The Downfall: Chapter 4

Chapter 4

On Tuesday, the 23d of August, at six o'clock in the morning, camp was
broken, and as a stream that has momentarily expanded into a lake
resumes its course again, the hundred and odd thousand men of the army
of Chalons put themselves in motion and soon were pouring onward in a
resistless torrent; and notwithstanding the rumors that had been
current since the preceding day, it was a great surprise to most to
see that instead of continuing their retrograde movement they were
leaving Paris behind them and turning their faces toward the unknown
regions of the East.

At five o'clock in the morning the 7th corps was still unsupplied with
cartridges. For two days the artillerymen had been working like
beavers to unload the _materiel_, horses, and stores that had been
streaming from Metz into the overcrowded station, and it was only at
the very last moment that some cars of cartridges were discovered
among the tangled trains, and that a detail which included Jean among
its numbers was enabled to bring back two hundred and forty thousand
on carts that they had hurriedly requisitioned. Jean distributed the
regulation number, one hundred cartridges to a man, among his squad,
just as Gaude, the company bugler, sounded the order to march.

The 106th was not to pass through Rheims, their orders being to turn
the city and debouch into the Chalons road farther on, but on this
occasion there was the usual failure to regulate the order and time of
marching, so that, the four corps having commenced to move at the same
moment, they collided when they came out upon the roads that they were
to traverse in common and the result was inextricable confusion.
Cavalry and artillery were constantly cutting in among the infantry
and bringing them to a halt; whole brigades were compelled to leave
the road and stand at ordered arms in the plowed fields for more than
an hour, waiting until the way should be cleared. And to make matters
worse, they had hardly left the camp when a terrible storm broke over
them, the rain pelting down in torrents, drenching the men completely
and adding intolerably to the weight of knapsacks and great-coats.
Just as the rain began to hold up, however, the 106th saw a chance to
go forward, while some zouaves in an adjoining field, who were forced
to wait yet for a while, amused themselves by pelting one another with
balls of moist earth, and the consequent condition of their uniforms
afforded them much merriment.

The sun suddenly came shining out again in the clear sky, the warm,
bright sun of an August morning, and with it came returning gayety;
the men were steaming like a wash of linen hung out to dry in the open
air: the moisture evaporated from their clothing in little more time
than it takes to tell it, and when they were warm and dry again, like
dogs who shake the water from them when they emerge from a pond, they
chaffed one another good-naturedly on their bedraggled appearance and
the splashes of mud on their red trousers. Wherever two roads
intersected another halt was necessitated; the last one was in a
little village just beyond the walls of the city, in front of a small
saloon that seemed to be doing a thriving business. Thereon it
occurred to Maurice to treat the squad to a drink, by way of wishing
them all good luck.

"Corporal, will you allow me--"

Jean, after hesitating a moment, accepted a "pony" of brandy for
himself. Loubet and Chouteau were of the party (the latter had been
watchful and submissive since that day when the corporal had evinced a
disposition to use his heavy fists), and also Pache and Lapoulle, a
couple of very decent fellows when there was no one to set them a bad
example.

"Your good health, corporal!" said Chouteau in a respectful, whining
tone.

"Thank you; here's hoping that you may bring back your head and all
your legs and arms!" Jean politely replied, while the others laughed
approvingly.

But the column was about to move; Captain Beaudoin came up with a
scandalized look on his face and a reproof at the tip of his tongue,
while Lieutenant Rochas, more indulgent to the small weaknesses of his
men, turned his head so as not to see what was going on. And now they
were stepping out at a good round pace along the Chalons road, which
stretched before them for many a long league, bordered with trees on
either side, undeviatingly straight, like a never-ending ribbon
unrolled between the fields of yellow stubble that were dotted here
and there with tall stacks and wooden windmills brandishing their lean
arms. More to the north were rows of telegraph poles, indicating the
position of other roads, on which they could distinguish the black,
crawling lines of other marching regiments. In many places the troops
had left the highway and were moving in deep columns across the open
plain. To the left and front a cavalry brigade was seen, jogging along
at an easy trot in a blaze of sunshine. The entire wide horizon,
usually so silent and deserted, was alive and populous with those
streams of men, pressing onward, onward, in long drawn, black array,
like the innumerable throng of insects from some gigantic ant-hill.

About nine o'clock the regiment left the Chalons road and wheeled to
the left into another that led to Suippe, which, like the first,
extended, straight as an arrow's flight, far as the eye could see. The
men marched at the route-step in two straggling files along either
side of the road, thus leaving the central space free for the
officers, and Maurice could not help noticing their anxious, care-worn
air, in striking contrast with the jollity and good-humor of the
soldiers, who were happy as children to be on the move once more. As
the squad was near the head of the column he could even distinguish
the Colonel, M. de Vineuil, in the distance, and was impressed by the
grave earnestness of his manner, and his tall, rigid form, swaying in
cadence to the motion of his charger. The band had been sent back to
the rear, to keep company with the regimental wagons; it played but
once during that entire campaign. Then came the ambulances and
engineer's train attached to the division, and succeeding that the
corps train, an interminable procession of forage wagons, closed vans
for stores, carts for baggage, and vehicles of every known
description, occupying a space of road nearly four miles in length,
and which, at the infrequent curves in the highway, they could see
winding behind them like the tail of some great serpent. And last of
all, at the extreme rear of the column, came the herds, "rations on
the hoof," a surging, bleating, bellowing mass of sheep and oxen,
urged on by blows and raising clouds of dust, reminding one of the old
warlike peoples of the East and their migrations.

