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diff --git a/old/51495-h/51495-h.htm b/old/51495-h/51495-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index e821a18..0000000 --- a/old/51495-h/51495-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,9785 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" - "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> -<head> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> - <title>The Uncensored Letters of a Canteen Girl</title> - <link rel='coverpage' href='images/cover.jpg' /> - <style type='text/css'> - body { margin-left:8%; margin-right:10%; } - h1 { text-align:center;font-weight:normal;font-size:1.4em; } - h2 { text-align:center;font-weight:normal;font-size:1.0em; margin-top:2em; } - p { text-indent: 1.2em; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-align: justify; } - p.noindent { text-indent: 0; } - h2 + p { text-indent:0; } - div.pbb { page-break-before: always; } - hr.pb { border:none; border-bottom:1px solid silver; width:100%; margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:2em; } - hr.tb { border:none; border-bottom:1px solid silver; width:50%; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; } - @media handheld { hr.pb { display: none; }} - .figcenter { clear:both; max-width:100%; margin:2em auto; text-align:center; } - .figcenter img { max-width:100%; height:auto; } - div.figcenter p { text-align: center; text-indent: 0; } - .chapter { clear:both; page-break-before: always; margin-top:2em; } - .cb-container { text-align:center; margin: 0.5em auto; } - .cbl { display:inline-block; text-align:left; } - .cbc { display:inline-block; text-align:center; } - .lgc { text-align:center; } - .line { padding-top:2px; } - @media screen { hr.clearpage { margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom:2em; border: none; border-top: 1px solid gray; }} - @media handheld { hr.clearpage { page-break-before: always; padding-top: 10%; border: none; }} - .ti0 { text-indent:0 } - .fs1r6em { font-size:1.6em } - .mt1em { margin-top:1em } - .mt20px { margin-top:20px } - .mb0r7em { margin-bottom:0.7em } - .mb10px { margin-bottom:10px } - .mb2em { margin-right:2em } - .tal { text-align:left; } - .tar { text-align:right; } - .sc { font-variant:small-caps; } - .pbaa { page-break-after:always } - .pbba { page-break-before:always } - .bq { margin: 0.5em 7%; } - .lgc { text-align:center; margin:0.5em auto; } - .cb-container { text-align:center; margin: 0.5em auto; } - .cb { display:inline-block; text-align:left; } - hr.tb { border:none; border-bottom: 1px solid silver; width:50%; } - table { margin:0.5em auto 0.5em 2em } - td { vertical-align:top } - - </style> -</head> -<body> - - -<pre> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Uncensored Letters of a Canteen Girl, by -Katharine Duncan Morse - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: The Uncensored Letters of a Canteen Girl - -Author: Katharine Duncan Morse - -Release Date: March 19, 2016 [EBook #51495] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK UNCENSORED LETTERS--CANTEEN GIRL *** - - - - -Produced by Roger Frank, Sue Clark and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.bookcove.net. - - - - - - -</pre> - -<div class='page'> -<div class='lgc'> -<h1 class=' fs1r6em mt20px mb10px'>THE UNCENSORED LETTERS OF A CANTEEN GIRL</h1> -<div class='mt20px'>NEW YORK</div> -<div>HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY</div> -<div>1920</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -</div> <!-- end of page --> -<hr class='clearpage' /> -<div class='page pbb'> -<div class='lgc'> -<div>Copyright, 1920</div> -<div>By</div> -<div>HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -</div> <!-- end of page --> -<hr class='clearpage' /> -<div class='page pbb'> -<div class='lgc'> -<div>TO</div> -<div>PAT</div> -<div>GATTS</div> -<div>BRADY</div> -<div>SNOW</div> -<div>NEDDY</div> -<div>BILL</div> -<div>NICK</div> -<div>HARRY</div> -<div>JERRY</div> -<div>and</div> -<div>THE REST</div> -<div>THIS BOOK</div> -<div>is</div> -<div>DEDICATED</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -</div> <!-- end of page --> -<hr class='clearpage' /> -<div class='page pbb'> -<div class='lgc'> -<div class='mb10px'>TABLE OF CONTENTS</div> -<br/> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<div class='cb-container'> -<div class='cb'> -<div><a href='#chI'>I. BOURMONT—COMPANY A</a></div> -<div><a href='#chII'>II. GONCOURT—THE DOUGHBOYS</a></div> -<div><a href='#chIII'>III. RATTENTOUT—THE FRONT</a></div> -<div><a href='#chIV'>IV. GONDRECOURT—THE ARTILLERY</a></div> -<div><a href='#chV'>V. ABAINVILLE—THE ENGINEERS</a></div> -<div><a href='#chVI'>VI. MAUVAGES—THE ORDNANCE</a></div> -<div><a href='#chVII'>VII. VERDUN—THE FRENCH</a></div> -<div><a href='#chVIII'>VIII. CONFLANS—PIONEERS, M. P.’s AND OTHERS</a></div> -</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -</div> <!-- end of page --> -<hr class='clearpage' /> -<div class='page pbb pbaa'> -<div class='lgc'> -<div class='mb10px'>FOREWORD</div> -<br/> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p class='ti0'>To M. D. M. and M. H. M:</p> -<p class='ti0'><i>My dears</i>,</p> -<p>These letters were all written for you; scratched down on odds and ends of -writing paper, in a rare spare moment at the canteen; at night, at my billet, -by candle-light; in the mornings, perched in front of Madame’s fireplace with -my toes tucked up on an ornamental <i>chaufrette</i> foot-warmer. Why were -they never sent? Simply because all letters mailed from France in those days, -must of course pass under the eyes of the Censor. And as the Censor was -likely to be a young man who sat opposite you at the mess-table, it meant -that one mustn’t say the things one could, and one couldn’t say the things -one would. So, after my first fortnight over there I decided to write my -letters to you just as I would at home, putting down everything I saw and -thought and did, quite brazenly and shamelessly, and then keep them,—under -lock and key if need be,—until I could give them to you in person.</p> -<p>Written with the thought of you in my mind, these letters are first of all -for you, and after that for whoever they may concern, being a true record of -one girl’s experience with the A. E. F. in France during the Great War.</p> -</div> <!-- end of page --> -<hr class='clearpage' /> -<div class='chapter' id='chI'> -<h2>CHAPTER I: BOURMONT—COMPANY A</h2> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Bourmont, France, Nov. 24, 1917.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>My village has red roofs. When I first came to France and saw that the -villages were two kinds; those with red roofs and those with grey, I -prayed <i>le bon Dieu</i> that mine should be a red-roofed one. Heaven -was kind. Every little house in town is covered with rose-colored tiles. -We came here yesterday from Paris. Our orders, which were delivered to -us in great secrecy, read: Report to Mr. T——, Divisional Secretary, -Bourmont, Haute Marne; then followed a schedule of trains. That was all -we knew except that some one told us that at Bourmont it had rained -steadily all fall.</p> -<p>“It cleared off for several hours once,” concluded our informant. “But -that was in the middle of the night when nobody was awake to see.”</p> -<p>Bourmont is a city set upon a hill, a hill that rises so sharply, so -suddenly, that no motor vehicle is allowed to take the straight road up -its side, but must follow the roundabout route at the back. Already we -have heard tales about our hill; one of them being of a lad belonging to -a company of engineers stationed here, who in a spendthrift mood, being -disinclined to climb the hill one night after having dined at the café -at its foot, bribed an old Frenchman with a fifty franc note to wheel -him to the summit in a wheelbarrow. The Frenchman, for whose powers one -must have great respect, achieved the feat eventually, the spectators -agreeing the ride a bargain at the price.</p> -<p>Two-thirds of the way up the hill on the steep street called grandiosely -<i>Le Faubourg de France</i> we have our billet, at the home of Monsieur -and Madame Chaput. These are an adorable old couple; Madame a stately -yet lovably gentle soul, Monsieur le Commandant, a veteran of the -Franco-Prussian War and member of the <i>Légion d’Honneur</i>. His -wonderful old uniforms with their scarlet trousers and gold epaulets rub -elbows with my whipcord in the wardrobe.</p> -<p>Outside, the Maison Chaput resembles all the other houses which, built -one adjoining another, present a solid grey plaster front on each side -of the street. Like all the rest it has two doors, one opening into the -house and one into the stable, and like every other house on the street -the doors bear little boards with the billeting capacity of house and -stable stenciled on them, so many <i>Hommes</i>, so many <i>Off.</i> -(for <i>Officiers</i>). It is told how one lad after walking the length -of the street exclaimed;</p> -<p>“Gee! Looks as if this were Dippyville. There’s one or two off in every -house!”</p> -<p>Another boy gazing ruefully at the sign on his billet door, groaned;</p> -<p>“Twelve homes! Why, there ain’t one there!”</p> -<p>One stable door nearby wears the legend in large scrawling letters; -“Sherman was right.” At first the owner was furious at this defacement -of his property, but when someone explained the significance of the -words to him, he became mollified and even took a pride in them.</p> -<p>“Where are you stopping?” asks one boy of another.</p> -<p>“Me? Oh, at the Hotel de Barn, four manure-heaps straight ahead and two -to the right.”</p> -<p>The distinguishing feature of the Maison Chaput is the corner-stone. -This shows as a white stone tablet at one side of the door. On it is -carved “Laid by the hand of Emil Chaput, aged one year. Anno. 1842.” It -is the same Emil Chaput who with his tiny baby hand “laid” the -corner-stone who is now our genial host.</p> -<p>“It is droll,” said Madame; “When strangers come to town they must -always stop and read the corner-stone. They think the tablet is placed -there to mark the birthplace of some famous man.”</p> -<p>The Gendarme and I,—Madame has christened G—— my companion the Gendarme -on account of her vigorous brisk bearing,—live in the <i>Salle des -Assiettes</i>, at least that is what I have named it, for the walls of -the room which evidently in more pretentious days served as a <i>salle à -manger</i>, are literally covered with the most beautiful old plates. -Not being a connoisseur I don’t know what their history is nor what -might be their value; I only know that they are altogether lovely. The -designs are delicious; flowers, insects, birds, little houses, Chinamen -fishing in tiny boats, interspersed with spirited representations of the -Gallic cock in rose and scarlet. I exclaimed over them to Madame, -whereat Monsieur, candle in hand, bustled across the room and called on -me to regard one in particular.</p> -<p>“<i>Ça coute</i>,” he averred proudly, “<i>quarante francs!</i>”</p> -<p>Since that moment I have been vaguely uneasy. What if, in a moment of -exasperation, I should throw an ink-bottle at the Gendarme’s head, -and—shatter a plate worth forty francs!</p> -<p>Our room is the third one back. The front room is kitchen, dining and -living room. The in-between room is quite bare of furniture, lined all -about with panelled cupboards, and quite without light or air except -that which filters in through the opened doors. In one of these -cupboards Monsieur le Commandant spends his nights. When the hour for -retiring comes, he opens a little panelled door and climbs into the hole -in the wall thus revealed, leaving the door a crack open after him. When -we pass through on our way to breakfast we hurry by the cupboard with -averted faces. The family Chaput are not early risers.</p> -<p>Already Madame has taken us into her warm heart. She will be our mother -while we are in France, she tells us. Everything about us is of -absorbing interest. When the Gendarme exhibited her wardrobe trunk, she -was fairly overcome.</p> -<p>“<i>Ah, vive l’Amérique</i>,” she cried, clapping her old hands, and, -“<i>Vive l’Amérique!</i>” again.</p> -<p>Bourmont, it seems, is army Divisional Headquarters. It is also -headquarters for this division of the Y. There is a hut here, a -warehouse, and headquarters offices, employing a personnel of sixteen -or seventeen. By tomorrow the Gendarme and I will know what our work is -to be.</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Bourmont, November 28.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>I have a canteen; the Gendarme, who has had some business training, is -to work in the office. My canteen is in Saint Thiebault, the village -next door. In the morning I go down the hill, past the grey houses built -like steps on either side—some with odd pear trees, their branches -trained gridiron-wise flat against the fronts,—over the river Meuse, -here a sleepy little stream, to Saint Thiebault. On the way I pass lads -in olive drab with whom I exchange a smile and a hello, villagers -bare-headed, in sabots, and poilus in what was once horizon blue. In -Paris the uniforms were all so beautiful and bright, but here at -Bourmont one sees the real hue, faded, discolored, muddy, worn. The -soldiers, middle-aged men for the most part, slouch about, occupied with -homely, simple tasks, chopping wood and drawing water. One feels there -is something painfully improper in the fact that they should be in -uniform; they should, each and every one, be propped comfortably in -front of their own hearthsides reading <i>l’Echo de Paris</i>, in felt -slippers while their wooden shoes rest on the sill outside. And yet -these very ones, I think as I look at them, may be the defenders of -Verdun, the victors of the Marne, the veterans of a hundred battles!</p> -<p>The Bourmontese, who are proud and haughty folk, and call themselves a -city though they number only a few hundred souls, look with disdain on -the smaller village of Saint Thiebault, <i>Saint Thiebault des -Crapauds</i> they call it, Saint Thiebault of the Toads. Approaching -Saint Thiebault one sees two unmistakable signs of American occupancy; -first, a large heap of empty tin cans and then the Stars and Stripes -fluttering from a flag pole in the centre of the village. For Saint -Thiebault is Regimental Headquarters and it is the boast of the old -Colonel that wherever the regiment has gone that flag has gone too. Down -the main street of the town I go, past the drinking fountain placarded; -“Do not drink, good only for animals,” but at which, nevertheless, the -doughboys frequently refresh themselves, cheerfully risking death, not -to mention a court-martial, in order to get a drink of unmedicated -water; and out along the Rue Dieu until I turn off the highway just -beyond the village wash-house. The wash-house, known to the French as -<i>la Fontaine</i>, is a beautiful little building like a tiny stone -chapel, with tall arched windows filled with iron grills. Through the -centre runs a long oblong pool; at its brim the women kneel to do their -scrubbing, handsome peasant wenches many of them, with fresh, high -coloring. Often one sees a soldier leaning against the grill, engaged in -some attempt at gallantry through the bars. Sometimes one even glimpses -a form in olive drab kneeling by the side of one of the peasant girls, -he scrubbing his socks, and she her stays, while she gives him a lesson -in French and in laundering <i>à la Française</i>. When the Americans -first came to Saint Thiebault they had only a small-sized guard-house. -Then came one historic payday when after months of penury the troops -were paid. That night the accommodations at “the brig” proved inadequate -and the wash-house had to be requisitioned for the over-flow. This was -well enough until the lodgers fell to fighting among themselves and so -fell headlong into the pool. Then such a hullabaloo broke loose that the -whole camp turned out to see who had been murdered.</p> -<p>Back of the wash-house lies a group of long French barracks, and here -lives Company A of the —— Regiment, infantry and “regulars.” Beyond the -mess-hall is the hut, a French <i>abri</i> tent with double walls. -Ducking under the fly, one finds oneself in a long rectangular canvas -room, lighted by a dozen little isinglass windows. The room is filled -with folding wooden chairs and long ink-stained tables over which are -scattered writing materials, games and well-worn magazines. Opposite the -door, at the far end, is the canteen counter, a shelf of books at one -side, a victrola and a bulletin board, to which cartoons and clippings -are tacked, on the other. Back of the counter on the wall, held in place -by safety pins, are the hut’s only decorations, four of the gorgeous -French war posters brought with me from Paris. There are two stoves -resembling umbrella-stands for heating in the main part of the hut and -behind the counter another, about the size and shape of a man’s derby -hat, on which I must make my hot chocolate. For lights at night I am -told that occasionally one can procure a few quarts of kerosene and then -the lamps that stand underneath the counter are brought out and for a -few days we shine; but usually we manage as our ancestors did with -candle-light. Our candlesticks form a quaint collection; some are real -tin <i>bourgeois</i> brought from Paris, some strips of wood, some -chewing-gum boxes, while others are empty bottles, “dead soldiers” as -the boys call them. As for the bottles, I am particular about the sort -that I employ and none of mine are labeled anything but Vittel Water. -Others I observe are not so circumspect,—yesterday I chanced in at a -canteen in a neighboring village kept by a Y man; on a shelf three “dead -soldier” candlesticks stood in a row and their labels read; Champagne, -Cognac, Benedictine! For the rest, the hut is equipped with a wheezy old -piano, a set of parlor billiards, and a man secretary. It is invariably -dense with smoke, part wood and part tobacco, and usually crowded with -boys.</p> -<p>The first night after the Chief had taken me over to call at my canteen -and I had had one cursory glance at them, I came back feeling that my -hut contained the roughest, toughest set of young ruffians that I had -ever laid eyes on. The second night I came home and fairly cried myself -to sleep over them—they seemed so young, so pitiful and so puzzled -underneath their air of bravery, so far away from anything they really -understood and everybody that was dear to them. It was Cummings in -particular I think who did it for me. He owns to seventeen but I would -put fifteen as an outside estimate. A mere boy who hasn’t got his growth -yet, with soft unformed features and a voice as shrill as a child’s, I -am sure he ran away from home to go to war just as another lad might -have run away to see the circus. Although the regiment is a regular army -organization, a large part of the men were raw recruits only last -summer, a fact which causes the old-timers, whose service dates from -Border days or before, no little regret.</p> -<p>“This Man’s Army ain’t what it used to be,” they complain; “it’s getting -too mixed.”</p> -<p>The “veterans” have a stock saying which they employ to put the -youngsters in their places: “Call yourself a soldier do you? Why I’ve -stood parade rest longer than you’ve been in the army!”</p> -<p>This is sometimes varied, when the speaker happens to be the tough sort, -by; “Huh! I’ve put more time in the guard-house than you have in the -army!”</p> -<p>Tonight a boy came up to the counter and asked: “Goin’ to serve hot -chocolate tonight?”</p> -<p>“Sure thing!”</p> -<p>“Then I guess I won’t go out and get drunk.”</p> -<p>It’s going to be hot chocolate or die in that hut every night after this!</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Bourmont, November 31.