The farm to which we had come in our quest for wood had been arranged as a first-aid post. The buildings surrounded a yard, in the centre of which, near the dung-heap, were ranged up several green-tilted carts marked with the red cross. In one corner a heap of cotton-wool and some blood-stained bandages and compresses were slowly burning. In the stable and cow-sheds one could see, through the half-open doors, the recumbent forms of sick and wounded lined up on the straw underneath the empty troughs and mangers. Some hospital orderlies in canvas clothing were busy making soup. A medical officer stalked stiffly by in his white smock. Not a cry of pain was to be heard. In the wood-shed some sick men--nine or ten pale and gaunt foot-soldiers--were lying on trusses of hay which they had not even untied. One man, whom we could not see owing to the darkness, was breathing stertorously with a noise like an engine. * * * * * The firing was less violent than yesterday. An aviation park had been formed a few hundred yards from our hollow, behind the farmhouses in which the Staff had taken up its quarters for the day. This proximity rendered our position increasingly unsafe. The enemy's Howitzers tried to reach the aeroplanes standing on the field, and though they seemed to be firing at haphazard, shells continually fell here and there on the outskirts of our park. * * * * * The day was drawing to a close without giving any indication as to the issue of the battle, which had already been in progress five days. But towards evening a long convoy of Moroccan _Carabas_ passed on the road near-by, marching southwards towards the Aisne. They were followed by some infantry. What could be the meaning of it? We could not help feeling uneasy. The dusk deepened into darkness and the long golden beams of the searchlights began to sweep the plain. Under the hard, unyielding light the smallest objects--a hayrick, a shed--cast huge inky shadows on the field. Next, some artillery passed by, also heading towards the Aisne. We could not see the carriages, but recognized them by the familiar creaking and rattling. Occasionally they halted a moment or two, and then another sound became audible--a sound like a far-off torrent--caused by infantry on the march on some other road across the plain. It started to rain again. We rejoined our batteries at the water-tanks. A ceaseless tide of men brushed by our carriages, their shadowy figures rising and falling as they passed in the darkness. "What regiment is that?" I asked. No one answered. "What regiment is that?" Apparently a regiment of dumb men. They continued to march by in the gloom without giving any reply. "What regiment is that passing? Can't you speak French?" "Hundred and third." "Where are you going to?" "We don't know." "Where are you going to?" I repeated. "We don't know," came the answer again.