"She's hit!"
"She's coming down!"
"No! She's only going off!"
The men still continued firing, although the machine had been out of range for some minutes.
At the drinking-place in the only street of the village there was always the same crowd of men taking their horses to be watered, some mounted bare-back, others led; the same shouting and swearing to get room at the trough, greetings from those who recognized each other, oaths from others leading their animals who were hustled by the men on horseback—in short, all the life and movement of an artillery camp. A Chasseur, shouting profanely, forced his way through the throng. He was assailed with cries.
"Here, you aren't in a bigger hurry than any one else!"
"Yes, I am! Get back to camp quick! I've got orders!"
"What's the matter now?"
"All you chaps have got to clear off! No time for amusement, this, you know; the Germans are coming up. There'll be some more fun in a minute!"
He spurred forward, and we hurried back to our guns. Was it a surprise? We limbered up at full speed, and before we had even had time to button our shirts the first gun left the park.