would be marked on the roll as "missing"--a solemn word which means so
many things, a word that leaves a little hope, but gives rise to so
many fears.

Over the fields, under a brilliant moon, the squadron retired in
silence. Those who have served in war know that solemn moment when,
after a day's fighting, each corps arrives at its appointed place of
rest. It is the moment when in normal life nature falls asleep in the
peace of evening. It is the moment when in villages and farms lights
appear in the lower windows, behind which the family is seated around
the steaming soup-tureen after the day's work.

It is some time now since we have tasted the exquisite peace of those
moments. Instead, we have grown used to hearing over the wide country
a monotonous and barbarous uproar caused by the thousands of cannon,
limbers, vans, and vehicles of every kind which are the very life of
an army. All these things rumble along methodically in the dark,
clanking and creaking, towards a goal invisible and yet sure. Above
this huge chaos voices rise in various keys: soldiers astray asking
their road; van-drivers urging on their foot-sore teams; words of
command given by leaders striving, in the dark, to prevent confusion
among their units. This is the reverse of the shield of battle, the
moment when we feel weariness of mind and body and the infinite
sadness of remembering those who are no more....

Away in the distance two villages were in flames, luridly lighting up
some corners of the scene. That evening seemed to me sadder and more
distressing than ever....