My .75: Reminiscences of a Gunner of a .75m/m Battery in 1914Lintier, Paul
History
My .75: Reminiscences of a Gunner of a .75m/m Battery in 1914
Lintier, Paul
World War, 1914-1918 -- Personal narratives, French
The truth of this can be easily confirmed. In the present case the
farther we went from the hole the higher was the point at which the
artichokes had been shorn off, and at a dozen paces or so from the edge
of the crater the shrapnel had only reached the heads of the highest
stems. It follows therefore that a man lying very near the point of
impact would probably not have been hit. Next came a circular zone
which was entirely unscathed, but a little farther on the falling
bullets and splinters had mown off leaves and stems, and a man lying
down here would have risked quite as much as if he had remained
standing.
When thus coldly examined a shell loses much of its moral effect.
The actual organization of the artillery also stimulates a gunner's
courage. The foot-soldier, cavalryman, and sapper are units in
themselves, whereas for us the only unit is the gun. The seven men
serving it are the closely connected, interdependent organs of a thing
which becomes alive--the gun in action.
In consequence of the links existing between the seven men among
themselves and between each of them and the gun, any faint-heartedness
is rendered more obvious, its consequences much greater, and the
shame it bears in its wake more crushing. Moreover, in this complete
solidarity the effluvia which create psychological contagion are
easily developed; one or two gunners who stick resolutely and calmly to
their posts are often able to inspire the whole detachment with courage.
* * * * *
To-day was a day of undisturbed quiet. Over towards Tailly and Stenay
nothing revealed the presence of the enemy.
When evening approached we were again sent off to encamp on the other
side of the woods. There was a glorious summer sunset, and through the
dark depths of the trees the road opened up a mysterious avenue at the
end of which glowed a western sky more varied in hues than a rainbow.
All sound of battle had ceased. Gradually the sky darkened and night
fell. As yesterday, the artillery rolled monotonously on through the
shadowy woods.
One by one the stars were veiled by a rising mist, and the sky became
opalescent with a nocturnal luminosity that flooded the stretches of
the forest, which, from the crests of the hills, could be seen rising
and falling as far as the eye could reach. But underneath the trees
the darkness was intense, and the road would have seemed a trench dug
deep in the earth itself but for an occasional infantry bivouac, the
embers of which glowed faintly through the brushwood, and but for a
damp scent of mint and other herbs which rose from the dark undergrowth
mingled with a certain sensuous smell of animality. We were surrounded
by a delicious freshness with which we filled our lungs and which made
us shiver slightly.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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