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>I don’t like my uniform. I don’t like women in uniform anyway. I suppose -it is because one is so used to the expression of a woman’s personality -in dress that when she dons regulation garb she seems to lose so much. -And then to really carry off a uniform requires a flair, a dash, a -swagger, and such are rarely feminine possessions. The consensus of -opinion seems to bear me out.</p> -<p>“Of course I think women in uniforms look very snappy,” confided a lad -to me today; “but somehow they don’t look like women to me!”</p> -<p>“<i>Pas joli</i>,” says Monsieur le Commandant severely, referring to my -hat. “<i>Pas joli!</i>” But when I put on my old blue civilian coat he -fairly goes into raptures.</p> -<p>“Be-u-ti-ful!” he ejaculates. “Be-u-ti-ful! <i>Toilette de ville. Pas -toilette de Y. M. C. A.!</i>”</p> -<p>Besides the suit and cape I had made in Paris, they gave me two canteen -aprons, aprons such as French working women wear, voluminous, beplaited, -made in Mother Hubbard style. Now there is one point on which I am -resolved. They can court martial me, they can send me home, or they can -lead me out and shoot me at sunrise, but they cannot make me wear those -aprons! What’s more, the very first minute that I have to myself I’m -going to cut them up and make them into canteen dish-cloths.</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Bourmont, December 3.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>This French money is the very plague; not because it is French but -because it is so flimsy. It may perhaps measure up to the national -standards, but it fails utterly to meet American requirements; the -difference lying chiefly in the fact that the French don’t shoot craps. -It comes into the canteen in all stages of disintegration.</p> -<p>“She’s kinder feeble. Will she pass?” inquires a lad anxiously.</p> -<p>“With care maybe, and the help of a little sticking plaster,” I reply; -and getting out the roll of gummed paper kept handily in the -cash-drawer, I proceed to patch up the tattered bill.</p> -<p>“Guess this one must have been up to the front; it’s all shot to -pieces,” another lad apologizes; then, at my casual references to -shooting craps, grins guiltily. “But say now, ain’t it the rottenest -money you ever did see?” “The United States ought to teach these -Frenchies how to make paper money,” remarks a third; while still another -adds; “When I’m to home I write to my girl on better paper than that.”</p> -<p>Sometimes the bills come in as a mere mass of crumpled tatters; then one -must play picture-puzzle piecing it together. Sometimes they are beyond -repair; for at times you will receive two halves of different notes -pasted neatly together, or at other times one with the corner bearing an -essential number lacking. The French banks refuse to pay a cent on their -paper money unless it is just so.</p> -<p>“I’m sorry, but that bill’s no good,” you will occasionally have to tell -a boy. Usually he will grin cheerfully as he stuffs it back into his -pocket.</p> -<p>“Oh well, I’ll pass it along in a crap game.”</p> -<p>Then too, the boys have no respect for foreign money and so handle it -carelessly with an obvious contempt that is irritating to the French.</p> -<p>“Tain’t real money,” they declare.</p> -<p>The paper francs and half-francs they call “soap coupons.”</p> -<p>“Why, you might just as well be spendin’ the label off a stick o’ -chewin’ gum!” they jeer.</p> -<p>Next to the paper money that comes to pieces in their fingers, the boys -detest the big one and two cent coppers. Known to the navy as -“bunker-plates,” in the army they pass as “clackers.” “You get a -pocket-full o’ them things and you think you’ve got some money, and all -the time it ain’t more than ten cents altogether,” they grumble.</p> -<p>“I can’t be bothered carryin’ that stuff around,” they declare when I -beg them to pay me in coppers. “I always throw ’em away or give ’em to -the kids.” A prejudice which greatly complicated the matter of making -change until I had an inspiration. Now I give them their small change in -boxes of matches or sticks of chewing gum.</p> -<p>Then there is the annoyance of the local money. Since the war, the -cities of France have taken to issuing their own paper francs and -half-francs. We accept all this local money in the canteens and send it -to Paris to be redeemed. But the French tradespeople in general refuse -to honor these bills except in the city that issues them or its -immediate vicinity. Many a puzzled doughboy has been driven to -indignant protest or even to “chucking the stuff away” in his -exasperated disgust when told by the shopkeepers that his paper money -was <i>pas bon</i>. But the grievance is not quite all on one side: no -small amount of worthless Mexican money, brought over by Border -veterans, I am told, was palmed off on shopkeepers at the port when the -Americans first landed!</p> -<p>In contrast to their disdain for this foreign currency the boys cherish -to a degree that is half funny, half pathetic, any specimens of “real -money” that they are lucky enough to possess.</p> -<p>“Say, I had an American dollar bill in my hand the other day,—I felt -just as if the old flag was waving over me!” And another lad; “Saw a U. -S. Dollar bill today. Oh boy! but it looked a mile long to me!”</p> -<p>If anyone displays an American greenback at the counter a little riot is -sure to ensue. All the boys nearby crowd about, feast their eyes on it, -touch it, pat it, kiss it even.</p> -<p>“Lemme see!” “Ain’t she a beauty?” “That’s the real stuff!” “Say, how -much will you sell her for?”</p> -<p>Even the half-dollars, quarters and dimes are precious.</p> -<p>“You don’t get that one,” they say as they pull a handful of change from -their pockets. “That’s my lucky piece. I’m savin’ that there little ol’ -nickel to spend on Broadway.”</p> -<p>French money, Belgian money, Swiss money, English money, Spanish money, -Italian money, Greek money, Canadian money, Luxembourg money, -Indo-Chinese money, money from Argentine Republic, and yesterday a -German mark even, all come across the counter and go into the till -without comment. But when any American money comes in I always feel -badly over it. For, be it a crisp five dollar bill, an eagle quarter or -only a buffalo nickel I know it signifies just one thing,—bankruptcy.</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Bourmont, December 7.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>To be a corporal in the Ninth Infantry, it is said, a man must be able -to speak eight languages, one for each soldier in his squad. The same -could be said with almost equal truth of our regiment. I don’t know -whether it is this mixture of many nationalities that gives my family -its flavour; be that as it may, Company A has more color, more -character, more individuality to the square inch than I had dreamed any -such group could possess. And they are so funny, so engaging in their -infinite variety and their child-like naivete!</p> -<p>First there are Gatts and Maggioni; Gatts, lean, tall, honest-eyed, with -a grin that won’t come off and a quaint streak of humour,—Gatts who -looks pure Yankee, but is, if the truth were told, three-quarters -German,—Gatts who hangs about my counter hour after hour; and by his -side sticks little Maggioni, who told the recruiting officer that he was -seventeen but whose head just tops the canteen shelf, and who looks, -with his pink cheeks and his great dark eyes, like nothing in the world -but an Italian cupid in the sulks. The two have struck up the oddest -comradeship.</p> -<p>“Me an’ Gatts, we’re goin ’to stick side by side,” explains Maggioni, -“an’ if I see a crowd o’ Germans pilin’ onto him, why I’ll just go right -after ’em, an’ if too many of ’em come for me ter oncet, why Gatts here, -he’ll just lay right into ’em.”</p> -<p>And Gatts nods, looking down at Maggioni with a parent’s indulgent eye.</p> -<p>“He thinks he’s a tough guy for sich a little feller,” he comments -reflectively; “but he’s the only one in the regiment that knows it.”</p> -<p>“You all think I’m mighty little!” snaps the cupid. “When I -joined at Syracuse everybody said to me ‘Baby, where’d you leave -your cradle?’ But lemme tell you, I’ve growed since I’ve been in -the army!”</p> -<p>“Waal I do believe there’s one part of him that’s growed;” -Gatts is very solemn.</p> -<p>“What’s that?” I ask.</p> -<p>“His feet.”</p> -<p>Private Gatts has promised me one of the Kaiser’s ears!</p> -<p>Then there is Brady, “Devil Brady” the little black Irish -coal-miner from Oklahoma, who spends his days trying to get put in -the guard-house, so he won’t have to drill.</p> -<p>“I’m plumb disgusted,” he confided to me today. “I never -worked so hard in my life as I did the other night gettin’ drunk, -an’ then the guard was so much drunker than I was, I had to carry -him to the guard-house. I thought sure they’d give me thirty days -at least, but they only kept me twenty-four hours and then out!”</p> -<p>“Hard luck,” I sympathized.</p> -<p>“I just knew how it would be,” he mourned. “It was Friday -the thirteenth when I joined the army; there were just thirteen of -us fellers, and the thirteenth was a nigger.”</p> -<p>He tells me the most wonderful yarns about the miners and their -pet rats, about explosions and disasters and rescue parties. Last -night he told me the story of one mine-horror that will stick in my -memory.</p> -<p>“And we shoveled the last three men and a mule into one bag,” -he finished.</p> -<p>Now and then I catch a glimpse of Jenicho the Russian giant, -but he is very shy. A huge lumbering fellow, sluggish, and -seemingly stupid, with little pig eyes that are quite lost to sight when he -smiles, Jenicho is the butt of the Company. When he joined the -regiment last summer, they tell me, he knew no word of English. -The first phrase that he acquired was; “You no bodder me.” For -the boys can’t resist the temptation to plague Jenicho, and though -his strength is such that if he once should get his hands on his -tormentors he could break them into bits, he is so slow withal that -they always can elude him. Not long ago Jenicho was walking -post one night when the Officer of the Day hailed him and announced -himself. To which Jenicho lustily responded; “Me no -give damn. Me walk post, gun loaded, bay’net fixed. You no -bodder me. Me shoot!” And the Officer of the Day discreetly -walked on.</p> -<p>Then there is little Philip R. who plays our decrepit old piano -quite brilliantly by ear, and who is, he tells me, half Greek and -half Egyptian. Philip R. is the pet of a French family in one of the -neighboring villages. He stopped at a house to ask for a drink of -water when out walking one day. Madame asked him in, pressed -him to stay to supper. The family made much of him, and all -because forsooth he was the first “American” they had ever seen. -Since then he has been a constant welcome visitor.</p> -<p>There is St. Mary too. If you can conceive of a cherub eating -watermelon you have a perfect picture of St. Mary. St. Mary -converses entirely in words of one syllable and very few at that. -He makes smiles serve for speech. St. Mary loses everything he -owns; not long ago he lost his overcoat, now he has lost his bayonet. -Yet St. Mary is the best natured boy in the company; he needs to -be. When St. Mary helps me stir the chocolate it seems as if half -the company lined up on the other side of the counter to shout; -“St. Mary! Take your dirty hands out er that there chocolate!” -and St. Mary never says a word but grins until his eyes are nothing -but little slits and ducks his head until only the curls on top are -visible.</p> -<p>“St. Mary, he’s kind o’ simple,” explains Private Gatts. “But -there ain’t anybody in camp that’s got a better heart.”</p> -<p>And there is Bruno, Angelo Bruno, a little grinning goblin of a -man, but strong, they say, as a gorilla. Bruno gives the non-coms -no end of trouble; he’s a “tough nut to manage.” Whenever he is -told to do anything that does not suit his tastes, he merely shrugs -his shoulders, “No capish,” and that’s the end of it. The other day -while on guard he was interrogated by the Officer of the Day.</p> -<p>“What’s your name?”</p> -<p>“Bruno.”</p> -<p>“What are your general orders?”</p> -<p>“Angelo.”</p> -<p>The Officer gasped, thought he would try again. “What are -your special orders?”</p> -<p>Bruno saw a light. “They’re ina my pock!”</p> -<p>When I first came to Saint Thiebault I was puzzled by the silver -half-francs in my cash drawer which were bent in the middle, -some of them so far as almost to form a right-angle. Then the -boys explained. Bruno was once a strong man in a circus sideshow. -He did things with his teeth. The crooked half-francs were -the results of his exhibiting his prowess to the boys. So now when -damaged half-francs appear I know that our little Angelo has been -trying his teeth again. At present our social intercourse with -Bruno is limited. He is serving thirty days in the guard-house. -But every day or two he slips into the hut to do his shopping, the -kind-hearted guard standing at the door, as he does so, a sheepish -look on his face. If there is one military duty which the -doughboy hates above all others, it is this job of “chasing prisoners,” -and when you meet a file of guard-house habitués escorted by a -rifle in the rear, it is invariably the guard, and not the prisoners, -who looks the culprit! The interest of Bruno’s visits lies largely -in seeing what is his latest acquisition in the way of jewelry. For -Bruno has a pretty taste for finery and enlivens the dull evenings -of his captivity by winning away the ornaments of his fellow -prisoners. Already he has come into the canteen decked out with -seven large rings and a fat watch and chain. Today he appeared -with his latest prize, a pair of gold-rimmed eye glasses. They are -hideously unbecoming, they pinch his nose so that it hurts, moreover -he can’t more than half see out of them, and yet it is quite -evident those eyeglasses are the pride of his heart.</p> -<p>Last week our Secretary conceived a big idea. He would educate -A Company. He would teach them to read, write and speak -English. He started a class. On the first night there was a large -crowd, eager and interested; the second night there were six, the -pupils when sought out complaining they were “tired” or “busy;” -the third night there was Saint Mary who made one; the fourth -night the class died an easy death. I am afraid Company A is -going to continue uneducated. As Brady said:</p> -<p>“There were just two things I learned in school; one was to throw -a spit ball, the other was to bend a pin convenient for somebody -to sit on.” And it looks as if it would have to go at that.</p> -<p>“Why, those birds don’t even understand their own names,” -complain the officers; “except on payday, and then they’ll answer -no matter <i>how</i> you pronounce them.”</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Bourmont, December 9.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>There is something queer about me. I don’t mind the mud, I -don’t mind the rain, I don’t mind the hill, I don’t even mind the -mess. Of course I admit that the food isn’t quite what one is -used to, and the surroundings are a trifle unsavoury, but it is, -after all, so much better than the state of semi-starvation that I -was led to half anticipate, that I for one am quite content.</p> -<p>Our mess is held at the house of an old couple who live a little -way above our billet on the hill. The house was differentiated from -the others in the row by a spindling and discouraged tree which -stood in a green tub outside; as this was the only tree in front of a -house on the whole street it has always been easy to pick out our -otherwise undistinguished entrance. Last night however, the -weather waxing colder, the tree moved indoors. This morning the -whole Y. personnel wandered distractedly up and down the hill -trying to identify the mess-house door, until some kindly villagers, -sensing the situation, came out on their front steps and pointed us -to the place.</p> -<p>The house, like most of the village dwellings, consists, -downstairs, of just two rooms. In the front room the family cooks, -eats and spends its days. In the back room the family sleeps, and -here we have our mess. The drawback of this arrangement is -that one has to pass through the kitchen in order to reach the dining-room -and this is likely to spoil one’s pleasure in the meal that -follows. As for me, I go on the principle that what one doesn’t -know won’t take one’s appetite away, and so hurry through the -kitchen with one eye shut and the other fixed on the door ahead -of me.</p> -<p>Said my right-hand neighbor to my left-hand neighbor at supper -the other day, as he offered him the <i>pièce de résistance</i> of the meal:</p> -<p>“You aren’t taking rice tonight?”</p> -<p>“Thanks no. Saw the old lady picking ’em out this noon.”</p> -<p>“That’s nothing. I saw the old man picking ’em out of the beans -yesterday.”</p> -<p>But why should people come to war if they are going to be so -squeamish?</p> -<p>A few days ago one rash soul among us conceived a hankering -for salad. She went to Madame and, being ignorant of the French -word, demanded simply.</p> -<p>“<i>Avez-vous</i> lettice?”</p> -<p>Madame shook her head uncomprehending, but finally as the -words were repeated a light dawned.</p> -<p>“<i>Ah oui, oui, oui!</i>”</p> -<p>She turned and hurried upstairs, descending triumphantly a -moment later with a large bundle of old letters! In just what form -she expected us to have them served I have not yet been able to -ascertain.</p> -<p>The mess-room is so crowded that to reach a seat often requires -considerable manœuvering. In one corner stands an ancient -dressmaker’s dummy—by popular vote awarded as sweetheart to the -most bashful man at table; in the corner opposite is the bed of -Madame and Monsieur. The men who get up for early breakfast, -swallow their bread and jam and coffee with Monsieur watching -from his couch of ease. Today Madame was indisposed and when -we came to supper we found that she had retired already. All -through the meal she lay there, under the red feather-bed, looking -like a dingy, weazened old corpse, staring at the ceiling, her mouth -wide open.</p> -<p>For the last few days we have had a visiting clergyman with us. -To all appearances a meek and long-suffering little man, he has been -giving special revivalistic discourses at the huts and eating at our -mess. This morning he was asked to say grace. In the middle of a -long and earnest exhortation I was startled to hear these words: -“Oh Lord, Thou knowest we are apt to grow lean and to starve in -Thy service!” I fairly had to stuff one of the one franc canteen -handkerchiefs, which serve as napkins at the mess, into my mouth -to keep from laughing.</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Bourmont, December 12.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>In Paris a man who lectured to us said: “Get the fellows who have -influence with you, and you can swing the crowd.” Sometimes -I think that if Pat were our enemy instead of our friend we might -almost as well shut up the hut. For Pat the sharp-shooter, Pat the -dare-devil, Pat, who in company phrase “has Harry Lauder and -George Cohen stopped in a hundred places,” Pat the happy-go-lucky -adventurer is one of the leading spirits in Company A. He -has served, it seems, already in the war with the Canadian army.</p> -<p>“But how did you get out of it?” I asked.</p> -<p>Whereupon Pat regaled me with a wonderful rigmarole involving -an extraordinary case—his own—of shell-shock out of which I could -make neither head nor tail. Later, from one of the Secretaries -who had been at Saint Thiebault before I came, I learned the truth. -When America had declared war, Pat had deserted from the -Canadian in order to enlist in the American army. Pat had showed -him a letter from one of his old-time friends; it ended:</p> -<p>“Of course I wouldn’t think of splitting on an old pal like you, -Pat, but I do need twenty dollars like hell.”