A fight against mud, which we scrape away from the road. At noon we proceed to the first line; for some time past, relieving forces have been sent out in the daytime. Passing through the branch is a difficult matter, for we wade in mud up to the knee. Two hours' duty at the listening post. A calm night. Occasional firing. _Sunday, 3rd January._ The cooks bring in the soup at ten o'clock and inform us that we shall be relieved in the evening instead of at noon. Mud and war! Five more hours of this sort of work! This is what we call, like all good Pickwickians, "Adding insult to injury, as the parrot said when being taught to learn English after being taken from his native land." From four to six, Verrier and I, facing each other as we lean against the trench walls, await the relief without speaking a word, our eyes obstinately fixed on our boots. The return at night along the branches; the mud is thicker and more plentiful than ever. Frightful oaths and the continual exhortation-- "Gently ahead! We cannot follow you." Shades glide behind one another, accompanied by the sound of the _gamelle_ chains. The head of the company has already reached the grotto whilst the rear is still waiting in the first line till its turn comes to march away. The branch opens out on to a very uneven path, scarcely visible through the wood. In the profound darkness we hear the outbursts of rage and the curses of the men. The rifles knock against the branches. There is another path skirting the wood, over exposed ground. A few balls whistle past, chiefly during reliefs. We have to advance in Indian file, carefully planting our feet in the steps of the man in front because of the many holes in the ground. Fifty yards of a steep ascent, slippery as soap. The falls multiply. Wonderful to relate, there are no broken bones; not even a sprained ankle. At last we reach the grotto. Candles and pipes are lit. Each man removes his equipment and his coat and flings himself on to the straw. After a brief rest we dine, seated round a newspaper which serves for a tablecloth. Our comrades left behind in the grotto have kept the parcels which have arrived whilst we have been in the first line. We manifest a schoolboy's delight in unfastening them. _Monday, 4th January._ In front of the grotto the sections muster in columns of fours. A few stragglers arrive, buckling on their haversacks. The sergeant welcomes them with the words-- "Don't hurry, I beg of you. I suppose I'm here to wait for you." The company goes down to Bucy. Within a short time the six of us are installed with the Ronchards. Another hunt for fleas. A vigorous offensive is necessary to prevent ourselves being devoured alive. The labour required to keep one's body clean becomes something herculean. The mud on coats and puttees refuses to dry. We give up the struggle. _Tuesday, 5th January._