War may not be the best of fun,
But we'll stick it till we've smashed the Hun!"
Some of these cabins were constructed of logs and roofed with pine branches, the most thickly-tufted ones, of course. The points of the spikes were turned downwards to prevent the rain trickling through to the layer of thatch below. The huts, erected at the owners' caprice, were much scattered, and followed the meanderings of the rising ground to the summit of a slight elevation dominating the road to the right. The doors, wide opened and yawning, revealed a dark, mysterious space, and made it appear almost as if the side of the slope was riddled with fathomless holes, while the bundles of brushwood made irregular green blots, clear and bright in the neighbourhood of the roadway, growing darker and vaguer as they approached the elevation, finally to vanish completely amid the undergrowth.
At length we arrived at Moulinville, where the quartermaster discovered an empty house, not yet too filthy for habitation, because the owner of it, on mobilization, had been stationed close at hand, and came over from time to time. Indeed, he turned up while we were dining—a huge "Meusien," with a high colour, stiff, cropped hair and looking gigantic in his artilleryman's cloak. He personally conducted us to a room, the floor of which creaked, and pointing to a bed informed us with tremendous pride and dignity that:
"You are welcome to sleep there, if you wish, but I shall not be able to supply you with sheets."
Sheets! And he was quite crestfallen, this good-hearted artilleryman, because he could not give us any sheets! We, Porchon and myself, certainly did not waste many regrets on such things when we climbed into bed a few moments ago and drew the curtains! Does the absence of sheets worry him, this hearty snorer at my side, perspiring as he is between the ticking and an eiderdown? It is certainly warm—perhaps even a little too warm. I am hot all over, back and front. From head to foot am I wet. It is as if I were sleeping in a bath!
Monday, September 21st.
The cyclist of our company awakens me by shouting in my ear:
"Do you not wish to breakfast, Lieutenant?"
He is earning two bowls of black coffee, with two slices of golden-brown toast, most appetizing to look upon.