Impressions and Experiences of a French Trooper, 1914-1915Mallet, Christian
History
Impressions and Experiences of a French Trooper, 1914-1915
Mallet, Christian
World War, 1914-1918 -- Campaigns -- Belgium; World War, 1914-1918 -- Personal narratives, French
A torpor seized me and I fell back into the ditch, overcome by sleep,
and slept again till almost daylight. From that moment events moved with
great rapidity. It must have been seven o’clock when the infantry at last
arrived, fifteen hours late. We heard hurried footsteps. I turned and saw
troops falling back in hot haste, being irresistibly outflanked by the
enemy. They seemed to be pursued by assailants who were on their heels.
I heard voices exclaiming, “It is pitiable to see fellows so up against
it.” I said nothing, but, in my inner consciousness, I clearly understood
that the supreme moment was come for many of us.
For a moment I feared that we had been forgotten in the general movement.
Soon afterwards Captain de Tarragon appeared at the cross-roads. I
can see him still; he looked immensely big in his blue cloak. Without
speaking, he signalled to us that we could retire. It was time indeed,
for the enemy outflanked us on all sides. The troop doubled towards him
and ran on. Magrin and I remained alongside him. Never so much as then
have I felt the irresistible force of Destiny. It was written that I was
to remain with him until the end.
We three reached a farm on the crest of the ridge; 400 mètres off a
German company was advancing. The Captain seized a carbine from the hands
of a late-comer who fled past us and turned round to open fire. Faithful
to my oath, and knowing that our lives hung on a thread, I fired off the
contents of my magazine alongside of him. I aimed as best I could, though
my greatcoat interfered, and I shot into the brown. A second later the
German reply crumbled the wall of the farm, passing between the Captain
and me, two fingers’ breadth over our heads.
I implored de Tarragon not to expose himself any longer. What was the use
of this heroic folly of standing up alone against an advancing battalion
of the enemy? Doubtless our regiment was already a long way off, but we
might, perhaps, be able to rejoin it by crawling along the deep ditch
which ran by the roadside.
Hate of the enemy seemed, however, to rage in his heart, and he replied,
“It is too bad to have to abandon such a target!” At last, his cartridges
being exhausted, he decided to retire, without running, and seeming to
defy the entire world with his tall well set-up figure of a handsome
French soldier. Instead of taking to the ditch which ran by the roadside,
he crossed the field of fire. I followed him, without understanding, and
Magrin did likewise.
A moment afterwards our number was increased to four by the arrival of
an officer of hussars or of chasseurs, who came running up. All my life
I shall remember this last. He was young, elegant and good-looking, and
so trim and neat with his sky-blue cap jauntily set at an angle. When two
mètres off he opened his mouth as if to speak, but before having emitted
a sound he fell dead, hit by a bullet under the ear.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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