From our front lines project antennæ or feelers, portions of trench driven as near as possible to the enemy, and connected with the main trench by a deep zigzag branch.
For sheltering purposes we build small huts somewhat resembling those in which the bodies were deposited in the catacombs. Here the men keep themselves dry, at all events. A couple of tent canvasses unfolded in front of the opening are a protection from the cold, and enable one to light a candle without making oneself a target for the enemy.
During the night, over a sector of one kilometre, there are fired on an average a thousand rifle shots which neither kill nor wound a single man. The object of this fusillade is simply to prevent the patrols from moving to and fro between the lines.
Tuesday, 15th December.
For some days past I have been feeling shaky. Really I shall have to go to the hospital. The day sergeant passes through the trenches and calls out—
"Any one ill to-day?"
"Yes, I am."
He writes down my name.
"Is that all? Come, now, there must be some one else. Is any one tired belonging to the 24th?"
He goes from squadron to squadron picking up those who are sick.