Tuesday, 6th October.

The commander of the company announces that the regiment is to take the first line, to relieve the English in the trenches of Bucy-le-Long. We set off gaily at seven in the evening, after taking an affectionate leave of Girard.

Out in the open, the order comes to fling away our cigarettes. Things are becoming serious. We pass through the suburbs of Soissons; the cathedral appears dimly in the moonlight. At the corner of a street lies a dead horse. All along the main road are the bivouacs of Alpine troops. Vénizel. Here the English are guarding a level-crossing; strapping fellows in khaki, who smoke pipes and shout "Good-night!" to us. Then a bridge, the crossing of the Aisne, an open plain, a village, a steep hill, a wood as dark as Hades. In spite of the cold wind we are perspiring freely. It is nearly midnight. We reach a sort of semi-circle dotted with sheds or huts made of the branches of trees. The Germans, it appears, are six hundred yards distant. Not a shot is fired. The night is very clear.
 
The company halts, and the men immediately lie down flat, with rifles ready, awaiting orders.

Roberty calls for two volunteers from each squadron to go on post duty. Reymond and I stand up, and Belin goes with us. The English officer, who appoints us our places, looks very elegant in his cloak, which falls behind in broad folds; he leans on a large stick, walks briskly, and gives his orders and directions with the utmost courtesy and consideration.

Several hundred yards forward, in the direction of the enemy. Here is the post line; every two hundred yards a group of six English soldiers is lying flat on the ground amongst the beetroots, alongside of the road. They stand erect and we take their places. We admire these fine-looking soldiers, so well-equipped and under perfect discipline. In a low tone of voice the officer gives the order to fire upon everything that passes before us.

Yesterday the English captured a German patrol.

To take post duty at night, in an unfamiliar sector, is a novel experience. For the first time you have the impression that you are waging war: war such as your imagination depicted it, war according to the story-books of your boyhood.

Corporal Belin explains that we must be careful not to take the waving of a beetroot leaf for the advance of an enemy.

Every two minutes he counts off: one! and each man must answer in file: two, three, four, five, six.

[Pg 106]

Thus he makes sure that no one is asleep. The prolonged whistle of the bullets as they pass makes us open our eyes. We can hear dull sounds in front of us: the Germans are camping, cutting down trees. A dog barks. Carts rumble along: the German supplies, no doubt. The roar of cannon in the distance.

It is bitterly cold. Hoar-frost shows itself on our coats and on the beetroots. My jacket is in my haversack: I take it out and tie it round my neck by the sleeves. Impossible to keep warm.

Reymond passes me a small bottle.

"Taste. This must be something especially good; it comes from home."

I take a good drink.

"Gracious! How strong it is! And what a strange taste!"

It is Reymond\'s turn to drink, he smacks his lips and reflects. Finally he says—

"I believe it\'s arnica."

We do our best to keep awake. Belin counts: One! I answer: Two, and a snore escapes me. A dig in the ribs brings me back to the reality of things.

"Well! Didn\'t I say: \'Two\'?"

"You did," whispers Belin ironically; "but you said it with a snore."

"Even if I snore, I don\'t fall asleep."

"That\'s news to me," affirms Belin with all the authority of his nine years\' campaigns.

The better to keep awake, we begin to talk. Reymond asks a question.

[Pg 107]

"I say, Belin, this is a real outpost, is it not?"

"Certainly."

"In case of attack, what becomes of the outposts?"

"In case of attack, the outposts are invariably sacrificed," answers Belin with calm assurance.

Wednesday, 7th October.

At five o\'clock Belin takes us back to the rear. We are dreadfully cold and our teeth are chattering. A good drink of hot coffee, followed by a mouthful of brandy, and we fall asleep.

The position dominating Bucy-le-Long and the plain of Vénizel was carried last month by the English and a body of Zouaves. They drove the Germans from the valley back to the heights and only halted on reaching a plain which extends to the horizon, a vast field of beetroots cut by the main road between Maubeuge and Paris.

The English trenches lay between the hill and the wood. Here and there are large shelters for seven or eight men, a sort of rabbit-hutch; the roofs, made of the trunk\'s of trees, are covered with a thick layer of earth.

In front of the road, pickets planted in the field in quincunx form and connected together by wire.

Here and there on the wires hang empty preserve tins, which strike against each other at the slightest movement. If a hostile patrol reaches the wire-work, it starts the warning tins, and the alarm is given. This system of defence we look upon as both formidable and ingenious.

[Pg 108]

Everywhere we find evidences of English comfort: the road leading to the verge of the wood is swept and kept in perfect order; the descending footpaths are improved with wooden stairs and balustrades, signposts indicate the direction of the village, of lavatories, etc. On the slope of the hill are numerous sheds made of boughs, for the men of the reserve company. Half-way up is a wash-house, surrounded by flat stones and shaded by oaks. The English have brought spring water, emptying it into large wooden buckets, so that it is possible to have a bath whenever one pleases.

