Chapter VI: Book II: The Battle (3)

“There is no doubt, my dear Willy, that we are living through very
hard times, and one cannot yet see where it will all end. You tell
me not to believe all that the newspapers say. But do you really
think we believe, as we did at first, in that ‘rollicking mood’
(_Hurrastimmung_) among the men at the front? A year ago we fancied
that we heard the note of warlike enthusiasm in every song that the
soldiers sang. But to-day! Yesterday I happened to be present when
thirty to thirty-five men of the Landsturm were starting off. Five
of them were singing at the top of their voices, ‘Dear Fatherland,
good-bye!’ But these five were so drunk that they had to lean
against each other for support. Some hundred yards behind the group
three policemen were marching and watching them to see that this
enthusiasm was not overdone at the station. When we look at such
scenes and then read the newspaper reports of deeds of valour, do
you imagine that we think only of the latter? Yes, Willy, that’s
what war is like, the ‘beneficent’ war that had to come, the war
that was needed in order that the world should become a better
place to live in. It is strange that after seventeen months of war
I have not yet been able to discover any sign of improvement among
my immediate neighbours!”

On the prisoners these letters were found:

“HEISSEN, _March 24, 1916_.

“It is still better to be at the front than here. We are suffering
terribly from the cold, and have to wait in a queue from morning
till evening, and even then we sometimes come home empty-handed
at the end of the day and having nothing to eat. It is very sad,
but you, my dear Fritz, are holding out in the enemy’s country; we
shall hold out here as well.”

“STRASSBURG (PRUSSIA),
_March 20, 1916_.

“You write to us that you have had to suck snow, so great was your
hunger, yet that was hardly likely to cure your pangs. Yes, my
dear, you have to starve, but do you think things are any better
here?”

These extracts will suffice. What is the use of publishing any more? Further letters would give us no more information as to the state of the German soldier before Fort Vaux. We could find enough and to spare of complaints about economic difficulties. That the German soldier who is fighting at Verdun should know so much of the material insecurity of those whom he has left behind him is a righteous punishment for the terrible scourge let loose by a whole nation drunk with the sense of power--the nation which sneered when Paris starved in 1870 and which has set out to organize a war of frightfulness. The fires of its hell burn hotter and hotter.

To Mont-Mare Wood and Le Prêtre Wood, which lie west of Pont-à-Mousson, where the plains of the Woevre meet the undulating country of La Haye, the German soldiers gave the names of Widows’ Wood and Wood of Death respectively. What will they call the region of Vaux?

It was the 6th Division of the 3rd Corps that attacked the earthwork of Hardaumont at the beginning of March. The assaults on Vaux village and fort on March 8, 9, and 10 were delivered by the 9th Reserve Division of the 5th Corps.

I have quoted, without comment, examinations of prisoners and extracts from letters. The proof is given by the enemy in person: over the soil of France which he came to trample upon, our artillery and our infantry deal him out death in ample measure or, when he escapes death, force him to lead a somewhat harassed existence. That, no doubt, is what he calls an “amazingly obstinate” resistance.

How curious is this phrase, as if the Germans were surprised and shocked at our resisting at all! How striking was the attitude of prisoners whom I have seen examined, and of whom not one, though he might be wounded, puny, hideous, or brutish, forbore to flaunt his pride in being a German! These experiences led me to dip into a notebook, in which I have copied out various passages from distinguished authors peculiarly fitted to give us food for our war reflections, and look up an extract from Fustel de Coulanges on the German method of writing history. “The German historians,” he says, “can find nothing nobler in history than that German emperor who pitches his camp on the heights of Montmartre, or that other emperor who goes to carry off the Imperial crown in Rome after wading through the blood of four thousand Romans slaughtered on the Bridge of St. Angelo. But when the French at last put an end to these repeated invasions, when Henri II., Richelieu, Louis XIV., by fortifying Metz and Strassburg, save France and Italy from these Teutonic inundations--then the German historians are up in arms and make virtuous protests against the Gallic lust for aggrandisement. They cannot forgive those who try to prevent them from imposing their sway on other nations. To defend oneself against them is a sign of war mania; to prevent them from robbing is to be oneself a robber.”

