COMRADES IN COURAG Class BooL Copyrights JO COPYRIGHT DEPOSrr. COMRADES IN COURAGE COMRADES IN COURAGE (Meditations Dans\ La Tranchie ) BY LIEUTENANT ANTOINE REDIER TRANSLATED BY MRS. PHILIP DUNCAN WILSON GARDEN CITY NEW YORK DOUBLEDAY, PAGE ^ COMPANY 1918 Copyrighty jqi8, by DOUBLEDAY, PaGE & QjMPANY All rights reservedy including thai of translation into foreign languages, including the Scandinavian *%' MAR -2 1918 ©CI.A492436 n^ . I J TO ? MY SONS so THAT WHEN THEY ARE GROWN THEY MAY BE HONOURABLE MEN STRONG, FREE, AND BRAVE A. R. TABLE OF CHAPTERS PAGE I. Duty 3 IL The Excavators .... 28 III. Liberty 57 IV. Comrades IN Arms '^.^^'. . 67 V. Glory 84 VI. Larks, Poppies, Mice . . 96 VII. Strength 127 VIII. "The God of the Armies" . 138 IX. Bravery 159 X. The Enemy 169 XI. Intelligence 198 XII. Letters 212 XIII. Honour 228 XIV. The Motherland . . . 239 COMRADES IN COURAGE COMRADES IN COURAGE I Duty NEVER in all my life have I heard so many foolish words, nor myself said so many useless things, as I have since my sojourn in the trenches. The great danger in which we live forces us to seek distraction and we are always striving for entertainment. At times my brain reels from giddiness, I take my head be- tween my hands and anxiously ask myself: "What am I doing here for the profit of my soul?" I am serving my country, it is true. I am occupying my appointed place. If I should be killed I shall have done my whole duty. But how if I survive ? Shall I have passed through these solemn moments of world history without improvement to myself .f^ We are the witnesses and the actors in one of the great dramas of hu- COMRADES IN COURAGE manity. In later years many will envy us, and perhaps our children will think of us as Titans. Yet thoughtlessly we tramp these fields of carnage which later will be- come the goal of pious pilgrimages. We are like our little neighbours, the larks, that continue their joyous songs without regard for the war. Our sole concession to the moment is that occasionally we lower our voices if the enemy, who watches oppo- site, be near enough to hear. Some people will say that this light- heartedness in the face of danger is a sign of heroism. This is not true. We are able to distract ourselves. We could not endure our existence if we lacked this precious gift of forgetting. But if we have learned to shut our eyes at certain times, there are other times when it is necessary to look with all our power. When the war emerges from its present stagnation of trench life, we will joyfully look ahead of us. To-day our bodies are fast stuck in the mud, and, unless we take care, our souls will fall asleep. To-night I have tried to stimulate mine a little by meditation. I meditated upon death, and then upon duty. I could easily DUTY have considered glory, but in the face of facts it would have seemed like seducing myself with bright words. Out here we are exposed every moment to the possi- bility of a glorious death, but nevertheless it is death; and if, after the war, there re- mains an imprint upon my being, it will be chiefly this tragic menace which will have put it there. What does it mean to die on the field of honour? Yesterday a poor fellow whom I myself had seen wounded, gave up his soul at the field hospital. The day before, while his wound was being dressed, he was asked by the doctor how he felt. He replied, with his Flemish accent: '' Min vinte" (mon ventre^ my stomach), "my lieutenant/* "What's the matter with your stomach?" "I have a pain in my stomach." His plaintive voice, his childish accent will dwell long in my memory. How sad it was that he should die, a man of nearly forty and the father of a family. His people live in the invaded provinces and cannot learn of their loss until we have the requi- site means and time for communicating with them. As he lay dying he did not think of himself as a hero, but as a poor COMRADES IN COURAGE devil. He did not go to war for the sake of glory. He was merely a unit in the mass, and had scarcely seen the enemy with his own eyes, yet he lived for months pas- sively awaiting an obscure end. His her- oism consisted in accepting his destiny with resignation. We are all like this man. Death upon the field of battle is always a horrible ad- venture. Those of us who have been in the campaign since the beginning have seen it too often close at hand to seek it carelessly with the joyful light-heartedness of that first month of August. There are too many bodies heaped on the ground be- fore our trenches. We know of too many wrecked and ruined homes. We have lost too many good comrades who still lack a grave — and always will. We are told that the Japanese and Ser- bians disdain death. I cannot understand their mental processes. We are made in a different manner, perhaps because our mode of life is too easy. Personally, I am unable to conceive that one goes to martyrdom willingly. Indeed even the greatest mar- tyrs have not succeeded in concealing their suffering and were not ashamed to call DUTY heaven to help them in their weakness. Yet no one doubts that the quality of their hearts was superior to that of most of ours. The radiant compensation which God offers a believer is not the same that our country- holds forth to a soldier who makes the su- preme sacrifice for her. The shirkers seek employment at the rear or attempt to con- ceal themselves in the military depots and they are constantly haunted by the fear of the pitiless death which awaits them on the battlefield. On the other hand, those who have gone to the front voluntarily, or because it was their turn, cover their eyes, and their flesh creeps when they re- alize the cruel end before them, but like heroes they go forward unfalteringly. Is it glory that they seek? I do not be- lieve so. Yet I am acquainted with one exception. The other day I saw him when he paid