Lapoulle meantime would every now and then give a hitch of his
shoulders in an attempt to shift the weight of his knapsack when it
began to be too heavy. The others, alleging that he was the strongest,
were accustomed to make him carry the various utensils that were
common to the squad, including the big kettle and the water-pail; on
this occasion they had even saddled him with the company shovel,
assuring him that it was a badge of honor. So far was he from
complaining that he was now laughing at a song with which Loubet, the
tenor of the squad, was trying to beguile the tedium of the way.
Loubet had made himself quite famous by reason of his knapsack, in
which was to be found a little of everything: linen, an extra pair of
shoes, haberdashery, chocolate, brushes, a plate and cup, to say
nothing of his regular rations of biscuit and coffee, and although the
all-devouring receptacle also contained his cartridges, and his
blankets were rolled on top of it, together with the shelter-tent and
stakes, the load nevertheless appeared light, such an excellent system
he had of packing his trunk, as he himself expressed it.

"It's a beastly country, all the same!" Chouteau kept repeating from
time to time, casting a look of intense disgust over the dreary plains
of "lousy Champagne."

Broad expanses of chalky ground of a dirty white lay before and around
them, and seemed to have no end. Not a farmhouse to be seen anywhere,
not a living being; nothing but flocks of crows, forming small spots
of blackness on the immensity of the gray waste. On the left, far away
in the distance, the low hills that bounded the horizon in that
direction were crowned by woods of somber pines, while on the right an
unbroken wall of trees indicated the course of the river Vesle. But
over there behind the hills they had seen for the last hour a dense
smoke was rising, the heavy clouds of which obscured the sky and told
of a dreadful conflagration raging at no great distance.

"What is burning over there?" was the question that was on the lips of
everyone.

The answer was quickly given and ran through the column from front to
rear. The camp of Chalons had been fired, it was said, by order of the
Emperor, to keep the immense collection of stores there from falling
into the hands of the Prussians, and for the last two days it had been
going up in flame and smoke. The cavalry of the rear-guard had been
instructed to apply the torch to two immense warehouses, filled with
tents, tent-poles, mattresses, clothing, shoes, blankets, mess
utensils, supplies of every kind sufficient for the equipment of a
hundred thousand men. Stacks of forage also had been lighted, and were
blazing like huge beacon-fires, and an oppressive silence settled down
upon the army as it pursued its march across the wide, solitary plain
at sight of that dusky, eddying column that rose from behind the
distant hills, filling the heavens with desolation. All that was to be
heard in the bright sunlight was the measured tramp of many feet upon
the hollow ground, while involuntarily the eyes of all were turned on
that livid cloud whose baleful shadows rested on their march for many
a league.

Their spirits rose again when they made their midday halt in a field
of stubble, where the men could seat themselves on their unslung
knapsacks and refresh themselves with a bite. The large square
biscuits could only be eaten by crumbling them in the soup, but the
little round ones were quite a delicacy, light and appetizing; the
only trouble was that they left an intolerable thirst behind them.
Pache sang a hymn, being invited thereto, the squad joining in the
chorus. Jean smiled good-naturedly without attempting to check them in
their amusement, while Maurice, at sight of the universal cheerfulness
and the good order with which their first day's march was conducted,
felt a revival of confidence. The remainder of the allotted task of
the day was performed with the same light-hearted alacrity, although
the last five miles tried their endurance. They had abandoned the high
road, leaving the village of Prosnes to their right, in order to avail
themselves of a short cut across a sandy heath diversified by an
occasional thin pine wood, and the entire division, with its
interminable train at its heels, turned and twisted in and out among
the trees, sinking ankle deep in the yielding sand at every step. It
seemed as if the cheerless waste would never end; all that they met
was a flock of very lean sheep, guarded by a big black dog.

It was about four o'clock when at last the 106th halted for the night
at Dontrien, a small village on the banks of the Suippe. The little
stream winds among some pretty groves of trees; the old church stands
in the middle of the graveyard, which is shaded in its entire extent
by a magnificent chestnut. The regiment pitched its tents on the left
bank, in a meadow that sloped gently down to the margin of the river.
The officers said that all the four corps would bivouac that evening
on the line of the Suippe between Auberive and Hentregiville,
occupying the intervening villages of Dontrien, Betheniville and
Pont-Faverger, making a line of battle nearly five leagues long.

Gaude immediately gave the call for "distribution," and Jean had to
run for it, for the corporal was steward-in-chief, and it behooved him
to be on the lookout to protect his men's interests. He had taken
Lapoulle with him, and in a quarter of an hour they returned with some
ribs of beef and a bundle of firewood. In the short space of time
succeeding their arrival three steers of the herd that followed the
column had been knocked in the head under a great oak-tree, skinned,
and cut up. Lapoulle had to return for bread, which the villagers of
Dontrien had been baking all that afternoon in their ovens. There was
really no lack of anything on that first day, setting aside wine and
tobacco, with which the troops were to be obliged to dispense during
the remainder of the campaign.

Upon Jean's return he found Chouteau engaged in raising the tent,
assisted by Pache; he looked at them for a moment with the critical
eye of an old soldier who had no great opinion of their abilities.

"It will do very well if the weather is fine to-night," he said at
last, "but if it should come on to blow we would like enough wake up
and find ourselves in the river. Let me show you."

And he was about to send Maurice with the large pail for water, but
the young man had sat down on the ground, taken off his shoe, and was
examining his right foot.

"Hallo, there! what's the matter with you?"

"My shoe has chafed my foot and raised a blister. My other shoes were
worn out, and when we were at Rheims I bought these, like a big fool,
because they were a good fit. I should have selected gunboats."

Jean kneeled and took the foot in his hand, turning it over as
carefully as if it had been a little child's, with a disapproving
shake of his head.

"You must be careful; it is no laughing matter, a thing like that. A
soldier without the use of his feet is of no good to himself or anyone
else. When we were in Italy my captain used always to say that it is
the men's legs that win battles."

