At dusk, a lukewarm meal was brought to us from the supports.
The gloom grew more intense. Our vigil was beginning.
We established ourselves in a clearing about twenty yards from the road. The stumps of some trees which had been cut down were utilised as seats, a lot of us sat cross-legged, either on the ground, or on little tufts of brushwood, which were a poor protection against the damp. No fire, of course. By the flickering light of two dim section-lanterns placed on the ground we could make out the carpet of trampled grasses, and a big black circle, the remains of a log fire.
What a night that was. During the first few hours Guillaumin and Henriot never ceased chattering below their breath. I wondered that their fatigue had not more hold over them. I only half listened to their conversation which still concerned our victorious march, and the demoralised enemy flying before the sword. Speed, they declared, speed must come before everything else. We must fall upon the Bosches in the rear before they had time to recover themselves.
The first excitement occurred towards ten o'clock, a shot in the distance, on our left. Everyone leapt to his feet. Another, and still another.... There was no doubt about it; the sentries' orders had been so explicit; there was to be no firing except in case of danger or surprise. No. 3 picket, next to us, had surely been attacked. Henriot, much agitated, repeated the instructions: at a given signal, we were to extend and fall back on the support....
"It was not our business to put up a fight...."
The surprising thing was that the firing was dying down. We remained on the alert, and it was not ten minutes before new shots rang out, on our right this time, at No. 1 picket.
"They're crazy!"
Henriot fumed.
"The lunatics! Now our whole line of outposts will be marked!"