I am lunching with Colonel X----, an immense Corsican, who never knows
what fear is----
The meal is, _ma foi_, very good and very lively. A big boche torpedo
burst not far away----
"Tell me of Verdi's music instead of this German melody outside. I'm a
lover of the arts!"
EPARGES CEMETERY.
_January_, 1916.
Eparges Cemetery with its symmetrically aligned graves is touching. The
Bavarians bombard it systematically, their hearts set upon destroying
it, and the shells churn these sacred little plots from top to
bottom----
The _poilus_, on the board path, shake their heads and say:
"There! again they're murdering our dead."
LOST IN THE DARK, CALONNE TRENCH.
_January_, 1916.
Night black--night without moon--rifle shots resound like in a cave--we
can't see more than a yard in front of us. My friend and I must rejoin
a squad of _poilus_ at work.
We have taken a short cut and stumble into shell-holes. We bump into
tree stumps--climb hills. Yes, we are lost. We retrace our steps--tired
and hungry.
We fall against something--it's a mound! I flash my electric torch on
it, masking the glare with the flat of my hand. It's a grave! There
is a small wooden cross on which is written: "Here lies an unknown
soldier."
LeBlond and myself gave a sigh of relief:
"We are at the 'Grave of the Apple Trees,' which is to the right in the
direction of the cross; we are on the proper path--Thanks, poor old
chap----"
THE FIRST TRAIN, EPARGES.
_January_, 1916.
The narrow gauge track has been finished--the first train is due to
arrive to-night. Captain Gunther has put Ménard's Prince Albert over
his uniform, and, with a little red flag, a horn and a lantern, has
gone to await the arrival of the convoy. One hour, two hours pass!
The train did not come--it has been derailed near Trésauvaux. We
learned later that the track had been torn up by shells.
"Ah! these Government railroads--they never run."
HERMAN AND HIS CANTEEN, EPARGES.
_January_, 1916.
For some months we have seen this corpse in front of us--fifty yards
away--In the rain, snow, cold, we have noticed it change its position
several times----
Herman, the "pretty German officer," was often the subject of
discussion: for he must have on him shiny brass buttons to decorate our
cigarette lighters and our cartridge boxes--his boots could no longer
be any good, because around him there must have been a nice bed of
mushrooms!
A change in the line brought us close to Herman. The first patrol which
went out crouched over to him----