a visit to some comrades. We were gathered in a little dug-out and were delighted to see one another. After con- versing and joking a bit we began to sing — first some very French songs, and then someone hummed '^ Die Wacht am Rhein," We were startled. We hear them sing it opposite in the German trenches every COMRADES IN COURAGE evening. Certainly the refrain is grave and melodious, but how sad. How widely our race — so alert and frank — is separated from theirs, which dreams and laments. Finally came the turn of my young friend to sing. He hesitated, embarrassed, and in spite of his splendid soldierly figure, blushed through his tan. The grandson, son, nephew, and god-son of celebrated French soldiers and sailors, the declaration of war had found him at Saint-Cyr. He had chosen the cavalry as his branch, but, after the first few battles, he saw that in this war the cavalry would remain at the rear, at least for some time. He therefore asked and obtained consent to leave his chosen branch, and joined the infantry. It is in this miserable hole that he awaits the moment of his sacrifice. I do not know who is the author of the following sonnet, but it is known with- out exception to all the students of Saint- Cyr. We were deeply moved by hear- ing this handsome son of France sing it so fervently. His eyes were dilated and he did not appear the same warrior as the others, but a young god transfigured by a celestial vision. DUTY LA GLOIRE Voulant voir si I'ecole etait bien digne d'elle, La Gloire, un jour, du ciel descendit a Saint-Cyr. On Vy connaissait bien! Ce fut avec plaisir Que les Saint-Cyriens re^urent 1' Immortelle. Elle les trouva forts. lis la trouverent belle. Apres un jour de fete, avant de repartir, La Gloire, a tous voulant laisser un souvenir. Fixa sur leur schako des plumes de son aile. Et Ton porta longtemps le plumet radieux. Mais un soir de combat, pres de fermer les yeux, Un Saint-Cyrien, mourant, le mit sur sa blessure Pour lui donner aussi le bapteme du sang. Et, depuis, nous portons — admirable parure — Sur notre schako bleu, le plumet rouge et blanc. Any man who can sing thus is not dis- turbed by thoughts of death. He loves glory for itself and he has deliberately dedicated his life to it. It is of no impor- tance to him that the sacrifice the Mother- land demands of her sons is a merciless one. He has reached the age when one begins to COMRADES IN COURAGE ponder on human destiny and meets it in a defiant attitude, be it good or bad. He is able to sacrifice his Hfe freely because he has not yet contracted life's responsi- bilities. The blood which I find on my hands when I help raise the wounded, or aid the dying, is to me cruel and ghastly. To him it is the vermilion blood of heroes of which the poets sing. He bathes a plume in it and with exaltation wears it on his helmet as a token. Unlike him I cannot love glory for itself. My business here is the glory of France. I work for it with all my strength but I do not seek it for myself. My aim in the war is to do my duty. Save for rare exceptions we do not go valiantly to death either because we disdain it, or for the laurels that will be thrown on our tombs. We go in the spirit of discipline, because it is our duty. The first fruit of this slaughter has been to give us the long-forgotten knowledge of — and desire to do — our duty. The great miracle has happened which we so anxiously awaited during the uneasy years that pre- ceded the war. The other day as we lounged in our cave, we were aroused by the brusque entrance lO DUTY of an adjudant* who pushed before him two soldiers, one of whom was wiping his bleed- ing face with a handkerchief. "Wounded?" ''Nothing like it, Captain. They were fighting and I brought them to the post to explain." The man with the bleeding face is what is known as a village lawyer. It seems that he had said that the " Boches" were as good as the French — at which the other had at- tacked him. The assailant stands motion- less. He is penitent, but his fist was well aimed and he is proud that the blow does credit to his strength. He feels vaguely that, in the war, strength is of great value. He admits his crime and only says in excuse : *'He is always bothering us with his theories. I wanted to give him a lesson and didn't think that a single punch would hurt him." "Did you intend to give him several?" "I only intended to make him shut up, sir." At this the other man takes a step for- ward: *The French "adjudant" corresponds to a first sergeant in the American Army. II COMRADES IN COURAGE "I'd like to see you make me shut up!" He is a queer figure of a man. His face is thin and already shows the traces of age. His figure is frail and bowed, his manner abject but cunning, and he talks in a preten- tious tone with many gestures : "A man ought to have rights, even here." "You have the right to kill a Boche, old grandmother!" *'Be silent; you struck him. Let him speak." "My Captain," begins the other, "if you let these young fellows act like this, it means a revolution in the trenches. At least, I can understand that we ought not to quarrel because, after all, we are here only to share the same miserable fate." "We are here for France," the adjudant cries at him, rolling his eyes in a terrible manner. "Come," says the Captain, wishing to close the incidfent, "shake hands and go back to your places." As the men go out I turn curiously toward the adjudant who will not permit anybody to say that his lot here is a miserable one. "You have been hard on the old man." "It is his own fault if I have. I know 12 DUTY these lawyers, they are always thinking of their rights, never of their duties." He goes on with his theme, enlarging the scope of his discussion. He paints for us in bold but truthful colours a picture of average French society in the villages and country- side before the