FROMthe hills around Verdun we saw the earth as it must have looked on perhaps the fourth day of creation week. It was all frowsy mud and slime. Man was down deep in the dust from which he will spring again some day. There was not even a foothold for poppies on the hills around Verdun, for mingled with the old earth scars were fresh ones, and there will be more tomorrow.
The Germans have been pushed back of the edges of the bowl in which Verdun lies, and now their only eyes are aeroplanes. Big naval guns are required to reach the city itself, but the Germans are not content to leave the battered town alone. They bang away at ruins and kick a city which is down. They fire, too, at the citadel, but do no more than scratch the top of this great underground fortress.
Our guide and mentor at Verdun was a distinguishedcolonel, very learned in military tactics and familiar with every phase of the various Verdun campaigns. The extent of his information was borne home to us the first day of the trip, for he stood the party on top of Fort Souville and carried on a technical talk in French for more than half an hour, while German shells, breaking a few hundred yards away, sought in vain to interrupt him.
From the top of Souville it was possible to see gun flashes and to spy, now and again, aeroplanes which darted back and forth all day, but not a soldier of either side was to be seen through the strongest glasses. On no front have men dug in so deeply as at Verdun. They have good reason to snuggle into the earth, for the French have a story that one of their projectiles killed men in a dugout seventy-five feet below the surface. They thought that this terrific penetration must have been due to the fact that the shell hit fairly upon a crack in the concrete and wedged its way through.
Barring plumbing, which is always an after thought in France, the French make the undergrounddwellings of the soldiers moderately comfortable. There are ventilating plants and electric lights, and in the citadel a motion picture theater. In one underground stronghold we found the telephone central for all the various positions around Verdun. We wondered whether or not he was ever obliged to report, "Your party doesn't answer."
We traveled far underground, and at last the colonel brought us out again near the high, bare spot where the automobiles had been left. As we walked down the road there was a particularly vicious bang some place to our left.
"That wasn't very far away," said the colonel.
This was the first shell which had stirred him to interest or attention. Presently there came another bang, and this seemed just as loud. The colonel paused thoughtfully.
"Maybe one of their aeroplanes has seen us and spotted us for the artillery," he said. "Tell the chauffeurs to turn the cars around at once, and we'll go."
The chauffeurs turned the cars with commendablealacrity and the colonel walked slowly toward them. But his roving glance rested for an instant upon a little ridge across the valley to his left which brought memories to his mind and he stopped in the middle of the road and began: "In the Spring of 1915——" On and on he went in his beautiful French and described some small affair which might have influenced the entire subsequent course of events. It seemed that if the Germans had varied their plan a little the French defensive scheme would have been upset and all sorts of things would have happened. At the end of twenty minutes he had done full justice to the subject and then he recollected.
"We'd better go now," he said, "the Germans may have spotted us."
We messed with the French officers in the citadel that night and found that they were ready to converse on almost any subject but the war. Literature was their favorite topic. Although the colonel spoke no English, he was familiar with much American literature in translation. Poe he knew well, and he had read a few things of Mark Twain's. Somebodymentioned William James, and a captain quoted at length from an essay called "A Moral Equivalent for War." The lieutenant on my right wanted to know whether Americans still read Walt Whitman, and I wondered whether the same familiarity with French literature would be encountered in any American mess. This little lieutenant had been a professor or instructor some place or other when the war began and had several poetical dramas in verse to his credit. He had written a play called "Dionysius" in rhymed couplets. At the beginning of the war he had enlisted as a private and had seen much hard service, which had brought him two wounds, a medal and a commission. He hoped ardently to survive the war, for he felt that he could write ever so much better because he had been thrown into close relationship with peasants and laborers. He found their talk meaty, and at times rich in poetry. One day, he remembered, his regiment had marched along a country road in a fine spring dawn. His comrade to the right, a Parisian peddler, remarked as they passed a gleaming forest: "There is awood where God has slept." The little lieutenant said that if he had the luck to live through the war he was going to write plays without a thought of the Greeks and their mythology. He hoped, if he should live, to write for the many as well as the few. I wondered to myself just what sort of plays one of our American highbrows would write if he served a campaign with the 69th or drove an army mule.
The French army tries to let the men at the front live a little better than elsewhere if it is possible to get the food up to them. In the citadel at Verdun the men dine in style now that the incoming roads are pretty much immune from shell fire. Our luncheon with the officers on the night of the twenty-fifth of September, for instance, consisted of hors d'œuvres, omelette aux fines herbes, bifsteck, pommes parmentier, confitures, dessert, café, champagne and pinard. And for dinner we had potage vermicelli, œfs bechamel, jambon aux epinards, chouxfleur au jus, duchesse chocolat, fruits, dessert, café and, of course, champagne and pinard.
We spent the night in the citadel and a little after midnight the German planes came over. They bombed the town and dropped a few missiles on the citadel, but they did no more than dent the roof a bit. Our rooms were almost fifty meters underground and the bombs sounded little louder than heavy rain on the roof. Certainly they did not disturb the Frenchman just down the hall. His snores were ever so much louder than the German bombs.
On the morning of our second day we crossed the Meuse and drove down heavily camouflaged roads to Charny. Five hundred yards away a French battery was under heavy bombardment from big German guns. We could see the earth fly up from hits close to the gun emplacements. Five hundred yards away men were being killed and wounded, but the soldiers in Charny loafed about and smoked and chatted and paid no attention. This bombardment was not in their lives at all. The men of the battery might have been the folk who walk upside down on the other side of the earth.
"The last time I came to Charny," said the Colonel, "I had to get in a dugout and stay five hours because the Germans bombarded it so hard.
"But that was in the afternoon," he reassured us; "the Germans never bombard Charny in the morning."
We stood and watched the two sheets of fire poured upon the battery until somebody called attention to the fact that it was almost noon and we returned to the citadel. And at two o'clock that afternoon we stood on a hilltop overlooking the valley and sure enough the Germans were giving Charny its daily strafe. Shells were bursting all around the peaceful road we had traveled in the morning. Probably by now the men in the battery were idling about and taking their ease. After all there is something to be said for a foe who plays a system.
HEwas twenty-six and a major, but he was three years old in the big war, and that is the only age which counts today in the British army. The little major was the first man I ever met who professed a genuine enthusiasm for war. It had found him a black sheep in the most remote region of a big British colony and had tossed him into command of himself and of others. Utterly useless in the pursuit of peace, war had proved a sufficiently compelling schoolmaster to induce the study of many complicated mechanical problems, of subtler ones of psychology, not to mention two languages. It is true that his German was limited to "Throw up your hands" and "Come out or we'll bomb you," but he could carry on a friendly and fairly extensive conversation in French. The tuition fee was two wounds.
