The lieutenant arrives. We ask him—
"Where are the others?"
It is not his mission to tell us, but rather to send us over to a battery which is calling for infantry support.
The four cannon are close at hand, small, and with mouth pointing upwards. They have not been marked, fortunately for the gunners and for ourselves as well. The lieutenant is on the watch a few yards away, and we hear the words of command. The enemy is drawing nearer; a short time ago he was 2,400 yards away, then 2,000, and now he is within 1,800 yards.
Soon the captain of the battery gives the order—
"Bring up the limbers!"
The horses are a little to the rear, in a hollow of the meadow. The guns are now silent; they are fastened to the carriages. In a few minutes they have all left. It is ten o'clock. And what of ourselves?
An artilleryman passes along on horseback at a walking pace.
Some one asks—
"Why is the battery going away? Are we beaten?"