"You're wounded?"
"Yes, in the head, the arms, in the legs and the heart——"
"Mon vieux, you bawl too much to be really wounded. Get up!"
The unfortunate arose and I read fear in his eyes.
"Where do you come from?"
"From Herbebois—they attacked with their flame-throwers—I saw my brother lieutenant, burning like a torch. My comrades stayed, but I know nothing more——"
THE MAGNIFICENT POILU, CHAMBRETTES.
February 22, 1916.
A column of infantry-munitions wagons halted at the fork in the road from Beaumont and Ornes; a 305 shell had dug a deep crater in the road which was cut in two.
These light wagons, in good order, could pass neither to the right nor to the left of the hole on account of wire entanglements.
Observed by the enemy, the convoy, after some moments, met with a veritable rain of projectiles, time and percussion, which fell around us.