He bade Pache go for the water, no very hard task, as the river was
but a few yards away, and Loubet, having in the meantime dug a shallow
trench and lit his fire, was enabled to commence operations on his
_pot-au-feu_, which he did by putting on the big kettle full of water
and plunging into it the meat that he had previously corded together
with a bit of twine, _secundum artem_. Then it was solid comfort for
them to watch the boiling of the soup; the whole squad, their chores
done up and their day's labor ended, stretched themselves on the grass
around the fire in a family group, full of tender anxiety for the
simmering meat, while Loubet occasionally stirred the pot with a
gravity fitted to the importance of his position. Like children and
savages, their sole instinct was to eat and sleep, careless of the
morrow, while advancing to face unknown risks and dangers.

But Maurice had unpacked his knapsack and come across a newspaper that
he had bought at Rheims, and Chouteau asked:

"Is there anything about the Prussians in it? Read us the news!"

They were a happy family under Jean's mild despotism. Maurice
good-naturedly read such news as he thought might interest them, while
Pache, the seamstress of the company, mended his greatcoat for him and
Lapoulle cleaned his musket. The first item was a splendid victory won
by Bazaine, who had driven an entire Prussian corps into the quarries
of Jaumont, and the trumped-up tale was told with an abundance of
dramatic detail, how men and horses went over the precipice and were
crushed on the rocks beneath out of all semblance of humanity, so that
there was not one whole corpse found for burial. Then there were
minute details of the pitiable condition of the German armies ever
since they had invaded France: the ill-fed, poorly equipped soldiers
were actually falling from inanition and dying by the roadside of
horrible diseases. Another article told how the king of Prussia had
the diarrhea, and how Bismarck had broken his leg in jumping from the
window of an inn where a party of zouaves had just missed capturing
him. Capital news! Lapoulle laughed over it as if he would split his
sides, while Chouteau and the others, without expressing the faintest
doubt, chuckled at the idea that soon they would be picking up
Prussians as boys pick up sparrows in a field after a hail-storm. But
they laughed loudest at old Bismarck's accident; oh! the zouaves and
the turcos, they were the boys for one's money! It was said that the
Germans were in an ecstasy of fear and rage, declaring that it was
unworthy of a nation that claimed to be civilized to employ such
heathen savages in its armies. Although they had been decimated at
Froeschwiller, the foreign troops seemed to have a good deal of life
left in them.

It was just striking six from the steeple of the little church of
Dontrien when Loubet shouted:

"Come to supper!"

The squad lost no time in seating themselves in a circle. At the very
last moment Loubet had succeeded in getting some vegetables from a
peasant who lived hard by. That made the crowning glory of the feast:
a soup perfumed with carrots and onions, that went down the throat
soft as velvet--what could they have desired more? The spoons rattled
merrily in the little wooden bowls. Then it devolved on Jean, who
always served the portions, to distribute the beef, and it behooved
him that day to do it with the strictest impartiality, for hungry eyes
were watching him and there would have been a growl had anyone
received a larger piece than his neighbors. They concluded by licking
the porringers, and were smeared with soup up to their eyes.

"Ah, _nom de Dieu!_" Chouteau declared when he had finished, throwing
himself flat on his back; "I would rather take that than a beating,
any day!"

Maurice, too, whose foot pained him less now that he could give it a
little rest, was conscious of that sensation of well-being that is the
result of a full stomach. He was beginning to take more kindly to his
rough companions, and to bring himself down nearer to their level
under the pressure of the physical necessities of their life in
common. That night he slept the same deep sleep as did his five
tent-mates; they all huddled close together, finding the sensation of
animal warmth not disagreeable in the heavy dew that fell. It is
necessary to state that Lapoulle, at the instigation of Loubet, had
gone to a stack not far away and feloniously appropriated a quantity
of straw, in which our six gentlemen snored as if it had been a bed of
down. And from Auberive to Hentregiville, along the pleasant banks of
the Suippe as it meandered sluggishly between its willows, the fires
of those hundred thousand sleeping men illuminated the starlit night
for fifteen miles, like a long array of twinkling stars.

At sunrise they made coffee, pulverizing the berries in a wooden bowl
with a musket-butt, throwing the powder into boiling water, and
settling it with a drop of cold water. The luminary rose that morning
in a bank of purple and gold, affording a spectacle of royal
magnificence, but Maurice had no eye for such displays, and Jean, with
the weather-wisdom of a peasant, cast an anxious glance at the red
disk, which presaged rain; and it was for that reason that, the
surplus of bread baked the day before having been distributed and the
squad having received three loaves, he reproved severely Loubet and
Pache for making them fast on the outside of their knapsacks; but the
tents were folded and the knapsacks packed, and so no one paid any
attention to him. Six o'clock was sounding from all the bells of the
village when the army put itself in motion and stoutly resumed its
advance in the bright hopefulness of the dawn of the new day.

The 106th, in order to reach the road that leads from Rheims to
Vouziers, struck into a cross-road, and for more than an hour their
way was an ascending one. Below them, toward the north, Betheniville
was visible among the trees, where the Emperor was reported to have
slept, and when they reached the Vouziers road the level country of
the preceding day again presented itself to their gaze and the lean
fields of "lousy Champagne" stretched before them in wearisome
monotony. They now had the Arne, an insignificant stream, flowing on
their left, while to the right the treeless, naked country stretched
far as the eye could see in an apparently interminable horizon. They
passed through a village or two: Saint-Clement, with its single
winding street bordered by a double row of houses, Saint-Pierre, a
little town of miserly rich men who had barricaded their doors and
windows. The long halt occurred about ten o'clock, near another
village, Saint-Etienne, where the men were highly delighted to find
tobacco once more. The 7th corps had been cut up into several columns,
and the 106th headed one of these columns, having behind it only a
battalion of chasseurs and the reserve artillery. Maurice turned his
head at every bend in the road to catch a glimpse of the long train
that had so excited his interest the day before, but in vain; the
herds had gone off in some other direction, and all he could see was
the guns, looming inordinately large upon those level plains, like
monster insects of somber mien.