He was a fine, fair sample of the slashing, swanking British army which backs its boasts with battalions and makes its light words good with heavy guns. We rode together in a train for several hours on the way to the British front and when I told him I was a newspaper man he was eager to tell me something of what the British army had done, was doing and would do.
"If they'd cut out wire and trenches and machine guns and general staffs," said the little major, "we'd win in two months." Without these concessions he did not expect to see the end for at least a year. However, he was concerned for the most part with more concrete things than predictions, and I'd best let him wander on as he did that afternoon with no interruption save an occasional question. He was returning to the front after being wounded. There had been boating and swimming and tennis and "a deuced pretty girl" down there at the resort where he had been recuperating, and yet he was glad to be back.
"You see," the little major explained, "I have been in all the shows from the beginningand I'd feel pretty rotten if they were to pull anything off without me. The C.O. wants me back. I have a letter here from him. He tells me to take all the time I need, but to get back as soon as I can. The C.O. and I have been together from the beginning. It isn't that the new fellow isn't all right. Quite likely he's a better officer than I am, but the C.O. wants the old fellows that he's seen in other shows and knows all about. That's why I want to get back. I want to see what the new fellow's doing with my men."
He limped a little still, and I pressed him to tell me about his wound. It seemed he got it in "the April show."
"There was a bit of luck about that," he said. "I happened to take my Webley with me when we went over, as well as my cane. They've got a silly rule now that officers mustn't carry canes in an attack and that they must wear Tommies' tunics, so the Fritzies can't spot them. They say we lose too many officers because they expose themselves. Nobody pays much attention to that rule. You won't find many officers in Tommies' tunics,but you will find 'em out in front with their canes.
"And there's sense to it. I've always said that I wouldn't ask my men to go any place I wasn't willing to go and to go first. 'Come on,' that's what we say in the British army. The Germans drive their men from behind. Some of their officers are very brave, you know, but that's the system. I remember in one show we were stuck at the third line of barbed wire. The guns hadn't touched it, but it wasn't their fault. There was a German officer there, and he stood up on the parapet, and directed the machine gun fire. He'd point every place we were a little thick and then they'd let us have it. We got him, though. I got a machine gunner on him. Just peppered him. He was a mighty brave officer."
I reminded the little major that I wanted to hear about his wound.
"We were coming through a German trench that had been pretty well cleaned out, but close up against the back there was a soldier hiding. When I came by he cut at me with his bayonet. He only got me in the fleshy part of myleg, and I turned and let him have it with my Webley. Blew the top of his head right off. Silly ass, wasn't he? Must have known he'd be killed."
I asked him if his wound hurt, and he said no, and that he was able to walk back, and felt quite chipper until the last mile.
"The first thing a wounded man wants to do," he explained, "is to get away. If he's been hit he gets a sudden crazy fear that he's going to get it again. Most wounds don't hurt much, and as soon as a man's out of fire and puts a cigarette in his mouth he cheers up. He's at his best if it's a blighty hit."
Here I was forced to interrupt for information.
"A blighty hit! Don't you know what that is? It's from the song they sing now, 'Carry Me Back to Blighty.' Blighty's England. I think it's a Hindustani word that means home, but I won't be sure about that. Anyhow, a blighty hit's not bad enough to keep you in France, but bad enough to send you to England. Those are the slow injuries that aren't so very dangerous.
"Next to getting to Blighty a fellow wants a cigarette. I never saw a man hit so bad he couldn't smoke. I saw a British 'plane coming down one day and the tail of it was red. The Germans fix up their machines like that, but I knew this wasn't paint on a British plane. He made a tiptop landing, and when he got out we saw part of his shoulder was shot away and he had a hole in the top of his head. 'That was a close call,' he said, and he took out a cigarette, lighted it and took two puffs. Then he keeled over."
The little major and I got out to stretch our legs at a station platform, and I noticed that salutes were punctiliously given and returned. "I suppose," I said, quoting a bit of misinformation somebody had supplied, "that out at the front all this saluting is cut out."
"No, sir," said the little major sternly. "Somebody told that to the last batch of recruits that was sent over, but we taught 'em better soon. They don't get the lay of it quite. It isn't me they salute; it's the King's uniform. Of course, I don't expect a man to salute if I pass him in a trench; but if he'ssmoking a cigarette I expect him to throw it away and I expect him to straighten up.
"You've got to let up on some things, of course. There's shaving now. I expect my men to shave every day when they're not in the line, but you can't expect that in the trenches. Naturally, I shave myself every day anyhow, but I'm lenient with the men. I don't insist on their shaving more than every other day."
When I got to the château where the visiting correspondents stay I found the officers at mess. There were four British officers, a Roumanian general, a member of Parliament, a Dutch painter and an American newspaperman. As at Verdun the conversation had swung around to literature. It all began because somebody said something about Shaw having put up at the château when he visited the front.
"Awful ass," said an English officer who had met the playwright out there. "He was no end of nuisance for us. Why, when he got out here we found he was a vegetarian, and wehad to chase around and have omelettes fixed up for him every day."
"I censored his stuff," said another. "I didn't think much of it, but I made almost no changes. Some of it was a little subtle, but I let it get by."
"I heard him out here," said a third officer, "and he talked no end of rot. He said the Germans had made a botch of destroying towns. He said he could have done more damage to Arras with a hammer than the Germans did with their shells. Of course, he couldn't begin to do it with a hammer, and, anyway, he wouldn't be let. I suppose he never thought of that. Then he said that the Germans were doing us a great favor by their air raids. He said they were smashing up things that were ugly and unsanitary. That's silly. We could pull them down ourselves, you know, and, anyhow, in the last raid they hit the postoffice."
"The old boy's got nerve, though," interrupted another officer. "I was out at the front with him near Arras and there was some pretty lively shelling going on around us. Itold him to put on his tin hat, but he wouldn't do it. I said, 'Those German shell splinters may get you,' and he laughed and said if the Germans did anything to him they'd be mighty ungrateful, after all he'd done for them. He don't know the Boche."
"He told me," added a British journalist, "'when I want to know about war I talk to soldiers.' I asked him: 'Do you mean officers or Tommies?' He said that he meant Tommies.
"Now you know how much reliance you can put in what a Tommy says. He'll either say what he thinks you want him to say or what he thinks you don't want him to say. I told Shaw that, but he paid no attention."
Here the first officer chimed in again. "Well, I stick to what I've said right along. I don't see where Shaw's funny. I think he's silly."
