r the roadside has called the order to me.
The order travels by word of mouth along our line. It is a long time
before it reaches the riflemen furthest left. And as soon as the
slightest movement is noticeable in the beet fields, the deadly hail
rattles down upon us again.

My eyeglass is covered with sweat and dirt. I tear it away. Now, as
the shells strike, clouds of dirt fly into my eyes. I close them. At
my left, a rifleman crawling along, nudges me:

"The dogs!" he mutters: "Now they've got us in a hell of a pinch!"

I can speak no more. We go crawling along another 500 meters. My
revolver bangs along on the ground at my left; my fieldglass at my
right. For a moment I think of the droll problem given to the officer
at the military examination: "What would you do if you saw artillery
unfold before you, infantry on your left, and artillery against your
flank on the right?" Answer: "I'd order: Take off helmets and pray!"

Take off helmets and pray! Yes, there is now no help for it. Now it's
a case of dying decently like gentlemen.

"No running away, men! We're no Frenchmen!"

A minute's stop to take breath, at yon hay-rick on the left. So, there
they're advancing, in a gay company, the blue-frocks!

"Left, riflemen, along the church yard wall, stand! Rifle fire!"

And two groups are daring enough to stand upright and fire, although
the machine gun fire is sweeping us again. The man next to me is
loading his gun; suddenly he throws up an arm:

"Hell! That's pretty warm!" A bullet has passed midway through the
cover of his rifle barrel.

"Go on! Slowly! One at a time! Don't crowd!"

On the road we find a man of the second column, pressed against a
tree.

"Where is the battalion?"

He points in the direction of R.

"There they are, still fighting, Captain."

Yes, there still stand some riflemen in a rifle fight. An officer with
them.

"Forward!" and I point in their direction.

But over there the witches' caldron is boiling more fiercely. The
machine guns are nearer there. After a short consultation with the
leader of the division I order: "Retire. Singly."

The narrow road through which we retire is swept continually with
fire. I climb up to the ridge. Now nothing further matters. Only not
to fall alive in the hands of those over there! To die! I stumble over
a ridge in the field. A few moments of unconsciousness. Then again the
tacktack-tacktack of the machine guns. God, our Lord, Thou art our
r