Page:War's dark frame (IA warsdarkframe00camp).pdf/116

 T was in Champagne that I accomplished for the first time the much desired experience of entering the front line trenches. Such an excursion isn't without its discomforts. We started on a dull afternoon, clothed for rain and mud of which we had been warned we would find plenty. The officers and soldiers with us were ominously silent. We drove swiftly. We commenced to hear cannon. When it was necessary to sound the automobile horn the driver was cautious, and the discreet response gave us a feeling of danger. Already we wondered how individuals, not unlike ourselves, ordered their lives amid such dangers and discomforts.

A famous novelist was with me. He spoke no French, and he was considered of such importance that a member of the Chamber of Deputies who knew his language had been assigned to accompany him.

While the voice of the cannon grew angrier we entered a deserted and shell torn village. Barbed wire filled the gardens. It was stretched across