Alas! the few hundred yards of verdure, which our thoughts and our wishes cleared only too willingly, hid the entrenchments and the redoubts of the enemy. Every night, the bravest of our men started out patrolling, endeavouring to discover the barbed wire, the ambushes, and the traps set for us. Sergeant Renson had specially distinguished himself for his daring and his _sang-froid_. He was naturally of an adventurous nature and was an excellent soldier. In spite of his mature age, he had joined the colours as a volunteer at the very beginning of the war. He was anxious to find out whether some information he had obtained on a preceding expedition was exact, as it was very difficult on these ink-black nights to distinguish the real from the imaginary. He, therefore, expressed a wish to carry out a reconnaissance alone, and by daylight, in the direction of the enemy's lines. "I am not afraid of death," he said to his chiefs. "I have always lived in my own way and I now want to carry out this plan. I am free to risk my own skin and, as I am forty-two years old, I should not be any great loss." He was finally allowed to do as he wished. He went along a narrow, long passage, until he came to the edge of the Yser, just where a few planks formed a raft. This means of transport was invaluable at night, but could not be used by daylight, as the enemy was on the watch. Renson could not swim. That did not trouble him and he crossed the current clinging to a cable. Accustomed as he was to all kinds of difficulties, this was mere child's play to him. He reached the other side, slipped into a big sack covered with grass and flowers, and, under this mantle of verdure, crawled along dexterously. Our emotion was intense in the trenches. All eyes were watching him, there was not a single loophole unoccupied. Under the rays of the sun, we saw this moving grass crossing the meadow. It advanced, fell back, turned, stopped, appeared and disappeared, according to the undulations of the soil. Our hero was gaining ground. He was observing in his own defiant way, braving death itself. Nothing daunted him, nothing seemed to affect him. He was there, moving about in front of the enemy's line. Our hearts were beating wildly. Every time that a bullet whizzed along, it was anguish to us, and each minute seemed eternal.