A Tale of War
two pages from French war-time magazines illustrating the tale below
At the beginning of* April, at the time of the big attacks on the Bois dAilly, I was ordered to make a diversion at the Bois Brulé ... I was then an adjutant . No. 7 platoon, mine, with three others from different companies, was ordered to attack the German line. The fight was bitter j we had many dead and wounded. All night long bombing scraps went on under torrents of rain, which soaked us to the skin. But we held on to the trench, and I felt an immense exultation. I was keyed up to an astonishing intensity of vitality, and a desire to laugh always in my mouth. Twice I was knocked over by trench-mortar shells, covered with earth and debris, and picked myself up laughing as if I'd seen a joke. Next morning we were relieved . . . and went back to the second line where we tried to sleep. At midday we were hastily roused. The Boche had just counter-attacked with bombs and trench mortars. They pushed us back; and then there was a panic. Not only did they recapture their own front line, but even reached ours. Already men were hurrying down the communication trenches, shouting, "The Boches! The Boches!" I forced a passage through a crowd of fugitives, and while I elbowed my way through, I shouted, "No, no. The Boches aren't there. They've gone back. They've beat it," and that kind of thing which, blown from mouth to mouth, stopped the retirement a little. A few volunteers joined me and I rushed forward. My bombers sprayed the Boches, and they ran back. I climbed out of the French trench. I was as certain that I was as good as dead as I was of the sunlight. But what serenity was mine, the serenity of a man dying in a state of grace.
Still throwing bombs, we reached the enemy trench. We got back our own bit, and I had a block of sandbags thrown up in the C.T. between the first and second German lines. I breathed again.
On the left, however, the Germans were still fighting in our front line, and on the right, the trench was unoccupied, neither our men nor the Boches having come up. We were only a handful, completely isolated, and a hail of bombs was coming at our heads from in front. If the Boches had only known how few we were . Suddenly I realized the precariousness of our position. I grew frightened. I threw myself down behind a pile of sandbags. But Pte. Benoit didn't care. He went on fighting like a lion against God knows how many.
His example shamed me. I got a grip of myself. A few of our own men reached us, and night fell. We could not remain where we were. To the right there was still nobody. I could see the trench for some thirty yards ending in a gigantic traverse. Should I go and see what was happening there? By an effort of will, I made my decision.
The trench was full of French corpses. There was blood everywhere. At first I went with great circumspection, with little assurance. I was alone with all these dead! Then little by little I grew bolder. I dared to look at the bodies and it seemed to me as if they returned my stare. From our own point behind me, my men watched me with fear in their eyes in which I read: "He's going to get himself killed." It was true that in the shelter of the C.T. the Boches were redoubling their efforts. Their bombs came whirling over, and the avalanche was again rapidly approaching. I turned toward the bodies at my feet. I thought: "Is their sacrifice then to be useless? Have they died in vain? Will the Boches come back and rob our dead?" I was seized with anger. I have no clear recollection of what I did or said. I only know that I shouted something like this: "You there, stand up! What are you mucking about on the ground for? Get up! and help us pitch these bloody swine out."—"Up the dead." Was it lunacy? No. For the dead answered me. They said, "We'll follow." And rising to my summons, their souls mingled with mine and formed a mass of fire, a huge river of metal. Nothing now could astonish me, nothing could stop me. I had the faith which moveth mountains. My voice, harsh and worn with shouting orders for two days and a night, came back to me clear and strong.
What happened then? I only want to tell you what I remember, leaving out what they told me afterwards. I must frankly admit I don't know. There is a blank in my memory; the action has swallowed it up. I have only a vague idea of a crazy attack. There were two, three or four of us against a multitude; but that was a fountain of pride and encouragement. One of my platoon, wounded in the arm, went on throwing bombs dripping with blood. For myself, I had the impression that my body had grown and swollen beyond all measure, a giant's body with superabundant strength, an amazing clarity of thought which allowed me to have my eyes in all directions at once, to shout an order to one man, while I waved a command to a second, firing a rifle and dodging the bomb which threatened me.
Twice we ran out of bombs, and both times we found a sack full at our feet, mixed up with the sandbags. The whole day we had walked over them without seeing them. It was the dead who put them there.
At last the Boches grew quieter. We were able to consolidate our forward bomb block in the C.T. Again we were masters of the position.
Lieut. Jacques Pericard
