"Where is your weapon?" I asked. He had lost it as he pulled himself along till he was exhausted.
Suddenly from somewhere near we heard the horribly familiar call, "Oh, la! la!"
"Well, now," said the lieutenant, "we have one man, but not the right one."
I asked the wounded one whether we would be seen if we tried to get the other man.
"Oui, mon brave camarade, Allemand." The lieutenant hesitated, but resolved nevertheless to go on.
One man remained behind with the Frenchman—a corporal, he said he was—with orders to stab him instantly if he called for help while we were working our way through the brush. We came to the edge of the wood at last and peered out.
We could make out the forms of many black objects—dead men, killed so near their own trenches, too! Hias was beside me, and with his sharp peasant eyes soon espied the body of the poor fellow we were after. The lieutenant crawled out, and we followed. Coming up to him, I called softly, "Camarade!" I did not want to frighten him; besides, he might scream for help, then we would be in a nice fix.
"Oh, oh, Dieu! Dieu!" he breathed and emitted sounds like the joyful whining of a puppy when he saw me.
He grasped my hand and pressed it to his breast and cheek.
I felt him over carefully. As I fumbled along his left leg I received a sudden shock. Just below the calf it ended. The foot was torn off above the angle and hung loosely on the leg. As his whole body was wet I could not tell whether he was still bleeding. I could only make out that a rag was tied about the wound. He had bandaged it with his handkerchief, as I learned later.