The major who sat at the head of the table deftly turned the conversation away from literary controversy. "What did you think of Conan Doyle?" he said.
Bright and early next morning we startedout to follow in the footsteps of Shaw. We went through country which had been shocked and shaken by both sides in their battles and then dynamited in addition by the retreating Germans. I stood in Peronne which the Germans had dynamited with the greatest care. They left the town for dead, but against a shattered wall was a sign which read, "Regimental cinema tonight at the Splinters—CHARLIE CHAPLIN IN SHANGHAIED." This was first aid. A frozen man is rubbed with snow and a town which has suffered German frightfulness is regaled with Charlie Chaplin.
Life will come back to that town in time and to others. After all life is a rubber band and it will be just as it was only an instant after they let go. We turned down the road to Arras and drove between fields which had been burned to cinders and trodden into mud by men and guns only a few weeks ago. Now the poppies were sweeping all before them. Into the trenches they went and over. First line, second line, third line, each fell in turn to the redcoats. They were so thick that the earth seemed to bleed for its wounds.
Presently we were in Arras and our officer led us into the cathedral. "We won't stay in here long," said the officer. "The Germans drop a shell in here every now and then and the next one may bring the rest of the walls down. People keep away from here." This indeed seemed a very citadel of destruction and loneliness, but as we turned to go we heard a mournful noise from an inner room. We investigated and found a Tommy practicing on the cornet. He was playing a piece entitled, "Progressive Exercises for the Cornet—Number One." He stood up and saluted.
"Have the Germans bombarded the town at all today?" the captain asked.
"Yes, sir," said the Tommy. "They bombarded the square out in front here this morning."
"Did they get anybody?"
"No, sir, only a Frenchman, sir," replied the Tommy with stiff formality.
"Was there any other activity?"
"Yes, sir, there were some aeroplanes over about an hour ago and they dropped somebombs in there," said the Tommy indicating a street just back of the cathedral.
"And what were we doing?" persisted the captain.
"We were trying out some new anti-aircraft ammunition," explained the Tommy patiently, "but I don't think it was any good, sir, because most of it came down and buried itself over there," and he indicated a spot some fifteen or twenty feet from his music room.
The captain could think of no more inquiries just then and the soldier quickly folded up his cornet and his music and after saluting with decent haste left the cathedral. For the sake of his music he was willing to endure shells and bombs and shrapnel fragments but questions put him off his stride entirely. He fled, perhaps, to some shell hole for solitude.
From the cathedral we went to the town hall. Here again one could not but be impressed with the futility of destruction. The Germans have torn the building cruelly with their shells and their dynamite, but beauty is tough. Dynamite a bakeshop and you have only a mess. Shell a tailor's and rubbish isleft. But it is different when you begin to turn your guns against cathedrals and town halls. If a structure is built beautifully it will break beautifully. The dynamite has cut fine lines in the jagged ruins of the Town Hall. The Germans have smashed everything but the soul of the building. They didn't get that. It was not for want of trying, but dynamite has its limitations.
We got up to the lines the next day and had a fine view of the opposing trench systems for ten or twelve miles. Our box seat was on top of a hill just back of Messines ridge. We saw a duel between two aeroplanes, the explosion of a munitions dump, and no end of big gun firing but the officer who conducted us said that it was a dull morning. Our day on the hill was a clear one after three days of low clouds, and all the fliers were out in force. Almost two dozen British 'planes were to be seen from the hilltop, as well as several captive balloons. Although the English 'planes flew well over the German lines, they drew no fire, but presently the sky began to grow woolly. Little round white patches appeared, one againstthe other, cutting the sky into great flannel figures. Then we saw above it all a 'plane so high as to be hardly visible. Indeed, we should not have seen it but for the telltale shrapnel. These were our guns, and this was no friend. Now it was almost over our heads. It seemed intent upon attacking one of the British captive balloons, which could only stand and wait. The guns were snarling now. We were close enough to hear the anger in every shot. The shrapnel broke behind, below, above and in front of the aeroplane, but on it sailed, untouched, like a glass ball in a Buffalo Bill shooting trick.
Yet here was no poor marksmanship, for at ten thousand feet the air pilot has forty seconds to dodge each shell. He merely has to watch the flash of the gun and then dive or rise or slide to right or left. Sometimes, indeed, the shrapnel lays a finger on him, but he whirls away out of its grip like a quarterback in a broken field. The guns stopped firing, although the German was still above the British lines. Somebody was up to tackle him at closer range. Where our 'plane came fromwe did not know. The sky was filled all morning with English fliers, but each appeared to have definite work in hand, and not one paid the slightest attention to the German intruder. This was a special assignment. When we caught sight of the English flier he had maneuvered into a position behind his German adversary. We caught the flashes from the machine guns, but we could hear no sound of the fight above us. The 'planes darted forward and back. They were clever little bantams, these, and neither was able to put in a finishing blow. Our stolid guiding officer was up on his toes now and rooting as if it were some sporting event in progress. Looking upward at his comrade, ten thousand feet aloft, he cried: "Let him have it!"
The hostile attitude of the spectators or something else discouraged the German and he turned and made for his own lines. The Englishman pursued him for a time and then gave up the chase. The consensus of opinion was that the Briton had won the decision on points.
"They've been making a dead set for ourballoons all week," said an English soldier after the German 'plane had been driven away.
"If they get the balloon does that mean that they get the observer?" I asked in my ignorance.
"Lord bless you no," said the soldier. "No danger for 'im, sir. He just jumps out with a parachute."
Next we turned our attention to the big gun firing. We could see the flash of the guns of both sides and hear the whistle of the shells. After the flash one might mark the result if he had a sharp eye. There was no trouble in following the progress of one particular British shell for an instant after the flash a high column of smoke arose above a town which the Germans held. A minute or so later we had our own column for a German shell hit one of the many munition dumps scattered about behind the British front. Our own hill was pocked with shell holes and the tower near which we stood was nibbled nigh to bits and we had a wakeful, stimulating feeling that almost any minute something might drop on ornear us. The Tommy with whom we shared the view undeceived us.
"This hill!" he said. "Why there was a time when it was as much as your life was worth to stand up here and now the place's nothing but a bloomin' Cook's tour resort."
Our last day with the army was spent at the University of Death and Destruction where the men from England take their final courses in warfare. We began with a class which was having a lesson in defense against bombs. A tin can exploded at the feet of a Scotchman and peppered his bare legs. Five hundred soldiers roared with laughter, for the man in the kilt had flunked his recitation in "Trench Raiding." Officially the Scot was dead, for the tin can represented a German bomb. They were cramming for war in the big training camp and they played roughly. The imitation bombs carried a charge of powder generous enough to insure wholesome respect. The Scot, indeed, had to retire to have a dressing made.