We explore this negro "exhibition" sort of village. The enemy is a few hundred yards distant, though nothing makes us anticipate an attack. A dead calm, magnificent weather, a soft light gilding the oaks, beeches and the birch-trees now reddening with the autumn tints.

Our allies and predecessors have left behind quantities of provisions, tins of corned beef, gallons of whisky and cigarettes. The discovery of such wealth fills us with childish joy. Decidedly the first line is an abode of delight, a peaceful haven of rest.

The shelters assigned to Roberty\'s section are large and substantial, if not very airy. You enter on all-fours through an opening less than thirty inches square. This opening serves both as door and window; it is closed by a screen made of leafy twigs.

"I believe we\'ve struck the vein," says some[Pg 109] one, signifying that we have found a veritable mine of prosperity and happiness.

Guard duty is not very tiring: a couple of hours by day, and the same number by night.

Thursday, 8th October.

The very last thing we expected was a holiday. Nothing to do but sleep and dream, rise late, prattle to one another and write letters. We lounge about, chatting with the cooks who have lit their fires in some secluded glade; or else, lying smoking on the grass, gaze upon the smiling village. In the background, at the other end of the valley, hills ascending into the grey-blue of the sky. The landscape somewhat commonplace; though charming, there is nothing theatrical about it.

It is so mild that I take a tub in the open air. To crown our happiness, the postman brings us a number of letters and parcels.

The German shells pass high above our heads and come crashing down all over Bucy.

Even night sentry duty is a pleasure, consisting as it does of a stroll along the road, with some one to talk to all the while. This is the only time in the day when one can chat at one\'s ease, talk of Paris and one\'s family, exchange ideas which have no bearing on the next meal or the state of one\'s stomach. Our safety is assured by the outposts. A glorious moonlight night, the peace of which is but emphasized by the firing of the sentries.

[Pg 110]

Friday, 9th October.

We have not yet received our coverings; the consequence being that we awake with frozen limbs. This morning, the country is white with hoar-frost. Belin makes us chocolate in the morning, a rice pudding at noon, and tea at four. Considerable freedom is allowed in the composition of the meals, which last three hours. At lunch we begin with sardines and eggs, followed by apple marmalade. Then Jules arrives from Bucy, bringing with him a roasted fowl, every morsel of which we eat. Lastly, the cooks of the squadron bring soup and coffee.

War is full of unexpected incidents: a month of the second line had utterly exhausted us; whereas the close proximity of the enemy now gives us the impression of a picnic.... All the same, one of the outpost men has just been killed.

At ten in the evening, the 352nd is relieved and leaves the first line for a three days\' rest in the rear. We are broken-hearted at the prospect.

The battalion is quartered at Acy-le-Haut, on the left bank of the Aisne.

Saturday, 10th; Sunday, 11th; and Monday, 12th October.

Jules has found for Roberty, Maxence, Reymond, Verrier and myself, a house where the mistress consents to cook for us and lend us mattresses. Varlet, who is to remain at the official quarters in his capacity as cook, promises to warn us in case of alarm. Our landlady looks after us like a mother; for lunch she serves us with roast veal,[Pg 111] and for dinner with beef stewed in daube. These we shall look back upon amongst our souvenirs of the war....

On Sunday morning, Gabriel, a sergeant of the 21st, former quartermaster of the 27th at Humes, was killed at drill! Whilst rectifying the position of one of his men, he shook the rifle which was still loaded. The shot went off without the trigger, which was very loose, being touched. The poor fellow received the bullet full in the mouth.

The interment takes place in the afternoon. The coffin is carried through the streets of Acy. All the women of the village have brought flowers. Behind the body walks Belin, holding up the cross, his Moroccan and Algerian medals on his breast. Gabriel was head of the section: his men follow with hastily prepared wreaths. The 21st company renders the usual funeral honours.

Absolution is pronounced in the church. The windows are broken to pieces; their debris still hang from the bays.

The silence is profound. Gabriel was much loved and willingly obeyed. This very week he was to have been appointed sub-lieutenant. Nothing is more heart-breaking than to die by accident in war.

On Monday evening we return to the trenches. There is a rumour that the Germans have taken Antwerp.

Tuesday, 13th October.

When it rains, the first line loses its charm. The whole day must be spent lying flat on the[Pg 112] ground, for the ceiling of the dug-out is too low to allow of a sitting posture. In wet weather the hours spent on sentry duty pass very slowly.

This evening, at seven, whilst quietly chattering away by lantern-light, firing is heard on the left. We look at one another. The firing draws nearer.

Roberty orders us to pick up our rifles. We are soon running along the road, slightly crouching forward, for the bullets strike branches of trees on a level with our heads.

We rejoin the rest of the section and take aim. Belin hesitates before ordering us to fire.

"Wait until we see the lights of the enemy\'s fire."

