Steadily on Across a Wall of Fire
They went steadily on, supported by the fire of the rows of “75’s,” the fire-curtain in front outlining the whole length of the enemy’s line clearly, accurately. But above them was blackness, the low-flying clouds mingling with the smoke curtain; and out of that blackness “fell a trickling rain of pieces of metal, lumps of earth, knapsacks, rifles, cartridges and fragments of human flesh. The scene was horrible and terrifying. Across the wall of our own fire, poured shell after shell from the enemy, tearing through our ranks. From overhead the shrapnel seemed to come down in sheets, and from behind the stinking, blinding curtain came volleys of steel-jacketed bullets, their whine unheard and their effect almost unnoticed.... With me it was like a dream as we went on, ever on. Of a sudden our fire curtain lifted. In a moment it had ceased to bar our way and jumped like a living thing to the next line of the enemy. We could see the trenches in front of us now, quite clear of fire, but flattened almost beyond recognition. The defenders were either killed or demoralized. Calmly, almost stupidly, we parried or thrust with the bayonet at those who barred our way. Without a backward glance we leaped the ditch and went on straight forward toward the next trench, marked in glowing outline by our fire. I remember now how the men looked. Their eyes had a wild, unseeing look in them. Everybody was gazing ahead, trying to pierce the awful curtain which cut us off from all sight of the enemy. Always the black pall smoking and burning appeared ahead—just ahead of us—hiding everything we wanted to see.” And so on to the next trench ahead, what was left of it, where bayonet and gun-butt did their work speedily and then on, leaving the finishing touches to the “trench cleaners.”
Later of a sudden the German artillery in front ceased fire, and from the trench ahead the German troops “were pouring out in black masses and advancing toward us at a trot.” They thought it was a counter-attack and set themselves to meet it. But then the French artillery suddenly stopped firing and the supposed counter-attack was seen to be a surrender, the enemy coming forward in columns of four, officer leading, with hands up. As the prisoners were being escorted to the rear, the German artillery, aware of its mistake, resumed fire, viciously throwing shells among the masses of prisoners.
At last they gained the communication trench that led to their objective, the Navarin Farm. The trench was filled with dead or wounded Germans; and when they got to the final trench, it was wholly unoccupied. The French gunmen had done their work thoroughly. The men advanced into open position and dug in separately, smoked, chaffed each other, now and then made a dash to a neighbor’s hole, taking cheer in the fact that the charge was over and the object won.
But of the Legion such a pitiful few were left that it passed as a fact, surviving only as a memory; its war-sealed flag with the cross of the Legion of Honor, hanging in the Hôtel des Invalides, being the testimony of its service well done.