The trench in which the class was hard at work was perfect in almost every detail, savethat it lacked a back wall. This was removed for the sake of the audience. An instructor stood outside and every now and again he would toss a bomb at his pupils. He played no favorites. The good and the bad scholar each had his chance. In order to pass the course the soldier had to show that he knew what to do to meet the bomb attack. He might take shelter in the traverse; he might kick the bomb far away; or, with a master's degree in view, he might pick up the imitation bomb and hurl it far away before it could explode. Speed and steady nerves were required for this trick. An explosion might easily blow off a finger or two. Yet, after all, it was practice. Later there might be other bombs designed for bigger game than fingers.
We followed the students from bombs to bayonets. The men with the cold steel were charging into dummies marked with circles to represent spots where hits were likely to be vital. It looked for all the world like football practice and the men went after the dummies as the tacklers used to do at Soldiers' Field of an afternoon when the coach had pinned bluesweaters and white "Y's" on the straw men. There was the same severely serious spirit. In a larger field a big class was having instruction in attack. Before them were three lines of trenches protected by barbed wire ankle high. At a signal they left their trench and darted forward to the next one. Here they paused for a moment and then set sail for the second trench. At another signal they were out of that and into a third trench. From here they blazed away at some targets on the hill representing Germans and consolidated their positions. Instructors followed the charge along the road which bordered the instruction field. They mingled praise and blame, but ever they shouted for speed. "Make this go now," would be the cry, and to a luckless wight who had been upset by barbed wire and sent sprawling: "What do you mean by lying there, anyhow?"
It was a New Zealand company which I saw, and in the class were a number of Maoris. These were fine, husky men of the type seen in the Hawaiian Islands. All played the game hard, but none seemed so imaginatively stirredby it as the Maoris. They were fairly carried away by the enthusiasm of a charge, and left their trenches each time shouting at top voice. The capture of the third trench by no means satisfied them. They wanted to go on and on. If the officer had not called a halt there's no telling but that they might have invaded the next field and bayoneted the bombardiers. Over the hill there was a rattle of machine guns and beyond that a more scattering volume of musketry. We stopped and watched the men at their rifle practice.
"You wouldn't believe it," said the instructor, "but we've got to keep hammering it home to men that rifles are meant to shoot with. For a time you heard nothing but bayonets. A gun might have been nothing more than a pike. Later everything was bombs, and sometimes soldiers just stood and waited till the Boches got close, so that they could peg something at 'em. But when these men go away they're going to know that the bombs and the bayonet are the frill. It's the shooting that counts."
We saw a good deal of the British army duringour trip but the thing which gave me the clearest insight into the fundamental fighting, sporting spirit of the army was a story which an officer told me of an incident which occurred in the sector where he was stationed. An enlisted man and an officer were trapped during a daylight patrol when a mist lifted and they had to take shelter in a shell hole. They lay there for some hours, and then the soldier endeavored to make a break back for his own trenches. No sooner had his head and shoulders appeared above the shell hole than a German machine gun pattered away at him. He was hit and the officer started to climb up to his assistance.
"No, don't come," said the soldier. "They got me, sir." He put his hand up and indicated a wound on the left hand side of his chest. "It was a damn good shot," he said.
FRANCEhas a better right to fight than any nation in the world because she can wage war, even a slow and bitter war, with a gesture. Misery does not blind the French to the dramatic. Even the tears and the heartache are made to count for France. We saw wounded men come back from German prison camps and Lyons made the coming of these wrecked and shattered soldiers a pageant. Gray men, grim men, silent men stood up and shouted like boys in the bleachers because there was someone there to greet them with the right word. There is always somebody in France who has that word.
This time it was a lieutenant colonel of artillery. He was a man big as Jess Willard and his voice boomed through the station like one of his own huge howitzers as he swung hisarm above his head and said to the men from Germany: "I want you all to join with me in a great cry. Open your throats as well as your hearts. The cry we want to hear from you is one that you want to give because for so long a time you have been forbidden to cry 'Vive la France.'" The big man shouted as he said it, but this time the howitzer voice was not heard above the roar of other voices.
The French soldiers who came back from Germany had been for some little time in a recuperation camp in Switzerland. A few were lame, many were thin and peaked and almost all were gray, but the Lyonnaise said that this was not nearly so bad as the last train load of men from German prisons. There were no madmen this time.
The windows of the cars were crowded with faces as the train came slowly into the station. There was no shouting until the big man made his speech. Some of the returned prisoners waved their hands, but most of them greeted the soldiers and the crowds which waited for them with formal salutes. A file of soldiers was drawn up along the platformand outside the station was a squad of cavalry trying to stand just as motionless as the infantry. There were horns and trumpets inside the station and out and they blew a nipping, rollicking tune as the train rolled in. The wounded men, all but a few on stretchers, descended from the cars in military order. Lame men with canes hopped and skipped in order to keep step with their more nimble comrades.
There was an old woman in black who darted out from the crowd and wanted to throw her arms around the neck of a young soldier, but he waved to her not to come. You see she still thought of him as a boy, but that had been three years ago. He was a marching man now and it would never do to break the formation. Group by group they came from the train with a new blare of the trumpets for each unit. There were 416 French soldiers, thirty-seven French officers and seventeen Belgians. They marched past the receiving group of officers and saluted punctiliously, though it was a little bit hard because their arms were full of flowers. When they had all been gathered inthe waiting room of the station the big colonel made his speech. He did not speak very long because the returned soldiers could see out of the corner of their eyes that just across the room were big tables with scores of expectant and anticipatory bottles of champagne. But there was fizz, too, to the talk of the big colonel. I had the speech translated for me afterwards but I guessed that some of it was about the Germans, for I caught the phrase "inhuman cruelty."
"You have a right to feel now that you are back on the soil of France after all these years of inhuman cruelty that your work is done," said the colonel, "but there is still something that you must do. There is something that you ought to do. You will tell everybody of the wrongs the Germans have inflicted upon you. You will tell exactly what they have done and you will thus serve France by increasing the hatred between our people and their people."
The soldiers and the crowd cheered then almost as loudly as they did later in the great shout of "Vive la France." The gray men, the grim men and the silent men were stirred bywhat the colonel said because they did and will forever have a quarrel with the German people.