The German historians of a later day will find matter for indignation in the breakwater at Verdun, against which so many waves of their soldiery have dashed themselves in vain. Let us hope at least that our own historians, in recounting the superhuman efforts put forth in a carefully planned resistance--destined, by the way, to be changed into an offensive in the course of the Verdun battle--will enhance among future generations their pride in being sons of France.

VIII

FROM MARCH 30 TO MAY 31

Who shall sing the epic of Fort Vaux in its daily phases? Relieved at due intervals, the troops succeed each other with the same staying-power in the same inferno. Shall we ever know all the feats worthy of record in this war of countless episodes? How many dead would have to be awakened from their sleep and asked for their testimony!

The living walls of Verdun, like the mediæval cathedrals, have been built by a multitude of nameless toilers. To single out any regiment or individual is to do an injustice to those who are not singled out. Yet instances must be mentioned here, in order to give flesh and bones to the framework of my story. Before I begin, I will apologise for so many unintentional omissions, since I could not know everything or collect every detail.

In order to gain possession of the town, the enemy, after taking Douaumont--the resounding syllables of whose name boom like a great bell through his communiqués--tries to approach the main line of defence: Froideterre, Fleury, Souville. Vaux fort and village is one of the mainstays of that line. From March 9 he pounds the slopes of the fort and the approaches to the village. He continues to make frontal attacks on them and at the same time attempts his usual manœuvre of envelopment, on the one side debouching in La Caillette Wood, and on the other side outflanking us in the village of Damloup.

Damloup, to the south-east of the fort, runs out like a pier-head between two ravines, the gap of La Horgne which separates it from the fort, and the gap of La Gayette which sweeps down from La Laufée Wood. To the north-east, Vaux village, the eastern portion of which has been lost, lies at the side of the Dieppe road, in the ravine of Le Bazil, the entrance to which it commands. As you go up the ravine, you find, after traversing a hundred and fifty or two hundred yards, a dyke, then a little lake: the Pool of Vaux. At this point is the end of the ravine of Fontaines, called by our men “the Ravine of Death,” which cuts across Vaux-Chapître Wood. The enemy lays siege to the village, but at the same time he also tries to get down into the ravine of Le Bazil by advancing through La Caillette Wood. In this wild country, broken up by clumps of trees, brushwood, narrow glens and gorges, a dim, dogged struggle will be waged, dragging on for weeks and even months.

The enemy, at the end of March, has brought back the 121st Division from the Woevre front. On March 21, after having made an important reconnaissance on the previous evening, he overwhelms the fort, the village, and the ravine of Le Bazil with shells. These are the harbingers of an assault. The telephone communications are cut and the connection service is kept up by means of scouts, since the broken ground makes signalling impossible, except on the plateau of the fort. A liquid fire attack precedes the three waves of the onset, each a battalion strong, which dash in succession against the village. The first is battered down; the two others, at a terrible cost in lives, manage to encircle the three companies which still occupy the western section.

On April 2 the 1st Battalion of the 149th Regiment (under Major Maganiosc), which occupies the shelters of the Les Fontaines ravine, is ordered to reoccupy the village. At daybreak it makes for the dyke, where it breaks up into three detachments, each consisting of a company, with the fourth as a support. One company has the main road for its objective; another will operate farther north, between the railway and the brook, in conjunction with the 31st Battalion of Light Infantry; the third farther south, through the gardens.

In a few strides our men have reached the village and advanced as far as the church. An artillery barrage, however, cuts them off and prevents reinforcements from coming up to them. The liaison officers who succeed in crossing this incessant curtain fire bring news that at first cheers us, but then becomes more and more alarming. The assailants have had to face a counter-attack and have been swept away by the storming party. On the right bank, in the gardens, the company commander, Lieutenant Vayssière, has been killed, and his men have been thrown back. In the village there is hand-to-hand fighting. All the officers of the third detachment have been killed, wounded, or taken prisoner, among them Captain Toussaint, commanding the 2nd Company, who, though seriously wounded, was still exhorting his men not to surrender. Non-commissioned officers take their places. The enemy sets fire to the houses by means of petrol. Sergeant Chef has rallied the survivors, and, stationing them with a machine-gun section at the exit by the side of the pool, has barricaded himself in the last house, dug a trench, and brought the enemy to a halt. To the north, Sergeant Chapelle holds out in the same way with some details until nightfall. The men work in pairs; one makes a dug-out while his comrade fires. The German losses are heavy. A private who saw them said, “Yes, there were a good many of them laid out!”

