"What trenches——?"
"The trenches where they are fighting."
"We are returning from vacation and want to be in it!"
"It is twelve miles from here."
"We can do that easily on foot—we will be guided by the sound of the cannon."
THE SUMMIT OF DEAD MAN'S HILL.
March 2, 1916.
There is nothing to say, but we desired to keep in touch with some poilus in a bombardment dugout 225 yards from the spot where we now are. The communicating trench is blocked up and it is in full view that we have to leap over this stretch of ground——
It was toward the end of the day, but one could yet see very well. Scarcely had we gone a step along the road to Béthincourt than Guéneau, LeBlond and myself were seen by the boches. They turned their cannon and machine-guns on us—yes, three 105's which came over seemed deposited by hand. The first covered us with earth at some yards to our left; the second fell a short distance to the right on the edge of the road.
"Let's get out of here, les copains,[25] fifty yards farther—quick!"