After leaving Saint-Etienne, however, there was a change for the
worse, and the road from bad became abominable, rising by an easy
ascent between great sterile fields in which the only signs of
vegetation were the everlasting pine woods with their dark verdure,
forming a dismal contrast with the gray-white soil. It was the most
forlorn spot they had seen yet. The ill-paved road, washed by the
recent rains, was a lake of mud, of tenacious, slippery gray clay,
which held the men's feet like so much pitch. It was wearisome work;
the troops were exhausted and could not get forward, and as if things
were not bad enough already, the rain suddenly began to come down most
violently. The guns were mired and had to be left in the road.

Chouteau, who had been given the squad's rice to carry, fatigued and
exasperated with his heavy load, watched for an opportunity when no
one was looking and dropped the package. But Loubet had seen him.

"See here, that's no way! you ought not to do that. The comrades will
be hungry by and by."

"Let be!" replied Chouteau. "There is plenty of rice; they will give
us more at the end of the march."

And Loubet, who had the bacon, convinced by such cogent reasoning,
dropped his load in turn.

Maurice was suffering more and more with his foot, of which the heel
was badly inflamed. He limped along in such a pitiable state that
Jean's sympathy was aroused.

"Does it hurt? is it no better, eh?" And as the men were halted just
then for a breathing spell, he gave him a bit of good advice. "Take
off your shoe and go barefoot; the cool earth will ease the pain."

And in that way Maurice found that he could keep up with his comrades
with some degree of comfort; he experienced a sentiment of deep
gratitude. It was a piece of great good luck that their squad had a
corporal like him, a man who had seen service and knew all the tricks
of the trade: he was an uncultivated peasant, of course, but a good
fellow all the same.

It was late when they reached their place of bivouac at Contreuve,
after marching a long time on the Chalons and Vouziers road and
descending by a steep path into the valley of the Semide, up which
they came through a stretch of narrow meadows. The landscape had
undergone a change; they were now in the Ardennes, and from the lofty
hills above the village where the engineers had staked off the ground
for the 7th corps' camp, the valley of the Aisne was dimly visible in
the distance, veiled in the pale mists of the passing shower.

Six o'clock came and there had been no distribution of rations,
whereon Jean, in order to keep occupied, apprehensive also of the
consequences that might result from the high wind that was springing
up, determined to attend in person to the setting up of the tent. He
showed his men how it should be done, selecting a bit of ground that
sloped away a little to one side, setting the pegs at the proper
angle, and digging a little trench around the whole to carry off the
water. Maurice was excused from the usual nightly drudgery on account
of his sore foot, and was an interested witness of the intelligence
and handiness of the big young fellow whose general appearance was so
stolid and ungainly. He was completely knocked up with fatigue, but
the confidence that they were now advancing with a definite end in
view served to sustain him. They had had a hard time of it since they
left Rheims, making nearly forty miles in two days' marching; if they
could maintain the pace and if they kept straight on in the direction
they were pursuing, there could be no doubt that they would destroy
the second German army and effect a junction with Bazaine before the
third, the Crown Prince of Prussia's, which was said to be at
Vitry-le Francois, could get up to Verdun.

"Oh, come now! I wonder if they are going to let us starve!" was
Chouteau's remark when, at seven o'clock, there was still no sign of
rations.

By way of taking time by the forelock, Jean had instructed Loubet to
light the fire and put on the pot, and, as there was no issue of
firewood, he had been compelled to be blind to the slight irregularity
of the proceeding when that individual remedied the omission by
tearing the palings from an adjacent fence. When he suggested knocking
up a dish of bacon and rice, however, the truth had to come out, and
he was informed that the rice and bacon were lying in the mud of the
Saint-Etienne road. Chouteau lied with the greatest effrontery
declaring that the package must have slipped from his shoulders
without his noticing it.

"You are a couple of pigs!" Jean shouted angrily, "to throw away good
victuals, when there are so many poor devils going with an empty
stomach!"

It was the same with the three loaves that had been fastened outside
the knapsacks; they had not listened to his warning, and the
consequence was that the rain had soaked the bread and reduced it to
paste.

"A pretty pickle we are in!" he continued. "We had food in plenty, and
now here we are, without a crumb! Ah! you are a pair of dirty pigs!"

At that moment the first sergeant's call was heard, and Sergeant
Sapin, returning presently with his usual doleful air, informed the
men that it would be impossible to distribute rations that evening,
and that they would have to content themselves with what eatables they
had on their persons. It was reported that the trains had been delayed
by the bad weather, and as to the herds, they must have straggled off
as a result of conflicting orders. Subsequently it became known that
on that day the 5th and 12th corps had got up to Rethel, where the
headquarters of the army were established, and the inhabitants of the
neighboring villages, possessed with a mad desire to see the Emperor,
had inaugurated a hegira toward that town, taking with them everything
in the way of provisions; so that when the 7th corps came up they
found themselves in a land of nakedness: no bread, no meat, no people,
even. To add to their distress a misconception of orders had caused
the supplies of the commissary department to be directed on
Chene-Populeux. This was a state of affairs that during the entire
campaign formed the despair of the wretched commissaries, who had to
endure the abuse and execrations of the whole army, while their sole
fault lay in being punctual at rendezvous at which the troops failed
to appear.

"It serves you right, you dirty pigs!" continued Jean in his wrath,
"and you don't deserve the trouble that I am going to have in finding
you something to eat, for I suppose it is my duty not to let you
starve, all the same." And he started off to see what he could find,
as every good corporal does under such circumstances, taking with him
Pache, who was a favorite on account of his quiet manner, although he
considered him rather too priest-ridden.

