In his flight, he came to an old French dugout, half caved in, and partially filled with slimy and filthy water.
Like a fox being chased by the hounds, he ducked into this hole, and threw himself on a pile of old empty sandbags, wet and mildewed. Then -- unconsciousness.
On the next day, he came to; far distant voices sounded in his ears. Opening his eyes, in the entrance of the dugout he saw a Corporal and two men with fixed bayonets.
The Corporal was addressing him:
"Get up, you white-livered blighter! Curse you and the day you ever joined "D" Company, spoiling their fine record! It'll be you up against the wall, and a good job too. Get a hold of him, men, and if he makes a break, give him the bayonet, and send it home, the cowardly sneak. Come on, you, move, we've been looking for you long enough."
Lloyd, trembling and weakened by his long fast, tottered out, assisted by a soldier on each side of him.
They took him before the Captain, but could get nothing out of him but:
"For God's sake, sir, don't have me shot, don't have me shot!"
The Captain, utterly disgusted with him, sent him under escort to Division Headquarters for trial by court-martial, charged with desertion under fire.
They shoot deserters in France.