With a stubby little pipe in his mouth, his shaggy beard, and his manner of walking with legs apart as though the boat were rolling, he looks exactly like a seasoned old salt. There are fourteen of us in the boat, and we are all covered with vermin. The corporal, neck and breast bare, is engaged in minutely picking his shirt; he burns his fleas in the stove, and at each immolation gives an exclamation of wild satisfaction. The capotes are hardened with mud, and the bayonets, which usually serve as candlesticks, are covered with wax drippings. As for our rusty, stopped-up rifles, they will only be fit for service after a thorough cleaning. I feel somewhat feverish, and sit down apart from the rest. A formidable slap on my back: Charensac's way of showing his affection. Heart-broken to see me ill, he shouts confidentially into my ear-- "What's the use of fretting, old fellow?" "Just leave him alone for the present," advises the corporal. Charensac brightens up more and more as he eats. He is just as happy and pleased in a pinnace as he would be anywhere else. Seeing that his comrades are writing letters, he goes to and fro, brawling out-- "Ah! ah! So my little mates are working. Good! Mustn't disturb them now." In spite of the smell of rancid oil and tar we are quite content because we are dry, and so we sit up till two in the morning. Finally, each of us picks out a corner, wraps himself in his cover, and falls asleep on the floor. _Tuesday, 12th January._ The whole morning on the deck of the pinnace. An infernal cannonade is roaring on the upland. How they must be enjoying themselves! About eleven o'clock, as I was beginning to brush my capote, Charensac and Meuret come running up, out of breath, and sputter out-- "To arms! The Germans are advancing." Various exclamations. We hastily equip ourselves. When the section is mustered, the lieutenant first makes us cross the bridge of Vénizel and pass along the left bank of the Aisne, i.e. in the direction opposite to the seat of battle. Here we begin to descend with the stream. The swollen waters, of slimy yellow, carry off debris of every kind. After proceeding a kilometre, we reach a wooden bridge. The flood is so strong that the current threatens to wash over the flooring. This bridge has been constructed by the English; it still bears inscriptions in their language. We cross; again we find ourselves on the right bank. To reach the trenches we shall have to traverse, in open daylight, the plain of Vénizel, which is three kilometres wide, and under the enemy's fire from the neighbouring heights. "In columns by twos, forward!" Scarcely have we started in the direction of Bucy than we are greeted by a shell, then by two, followed soon by three. We are being fired upon. A command is given that the four squadrons should follow one another at intervals of fifty yards. On reaching the first houses in Bucy we find considerable excitement. Gunners, sword and revolver in hand, exclaim--