But Loubet's attention had just been attracted to a little farmhouse,
one of the last dwellings in Contreuve, some two or three hundred
yards away, where there seemed to him to be promise of good results.
He called Chouteau and Lapoulle to him and said:

"Come along, and let's see what we can do. I've a notion there's grub
to be had over that way."

So Maurice was left to keep up the fire and watch the kettle, in which
the water was beginning to boil. He had seated himself on his blanket
and taken off his shoe in order to give his blister a chance to heal.
It amused him to look about the camp and watch the behavior of the
different squads now that there was to be no issue of rations; the
deduction that he arrived at was that some of them were in a chronic
state of destitution, while others reveled in continual abundance, and
that these conditions were ascribable to the greater or less degree of
tact and foresight of the corporal and his men. Amid the confusion
that reigned about the stacks and tents he remarked some squads who
had not been able even to start a fire, others of which the men had
abandoned hope and lain themselves resignedly down for the night,
while others again were ravenously devouring, no one knew what,
something good, no doubt. Another thing that impressed him was the
good order that prevailed in the artillery, which had its camp above
him, on the hillside. The setting sun peeped out from a rift in the
clouds and his rays were reflected from the burnished guns, from which
the men had cleansed the coat of mud that they had picked up along the
road.

In the meantime General Bourgain-Desfeuilles, commanding the brigade,
had found quarters suited to his taste in the little farmhouse toward
which the designs of Loubet and his companions were directed. He had
discovered something that had the semblance of a bed and was seated at
table with a roasted chicken and an omelette before him; consequently
he was in the best of humors, and as Colonel de Vineuil happened in
just then on regimental business, had invited him to dine. They were
enjoying their repast, therefore, waited on by a tall, light-haired
individual who had been in the farmer's service only three days and
claimed to be an Alsatian, one of those who had been forced to leave
their country after the disaster of Froeschwiller. The general did not
seem to think it necessary to use any restraint in presence of the
man, commenting freely on the movements of the army, and finally,
forgetful of the fact that he was not an inhabitant of the
country, began to question him about localities and distances. His
questions displayed such utter ignorance of the country that the
colonel, who had once lived at Mezieres, was astounded; he gave such
information as he had at command, which elicited from the chief the
exclamation:

"It is just like our idiotic government! How can they expect us to
fight in a country of which we know nothing?"

The colonel's face assumed a look of vague consternation. He knew that
immediately upon the declaration of war maps of Germany had been
distributed among the officers, while it was quite certain that not
one of them had a map of France. He was amazed and confounded by what
he had seen and heard since the opening of the campaign. His
unquestioned bravery was his distinctive trait; he was a somewhat weak
and not very brilliant commander, which caused him to be more loved
than respected in his regiment.

"It's too bad that a man can't eat his dinner in peace!" the general
suddenly blurted out. "What does all that uproar mean? Go and see what
the matter is, you Alsatian fellow!"

But the farmer anticipated him by appearing at the door, sobbing and
gesticulating like a crazy man. They were robbing him, the zouaves and
chasseurs were plundering his house. As he was the only one in the
village who had anything to sell he had foolishly allowed himself to
be persuaded to open shop. At first he had sold his eggs and chickens,
his rabbits, and potatoes, without exacting an extortionate profit,
pocketing his money and delivering the merchandise; then the customers
had streamed in in a constantly increasing throng, jostling and
worrying the old man, finally crowding him aside and taking all he had
without pretense of payment. And thus it was throughout the war; if
many peasants concealed their property and even denied a drink of
water to the thirsty soldier, it was because of their fear of the
irresistible inroads of that ocean of men, who swept everything clean
before them, thrusting the wretched owners from their houses and
beggaring them.

"Eh! will you hold your tongue, old man!" shouted the general in
disgust. "Those rascals ought to be shot at the rate of a dozen a day.
What is one to do?" And to avoid taking the measures that the case
demanded he gave orders to close the door, while the colonel explained
to him that there had been no issue of rations and the men were
hungry.

While these things were going on within the house Loubet outside had
discovered a field of potatoes; he and Lapoulle scaled the fence and
were digging the precious tubers with their hands and stuffing their
pockets with them when Chouteau, who in the pursuit of knowledge was
looking over a low wall, gave a shrill whistle that called them
hurriedly to his side. They uttered an exclamation of wonder and
delight; there was a flock of geese, ten fat, splendid geese,
pompously waddling about a small yard. A council of war was held
forthwith, and it was decided that Lapoulle should storm the place and
make prisoners of the garrison. The conflict was a bloody one; the
venerable gander on which the soldier laid his predaceous hands had
nearly deprived him of his nose with its bill, hard and sharp as a
tailor's shears. Then he caught it by the neck and tried to choke it,
but the bird tore his trousers with its strong claws and pummeled him
about the body with its great wings. He finally ended the battle by
braining it with his fist, and it had not ceased to struggle when he
leaped the wall, hotly pursued by the remainder of the flock, pecking
viciously at his legs.

When they got back to camp, with the unfortunate gander and the
potatoes hidden in a bag, they found that Jean and Pache had also been
successful in their expedition, and had enriched the common larder
with four loaves of fresh bread and a cheese that they had purchased
from a worthy old woman.

"The water is boiling and we will make some coffee," said the
corporal. "Here are bread and cheese; it will be a regular feast!"

He could not help laughing, however, when he looked down and saw the
goose lying at his feet. He raised it, examining and hefting it with
the judgment of an expert.

"Ah! upon my word, a fine bird! it must weigh twenty pounds."

"We were out walking and met the bird," Loubet explained in an
unctuously sanctimonious voice, "and it insisted on making our
acquaintance."

Jean made no reply, but his manner showed that he wished to hear
nothing more of the matter. Men must live, and then why in the name of
common sense should not those poor fellows, who had almost forgotten
how poultry tasted, have a treat once in a way!