Although the village is lost, but for the last house, the dyke road is blocked up. On the northern side of the ravine, however, the Germans have managed to get near the railway.

Early next day the 74th Regiment retakes the lost trenches of La Caillette, and, continuing his advance, pushes his listening-posts up to the ridge of far-famed Douaumont.

How can we tell the full story of all these fights, scarcely interrupted for a moment, and all these feats of valour? On April 11 the enemy attacks with two divisions placed side by side on a front of 1¾ miles, from Fort Douaumont to Fort Vaux; he is driven back. On the 15th we attack him (with three battalions of the 36th Regiment and details of the 120th) between the ravine of La Caillette and that of La Fausse-Côte, and take nearly 200 prisoners. On the 19th the attack is resumed; the 81st Brigade carries a small fort crammed with dead and wounded, captures 260 prisoners (among them 9 officers, 4 cadets,[2] and 16 non-commissioned officers), and seizes machine-guns and a large quantity of flame-throwers. In vain the enemy tries to renew the offensive three days running; he is unable to rob us of the trenches we have captured after so severe a struggle. All this month of April is favourable to us in the Vaux region. General Nivelle, who is in command of the sector, in accordance with instructions received from the Commander-in-Chief and from General Pétain, the leader of the army of Verdun, has given orders for an active defence, which raises the morale of the troops and baffles the purpose of the foe. Satisfied with the results obtained on both banks of the Meuse during the recent operations, General Pétain, summoned by the Commander-in-Chief on April 30 to take command of the central group of armies, before handing over to General Nivelle the command of the Second Army, addresses the troops in an army order in which he says:

[2] The nearest equivalent to “aspirants,” _i.e._ candidates
for commissions who have had one year’s service after
passing an examination and one year’s training in a
military school.--_Translator’s Note._

“One of the greatest battles recorded in history has been raging for more than two months round Verdun. Thanks to all, officers and men, thanks to the devotion and self-denial shown by the various branches of the service, a notable blow has been struck at the military power of Germany.”

During the month of May a definite goal is aimed at, a task likely to provide us with many thrills--the recapture of Fort Douaumont. What a slap in the face this would be for German pride! Douaumont, which has made the Teuton blow a loud trumpet-blast of victory; Douaumont, a conquest won by surreptitious means and emblazoned with the glory of a fictitious assault; Douaumont lost again would mean an outcry of astonishment and wrath over the whole Empire. And on May 22 our gallant lads re-enter Fort Douaumont. Soldiers of Mangin’s Division, battalions of the 36th, 129th, 74th, and 54th Regiments, you will remember that hour and that date when you matched the most daring conquerors!

Fort Vaux followed them from its observing stations and saw them break through by the southern breach. It aided them with its guns in the direction of Hardaumont and La Caillette. And its walls, which resounded under the enemy’s bombardment, seemed to tremble with joy, even as the hills of Israel leapt, at the deliverance of its old comrade.

From the fort of Vaux to the pool the defences staked out on the slopes of the hill are connected by three redoubts or entrenchments more or less knocked to pieces, R¹, R², and R³ in the abbreviated style of the reports. Captain Delvert, who from May 17 to 24 has occupied R¹ with the 8th Company of the 101st Regiment, and who will occupy it again from May 31 to June 5, during the critical period, is one of those officers whom the war has revealed to themselves by abruptly withdrawing them from the civilian careers in which they had earned distinction. A student and a thinker, with a fellowship in history, he is the contemporary and was the close friend of Emile Clermont, the tender, subtle, and pathetic novelist of _Laure_ and _Amour Promis_, who before he was killed in a trench was able to draw lessons favourable to his inner development from the scenes of bloodshed which he held in instinctive horror.