war. Although, in peace time, a man of humble situation, a modest shopkeeper on the public square of a small county-seat, his observation and judgment are excellent. His type demonstrates how well true wisdom will always be preserved among the common people. After escaping the snares of life, morality to them is repre- sented by what they remember of their early religious instruction. He goes on to tell how these heroes, who to-day are ready to die with a firm heart, faced duty as civilians in time of peace. His exact words are not necessary; his meaning will suffice. First he tells us the programme for an honest man of the working class in the cities : Know your craft well enough to do it with pleasure; have simple tastes that you may be able to satisfy them fully; raise good children in the affection of whom you may find a refuge in the great hours of life. 13 COMRADES IN COURAGE Our citizens, however, have substituted what they consider a better programme: Work as little as possible because it is fatiguing; on the other hand, demand as high wages as possible because it is good to feel the coins jingling in one's pocket. Spend your money upon yourself alone and, for that reason, have no children. Insist upon your right to live your own life, to seek pleasure always, to loaf and to spoil every- thing, including your work, yourself, your family, and your country. As for duty, don't consider it ! Second, the country people: they are still economical and hard working like their fathers, but with a greed which in them takes the place of every virtue. Unlike true sons of the soil they are incapable of working for the sake of posterity and, for example, never plant trees because the profit to be derived from them is too distant. On the contrary, they cut down those planted by their ancestors in order that their children may have money to spend in the city. They have neither religious faith nor respect for womanhood. They never sit down for a moment of quiet rest at home. They are simply beasts of burden, and if you talk DUTY of duty, these born slaves who voluntarily accept the vilest servitude, will laugh sar- castically and tell you that they are free men and do not want to be bound by moral laws. Of the upper classes, represented to him by his officers, our critic says nothing, but it is easy for me to continue his thought. Aristocrats, bourgeois, people of position, all those that we arbitrarily call the govern- ing class, what is their real value? The majority of the men are pleasure-seekers, elbowing themselves forward in search of some slight advantage, and the women merely dolls. The former gain wealth, it does not matter how, and their compan- ions dissipate it in thin air. When it becomes a question of public good, toward which they should have the most sacred ideas of duty since it concerns everybody, one finds these people either utterly in- different or calculating. It is proverbial that the masses never elevate the wisest to power. With us at times it seems as if they actually chose the least worthy in order to prevent domination. To be sure one gets a servant of the people in this fashion, but it is our country that pays. IS COMRADES IN COURAGE Come, join me in the trenches and then look at these workmen, these country ?eopIe, these middle- and upper-class men. 'here they stand in front of us, gun in hand, half buried in the mud. This time they are doing their duty, and all of them at the same time. What are they thinking about? The war has changed them pro- foundly. It has made good soldiers of them as well as good men. Will the miracle last forever? The adjudant says yes. I do not agree. I do not think that we shall necessarily be better when we return to our homes, but I think we shall be in a condition to become better, that is the important thing. Force has restored to us the right notion of duty. It has not yet definitely established us in the habit of well doing, but it will make us apt to follow if we are shown new ways. The eternal truths will be explained by new masters. Prophets will raise themselves against the preachers of revolution and the doctrines of the sovereign rights of the individual, and this time their voices will be heard. These intellectual leaders of a wiser France exist at present, but they are almost alone in the desert. The war will i6 DUTY have increased the courage and power of those who survive. My vision pierces the walls of this trench shelter in which I sit, and I perceive in the distance the era that is coming, when they will find willing listeners, not only among the intellectual elite — a majority of whom has already been with them for a long time — but even in the hearts of our most distant villagers. It is the same with people as with chil- dren. It does not suffice to show them the right path, it is necessary actually to lead them by the hand. Precepts without the proof of experience are vain. After the harsh trials of this war the lessons of the wise will be understood. We shall have weighed in particular the worth of two words, until now very unjustly valued. Formerly we wrote the word "Duty'' with a capital, but contented ourselves with its abstract contemplation. On the other hand, we claimed an enormous number of rights. The war has taught us to reverse these words. I recognize in "Right" our safe- guard against all, but I see before me each day — each hour — an enormous number of duties. Right and duty, if we are able to neglect 17 COMRADES IN COURAGE reality itself — that is to say human frailties and weaknesses — ^would be deserving of equal honour, for they correspond and link together naturally. But in fact the word "right'' is a dangerous word, full of temptation and injustice when put in the mouths of the masses. Here among us it has been put to flight by the whistle of the shells. Indeed there is no doctrine of