"We are doubly glad to welcome you back to France because our hearts have been so cheered by the coming of America," continued the colonel. "Victory seems nearer and nearer and vengeance for all the things you have endured." It was then that he snatched the great shout of "Vive la France" from the crowd.
As the din died down the corks began to pop and men who a little time before had not even been sure of a proper ration of water began to gulp champagne out of tin cups. The sting of the wine, the excitement and the din were too much for one returned prisoner. He had scarcely lifted his glass to his lips than he fell over in a heap and there was one more weary wanderer to make his return sickabed in a stretcher. But the rest marched better as they came out of the station with band tunes blaring in their ears and God knows what tunes singing in their hearts as they clanked along the cobbles. For they had been dead men and they were back in France and there was sunin the sky. When they crossed the bridge they broke ranks. The old woman in black was there and for just a minute the marching man became a boy again.
THEAmerican army had begun to find itself when October came round. Perhaps it had not yet gained a complete army consciousness, but there could be no doubt about company spirit. Chaps who had been civilians only a few months before now spoke of "my company" as if they had grown up with the outfit. They were also ready to declare loudly and profanely in public places that H or L or K or I, as the case might be, was the best company in the army. Some were willing to let the remark stand for the world.
Too much credit cannot be given to the captains of the first American Expeditionary Force. A captain commands more men now than ever before in the American army and he has more power. This was particularly true in France where many companies had a littlevillage to themselves. The captain, therefore, was not only a military leader, a father confessor, and a gents' furnisher, but also an ambassador to the people of a small section of France. The colonels and majors and the rest are the fellows who think up things to be done, but it is the captains who do them.
Of course that wasn't the way the junior officers looked at it. A man who was a first lieutenant when the army came to France told us: "A first lieutenant is supposed to know everything and do everything; a captain is supposed to know everything and do nothing, and a major is supposed to know nothing and do nothing."
We were delighted early this year when we heard that he had been made a major, for we immediately sat down and telegraphed to him: "After what you told us this summer, we are sure you will be an excellent major."
By October much of the feeling between the officers of the regular army and the reserve had been smoothed out, but it was not like that in the early days. Once when a young reserve major was put in command of a battalion, aregular army captain who was much his senior in years observed: "I think there ought to be an army regulation that no reserve officer shall be appointed to command a battalion without the consent of his parents or guardian." But as the work grew harder and harder many little jealousies of the army were simply sweated out. It was easy to do that, for the American army woke up, or rather was awakened, every morning at five o'clock. There was a Kansas farmer in one company who was always up and waiting for the buglers. He said that the schedule of the American army always left him at a loss as to what to do with his mornings. But for the rest the trumpeters were compelled to blow their loudest. Roll call was at five-thirty and this was followed with setting up exercises designed to give the men an appetite for the six o'clock breakfast. This was almost always a hearty meal. The poilus who began the day with a cup of black coffee and a little war bread were amazed to see the doughboys start off at daylight with Irish stew, or bacon or ham or mush and occasionally eggs in addition to white bread and coffee.
After breakfast came sick call, at which men who felt unable to drill for any reason were obliged to talk it over with the doctor. Those who had no ailments went to work vigorously in making up their cots and cleaning their quarters. At seven they fell in and marched away to the training ground. Mornings were usually devoted to bombing, machine gun and automatic rifle practice. A little after eleven the doughboys started back to their billets for dinner. This was likely to consist of beans and boiled beef or salmon, or there would be a stew again or corned beef hash. The most prevalent vegetables were potatoes and canned corn. Dinner might also include a pudding, nearly always rice or canned fruit. Sometimes there was jam and, of course, coffee and bread were abundant.
During the latter part of the training period the home dinner was often omitted in favor of a meal prepared at the training ground. The afternoon work began a little before two. Rifle practice, drills and bayonet work were usually the phases of warfare undertaken at this time of day. Labor ceased at four with supper,which was much the same sort of meal as dinner, at five-thirty. After supper the soldier's time was pretty much his own. He could loaf about the town hall and listen to the army band play selections from "The Fair Co-ed," "The Prince of Pilsen" or any one of a score of comic operas long dead and forgotten by everyone but army bandmasters, or he could go to the Y.M.C.A. and read or write letters or play checkers or perhaps pool of the sort which is possible on a small portable table. He was due back in quarters and in bed at nine and he was always asleep at one minute and thirty seconds after nine.
The training hours became more crowded, if not longer, as the time drew nearer when the American army should go to the front. Everybody was anxious that they should make a good showing. Trench problems had to be considered and gas and bayonet work which was the phase in which the training was lagging somewhat. It was also considered useful that the men should have some experience with shell fire before they heard guns fired in anger, and so it was arranged that a sham battle shouldtake place in which the French would fire a barrage over the heads of the American troops. The first plan was that the doughboys should advance behind this barrage as in actual warfare and attack a system of practice trenches. Later it was decided that it was not worth while to risk possible casualties, as the men could learn almost as much although held four or five hundred yards behind the barrage.
The bombardment began with thirty-six shots to the minute and was gradually raised to fifty-two. The doughboys were allowed to sit down to watch the show. Our soldiers seemed a bit unfeeling, for not one expressed any regret at the destruction of Hindenburg, Ludendorff, and Mackensen, although they had spent many a happy afternoon under the broiling sun constructing this elaborate trench system. None of the men seemed disturbed, either, by the unfamiliar whistling sounds over head. All the doughboys wore steel helmets but two were slightly injured by small fragments from shells which fell a little short. In both cases the wounded man had lowered the protective value of his helmet somewhat bysitting on it. After the first interest in the show wore off many proved their ability to steal naps in spite of the bickering of the big guns. The marines, for instance, had marched eighteen miles after rising at 3:30 in the morning, and although the marine corps is singularly hardy, a few made up lost sleep. The patter of the French seventy-fives was no more than rain on the roof to these men when they could find sufficient cover to sleep unobserved.
The most fortunate soldiers were those who were stationed in a fringe of woods which bordered on the big meadow. Here the doughboys did a little shooting on their own account when no officers were at hand. In a sudden lull of gunfire I heard a voice say: "Shoot it all," and there was a rattle of dice in the bottom of a steel helmet.
When the bombardment was at its height a big hawk sailed over the field full in the pathway of hundreds of shells. He circled about calmly in spite of the shrieking things which whizzed by him and then he turned contemptuously and flew away very slowly. Perhapshe was disappointed because it was only a sham battle.
