And, when night had come and he had lain down to sleep upon the earth, wrapped in his blanket by the side of his comrades, who were snoring, he thought long of his home, left behind him in Germany, and of the dangers sown all along the route. “If I should be killed what would become of the little ones?” he thought. “Who would feed them and bring them up?” At that very moment they were not rich, in spite of the debts he had contracted before he started, in order to leave them a little money. And sometimes Walter Schnaffs wept.
At the beginning of a battle he felt his knees growing so weak that he would have fallen had he not known that the whole army would pass over his body. The whistling of the bullets made his hair stand on end. For some months he lived thus, in terror and in anguish.
His army corps was advancing toward Normandy. One day he was sent out to reconnoitre with a small detachment which was simply to explore a part of the country and report immediately. All seemed calm in the country; nothing indicated a prepared resistance.
The Prussians were descending quietly into a little valley divided by deep ravines, when a violent fusillade stopped them short, laying low one in twenty of their men; and a company of sharpshooters, coming out suddenly from a little wood, plunged forward with their bayonets fixed.
Walter Schnaffs remained motionless at first, so surprised and dismayed that he did not even think of fleeing. Then a foolish desire to run away seized him; but he thought immediately that he could run only like a tortoise in comparison with the thin Frenchmen, who were coming on in leaps and bounds, like a troop of goats. Then, perceiving but six steps before him a large ditch full of brushwood covered with dead leaves, he jumped in with both feet, without even thinking how deep it was, as one might jump from a bridge into a river. He went like a dart, through a thick layer of creepers and sharp twigs, which tore his face and hands as he fell, and found himself seated heavily on a bed of stones. Raising his eyes, he could see the sky through the hole that he had made. This hole might lead to his discovery, and he dragged himself along cautiously, on all fours, at the bottom of this ditch, under a roof of enlaced branches, going with all speed possible as far as he could from the combat. Then he stopped and seated himself, crouching like a hare in the midst of the tall dry grass.
For some time longer he heard the reports of the guns and the cries of the wounded, then the clamour of the struggle grew feebler and finally ceased. All became still and calm.
Suddenly something moved near him. He had a fearful shock. It was a little bird, which, standing upon a branch, had shaken the dry leaves. For nearly an hour, the man’s heart beat with heavy, rapid strokes.
Night came on, filling the ravine with shadows. The soldier began to think. What was he going to do? What would become of him? Should he rejoin his regiment? But how? But how? And where? Was it necessary to begin over again the life of anguish, of fear, of fatigue and suffering that he had led since the beginning of the war? No! He would never have the courage. He would never have the energy necessary to support the marches and confront the dangers of each minute.
But what was to be done? He could not remain in this ravine and conceal himself there until the end of hostilities. Certainly not. If he were not obliged to eat, this prospect might not have deterred him; but he must eat and eat every day.
Thus he found himself alone, under arms, in uniform, in the enemy’s territory, far from those able to defend him. Cold shivers ran through his body. Suddenly he thought: “If only I were a prisoner!” And his heart trembled with the desire, a violent, immoderate desire to be made prisoner by the French. He would be safely lodged and fed, under shelter from bullets and swords, without possible apprehension, in a good prison well guarded. A prisoner! What a dream!
His resolution was made immediately: “I will go and give myself up as a prisoner.” He got up resolved to execute his project without a minute’s delay. But he remained there, suddenly assailed by cowardly reflections and new fears.
Where should he go to give himself up? And how? On which side? And frightful images of death invaded his soul. He might run some terrible dangers in venturing out alone through the country in his metal-pointed helmet. If he should meet some country people? These peasants, seeing a Prussian soldier lost, a defenceless Prussian, would kill him like a stray dog! They would murder him, with their forks, their pickaxes, their scythes, their shovels! They would reduce him to pulp and make mincemeat of him with the savagery of exasperated conquerors.
And if he should meet some sharpshooters? These madmen, without law or discipline, would shoot him to amuse themselves, to pass away an hour, for the fun of seeing his face. And he could already imagine himself against a
