As I walked over this section after the curtain had been lifted, I was absolutely baffled for descriptive words. All the earth in that vicinity seemed battered out of shape. The dead needed no burial there. Down under the wreck and ruin the dead all lie covered just where they fell.
Among the places I either visited or at least was able to see plainly, all of which were held by the Germans at the time of my last trip, were Saint Eloi, Carrency, Notre Dame de Lorette, Souchez, and Neuville Saint Vaast, where the fighting still continues from house to house.
I found the same efficient, imperturbable army that I discovered previously, all absolutely sure of complete victory not very far off. I got an illustration on this trip of the imperturbability of the French soldier in such a way as I never before believed existed. We were walking along a country lane to a turning where a trench boyau began. Just at the turning the nose of a "seventy-five" poked across the path. Although the gun was speaking at its high record of twenty shots per minute, several soldiers lolled idly about within a few yards, smoking cigarettes. We stood off at an angle slightly in front, but about thirty yards away.
It was evening. We could see the spurt of flame from the mouth of the gun as the shell departed to the distant Germans.
Across the road in the direction the gun pointed was a field. There, almost in the path of the gun, which, instead of being raised at an angle, was pointed horizontally, and only fifteen yards away, I saw a man grubbing in the soil. He seemed so directly in the path of the shells that I don't believe they missed blowing off his head by more than two feet. But he just grubbed away, almost on his hands and knees. If the gunners saw him they paid not the slightest attention, but just calmly went on firing.
One of our party called the situation to the attention of an officer, who immediately began dancing up and down, calling to the man to "Come out of that before you are killed."
The man then raised his head and looked our way. He was a soldier. His cap was slanted over one eye, his pipe dangled from his mouth, and his face wore an expression of irritation. Seeing the officer, he saluted, but did not trouble to stand up.
"What are you doing there?" the officer called. The man raised his dirty fist to his cap, and said, "Digging carrots."
As we gasped our astonishment he calmly went back to his grubbing, this time, it seemed, slightly nearer to the flash of the cannon than before.
Another impressive sight afforded me was the manoeuvres behind the lines. I do not mean strategic manoeuvres bearing upon real operations, but manoeuvres such as were held in previous years—mimic warfare within the sound of real war and only a couple of miles away. Approaching the front, we were continually passing through these manoeuvres. I calculated that I saw thousands of soldiers playing at war and snapping empty rifles who the day before stood in the trenches firing bullets, and who will do it again tomorrow. The manoeuvres come during "days of repose" from the trenches, when the men know they at least have that day more to live. Every field, every road was full of them.