</p> -<p>“What did you do?” asked the Secretary.</p> -<p>“Sure an’ I sent him the money,” grinned Pat.</p> -<p>Shortly after I first became acquainted with him, Pat, who is -naturally gallant, with a tongue inclined to blarney, extracted a -promise from me. Some day, after the war, if we should happen to -meet, say, strolling down Fifth Avenue, Pat “dressed in a nice -blue serge suit” is going to “take me away from the other feller” -and take me out to dinner. It was after solemly pledging my word -to this agreement that I learned that Pat had formerly been a -saloon keeper and had had an extensive police-court record. -Immediately I began to hope that Pat would forget that post-war -party, but not he. Instead, he is constantly reminding me of it, -always before an audience, dwelling on it and elaborating it, until -now I find it has grown from a mere dinner, to dinner, the theatre -and a dance!</p> -<p>Lithe, wiry, lean-faced with close-cropped hair, pale blue gimlet -eyes and an almost unvarying expression of intense seriousness on -his face, Pat, when present, is the life of the hut. Forever at his -clowning, you would never dream from his demeanour that Pat’s -domestic affairs are in a state little short of catastrophic. His wife, -according to her photograph a handsome, sullen, passionate type, -half Mexican, ran away about a year ago, taking with her all his -money that happened to be handy, together with his new -automobile. Encountering some of Pat’s friends, she had explained -her apparently care-free single state by telling them that Pat was -dead. Now she has discovered that Pat is in France, she is all for -reconciliation. She has written him a letter in which she addresses -him as her dear husband about six times to each sheet, informing -him that she needs money, and inquiring of him what he wished her -to do with his clothes.</p> -<p>“What did you answer?” I asked, for Pat, who must always -share his correspondence, had shown me the letter.</p> -<p>“I told her,” grinned Pat, “she cu’d keep the clothes and maybe -she’d find another man to fit ’em.”</p> -<p>But there is another and more serious side to the matter. It -seems that the lady in the case has written to the Captain of A -Company, requesting him to forward a large proportion of Pat’s -pay to his deserving and indigent wife. Whether or not this will -be done is still uncertain. Pat refuses to discuss the possibilities, -but from the glint in his eyes I have a premonition that if next pay -day Pat finds any considerable deduction made from his pay, that -that night one wild Irishman will run amuck in Saint Thiebault.</p> -<p>Occasionally in the midst of Pat’s racy discourses I overhear -things not meant for my ears, such as his remarking how in -Rochester once he “went on a seven day’s pickle in company with -a female dreadnut.” But usually he is very careful to only “pull -gentle stuff” in my hearing. The other day he delivered himself -of a wonderful dissertation on the deceitfulness of pious people, -ending with this gem;</p> -<p>“So whenever I see one of these guys comin’ towards me with a -gold crown on his bean, looking’ as if he couldn’t sin if he had to, -why I nip tight on to my pocketbook and I cross to the other side -of the street!”</p> -<p>Today Pat came into the canteen with a newspaper clipping -and a letter to show me. The letter was from the Chief of Police of -K——, one of the many cities in which Pat has resided during his -short but crowded life, the clipping from the K—— Daily Sheet. -The clipping was comprised of a letter which Pat had written to -the Chief of Police giving in humorous phrase his version of life in -France and an accompanying paragraph stating that though the -writer had given the police force no little anxiety during his -residence in K——, still he had been in spite of all, a good-hearted -and likable rascal, and now that he had gone to war for his -country, bygones should be bygones and K—— must be proud of him. -The letter from the Chief was in much the same vein.</p> -<p>“Yes,” ruminated Pat; “I kept the old feller pretty busy, though -me an’ him were friends just the same. But it sure would get the -old man’s goat, just after he’d had me up and fined me, to come -home and see me settin’ at his dinner-table alongside of his pretty -daughter.”</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Bourmont, December 14.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>Because it took too much time right in the most important part -of the day to climb Bourmont Hill for mess at night, I have -arranged to take my suppers with two little old ladies here in Saint -Thiebault. The suppers are to consist of a bowl of cocoa and a slice -of bread with jam. The little ladies supply the bread and milk for -the cocoa and I supply the rest, paying them one franc a day.</p> -<p>At half-past five I put on my things, light my little candle-lantern -and set forth. The boys, coming in after mess, will be -crowding the hut; a chorus of anxious voices queries.</p> -<p>“You’re comin’ back sure, ain’t you?”</p> -<p>And, “What time is that hot chocolate goin’ to be ready?”</p> -<p>I pick my way down the slippery duck-boards to the highway. -Trudging along the muddy road, friendly voices hail me from the -dark. I am known by the little light I carry. At number two -Rue Dieu I rap and enter, trying desperately to leave some of the -mud from my boots on the door-step, for in this land of wooden -shoes scrapers are as unknown as they are unnecessary. Once -inside I have to fairly strain my eyes in order to be able to see -anything, for all the light in the room is supplied by the embers on the -hearth and one tiny gasolene lamp with a flame not much bigger -than the point of a lead pencil. Kerosene is unobtainable for civilian -use; the price of candles is prohibitive.</p> -<p>“<i>C’est la guerre. Cest la misère</i>,” say the little old ladies. “One -must sit in the dark—“<i>Cest triste comme ça.</i>”</p> -<p>My candle doubles the illumination, yet in spite of that, so -strong is the instinct for economy, they will not rest easy until they -have blown it out.</p> -<p>The little old ladies are cousins. The elder of the two, -“Madame,” is lame and has snow-white hair. She sits by the fire always -in the self-same spot. The younger, “Mademoiselle,” is a tiny -dwarfish creature with a back that is not quite straight. Over her -dark dress she wears a jaunty little scarlet apron sewn with black -polka dots. I am grateful for that apron; it makes the one bit of -color in the sombre room.</p> -<p>I sit in front of the fire at the round table and sip my chocolate. -The table has an oil-cloth cover on which is printed a map of -France, so as I eat my supper I can take a lesson in geography. -It is a pre-war tablecloth I fancy; over at one edge shows a slice -of Germany. The little old ladies point to that side of the table -with scorn, “<i>Les sales Bodies sont là!</i>” they explain.</p> -<p>I wonder that it doesn’t give them heart-burn to look down and -see the captive and devastated districts of France lying beneath -their tea cups. Think of setting your salt-cellar on the city of -Lille or your mustard pot on the sacred citadel of Verdun!</p> -<p>As I sup I endeavour to converse politely, but as my French -is little more than camouflage, this is a dubious proceeding. -Whenever I prove particularly stupid, out of the corner of my eye -I catch Madame shaking her old head at Mademoiselle despairingly.</p> -<p>“<i>Elle ne comprend pas!</i>” she murmurs sotto voce, pityingly; -“<i>elle ne comprend pas!</i>”</p> -<p>At odd times they turn an honest penny by doing a little sewing -for the villagers. But life is very difficult these days: the prices -of everything have gone so high. Why, wooden shoes that cost -five francs before the war now fetch fifteen!</p> -<p>Tonight I noticed an item in a Parisian Journal lying by my -plate. It was to the effect that at the Madeleine that day Mlle. -X had married Lieut. Z., a veteran of the war who had lost both -arms and both legs. I showed it to the little ladies.</p> -<p>“<i>Ah oui!</i>” sighed Mademoiselle with a shiver. “<i>Elle a beaucoup -de courage, celle-là!</i>”</p> -<p>And Madame shook her white head and echoed. “<i>Oui, elle a -beaucoup de courage!</i>”</p> -<p>Upstairs an American officer is billeted. I fancy his presence -supplies a certain dash of romance to the little old ladies’ lives. -The Americans are nice, they say, and make little noise in the -village; when the Russians were here it was different.</p> -<p>“It will be lonely when the Americans are gone,” sighs Mademoiselle. -“The houses will seem empty.”</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Bourmont, December 18.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>Yesterday I explored the top of Bourmont Hill. It is here that -the Quality Folk live, and here are some stately old houses with -beautiful carved doorways and even an occasional gargoyle. Here -too the general commanding the Division lives, and I have often -observed with glee corpulent colonels and rotund majors puffing -and blowing and growing red in the face as they climbed the hill to -Headquarters. At the top of the hill there are two churches. -Some two weeks ago, it is whispered, a spy was caught signaling -from the tower of Notre Dame. His signals, it is said, were flashed -to another spy stationed on the hills to the east, who in turn sent -the messages on to the lines. The Curé of Notre Dame is being -held under suspicion of complicity.</p> -<p>From Notre Dame an avenue bordered by magnificent old trees -sweeps around to the Calvary, a tall wooden cross surmounting a -curious structure of rough stone, ringed about with shallow steps—the -Mecca of many pilgrimages. Beyond the Calvary one comes -to the Mystery of Bourmont. A faded sign declares <i>Défense d’éntrée</i>, -but one looks the other way and slips by. For once past the gate -you are in an atmosphere of enchantment. No one seems to know -just what it is, nor how it came about; I can get no intelligent -explanation from Madame or Monsieur. To me it seems like the -forgotten playground of an old mad king in some fantastic legend. -For here among the trees are stone stairs, walls and terraces, and, -cut in the curiously cleft rocks, are niches and tunnelled passage-ways, -all mantled over now with green moss and ivy, the whole -making one think of a dream garden out of Mæterlinck.</p> -<p>Coming down Bourmont Hill afterwards I was startled by the -beating of a drum; looking back I saw a woman, bare-headed, her -blue apron fluttering in the wind, descending the street after me; -from her shoulders was slung the drum which she was beating with a -martial vim. It was the town-crier, <i>le tambour</i> as the French put -it. Arrived at an appropriate spot, she stopped, pulled out a paper, -cried “<i>Avis!</i>” and began to read in a rapid high official monotone. -The wash-house was to be closed between two and four o’clock the -following afternoon on account of the new water system the Americans -were installing. Certain requisitions of grain were to be -levied.... The villagers were notified to call at the Mayory -for their bread cards, without which, after such a date, no bread -could be obtained.... One or two women came to the doors of -the houses and listened. She took no notice of them. The reading -over, she rolled the paper up with a quick decisive gesture, and -resumed her march, the sharp rub-a-dub-dub of her drum pursuing -me all the way to Saint Thiebault.</p> -<p>Of late the air has become fairly vibrant with disquieting -rumours: one does not know what to believe, what to reject.</p> -<p>The Germans are massing for a gigantic drive on Nancy. In -three weeks, some say, the offensive is to begin; three days, say -others. Nancy is to be another Verdun. If they break through -they will pass this way. The American troops are being withdrawn -from this neighborhood: any day the order may come for us to -leave. At Paris the political situation is dark. Some people even -fear a popular uprising against the government. I hinted at this -to Monsieur, he shook his old head hopelessly. But yes, things -were in a bad way. Now if France only had <i>Veelson</i> at her head! -France and <i>Veelson</i>! His gesture indicated the grandeur of such a -contingency. As it was, France lacked a leader. And underneath -all this runs another rumour, still darker, still more disquieting. -The French, the gallant French, they say, are “laying -down.” They are ready to make peace at any price. They are -played out, sick to death of it all!</p> -<p>“Forty-two months in the trenches!” cried a sergeant -<i>en-permission</i> last night; “It is enough! I am through. Let the -Americans do it!”</p> -<p>And this feeling, they tell us, is wide-spread. The people see -our soldiers day after day, in the training camps, inactive. “What -are they here for?” they are asking. “Why don’t they fight? -Are they going to wait until it is all over?”</p> -<p>Will our soldiers, half-trained as they are, and a mere handful, -be forced, to satisfy them, into the trenches?</p> -<p>In the canteen I look into the boys’ faces and smile, but my heart -turns sick within me.</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Bourmont, December 20.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>Such a strange, incredible thing has happened,—a thing that has -upset all my preconceived ideas of human nature. It began with -Malotzzi. Malotzzi as his name betrays is a “wop;” he is also the -smallest fellow in the company which contains many small men. -Nor is he only small, but with his thin olive-tinted face and his -slender body, he looks so delicate, so ethereal that you feel a breath -of wind might fairly blow him away. To the company he is “a -good kid, quiet, never makes any trouble.” To me he has always -seemed an elfin, changeling creature, a strayed pixie, whose -impishness has turned to gentleness. Child of the tenements that he -is, he is possessed of the most exquisite old-fashioned courtesy that -I have ever yet encountered; and he has the starriest eyes of any -mortal born.</p> -<p>Not long ago he came to the counter to show me a post-card from -his sweetheart. It had an ugly picture of a red brick city block -upon it, and the message scrawled in an unformed hand beneath -contained little except the simple declaration that when he came -home she would go with him to the photographer’s over the candy -store at the corner and they would have their pictures taken -together. Yet no flaming and lyric love-letter could have rendered -him more naively proud. Malotzzi with a sweetheart! It was -absurd, he was nothing but a child! I can well believe that -Malotzzi wouldn’t make a very “snappy” soldier.</p> -<p>This afternoon when the company was out for drill, a certain -Second Lieutenant discovered that Malotzzi hadn’t got his pack -rolled up right. This was not the first time he had offended in -this manner. The Lieutenant had warned him. He was angry. He -took Malotzzi over to the bath-house, stripped off his blouse, -tied his hands so he couldn’t struggle, and beat him with a -gunstrap until he fainted.</p> -<p>The story flashed around the camp. When I came back from -supper I found the boys at white-heat with indignation. They -fairly seethed with anger. I think if the Lieutenant had happened -in, they might have killed him. Presently a little crowd carried -Malotzzi in. They rolled back his sleeves and showed me the great -purple welts upon his arms. His back was all like that, they said. -He had to be held up in order to keep his feet.</p> -<p>“You had better take him to the hospital,” I told them.</p> -<p>They carried him out again. He is at the hospital now, where -he is likely to stay for some time. His lungs are delicate and the -beating caused congestion. The medical officer made a report -and the Lieutenant has been placed under arrest.</p> -<p>I have never met the Lieutenant to know him, but curiously, -the Secretary, who messes with the officers, asserts that of all -the men there this Lieutenant has always appeared as the most -clean-spoken, the most cultured, the most gentlemanly. And the -boys have always considered him a very decent sort. The whole -thing is absolutely and blankly incomprehensible to me. There -is one explanation the boys offer; which is that the Lieutenant, -having a yellow streak, has lost his nerve at the prospect of going -to the front, and has done this as a desperate expedient, in the -hope of being dishonorably discharged. The only other possible -explanation which I can come upon is that the Lieutenant has a -German name.</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Bourmont, December 23.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>The burning question that is on every lip: Will the Christmas -turkeys come?</p> -<p>We had been promised turkey. What’s more I had been promised -some of that turkey too, at Company A’s mess table. Now -uncertainty holds us in torment. Every sort of a rumor is rife. -Some darkly insinuate that neighboring organizations have -sidetracked those turkeys. Others declare that the turkeys, having -been smuggled in by night, are now actually in camp among us.</p> -<p>“Huh!” snorts my friend the Tall Kentuckian. “Funny turkeys -they have in this army! I done heard those turkeys had -four legs and a pair of horns!”</p> -<p>Of course Christmas won’t be Christmas without the turkeys, -but anyway we have done our best to bring Christmas into the -hut. The question of Christmas trees was taken up in the -Bourmont office some days ago. An application was made to the Mayor; -the Mayor referred the matter to the representative of the Bureau -of Forestry. The Bureau of Forestry proved to be a good scout. -He ruminated a while, “Mademoiselle,” said he, “this matter is -so tied up with red tape, that if one were to unwind it all, it would -be New Year’s before you got your tree. My advice is that you -select your tree, wait until after dark, then go out, cut it down -close to the ground, and cover the place carefully with snow.”</p> -<p>Tonight when the subject of Christmas trees came up in the -canteen I repeated this anecdote to the boys. It was then growing -dusky. Several boys immediately disappeared. In an hour they -were back again, dragging not one, but two beautiful hemlocks. -We set up the more perfect one, and cut the other up for trimmings. -With flags, paper festoons, Japanese lanterns, tinsel which -the French call “angel’s hair,” and tree ornaments the hut was -transformed in a twinkling as if by magic. Now it is no longer a -muddy-floored tent, but a green bower threaded with myriad bits -of bright color, and I have really never seen anything of the sort -that was any prettier.</p> -<p>Yesterday several cases of free tobacco from the Sun Tobacco -Fund arrived in camp. The boys in the orderly room opened the -cases last night and hunted through and through them, trying to -find packages which bore the names of unmarried lady donors. -Unfortunately the Misses who contributed were few and far -between, but hope dies hard.</p> -<p>“Say, mightn’t Asa be a girl?” the lads are asking me eagerly -today.</p> -<p>“Lucien ain’t a man’s name, is it?”</p> -<p>Enclosed in each package is a postal-card on which one may, -if so inclined, return thanks to the giver. The boys who are -taking the trouble to write are doing it frankly with the hope that -this may encourage the recipient to repetition. How to tactfully -suggest this without seeming greedy is a problem whose delicacy -proves difficult.</p> -<p>“You tell me how to say it,” they tease.</p> -<p>“Say, won’t you write it for me, please ma’am?”</p> -<p>I saw one postal-card accomplished after an evening of -concentrated effort; “Your precious and admired gift,” it began.</p> -<p>Already Santa Claus in the person of Mr. Gatts has presented -me with a beautiful white silk apron embroidered with large -bunches of life-like violets.</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Bourmont, Christmas Day.