He was still back of the French lines, but his pass would take him through them at any time he wished.

The problem was how to pass those of Germany, and the difficulty was very great, because for a long distance here the hostile trenches were only three or four hundred yards apart.
He discerned to the eastward a dim line of hills which, as he knew, rose farther on into mountains, and it occurred to him that he might find it easier to get through in rough country than in the region of low, rounded hills, where he now stood.

He carried a knapsack, well filled with food, a blanket roll, and now he resolved to push on all night and most of the following day, before passing the French lines.
Keeping a watchful eye he pursued his steady course across the hills.
The depth of the snow impeded speed, but action kept his heart strong.
The terrible waiting was over, he was at least trying to do something.
Fresh interests sprang up also.

It was a strange, white, misty world upon which he looked.

He traveled through utter desolation, but to the east, inclining to the north was a limitless double line, which now and then broke into flashes of flame, while from points further back came that mutter of the big guns like the groanings of huge, primeval monsters.
It seemed to John barbarous and savage to the last degree.