depressing
hallucinations; the smallest objects took on alarming proportions, and
whenever a slight breeze stirred the foliage of the beetroot field in
front of us we imagined we saw a line of snipers advancing.

I had great difficulty in preventing my men from firing. It was
necessary to eke out our cartridges with the utmost care, for, owing
to some mistake in the transmission of orders, our supplies had not
been replenished since the day before, and we had used a great many in
the fighting round Bixschoote. A like prudence was not, however,
observed all along the line, for every now and then the trenches would
be suddenly illuminated at a point where for a few seconds a useless
volley would ring out. Then everything relapsed into darkness and
immobility.

Towards Steenstraate, too, the firing seemed to be dying down. I
looked at my watch. It was half-past six. This was the hour when as a
rule our men began to feel hungry, and when in each troop the
Chasseurs would set out, pannikin in hand, towards the smoking
saucepan where the cook awaited them wielding his ladle with an
important air. But on this particular evening no one thought of
eating. We seemed all to feel that our work was not yet over, and that
we had still a weighty task on hand. It was certainly not the moment
to light fires and make soup; no doubt the Prussians were brewing
something for us of a different kind, and it would never do not to
return their compliments promptly.

Ready? Yes, we were ready. I turned and looked back into the trench.
All my brave fellows were standing, their eyes turned to me, and
seemed bent on divining by my attitude or gestures any new effort I
might be about to ask of them. The pale light of the moonbeams struck
full on their faces, leaving their bodies shrouded in the darkness of
the trench. What a strange and comforting spectacle it was! In every
eye I read calm courage and absolute confidence.

Whenever I feel weary or depressed, inclined to curse the slowness of
our advance and the thousand miseries of war, I need only do what I
did that evening. I need only turn to my Chasseurs and look into their
eyes without a word; there I read so many noble and touching things
that I am ashamed to have felt a momentary weakness.

They do not ask the why and the wherefore of things. They live from
day to day, weighed down by hard work. To them the actual fighting is
a rest and a delight. As soon as it is over they have to res