* * * * * * When we have gone again down the slope of the hill, we find ourselves once more in the bottom of a valley, for another height begins. Before ascending it, we stop to take breath, but ready to set off again should the flood-tide appear on the ridge yonder. We find ourselves in the middle of grassy expanses, without trenches or defense, and we are astonished not to see the supports. We are in the midst of a sort of absence. We sit down here and there; and some one with his forehead bowed almost to his knees, translating the common thought, says:-- "It's none of our fault." Our lieutenant goes up to the man, puts his hand on his shoulder, and says, gently:-- "No, my lads, it's none of your fault." Just then some sections join us who say, "We're the rearguard." And some add that the two batteries of 75's up yonder are already captured. A whistle rings out--"Come, march!" We continue the retreat. There are two battalions of us in all--no soldier in front of us; no French soldier behind us. I have neighbors who are unknown to me, motley men, routed and stupefied, artillery and engineers; unknown men who come and go away, who seem to be born and seem to die. At one time we get a glimpse of some confusion in the orders from above. A Staff officer, issuing from no one knew where, throws himself in front of us, bars our way, and questions us in a tragic voice:-- "What are you miserable men doing? Are you running away? Forward in the name of France! I call upon you to return. Forward!" The soldiers, who would never have thought of retiring without orders, are stunned, and can make nothing of it. "We're going back because they told us to go back." But they obey. They turn right about face. Some of them have already begun to march forward, and they call to their comrades:-- "Hey there! This way, it seems!" But the order to retire returns definitely, and we obey once more, fuming against those who do not know what they say; and the ebb carries away with it the officer who shouted amiss. The march speeds up, it becomes precipitate and haggard. We are swept along by an impetuosity that we submit to without knowing whence it comes. We begin the ascent of the second hill which appears in the fallen night a mountain. When fairly on it we hear round us, on all sides and quite close, a terrible pit-pat, and the long low hiss of mown grass. There is a crackling afar in the sky, and they who glance back for a second in the awesome storm see the cloudy ridges catch fire horizontally. It means that the enemy have mounted machine guns on the summit we have just abandoned, and that the place where we are is being hacked by the knives of bullets. On all sides soldiers wheel and rattle down with curses, sighs and cries. We grab and hang on to each other, jostling as if we were fighting.