social revolution,no fomenter of disorder and trou- ble, which does not find contradiction each day in our trenches. For example : equality, that renowned right of each to be equal to everyone else, the attainment of which is often accomplished only by envy, hatred, and destruction of everything. Here in the field, concerning equality we only know our common wretchedness in meeting death, which unceasingly strikes without regard to rank or worth. If you are jealous of your fellowmen, if you desire to be treated equally with them, come up here to this "fire-trench'' where injustice is unknown, where no one is too proud to seek protection when he hears the whistle of an approaching shell, where the most that anyone can offer is a few inches of mortal flesh to the German i8 DUTY lead. Equality under fire? Surely; but for the rest, each man has a different rank, according to his merit. It is necessary to send out a party for patrol to-night. Who will volunteer? Ten men step for- ward. From that moment these men are the acknowledged superiors of the others in the ranks. Inequality, Respect; two new ideas to our people, but we will accus- tom ourselves to them. In civil life one may obtain almost every privilege by the power of money. Here at the front money is of no value. The prestige of glory has replaced that of gold. Admiration of others, which elevates the soul, has been substituted for envy which degrades it. The divine joys and honours to be gained from the war are proportionate to the degree of individual valour, intelli- gence, physical strength, devotion, and hero- ism. According to your merit you will win these rewards amidst the ungrudging applause of your comrades. The same men who, in the democracy of peace, were at one another's throats, here become comrades in the fray. Loyalty, good humour, and confidence have been reestablished by the brotherhood of arms. Laughter, that splen- 19 COMRADES IN COURAGE did sign of physical and moral health, reigns supreme amidst all the degrees of the regi- mental hierarchy. Hatred subsides, and even religion receives the homage that is its due. It IS as if a magic wand had been used to set everything right. Formerly we were surfeited with sensations, and our chief forces were expended in the pursuit of pleasure. Now the best part of our time is spent in digging ditches, no matter whether it rain or shine, and the sole privi- lege accorded us is that we may choose either a pick which loosens the earth, or a shovel which throws it aside. Previously we needed a thousand comforts, yet now, for so many months that we can hardly remember the number, we have slept with the mice, either upon bare ground or straw. Best of all, we do it with a song upon our lips, and when the hour comes for repose we enjoy triumphant slumbers. In reviving national hatred, the enemy- has united both our living and our dead. Tradition, which formerly was ridiculed, has taken for us a new grandeur and beauty. Republican ministers, who formerly re- membered the history of France no further 20 DUTY back than 1793, since the war, have re- peatedly and solemnly inspired their lis- teners by calling upon such monarchical names as Saint-Louis, Du Guesclin, and Jeanne d'Arc. We used to mock at au- thority, order and discipline, but since the outbreak of the war we have seen that Germany, with the aid of these same in- struments, almost succeeded in defeating us. Now we have the satisfaction that comes from doing our duty. The duty is an evi- dent one and we enjoy the sensation of see- ing our way clearly. In fulfilling our glorious mission we find such joys that we wish to publish them to the winds. What shall we say when we return to our homes after the war? Some will be dis- agreeable boasters. Others will be more modest, but nevertheless will desire that the trials they have borne so valiantly be appreciated at their true value and that no one dispute the character and the beauty of their sacrifice. Inculcated with the supreme value of devotion to their country, they will insist that those about them profess the same cult. They will demand praise, not for themselves, but for the virtues they have practised, and 21 COMRADES IN COURAGE this will make two or three million in- structors in duty in our towns and villages. So all of us who daily look upon the face of Death and school ourselves to regard its redoubtable figure unwinkingly; all of us who survive, will return from the field of honour with the habitude and pride of service. Assuredly duties will not be so simple in time of peace as in time of war. We shall often find them even more difficult on ac- count of their obscurity. We shall be assisted at that time by the wonderful recollections of our days of glory. One does not always adopt heroism with good grace, for it implies not only a passive readiness to accept death, to remain day and night for hionths under its constant menace, but also the active seek- ing of it in moments of dreadful violence, approaching it with a song on the lips, and hailing its coming with exaltation — not for the sake of glory but because it is what one ought to do. After all, it does not matter how much of resignation enters into the spirit of willingness in which one makes the sacrifice. I remember in the month of September, shortly after the Battle of the Marne, a 22 DUTY general came to inspect the regimental aepot of the territorial army in the region where I was stationed. His mission was particularly to examine the officers and to obtain an estimate of their spirit. He had left the battlefield where he had just re- ceived his promotion to his present rank only a few hours earlier. The fumes of powder still lingered about him. He walked down the line of non-commissioned officers on parade in the courtyard and to each put this question: "Do you request to be sent to the front?" " I am ready to go when my turn comes, sir," these warriors invariably replied. "Bah!" said the great chief, "you speak like cowards." This remark roused great feeling among those poor devils. They had not compre- hended the correct sense of duty in the opportunity that was offered them of con- tributing in a more active manner to the national safety. The right to await their turn, that was their idea. Little by little these same men have left their "depot," are serving to-day in the trenches, and con- ducting themselves well. Many times they have gaily endured nameless suffering. 