Suddenly I am sprawling face downwards, nose to the earth, having stumbled over something hard and metallic. Lying in the mud is the body of a dead German whose helmet has rolled a little away from him. Instantly an idea seizes me. I pick up the helmet and place it on my own head, passing the strap beneath my chin to secure it. There follows a mad flight for the safety the chasseurs will afford. Without hesitating a second, I rush by groups of Boches who are wandering about doubtfully, their original plans having been rather upset by our fusillade. As I pass them I cry: "Hurrah! Vorwärts!" Like them, too, I keep repeating the word to which they seem to attach great importance, which is: "Heiligtum!" The rain stings my face: the mud adheres to my soles until only with difficulty can I raise boots which have become enormously big and heavy. Twice I fall on my hands and knees, only to rise again and instantly resume my flight, notwithstanding my aching legs. Singing and whistling bullets pass over me into the darkness beyond. Out of the blackness at my feet a man rises and the words on his lips are French. "Is it you, Letty?" "Yes, Lieutenant; I've got one in the thigh." "That's all right, old man; we'll get there yet!" Already there are no more harsh voiced brawlers around us. Manifestly they must reform before continuing the assault. So I throw away the helmet and replace my cap of which I have taken good care. Before reaching the chasseurs I overtake four Boches, in each of whom, either in the back or in the head, I put a revolver bullet. Each one drops in his tracks with a long, strangled cry. (Censored) In the chasseurs' trenches I discover twenty or so of my men. They are kneeling in the mud at the bottom, unable to find a place in the firing line. "Follow me, my boys," I cried. The Vauxmarie Road is only a few steps away and I place my twenty poilus along the sloping side of a ditch. One and all we feel that all we want to do is to remain there until we die. Still another outburst of rifles. Flat on my stomach on the water-sodden grass I look upon a second fire the reflection of whose ruddy glow seems to be carved out of the night's opacity--that must be the Vauxmarie farm burning. Behind us a voice unexpectedly rings out: "Ohé! Trenches there? Is there anyone of the --th here." I reply: "Present." "An officer?" "I am Lieutenant. Who is asking?" "It is I, Lieutenant." A man presents himself to me and tells me he has been sent by Captain C----. "Come quickly ... quickly, with every man you can find. The flag is near here among the trees and the Captain is afraid that unless he has assistance he will not be able to save it." We set out instantly following the orderly. Our trousers cling to our knees and thighs; the long grass pours water into our boots. We pass a machine-gun section. The men have attached the belt; but they have only one gun and that won't work.