Germans.

Somebody found this out, and a net of chicken wire had been placed
across the river in No Man's Land. Some one had to go down there
and fish for bottles twice nightly. I took this patrol alone. The
lines were rather far apart along the river, owing to the swampy
nature of the ground, which made livable trenches impossible.

I slipped out and down the slight incline, and presently found
myself in a little valley. The grass was rank and high, sometimes
nearly up to my chin, and the ground was slimy and treacherous. I
slipped into several shell holes and was almost over my head in the
stagnant, smelly water.

I made the river all right, but there was no bridge or net in
sight. The river was not over ten feet wide and there was supposed
to be a footbridge of two planks where the net was.

I got back into the grass and made my way downstream. Sliding
gently through the grass, I kept catching my feet in something hard
that felt like roots; but there were no trees in the neighborhood.
I reached down and groped in the grass and brought up a human rib.
The place was full of them, and skulls. Stooping, I could see them,
grinning up out of the dusk, hundreds of them. I learned afterwards
that this was called the Valley of Death. Early in the war several
thousand Zouaves had perished there, and no attempt had been made
to bury them.

After getting out of the skeletons, I scouted along downstream and
presently heard the low voices of Germans. Evidently they had found