Loubet had already kindled the fire into a roaring blaze; Pache and
Lapoulle set to work to pluck the goose; Chouteau, who had run off to
the artillerymen and begged a bit of twine, came back and stretched it
between two bayonets; the bird was suspended in front of the hot fire
and Maurice was given a cleaning rod and enjoined to keep it turning.
The big tin basin was set beneath to catch the gravy. It was a triumph
of culinary art; the whole regiment, attracted by the savory odor,
came and formed a circle about the fire and licked their chops. And
what a feast it was! roast goose, boiled potatoes, bread, cheese, and
coffee! When Jean had dissected the bird the squad applied itself
vigorously to the task before it; there was no talk of portions, every
man ate as much as he was capable of holding. They even sent a plate
full over to the artillerymen who had furnished the cord.

The officers of the regiment that evening were a very hungry set of
men, for owing to some mistake the canteen wagon was among the
missing, gone off to look after the corps train, maybe. If the men
were inconvenienced when there was no issue of ration they scarcely
ever failed to find something to eat in the end; they helped one
another out; the men of the different squads "chipped in" their
resources, each contributing his mite, while the officer, with no one
to look to save himself, was in a fair way of starving as soon as he
had not the canteen to fall back on. So there was a sneer on
Chouteau's face, buried in the carcass of the goose, as he saw Captain
Beaudoin go by with his prim, supercilious air, for he had heard that
officer summoning down imprecations on the driver of the missing
wagon; and he gave him an evil look out of the corner of his eye.

"Just look at him! See, his nose twitches like a rabbit's. He would
give a dollar for the pope's nose."

They all made merry at the expense of the captain, who was too callow
and too harsh to be a favorite with his men; they called him a
_pete-sec_. He seemed on the point of taking the squad in hand for the
scandal they were creating with their goose dinner, but thought better
of the matter, ashamed, probably, to show his hunger, and walked off,
holding his head very erect, as if he had seen nothing.

As for Lieutenant Rochas, who was also conscious of a terribly empty
sensation in his epigastric region, he put on a brave face and laughed
good-naturedly as he passed the thrice-lucky squad. His men adored
him, in the first place because he was at sword's points with the
captain, that little whipper-snapper from Saint-Cyr, and also because
he had once carried a musket like themselves. He was not always easy
to get along with, however, and there were times when they would have
given a good deal could they have cuffed him for his brutality.

Jean glanced inquiringly at his comrades, and their mute reply being
propitious, arose and beckoned to Rochas to follow him behind the
tent.

"See here, Lieutenant, I hope you won't be offended, but if it is
agreeable to you--"

And he handed him half a loaf of bread and a wooden bowl in which
there were a second joint of the bird and six big mealy potatoes.

That night again the six men required no rocking; they digested their
dinner while sleeping the sleep of the just. They had reason to thank
the corporal for the scientific way in which he had set up their tent,
for they were not even conscious of a small hurricane that blew up
about two o'clock, accompanied by a sharp down-pour of rain; some of
the tents were blown down, and the men, wakened out of their sound
slumber, were drenched and had to scamper in the pitchy darkness,
while theirs stood firm and they were warm and dry, thanks to the
ingenious device of the trench.

Maurice awoke at daylight, and as they were not to march until eight
o'clock it occurred to him to walk out to the artillery camp on the
hill and say how do you do to his cousin Honore. His foot was less
painful after his good night's rest. His wonder and admiration were
again excited by the neatness and perfect order that prevailed
throughout the encampment, the six guns of a battery aligned with
mathematical precision and accompanied by their caissons, prolonges,
forage-wagons, and forges. A short way off, lined up to their rope,
stood the horses, whinnying impatiently and turning their muzzles to
the rising sun. He had no difficulty in finding Honore's tent, thanks
to the regulation which assigns to the men of each piece a separate
street, so that a single glance at a camp suffices to show the number
of guns.

When Maurice reached his destination the artillerymen were already
stirring and about to drink their coffee, and a quarrel had arisen
between Adolphe, the forward driver, and Louis, the gunner, his mate.
For the entire three years that they had been "married," in accordance
with the custom which couples a driver with a gunner, they had lived
happily together, with the one exception of meal-times. Louis, an
intelligent man and the better informed of the two, did not grumble at
the airs of superiority that are affected by every mounted over every
unmounted man: he pitched the tent, made the soup, and did the chores,
while Adolphe groomed his horses with the pride of a reigning
potentate. When the former, a little black, lean man, afflicted with
an enormous appetite, rose in arms against the exactions of the
latter, a big, burly fellow with huge blonde mustaches, who insisted
on being waited on like a lord, then the fun began. The subject matter
of the dispute on the present morning was that Louis, who had made the
coffee, accused Adolphe of having drunk it all. It required some
diplomacy to reconcile them.

Not a morning passed that Honore failed to go and look after his
piece, seeing to it that it was carefully dried and cleansed from the
night dew, as if it had been a favorite animal that he was fearful
might take cold, and there it was that Maurice found him, exercising
his paternal supervision in the crisp morning air.

"Ah, it's you! I knew that the 106th was somewhere in the vicinity; I
got a letter from Remilly yesterday and was intending to start out and
hunt you up. Let's go and have a glass of white wine."

For the sake of privacy he conducted his cousin to the little
farmhouse that the soldiers had looted the day before, where the old
peasant, undeterred by his losses and allured by the prospect of
turning an honest penny, had tapped a cask of wine and set up a kind
of public bar. He had extemporized a counter from a board rested on
two empty barrels before the door of his house, and over it he dealt
out his stock in trade at four sous a glass, assisted by the strapping
young Alsatian whom he had taken into his service three days before.

