THE PHILOSOPHICAL POILU, EPARGES.
December, 1915.
You will not believe me, but this morning at break of day, we found ourselves in mud up to our middle!
In the trenches and in the boyaux,[18] it was always the same thing—the sector was completely calm. Parbleu! the others in front of us must suffer exactly the same hardships.
I am numbed! For four days I have been struggling in this damned mud.
Woevre plain is thick with mist this morning and Champlon, seen from up there, resembles one of these pasteboard villages over which a miscreant youngster has poured water.
I sense a feeling of real joy, however, on seeing the first glimmerings of day, because to-night we shall be relieved——
I descend into "Precaution Trench," sweeping into a river of mud, and find myself nose to nose, at the crossing of Sap 8, with one of my poilus.
On seeing me he cannot refrain from laughing.
"What are you laughing at?"