"We are picking up the wounded of the Second Army. We must go quick----"[24] "Yes, time is money----" "No, time is blood." "I will give you one of my men who will accompany you----Thiébaut, take these gentlemen to Fort Souville, by the Etain road----" "Thank you!" "One second! I wish I could talk English so that I could commend you for what you are doing. Then, you Americans have crossed the ocean to mix in this hell and to succor our wounded----Wait! You are a fine type, and I am proud to grasp your hand! Good luck!" "Good-bye--Good luck to you!" SOUILLY. _February_ 28, 1916. An uninterrupted file of camions extends from Bar-le-Duc to Verdun. It is like an endless chain which never stops day or night. A _poilu_, who is breaking stones in the road, says to his neighbor: "This battle will be called in history, 'the Battle of Camions.'" THE DETERMINED POILUS, VERDUN, BEVAUX BARRACKS. _March_ 1, 1916. I have just left "General Quarters" and meet two _poilus_ of the 20th Corps. "Where are the trenches?" "What trenches----?" "The trenches where they are fighting." "We are returning from vacation and want to be in it!" "It is twelve miles from here." "We can do that easily on foot--we will be guided by the sound of the cannon." THE SUMMIT OF DEAD MAN'S HILL. _March_ 2, 1916. There is nothing to say, but we desired to keep in touch with some _poilus_ in a bombardment dugout 225 yards from the spot where we now are. The communicating trench is blocked up and it is in full view that we have to leap over this stretch of ground---- It was toward the end of the day, but one could yet see very well. Scarcely had we gone a step along the road to Béthincourt than Guéneau, LeBlond and myself were seen by the boches. They turned their cannon and machine-guns on us--yes, three 105's which came over seemed deposited by hand. The first covered us with earth at some yards to our left; the second fell a short distance to the right on the edge of the road. "Let's get out of here, _les copains_,[25] fifty yards farther--quick!" In a few bounds we were away from that dangerous spot. The third shell burst, in effect, exactly on the place we had just left---- We are at this instant at the point where the road from Béthincourt starts to the top of Dead Man's Hill. A little wagon is turned upside-down, with the stiffened remains of the horse and its swollen belly still in the shafts. We just had time to crawl into a shell-hole behind the carcass which hid us from the enemy and served as a shield. Our protector gave off nauseating puffs of a very rich scent: "It is _drôle_," observed Guéneau, "that Dead Man is nothing but a rotting horse!" CARNAVAL! DEAD MAN'S HILL. _March_ 7, 1916.