As Honore was touching glasses with Maurice his eyes lighted on this
man. He gazed at him a moment as if stupefied, then let slip a
terrible oath.

"_Tonnerre de Dieu!_ Goliah!"

And he darted forward and would have caught him by the throat, but the
peasant, foreseeing in his action a repetition of his yesterday's
experience, jumped quickly within the house and locked the door behind
him. For a moment confusion reigned about the premises; soldiers came
rushing up to see what was going on, while the quartermaster-sergeant
shouted at the top of his voice:

"Open the door, open the door, you confounded idiot! It is a spy, I
tell you, a Prussian spy!"

Maurice doubted no longer; there was no room for mistake now; the
Alsatian was certainly the man whom he had seen arrested at the camp
of Mulhausen and released because there was not evidence enough to
hold him, and that man was Goliah, old Fouchard's quondam assistant on
his farm at Remilly. When finally the peasant opened his door the
house was searched from top to bottom, but to no purpose; the bird had
flown, the gawky Alsatian, the tow-headed, simple-faced lout whom
General Bourgain-Desfeuilles had questioned the day before at dinner
without learning anything and before whom, in the innocence of his
heart, he had disclosed things that would have better been kept
secret. It was evident enough that the scamp had made his escape by a
back window which was found open, but the hunt that was immediately
started throughout the village and its environs had no results; the
fellow, big as he was, had vanished as utterly as a smoke-wreath
dissolves upon the air.

Maurice thought it best to take Honore away, lest in his distracted
state he might reveal to the spectators unpleasant family secrets
which they had no concern to know.

"_Tonnerre de Dieu!_" he cried again, "it would have done me such good
to strangle him!--The letter that I was speaking of revived all my old
hatred for him."

And the two of them sat down upon the ground against a stack of rye a
little way from the house, and he handed the letter to his cousin.

It was the old story: the course of Honore Fouchard's and Silvine
Morange's love had not run smooth. She, a pretty, meek-eyed,
brown-haired girl, had in early childhood lost her mother, an
operative in one of the factories of Raucourt, and Doctor Dalichamp,
her godfather, a worthy man who was greatly addicted to adopting the
wretched little beings whom he ushered into the world, had conceived
the idea of placing her in Father Fouchard's family as small maid of
all work. True it was that the old boor was a terrible skinflint and a
harsh, stern taskmaster; he had gone into the butchering business from
sordid love of lucre, and his cart was to be seen daily, rain or
shine, on the roads of twenty communes; but if the child was willing
to work she would have a home and a protector, perhaps some small
prospect in the future. At all events she would be spared the
contamination of the factory. And naturally enough it came to pass
that in old Fouchard's household the son and heir and the little maid
of all work fell in love with each other. Honore was then just turned
sixteen and she was twelve, and when she was sixteen and he twenty
there was a drawing for the army; Honore, to his great delight,
secured a lucky number and determined to marry. Nothing had ever
passed between them, thanks to the unusual delicacy that was inherent
in the lad's tranquil, thoughtful nature, more than an occasional hug
and a furtive kiss in the barn. But when he spoke of the marriage to
his father, the old man, who had the stubbornness of the mule, angrily
told him that his son might kill him, but never, never would he
consent, and continued to keep the girl about the house, not worrying
about the matter, expecting it would soon blow over. For two years
longer the young folks kept on adoring and desiring each other, and
never the least breath of scandal sullied their names. Then one day
there was a frightful quarrel between the two men, after which the
young man, feeling he could no longer endure his father's tyranny,
enlisted and was packed off to Africa, while the butcher still
retained the servant-maid, because she was useful to him. Soon after
that a terrible thing happened: Silvine, who had sworn that she would
be true to her lover and await his return, was detected one day, two
short weeks after his departure, in the company of a laborer who had
been working on the farm for some months past, that Goliah Steinberg,
the Prussian, as he was called; a tall, simple young fellow with
short, light hair, wearing a perpetual smile on his broad, pink face,
who had made himself Honore's chum. Had Father Fouchard traitorously
incited the man to take advantage of the girl? or had Silvine, sick at
heart and prostrated by the sorrow of parting with her lover, yielded
in a moment of unconsciousness? She could not tell herself; was dazed,
and saw herself driven by the necessity of her situation to a marriage
with Goliah. He, for his part, always with the everlasting smile on
his face, made no objection, only insisted on deferring the ceremony
until the child should be born. When that event occurred he suddenly
disappeared; it was rumored, subsequently that he had found work on
another farm, over Beaumont way. These things had happened three years
before the breaking out of the war, and now everyone was convinced
that that artless, simple Goliah, who had such a way of ingratiating
himself with the girls, was none else than one of those Prussian spies
who filled our eastern provinces. When Honore learned the tidings over
in Africa he was three months in hospital, as if the fierce sun of
that country had smitten him on the neck with one of his fiery
javelins, and never thereafter did he apply for leave of absence to
return to his country for fear lest he might again set eyes on Silvine
and her child.

The artilleryman's hands shook with agitation as Maurice perused the
letter. It was from Silvine, the first, the only one that she had ever
written him. What had been her guiding impulse, that silent,
submissive woman, whose handsome black eyes at times manifested a
startling fixedness of purpose in the midst of her never-ending
slavery? She simply said that she knew he was with the army, and
though she might never see him again, she could not endure the thought
that he might die and believe that she had ceased to love him. She
loved him still, had never loved another; and this she repeated again
and again through four closely written pages, in words of unvarying
import, without the slightest word of excuse for herself, without even
attempting to explain what had happened. There was no mention of the
child, nothing but an infinitely mournful and tender farewell.

The letter produced a profound impression upon Maurice, to whom his
cousin had once imparted the whole story. He raised his eyes and saw
that Honore was weeping; he embraced him like a brother.

"My poor Honore."

