During the afternoon there was intermittent firing but no great activity on either side of the lines. Occasionally an aeroplane would fly overhead. Once during the afternoon a German plane flew over in an effort to attack an observation balloon, but was successfully driven off by the French.
The afternoon passed quickly enough without having my services called for and at supper time I had my first meal of trench fare with French poilus for company, a cup of hot soup, a chunk of meat, a slice of bread and a cup of coffee. The cook who served us was a big fellow with a black beard. He was killed a short time after and his body lay all day in a nearby dug-out.
After supper I clambered over the canal bank and walked along the empty canal bed observing the marks of German shells. Then there was a sudden volley of shots from a French battery near at hand, the guns of which were so carefully concealed that I had not observed it. I quickly clambered back over the “safe” side of the canal bank and waited.
I began to feel restless and to wonder when I would be called to get out into the battle of the night.
In the meantime the firing had increased on both sides of the lines.
It was some time after nine o’clock and growing dark when a French soldier came up and handed me a slip of paper bearing a message which had just come over the telephone. The message conveyed instructions for me to drive down the road a couple of miles to a front line dressing station, where I would find wounded who had just been carried in. I was informed that the call was urgent. Though I am not fearless by any means, I did not feel frightened as I walked out to my car and started the engine; but I noticed that my heart was beating rapidly.
A few French soldiers waved to me and called “Au ’voir” as I got in the seat and was off down the road, first to the left, then to the right, then straight ahead as fast as I dared drive. The road took me directly in front of the French batteries, and in the growing darkness the flashes of fire from the guns and the concussion in my face made it seem as if they were firing directly at me, not over me. I drove on till I reached the post to which I had been sent, then backed up my ambulance around near the entrance to the dug-out and stopped. An officer stepped up and shook hands with me and in English said: “The American drives fast.”