I cannot say how long I wandered with the group with which I had remained.  We went into morasses.  We strained our sight forward in quest of the embankment and the trench of salvation, towards the ditch that was somewhere there, as towards a harbor.

A cry of consolation was heard at last through the vapors of war and the elements—­“A trench!” But the embankment of that trench was moving; it was made of men mingled in confusion, who seemed to be coming out and abandoning it.

“Don’t stay there, mates!” cried the fugitives; “clear off, don’t come near.  It’s hell—­everything’s collapsing—­the trenches are legging it and the dug-outs are bunged up—­the mud’s pouring in everywhere.  There won’t be any trenches by the morning—­it’s all up with them about here!”

They disappeared.  Where?  We forgot to ask for some little direction from these men whose streaming shapes had no sooner appeared than they were swallowed up in the dark.

Even our little group crumbled away among the devastation, no longer knowing where they were.  Now one, now another, faded into the night, disappearing towards his chance of escape.

We climbed slopes and descended them.  I saw dimly in front of me men bowed and hunchbacked, mounting a slippery incline where mud held them back, and the wind and rain repelled them under a dome of cloudy lights.

Then we flowed back, and plunged into a marsh up to our knees.  So high must we lift our feet that we walked with a sound of swimming.  Each forward stride was an enormous effort which slackened in agony.

It was there that we felt death drawing near.  But we beached ourselves at last on a sort of clay embankment that divided the swamp.  As we followed the slippery back of this slender island along, I remember that once we had to stoop and steer ourselves by touching some half-buried corpses, so that we should not be thrown down from the soft and sinuous ridge.  My hand discovered shoulders and hard backs, a face cold as a helmet, and a pipe still desperately bitten by dead jaws.

As we emerged and raised our heads at a venture we heard the sound of voices not far away.  “Voices!  Ah, voices!” They sounded tranquil to us, as though they called us by our names, and we all came close together to approach this fraternal murmuring of men.

The words became distinct.  They were quite near—­in the hillock that we could dimly see like an oasis:  and yet we could not hear what they said.  The sounds were muddled, and we did not understand them.

“What are they saying?” asked one of us in a curious tone.

Instinctively we stopped trying to find a way in.  A doubt, a painful idea was seizing us.  Then, clearly enunciated, there rang out these words—­“Achtung!—­Zweites Geschutz—­Schuss—­“Farther back, the report of a gun answered the telephonic command.

Horror and stupefaction nailed us to the spot at first—­“Where are we?  Oh, Christ, where are we?” Turning right about face, slowly in spite of all, borne down anew by exhaustion and dismay, we took flight, as overwhelmed by weariness as if we had many wounds, pulled back by the mud towards the enemy country, and retaining only just enough energy to repel the thought of the sweetness it would have been to let ourselves die.