“At 10 P.M. an officer appears in my quarters. “This is to announce reinforcements, some details of the 124th and 298th Regiments which have come to help in the defence. The sorely-tried little garrison of R¹ is already greatly thinned in numbers. “The shells begin to fall again. “It is impossible to light a candle in the C.O.’s headquarters. If the least bit of light is seen from outside, the Jack Johnsons land on the spot. “In order to make out my report for the past twenty-four hours, I have to crouch down in a corner, under a blanket, and write on the ground. “As for taking a moment’s rest, that is not to be thought of. The bombardment does not break off for a single minute, and, what is more, we are so much pestered with fleas that we scratch ourselves as if we had the itch. “_Sunday, June 4._--‘They’re not up to taking R¹, those Boches,’ cries one of my _poilus_ to me as he passes. “I was at the redoubt, organizing the connections with my left. “‘Well, about twenty-four hours ago you had a pretty gruelling time of it here,’ remarks X---- to me. “‘Yes, you saw those grenades being handed out.’ “At the same moment comes a significant crackle. A duel of grenades is in progress. “I hastily scramble up the narrow path which leads me into the trench and reach my post in the fray. “The weather is superb. The bombs are roaring on all sides. A grenade duel is a fine sight: the bomb-thrower, firmly ensconced behind the parapet, hurls his bomb with the graceful swing of an athlete. “S----, crouching down near the grenade cases, calmly cuts the wires and passes them to us without a word. A dense black smoke rises heavenwards, in front of the trench. “At four o’clock all is over, but for a few rifle-volleys. These are like the final sobs of a long spell of weeping. “The sunshine is glorious, and makes one realize all the more keenly the utter desolation of this ravine. “Some wounded come down, streaming with blood. “The dead are brought in, among others poor D----, who rose up in the trench in order to smite down a Boche officer, and had his skull pierced. “At the end of the trench occupied by bomb-throwers of the 5th, and ten men of the 124th, two Boches entered and were blown to atoms. “A prisoner comes down. His face is beardless, his eyes are sunken. He lifts his bleeding hands and shouts ‘Kamerad!’ Our fellows take hold of him and hurry him off to the dressing-station. I go to visit that dressing-station. It is a gloomy place. In a dark room, with only one candle for a light, the patients are laid out, and one hears a constant groaning. They recognize me and call out to me. One of them has been asking for me long before I came in; he wants me to give him news of his brother. Another requests me to write to his parents.