Of course some of the officers saw the real thing. Many made trips to the French front and a few fired some shots at the German lines just to set a good precedent. American officers attended all the French offensives of the summer as invited guests. Brigadier General George Duncan and Lieutenant Colonel Campbell King were cited by the French army for the croix de guerre after they had spent some thrilling hours at Verdun. The awards were largely complimentary, of course, but the American officers saw plenty of action. According to the French officers General Duncan was at an advanced observation post when the Germans spotted it and began pouring in shell. One fragment hit the General's hat and the colonel in charge advised him that it would be well to move back to a safer point of vantage. Duncan replied that this was the first show he had ever seen and that he did not want to give up his front row seat if he could help it.
Lieutenant Colonel King paid visits to the first aid dressing stations under heavy fire andencouraged the wounded with words of good cheer in bad French. The night before the attack his dugout was flooded with poison vapor from German gas shells, but he awoke in time to arouse his two companions, who got their masks on in time to prevent injury. Another American officer who shall be nameless found it difficult to sit back as a spectator when so much was going on. He was a brigadier general, but this was his first taste of war on a big scale. The French offensive aroused his enthusiasm so much that he said to a fellow American officer: "Nobody's watching us now, let's sneak up ahead there and throw a few bombs." The second officer, who was only a captain, reminded him of his rank.
"I can't help that," said the General, "I've just got to try and see if I can't bomb a few squareheads." Discipline was overlooked for a moment then as the captain restrained the General with physical force from going forward to try out his arm.
The British now seem to be able to give the Germans more than they want in gas, but this superiority did not come until late in the year.American officers who went to the front returned with a profound respect for German gas and, in fact, all gas. This feeling was reflected in the thoroughgoing training which the men received in gas and masks. It began with lectures by the company commanders in which it is certain no very optimistic picture of poison vapor was painted. Then came long drills in putting on the mask in three counts and holding the breath during the adjustment. The contrivance used was not a little like a catcher's mask and this simplified the problem somewhat. The men carried the masks with them everywhere and developed great speed in getting under protection. Conscientious officers harassed their men by calling out "gas attack" at unexpected moments such as when men were shaving or eating or sleeping. Finally the doughboys were actually sent through gas.
Big air-proof cellars were constructed in each village and here the tests were held. As a matter of fact, the gas used was a form of tear gas, calculated to irritate the eyes and nose and perhaps to cause blindness for a few hours. It would not cause permanent injury even ifa mask were improperly adjusted. The comparative harmlessness of the test vapor was kept secret. When the men went down the steps they thought that one whiff of the air in the cellar would be fatal and so they were most careful that each strap should be in its place. Most of them had shaved twice over on the morning of the test so that the mask should fit closely to the side of the face.
The first man to go in was a captain and when he came out again obviously alive and seemingly healthy, the doughboys were ready to take a chance. A young soldier in the second batch to visit the gas chamber had taken the tales of the vapor horrors a bit too much to heart. He became panicstricken after one minute in the underground vault and had to be helped out, faint and trembling.
"What's the matter?" said his officer. "Are you afraid?"
"Yes, sir," the boy answered frankly. "But I want to try it again," he added quickly. He did, too. And what is more, he remained in for an extra period as self-discipline for his soul. When he came out he leaned against a fenceand was sick, but he was triumphant because he had proved to himself that his second wind of grit was stronger than his nerves or his stomach.
As the afternoon wore on a trip through the gas chamber became a lark rather than an adventure and each batch before it went in was greeted by such remarks as "Never mind the good-byes, Snooty! Just pay me that $2 you owe me before you check off."
"Who invented this gas stuff, anyway?" asked a fat soldier, as he sat in the stifling vault, puffing and perspiring. "The Germans," he was told.
"Well," he panted, "I'm going to give 'em hell for this."
There was other practice which seemed less warlike. Particular attention was paid to signaling and men on hilltops stood and waved their arms at each other from dawn until sunset. I stood one bright day with an expert who was trying the utmost capacity of the man stationed on the hill across the valley. The officer made the little flags whirl through the air like bunting on a battleship. He looked acrossthe peaceful countryside and saw war dangers on every hand. The gas attack which his flags predicted seemed nothing more to me than the dust raised by a passing army truck. He signaled that the tanks were coming, but they mooed as they moved and the aeroplanes of which he spoke in dots and dashes cawed most distinctly. With a twist of his wrist he would summon a battery and with another send them back again. There was an emphatic whip and swirl of color, and in answer to the signal mythical infantry swarmed over theoretical trenches to attack shadow soldiers. The task of the receiving soldier was made more difficult because every now and then the officer would vary his military messages with "Double-header at the Polo Grounds today" or "Please pass the biscuits." But the soldier read them all correctly. Biscuits were just as easy for him as bullets.
The men were also tested for their ability to carry oral messages. As a result of this drill there were several new mule drivers. The test message was, "Major Blank sends his compliments to Captain Nameless and orders himto move L company one-half mile to the east and support K company in the attack." After giving out this message the officer moved to the top of a hill to receive it. The first soldier who came up had difficulty in delivering the message because English seemed more alien to him than Italian. He had it all right at that, except that he made it a mile and a half. The next three delivered the message correctly, but then a large soldier came panting up, fairly bursting with excitement, and exclaimed: "The major says he hopes you're feeling all right and please take your company a mile to the east and attack K company." The names of such careless messengers were noted down so that they might not cause blunders in battle.
Precaution was taken against another source of mistakes by sending American officers out to drill French units. A few found no trouble in giving orders which the poilus could understand, but some had bad cases of stage fright.
"I almost wiped out a French battalion," said one young West Pointer. "I got 'em started all right with 'avance' and they went off at a great clip. I noticed that there was acliff right ahead of us and I began to try and think how you said 'halt' in French. I couldn't remember and I didn't want to get out in front and flag 'em by waving my arms, so we just kept marching right on toward the cliff. They had their orders and they kept on going. It began to look as if we'd all march right off the cliff just to satisfy their pride and mine, but a French lieutenant came to the rescue with 'a gauche en quatre!' I didn't know that one, but I was a goat just the same. I could have gotten away with 'halt' all right, because I found out afterwards that it's 'halte' in French and that sounds almost the same."
The British as well as the French helped in the final polishing of the doughboys who were to go to the trenches. An English major and three sergeants came to camp to teach bayonet work. They brought a healthy touch of blunt criticism. The major told some young officers who were studying in a training school that he wanted a trench dug. He told them the length and the depth which he wanted and the time at which he expected it to be finished. It was not done at the appointed hour. "Oh, I say,that's rotten, you know!" exclaimed the big Englishman. The American officer in charge was somewhat startled. The French were always careful to phrase unfavorable criticism in pleasant words and there were times when the sting was not felt. A rebuke so directly expressed surprised the American so much that he started to make excuses for his men. He explained that the soil in which they were digging was full of rocks. The British major cut him short.
