In the Field (1914-1915) 
 
The Project Gutenberg eBook, In the Field (1914-1915), by Marcel 
Dupont, Translated by H. W. Hill 
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Title: In the Field (1914-1915) The Impressions of an Officer of Light 
Cavalry 
Author: Marcel Dupont 
 
Release Date: April 14, 2006 [eBook #18177] 
Language: English 
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 
***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK IN THE 
FIELD (1914-1915)*** 
E-text prepared by Jeannie Howse, Thierry Alberto, Henry Craig, and 
the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team 
(http://www.pgdp.net/) from page images generously made available 
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+------------------------------------------------------------+ | Transcriber's 
Note: | | | | Any obvious typographical errors have been corrected in | | 
this text. For a complete list, please see the bottom of | | this document. 
| | | +------------------------------------------------------------+ 
 
IN THE FIELD (1914-1915) 
The Impressions of an Officer of Light Cavalry 
by 
MARCEL DUPONT 
Translated by H. W. Hill 
 
London William Heinemann London: William Heinemann, 1916. 
 
TO 
GENERAL CHERFILS 
A TRIBUTE OF 
SINCERE GRATITUDE 
 
PREFACE 
In the following pages the reader will find no tactical studies, no 
military criticism, no vivid picture of a great battle. I have merely tried
to make a written record of some of the hours I have lived through 
during the course of this war. A modest Lieutenant of Chasseurs, I 
cannot claim to form any opinion as to the operations which have been 
carried out for the last nine months on an immense front. I only speak 
of things I have seen with my own eyes, in the little corner of the 
battlefield occupied by my regiment. 
It occurred to me that if I should come out of the deathly struggle safe 
and sound, it would be a pleasure to me some day to read over these 
notes of battle or bivouac. I thought, further, that my people would be 
interested in them. So I tried to set down my impressions in my 
intervals of leisure. Days of misery, days of joy, days of battle.... What 
volumes one might write, if one were to follow our squadrons day by 
day in their march! 
I preferred to choose among many memories. I did not wish to 
compose memoirs, but only to evoke the most tragic or the most 
touching moments of my campaign. And, indeed, I have had only too 
many from which to choose. 
I shall rejoice if I have been able to revive some phases of the tragedy 
in which we were the actors for my brothers-in-arms. 
Further, I gladly offer these "impressions" to any non-combatants they 
may interest. They must not look for the talents of a great story-teller, 
nor the thrilling interest of a novel. All they will find is the simple tale 
of an eyewitness, the unschooled effort of a soldier more apt with the 
sword than with the pen. 
M.D. 
 
_The Editor of SOLDIERS' TALES will be glad to read diaries or 
notebooks of those returning, in any capacity whatsoever, from the 
Front with a view to inclusion in the Series. Contributions must be 
strictly truthful and should be written with no effort at fine writing. 
They are intended to tell truthfully the experiences and the feelings of
the writers. They should be sent by registered post to the Editor, 
"Soldiers' Tales," 21, Bedford Street, W.C., and they may be 
accompanied by sketches and photographs. All contributions printed 
will be well paid for. Contributions should be of 30,000 words and 
upwards in length._ 
 
CONTENTS 
 
CHAP. PAGE 
I. HOW I WENT TO THE FRONT 1 
II. THE FIRST CHARGE 57 
III. RECONNOITRING COURGIVAULT 76 
IV. THE JAULGONNE AFFAIR 102 
V. LOW MASS AND BENEDICTION 152 
VI. A TRAGIC NIGHT IN THE TRENCHES 178 
VII. SISTER GABRIELLE 226 
VIII. CHRISTMAS NIGHT 258 
 
I. HOW I WENT TO THE FRONT 
The train was creeping along slowly in the soft night air. Seated on a 
truss of hay in the horse-box with my own two horses and that of my 
orderly, Wattrelot, I looked out through the gap left by the unclosed 
sliding door. How slowly we were going! How often we stopped! I got 
impatient as I thought of the hours we were losing whilst the other 
fellows were fighting and reaping all the glory. Station after station we
passed; bridges, level crossings, tunnels. Everywhere I saw soldiers 
guarding the line and the bayonets of the old chassepôts glinting in the 
starlight. Now and again the train would suddenly pull up for some    
    
		
	
	
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