French soldier posing for a photograph inside the Fort de Vaux at Verdun, November 22, 1916.
This
photograph, colourised by 'DURIEZ Frederic' on Flickr, was taken today
107 years ago inside the Fort de Vaux during the Battle of Verdun.
The
following is excerpts of a French Lieutenant's (translated) diary of
his experiences at the Fort de Vaux in June 1916.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
"We
had scarcely arrived at the right of Fort de Vaux, on the slope of the
ravine, when there came an unprecedented bombardment of twelve hours.
Alone, in a sort of dugout without walls, I pass twelve hours of agony,
believing that it is the end.
In front of us are not less than
1,200 guns of 240, 305, 380, and 420 calibre, which spit ceaselessly and
all together, in these days of preparation for attack. These explosions
stupefy the brain; you feel as if your entrails were being torn out,
your heart twisted and wrenched; the shock seems to dismember your whole
body. And then the wounded, the corpses!
Never had I seen such
horror, such hell. I felt that I would give everything if only this
would stop long enough to clear my brain. Twelve hours alone,
motionless, exposed, and no chance to risk a leap to another place, so
closely did the fragments of shell and rock fall in hail all day long.
I
bury three comrades in a shell-hole. We are without water, and, with
hands that have just touched the poor mangled limbs, we eat as if
nothing were wrong. We are laid flat by one that bursts a few yards
away. So many of them fall at one time that we no longer pay any
attention to them. We tumble into a ravine which we have named Death
Ravine.
At last we enter the village (Vaux) - without suspecting
that the Germans are there! The commanding officer scatters us along the
steep hill to the left and says: "Dig holes, quickly; the Boches are
forty yards away!" In two minutes the village is surrounded, while the
German batteries get a rude jolt.
The next morning a formidable
rumour - the Boches are coming up to assault Fort de Vaux. The
newspapers have told the facts; our 75's firing for six hours, the
German bodies piling up in heaps.
"Keep up your courage, coolness,
and morale, boys, and we will drive them back in good time." Suddenly
it is already night. A sentinel runs up to the outposts: "There they
are! Shoot!"
I hold my fire until they approach, but the welcome
evidently does not please them, for they tumble back over the ridge,
leaving some men behind. One wounded cries, "Frenchmen!"
I am
drunk, mad. Something moves in the bushes to the right; I bound forward
with set bayonet. It is my brave sergeant, who has been out to see
whether the Boches have all run away.
These are truly the most
interesting moments of war; no longer the waiting, the anguish of
bombardment, but the thrill of a free march into a glorious unknown -
oh, that intoxication! I sing the "Marseillaise," the boys jubilate, all
the successive attacks have failed. After this evening the offensive is
going to slacken for several days.
The next day we are relieved
at last. Another race with death, this time with broad daylight shining
upon the horrible chaos, the innumerable dead, and a few wounded here
and there.
The next day, at Verdun, the Germans are still shelling
us at the moment when we mount the auto trucks. In the course of all
these actions our losses certainly have been high, but they are nothing
compared with the frightful and unimaginable hecatomb of Germans I have
witnessed".
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