"At 9 o'clock we were all assembled on the first line. Orders passed from mouth to mouth. Bayonets are fixed to our rifles, each looking to his equipment, paying attention to the last detail. Nothing must be lacking on this momentous day, longingly awaited since many months. We all shake hands, some even embrace, wishing each other good luck; some with eyes brilliant with impatience, await the longed-for signal; others, calmer perhaps, although equally eager, polish their muskets with their handkerchiefs. It is raining heavily and mud is everywhere, but all our spirits are high. 9:15—The hour has come! The artillery increases the range of its shells. The first wave of men hurl themselves out of the trenches. What a magnificent moment. A rain of shells falls round, blowing to atoms some of the first line of soldiers. All along our immense front the infantry springs from the trenches, the bands playing shrilly the 'Marseillaise.' The bugle and the drums sound the charge. A roar of voices answer. With fixed bayonets we rush towards the German trenches, while their mitrailleuses mow us down. Our way is strewn already with corpses and wounded. Blood lies in pools or soaks in streams into the broken soil. From time to time the survivors fling themselves on the ground to escape the gale of shells. Notwithstanding this hell-fire, or the sharpshooters, we press through the woods. The cannons! The cannons! We must save them! "All of us understand that this is a great day of battle for us French. We must win. Without hesitation, we must sacrifice our life and blood. We must fight to our last breath." Here are quoted some reports made by the commanders of regiments and brigades. Words coming often from humble mouths, but inspired by the highest patriotism: A Colonial infantryman wounded in the foot in the beginning of the action limped to a "Poste de Secours" and said, "Here, quick, put on a strong bandage, I have only killed one so far. I am wild to get back." He was last seen climbing frantically up the slopes of "la Main de Massiges." A captain, his face streaming with blood from a ghastly wound, refused to retire. "Today one pays no attention to little wounds, it is only death that will stop me now!" A boyish lieutenant, as the first wave of men swept forward, shouted to his command: "Allons, Forward! Heads up, eyes straight. Fight! Fight!! Fight!!! Today we are going to enjoy ourselves. We are going to protect the sacred soil of France." He fell five minutes later. A colonel of Colonial infantry, nick-named the bravest of the "Poilus," although severely wounded in the head, pushed forward to climb the "Entonnoir" of the crater. As he fell he shouted: "Onward! Onward, my brave lads. I would lead but I have lost too much blood. You are heroes all. En avant mes enfants!" ("Forward, my children, for France!")