I had to, little as I liked it, in order to take my part in putting the outpost in fighting trim. I got the men together in a row of shallow firing positions on the edge of the wood; but I confess I was thankful when the day dawned without further incident.
On such occasions I was always surprised and touched by the trusting reliance of the men on the ability of the officer to cope with the situation. “Where shall we go, sir?” “Help, sir, I’m wounded!” “Where’s the officer?”
To be in command at such moments and to have a clear head is its own supreme reward, just as cowardice is its own punishment. I have always pitied the coward, in whom battle arouses a series of hellish tortures, while the spirit of the brave man merely rises the higher to meet a chain of exciting experiences.
The next night found us at the same spot. Our object was to recover our machine-gun. However, a succession of suspicious noises as we crept on warned us that once more there must be a strong detachment on the watch for us.
It was decided, therefore, in accordance with a point of honour which like many others in the war made us inwardly curse, to recover the lost weapon by force. At twelve midnight, after three minutes’ artillery preparation, we were to attack the enemy posts and look for the gun.
I put the best face I could on the sorry business, and in the afternoon I shot some ranging shots with some of the batteries.
At eleven at night I was once more with Schultz, my companion in misfortune, on the uncanny bit of ground where I had already passed so many exciting moments. The smell of corruption was scarcely endurable in the sultry air. We sprinkled the bodies with quicklime that we had brought with us in sacks. The covering of white shone out like grave-clothes in the darkness.
The enterprise opened with our own machine-gun fire whistling between our legs and pattering against the bank. On this account Schultz and I had a violent altercation, for he himself had given the machine-gunners their range. We were reconciled, however, when Schultz discovered me behind a bush in close confabulation with a bottle of Burgundy that I had brought with me to invigorate me for the precarious adventure and to calm my nerves, which had been on the stretch for nine days past.
The first shell came along to the minute and landed fifty metres behind us. Before we could express our surprise at this extraordinary shooting, a second was planted close behind us on the bank and showered us with earth. It was not for me even to emit a curse, for I had myself given the range for the guns.
After this cheerful opening we advanced more as a matter of honour than with any great hopes of success. Luckily, the enemy posts had apparently retired. Otherwise we might have had a very unpleasant reception. Unfortunately, we did not find the machine-gun, nor did we search for it very long.
On the way back Schultz and I once more told each other what we really thought—I about the way he had directed his machine-gun fire, and he about the shooting of the guns. I had tested the range so accurately that the affair seemed incomprehensible. Later I learned that guns always shoot short at night, and that I ought to have added a few hundred metres when I gave the range. Then we sat down to the most important part of the business—the report. We did so well that everyone was delighted.
These skirmishings came to an end the next day, for we were relieved by another division.
We went back to Montbréhain for a time, and marched from there to Cambrai, where we spent nearly the whole of July.
The outpost was finally lost on the night following our relief.
Langemarck
Cambrai is a quiet, sleepy little town whose name calls up many historical associations. The narrow, old-world streets twist about round the mighty town-hall, the weathered gates, and the many churches. Ponderous towers rear themselves from a maze of gables. Broad avenues lead to the park, which is adorned by a monument to the aviator Blériot.
The inhabitants are peaceful, friendly folk who lead a comfortable bourgeois life in the large houses which are simple to look at but richly furnished. Many retired people settle here. The town is rightly called “la ville des millionaires,” for there were over forty millionaires there just before the war.
The war broke its enchanted sleep with brutal suddenness and turned it into a focus of mighty battles. A new life hurried and rattled over its unevenly paved streets and clattered against the little windows where anxious faces were on the watch. Foreigners drank the treasured cellars dry, flung themselves on the great mahogany beds, and upset the contemplative civilians with something fresh every day. Now in their changed surroundings they could do no more than collect at corners or in doorways and hold whispered consultations over the latest fairytales of an eyewitness and the most certain news of the final and speedy victory of their fellow-countrymen.
The men lived in barracks and the officers in the Rue des Liniers. While we were there this street had the appearance of a students’ quarter. Conversation carried on from one window to another, nightly singsongs, and little romantic adventures were the order of the day.
We went every morning for training to the great square near the village of Fontaine, which was later to become famous. My job was a very interesting one, for Colonel von Oppen had entrusted me with the training of the storm troop.
My billet was extremely comfortable. It was in the house of a jeweller named Plancot-Bourlon, and he and his wife were both very friendly. They seldom allowed my midday meal to
