Of a sudden a hurricane of fire broke on us from Sapignies. It was clear that this unbroken roll, this even and regular roaring and stamping, betokened more than a defensive measure against so poorly staged an attack as ours. Above me I could see beneath his helmet Schrader’s strong face, as like a machine he loaded and fired, loaded and fired. A conversation arose between us that recalled the tower scene of the Maid of Orleans. Humorous as it was, it was all the same hardly in my mood, for I had the clear consciousness that I was done.
Above rose a cry of horror and ran from mouth to mouth: “They’re through on the left! We’re surrounded!”
This gave me back my old strength again. I fastened upon a hole that a mole had bored in the trench wall and pulled myself to my feet, while the blood poured from my mouth. With bare head and open coat I stared, revolver in hand, into the fight.
Through whitish swathes of smoke a row of men with packs came on in a straight line. Some fell and lay there, others turned head over heels like shot hares. A hundred metres in front of us the last were sucked down into the shell-pocked earth. They must have been young troops, still unacquainted with the effects of the modern rifle, for they came on with all the hardihood of ignorance.
As though drawn by strings, four tanks crept over the crest of a rise. In a few minutes our artillery had trodden them into the ground. One broke across like a tin engine. On my right the brave Mohrmann collapsed with a cry of death.
It did not seem that all was lost. I whispered to Fähnrich Wilsky to creep to the left and enfilade the gap in our line. He came back almost at once and announced that twenty metres from us the show was up and all were surrendering. It was part of the 99th Regiment there (Zabern). I turned round and saw a strange sight. From the rear there were men coming forward with their hands up. The enemy must already have taken the village from which we went to the attack.
The scene became more and more lively. We were surrounded by a circle of Germans and English and called upon to throw down our weapons. I urged those nearest me in a weak voice to fight it out to the death. Friend and foe were fired on alike. Some who surrounded our little band were shouting, some were dumb. On the left two gigantic Englishmen were using their bayonets in a length of trench from which hands were held up imploring mercy.
Among us, too, there was heard a tumult of voices. “It’s all up! Throw away your rifle! Don’t shoot, Kameraden!”
I looked at the two officers who were with me in the trench. They smiled back and with a shrug let their belts fall to the ground.
There was left only the choice of being taken or being shot. And now the moment had come to show whether all that I had often said to the men when on rest about the fighting spirit was more than empty phrases. I crawled out of the trench and staggered off in the direction of Favreuil. Two Englishmen who were taking a haul of prisoners of the 99th Regiment to their own lines barred my way. I shot the nearest one in the middle of the body with my revolver. He collapsed like a dummy figure. The other blazed his rifle at me and missed. These quick movements caused the blood to be driven clear of the lung in deep pulsations. I could breathe more freely, and set off at a run over the open beside the trench. Lieutenant Schläger was crouching behind a traverse with a section who were still firing. They joined forces with me. Some English who were going over the open stopped to get a Lewis gun in position and began shooting at us. Except for me, Schläger, and two others, not one escaped. Schläger, who had lost his pince-nez, told me afterwards that he saw nothing but my map-case flying up and down. The continuous loss of blood gave me the lightness and airiness of intoxication. One thing only bothered me—that I might collapse too soon. …
At last we reached a half-moon-shaped earthwork to the right of Favreuil whence half a dozen heavy machine-guns were pumping lead on friend and foe without distinction. Enemy shots were spluttering against the parapet; men danced to and fro in the greatest excitement. A N.C.O. of the Medical Corps attached to the 6th Company tore off my tunic and advised me to lie down at once, as otherwise I might bleed to death in a very few minutes.
I was rolled in a groundsheet and carried past the outskirts of Favreuil. Some men of my own and the 6th Company went with me.
After a few hundred paces we were fired on from the village at close range. The shots went with a smack into the human bodies. The stretcher-bearer of the 6th Company who carried the rear end of my groundsheet was laid out with a bullet through the head; I was dropped as he fell.
The small detachment had thrown themselves flat on the ground and now crept to the nearest hollow, with bullets dropping into the ground all round them.
I lay by myself, firmly secured in my groundsheet, awaiting the coup de grâce.
And yet, so long as a man of my company lived, I was not quite forsaken. Near by I heard Lance-corporal Hengstmann’s voice: “I’ll take you on my back, sir. Either we’ll get through or, at worst, we’ll lie where we fall.”
Unfortunately, we did not get through. Too many rifles were aimed at us at almost point-blank range. He took me on his back with my arms round his neck, but before we had