But no light appears, and after half an hour the firing inexplicably ceases. We return. At midnight another alarm, as incomprehensible as the former. Three or four men are wounded. The utmost calm throughout the rest of the night.

Wednesday, 14th; Thursday, 15th; Friday, 16th; Saturday, 17th October.

We are evidently carrying on a siege war, though of course no one expected that it would be a ride over. Apart from the four hours\' sentry duty, we have nothing to do. Jules continues to go backwards and forwards between the trenches and Bucy for supplies. The fire for our own private cooking is not allowed to die out.

Last night Reymond and myself were up from one till three. A terrible artillery duel was being[Pg 113] fought in the right sector, towards Vailly. The sky was streaked with great flashes of light. No firing on our side.

We are sitting close to our dug-out, discussing Wagner, rifle in hand. The conversation, which began on a low key, quickly grows animated, and the hum of our voices goes out upon the night air. Suddenly the leafy screen, which serves as a door, divides, and Roberty appears on all-fours. His head is enveloped in a passe-montagne and the little we see of his face expresses annoyance and irritation.

"Aren\'t you two going to hold your tongues?"

"Well, we are only having a word or two. Cannot one talk in war-time?"

"You\'ve been preventing me from sleeping the last quarter of an hour, with your intellectual...."

"Intellectual, indeed! Didn\'t you go to the Ecole Normale as a boy?"

"You\'re a couple of idiots. If I hear another word, you must take the consequences."

He disappears into his kennel. We resume our conversation, though almost in a whisper.

Sunday, 18th October.

The regiment quarters on the other bank of the Aisne, at Billy. Jules has gone on in advance with some of the men, to make preparations. He finds a suitable house. We take advantage of the darkness to slip away without a sound, after telling the rest of the squadron where to find us in case of alarm. The house is comfortable, and[Pg 114] there are beds in it. Roberty, feeling unwell, rests on one of them.

Monday, 19th October.

What an extraordinary war! We have had nothing to do for three weeks!

To-day: more "labour" to ensure bodily cleanliness.

At night we loiter slipshod about the house and try to read. We are bored to death.

Tuesday, 20th; Wednesday, 21st; Thursday, 22nd; Friday, 23rd October.

The same monotonous idle life in quarters. A couple of hours\' exercise in the morning. Review in the afternoon: hair review, for instance. Before the men, bare-headed and standing at attention, passes the lieutenant, who judges whether or not each individual\'s hair is of the regulation length. With certain dishevelled shocks facing him, he makes a gesture indicative of despair, as though he would conjure them away. The barber follows, note-book in hand, jotting down the names of those who are to pass through his hands.

What is the reason of this aversion for the clipper? And why does the soldier insist on being long-haired? Is it because the ancient Gauls were long-haired? Anyhow, there is an eternal struggle between the officers, solicitous of the men\'s health, and the poilus, who think more of the esthetic side of the matter—generally a debatable one.

There is again a rumour that our regiment is to[Pg 115] be sent for a rest into the centre of France. The cooks of the first squadron mention Bourges; those of the ninth, Tours.

Another rumour is that Germany is proposing peace to Russia.

Saturday, 24th October.

As we see from letters and newspapers, civilians share in all the agitation and excitement of the war. We are out of all this. By the aid of successive communiqués, those left behind follow the various incidents of the great war on all the fronts at once. Perhaps, too, they receive the Bulletin des Armées, not a single number of which we have yet seen....

They will not have lost a crumb of information! Whereas for a month and a half we have been moving from quarters to outposts and back again, thinking of nothing but eating and drinking, sleeping and resisting cold. At bottom, nothing more resembles the army on a peace footing than the army on a war footing: fatigue duty, reviews, cleaning and polishing arms, sentry duty, and musters. Nor can the soldier be said to be more serious.... To-morrow, it may be, we shall have to leave the trenches and fight. Good, that is our business, the thing we are here to do. When the moment comes, shall we feel ourselves carried away in a whirl of excitement, as civilians do? Nothing of the kind. We shall crawl along the ground, make a few rushes, perhaps have a fall, though without seeing or understanding[Pg 116] anything. And on the morrow, unless we are dead, we shall return to oblivion.

Even courage—and there is such a thing—is but a matter of habit, one might almost say of negligence. We do not excite ourselves about shells; if we did, life would be altogether impossible; the French soldier will not admit that anything should make a complete change in his existence. Accordingly, he comes and goes, gets into and out of scrapes and difficulties as though nothing mattered.

But we do get bored, because present-day warfare is colourless and dull, like our uniforms. Those at home, however, suppose us to be in the thick of it all the time, standing with bayonet fixed and head flung back, ferocious and hirsute, blood-stained and sublime. Is it in this light that history will depict us? I hope not, both for its own sake and for our own.

Now I must be off to clean some potatoes. The battalion is returning to the trenches shortly.