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p><i>Joyeux Noël!</i></p> -<p>As I came in last night there was a great log burning on the -hearth.</p> -<p>“<i>C’est la bouche de Noël</i>,” said Madame and explained how it -would burn all night, then Christmas morning she would take the -little end that was left and put it away in the loft until the next -Christmas: it would protect the house from lightning; it was a -very ancient custom.</p> -<p>Back in the <i>Salle des Assiettes</i> I found our table spread as for -a little fête with a wonderful cake and a bottle tied up with a -bouquet of chrysanthemums and long ribbon streamers of red white -and blue. I was so innocent that I supposed at first that the -chrysanthemums were in the bottle, an improvised vase, but Madame -quickly enlightened me: “<i>C’est le vin blanc</i>,” she explained to -my embarrassment.</p> -<p>The Gendarme and I took counsel together as to how we could -best express our feelings on this occasion toward the Family -Chaput, the household having been increased over night by the -arrival of the married daughter and her small boy and girl. After -various projects had been considered and abandoned, we finally took -the little stand from our room, dressed it with evergreen and tinsel, -then heaped it with nuts, candies, chocolate bars, and little jars -of jam all from the canteen, together with a few small toys, and -carried it in and placed it in front of the hearth. The family -appeared delighted. We observed, however, that after the first toot, -baby Max’s whistle was swiftly and silently confiscated. Later -when <i>La Petite</i>, the little maid-of-all-work who takes care of our -rooms, came in, we had a few trinkets dug from the depths of our -trunks to bestow on her. Later still I carried chocolates and -<i>confiture</i> to my little old ladies of the Rue Dieu.</p> -<p>This Christmas day I fancy will be long remembered by the -inhabitants of this part of France; for in every one of the villages -about, our soldiers have given the French children a Christmas -tree. I went to see the tree at Saint Thiebault. The ancient -church, its chill interior ablaze with light, was crowded with -villagers all dressed in their fête day best. The old people were just -as excited and eager as the children; not one had ever seen a -Christmas tree before. They stood on the pews in order to get a better -view. The tree which was very large and beautiful stood just -outside the altar rail. It bore a gift for every child in Saint -Thiebault. While the tree was slowly being unburdened of its load, -the band-master’s choir, high up in the choir-loft, sang an -accompaniment. Some of the selections were of a sacred character, -others frankly secular, such as Drink To Me Only With Thine -Eyes; but as one of the choristers remarked;</p> -<p>“As long as we sing them slow and solemn the Frenchies won’t -know the difference.”</p> -<p>After the Christmas tree I went around to the little local hospital -to take some gifts to the patients. There were half a dozen -of them lying on cots in the bare barracks room, a dreary set in a -drearier setting. In one corner lay a boy who muttered incoherently. -He had just been brought in, they told me, and was very ill: -the doctors were puzzled to know what was the matter with him. -I left some little gifts for him when he should be better.</p> -<p>It was half-past four when I reached the hut. Suddenly it popped -into my head that we ought to have a Santa Claus. At half-past -six Santa walked in through the door. It was Pat in a big red -nose, a red peaked cap, much white cotton-batting beard and whiskers, -rubber boots, the Chief’s fur coat, covered over for the night -with turkey-red bunting, and a fat pack slung over one shoulder. -I had just dressed him in the mess hall, and for an impromptu -Santa Claus, I flatter myself he was quite effective. The boys -whooped. When they discovered who it was behind that nose, -they yelped like terriers.</p> -<p>“Ain’t he the beauty! Oh you whiskers! Say Pat, kiss me -quick!”</p> -<p>We got Santa safely behind the counter and then opened the -pack. It was full of foolish little things; tricks, puzzles, games, -mottoes, whistles, tin trumpets, paper “hummers”. The boys went -wild. It was the musical instruments that made the hit. For two -hours that hut shrieked pandemonium. Every last man in the -company tootled and squawked as if his life depended on it, and -every last one of them was tootling a different tune.</p> -<p>“<i>C’est des grands gosses!</i>” Truly, as Madame Chaput says, -they’re nothing after all but so many big little boys.</p> -<p>After the stuff was distributed the Secretary and I invited the -boys to partake of hot chocolate and sandwiches. But to our -disappointment they only took a languid interest in the treat. -Instead of the five and six cups apiece which many often swallow, -not one of them consumed more than a cup and three-quarters. -Too late we realized; they had already gorged themselves on the -contents of their Christmas boxes from home.</p> -<p>Reports coming in from the village stated that one American -Christmas custom had made a strong appeal to the feminine portion -at least of the population. Quantities of mistletoe grow -hereabouts. The French, although averring that it brings good-luck, -consider it a pest and let it go at that. It took the American -doughboys to enlighten the <i>Mademoiselles</i> as to its Anglo-Saxon -significance. It would be curious, I have been thinking, if the adoption -of this ancient privilege should prove one of the lasting evidences -of the American troops in France!</p> -<p>As I left the canteen I learned that the boy who had been so -sick at the hospital was dead.</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Bourmont, December 26.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>Last night was a wild night in the barracks. This morning the -hut was full of echoes of it. Company A indeed wore a jaded -look. They had had very little sleep it was explained. And it -was all on account of the Christmas hummers.</p> -<p>“I ain’t got nothin’ against you people, but I shore don’t think -you gave A Company a square deal,” remarked my friend the -Tall Kentuckian as he lit his cigarette at the counter.</p> -<p>“Why, didn’t you like the present that Santa Claus brought -you?” I teased.</p> -<p>“Huh! I would shore have singed the ol’ gentleman’s whiskers -for him last night if I could have caught him!” He went on to -explain; “We’d just get settled down good to sleep when some guy -or other would start up a-squawkin’ on one of them things. An’ -Sergeant ——, well he’d had just enough to make him fightin’ mad, -an’ he shore would rare around that there barracks tryin’ to find -them fellers. Why, half the corporals in the outfit was marchin’ up -and down the place most all the night long, shyin’ hob-nailed shoes -in what they guessed was the direction of them noises.”</p> -<p>I began to discern what a night of terror it had been.</p> -<p>“Yes suh!” declared the Kentuckian. “There was one feller -with a hummer we couldn’t get. He kept blowin’ Tipperary. He -must have blowed it for two hours steady, on an’ off. I guess he -had every last hob-nailed shoe in the hull barracks throwed at -him.”</p> -<p>Nor is this all. It seems I have committed a ghastly <i>faux pas</i>. -I have gotten the Y. in dreadfully dutch with the officers. It -is all along of the Christmas calendars. The Christmas calendars -arrived at the canteen just the day before Christmas. They were -designed to be sold to the boys for five cents apiece in order that -they might have something to send to the folks at home as a -Christmas greeting. But since they reached us so very late the Secretary -and I decided we didn’t have the face to put them on sale.</p> -<p>“Let’s give them away,” I suggested, and on his agreeing, laid -them in heaps on the counter and invited the boys to help -themselves. The boys weren’t bashful. They helped themselves with -enthusiasm and zeal. They came back for more and more. For -the rest of the day no one did a thing at the hut but sit at the tables -and address envelopes. One boy, I learned later, sent off as many -as thirty-five. I was awfully pleased to have the boys appreciate -the calendars so. And I never once for a moment thought of the -censors; but presently I heard from them. The company censors, -two of the younger lieutenants, had been looking forward, it seems, -to some leisurely care-free hours at Christmas. When the stacks -of calendars started coming in they saw their holiday vanish -into thin air, nay more, they saw themselves sitting up nights for -weeks to come censoring those precious calendars. And they -were swearing, raving mad. They were going to run the Y. out -of the town! They were going to shut down the hut! Finally -they compromised the matter with their consciences by censoring -half and chucking the other half into the stove. But even then -they couldn’t stop fussing and fuming over it. Tonight just to -top the matter off, we received a sharp reprimand from the -Business Manager at Bourmont for being so extravagant as to give -the calendars away, unauthorized. Was there ever such a tragedy -of good intentions?</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Bourmont, December 27.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>Today we buried the lad who died on Christmas night. I had -never seen a military funeral before and I had never dreamed -that such a ceremony could be so thrillingly beautiful.</p> -<p>The company formed at three o’clock in the road in front of -the canteen, then filed slowly through the streets of the little -grey age-old village. The band marching at the head of the -procession played the <i>Marche Funèbre</i> of Chopin. After the band -came the officers of the company and then the firing squad of -eight sharp-shooters, followed by an ambulance carrying the boy’s -coffin covered with a great flag. Behind, marched the whole of -Company A and after them crowded a throng of villagers. All -the men in town, with the innate respect that the French have for -death, stood uncovered as we passed, while many of the women -watched with tears streaming down their faces.</p> -<p>We passed through the village and down the road to the little -grey-walled cemetery, ringed around with evergreens and now deep -in freshly fallen snow. All about stretched virgin shining -snowfields and over them to the east rose Bourmont like a dream city, -etched as delicately as by a silver-point against the soft -dove-colored sky.</p> -<p>The majestic phrases of the Catholic burial service rang out -clearly on the frosty air:</p> -<p>Eternal rest grant him, O Lord,</p> -<p>And let perpetual light shine upon him!</p> -<p>The coffin with the great flag burning in blue and scarlet was -lowered into the grave. Slowly, with perfect expression, a bugler -blew the poignant, unforgettable notes of Taps. The rifles of the -firing squad cracked sharply; three volleys, it was over.</p> -<p>“Will they leave him there?” An old Frenchwoman asked one -of the boys afterwards.</p> -<p>“’Till the war is over, then likely they will send him home.”</p> -<p>“But why? He won’t be lonely here. There will always be -some one to put flowers on his grave.”</p> -<p>Tonight I was talking to the Supply Sergeant about the lad.</p> -<p>“I think he died of a broken heart as much as anything,” he -told me. “They wouldn’t let his mother see him at the dock when -we sailed. She came to say good-bye but it was against the rules. -He never could get over that; he kept brooding all the time and -fretting for her. I read some of her letters to him. They seemed -more like a sweetheart’s than a mother’s.”</p> -<p>The doctors, however, diagnosed his disease as spinal -meningitis. They have ordered the barracks in which he slept to be -quarantined. Already a half a dozen boys in quarantine have -taken to their beds, but this we hope is largely due to over-stimulated -imaginations. Even if the disease doesn’t spread, however, I -am wondering what will become of ninety-seven lively boys bottled -up for two weeks in one barracks. Already various ones have -eluded the guard and come sneaking furtively into the canteen to -buy their cigarettes and chocolates. Whenever one of these -unfortunates is recognized a regular howl goes up all over the hut.</p> -<p>“Outside! You’re one of the crumby ones!” they jeer, or; -“Convict! Get back to your cell!”</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Bourmont, December 28.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>The worst of my job is playing dragon to the French children. -In view of the fact that if allowed in the hut at all they swarm in, -in such numbers as to fairly overrun it, and pester the boys with -their insatiable appeals for “goom” and chocolate, it has seemed -best to make a strict rule against their admission. (Besides which -I don’t approve of giving them gum, for in the face of anything -one can do or say they will insist on swallowing it, which is, -I’m sure, not at all good for their tummies!) But in spite of this -prohibition the place holds an irresistible attraction for them. At -night one can often see their faces pressed flat against the isinglass -windows as they peer inside; while chiefly on Saturday and -Sunday afternoons they will slip slyly in, and then if the dragon -isn’t on the jump to explain to each and every one in her very best -French, that she is so sorry but it really is forbidden, why in a -twinkling the hut becomes full of them. And they are so picturesque, -so appealing, so full of shy wonder at the gramophone with -the wheel that “marches by itself” that it is very hard to turn -them out.</p> -<p>Since Christmas I have been kept busy by a tiny tad of a ragamuffin -with a funny round cropped black head and a face as solemnly -expressionless as a little carved Buddha. He slips in among -the tables and he is positively too small to be seen. The Christmas -tree with its shining ornaments is his stealthy objective. In vain -I explain matters politely to him; without a sound, without the -hint of a flicker in his little beady black eyes, he turns and clumps -out in his ridiculous <i>sabots</i>, only to presently slip in again. And -now it seems he has lain low and sagaciously observed my habits; -for returning to the hut after mess this noon, I met him trudging -along the Rue Dieu, his eyes encountering mine blandly without -embarrassment, his absurd little figure bulging all over with purloined -Christmas tree ornaments. In the hut I found our poor -tree stripped to a height of four feet from the floor of all its finery.</p> -<p>These last few evenings the hut has been given over to writing -Christmas thank-you letters home. The official writer of love -letters for the company has been working overtime; not that his -clients cannot write themselves, but because they feel he is more -able to do justice to the subject. Every night now I see him sitting -out in front of the counter, his Jewish profile bent low over the table -as he covers sheet after sheet with his fine and fanciful handwriting, -while next him perches anxiously the interested party, watching -developments and occasionally proffering a suggestion. When -it is done they must bring it to me for my approval.</p> -<p>“That’s a real classy letter, ain’t it?” the lover will query proudly -and I assure him that it is indeed.</p> -<p>“When she gets that, I bet she’ll come across with that sweater -she told me she was makin’ for me, all right!”</p> -<p>“Say do you think that ought to be good for a <i>cartoon</i> of cigarettes?” -another one inquires.</p> -<p>Of course there are many who, no matter what the effort, -prefer to write their own. Sometimes when cleaning up the -canteen tables I come upon specimens of such, first drafts discarded -on account of blots. One such love letter, classic in its -brevity, picked up the other day, ran:</p> -<div class='bq'> -<p class='ti0'>Dear Sweetheart,</p> -<p>I am writing you a few interesting -lines which I hope will be the same to you wishing you -a merry Xmas and a happy New Year</p> -<p class='tar'>Your loving friend</p> -<p class='tar mb2em'>Pvt. ——</p> -</div> -<p>Of late I have been moved to speculate wonderingly on the mental -processes of the American public. I have been going through -the stacks of magazines in the warehouse sent from the States for -one cent per to provide amusement for the doughboys’ leisure -moments. Among the rest I found the Upholsterer’s Monthly, -The Hardware Dealer’s Journal, The Mother’s Magazine, Fancy -Work and The Modern Needleworker. I showed some of these -prizes to one of the boys; “Gee, but that’s the kind of snappy stuff -to send a feller over the top!” was his comment. That numbers -of the Undertaker’s Journal have also been discovered among the -donations from home I have heard asserted on excellent authority, -but as yet I have not personally come across any.</p> -<p>Just as we were closing tonight, Pat came up to the counter, -solemnly leaned across it:</p> -<p>“Have you seen the new shoes they’re issuin’? he demanded. -“They’ve got pitchers on them so a feller can’t see his own feet!”</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Bourmont, January 2, 1918.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>Once a week our peripatetic movie-machine makes its appearance -among us. Louis, the sixteen year old French operator, unpacks -the big cases, sets up the apparatus, and, if our luck holds, -we have a show. Owing to the short range of the little machine -the screen must be hung in the middle of the hut. This means -that half the audience must view the pictures from the back, the -essential difference being that the lettering is then reversed; “The -Jewish Picture Show,” the boys call this. But then as half of us -can’t read anyway, why should we mind?</p> -<p>The joy of the show lies in the audience. Just as soon as the -lights are put out the fun begins: “Everbody watch their -pocketbooks!” goes up the shout and from that moment we are never -still.</p> -<p>The curly-headed heroine makes her coquettish entrance.</p> -<p>“Ooo la la! Oooo la la!” rises the enthusiastic welcome.</p> -<p>A bottle is displayed; “Cognac!” the yell shakes the roof.</p> -<p>The neglected wife begins to waver in response to the tempter’s -wiles; “Now don’t forget your general orders, little lady!” admonishes -an earnest voice.</p> -<p>Lovers indulge in a prolonged embrace; “Aw quit! Quit it! -Yer make me homesick!” goes up the agonized appeal.</p> -<p>The enraptured lover stands registering ecstasy; “Hit him -again, he’s coming to!” comes the derisive shout.</p> -<p>And so it goes. The actors aren’t on the screen, they’re in the -house, and truly there isn’t a dull moment on the programme!</p> -<p>Last night, however, instead of the joyous chorus of running -comment a subdued and decorous silence reigned, broken only by -a few half-hearted sallies. What was the matter? I racked my -brain to find the cause. All the joy had gone from the show. The -evening was stale, flat and unprofitable. When the lights were lit -again the mystery was immediately made plain. At one end of the -counter stood an officer. I wonder if he dreamed what a spoil-sport -he had been?</p> -<p>Once a week also a lady comes from the Bourmont office to give -us a French lesson; not that Company A betrays any burning -desire to learn to <i>parlez-vous</i>, but just that it seems obviously the -proper thing to do under the circumstances, so French they must -be taught willy-nilly. There were two lessons to be sure in which -they took a degree of interest; the lesson about buying and counting -money, and the lesson about food and drink. But when they -had once learned to ask the price of things and to understand -the answer, and had learned the words for eggs, bread, butter, beer, -ham, beefsteak, chicken and French fried potatoes, their interest -lapsed until it became positive boredom. Of late it has seemed to -me that it was only the boys with French blood that learned -anything and they, of course, knew it all already.