AN EPISODE IN MINING WARFARE,
MALANCOURT WOOD.
July 7, 1915.
We arrived yesterday afternoon toward dusk, in an automobile, and in full view of the enemy.
General de Salins, who commanded the Brigade, found us at this moment on the edge of the wood and could not believe his eyes—Guéneau and I were bumping along, making very slow progress on account of the numerous shell-holes along the road made during the last bombardment.
What a magnificent afternoon! At this time of the year, Malancourt Wood is an exquisite sight. The lengthening rays of the sun easily penetrate the green foliage of the trees that completely surround us.
This sector had been active enough before, when the enemy for the first time attacked with flame-throwers. After that, save for the days when mines were exploded, the wood became one of the most quiet spots on the front.
We are heartily received by our sapper-comrades.
At night we all go together into the first-line trench, where there are but few soldiers. It is very black without. Not a rifle shot, not the sound of a cannon. What a difference from the sector in Flanders!
We leave the trench and go over, crouching, into No Man's Land, advancing with great precaution through the tall grass. When a rocket flares from our lines or those of the enemy, we flatten with our faces to the ground and remain without the slightest movement. Then we advance again, holding our breath. Finally we arrive at the enemy's barbed wire entanglements and hear them talking in their trenches.
I am close to Guéneau, who listens attentively while I murmur in his ear: