It was amazing. My line had instantly given way, and thrown themselves down. There was an immediate clash of steel, followed by feverish firing. A bullet whistled past my nose. I threw myself on to the ground and turned round and cursed Henry, the clumsy lout, who was firing and firing.
What was to be done. The captain yonder was bellowing in an infuriated voice: "Advance! Advance!"
I got up, waving my rifle, and shouted: "Come along, No. 3 platoon. Show them what you're made of!"
A few of them got up and followed me. The majority hesitated. There was no time to wait. We took about twenty steps at the double. I had to stop. There were only six poilus with me!
I shouted again. I yelled. The bullets were still cracking. They passed us coming from both sides. I recoiled. The confusion was terrible. I bumped into Humel. Guillaumin turned up bringing us a handful of men. I remember that I asked him coldly: "How far off are they?"
"A hundred yards."
"Good. We've got 'em!"
Then I don't quite know what happened after that. It hardly lasted a minute. It seemed like a hundred years! I believe I rushed back in search of my men, shouting:
"This way! Come along! Follow me!"