earth, and roofed with iron rails, logs and sandbags. The usual
French doctors, stretcher bearers and American Ambulance men were
there. And there was the little cemetery, always found at a first
aid post where those are buried who die on the stretchers or in the
dugout. It was lovingly adorned by the French with the tri-colour
of France, with bronze wreaths, with woodland flowers, and was
altogether bright and beautiful in the bare woods. They showed
us a shell by the cave--a gas shell that had come over during the
morning and had hit on the oblique and had not exploded. It was
gently leaking chlorine gas, which we sniffed--but gingerly. Other
shells were popping into the place and fairly near us with some
regularity and enthusiasm, and it seemed to Henry and me that we
had no desire to stare grim war's wrinkled front out of countenance,
and we hoped that the Major and Mr. Norton were nearly ready to go
back. But we heard this:

From the Major: "How far forward can we go toward Hill 304; we would
like to see it, but have no desire to go further than you care to
have us."

And from the French lieutenant in charge: "Go to Berlin if you want
to!"

It occurred to Henry and me, considering our feelings, that the
Major's nonchalant use of that "we" was without the consent of
the governed. But when he started forward we followed. Our moral
cowardice overwhelmed our physical cowardice, and our legs tracked
ahead while our hearts tracked back. The Major swung along the road
at a fast clip; Mr. Norton went with him. For short-geared men we
followed as fast as we could, but it was at a respectful distance.