</p> -<p>For entertainment Company A can upon occasion furnish its own -show. This was demonstrated by an impromptu programme staged -in the hut the other night; there’s no use we have discovered in -planning things beforehand, if one does, as sure as fate, all the -star performers “catch guard” that day! Pat by request acted as -stage-manager and master of ceremonies. To stimulate the artists -we announced prizes.</p> -<p>Private Dostal opened the programme; a large red-faced lad -with a bland and simple cast of countenance, he is the comic -balladist of the company. His first contribution was a selection -popularly known among us as <i>Beside the dyin’ boxcar, the empty -hobo lay</i>, a piece with a vast number of verses in which the dying -hobo repents an ill-spent life, only, in the last line, to “jump -up and hop the train.” For an encore we had -<i>Papa Eating Noodle Soup</i> which could best be described as -a “gleesome, gluesome” -recitative, the chorus of each of numerous verses consisting of a -realistic imitation of Papa partaking of the Soup. Mr. Gatts gave -us a jig. Then Bruno who, as the boys say; “Could sing pretty -good, only he don’t sing nothin’ but wop,” favored us with -<i>Oh Maria</i>, prefacing his performance with the earnest admonition, -“No laffin! nobody!” and after that with an Italian folk dance -in which he looked more like a grotesque little punchinello than -ever. Our light-weight boxing champion then gave us -<i>Love’s Old Sweet Song</i> and the heavy-weight champion popularly known as -<i>Magulligan</i>, together with Mr. Bruno rendered <i>Bye low my Baby</i>, -antiphonal fashion. The last number was furnished by a poilu -who had wandered in, in company with one of the boys. He sang -a long dramatic ballad, entitled <i>The Last Cuirassier</i>, depicting -some incident in the Franco-Prussian War. Just what the boys -made of it I don’t know, but to me it was intensely thrilling, not -on account of the words for I couldn’t catch them, but on account -of the fervor, the imaginative sympathy, the martial spirit which -that old fellow in his faded trench coat threw into his tones.</p> -<p>When the show was over Pat stood up on the counter and announced -that as long as all the performances had been of such -superlative merit, it was impossible for the judges to decide -between them. So we handed out a couple of packages of “smoking” -to each one of the artists, and everybody was satisfied.</p> -<p>Once too we had a party, an athletic stunt party. There were -potato-races and sack-races, string-eating contests, three-legged and -obstacle-races; but the sensational, the crowning event was, of -course, the pie-race. The pies which were of French manufacture -had only been arranged after difficulties: consulting the <i>boulangère</i> -at Bourmont I had discovered that the calendar now only allows -two pie-days per week, Sunday and Wednesday; since the party -was to be Friday, pie was unlawful, unless—and here the law, like -all good laws allowed a loop-hole—unless the pie be made with -commissary flour! The pie-race was the “dark horse” on the -programme. Fearing that if the boys learned beforehand of the -prospective pie not only would we be mobbed by would-be contestants -but also that their interest in the rest of the programme -would suffer, we had kept the pie-race a profound secret. Smuggled -in when the hut was empty those pies had reposed serenely under -the counter all afternoon and contrary to my fears not a boy had -sniffed them! When the proper moment came the pies were placed -on a board in the middle of the floor, the contestants, of whom Pat -was one, knelt with their hands tied behind them. At the word <i>go!</i> -they fell to. The hut howled. Then it was discovered that Corporal G. -laboured under a cruel handicap; <i>his</i> pie was a cherry pie -and every cherry had a stone in it. Half-way through his pie, Pat, -jerking one hand loose, seized a large piece, plastered it on the head -of his opponent opposite; the race ended in a riot. Strangely enough, -when peace was restored not a trace of pie could be found -anywhere,—nowhere, that is, except in the back hair of the contestants.</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Bourmont, January 6.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>Now I know how the prince in the fairy tale felt when he was -bidden to climb the mountain of glass. For Bourmont Hill is -sheeted with ice, and it is fairly as much as one’s life is worth to -attempt to go up or down. Every morning I stand and look at -that dizzying slide aghast, and wonder if I may possibly reach -the foot alive; then assistance comes, sometimes in the shape of a -French lad in <i>sabots</i>, sometimes as a stalwart doughboy with a -sharp-pointed staff, and together the two of us go slipping, slithering -down the hill-side. In the middle of the road yelling doughboys, -seated on cakes of ice, whiz by at a mad rate of speed; long before -they reach the bottom of the slope, the ice-cake splinters into bits, -but the doughboy shoots on downward, sprawling, spinning like -a top, while you hold your breath and gape to see that his neck -isn’t broken. For the French people all this supplies the sensation -of a life-time; they crowd their front doors and their front yards -laughing, shrieking warning or encouragement, as they watch the -progress of the mad Americans up and down the hill.</p> -<p>“If one could only have a movie of Bourmont Hill on a day like -this!” sighs the Gendarme.</p> -<p>The other day I encountered a sergeant of engineers on the hill-side.</p> -<p>“You ought to have a sled, Little Girl,” he told me.</p> -<p>“Well why don’t the engineers make me one?” I unthinkingly -retorted.</p> -<p>“Sure and they will!” he answered.</p> -<p>Since then I have gone in terror. If the sergeant should have -that sled made for me, as he likely will, why I shall have to use it. -And as for starting down Bourmont Hill on a sled, I would just -as soon attempt Niagara in a barrel.</p> -<p>Ever since Christmas it has been cold, bitter cold. At the canteen -I wash my chocolate cups with the dishpan on the stove in -order to keep the water fluid; hanging the dish-cloth up to dry -at the corner of the counter, in a few minutes I find it stiff with ice. -At night the ink-bottles freeze and then burst, spreading black -ruin all around them. What to do with the still unfrozen ones is a -vexing problem; I might I suppose take them home each night with -me and sleep with them underneath my pillow. In the little -umbrella-stand stoves the green wood, which comes in so freshly cut, -that the logs have ivy still unwithered twined around them, simply -will not burn, and the stoves will smoke, <i>mon Dieu</i>, how they will -smoke! Every time the wind blows, the stove-pipes, secured shakily -by the canvas walls, become disjointed, parting company with the -stoves, and then the clouds pour forth as if we housed a captive Etna.</p> -<p>In the barracks the boys tell me their shoes freeze to the floor -over night. They have taken to sleeping two in one bunk for the -sake of warmth. Blanket-stealing has been elevated to the rank of -a deadly crime. Even the problem of keeping warm by day is an -acute one. The boys who have money to burn are spending it to -purchase extravagantly priced fur-lined gloves. The boys who -can’t afford them, wait until they see somebody lay a pair down.</p> -<p>The taking of baths has become an act of heroism.</p> -<p>“Took a bath today,” growls a lad. “Think I ought to get a -service stripe for that.”</p> -<p>While another boy grins; “Gee but I’m feelin’ rich! Took a bath -today and found two pair o’socks and three shirts I didn’t know -I had!”</p> -<p>“Now ain’t you sorry you cut off the bottom of your coat!” -a long-coated doughboy taunts an abbreviated one. “I told you -not to. First, you’re out of luck at Reveille ’cause the Top Kick -can see you ain’t got no leggin’s on. An’ now before you know it, -you’ll be havin’ chilblains in your knees.”</p> -<p>“You should worry,” growls back the short-coated one. “I -couldn’t stand that thing flappin’ ’round my feet no longer. An’ -most of the other guys done it too.”</p> -<p>Which is true. Before this cold spell set in, half the boys in -the company had taken a slice off the bottom of their overcoats, -a procedure which leads to an odd effect <i>en masse</i> as each has -chosen his own length which means everything from knees to -ankles, and drives the exasparated Loots to demanding; “D’you -want to know what you look like? Well, you look like <i>hell</i>!”</p> -<p>In the village streets snow-ball fights are in order. As soon as -the boys start an offensive, all the inhabitants of the -<i>Faubourg de France</i> run -out and put up their shutters. Better to sit in the dark -while the battle rages than to risk a pane of precious -window-glass! Yesterday out at Iloud the boys caught the Y Secretary, -a meek and mild little man, in the road and started to give him -a thorough pelting. He ran for the hut, they chased him, he gained -his refuge, locked the door after him; they proceeded to heap about -half a ton of snow against it, making it immovable. The unhappy -man had to remove a window frame and crawl out through the opening, -then spend the rest of the afternoon digging out his hut door.</p> -<p>Here at our billet our little pea-green porcelain stove with the -lavender thistles growing over it has proved to be more ornamental -then useful. Since the Gendarme is one of your naturally efficient -souls, I feel that such practical details as building fires belong to -her. If she wishes to coax and cozen the wretched thing for an hour -on end, well and good. As for me I prefer to go and hug the cook -stove in Madame’s parlor. French fires don’t burn the way American -fires do, I tell Madame. But to her the matter is quite simple. -The stove, she says, doesn’t understand English.</p> -<p>Today I met the sergeant of engineers. Some imp impelled -me to question jovially;</p> -<p>“Where’s that sled you promised me?”</p> -<p>“It’s almost done.” My knees went weak beneath me.</p> -<p>Tonight I confided my apprehensions to the Gendarme. She -looked at me with an unpitying eye.</p> -<p>“The more goose you, for encouraging him,” was her cold comfort. -“What are you going to do about it?”</p> -<p>“I’m going to pray for a thaw,” I told her.</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Bourmont, January 8.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>Life at the Maison Chaput doesn’t flow quite so peacefully these -days as it did before Christmas. The disturbing factor is four-year -old Max, left by his mother to visit his grandparents. Max -is a spoiled child according to the Chaput point of view. He is -expected to walk a chalk line with his little red felt toes, and failing -this, he is spanked early and often. It is unlucky for him that the -fagots by the hearth afford a continual supply of handy switches.</p> -<p>“The little Jesus will never bring you anything again at Christmas,” -warns Grandmamma; “never again! And neither will the -<i>Père Nicolas</i>!” Then she appeals to me; “All the little -children in America are always well-behaved, are they not?”</p> -<p>“But yes, certainly!” I reply, avoiding Max’s eye.</p> -<p>Coming home in the evening I often stop on my way back to -the chilly <i>Salle des Assiettes</i>, in response to an urgent invitation, -to warm myself at the fireplace. Old Monsieur will be sitting on -one side of the hearth and I on the other, while Baby Max toasts -his toes in their scarlet slippers on a stool between us. Sometimes -they will sing for me. Monsieur had a fine voice when he was -young and even now he sings with a delightful air, a sort of indescribable -old gallantry that is a joy to me. When he and Max sing -together the effect is irresistible.</p> -<p>“Now we will sing <i>Le Drapeau de la France</i>,” cries Monsieur. -“We must stand for this!” And Monsieur in his gay red neck -cloth and little Max in his blue checked pinafore stand up before -the fire and sing with their hearts in the words “<i>Saluons le drapeau -de la France.</i>” When they come to that line, Monsieur le Commandant -veteran of 1870 and baby Max salute together.</p> -<p>Then, “<i>Vive la France!</i>” I cry, and “<i>Vive la France!</i>” -they echo.</p> -<p>When new troops pass through town Max must always run to -the door to cry “<i>Bonjour les Américans!</i>” a salutation which is -often followed I fear by a request for cigarettes, for Max, baby -that he is, enjoys a smoke, much to his grandparents’ amusement.</p> -<p>Among the china-ware at the Maison Chaput there is a funny -little jug which the Gendarme and I use for fetching hot water. -It is made in the shape of a fat frog with a blue waistcoat and a -pipe in one of his webbed feet. I had thought it was the famous -frog who would a-wooing go, but Monsieur has his own explanation. -It is the original St. Thiebault toad he declares, to tease me. Every -time I come to draw a little hot water from the stove he must -crack the self-same joke.</p> -<p>“<i>C’est le crapaud de Saint Thiebault</i>,” he cries and baby Max -pipes up; “<i>Il a soif!</i>”</p> -<p>Yesterday as I was passing through the front room on my way -to the canteen Monsieur stopped me to draw me into conversation. -There were several neighbors present. They gathered in a ring -around me. I could see they had some weighty question to put -to me. After a moment’s hesitation it came out:</p> -<p>“<i>Pourquoi</i>,” they demanded, “<i>pourquoi</i>, does the American -soldier blow his nose with his fingers?”</p> -<p>I stared, taken aback. In order to make their meaning quite -clear they illustrated with expressive gestures.</p> -<p>“Why,” I stammered, “does the poilu never do such a thing?”</p> -<p>“But never!” they declared in chorus. “The poilu always uses -his handkerchief!” And again they illustrated in pantomime.</p> -<p>I labored to explain; the French climate had given the boys -colds, and the question of laundry and clean handkerchiefs -presented difficulties....</p> -<p>“But,” declared old Monsieur sagely, “in America I have heard -it is the custom. There all the <i>haut monde</i>, it is said, lawyers, -doctors, ministers, statesmen, blow their noses in that manner!”</p> -<p>This was too much. I hurried from the room.</p> -<p>This morning Monsieur accused me of being a coquette. Hotly -I denied the charge. But why then, he rejoined triumphantly, had -I asked for a looking-glass in my bed-room?</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Bourmont, January 9.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>Company A is going to China! Somebody heard somebody -say that somebody told him that the Chaplain had said so. The -boys are all excitement over the idea.</p> -<p>“Won’t that be jolly! You’ll all be coming home with little -shiny pigtails hanging down your backs!” I tease them.</p> -<p>“Yes sir! an’ we’ll learn to eat our chow with chopsticks!” I -have solemnly promised the boys that if Company A goes to China -I will go too. What’s more I will learn to make Chop Suey for -them. I have always wanted to visit China.</p> -<p>Thus does the army rumor make sport of us. Reports of this -sort incessantly spring up among us, flourish for a day, to be forgotten -on the morrow. It is just a sign I suppose of the restlessness -that is rife among the boys, the nostalgia, the rebellion at the -grinding monotony of their lives. Half the men in the company, -it seems, have gone to their officers begging to be transferred into -one of the two divisions that have already been in the lines.</p> -<p>“I’m sick o’ this kind o’ life; what I came over here for was to -fight,” they growl.</p> -<p>In the canteen they look at the French National Loan poster -which has the Statue of Liberty on it, and speculate as to their -chances of ever seeing her again.</p> -<p>“Oh boy! but I bet there’ll be some noise on board ship when -we catch sight o’ that ol’ gal again!”</p> -<p>“They wouldn’t be breakin’ my heart if they gave out orders -tonight to start for home termorrer.” The chorus groans assent. -“No sir!” speaks up Private Gatts, “I don’t want to go home until -I’ve killed some of them Germans.”</p> -<p>“Aw, come off,” rises the incredulous jeer; “you know, if they’d -let you, you’d start out to walk to Saint Nazaire tonight if you -had to carry your full pack an’ your rife an’ your extra shoes.”</p> -<p>To beguile the tedium they indulge in what appears to be, next -to crap-shooting, the most popular indoor sport of the A. E. F.—mustache -raising. I don’t believe there’s a man in the company -outside of Cummings and Maggioni who hasn’t tried his luck at -it. Sometimes it seems as though an epidemic of young mustaches -will break out overnight as it were. The second lieutenants jeer -and witticize in vain. There is one squad who have solemnly -pledged themselves to remain mustachioed until they “can the -Kaiser;” but for the most part, the little “Charlies” are fleeting -affairs that come and go according to their owner’s whim. This -makes it quite confusing for me, because no sooner have I got to -know a lad with a mustache by sight, than he shaves it off and alters -his appearance so that I have to learn him all over again. But even -the excitement of raising a mustache and having your picture -taken and sending it back home to your best girl and then waiting -to hear what she will say about it, affords only a brief diversion. -And when that is done, we are face to face again with the stark -sheer stupidity of drilling and hiking, hiking and drilling, day after -day, week in and week out, in the slush, the mud, and the rain.</p> -<p>“Another day, another dollar,” remarks my friend Mr. Brady -with philosophic resignation as he comes in from walking post at -night, “Betsy the Toad-sticker,” as he familiarly terms his rifle, -over his shoulder.</p> -<p>“I sure was strong on the patriotic stuff when I enlisted,” mourns -a lad cast in a less stoic mould, “but since I got over here I’ll tell -the world my patriotism is all shot to pieces.”</p> -<p>“Who called this here land <i>Sunny France</i>, I’d like to know?” is -the indignant question which someone is bound to propose at least -once a day.</p> -<p>“I’ve only seen the sun twice since I’ve been here,” complained -one lad, “and then it was kind of mildewed.”</p> -<p>“It stopped raining for three hours the other day,” remarked -another, “an’ I wrote home to my folks an’ told ’em what a long -dry spell we’d been having.”</p> -<p>Altogether we are inclined to take a very pessimistic view at -present of our surroundings.</p> -<p>“This land is a thousand years behind the times,” is the -reiterated comment, and who can blame them, having seen nothing -of France but these tiny primitive mud-and-muck villages? “It -ain’t worth fightin’ for. Why if I owned this country I’d give it -to the Germans and apologize to ’em.”</p> -<p>“It ain’t the country, it’s the people in it,” asserted another lad -darkly.</p> -<p>While the Tall Kentuckian declared, “When I came to France, -the height of my ambition was to kill a German. Now the height -of my ambition is to kill a Frenchman.”</p> -<p>What can one say to them? I try fatuously to comfort by reminding -them of the good time coming when we all get home again. -I paint rosy pictures of a grand parade of the division up Fifth -Avenue, but they are sceptical.</p> -<p>“Huh! That won’t be for us! All the fuss will be for the National -Guard and the draft guys. The reg’lars don’t never get no credit.”</p> -<p>Then someone will start to hum the song which goes;</p> -<div class='cb-container'> -<div class='cb'> -<div>“O why didn’t I wait to be drafted?</div> -<div>Why didn’t I wait to be cheered?”</div> -</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>“Well I’ll tell the world that you deserve the credit!”</p> -<p>Anyway Company A has settled one point: if they ever march -up Fifth Avenue I am to march with them.</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Bourmont, January 11.