And I crawl on anew, thinking of everything else—a mass of things a hundred leagues away; trifles; paltry trifles. I surprise myself by making plans which I shall realize after the war—when that is over! And, nevertheless, death hovers over me constantly, threatening, and I am much nearer to it than life.
A trench opens before me; it is not badly demolished. I enter it and find that it is an old one taken from the enemy this morning. German words indicate directions. They abandoned all their belongings. On a plank in a sentry post is a superb pair of prismatic field glasses. I pick them up—what use are they to me? I throw them down at once.
I have enough to look out for close by without trying to see what’s happening farther away.
“Nach Maisonnette.”
This direction before my eyes fascinates me.
“To Maisonnette.” Well, I’m on the right track. If the trench continues like this I have some chance of arriving there: nach Maisonnette.
I mark the directions at each turn of the trench, at each branch.
A big shell bursts on my left and utterly destroys the whole of the wall behind me.
I take another course. The devil! Suppose that should be wrong.