A dull, unpleasant day. This evening, seated by Reymond's side in a dug-out, which luckily is waterproof, I recopy by candle-light the article for the Figaro, taking down the words at his dictation, with tongue protruding, like a schoolboy, to make my handwriting more legible. From time to time the rain, oozing through the ceiling, drops a tear-stain on to the copy.
When the sheets of paper are filled, I carefully put them away safe from the wet. They will be in the postman's hands to-morrow.
Four hours' sentry duty now to divert our minds. Those who pass by tell us that the shelters are falling in upon the sleepers. Several times during the night we have to go to the help of our buried comrades.
THE CROUY AFFAIR
Friday, 8th January.
This morning at half-past six, our artillery opens fire over a sector of several kilometres. Fifty guns each fire a hundred and twenty-five shots, a formidable total. The Moroccans carry two lines of trenches above Crouy and, along with the light infantry, obtain a footing on the upland. An important success, it appears. The German counter-attack is ineffectual. Their artillery is directed upon our trenches and upon the ground in the rear.
Are we to attack shortly? The question is asked of the lieutenants, but they cannot answer it.