"The detachment moves off in the night, marching in slow cadence—that step which so peculiarly gives the impression of restrained force and condensed power.
"We leave the fort and gain the artillery butts—true landscape of the front! Trenches, stripped trees, abandoned wagons!
"And in the middle of all that—our silhouettes of carbines, casques and sacs.
"Absolute silence.
"We stop—we advance—and suddenly in the dawn which has begun, we arrive at our destination—the execution ground.
"'Cannoniers—halte! Couvres sur deux. A droite alignement.'"
"A rattle of arms. And there in front of us, at hardly fifteen yards, we catch sight of the post.
"Up till now we had scarcely felt anything—just startled impressions, almost of curiosity, but now I begin to experience the first strong sensation.
"The post! Symbol of all this sinister ceremony. A short post—not higher than one's shoulder! There it stands in front of the shooting butts. And to think that nearly every Monday—"
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