23 COMRADES IN COURAGE They go where they are told, and reflect no farther. It is not absolutely necessary that the law be understood so long as it is recog- nized and obeyed. They are the mass and follow their leaders. Among these leaders I find two types: First, the fiery soldier who is actuated by his love for France. He has an understand- ing of the different degrees of obligation and, no matter how tenderly he cherishes his home, his country comes first. A certain group of characteristics is common to each member of this class. A man of this type always serves the public interest before his own, even when, unlike the present time, the duty is not such an important one. With such a mentality, a man is always a fer- vent student of history and politics. He knows the past of his country and reveres all its glories. He seriously considers its present destiny and the men who are its guardians. When war comes it is a personal affair. I love this type, which is common enough, and it is toward it that by nature I most readily incline. I do not feel that I deserve great merit in doing my duty as a soldier, but if it were not for that wonderful vision of France which sustains and ani- 24 DUTY mates me, I think I should be greatly de- serving of it. When I hear people say that our frontier will be extended to the Rhine, I am filled with a profound joy as if those lost provinces were to be returned to me in person. Inspired by such thoughts it is not difficult to give my soul to my country, and when it shall be necessary I will also give my body. I do not know whether the second type is more rare; at any rate, I find it infinitely attractive. Among my companions there is one who personifies it in a charming manner. You may see him sauntering along the trench in his heavy boots, a tall youth with his coat hanging open and an old military cap perched upon a thick shock of flaxen hair. With his abrupt gestures and boisterous manner you would think him too bad a character ever to have become even a corporal. He meets some of the men; I can't hear what he says to them, but they leave him with a hearty burst of laughter. One of them shouts : "My Lieutenant, you always make us laugh." Yes, he is a lieutenant, this soldier so young, so thin, so merry. He has even 25 COMRADES IN COURAGE commanded his company since that sad day in September, 1914, when his captain was killed. His face is pleasingly frank and with a nose as big as was that of Henry IV, and there is a fine down straggling upon his lip. He blushes like a girl, in spite of a fiery voice. His angers are short-lived; he gesticulates, and his laugh is never- ceasing. He is attending to his country's business here with all his heart, but his eyes are not dazzled like mine by the capti- vating image of France. He sees another more austere to whose cult he devotes his fervour; that of duty. When he left his mother in tears he did not argue about the origin and the consequences of the war, nor was he consoled by the thought of a triumphant revenge; an honest man in all the acts of his life, he was that day honest as usual. The law commanded him to be a soldier; he obeyed and went. The sacrifice was hard, consequently of rare value. Shame to the coward who would attempt to depreciate it. The men who have come among us, more or less willingly, in the end become accus- tomed to think like their chiefs. According to his character, each man chooses one or 26 DUTY the other type as his model. They are benefited, so are we, and all is well. Before the month of August 19 14 I often asked myself whether we should ever ex- perience these noble joys which are so necessary to stimulate mankind. The war has brought them all to us. Behold ! I am able to return to the ban- alities of the present which, as I began this train of thought, made me feel that I was witness to a sacrilege. I can remain care- free even while watching the enemy. I am improving without knowing it and the brave men around me are doing the same. However, should Glory, of whom I ask nothing personally, come some evening of battle to crown one of us with her light, I shall bless the beautiful visitor and ask her to pardon me because to-night in my trench I have preferred, to her radiant face, one graver and less accustomed to the smiles of men : that of duty. 27 COMRADES IN COURAGE II Hhe Excavators COME, Monsieur le territorial^ we must hurry!" It is night, the rain is falling. The commandant brandishes his stick and with it taps the shoulder of a large man who hesitates in front of a ditch. At this stimu- lus the soldier jumps across and tumbles on the other side, face forward in the mud. Awkwardly he picks up his shovel, his woollen muffler, and his blanket. He strug- gles to his feet, takes a step, and is at once lost to sight in the darkness. Another fol- lows and takes the same formidable jump. For ^ long time I have been watching them from the bottom of the hoyau which they are crossing. They are a company of territorials from the south of France, the ''Midi!' To-night they are to make a new system of fortifications in front of our THE EXCAVATORS trenches. Already the patrols are out in front, well forward, to protect the work- ing party. A section of engineers has come to trace out and