But the sergeant quickly got the better of his emotion. He carefully
restored the letter to its place over his heart and rebuttoned his
jacket.

"Yes, those are things that a man does not forget. Ah! the scoundrel,
if I could but have laid hands on him! But we shall see."

The bugles were sounding the signal to prepare for breaking camp, and
each had to hurry away to rejoin his command. The preparations for
departure dragged, however, and the troops had to stand waiting in
heavy marching order until nearly nine o'clock. A feeling of hesitancy
seemed to have taken possession of their leaders; there was not the
resolute alacrity of the first two days, when the 7th corps had
accomplished forty miles in two marches. Strange and alarming news,
moreover, had been circulating through the camp since morning, that
the three other corps were marching northward, the 1st at Juniville,
the 5th and 12th at Rethel, and this deviation from their route was
accounted for on the ground of the necessities of the commissariat.
Montmedy had ceased to be their objective, then? why were they thus
idling away their time again? What was most alarming of all was that
the Prussians could not now be far away, for the officers had
cautioned their men not to fall behind the column, as all stragglers
were liable to be picked up by the enemy's light cavalry.
It was the 25th of August, and Maurice, when he subsequently recalled
to mind Goliah's disappearance, was certain that the man had been
instrumental in affording the German staff exact information as to the
movements of the army of Chalons, and thus producing the change of
front of their third army. The succeeding morning the Crown Prince of
Prussia left Revigny and the great maneuver was initiated, that
gigantic movement by the flank, surrounding and enmeshing us by a
series of forced marches conducted in the most admirable order through
Champagne and the Ardennes. While the French were stumbling aimlessly
about the country, oscillating uncertainly between one place and
another, the Prussians were making their twenty miles a day and more,
gradually contracting their immense circle of beaters upon the band of
men whom they held within their toils, and driving their prey onward
toward the forests of the frontier.

A start was finally made, and the result of the day's movement showed
that the army was pivoting on its left; the 7th corps only traversed
the two short leagues between Contreuve and Vouziers, while the 5th
and 12th corps did not stir from Rethel, and the 1st went no farther
than Attigny. Between Contreuve and the valley of the Aisne the
country became level again and was more bare than ever; as they drew
near to Vouziers the road wound among desolate hills and naked gray
fields, without a tree, without a house, as gloomy and forbidding as a
desert, and the day's march, short as it was, was accomplished with
such fatigue and distress that it seemed interminably long. Soon after
midday, however, the 1st and 3d divisions had passed through the city
and encamped in the meadows on the farther bank of the Aisne, while a
brigade of the second, which included the 106th, had remained upon the
left bank, bivouacking among the waste lands of which the low
foot-hills overlooked the valley, observing from their position the
Monthois road, which skirts the stream and by which the enemy was
expected to make his appearance.

And Maurice was dumfoundered to behold advancing along that Monthois
road Margueritte's entire division, the body of cavalry to which had
been assigned the duty of supporting the 7th corps and watching the
left flank of the army. The report was that it was on its way to
Chene-Populeux. Why was the left wing, where alone they were
threatened by the enemy, stripped in that manner? What sense was there
in summoning in upon the center, where they could be of no earthly
use, those two thousand horsemen, who should have been dispersed upon
our flank, leagues away, as videttes to observe the enemy? And what
made matters worse was that they caused the greatest confusion among
the columns of the 7th corps, cutting in upon their line of march and
producing an inextricable jam of horses, guns, and men. A squadron of
chasseurs d'Afrique were halted for near two hours at the gate of
Vouziers, and by the merest chance Maurice stumbled on Prosper, who
had ridden his horse down to the bank of a neighboring pond to let him
drink, and the two men were enabled to exchange a few words. The
chasseur appeared stunned, dazed, knew nothing and had seen nothing
since they left Rheims; yes, though, he had: he had seen two uhlans
more; oh! but they were will o' the wisps, phantoms, they were, that
appeared and vanished, and no one could tell whence they came nor
whither they went. Their fame had spread, and stories of them were
already rife throughout the country, such, for instance, as that of
four uhlans galloping into a town with drawn revolvers and taking
possession of it, when the corps to which they belonged was a dozen
miles away. They were everywhere, preceding the columns like a
buzzing, stinging swarm of bees, a living curtain, behind which the
infantry could mask their movements and march and countermarch as
securely as if they were at home upon parade. And Maurice's heart sank
in his bosom as he looked at the road, crowded with chasseurs and
hussars which our leaders put to such poor use.

"Well, then, _au revoir_," said he, shaking Prosper by the hand;
"perhaps they will find something for you to do down yonder, after
all."

But the chasseur appeared disgusted with the task assigned him. He
sadly stroked Poulet's neck and answered:

"Ah, what's the use talking! they kill our horses and let us rot in
idleness. It is sickening."

When Maurice took off his shoe that evening to have a look at his
foot, which was aching and throbbing feverishly, the skin came with
it; the blood spurted forth and he uttered a cry of pain. Jean was
standing by, and exhibited much pity and concern.

"Look here, that is becoming serious; you are going to lie right down
and not attempt to move. That foot of yours must be attended to. Let
me see it."

He knelt down, washed the sore with his own hands and bound it up with
some clean linen that he took from his knapsack. He displayed the
gentleness of a woman and the deftness of a surgeon, whose big fingers
can be so pliant when necessity requires it.

A great wave of tenderness swept over Maurice, his eyes were dimmed
with tears, the familiar _thou_ rose from his heart to his lips with
an irresistible impulse of affection, as if in that peasant whom he
once had hated and abhorred, whom only yesterday he had despised, he
had discovered a long lost brother.

"Thou art a good fellow, thou! Thanks, good friend."

And Jean, too, looking very happy, dropped into the second person
singular, with his tranquil smile.

"Now, my little one, wilt thou have a cigarette? I have some tobacco
left."

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