"No crawling! On your feet at once; I'll teach you to show the white feather!"
"You want me to be killed!"
"If you don't go at once, I'll kick you."
He gets up, whining and blubbering. The bugler accompanies him right to the line.
"Now lie down!"
The bugler, too, sinks to the ground. It is a miracle they were not both killed.
Meanwhile, the German artillery is beginning to find its mark. We pay heavily for every step forward; soon all advance is impossible. We are even compelled to retire when the mitrailleuses are directed upon us.
After our leaps forward we now have to leap backward. A few yards in a declivity afford us a moment's respite, the balls passing over our heads. Taking advantage of this, I open my musette, hoping to enjoy a drink, and find that a bullet has smashed the bottle to pieces. Now we have to climb some rising ground, the German bullets following us all the way.
The command is heard—
"Fix bayonets! the enemy is in the village. We are outflanked!"