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Almost at my feet is a knapsack, ripped open and revealing a card of
small china buttons, a new red handkerchief, a gray-striped flannel
shirt, a pencil and a sheaf of writing paper. Rummaging in the main
compartment I find, folded at the back, a book recording the name and
record of military service of one Gaston Michel Miseroux, whose home is
at Amiens, and who is--or was--a private in the Tenth Battalion of the
---- Regiment of Chasseurs a Pied. Whether this Gaston Michel Miseroux
got away alive without his knapsack, or whether he was captured or was
killed, there is none to say. His service record is here in the
trampled dust and he is gone.
Before going farther the young lieutenant, speaking in his broken
English, told us the story of the fight, which had been fought, he said,
just forty-eight hours before. "The French," he said, "must have been
here for several days. They had fortified this hill, as you see;
digging intrenchments in front for their riflemen and putting their
artillery behind at a place I shall presently show you.


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