"You ought to be very grateful to your lieutenant who furnishes you with light and air."
"Yes, colonel, but I prefer pinard!"
THE LOGICAL POILU, CHEVALIERS WOOD.
January, 1916.
Chevaliers Wood appears to be at the extreme ends of the earth, so much so that one feels far away from everything down there. The cold is dry and piercing. Pretty, white smoke rises from the shelters, in which are burning bright log fires. The ground, on the outside, is covered with snow.
I am going back to the trenches, having at my side a little blue devil. The poilu is leading a mule, a nice, gentle mule, carrying ammunition to a machine-gun section.
We passed at the side of a 75 battery, so well camouflée that we had not seen it. We are just even with it when it begins to fire.
The mule makes a jump and I see the moment when our little chasseur is going to be spilled on the ground.
He recovers his balance and, furious, plants himself before the animal.
"Nom de Dieu, don't you know our 75's?"