execute the more technical part, the actual excavation will be done by these old men who are slowly and awk- wardly trying to jump the ditch under the watchful eye of the commandant. Commandant V is a gallant gentle- man and I have no fear that his cane did more than caress the shoulder of that citizen from Beziers. But it is not a moment for gentleness. It is all in the day's work, and the Germans are only a few yards away. It is annoying to have these old men make so much trouble about such a trifle as jumping from one bank of earth to another! But the poor fellows can do no better. Theirs is a hard duty. What can they do in this young men's war.? Renew their youth perhaps. I know some who, in spite of their forty years, have the hearts of ado- lescents. But others come, dragging limbs which are heavy and numb, and with souls that are fast asleep. Before the war they were living among their vineyards in distant sunlit provinces. Here is one, for example, 29 COMRADES IN COURAGE who kept a shop and who was comfortably growing prosperous. Here is another who was a man of reputation in his village and who won renown by his skilful play at manille* Now they spend their nights in the mud and their hours of repose on the straw behind the lines. Their work, like that of criminals, commences only when the night has fallen and they never labour by light of day. No more golden wine in tinkling glasses; they now take their liquor at one gulp, shudder, and talk of something else. For tools they have their choice between shovel and pick. To be sure, each one has his gun, but for months it has been of use only as an extra burden upon his back. To-night I cannot help pitying them a little. The rain is falling in torrents; one can hardly see two paces ahead. I have been able to see their attitudes — funny or pitiful — only because from below the muggy sky forms a background. But the picture changes, the last terri- torial has crossed the opening, and I see above me two shadows of a different type. They are the officers wrapped in their *Manille is a game played with cards. 30 THE EXCAVATORS waterproofs. I recognize the Commandant by his erect figure, his brusque utterance, and his precise gestures. He is speaking in a low tone, but his voice has lost none of its warmth: *'Mon petity do your work quickly, but do it well ; and don't forget that I shall be interested in watching you." I cannot recognize the other, but he seems very young. Suddenly a German star shell shoots up and bursts into light. Doubtless the men exposed in the open have thrown themselves flat on the ground for conceal- ment, but these officers absorbed in their conversation remain standing. I distin- guish the features of the second man. His face is thin and clean shaven. Glasses surmount a small, straight nose with smiling lips beneath. Frankness and intelligence are written on his forehead and energy at the point of his chin. At the sight of this graceful figure I forget for an instant the war and its miseries. I can picture this youth at the annual ball of the Polytechnique^ extending the courtesies of the school to some pretty Parisienne in exactly the same graceful manner as that with which he now converses with his COMRADES IN COURAGE chief. As an officer of engineers it is his duty to go out in the open in front of our lines and at the risk of his life, to super- vise this work. He is bearing two grave responsibilities which disquiet him much more than the thought of his personal danger: first, the execution of his task and, secondly, the safeguarding of the lives of all those older men. In speaking of this young officer of whose fate I am ignorant I would like to mention the admiration that we soldiers of the in- fantry feel for our comrades of the engi- neers. They form a magnificent branch of the army service; their work is always for others and is accomplished often at the cost of suffering and terrific loss without the re- deeming feature of the ability to fight back. They die while bridging a stream that the infantry may push forward in the direc- tion of glory. We boast of being at the front, but they carry the war even in ad- vance of the front. It is useless to classify merit for every man here is doing his best, but these engineer-soldiers are wonderful examples of fearlessness. Their entire army of carpenters, locksmiths, mechanicians, and wheelwrights exercises its various crafts 3^ THE EXCAVATORS under fire with admirable deliberation. I would also like that a part of the nation's gratitude should go to those good territorials who, although the post was not one of their seeking, have certainly become the faithful auxiliaries of the engineers. Trench warfare has condemned us all to the work of digging. We are the foremen of labour gangs and our soldiers merely labour- ers. Still, we of the active branches of the service have the joy of guarding our pits as soldiers, once these pits are completed. On the other hand, the territorials dig trenches and go away. In the early days of the war entire regiments of the territorial army were employed in the burial of the dead — men and horses. Now they dig ditches for the living. Is it any more pleasant? To-night they are really having their troubles. It is humiliating to be required to run and jump, fall quickly on one's stomach, and get up without showing one's stiffness when a man is beginning to feel his advanc- ing years. To dig a ditch is one thing, but to get out of it with agility is another. The eyes of these men are no longer like those of boys of twenty, nor are their hearts like those of the youngsters of the class of "15" who 33 COMRADES IN COURAGE despise death. On such an inky night as this they are uneasy. Where are the Boches ? Are they not Hkely to shoot from such close range? The more youthful soldiers who are doing guard duty guess at their