humphry Ward

"What a disappointment for my poor fellows! Lieutenant X____ is lost in admiration of them. I daresay—but I have only thirty-nine of them left."

Eighteen hours later.

"The order for relief has come. We shall leave our dead behind us in the trench. Then-comrades have carefully placed them out of the passage-way.... There they are—poor sentinels, whom we leave behind us, in a line on the parados, in their blood-stained uniforms—solemn and terrible guardians of this fragment of French soil, which still in death they seem to be holding against the enemy."

But the enemy advances inexorably, and within the fort the dead and dying multiply.

"Captain Tabourot fought like a lion," says another witness. "He was taller than any of us. He gave his orders briefly, encouraged us, and placed us. Then he plunged his hand into the bag of bombs, and, leaning back, threw one with a full swing of the arm, aiming each time. That excited us, and we did our best."

But meanwhile the enemy is stealing up behind, between the trench and the fort. Captain Tabourot is mortally hit, and is carried into the dressing-station within the fort. Commandant Raynal, himself wounded, comes to see him. "No word of consolation, no false hope. The one knows that all is over; the other respects him too deeply to attempt a falsehood." A grasp of the hand—a word from the Commandant: "Well done, mon ami!" But the Captain is thinking of his men. "Mon Commandant—if the Boches get through, it is not the fault of my company. They did all they could." Then a last message to his wife. And presently his name is carried through the dark by a carrier-pigeon down to the Headquarters below: "The enemy surrounds us. I report to you the bravery of Captain Tabourot, seriously wounded. We are holding out." And a few hours later: "Captain Tabourot of the 142nd has died gloriously. Wound received in defending the north-eastern breach. Demand for him the Legion of Honour."

For five days the heroic defence goes on. All communications are cut, the passages of the fort are choked with wounded and dying men, the water is giving out. On the 4th, a wounded pigeon arrives at Headquarters. It brings a message, imploring urgently for help.

"This is my last pigeon." The following day communication is partly re-established, and a few fragmentary messages are received. "The enemy"—signals the fort—"is working on a mine to the west of the fort. Turn on the guns—quick." ... "We don't hear your artillery. Are attacked by gas, and flame throwers. Are at the last extremity." Then one message gets through from below—"Courage! we shall soon attack." The fort waits, and at night another fragmentary message comes from Raynal asking for water and relief. "I am nearly at the end of my powers. The troops—men and officers—have in all circumstances done their duty.... You will come, no doubt ... before we are completely exhausted. Vive la France!"

But death and thirst—thirst, above all—are victors. On the 6th, a few hours before the inevitable end, Marshal Joffre flashed his message to the heights—in the first place, a message of thanks to troops and Commander for their "magnificent defence," in the next, making Commandant Raynal a Commander of the Legion of Honour.

On the 7th a last heroic effort was made to relieve the fort. It failed, and Raynal—wounded, with a handful of survivors—surrendered, the Germans, in acknowledgment of the heroism of the defence, allowing the Commandant to retain his sword.