"I wonder if we couldn't visit the front-line trenches?" cried Don, with a sudden idea.
"I see no reason why you cannot. Red Cross men as a rule are accorded far more privileges than newspaper correspondents." Taking out a small pad from his pocket, Lieutenant D'Arraing scribbled a few lines, then, handing the sheet of paper to the aviator's son, added: "If you should happen to be stopped en route this will probably smooth the way."
Bidding good-bye to the obliging artillerymen, Don and Dunstan set out, headed toward a distant point where scarcely any firing was taking place. They very soon reached a boyau, or communication trench, which, curving and twisting in all manner of ways, led toward the firing-line, and into this they turned. Soldiers were going and coming, and many times the Americans received a pleasant word of greeting. Along that section of the front, as well as elsewhere, an astonishing number of transverse ditches had been dug, starting from about a mile behind the lines—indeed a veritable maze of passageways, so intricate and bewildering as to make it sometimes difficult to find one's way, cut across the earth, never running for many meters in the same direction. They were constructed in this manner so that the fragments of a shell exploding in the trench could travel only a very short distance, thus giving security to the poilus who occupied the adjoining sections.
Constant work, especially during rainy weather, was necessary in order to keep the ditches in repair. Supporting timbers often had to be added. Then, every now and again, enemy shells partially wrecked or destroyed considerable portions; and for the work of reconstruction or digging new trenches the services of soldiers housed in dugouts along the second or third lines were often called into requisition.
At many places all the labor was done under cover of darkness. Here the trenches were within easy view of the German observers, and had they discovered any signs of activity it would, of course, have meant a deluge of shells.
As the ambulanciers continued, very often hearing the ominous hum of bullets ripping past close overhead, they felt profoundly thankful for the protection the two feet of wall above their heads afforded.
At length, when Don and Dunstan arrived at the second line, or support trenches, an officer stepped from one of the crowded passageways, to command them peremptorily to halt. It is very likely, too, that he would just as peremptorily have ordered the two back but for Lieutenant D'Arraing's note.
"All right, mes Americaines," he said, after glancing over it. "You may proceed. The firing-line is only about one hundred yards from here. I presume you have never been so near the enemy before. Let me hope it is not your intention to pay them a visit."
"We couldn't be persuaded to," replied Don, with a smile.
"About how far apart are the trenches?" asked Dunstan, casually.