anxieties and have a little sport at their expense: "'You know, old man, this is a pretty dangerous spot!" "Are they near?" "Who?" "The Boches." "Don't worry about the Boches, they are at least thirty metres from here." "Thirty metres! Impossible!" The old man is horrified, but all the same a secret pride takes possession of him. When he goes back home he will be able to say that he has worked within thirty metres of the Germans. Half trembling and half content, he resumes his digging and wallowing in the mud. As for my men and me, we certainly did not come to fight with shovels, but we have gaily accepted our unexpected destiny. We are in love with duty; we welcome it, no matter what form it takes. One is surprised, however, to find how 34 THE EXCAVATORS much joy one gets in digging a really good trench. I will tell you about one, a master- piece, of which we were truly proud. I will try to be modest but without promising to succeed. We were ordered to trace in front of the trench which my section occupied, a gallery one hundred and fifty metres in length, extending from our line straight toward the Boches. What is it for? That was a mys- tery. Two days later we were to learn that it was the route for an attack. That evening my mind was obsessed with one idea : to ad- vance a trench one hundred and fifty metres in a perfectly straight line. The words "perfectly straight'' amazed me. I ran to the telephone: "Hello! Commandant, must the line be perfectly straight?" "Yes, absolutely. Hurry, for you must finish in two nights." We had, at this point, a completed section of trench forty metres long leading forward to a listening post. After a consultation with my officers we decided to utilize this and extend it one hundred and ten metres farther. We climbed out of the trench and started off toward the German line, 35 COMRADES IN COURAGE counting the paces. We experienced an emotion different from those we usually feel when out on skirmishing or patrol duty. At such a time a man is waging war, he can use prudence or aggression, can reconnoitre and retreat. This night we were going out into the unknown much as Christopher Columbus went toward America. Only a few days earlier our trenches had been pushed forward and we did not as yet have definite information as to the distance separating us from the enemy. We had the feeling that we might, at any moment, run into his barbed-wire entanglements. As we advanced, I posted my two com- panions at different points to make my return easier, and I counted off the last forty paces alone. I had a curious feeling. There was absolutely no noise, and the dark- ness was so complete that I could not even tell where to place my feet. Suppose the Germans had heard us and prepared an ambuscade! I might run against them or actually tread upon their bodies! When at last I had measured what seemed to me to be the hundred and ten paces, I added two more, either for the sake of my conscience or purely in bravado — I do not 36 THE EXCAVATORS know which — and stuck my cane into the ground. From that moment this was conquered ground. To win it, it had been necessary to master an emotion. All of us would now be able to walk along this line without a thought of danger. That danger still ex- isted, still was great, but no longer would we be conscious of it. But how were we to make our line straight .? You would doubtless say: Stretch a cord and follow it. The problem, however, was not so simple. Forty metres of our line were already traced and dug. If my cord commenced at the end of this completed portion I would have two straight elements, but they would almost certainly be angu- lated at their junction. You would then perhaps tell me to start my cord near the beginning of the completed trench. Wise words, but my cord was too short ! I had never studied surveying but had often seen the red-and-white stakes used in that work. Surveyors place two stakes in the desired direction and then project a third one by sighting over the two already placed. A long line may be made quite as straight in this manner as with the best-stretched cord. 37 COMRADES IN COURAGE I had no stakes, but I had men who might be substituted for them. My eye could not pierce no metres of the inky darkness, but I was able to see two paces ahead. I therefore posted some men two paces apart and in a line which pointed in the right direction. By lying down and looking up- ward, with the sky as a background, I could see a part of the line which their motionless figures made. When this was absolutely straight, two men ran along to the right and left of the file and marked the two sides of the trench. In this way the line was com- pleted, and the work of excavation begun. It is in times like these that one gets an insight into the characters of the men. For the most advanced positions we called for volunteers. These were the best workers. Farther back one found the slackers who were continually resting with their arms crossed on the handles of their spades. Those who were afraid showed it by commencing to dig furiously the moment they had reached their assigned position in order to make a hole to shelter themselves. Once protected, their ardour slackened visibly, for they knew that when they had finished their portion they would be asked to recommence 38 THE EXCAVATORS farther forward and thus expose their precious skin anew. Finally there were the talkative ones whom even proximity to the Germans could not repress : "My old woman would have a fright if she could see me here!" " Keep quiet." "What's the matter? You don't think I am afraid of the Boches, do you?" "Shut up, I tell you." "It would take more than them to scare me." It is no use trying to stop that good fellow. He says something, spits on his hands, says something more, and so on. Little by little, while he chatters and works, the trench