"Never mind about the excuses," he said, "that was rotten work and you know it."
Curiously enough the American army got along very well with this particular instructor and he on his part had the highest praise for the capabilities of the American after he had sized them up in training. He was more successful than the French in wheedling the Americans into visualizing actual war conditions in their practice.
"Never let your men remember that they are charging dummies," said the visiting major to an American officer. "Make them think thestraw men are Germans. It can be done even without the use of dummies. Watch me."
A remarkable demonstration followed. The major sent for a little Cockney sergeant. "Now," he said, "this stick of mine with a knob on the end is a German. Show these Americans how you would go after him."
The little sergeant did some brisk work in slashing at the end of the stick with his bayonet but the big major was not content. "Remember," he said, "this is a German," and then he would add suddenly every now and again: "Look out, my lad—he's coming at you!"
And bye-and-bye the insinuation began to take effect. The little man had spent two years on the line and it was easy to see that bit by bit he was beginning to visualize the stick with a cloth knob as a Boche adversary. His thrusts grew fiercer and fiercer. The point of his bayonet flashed into the cloth knob again and again. He was trembling with rage as he played the battle game. As he finally flung himself upon the stick and knocked it out of the major's hands the officer called a halt.
"There," he said to the Americans, "if yourmen are to train well, you've got to make them believe it's true, and you can do it."
The British added lots of snap to the American training because they knew how to arouse the competitive spirit. They made even the most routine sort of a drill a game, and whether the men were bayoneting dummies or shooting at tin cans the little Britishers kept them at top speed by stirring up rivalry between the various organizations. Sometimes the slang was a bit puzzling. The marines, for instance, didn't know just what their bayonet instructor meant when he said: "Come on, you dreadnoughts, give 'em the old 'kamerad.'"
Curiously enough the other specialty in addition to bayonet work which the British taught the doughboys was organized recreation. Thus a British sergeant would take his squad from practicing the grimmest feature of all war training and set the men to tossing beanbags or playing leapfrog. Prisoner's base, red rover and a score of games played in the streets of every American city were used to bring relaxation to the soldiers. There were other rough and tumble games in which the players buffetedeach other assiduously in a neutral part of the body with knotted towels. The emphasis was put upon the ludicrous in all these games.
"This may seem childish and silly to you," said the major, "but we have found on the line that the quickest way to bring back the spirit of a regiment which has been battered in battle is to take the men as soon as they come from the trenches and set them to playing these foolish little games which they knew when they were lads. When we get them to laughing again we know we've made them forget the fight."
Mostly it wasn't play. There were long mornings and afternoons spent in battalion problems in which the doughboys again and again captured the position made up of the trenches Roosevelt, Taft and Wilson. One general pointed out that communication between Roosevelt and Taft would be necessarily difficult and between Roosevelt and Wilson all but impossible. The doughboys overcame these difficulties as they advanced under theoreticalbarrages and hurled live bombs into the trenches or thereabouts.
The last set event of the training period was a big field meet in which picked companies competed in military events. The meet began with musketry and worked through bayonets, hand grenades, automatic rifles, and machine guns, ending with trench digging. It was supposed that this would be the least exciting, but two companies came up to the last event tied for the point trophy. Honor and a big silver trophy and everything hung on this last event and the men could not have worked harder if they had been under German shellfire. Partisans of both sides stood nearby and shouted encouragement to their friends and heavy banter at the foe. There was organized cheering and singing, too, and a couple of bands blared while the competitors lay prone and hacked away at the tough soil. One band played "Won't You Come and Waltz With Me?" while the other favored "Sweet Rosie O'Grady." Neither seemed particularly pertinent, but there wasn't much sense of the appropriate in the third band, either, whichplayed "Dearie," while the soldiers were stabbing imitation Boches in the bayonet contest.
The champions of the pick and shovel brushed some of the dirt off their uniforms and lined up to receive the prize, which was a big silver salad bowl. The best bayoneters got a sugar shaker and there were mugs and wrist watches and plain watches and all sorts of things from the commander and from General Sibert and General Castelnau. No sooner were the prizes distributed than news came that the White Sox had won the first game of the world series from the Giants and then there was more cheering. The winning company went back to camp in a big truck loudly and tunefully proclaiming to the natives: "We got style, all the while, all the while."
The Germans contributed one post graduate phase of training which was not on the program. Shortly before the troops went to the front a Zeppelin was brought down in a town within marching distance of the American training zone. The big balloon could not have been better placed if its landing had been directed by a Coney Island showman. It wasperched on two hills just by the side of a road and visitors came from miles about to look at the monster. Early comers reaped a rich harvest of souvenirs. "I only had to get three more screws loose and I'd have had the steering wheel if a French soldier hadn't come up and stopped me," complained an American correspondent.
The chasseurs left to go back into the line before the Americans started for the front. The departure of the chasseurs caused genuine regret, for in addition to a profound respect for their military ability, the American officers and men had a warm personal feeling for the troops who taught them the first rudiments of the modern art of war. In all the camps there were ceremonies for the soldiers who were leaving drills and practice attacks and sham battles to go back wherever shock troops were needed.
"When you see us later on some time," said an American officer, "we hope to make you proud of your pupils."
Although the French had already given the Americans all the fundamentals they would need they spent their last few hours in givingthem some of the fine points and a minute description of just what conditions they might expect at the front.
"When you go up there," said a French officer, "the soldiers you come to relieve will say that you are late. They will say that they have been waiting a long time and they will go out very quickly. Always we find when we come in that the troops in the trench have been waiting a long time and always they go out very quickly."
As the sturdy Frenchmen marched away their cries of "bonne chance" mingled with equally hearty shouts of "good luck."
THEchief press officer told us that we could spend the first night in the trenches with the American army. There were eight correspondents and we went jingling up to the front with gas masks and steel helmets hung about our necks and canned provisions in our pockets. It was dusk when we left ——. Bye-and-bye we could hear the guns plainly and the villages through which we traveled all showed their share of shelling. The front was still a few miles ahead of us, but we left the cars in the square of a large village and started to walk the rest of the way. We got no further than just beyond the town. An American officer stood at the foot of an old sign post which gave the distance to Metz, but not the difficulties. He asked us our destination and when we told him that we were going to spend the firstnight in the trenches with the American army he wouldn't hear of it.
"There'll be trouble enough up there," he said, "without newspapermen."
He was a nervous man, this major. Every now and then he would look at his watch. When he looked for the fourth time within two minutes he felt that we deserved an explanation.
