"You are not even reasonable—during such days we are living in historic moments—you can use twine just as well——"
THE PSYCHOLOGICAL POILU, ORNES.
February 24, 1916.
It is night——
The sky is ablaze to our left. They will perhaps attack at any moment. Shells rain around us four at a time and at regular intervals.
As the positions on our left have been forced back and our flank menaced, Chabert's sappers have hastily dug a small trench at the entrance to the village, facing the west.
The poilus are waiting stoically for whatever may transpire. A man is curled up and, numb with fatigue, sleeps. One of his companions shakes him and says:
"Mon vieux, you cannot sleep. Wake up, because each minute we hold them now, it is a VICTORY!"
WOUNDED, BEZONVAUX.
Night of February 24-25, 1916.
Our artillery no longer responds. The order to fall back was given at five o'clock. My men are moving toward Verdun, conducted by Sergeant Thiébaut. I stop at Bezonvaux, hoping to find there my comrade Chabert. I have promised his mother, who has only this boy, that I will watch over him like a brother——