His generation was at that meeting-place of all the roads of the new age which has been marked by a certain indecision in all, or nearly all, of us in our turn: the war, making him a leader of men, will have prepared him for leadership in the intellectual world. He wears the Legion of Honour and the War Cross. Of middle height, with a sunburnt complexion, his eyes full of glittering fire behind his pince-nez, his voice low and his gestures eloquent, he has acquired the habit of looking at himself from outside recommended by Stendhal and his followers. He analyzes himself while he acts. He sees himself in action without being inconvenienced by the presence of this clear-sighted eye-witness. Accordingly he has a precise notion of all that is happening, and realizes the full significance of each event. The background of the canvas does not escape him; he can easily reproduce the stage-setting of the episodes, which he paints like an artist, with rapid, sweeping strokes and warm colours. Men of this type will later on make admirable chroniclers. At the most tragic moments he notices the statuesque pose of a bomb-thrower, or is capable of feeling the warm caress of a sunbeam. More than once I shall have recourse to the notes which he has allowed me to consult: the concise yet passionate style of his personal comments must be left to the imagination.

During the night of May 17-18, Captain Delvert, with his company, reaches the entrenchment R¹ by way of the ravine of Les Fontaines. On the way, the commander of the battalion which he is relieving receives him in his quarters and conveys his instructions to him. “He is a tall man,” writes Captain Delvert, “slim, about fifty years of age, his face clean-shaven. This face is lighted up by a pair of fine, intelligent eyes, and his lips pucker up into an ironical smile.”

There is a portrait in a few lines.

“He receives us,” continues the Captain, “in a charming manner. A conversation is struck up with our battalion commander.

“‘We are going to the dyke. Has it been much shelled with heavies?’

“‘Well, well,’ answers the major, very coolly, ‘one of my officers counted in his sector an average of four shells a minute in a whole day.’

“‘And the major? what about his headquarters?’

“‘Still in pretty good condition, but you can’t get out of the place. It opens out on to a ravine which is constantly being shelled.’

“‘And where do these shells fall?’

“‘On the north, west, and east. It is only on the southern side that we don’t get any, except when our 155’s fire short.... (_A pause._) ... And then, you know, you will have _totos_!’

“‘Totos?’

“‘Yes--well, fleas, if you like! Everybody has them.’

“‘We emerge from the major’s quarters and pass into the gallery which leads to the ravine of Les Fontaines. The country becomes more and more dismal and desolate. The trees are already nothing more than stumps. To make matters worse, since we have had a lot of rain, the gallery changes into a canal, with water a foot or more deep.”

* * * * *

And now the rain of shells begins. What the Captain said is right; it comes from every direction except the south.

At last Captain Delvert reaches his post. Every day he draws up his balance-sheet, just as the officer of the watch on a cruiser writes out his log. Here is the record of his days from May 18 to 24. It is a picture of the life our men lead in the Vaux region:

_Diary of Captain Delvert_ (_May 18-24_)

“_Thursday, May 18._--My trench by the side of the railway
commands the ravine of Vaux, which is riddled like a sieve with
shell-craters full of water.

“That ruin in front, some sixty or eighty yards from the village,
is the ‘western house of Vaux’ mentioned in the communiqués.

“The village is now nothing more than a mass of crumbling walls,
which our 155 mm. guns are constantly battering.

“In front of headquarters is Fort Vaux. To the north and east it is
surrounded by the Boche trenches.

“The dreariness of the landscape is beyond description. At this
moment (7 P.M.) it is bathed in the soft, warm, purple light of the
setting sun. The ridges of the hill are bare, without a blade of
grass. The Fumin Wood is reduced to a few tree-stumps ranged like
the teeth of a comb along its summit, like that wood of ‘the Hand
of Massiges’ which our troopers have nicknamed ‘the Cock’s Comb.’
The soil has been so much churned up by the shells that the earth
has become as shifting as sand, and the shell-holes make the place
look like a range of dunes.

“All of a sudden the cannonade, which had slackened off a little,
breaks out in all its fury. In one minute we count eight Boche
shells whistling over our heads.

“On the ridge of Vaux, which shows up purple against the setting
sun, the black clouds of our 155’s rise in every direction. It is
an orchestra of Hell.

“The Commandant’s office is a shell-hole covered with a few beams
and a little earth. Under the floor are corpses, perhaps those whom
the shell has buried.

“The occupants go to sleep on the floor, their heads resting on
their knapsacks.