"I'm a little nervous," he said, "because the Boches are so quiet tonight. I've been up here looking around for almost a week and every night the Germans have done some shelling." He looked at his watch again. "The first company of my battalion must be going in now." He stood and listened for six or seven seconds but there wasn't a sound. "I wonder what those Germans are up to?" he continued. "I don't like it. I wish they'd shoot a little. This business now doesn't seem natural."
We turned back toward the town and left the major at his post still listening for some sound from up there. Soon we heard a noise, but it came from the opposite direction. Soldiers were coming. There was a bend in theroad where it straightened out in the last two miles to the trenches. It was so dark that we could not see the men until they were almost up to us. The Americans were marching to the front. The French had instructed them and the British and now they were ready to learn just what the Germans could teach them.
The night was as thick as the mud. The darkness seemed to close behind each line of men as they went by. Even the usual marching rhythm was missing. The mud took care of that. The doughboys would have sung if they could. Shells wouldn't have been much worse than the silence. One soldier did begin in a low voice, "Tramp, tramp, tramp, the boys are marching." An officer called, "Cut out that noise." There was no tramp, tramp, tramp on that road. Feet came down squish, squish, squish. There was also the sound of the wind. That wasn't very cheerful, either, for it was rising and beginning to moan a little. It seemed to get hold of the darkness and pile it up in drifts against the camouflage screens which lined the road.
At the spot where the road turned there wasa café and across the road a military moving picture theater. The door of the café was open and a big patch of light fell across the road. The doughboys had to go through the patch of light and it was almost impossible not to turn a bit and look through the door. There was red wine and white to be had for the asking there, and persuasion would bring an omelette. The waitress was named Marie, but they called her Madelon. She was eighteen and had black hair with red ribbons. She could talk a little English, too, but nobody came to the door of the café to see the soldiers go by. There had been a good many who passed the door of that café in three years.
The pictures could not be seen from the road, but we could hear the hum of the machine which made them move. Presently, we went to the door and looked. The theater was packed with French soldiers who were back from the front to rest. American troops were going into the trenches for the first time. Our little group of civilians had come thousands of miles to see this thing, but the poilus did not stop to watch marching men. They paid their 10 centimesand went into the picture show. They had an American Western film that night, and French soldiers who only the day before had been face to face with Germans, shelled and gassed and harassed from aeroplanes, thrilled as Indians chased cowboys across a canvas screen. It grew more exciting presently, for the United States cavalry came riding up across the screen and at the head of the cavalcade rode Lieutenant Wallace Kirke. The villain had spread the story that he wasn't game, but there was nothing to that. The poilus realized that before the film was done and so did the Indians.
Meanwhile the doughboys were marching by as silently as the soldiers on the screen, for this wasn't a movie-house where they synchronized bugle calls and rifle fire to the progress of the film. At one point in the story there was some gun thunder, but it came at a time when the orchestra should have been playing "Hearts and Flowers" for the love scene in the garden. Of course, these were German guns, and they were fired with the usual German disregard for art.
Probably the men who were marching to thetrenches would have enjoyed the scene of the home-coming of the cavalry, when Lieutenant Wallace Kirke confounded the villain, who actually held a commission as major in the United States army. However, the doughboys might have spotted him for a villain from the beginning, on account of his wretched saluting. The director should have spoken to him about that.
The marching men looked at the theater as they passed by, but only one soldier spoke. He said: "I certainly would like to know for sure whether I'll ever get to go to the movies again."
They went a couple of hundred yards more without a word, and then a soldier who couldn't stand the silence any longer shouted, "Whoopee! Whoopee!" It was too dark to conduct an investigation and too close to the line to administer any rebuke loud enough to be effective, and so the nearest officer just glared in the general direction of the offender. A little bit further on the soldiers found that the road was pock-marked here and there with shell holes. They began to realize the importance of silence then, for they knew that wherea shell had gone once it could go again. It was necessary to walk carefully, for the road was covered with casual water in every hollow, and there was no seeing a hole until you stepped in it. They managed, however, to avoid the deeper holes and to jump most of the pools.
That is, the infantry did. Late that night a teamster reported that he had driven his four mules into a shell hole and broken the rear axle of his wagon.
"Why didn't you send a man out ahead to look out for shell holes?" asked the officer.
"I did," said the soldier. "He fell in first."
Presently the marching men came to the beginning of the trench system, and they were glad to get a wall on either side of them. There was no scramble, however, to be the first man in, and even the major of the battalion has forgotten the name of the first soldier to set foot in the French trenches. Some twenty or thirty men claim the honor, but it will be difficult to settle the matter with historical accuracy. A Middle Western farm boy, an Irishman with red hair or a German-American would seem to fit the circumstances best, but it's all a matterof choice. As the Americans came in the French marched out.
A trench during a relief is no good place for a demonstration, but some of the poilus paused to shake hands with the Americans. There were rumors that one or two doughboys had been kissed, but I was unable to substantiate these reports. Probably they are not true, for it would not be the sort of thing a company would forget.
Although the trenches for the most part were far from the German lines, there was noise enough to attract attention over the way. The Germans did not seem to know what was going on, but they wanted to know, and they sent up a number of star shells. These are the shells which explode to release a bright light suspended from a little silk parachute. These parachutes hung in the air for several minutes and brightly illumined No Man's Land. It was impossible to keep the Americans entirely quiet then. Some said "Oh!" and others exclaimed "Ah!" after the manner of crowds at a fire-works show.
Persiflage of this kind helped to make themen feel at home. Indeed, the trenches did not seem altogether unfamiliar, after all their days and nights in the practice trenches back in camp. The men were a little nervous, though, and took it out in smoking one cigarette after another. They shielded the light under their trench helmets. After an hour or so a green rocket went up and all the soldiers in the American trenches put on their gas masks. They had been drilled for weeks in getting them on fast and a green rocket was the signal agreed upon as the warning for an attack. Presently the word came from the trenches that the masks were not necessary. There had been no attack. The rocket came from the German trenches. It was quiet then all along the short trench line with the exception of an occasional rifle shot. The wind was making a good deal of noise out in the mess of weeds just beyond the wire and it sounded like Germans to some of the boys. It was clearer now and a sharp eyed man could see the stakes of the wire. They were a bit ominous, too.
"I was looking at one of those stakes," a doughboy told me, "and I kept alooking andalooking and all of a sudden it grew a pair of shoulders and a helmet and I let go at it."
There were others who suffered from the same optical illusion that night, but let it be said to their credit that when a working party examined the wire several days later they found some stakes which had been riddled through and through with bullets.