After the roll call we separate silently. The most severely wounded are at the dressing stations, and several are discharged by the ambulances from the rear: Sergeant Pierron had four fingers of his right hand blown off; Sergeant Durosiers with a shoulder broken by a bit of shell; Corporal Goutelle shot through the thigh, and has lost a lot of blood.
We accompany them as far as the ambulances which take them to the casualty clearing stations.
Adjutant Dotant and Sergeant Lace take the initiative in buying a wreath and take up a collection among the men of their sections.
“Lieutenant, if you will allow us, we are going to buy a wreath at Harbonnières and this evening two of us will go and place it on our comrades.”
Too moved to answer, the lieutenant acquiesces with a nod.
Morin and I, the only two who are not wounded, offer to carry it. Our errand is not without danger; but we start off at nightfall.
The wreath is light but large, and its width makes it difficult to get through the narrow trenches.
We have to hold it at arms’ length in certain places above our heads on the parapet and slide it along.
Its ornaments catch in the stones and the twigs.