“The men are crowded together in recesses that certainly would not
shelter them from the rain.

“Let us wait!

“_Friday the 19th._--The cannonade never stops day or night. It
deafens our ears and clouds our brains.

“To-day, since 6 P.M., the hillsides of Vaux have been disappearing
under our shell-fire.

“From here one can see them falling right on to the white lines
formed in the ground by the Boche trenches and communication
passages.

“At night, in the starlight, green rockets shoot up from our front
lines at the bottom of the ravines. ‘Lengthen the range! Lengthen
the range!’ cry our poor comrades.

“Other shouts are then heard from all sides.

“Red rockets on the Hardaumont plateau. We are attacked. Fire,
lads, fire! Bar the way in front of our trenches!

“Red rockets from Fort Vaux. Red rockets down there, far off,
behind Fumin. How many desperate appeals all over this gloomy
countryside!

“Meanwhile, the Boches from their lines send up other kinds of
rockets, trench flares or ‘star-shells.’ These flash forth from the
darkness every moment in order to ensure that no shovelful of earth
shall be removed by the victims marked out for annihilation by the
shells.

“The whistling of the projectiles which cross each other above our
heads is so loud that you might imagine yourself to be by the sea,
with the swell of the waves, as they rise and fall, crashing in
your ears. The explosions, with their tremendous uproar, produce
the effect of a continual thunderstorm, accompanied by periodic
flashes of lightning.

“_Saturday the 20th_ (11 P.M.).--The lake, with its dreary waters
and its sombre setting, runs right up to the three ridges that
shut in the horizon. The moon hangs over this distant quarter like
a silver veil, dotted with darker specks along the summit of the
hills. At the foot of our trenches she sheds her shimmering light
over the marsh of the ravine, so that it forms a burnished island
amid the ripple of the waters.

“To the right, on the dyke, a procession of funereal shadows glides
past in silence.

“It is the relief that is going by.

“At a steady pace, never stumbling, it climbs up towards the
Hardaumont plateau, where our shells are crashing, and the white,
red, or green cones rise unceasingly into the sky--a firework
display given by men marked out for death.

“_Sunday, May 21._--The fine weather continues. So does the
cannonade.

“Midnight.

“This evening, at nightfall, the Boche sent us tear-shells. These
gases are extremely unpleasant. Your eyes smart, you weep, you
choke, you get a splitting headache. What a torment!

“The cannonade becomes fast and furious.

“The 24th will soon have to attack on the hillsides of Vaux in
front of R¹. All my men are at their posts. The hill that commands
Fort Vaux stretches out its dark line beneath the half-red disc of
the moon. It is reflected down below, a motionless shadow, in the
marsh at the foot of our trenches.

“The horizon, the fort, the ravine, and the distant dip of the
Woevre are wrapped in a silvery mist.

“Near me, right and left, I see in the darkness, above the trench,
the dim glint of the men’s helmets. I think of the terrace of
Elsinore and of the sentries relieving each other there during the
night.

“Here the sentries get no relief. Under those helmets their eyes
are watchfully sweeping the ravine, the embankment slope and the
ballast of the railway. On all sides there spurts up the lurid
flame of the crashing shells. The splinters fall like a heavy
shower of rain into the marshes; others come humming like a top and
land in the trenches.

“The half-hidden, sinister struggle goes on.

“At ten minutes to two the cannonade grows more intense. Rifles and
machine-guns spit and crackle. The night is made hideous with a
confused uproar that re-echoes in the valley.

“Red rockets dart up incessantly from the German lines. On the
parapet, with straining eyes, our rifles in our hands, dumb
with horror, we witness a mysterious duel, in which we hear
the din without seeing the actors. Green rockets flare up from
our trenches. ‘Lengthen the range!’ is the cry, while a Boche
machine-gun emits its crisp, abrupt note.

“Another machine-gun that the artillery preparation has forgotten.

“The valley is filled with a dense vapour, a blend of dust and
smoke, which hides everything from view.

“On the Hardaumont plateau dawn begins to appear.