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>The “convicts” are out of quarantine, and none the worse it -seems for the experience. Yet my family is still depleted. Forty -boys from the company have been sent out on a wood-chopping -detail. Detachments from each of the four companies in rotation -are being sent out into the forest to cut fuel for the use of the First -Battalion and now it is our turn.</p> -<p>The boys, we learn, are billeted in a twelfth century fortress -in a tiny village at the forest’s edge. From time to time some of -them hike the four miles in to Saint Thiebault after the day’s work -is done, in order to get a cup of hot chocolate and to tease a candle -out of me. For the chateau boasts none of the modern luxuries -of heat and light.</p> -<p>“What do you do in the evenings?” I asked Mr. Gatts.</p> -<p>“Sit in the <i>café</i>. It’s the only place there is to go.”</p> -<p>“I’m sorry.”</p> -<p>“Well you needn’t worry about the boys drinkin’. They ain’t -none of them got no money. All they can do is to sit and watch -the Frenchies.”</p> -<p>Indeed such a long time has passed since our last payday that -the whole company is feeling the pinch of poverty. Canteen sales -have narrowed down to the three essentials; chocolate, cigarettes -and chewing gum. I am running accounts on my personal responsibility, -giving them “jawbone” as the boys say, a proceeding -at which our Secretary looks with a disapproving eye. To be sure -the air is full of rumours of impending payday but meanwhile there -is no disguising the fact that the great majority is “dead broke.”</p> -<p>Says Sergeant X to Sergeant Z, a boy with a curious cast of -countenance; “Say, Bill, do you remember the time I paid ten -cents to see you in a cage at Barnum’s? Well I want that dime -back now.”</p> -<p>Another lad in answer to the appeal of “got a cent?” replies -with feeling; “One cent? Why man, if I had a cent I’d go to Paris!”</p> -<p>They have court-martialed the lieutenant who beat Malotzzi. -His punishment is to be transferred to another regiment.</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Bourmont, January 14.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>Madame is sick and I am worried. It isn’t so much that she is -dangerously ill as that she is dangerously old. She lies in the big -blue room upstairs, looking like a patient aged Madonna, without -a fire, and with no one to look after her. Monsieur it seems has -made up his mind to her demise and piously resigned himself. I -called in an army doctor.</p> -<p>“She’s pretty low,” he said, “but it isn’t medicine she needs so -much as nursing.”</p> -<p>I informed Monsieur. He must get a woman to come in and take -care of her. But there was no such woman. He must try to find -one. But no, it was impossible! “Well at least, you can make -a fire in her room,” I told him. As for <i>La Petite</i>, she has proved -herself a broken reed. Lacking Madame’s rigid eyes upon her, -she has become lazy and negligent. Moreover she is indubitably -in love with some doughty doughboy, the proof being that she -spends the time when she should be gathering the harvest of dust -from the <i>Salle des Assiettes</i> in copying English phrases from our -books on to the Gendarme’s pink blotting-paper. Yesterday we -found “Welcome Americans” scrawled all over it. Meanwhile -Monsieur seems to consider himself as qualifying for a martyr’s -crown because he gets his own meals and washes his own dishes. -“<i>Mais, regardez Mademoiselle!</i>” he calls to me as I pass through -the living-room, and flourishes the dish-cloth at me with a tragic -air. So between excursions to the canteen I am trying to play -nurse to Madame, and a pretty poor one I make, I fear. Worse -still, I must act as interpreter for the Doctor, whose French is -absolutely nil, at every visit and since my scanty stock of French -phrases hardly includes a sick-room vocabulary I am often absolutely -at a loss. But we muddle through somehow and the Doctor -gets his reward when we stop to speak to Monsieur in the front-room -afterwards, for then Monsieur must bring out a bottle of champagne -and together they sit in front of the fire and toast each other.</p> -<p>Yesterday the Doctor prescribed fresh eggs. I told Monsieur. -But there were none in Bourmont he declared.</p> -<p>“Very well,” I said, “then I’ll get them.”</p> -<p>I started out to search. I knew of course that eggs in France -these days were difficult. In some places the Americans have been -forbidden, on account of the scarcity, to buy either eggs or chickens; -a ruling which officers have been known to evade by the simple -expedient of renting laying hens. But no such prohibition exists -at present in Saint Thiebault. Just the other day a lad told me -he had consumed twelve fried eggs at one sitting.</p> -<p>“Yes and Corporal G. ate more than I did.”</p> -<p>“How many did he eat?”</p> -<p>“Oh, just thirteen.”</p> -<p>“No wonder,” I observed, “that the French talk about <i>la famine</i>!” -I started a house-to-house canvas of Saint Thiebault only -to be met by a shake of the head and “<i>Pas des oeufs</i>” everywhere -I went. Finally back at the canteen I put the question in despair -to the boys. “Have you been to the tobacco shop?” they inquired. -So to the tobacco shop I hurried and sure enough there -they were, all one wanted at the rate of seven francs a dozen.</p> -<p>Last night Madame had an egg-nogg and this morning an -omelette. Now the Doctor says that she is better.</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Bourmont, January 17.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>If my fairy god-mother should lend me her magic wand, the -very first thing I would wish for would be a dinner, a real dinner -just like Mother used to cook, for Company A. It would start with -turkey and cranberry sauce and end with several kinds of pie, -ice-cream and chocolate layer cake. There would be no soup on -the menu. Such a meal I am sure would do more to raise the morale -of Company A than the news of a smashing allied victory. It is -the everlasting sameness, the perpetual reiteration of a certain few -articles of food, I suppose, that makes the boys’ “chow” so depressing.</p> -<p>“I’ve eaten so much bacon since I’ve been in the army,” remarked -one boy mournfully,” that I’m ashamed to look a pig in -the face.”</p> -<p>There is one question which the whole A. E. F. would like to -have answered. They’ve “got the bacon,” but what became of -the ham?</p> -<p>Far more hated than the bacon, however, is the “slum,” a word -which Pat informs me is derived from the “slumgullion” of the -hobo. It is this “slum” that gives the doughboy his horror of -anything like soup.</p> -<p>“When I get back to New York,” said a lad to me the other day, -“I’m going to go into a real swell hotel and order a big dish o’ -slum. Then I’m going to order a regular dinner, beefsteak and -oysters and all the fixings, and then I’m going to sit and laugh at -the slum.”</p> -<p>Pat came in with a whoop after dinner yesterday. “We had a -change today,” he sang out, “they put a pickle in the beans!” -This noon he bounced in again. “We had a change today,” he -shouted, “they cut the beans lengthwise instead of cuttin’ them -acrosst.”</p> -<p>I made a fatal error. “Don’t you like beans?” I asked. “Why -I’m very fond of them. I wish they’d give them to us at our mess -once in a while.”</p> -<p>Pat looked at me with his sharp eyes narrowing. “D’you mean -it?”</p> -<p>“Why of course I do!”</p> -<p>He turned and walked out of the hut. Two minutes later he -returned with a hunk of bread and a mess-kit brimfull of beans; -he laid them on the counter in front of me. I gasped but did my -best to rise to the occasion. I was delighted to see those beans, -I assured him. I had just been starting out to go to mess; a little -bird had told me they were to have roast pork, French fries, and -peach pie for dinner, but now I would stay at the hut and eat -beans instead. Then I tasted the beans. They were as hard as -bullets, they stuck in my throat; I had never known anything -could be quite so awful. But Pat’s eyes were upon me. There was -nothing for it but to swallow those beans. So swallow them I -did, every last one, and there were positively at least a thousand. -Then I washed the mess-kit and returned it to friend Pat with -effusive thanks. At least, I complimented myself, I had been -game. Tonight, just as I was starting out for my supper of toast -and chocolate with the little old ladies of the Rue Dieu, Pat suddenly -appeared on the other side of the counter.</p> -<p>“We had ’em again tonight,” he announced joyfully, “and I -thought since you were so fond of ’em,”—he pushed another -mess-kit full of beans across the counter. I glared at him. I had -vainly been trying to recover from the dinner beans all afternoon.</p> -<p>“Take those things away,” I snapped, “I don’t want to lay eyes -on another bean as long as ever I live!” Pat had called my bluff.</p> -<p>For the last week Company A has had guests in the mess-hall. -Several French soldiers have been sent here to instruct the boys in -some special drill; it was arranged that they eat and sleep with the -Americans. Dreary as the boys find their chow, it proved a treat -to the poilus who evidently spread the news of their good fortune -among their friends in the vicinity, for day by day the number of -Frenchmen messing with Company A was mysteriously increased.</p> -<p>“Yes sir!” the indignant Mess Sergeant declared to me. “They -started in with five and now they’ve grown to be fifteen. I can’t -tell one from t’other because all these frogs look alike to me, and -they know as how I can’t sling their lingo. That’s a nice thing for -them to be putting over on me!”</p> -<p>But yesterday he got his chance to get even. He caught one -of the Frenchmen putting a piece of bread in his pocket. It is of -course a military offense to carry food out of the mess-hall.</p> -<p>“I just sailed right into that guy”—the Mess Sergeant is a -large and husky specimen—“and I sure did wipe up the floor some -with him. And since then the whole gang of ’em has been scared -stiff. Those frogs just watch me all the time. There ain’t a minute -when I’m in the mess-hall that one of ’em takes his eyes off me.”</p> -<p>The other day, they tell me, one of the boys in the company, -possessed of a practical turn, employed his newly-issued “tin -derby” as a kettle in which to boil some eggs. The delicacy -proved dear. Betrayed by the blackened helmet, he was tried and -fined twenty dollars.</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Bourmont, January 20.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>I’m off for Paris! My eyes have been in a horrid state for the -last week. I have had all the doctors in the neighborhood treating -them and they only get worse and worse. The Chief is going up -to Paris tomorrow and has decided that the best thing to do is to -take me along to see a specialist.</p> -<p>Madame is so much better that I don’t feel uneasy at leaving -her. But I hate to desert the boys, especially as the hut is in such -a state. Yesterday we had a storm and the wind almost wrecked -our tent. There was one moment while I was out at dinner, when -such a gust hit it, that, as the boys said, “She sure seemed a goner.” -At that moment there was a stampede for the door, the boys shooting -out of the tent “just like seeds from an orange when you squeeze -it.” But thanks to the Secretary and a crowd of boys who got -out and hung for dear life on to the guy ropes, the tent came through -damaged but still standing. When I returned after mess I found -our hut with two great gaping rents torn in the outer walls and -the inner lining all ripped loose and hanging down from the ceiling, -so that one felt exactly as if one were inside a punctured zeppelin.</p> -<p>Reports coming in this morning from other points on the division -state that two tents actually did collapse during the tempest, -and that one man, caught beneath the wreckage, had his collarbone -broken. So we can count ourselves lucky.</p> -<p>Tonight I said <i>au ’voir</i> to Company A, telling them that if payday -should occur during my absence, I hoped they all would be -very, very good. Some of the boys lugubriously predicted that -I would never return, while others darkly insinuated that they -suspected I was “goin’ to Paris to git married.” To show them -what my intentions honestly were, I inquired if there were any -errands I could do for them in the city. Corporal G. looked at -me, stammered, hesitated. There was something he would like, -only he didn’t want to bother me. What was it? He paused, grew -red, then blurted it out.</p> -<p>“If it ain’t too much trouble, could you send me a picture post-card -while you’re away? I ain’t never had a post-card from Paris.”</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mt1em'>Hôpital Claude-Bernard</div> -<div class='tar'>Porte D’Aubervilliers</div> -<div class='tar sc mb0r7em'>Paris, January 25.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>This is a hideous hospital. They wake you up in the middle of -the night to wrap you in a mustard poultice. They wake you up -in the wee sma’ hours and order you to brush your teeth. And -nobody in the whole establishment from head-doctor to scrub-lady -knows a word of English; except the night-nurse and she knows -“mumpsss!” like that she says it, “MUMPSSSSS!” Not that -I have them; I have the measles. I don’t know where I got them. -They were, so far as I am aware, almost the only known malady -which we didn’t have at Bourmont. Probably some lad who was -passing through the town and stopped in at the canteen gave them -to me. It was undoubtedly the measles that were affecting my -eyes; sometimes it seems they act that way.</p> -<p>They sent me to this hospital because it was the only hospital -in Paris admitting women that had room for me: known officially -as the city hospital for contagious diseases, among Americans it -passes as “the pest-house.”</p> -<p>They think I’m a weird one here, because I want my window -open. Twenty-nine times a day at least an <i>infirmière</i> will come -hurrying in and bang it shut and twenty-nine times a day I crawl -out of bed and open it again.</p> -<p>The nursing here is all done by <i>infirmières</i>, or untrained women -under the direction of two real nurses, one in charge of this wing -during the day, the other during the night. Some of these <i>infirmières</i> -go about in curl papers, others wear sabots. They mean well -enough, but they are overworked, and frankly peasant types, with -little education and almost no notion of cleanliness or of much -else that is supposed to pertain to nursing. Last night a fat old -soul without many teeth came waddling into my room to have a -look at that interesting curiosity, <i>la pauvre petite Dame Américaine</i>. -When she saw my open window she was so overcome with astonishment -that she hurried out and fetched a companion to regard -the phenomenon. The two of them stood and stared at it and discussed -the matter between themselves for quite a while, then the -fat one turned to me and remarked with a toothless but engaging -smile; it was very warm in America where I lived, was it not? When -I replied that, instead, it was much colder in winter there than here -in Paris, they looked aghast and flatly incredulous. Their only -explanation of the matter had been, it seemed, that I was accustomed -to living in the tropics and just didn’t have sense enough -to suit my habits to the atmosphere.</p> -<p>Just outside the hospital there is a munitions factory. At night -the light over the front door shines into my room and day and -night the machinery keeps up an incessant thudding hum that says -as plain as words over and over and over: <i>Kill the Boches. -Kill the Boches. Kill the Boches.</i> Once in a long while the machines -stop for a few moments in order, I suppose, to catch their breath and then -I grow dreadfully worried, for I know that if someone doesn’t keep -on killing the Boches every second, they will be breaking through -the lines and pouring in over France in great drowning grey waves.</p> -<p>January 27. I haven’t got the measles after all; I have the German -measles, only they don’t call it that in French I am glad to -say. At first I was so very red and speckled that they thought -I had the <i>rougeole</i>, but now they have decided it is only -the <i>rubeole</i> -after all. A concourse of doctors considered me yesterday morning -and pronounced the verdict. “But then,” I demanded, “if it’s -only the <i>rubeole</i> can’t I be leaving <i>tout de suite</i>?” For the French -do not consider quarantine necessary for the rubeole. “Eight -days,” they answered, and when I expostulated they turned on their -collective heels and marched callously out the door, each one holding -up eight fingers apiece as a parting rejoinder.</p> -<p>Last night I resisted a great temptation. This place is full of -doors with little glass panes in them. As I lay awake in bed in -the middle of the night, a wild desire grew on me to seize my big -green bottle of mineral water by the neck and see how many panes -of glass I could account for before they nabbed me. I had a perfect -vision of myself, flying down the hall in my little flour-sack -chemise of a night-gown, long legs stretching out beneath, going -zip, bang, right and left into those window panes. I have seldom -wanted to do anything quite so badly. And then just to top -off with I was going to wring the interne’s neck. He is a little -shrimp of a man—that interne, with no chin and a sort of scrawny -picked-chicken neck, a neck that gets on one’s nerves.</p> -<p>When they sent me to this hospital I comforted myself with the -thought that I would at least learn a little French while staying -here, but the only thing I have learned so far is that <i>gargariser</i> -means gargle and any goose might have guessed that.</p> -<hr class='tb' /> -<p>January 28. The Chief has sent me a rose-pink cyclamen. -It is a lovely thing and very elaborately done up with pink crêpe -paper and a large bow of shell-pink ribbon. Now I am no longer -an object of any interest. Every last doctor, nurse, interne and -<i>infirmière</i> who comes into my room to take a look at <i>la petite Mees</i>, -immediately turns his or her back on me and admires the cyclamen -instead. I gather such objects are rare in French hospitals, for -they examine and discuss it at the greatest length, always winding -up with the remark that it must have “cost very dear.”</p> -<p>Not having anything else to do I lie with my eyes shut and think. -And of course I have been thinking chiefly about Company A. I -have thought among other things of a play, or rather a dramatic -charade in three acts, which we might give in the hut. It is to be -entitled <i>Slum</i>. In the first act,—<i>Bill</i>— three doughboys hit on a -plan to encompass the Kaiser’s death and so become rich by gaining -the proffered reward:—they will send him a dish of slum! The -second act,—<i>et</i>—shows a room in the Potsdam palace with Kaiser -Bill and His Side Whiskers, the Lord High Chancellor, discussing -the food situation. The slum appears; the Kaiser partakes of it -and falls writhing to the floor. The last act shows a typical barn-loft -billet, with rats squeaking, chickens clucking et cetera, where -the Soldiers Three of the first act have their lodging. They receive -the tidings of the Kaiser’s death; wild rejoicings ensue, as in fancy -they spend their fortunes; only to be cut short by the discovery -that the cook who made the slum has already claimed the reward. -I think we can stage it successfully, though the costumes for the -Kaiser and His Side Whiskers present some difficulties. One thing -only troubles me; will it hurt the Mess Sergeant’s feelings?