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dig a foot was to encounter water。 Machine guns here and there sat but six
inches above the yellow flood。 Men lay in pools to fire them。 To reach
outposts were narrow paths built first of bags of earth … a life； sometimes
for every bag。 And； when this filling was sufficient； on top a path of
fascines； bound together in bundles； made a footway。
For this reason the Belgians approached their trenches not through
deep cuts which gave them shelter but with no other cover than the
darkness of night。 During the day； they lay in their shallow dugouts； cut
off from any connection with the world behind them。 Food； cooked miles
away； came up at night； cold and unappetizing。 For water； having
exhausted their canteens； there was nothing but the brackish tide before
them； ill smelling and reeking of fever。 Water carts trundled forward at
night； but often they were far too few。
The Belgians； having faced their future through long years of anxiety；
had been trained to fight。 In a way they had been trained to fight a losing
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war； for they could not hope to defeat their greedy neighbor on the east。
But now they found themselves fighting almost not at all； condemned to
inactivity； to being almost passively slaughtered by enemy artillery； and to
living under such conditions as would have sapped the courage of a less
desperate people。
To add to the difficulties； not only did the sea encroach； turning a
fertile land into a salt marsh； but the winter rains； unusually heavy that
tragic first winter； and lacking their usual egress to the sea； spread the
flood。 There were many places well back of the lines where fields were
flooded； and where roads； sadly needed； lost themselves in unfordable
wallows of mud and water。
Henri then； knowing all this … none better … had his first question to
settle； which was this： As spring advanced the flood had commenced to
recede。 Time came when； in those trenches now huddled shallow behind
the railway track； one could live in a certain comfort。 In the deeper ones
the bottom of the trench appeared for the first time。
On a day previous； however； the water had commenced to come back。
There had been no rain； but little by little in a certain place yellow； ill…
smelling little streams began to flow sluggishly into the trenches。 Seeped；
rather than flowed。 At first the Belgian officers laid it to that bad luck that
bad so persistently pursued them。 Then they held a conference in the small
brick house with its maps and its pine tables and its picture of an American
harvester on the wall； which was now headquarters。
Sitting under the hanging lamp； with an orderly making coffee at a
stove in the corner； they talked it over。 Henri was there； silent before his
elders； but intently listening。 And at last they turned to him。
〃I can go and find out；〃 he said quietly。 〃It is possible； though I do not
see how。〃 He smiled。 〃They are； I think； only drying themselves at our
expense。 It is a bit of German humor。〃
But the cry of 〃Calais in a month！〃 was in the air； and undoubtedly
there had been renewed activity along the German Front near the sea。 The
second question to be answered was dependent on the first。
Had the Germans； as Henri said； merely shifted the water； by some
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clever engineering； to the Belgian trenches； or was there some bigger thing
on hand？ What； for instance； if they were about to attempt to drain the
inundation； smash the Belgian line； and march by the Dunkirk road to
Calais？
So； that night while Henri jested about Pierre's right elbow and
watched Sara Lee for a smile； he had difficult work before him。
Sometime near midnight he slipped away。 Jean was waiting in the
street； and wrung the boy's hand。
〃I could go with you；〃 he said rather wistfully。
〃You don't speak their ugly tongue。〃
〃I could be mute … shell shock。 You could be helping me back。〃
But Henri only held his hand a moment and shook his head。
〃You would double the risk； and … what good would it do？〃
Two pistols are better than one。〃
〃I have two pistols； my friend；〃 said Henri； and turned the corner of
the building； past the boards Rene had built in； toward the house of the
mill。 But once out of Jean's sight he stopped a moment； his hand resting
against that frail wall to Sara Lee's room。 It was his good…by to her。
For three days Jean stayed in the village。 He slept at the mill； but he
came for his meals to the little house。 Once he went to Dunkirk and
brought out provisions and the mail； including Sara Lee's monthly
allowance。 But mostly he sat in the mill house and waited。 He could not
read。
〃You do not eat at all； Jean；〃 Sara Lee said to him more than once。 And
twice she insisted that he was feverish； and placed a hand that was
somewhat marred with much peeling of vegetables； on his forehead。
〃I am entirely well； mademoiselle；〃 he would say； and draw back。 He
had anxieties enough just now without being reminded by the touch of a
woman's hand of all that he had lost。
Long before that Sara Lee had learned not to question Jean about
Henri's absences。 Even his knowledge； now； that she knew something of
Henri's work； did not remove the barrier。 So Sara Lee waited； as did Jean；
but more helplessly。 She knew something was wrong； but she had not
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Jean's privilege of going at night to the trenches and there waiting； staring
over the gray water with its ugly floating shadows； for Henri to emerge
from the flood。
Something rather forced and mechanical there was those days in her
work。 Her smile was rather set。 She did not sleep well。 And one night she
violated Henri's orders and walked across the softened fields to beyond the
poplar trees。
There was nothing to see except an intermittent flash from the clouds
that hung low over the sea at Nieuport； where British gunboats were
bombarding the coast； or the steady streaks from the Ypres salient； where
night and day the guns never rested。
》Fr