“But the struggle goes on without respite. It rages more and more
furiously in the fog, a fog through which the rockets cleave a
fiery trail and the red flames of the shell-bursts are constantly
darting up. From all sides the bullets whistle around us. The
youngsters of the 1916 class, now receiving their baptism of fire,
cluster round the sides of the parapet. We officers and N.C.O.’s,
our rifles in our hands, spur them on to fight. Very soon each
finds his mark among the Boches, who can be seen--now that day has
risen--gradually receding all along the hillsides of Vaux.

“_Monday, May 22._--A cartridge-base of 130 mm. has entered my
dug-out, broken my bâtman’s leg, and flattened itself out on the
wall near my head.

“_11 o’clock._--German counter-attack on the trench taken this
morning by the 129th. Boche detachments are crossing the slopes. We
fire at them; they can be seen lying down flat on the ground, then
proceeding again at the double. There is one who still lies prone.
He must have been hit. One must admit that they are brave soldiers,
these fellows.

“They have reached the trench. A hand-grenade duel begins. An
appalling fire is directed at Fumin, through which other units of
the 124th are to come as reinforcements.

“To our left, Douaumont has been recaptured since this morning.

“_Wednesday, May 24--1 o’clock in the morning._--This time it is
Hell indeed. The night is as black as ink. The little valley now
seems a gigantic chasm girdled by fantastic hills, great sombre
masses with vague outlines. At the bottom of the chasm the pools
of the marsh glitter mysteriously in the dark. Dim vapours rise
incessantly, accompanied by a terrific noise; red and white gleams
cut athwart each other, so that out of the shadows there suddenly
leap up mountains of darkness which appear for a moment to be
encircled with light, then vanish at once into the night.

“Through the heavy air, in which one can scarcely breathe for dust
and smoke, there is all the time an invisible gliding to and fro,
a frightful whistling, roaring, and crackling, and a spurting of
flames that seems endless.

“Is it the Twilight of the Gods? the _Götterdämmerung_ which
haunted the sublime imagination of their barbarian giant? Is
the earth yawning, and is that savage world whose monstrous maw
wellnigh devoured humanity sinking into a fiery pit? No. It is
merely an episode of the war: the German counter-attack on R¹.

“Perhaps it will get a line in the communiqués.

“_8 o’clock._--The hillsides of Vaux seem more sinister than ever.

“All along the German trench that is being fought over, rigid
bodies stiff and stark in blue greatcoats, black trails. The soil,
in places, looks as if it were burnt. One corpse has been stripped
of its greatcoat.

“We can see that naked back in the sunlight.”...

Each episode of the combat is linked up with the operation as a whole. The attack on Douaumont will have an immediate effect on the rest of the fighting. The battle on the Verdun front is a part of the single battle that is being waged on all the fronts. Accordingly the beleaguered islet of Vaux is about to rivet the attention of the entire globe.

Our troops have been unable to hold their ground in Fort Douaumont, of which they only occupied the superstructure and a part of the casemates. On May 24 a German counter-offensive has succeeded in enveloping and retaking the earthwork. It seems as if the daring enterprise of May 22 had aroused their anger as a strip of red cloth excites a bull. They nearly lost Douaumont; so outrageous an insult decides them to rush on Verdun with redoubled fury. They devote to the onslaught a new force, the 1st Bavarian Corps. On May 25, 26, and 27 they pounce upon Thiaumont Farm, in the direction of Froideterre. From May 31 onwards they move slantwise on their left and, flinging themselves at Fort Vaux, will not resign themselves to abandoning the prey which they covet and which they thought was in their grip eight months ago.

Their plan will be to outflank the fort to the west by way of the ravines of Le Bazil and Les Fontaines, and to the east by way of Damloup.

On May 31 our line is carried up again beyond the Le Bazil ravine so as to wind round the Hardaumont salient, which belongs to us, through La Caillette Wood. Then it runs back, crossing the ravine by the dyke, passes in front of the entrenchments R³, R², and R¹, envelops the fort at a distance of barely 200 yards from the counterscarp, sweeps down into La Horgne bottom, is thrust out into a point at Damloup village, and bends back into La Gayette bottom in front of La Laufée.

The Hardaumont salient and Damloup village run out from the line like spires, and their defence is a hazardous business. The entrenchments have been broken up. What sort of a barrier can the fort still provide?