takes shape, deepens, and is finished. Let them send up as many illu- minating rockets as they please, we no longer have to bend forward to conceal ourselves and the trick is won. At 2 A. M. I sent my men off to lie down, but I remained waiting for daybreak. I wished to know whether my line was straight. I found one of my sergeants had also remained and was busily examining the trench. "Why did you stay?" I asked him. 39 COMRADES IN COURAGE *'For no special reason." "Did you want to see whether the trench was straight?" '* Perhaps, sir." He was a big youth of the tenacious type. He had been working on this trench in the same way in which he makes aluminium rings from the fuse caps of German shells. He works at them with all his heart and never lets up until they are finished and a credit to him. When at last the day came I tasted one of the purest joys of my life. Each of us, in turn, sighted from the entrance of the boyau and found that we could see from one extremity to the other without moving and that a bullet fired from a rifle would go through from end to end. Five minutes later I was dreaming like a king upon my straw. The war has given us simple tastes and rendered our ambitions modest by bridging over many centuries and taking us back to the age of the cave-dwellers. With the hardest of heart-breaking work we have had to defend our trenches and shelters, not only against the attacks of man, but also against the violence of Nature. We have borne it all without a thought of 40 THE EXCAVATORS despair and almost without complaint. We shall cease to endure only if, after the war, pseudo philosophers again begin teach- ing lazy people to regard pleasure and luxury as their supreme goal. If we gave the right to live and the right to happiness to a new generation composed only of idlers, we should be insulting our dead and our own past sufferings. In the middle of December, 1914, it was not a question of our rights. Only a few days earlier, after a severe bombardment, the Germans had taken us by surprise and destroyed a part of our trenches. We promptly chased them out again and were awaiting a second attack when a new enemy appeared in the form of rain. I remember the night-watch in the offi- cers' post. The captain was sleeping on the ground on a bundle of damp straw. At his feet lay his orderly, Joseph. He was a perfect type of faithful servant and always slept thus with his head pillowed on his master's legs. They were snoring peacefully, a shapeless heap over which we tried not to stumble. Reclining on some empty sacks was the guard, telling stories of his own part of the country to a scoffing 41 COMRADES IN COURAGE lad who was fastening some tent canvas to the ceiHng to prevent a leak. Another lieutenant and I were seated upon the same plank. The rain was beating down vio- lently outside, while inside the cold water was dripping treacherously down upon our backs. Six men in all, we filled this wretched hole so completely that a mouse scarcely could have passed between us. For two hours it had been raining. It was my duty and that of my friend to go alternately to the trench. In those days we did not enjoy the luxury of waterproofs, nor did we have pocket-lamps. We had gone to war without thinking of such things. When my turn came I went to chat a little with the lookouts. I found them drenched to the skin. Since that time we have undergone both longer and stronger rains, but never have we seen so much water. From midnight to midnight, for twenty-four whole hours, we had to watch the caving in of the ground about us, and finally the destruction of our trenches. In order to escape, for a moment, from the mud — in which we sank to our ankles and in certain spots up to our knees — I climbed up onto the field behind the line and tried to clean 42 THE EXCAVATORS my clogged shoes in the damp grass. The day before a large pit had been dug there, in which we had intended to instal our Headquarters staff. It had not been covered and I wanted to see what remained of it. I climbed down and found it full of water save for an elevation in one corner intended to serve as a bed. I was sitting sadly upon an old box when, suddenly, I felt a warm breath on my cheek. A great black shape had emerged from the shadows. It proved to be a large, silent dog, soaked through and through, who thrust his muzzle in my ear. He was very unhappy, but no more than I. When I petted him, it was like touching a wet sponge in a bucket of tepid water. I moved away; he followed me. Never have I been more impressed than by the precautions that animal took to keep from making any noise. There are dogs who bay at the moon and howl at death. The throat of this one must have been choked by the universal mourning. He went down with me into the trench where I heard him splashing in the water behind me and panting mournfully. I managed to per- suade him to curl up against Joseph, but in 43 COMRADES IN COURAGE the morning I was told that he had disap- peared Hke a ghost. I heard of the fate of our shelter and of its inhabitants the next day from someone else. My friend and I, in the meantime, were busily occupied with the men. We felt we could set them a good example, even if we were powerless to help in any other way. We learned, however, that at four o'clock in the morning the roof of our post had caved in on top of the captain. The poor man, who was already old, had managed after much difficulty to reach the shelter of a non- commissioned officer. He was sent to the rear some days later. As for the faithful Joseph, he had remained to watch the sup- plies all that day and night resolving, partly from devotion, partly from fear, to die in that swamp rather than to cross the surrounding quagmire which the evening before we had so proudly called *7^ boyau de commandement;'* '^le poste des agents de liaisons;'^ "/