</p> -<hr class='tb' /> -<p>January 30. They have relented. They have shortened my -stay. I am to be let out tomorrow, but I must <i>reposer</i> a few days -before going back to work. Bother! I haven’t heard anything -from Bourmont for ten days and I am full of uneasy apprehensions. -Since I have been in the hospital the cyclamen has been the only -word I have had from the outside world. I have been cut off as -completely as if I were in a tomb. Ah well, some day I’ll get back -to the hut again I suppose, and when I do, if those boys aren’t -almost half as glad to see me as I am to see them, why I’ll know -that some other canteen lady has been surreptitiously stealing their -affections, and I shall put poison in her soup.</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mt1em'>Hôpital Claude-Bernard</div> -<div class='tar sc mb0r7em'>Paris, January 31.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>I have been in a big air raid; this is just how it all happened:</p> -<p>It was a white night in the hospital for me. I had lain for hours, -it seemed, in the little blue room watching through the glass panes -of my door the coiffed head of a young <i>infirmière</i> bent over her -embroidery. She sat outside my door because there was a light -in the hall just there. Suddenly my drowsy ears were pierced by -a long weird hoot. In an instant the girl had leaped to her feet -and switched off the light, then she turned and ran down the hall. -A moment later and the building was in darkness. I jumped from -my bed and ran to the window. The light in front of the munitions -factory was out, there seemed an uncanny silence, the machinery -had been stopped. I hurried to the door. The corridor was full -of hastening forms, <i>infirmières</i>, their loose white robes showing -dimly in the grey light.</p> -<p>“<i>Qu’est ce qui arrive?</i>” I demanded.</p> -<p>“<i>Les Boches!</i>”</p> -<p>The night nurse was peering from my window.</p> -<p>“It’s the first warning,” she whispered. “See! the lights of -Paris still shine.”</p> -<p>But even as we looked, the light across the sky that was Paris -flickered, dimmed, flashed out. At the same moment two great -golden stars rose over the munitions factory.</p> -<p>“<i>Les avions!</i>” cried the night nurse.</p> -<p>And all the time the sirens kept up their ghostly wailing, like -nothing one could imagine except a vast host of lost souls. Then -the guns began. A moment later a crashing thud told that a bomb -had fallen in our neighborhood. The night nurse drew me hurriedly -into the hall.</p> -<p>“Lie down against the wall,—close—like this,” she ordered.</p> -<p>Up and down the corridor every space by the wall was occupied -by the huddled form of an <i>infirmière</i> buried beneath a mattress. -The night nurse, who had a whole heap of mattresses to herself, -pushed one across to me. I lay on the top, finding it more comfortable -that way.</p> -<p>The bombs were falling nearer. A child in one of the wards woke -up and began to wail fretfully. No one heeded her. There was -a flash and then a tearing thud that shook the hospital. I had one -ghastly moment, a thrill of panic terror at our utter helplessness -as we lay there awaiting what seemed the inevitable coming of -destruction. The moment passed. I got up and slipped down the -side corridor to the glass door. The sky was full of moving lights; -some burned with a steady brilliancy, some flickered and went -out like fireflies, a few flashed red. There was no telling which was -friend or foe. They seemed to be proceeding in all directions without -plan or purpose. The air pulsated with the humming drone of -their motors. They were like a swarm of angry hornets I thought. -Across the road, standing on the top of a high wall, in sharp silhouette -against the sky, three poilus stood to watch. Every now -and then an <i>infirmière</i>, curiosity outweighing caution, would leave -her hiding-place and creep to the door beside me only to burrow -like a bug, a moment later, underneath her mattress once more.</p> -<p>“<i>Mees! N’avez-vous pas peur?</i>”</p> -<p>“<i>Mais non!</i>”</p> -<p>“<i>Ah, vous êtes un soldat!</i>”</p> -<p>I went back to my room and climbed out on the window-sill. -At first I thought the lights of Paris had been turned on again, but -this time they were color of rose. As I looked the pink flush deepened, -grew ruddy, flamed across the sky. I called the night nurse.</p> -<p>“<i>C’est une incendie</i>,” she wailed staccato. “<i>Quel malheur!</i>”</p> -<p>So Paris was on fire.</p> -<p>As we watched two big puffs of white smoke rose over the munitions -factory, spread into a cloud, drifted slowly toward us. The -night nurse sniffed, then shut the window hurriedly.</p> -<p>“<i>La gaz</i>,” she whispered. I questioned it but left the window -shut.</p> -<p>An aeroplane swung low over the munitions factory, so near -that it looked like a great lazy fish with the rose light from below -shining on its belly. Was it friend or enemy?</p> -<p>The bombs were dropping close again. One could see the flashes -and feel the jar of the explosions which made the windows rattle.</p> -<p>“<i>Oh les sales Boches!</i>”</p> -<p>“<i>Oh la la!</i>”</p> -<p>The agonized wails sounded half stifled from beneath the mattresses.</p> -<p>“<i>Taisez! Écoutez!</i>” It was the night nurse’s voice.</p> -<p>The front door slammed. A fat <i>infirmière</i> in a badly shattered -state of nerves stumbled down the hall weeping out unintelligible -woes. At my mattress she came to a standstill, then ducked and -tried to crawl beneath it; failing, she sat down on top of me. I -ventured a polite protest,—in vain. The night nurse heard me. -She emerged from beneath her heap. Followed a scene dramatic, -unforgettable. Mattresses scattered to each side of her, heedless -of the falling bombs, with Gallic passion she proceeded to point -out to the sobbing <i>infirmière</i> the shortcomings of her behaviour. -But the fat lady proved unrepentant, her terror at the bombs -superseding even her awe of the night nurse. She sat tight, holding -her ground. She even ventured to answer back. The scene -grew more intense. After I had heard the night nurse discharge -the <i>infirmière</i> some six times over, feeling a trifle out of place, I -managed to crawl from beneath and made my way back to the -window. No more bombs were falling but the guns still barked. -As I watched, a burning plane looking like a great tinsel ball seared -its way through the sky, falling just to the right of Paris.</p> -<p>“Pray God it is a Boche!” I thought.</p> -<p>A round-eyed <i>infirmière</i> peered in at the door, staring curiously -at me.</p> -<p>“<i>Mees! Vous allez retourner en Amerique?</i>”</p> -<p>“<i>Mais oui! A près la guerre!</i>”</p> -<p>The red glare over Paris was fading out. The machines in the -munitions factory began to throb once more. In the grey light -at the window I looked at my watch. It was fifteen minutes past -one. I turned to crawl into bed feeling cold and very sleepy. Some -one touched my sleeve; it was the night nurse. She was staring -out the window with eyes that saw nothing.</p> -<p>“And how many little children will be dead in the morning do -you think?” she asked.</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Bourmont, February 5.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>The blow that I somehow dimly apprehended while I was in the -hospital has fallen. Last night late I arrived from Paris. The -first thing I learned was, that with the addition of some new workers -a general shuffle of the women at Headquarters was to take place. -This morning the Chief called us together and gave us our new -assignments. The Gendarme and I are to leave Bourmont. Since -I have been away regimental Headquarters have been moved from -Saint Thiebault to Goncourt, a town about two miles to the south, -and the whole regiment with the exception of the First Battalion -concentrated there. The Y. at Goncourt has had a hard time of it. -Originally it occupied a barracks; then the regimental machine-gun -company moved in and the Y. must move out. So the Y. settled -itself in an old stone mill by the Meuse, only to have the military -authorities decide that they needed that mill for a guard-house. So -once more the Y. moved, this time to a little old house in the centre -of the village; and here according to last reports it still is, for the -simple reason that nobody else has any use for the little old house. -Meanwhile, however, they are putting up a Big Hut which is to be -ready in from one to three weeks, all according to who is making the -estimate. It is to Goncourt that the Gendarme and I have been -assigned. According to the Chief this is a “promotion.”</p> -<p>“It’s the largest, the most important place on the division -now,” he declared; “I’m sending you there because you made good -at Saint Thiebault.”</p> -<p>But this little piece of taffy doesn’t seem to help matters a bit. -The only way to look at it is that it’s a case of the greatest good -for the greatest number, and of course numerically Goncourt is -about ten times as important as Saint Thiebault. And anyway -it wouldn’t do the least good to kick against the pricks because -when all is said and done one is under orders like a soldier. After -all it isn’t as if I were going to Greenland or to Timbuctoo. And -yet at even only two miles distance, so tied to the work one must -be, one might almost as well be in a different planet.</p> -<p>As for Saint Thiebault, they are going to have to do with just -a man secretary there. The place is too small, the Chief says, to -be allowed more than one worker.</p> -<p>We won’t be moving for several days yet. I’m not going to say -a word about it to Company A until the very last moment. I -hate partings.</p> -</div> <!-- end of chapter --> -<div class='chapter' id='chII'> -<h2>CHAPTER II: GONCOURT—THE DOUGHBOYS</h2> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Goncourt, February 11.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>The little old house which now harbors the Y. formerly served, -it seems, as guard-house. To some it must have a strangely familiar -air. Downstairs there are two small rooms; the front one -stone-paved, with a dark carved cupboard in one corner which -formerly enclosed the family bed, and a huge fireplace; the back -one with a dirt floor over which uncertain boards have shakily -been laid. The front room we use for the canteen, the back, with -four rough tables, serves as a make-shift writing room. The walls -are dim with smoke and grime, the windows in both rooms lack -half their panes, yet the odd little place has an atmosphere, a -charm all its own. Upstairs soldiers are billeted. When the din -of business dies down in the canteen, one can hear the crisp rattle -of dice as the boys shoot craps on the floor overhead.</p> -<p>In accordance with military regulations here we cannot open -the canteen until four in the afternoon. But a large part of the -morning is easily spent in cleaning out the hut and arranging the -stock for the afternoon and evening onslaught. At Saint Thiebault -the detail that “policed up” the camp in the morning swept -out our tent for us, but here one wields one’s own broom and -shovel,—for first of all one must shovel out the mud that’s on the -floor! Cleaning the canteen, however, I find, though a dirty, is -quite a remunerative job, for in the heaps of litter on the floor -money lurks. According to the ethics of the game if money is -found back of the counter it belongs in the till, but if in front it -goes to the finder. Sometimes the find is five centimes, sometimes -fifty and once it was five francs! The litter—chocolate wrappers, -orange peels and cigarette boxes—is all swept into the fireplace -and then touched off with a match; a regular bonfire ensues. This -morning we had left the front door open; immediately the fire was -started a throng of villagers crowded around to look in. They were -scandalized at the conflagration. The house was old, they cried; -we would set the chimney on fire, we would burn up the building, -we would burn down the whole town! One ancient and portly -dame in a frenzy of protest dashed into the room and fairly danced -about the hearth, shaking her apron at the flames and calling for -ashes to cover them. But before she could get her ashes the fire -died down and the excitement with it.</p> -<p>The Gendarme and I are billeted in a tiny house just at the village -edge. Our low second story looks down upon the street, so -narrow that it seems one could almost reach out and touch hands -with the houses opposite. But what a street it is! Underneath our -low window the whole world goes by; American officers on horseback, -French officers in limousines, American mule teams, French -wood teams with three white horses harnessed one in front of the -other, and always the troops; going by at dawn in the semi-darkness, -their rhythmic incessant tramp weaving itself into one’s -waking dreams, passing by at noon, swinging back down the hill -as it grows dusk, singing snatches of song as they tramp. As I -lie a-bed in the morning before getting up to peer out the window -into the yellow misty atmosphere I can always calculate the exact -state of the weather by the amount of squelch which those marching -boots make in the muddy road.</p> -<p>Company H is billeted on this same street with us. The first -morning after we arrived the Gendarme and I were startled out of -sleep by First Call blown directly underneath our window. Hardly -had the last note sounded when a shout fit to wake the dead went -up.</p> -<p>“Get to hell up, all of you! Rise and shine!”</p> -<p>Followed a tremendous banging and kicking at all the stable doors -along the street accompanied by a torrent of vivid and spicy -admonitions. The Gendarme and I gasped and chuckled. This was -rich. Were we always to be awakened in so picturesque a fashion? -But the next morning we listened in vain. First Call was blown at -the far end of the street and followed by a solemn silence; and so -it has been ever since. Now that American ladies are known to be -living on the street Company H must get up decorously.</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Goncourt, February 12.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>The fireplace is easily the feature of our funny little hut. -Around this at night the lads crowd perched on packing-boxes to -smoke, chew gum and gossip. As the first mad rush of business -at the canteen dies down a little I edge up towards the fireplace -in order to get a wee share in the conversation.</p> -<p>They have caught a spy! One of the cooks in F Company. He -was a deserter from the German Army some one said. They -caught him putting dope in the slum. The doctors were analyzing -it now. It’s a wonder the whole company wasn’t poisoned. Yes, -and they found plans of the camp in his pocket too. He hasn’t -eaten a thing since they arrested him. All he does is just to walk -up and down the guard-house. Seems as if he were kind of crazy.</p> -<p>And so they gossip. A sad-eyed bugler remarks to me that he’d -be a rich man if he only had all the hob-nailed shoes that had been -thrown at him. Another boy wonders what he’d do if he had “both -arms shot off and then the gas alarm sounded.” And always they -must be rowing about their respective states.</p> -<p>“Neebraska! Where’s Neebraska? Is that in the United States -or Canada?”</p> -<p>“Noo Hampshire! Huh! There ain’t nothin’ but mountains -there. Why my old man told me that when they let the cows out -to grass there they had to put stilts on one side of ’em so they won’t -fall off’n the pasture.”</p> -<p>Then they turn on me.</p> -<p>“Boston! When you get ten miles from Boston you can smell -the beans bakin’.”</p> -<p>“But I don’t come from Boston,” I protest.</p> -<p>“Well there ain’t nothin’ much in Massachusetts outsider -Boston. Why the state of Noo Hampshire is goin’ to rent the rest o’ -Massachusetts for a duck-yard.”</p> -<p>And so it goes.</p> -<p>“Gee! but it’s good to get into one shop where you don’t have -to talk frog talk!” exclaimed one lad tonight.</p> -<p>“I’ve just heard the greatest compliment for you,” another lad -declares solemnly, “the greatest compliment that could possibly -be paid any woman.”</p> -<p>“Why, what was it?”</p> -<p>“I just heard a feller say; ‘My! don’t she look different from the -French girls!’”</p> -<p>A flushed-faced lad leans over my end of the counter;</p> -<p>“You know to talk to an American girl like this again, it’s like, -it’s like—”</p> -<p>Again and again he tries only to become helplessly inarticulate. -Then pulling a large bunch of letters “from lady friends” from -his pocket, nothing will do but he must tell me about each one. -Finally in a fit of prodigal generosity he bestows a handful on me, -“Because I’m an American and you’re one too.” As he makes the -presentation something falls to the floor with a little click. We -search among the litter on the floor, the lad on all fours; finally -the lost is found,—a broken bit of comb about two inches and a -quarter long. This is a happy chance, he explains, for he is company -barber and with the company comb gone E Company would -be out of luck.</p> -<p>Always our presence here is something that seems so strange -to them as to be almost incredible.</p> -<p>“Will you please tell me,” asked a serious-looking lad tonight, -“what consideration could possibly induce two American girls -to come to a place like this?”</p> -<p>Continually I am encountering boys who are sure that they’ve -“seen me somewhere.”</p> -<p>“Say, didn’t you use to live in Milwaukee?”</p> -<p>“Haven’t I seen you in Seattle? Well, if it warn’t you, it was -somebody that looked just like you!”</p> -<p>I suppose it is simply because I look American that I look -familiar to them. But the facts in the case seem to be that I have -been observed by some member of the A. E. F. in practically every -one of the large cities of the U. S. A. One boy nearly started a -fight in camp the other night by declaring that in spite of the evidence -of my nose he knew I was of Hebraic origin. He had seen -me, he solemnly insisted, “goin’ with a Jew feller in Philadelphia.”</p> -<p>Undoubtedly it is because they have so little to think about in -these drab days that they are so pathetically curious. Every little -thing you say or do is repeated, discussed all over camp. Sometimes -curiosity gets hold of one of the bolder spirits to such an extent -that he ventures the question;</p> -<p>“How much do you get paid for smiling at the soldiers?”</p> -<p>And when they learn that you are a volunteer and are paying -for the privilege of being there, their amazement is so blank as to -be positively ludicrous.</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Goncourt, February 13.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>One of the nicest things about Goncourt is our mess. This we -have at the House Across the Street, which is next to the House -of the Madonna. We mess <i>en famille</i> with the family Peirut, the -Gendarme, Mr. K. and I, and we eat the family fare which consists -chiefly of soup, boiled meat and carrots, supplemented by -various additions such as sugar, cocoa, jam and canned corn from -the commissary. I can never quite decide which is quainter, the -family or the setting.</p> -<p>In America we have the phrase <i>living-room</i>, in France they have -it. In this one high-ceilinged room the daily life of the family -is complete. Here is the kitchen stove and the dinner table, here -are the beds of Madame and Monsieur, Madame’s in one corner -hung with dim flowered chintz, Monsieur’s in another brave with -a beautiful old red India shawl. Here is the broad stone sink under -the window, with the drain running out into the street, where the -family makes its morning toilet. Here are the great dark armoires -which hold clothing, china-ware and stores of all sorts. Here is -the littered desk where the family correspondence is carried on; -and here is the larder, a huge slab of pork and a ham hanging from -the beams over one’s head, while on a stick in front of the fireplace -a row of little fishes hang by their tails in dumb expectation of a -Friday. And here too is the family shrine, a little wooden Madonna -in red and blue, found as Madame tells us in the ancient city of -La Mothe, which, destroyed in 1645, now exists as a wonderful -ruin crowning a hill some two miles to the west.