The "kiss, kiss" had ceased, for we were supposed to be all dead, and there were other objectives. I got up and once more began firing, but I was alone now in the midst of the fiery circle. My cousin, Lieutenant Fernand Marissal, who had brought his guns to my right, had stopped firing for the only reason possible. He had just been killed. Some Boches, hiding in a house had sent him a ball in the head. The sharp-shooters no longer existed, the brave Commander Magnette had been killed at the head of them. I therefore had to face three sides. I commenced by imposing silence once more on the trench to the left, and a ball grazed my right cheek and nose. It was a violent shock and my face was all bleeding, but, fortunately, my eyes were spared. I continued shooting at the houses on the right and I peppered doors, windows, and roofs. After this I aimed at the trench, which fired back at me. I was hit in the right fore-arm. A vein was cut, and this meant a considerable hemorrhage. I turned up the sleeve of my sweater and found my shirt quite red; my fingers still worked, but with difficulty. I meant to make the men in hiding, on the main road, pay for this. My poor Hubert had dragged himself along to the first trench and he said to his comrades, who were now shooting with guns: "What, do you mean to say that the Lieutenant is left alone to do the firing? He has been wounded twice. Is there no one to help him?" These were his last words. Mortally wounded as he was, this hero used his last breath to exhort his comrades to do their duty. Janssens came out of the trench and charged my machine. I was just going to fire, when I was hit on the knee and brought to the ground. "They have broken my leg!" I said. It certainly was in a strange position, and I pulled it round and stretched it out in front of me. I fired the last strip of cartridges loaded, and all those in the box near me. It was all I could do. Janssens had returned to the trench. I took off my right spur, which was twisting my broken leg, and lay down on my back, with my head on my shako, and a map on my face to protect me from the heat of the sun. It was 12.30. The sky was extremely limpid, with whitish clouds here and there. From time to time, the crows flew slowly by, uttering their hoarse croak. "What are your orders, Lieutenant?" suddenly said a voice near me. It was the brave Marechal, accompanied by Corporal Treize and Private Van Herck of the 53rd. "What about the 53rd?" I asked. "It won't work, Lieutenant." "Where is it?" "We have put it completely out of use." "Is there nothing more to be done then?" "Yes, we are going to move you from here, Lieutenant." "No, my boys," I said, "during action, the wounded cannot be moved." I could not, of course, accept for myself what I had refused twice for my men. "Put the gun out of use," I said. "We are going to save it, Lieutenant."