Shells went whizzing over the house, exploding in the coppices with a whooping noise. Then came the heavier, jerky whizz of the big "Fifteens," Ram ... ram ... ram! They exploded and kept coming in threes, at regular intervals. From one minute to another the great glow might appear, the final destruction which would send all our human islet to its death.
Our first line trenches were over yonder. There was the Lizerne Mill. The village was to the right. The ground looked black, the plain was lighted by the moon, so that one could see a heap of bricks which reminded one of the Mill. In October, we had seen it in all its glory, with its sails in the form of a cross. Through the cloud of dust which rose from the battle-field, lighted up by the shrapnels which kept rending the darkness, and in the midst of the wan light, the scene before us looked like a dream picture. We could see the spot we wanted to reach. With our eyes fixed on it, we went along as though hypnotised. Over there was the hill-top that had been laid waste, the accursed spot where craters had been made in every direction.
Bullets were whizzing through the air and clods of earth kept falling with heavy thuds. Fragments of shells kept burying themselves with a whirring sound. Onward, onward, we must get there! As we advanced, the outline of the spot we were aiming at grew bigger and bigger. We kept stumbling, falling down and getting up again. Now we saw the house all in ruins, the hill on which the mill had stood before it fell in. A shelter had now been dug in the hill. I pushed the door open, a whiff of hot air nearly choked me, the light dazzled me and, in the heavy atmosphere, I could scarcely recognise any faces. There were about twenty men there, some wounded, who were waiting, and officers who were there at their posts. We had to go still farther on than this. We could stay only long enough to exchange a few words, and then, shaking hands, we said "Adieu! Good luck!" How many of us would never return!
It was now the last stage of our journey. There was a communication trench here. We glided along, sheltering near the house, dark shadows in the night. The trench had been blocked and was almost destroyed. We had to climb on heaps of sand, stride over, jump and then let ourselves fall again into the holes. It was a labyrinth of fragments of walls, and of moving earth, above which tall, branchless trees stood up like black skeletons. Shells kept coming regularly, every quarter of a minute. Between every explosion we ran, hurrying forward. Our hearts were beating fast. The bullets kept snapping. We did not think of death. Our one idea was to arrive, to advance. It was a deadly race. And then the odour that rose to our nostrils, at the same time as the odour of the powder, became stronger and stronger.
At last we came to Yperlée, to the footbridge. Only a rush now and we shall be on sheltered ground.
The tree that used to be there is split up. Its dark branches were all intertwined as they fell, and we could see the white of its sap-wood, with its enormous prickles. On the ground were four Zouaves. One of them was crouching down, with his gun between his legs and his head on his chest. The others were lying down, as though they were asleep. And that terrible odour became persistent. Agreeable at first, something like jasmine, it finally became sickening. It had been pursuing us for a long time, and, at times, it was most violent. The band seemed to be tightening round our temples. Our eyes were burning and tears were running down our cheeks. There were little drops of moisture in the air which settled on us.
Here was the trench, and the moon made the shadows seem enormous. The sudden gleam from the shrapnels rent the darkness overhead. The shells yelled as they passed heavily along. It was as though they found it difficult to advance. Suddenly some "seventy-fives" rushed along. They ceased and then began again wildly. The horizon was brilliant with sudden flashes. In the distance we could hear the stifled "Boom!" of the big cannons, the bell-like sound of the 380 which went on and on. The cannonading became slower and we thought it was stopping, but, after a moment's silence, one cannon began again, then another, and then all of them together. Our Grenadiers were there, lying on the parapets, crouching in the trenches, big, dark shadows on their still greyer sacks. They fired. Bullets smashed into the sacks, into the earth and the trees. Shadows could be seen gliding about, men bending double, with their guns in their hands. On the right, a great, red light was to be seen, gradually covering all the sky. Ypres was burning. The ruins of Ypres were in flames. The bullets sang and whined. Others plunged into the bluish darkness with a reverberating noise. They went a long way and then suddenly ended in the ground. They came from the front, from the back, from everywhere. A fuse came down from the sky, a green star lighting up the trench with an unnatural light, like a diabolical smile. The whizzing began again. Shrapnels burst with their greenish light, again and again, and all the time. It was a wonderful and terrible hour. Flanders was bleeding from all her veins. But no matter, the Germans did not pass!