In a stable near at hand a horse whinnied. I
patted him as I passed, and he put his head against
my shoulder.
“He recognises you!” said Captain Boisseau.
“He too is American.”
It was late afternoon by that time. The plan
to reach the advanced trenches was frustrated by an
increasing fusillade from the front. There were
barbed-wire entanglements everywhere, and every field
was honeycombed with trenches. One looked across
the plain and saw nothing. Then suddenly as we
advanced great gashes cut across the fields, and in
these gashes, although not a head was seen, were men.
The firing was continuous. And now, going down
a road, with a line of poplar trees at the foot and
the setting sun behind us throwing out faint shadows
far ahead, we saw the flash of water. It was very
near. It was the flooded river and the canal.
Beyond, eight hundred yards or less from where we
stood, were the Germans. To one side the inundation
made a sort of bay.
It was along this part of the field that the Allies
expected the German Army to make its advance when
the spring movement commenced. And as nearly
as can be learned from the cabled accounts that is
where the attack was made.
A captain from General d’Urbal’s staff
met us at the trenches, and pointed out the strategical
value of a certain place, the certainty of a German
advance, and the preparations that were made to meet
it.
It was odd to stand there in the growing dusk, looking
across to where was the invading army, only a little
over two thousand feet away. It was rather horrible
to see that beautiful landscape, the untravelled road
ending in the line of poplars, so very close, where
were the French outposts, and the shining water just
beyond, and talk so calmly of the death that was waiting
for the first Germans who crossed the canal.
“I NIBBLE THEM”
I went into the trenches. The captain was very
proud of them.
“They represent the latest fashion in trenches!”
he explained, smiling faintly.
It seemed to me that I could easily have improved
on that latest fashion. The bottom was full of
mud and water. Standing in the trench, I could
see over the side by making an effort. The walls
were wattled—that is, covered with an interlacing
of fagots which made the sides dry.
But it was not for that reason only that these trenches
were called the latest fashion. They were divided,
every fifteen feet or so, by a bulwark of earth about
two feet thick, round which extended a communication
trench.
“The object of dividing these trenches in this
manner is to limit the havoc of shells that drop into
them,” the captain explained. “Without
the earth bulwark a shell can kill every man in the
trench. In this way it can kill only eight.
Now stand at this end of the trench. What do
you see?”
What I saw was a barbed-wire entanglement, leading
into a cul-de-sac.
