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By Root 1992 0

troops climbed up and took positions on the ridges between two villages, Chestres and Falaise, about four or five kilometres apart. Already the sappers were digging trenches and throwing up ramparts while to the left the reserve artillery was on top of a mound. The tale went round that General Bordas had sent a dispatch rider to report that having met superior forces at Grand-Pré he was obliged to fall back on Buzancy, and that gave rise to fears that his line of retreat to Vouziers might soon be cut. That was why the commander of the 7th corps, thinking an attack was imminent, had moved his men into combat positions to sustain the first shock until the rest of the army could come to his support, and one of his aides-de-camp had gone off with a letter to the marshal, warning him about the situation and asking for help. So as he was frightened of being obstructed by the interminable supply column which had rejoined the corps during the night and which was now dragging after him again, he had made that set off at once, sending it any old where in the Chagny direction. It was battle order.

‘So this is really it this time, sir?’ Maurice ventured to ask Rochas.

‘Yes, it bloody well is!’ he answered, waving his long arms. ‘You’ll see whether it’s hot enough in a minute.’

All the men were thrilled. Since the battle line had been drawn from Chestres to Falaise the excitement of the camp had heightened still more and the men were becoming feverishly impatient. So they were going to see them at last, these Prussians the papers said were so exhausted with marches, so undermined by diseases, famished and in rags! And the hope of bowling them over at the first go revived everyone’s spirits.

‘It’s a good job we’ve found each other!’ declared Jean. ‘We’ve been playing hide and seek long enough since losing each other over there on the frontier after their battle… But are these the ones who beat MacMahon?’

Maurice could not answer him, for he wasn’t sure. From what he had read at Rheims it seemed very unlikely that the IIIrd army, commanded by the Prussian Crown Prince, could be at Vouziers when only two days before it could scarcely have camped nearer than Vitry-le-François. There had of course been talk of a IVth army put under the command of the Crown Prince of Saxony which was to operate on the Meuse; it must be that one, although such an early occupation of Grand-Pré astonished him because of the distances. But what finally muddled him was his amazement when he heard General Bourgain-Desfeuilles interrogating a peasant from Falaise to find out whether or not the Meuse flowed through Buzancy and if there were some strong bridges there. Moreover in his fool’s paradise the general declared that they would be attacked by a force of a hundred thousand men from Grand-Pré whilst another sixty thousand were coming via Sainte-Ménehould.

‘How’s the foot?’ asked Jean.

‘Can’t even feel it now,’ Maurice laughed. ‘If there’s a fight it’ll be all right.’

It was true. He was upheld by such nervous excitement that he felt as if he were not touching the ground. To think that all through the campaign he hadn’t yet fired a single round. He had been to the frontier, he had spent the awful night of suspense outside Mulhouse, without setting eyes on a single Prussian or firing a shot, and he had had to retreat to Belfort, to Rheims, and once again he had been marching towards the enemy for five days with his rifle still virgin and useless. He was possessed by a growing need, a dull rage urging him to take aim and fire anyway, to steady his nerves. It was nearly six weeks since he had joined up in a burst of enthusiasm, dreaming of battle the next day, and all he had done was wear out his poor, delicate, civilian feet running away or marking time, miles from any battlefield. That was why, in this universal mood of expectation, he was one of the most impatient watchers of that main road to Grand-Pré stretching away dead straight between its fine trees. Beneath him the valley wound along, the Aisne making a kind of silver ribbon amid the willows and