They appeared out of the mist beside us, stood in full
relief for a moment in the glow of the lamps, and were swallowed up
again.
At three miles from our destination, but only one mile from the German
lines, it was necessary to put out the lamps. Our progress, which had
been dangerous enough before, became extremely precarious. It was
necessary to turn out for teams and lorries, for guns and endless
lines of soldiers, and to turn out a foot too far meant slipping into
the mud. Two miles and a half from the village we turned out too far.
There was a sickening side slip. The car turned over to the right at
an acute angle and there remained. We were mired!
We got out. It was perfectly dark. Guns were still passing us, so that
it was necessary to warn the drivers of our wrecked car. The road was
full of shell holes, so that to step was to stumble. The German lines,
although a mile away, seemed very near. Between the road and the enemy
was not a tree or a shrub or a fence--only the line of the railway
embankment which marked the Allies' trenches. To add to the dismalness
of the situation the Germans began throwing the familiar magnesium
lights overhead. The flares made the night alike beautiful and
fearful. It was possible when one burst near to see the entire
landscape spread out like a map--ditches full of water, sodden fields,
shell holes in the roads which had become lakes, the long lines of
poplars outlining the road ahead.
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