OUR FIRST TRENCHES
Tuesday, 6th October.
The commander of the company announces that the regiment is to take the first line, to relieve the English in the trenches of Bucy-le-Long. We set off gaily at seven in the evening, after taking an affectionate leave of Girard.
Out in the open, the order comes to fling away our cigarettes. Things are becoming serious. We pass through the suburbs of Soissons; the cathedral appears dimly in the moonlight. At the corner of a street lies a dead horse. All along the main road are the bivouacs of Alpine troops. Vénizel. Here the English are guarding a level-crossing; strapping fellows in khaki, who smoke pipes and shout "Good-night!" to us. Then a bridge, the crossing of the Aisne, an open plain, a village, a steep hill, a wood as dark as Hades. In spite of the cold wind we are perspiring freely. It is nearly midnight. We reach a sort of semi-circle dotted with sheds or huts made of the branches of trees. The Germans, it appears, are six hundred yards distant. Not a shot is fired. The night is very clear.
The company halts, and the men immediately lie down flat, with rifles ready, awaiting orders.
Roberty calls for two volunteers from each squadron to go on post duty. Reymond and I stand up, and Belin goes with us. The English officer, who appoints us our places, looks very elegant in his cloak, which falls behind in broad folds; he leans on a large stick, walks briskly, and gives his orders and directions with the utmost courtesy and consideration.
Several hundred yards forward, in the direction of the enemy. Here is the post line; every two hundred yards a group of six English soldiers is lying flat on the ground amongst the beetroots, alongside of the road. They stand erect and we take their places. We admire these fine-looking soldiers, so well-equipped and under perfect discipline. In a low tone of voice the officer gives the order to fire upon everything that passes before us.
Yesterday the English captured a German patrol.