The Debacle - Emile Zola [62]
As it grew lighter Jean tried to get his bearings. He had been shown the Le Chêne road going off north-west up a hill the other side of Quatre-Champs. Well, why had they turned right instead of left? What interested him was the headquarters set up in La Converserie, a farmhouse perched on the edge of the plateau. They seemed to be very perturbed there, with officers running about and arguing and gesticulating. But nothing was coming, what could they be waiting for? The plateau formed a sort of circus – bare stubble stretching on and on, dominated on the north and east by wooded uplands; southwards there were extensive thick woods while to the west could be seen a glimpse of the Aisne valley with the little white houses of Vouziers. Below La Converserie the slate steeple of Quatre-Champs stood out, drowned in sheets of rain which seemed to be melting away the few miserable mossy roofs of the village. As Jean ran his eye up the hilly road he saw quite clearly a trap bowling quite fast along the stony track which was now a torrent.
It was Maurice, who from the hill opposite as he came round a bend had spotted the 7th. He had been casting round for two hours, misled by peasants’ instructions, taken the wrong way by the artful bloody-mindedness of his driver, who was scared to death of the Prussians. As soon as he reached the farmhouse Maurice leaped down and at once found his regiment.
Jean gaped in amazement.
‘What, you! Why? We were going to pick you up!’
Maurice put all his anger and distress into one gesture.
‘Oh yes? Well, we’re not going up that way now, we’re going over there, to be killed, the whole lot of us!’
After a pause Jean, grim-faced, said: ‘All right, anyhow you and I will be knocked out together.’
And as they had parted so the two met again, with an embrace. In the still driving rain the private soldier rejoined the ranks while the corporal set the example, streaming wet but making no complaint.
By now the news was going round, and it was official. The retreat to Paris was off, and once again they were marching towards the Meuse. An aide-de-camp from the marshal had just brought orders for the 7th corps to go and camp at Nouart, whilst the 5th, heading for Beauclair, would take the right flank and the 1st would replace at Le Chêne the 12th, which was marching on La Besace, on the left wing. The reason why thirty-odd thousand men had been standing about there waiting in the furious gales for three hours was that General Douay, in all the deplorable muddle of this fresh change of plan, was terribly worried about the whereabouts of the baggage train sent on ahead the day before towards Chagny. They had to wait until it had rejoined the main body. It was being said that this convoy had been cut in half by that of the 12th at Le Chêne. On top of that, part of the equipment – all the smithies for the artillery – having taken the wrong road was now on its way back from Terron via the Vouziers road, where it was certain to fall into German hands. Never had there been a greater muddle, nor more anxiety.
Then a mood of out and out despair came over the soldiers. Many of them were for sitting down on their packs in the mud on that soaking plain and just waiting for death in the rain. They sneered at their commanding officers and insulted them: a nice lot they were, hadn’t the brains of a louse, undid in the evening what they had done in the morning, did damn all when the enemy wasn’t there and did a bunk as soon as he showed himself! Utter demoralization finished off the job of turning this army into a rabble with no faith in anything, no discipline, being led to the slaughter by sheer chance. Over towards Vouziers