</p> -<p>If the stove-wood is found lacking at meal-time, Monsieur rises -from his chair and saws an armful beside the dinner-table. If -Madame decides while we are eating our soup that a piece of ham -will improve the menu she stands upon her chair and cuts a -slice in the air over our heads. On wash days one picks one’s way -to the table past the pails which hold the family linen in soak, -and later eats one’s soupe <i>à pain</i> under a brave array of drying -garments slung from wall to wall.</p> -<p>The family, which consists of Monsieur, Madame and Mademoielle, -the two sons being in service, are the most hospitable souls -alive. Continually they urge, “<i>Mangez, mangez!</i>” and then, -“<i>Vous êtes timide!</i>” Their feelings are dreadfully hurt if each -one of us refuses to eat enough for two. They seem somehow to -have acquired the idea that Americans need a vast deal of sweetening, -so they offer you sugar, commissary sugar, with everything, -and they are gently but definitely disappointed when you decline -to heap it on your mashed potato.</p> -<p>Mile. Jeane, clear-skinned, bright-eyed, capable, energetic yet -possessed of a warm charm withal, is forewoman of the little glove -factory in town.</p> -<p>“Are there many employees?” I asked.</p> -<p>“But no. Eight only. Since the Americans came to town all -the women have deserted the factory in order to wash the -Americans’ clothes.”</p> -<p>Monsieur, it appears, is a wood-cutter by profession. He comes -home from a hard day’s chopping looking like a genus of the woods -himself with his worn brown velour suit, his wrinkled brown skin -and his ragged brown beard which resembles exactly those bundles -of fine twigs which the French burn in their fireplaces. When -Monsieur was ten years old the Germans occupied the town and -sixteen of them slept in this very room. They were perfect pigs, -he says, and ate everything they could lay their hands on; “But,” -he adds, “they didn’t like our bread!”</p> -<p>Sunday mornings all the men in town, including the Man With -One Leg, and all the dogs start off together, the men armed with -guns and each carrying a musette bag or knapsack. Papa puts on -his shooting coat with the fancy buttons each depicting a different -bird or beast of the chase, takes down his old shot-gun from the wall, -and joins them. At dusk they come back again, empty-handed, -but seemingly well content. Their modus operandi, I gather, is to -proceed to a comfortable spot in the woods, then all sit down, -drink vin rouge and wait for the game. Indeed one doughboy -declares, that passing by one of those open alleys which intersect -the forests here, he once saw an old Frenchman standing with his -gun in a drizzling rain, patiently waiting for a shot while by his -side stood another “old frog” holding an umbrella over him.</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Goncourt, February 14.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>The woman who lives in the House of the Madonna is an unconscionable -old scalawag. Not that you would ever suspect it -to look at her, for with her round rosy face, her smooth parted hair -and her comfortably rotund figure she resembles nothing so much -as somebody’s genial and respected grandmother. Yet the facts in -the case remain. She sells doped wine to the soldiers at ruinous -prices and she sells at forbidden hours. Moreover we have reason -to suspect that at odd times she carries on an utterly illicit commerce. -According to our hostess, when the time from the last pay -day grows too long, certain soldiers are not above smuggling in -their extra shoes and shirts to her, and she pays them back in -drinks.</p> -<p>This morning while I was at breakfast she came bouncing in and -proceeded to fill the house with lamentations. Last night a tipsy -soldier had stolen the key to her front door! Then she delved into -history for my benefit, recounting how, some weeks before, two soldiers, -having sent her out of the room on an errand, had proceeded -to rob her till, the sum amounting to almost three hundred -francs!</p> -<p>“<i>Oh! Ils sont des monstres, des cochons!</i>” she wailed.</p> -<p>Whereat I, with some asperity, remarked that if the French -people wouldn’t sell drink to the Americans, the soldiers wouldn’t -become <i>zig-zag</i> and do such things. Immediately she became -conciliatory. Of course, everyone knew that there were good people -and bad people in every nation, but certainly! Then she changed -the subject abruptly, demanding; why, why in the name of common -sense did I do anything so contrary to all the dictates of reason -as to sleep with my window open?</p> -<p>Last night, as Mr. K. and I were coming home from the canteen, -the door of the cafe opposite was suddenly opened and a man’s figure -appeared, half pushed, half thrown outside. The door slammed -shut,—it was long after closing hour for the cafe,—the figure fell -like a log to the ground. We watched a minute to see the fellow -pick himself up, but he lay motionless. It was a freezing night. -Mr. K. went over to investigate. The man was in a drunken stupor.</p> -<p>“You go along,” he called to me, “I’ve got to get this fellow -home.”</p> -<p>I left reluctantly. Subsequently Mr. K. told me the night’s history. -After considerable coaxing, he had finally succeeded in extracting -the information that the boy belonged to F Company. -So to F Company barracks, a good half-mile north of the canteen, -they had proceeded, Mr. K. half dragging, half carrying the fellow -who was head and shoulders taller than he, and broad to boot.</p> -<p>When they had nearly reached their journey’s end, Mr. K. by -this time fairly in a state of collapse, his burden suddenly baulked. -The barracks evidently didn’t look like home to him. Mr. K. began -to have a sickening sense of something gone wrong. At last the -wretch drowsily recalled the fact that he didn’t belong to F Company -at all, but to I Company far on the other side of town. So -around they turned and back through town they crawled until -finally they arrived at I Company’s abiding-place; and this time -the derelict was satisfied.</p> -<p>Indeed a walk home from the canteen at night with Mr. K. at -any time is likely to prove an adventure. For should we meet a -boy who has had more than is “good for him” and is in an irritable -mood, we must stop and talk with him, in order, as Mr. K’s theory -puts it, to divert his mind. “Get them thinking about something -else,” is his slogan. The other night we stood out in the sleety -drizzle until my feet fairly froze solid into the freezing mud, carrying -on polite conversations with two boys who had just been put -out of the House of the Madonna and were in a state of mind to -wreck the town. One of them Mr. K. got started on the subject -of taking French lessons. He was ambitious to study French he -explained and would Mr. K. kindly arrange for a teacher and a -course of lessons? I listened with one ear; here was the first man I -had found in France who expressed an earnest desire to learn French -and he was tipsy! The other one, evidently ashamed, explained to -me at length how he hadn’t wanted to get drunk, the trouble was -that he was just naturally “dishgushted with this country, just -dishgushted.” And that it seems to me is the whole thing in two -words. The boys are “just dishgushted.” Considering it all, who -can blame them?</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Goncourt, February 15.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>The M. P.s who live in the second story of the Guard-House -are my good friends. They help sweep out the hut often in the -mornings and when they make taffy in their mess kits they bring -me some. These M. P.s are in reality cavalrymen detached from -their regiment for the time being in order to do police duty. As -far as I can see, there seems to be no special hard feeling between -them and the doughboys.</p> -<p>One slim young M. P. in particular is a crony of mine. He keeps -me informed as to the gossip of the town. He tells me how the -French women who run cafes, our neighbor of the House of the -Madonna among them, seek to curry favor with the law in Goncourt, -by bringing him out coffee and sandwiches as he walks his -beat in the middle of the night; and how, the other night after -closing hour, he put his head inside the door of one of these cafes -to be greeted by a frantic shriek of “<i>Feenish! Feenish!</i>” from the -hostess, only to find, when he insisted on entering, a crowd of doughboys -making merry in the back-room; how he took their names and -then was inspired to look at their “dog tags” in confirmation and -found that not one of the names agreed! He tells me about the -cross old Frenchman whose beehives have been stealthily, inexplicably, -disappearing one by one, in spite of the fact that the Frenchman -had tied his unfortunate and much suffering dog underneath -the hives to guard them; until now the old gentleman had taken to -sitting up nights with a shot-gun in order to watch the remaining -ones. “He’s a kind o’ snoopy old man and nobody likes him. I -reckon the boys are taking his beehives just to spite him.” He -tells me about the old lady who wants to marry him to her daughter; -but chiefly he tells me,—under the strictest oath of secrecy,— the -latest development in the case of the old woman whom he suspects -of being a spy. I advise him to hand the matter over to the Intelligence -Officer, but no, he must have the honor of catching her -red-handed himself. It’s quite like reading a detective story in -installments.</p> -<p>The other night while I was talking to one of the M. P.s in the -canteen, we heard a shot up the street. The next moment another -M. P. appeared at the door. After the exchange of a few whispered -words, the two of them ran out of the hut, and as they went, I saw -them both draw their revolvers. Fifteen minutes later the doughboys -coming into the canteen brought a ghastly tale. There had -been a fight between the M. P.s and the soldiers. The M. P.s had -shot and killed two. “Yes, so-help-me-God, it’s the truth!” The -narrator had himself seen the two slain doughboys lying in the -street; one had been shot through the head, the other through the -heart. So the story went around. We went to bed that night with -a dull sense of horror hanging over us.</p> -<p>The next morning I confronted my friend the M. P. with the -story. Then I learned the true version. He had been on his beat -not far from the church, when down a dark alley he had heard -sounds of a tremendous fracas. In spite of the fact that he didn’t -have his stick with him he had plunged down the alley to come -upon “a bunch of wops beating each other over the head with -beer bottles.” When they caught sight of the M. P. they had -quickly abandoned their family disagreement in order to turn upon -the intruder. He had shot his revolver into the air and this had -been enough to frighten them into taking to their heels. The two -fellows who had been seen lying on the ground were the casualties -resulting from the bottle-fight: they had been stunned and gashed -so badly as to bleed a good deal, but were later patched up with -complete success at the hospital.</p> -<p>Indeed life at Goncourt is seldom unrelieved by incident. Last -night I was sitting by our open window reading—the Gendarme -was out—after my return from the hut, when I heard an angry -voice snarl something abusive directly beneath me; a moment later -a fusillade began. I jumped for the candle, blew it out, then stood -close against the wall. After a minute the shots ceased; immediately -excited people began to pour into the street. I heard the -M. P.s pounding on the door of the House Across the Way, demanding -information; I leaned from the window and told them -what I knew. All the French people in the neighborhood stood out -in the street and chattered excitedly for hours afterward it seemed. -This morning Madame told us what had happened. In the house -next door lives a tall and handsome girl. A sergeant suitor of hers, -crazy with jealousy and cognac, had shot wildly at a rival entering -her door, emptying his automatic, fortunately without effect.</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Goncourt, February 16.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>Twice a week each one of us goes to pay a visit at the local -hospital. This is a depressing place—two large dingy rooms in what -was once, to judge from the inscription over the door, some sort -of ecclesiastical school. We take the boys magazines and -newspapers, oranges and jam. This week I had a new idea. I would -read aloud to them. In the Bourmont warehouse I came across -a volume of W. W. Jacobs’ short stories. Here was just the thing, -I thought, such simple slap-stick humour must appeal to the most -unsophisticated understanding.</p> -<p>I hurried to the hospital with my prize. The orderlies, not expecting -a lady visitor, were in the midst of a Black Jack game. Red -and flustered, one lad tried to hide the little heaps of money on -the floor by standing on them; I pretended not to see. Yes, they -thought it would be all right if I should read to the patients. They -went ahead to the ward to announce me. All the cots were full, -making sixteen invalids in all. I selected a story—an old favorite, -I was sure it would prove irresistible—and started to read. The -story tells of an eccentric skipper with a fad for doctoring. One -by one, his crew, realizing his weakness, develop mysterious maladies. -They are excused from duty, put to bed, petted and cossetted. -Finally the mate becomes desperate. He guarantees that he will -cure them all; the skipper is sceptical but allows him a free hand. -The mate sets to work to compound some “medicine,” a wonderful -and fearful brew made of ink, vinegar, kerosene and bilge-water. -After a few doses, presto! the crew is hale and hearty once again.</p> -<p>I read with all the animation I could muster, and to me the story -had never appeared funnier, but try my hardest, I couldn’t seem -to “get it over.” Not a chuckle, not a grin lightened my solemn -audience. They were utterly, blankly, unresponsive. I began -to wonder if it were possible that not one of them could understand -English. At last I ended. As I closed the book a whoop of delight -went up from the orderlies;</p> -<p>“That’s you all over, Johnny!”</p> -<p>“Gee, that guy must have wrote that story about you, Slim.”</p> -<p>“Say, Miss, can’t you let us have the recipe for that medicine? -We need it in our business.”</p> -<p>The invalids grinned sulkily. In one awful moment I realized -what I had done.</p> -<p>“Of course,” I stammered, “this wasn’t meant to have any -personal application!” But the mischief was already done. There -was nothing to do but to retire with dignity.</p> -<p>However, I couldn’t bear to give up my scheme entirely. Today -I went again; this time having carefully selected my story. To -my astonishment the ward proved empty, all except for three boys -who were crouching on the floor shooting craps; I drew back.</p> -<p>“Perhaps they would rather not be disturbed.”</p> -<p>“They ought to be in bed anyway,” growled the orderly, and -chased the patients back to their cots.</p> -<p>I read to them; there was no way out of it. They listened politely -to the end, but all the while I felt they were longing to resume their -interrupted game. Tonight I expressed my surprise over the deserted -ward to Captain X. He roared at my innocence.</p> -<p>“You didn’t expect to find any fellows in hospital <i>today</i> did you? -Why, this is Saturday, and there isn’t any drill tomorrow!”</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Goncourt, February 18.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>Every day we must go to see how the new hut is progressing. -This involves wading through a wilderness of mud. I had thought -that Bourmont had taught me everything that one could learn -about French mud this side of the trenches, but Goncourt has -shown me that it has possibilities hitherto undreamed.</p> -<p>The new hut is on the far edge of the town, on the east bank of -the Meuse. Near it are grouped the barracks of the Milk Battalion, -so called not because, as I first supposed, it is composed of -heavy drinkers, but because it is comprised of Companies I, K, L, -and M. These barracks, which were bequeathed to us by the -French, are, the boys tell me, infested with vermin. In the mess-hall -of Company M we hold our weekly movie-shows and our -occasional concerts.</p> -<p>The hut, which is very large, and shipped here in sections, goes -up slowly. Army details are proverbial in their ability to consume -time. Then we are constantly being held back by shortage of -materials; lumber and nails and such things being desperately hard -to obtain in France at present. Not long ago the divisional -Construction Man, who is a young fellow with poor eyes and considerable -initiative, was driven to the desperate resort of appropriating -French Army lumber. For a while all went well, then the thefts -grew too bold, and the Construction Man was summoned before -the French colonel in command. As the colonel knew English, -and so could not be put off by any “no compris” bluff, the Construction -Man had a pretty bad quarter hour of it, but in the end was -let off with a warning.</p> -<p>The window frames of the hut are to be filled in with <i>vitex</i>, a -curious glass substitute, which looks like a thin celluloid glaze over -very fine meshed wire. It is only slightly transparent, rather fragile -and very costly but it does admit the light, in this respect being -far better than the oiled cloth in use in most barracks. When the -<i>vitex</i> is cut to fit the frames, many odd scraps are left over and these -I have been distributing among the boys so they can substitute -them for the old newspapers or sacking now in vogue for billet -windows.</p> -<p>If they only could hurry up that hut!</p> -<p>“You wait and see,” say the boys; “just as soon as that hut is -finished we’ll be moving. That’s always the way with this regiment. -Sure as you live, when that hut’s done, we’ll be off for the front.”</p> -<p>And it begins to look as if this might come true.</p> -<p>“Do you really think so?” I asked Mr K. today.</p> -<p>“There’s no telling,” he replied. “Perhaps. But anyway the -boys will know we did our best.”</p> -<p>Meanwhile the state of the men is worse than ever. An order has -been issued in Goncourt that no soldier may enter a civilian house -without a special permit. The reason given is that certain of the -townspeople have been illegally selling the men strong drink. The -soldiers, however, declare bitterly that the real reason is that the -officers wish to have a clear field with the village damsels.</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Goncourt, February 21.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>We have had our first taste of the trenches; these are not real -trenches to be sure but simply practice trenches which lie on the -hilly uplands west of Goncourt. For two days we have been in a -tumult with a dress rehearsal of manœuvers at the front. The -whole brigade in battle array has passed under our window. -Colonels and soup-kitchens, mules and majors, supply trains, ambulances, -machine-guns, everything. Yesterday as Company F -was starting on its hike to the trenches, word came that the mules -who pulled their field-kitchen were indisposed. Company F had -no mind to eat corn-willy and hard bread for dinner. They seized -the soup wagon and pulled it by hand, all the way up the hills. -Meeting their major on the way, they shouted in unison; “The -mules went on sick report and got marked quarters. We went -on sick report and they marked us duty.” But they got their -dinner hot.</p> -<p>Tonight I heard the sad tale of Mr. B. the new secretary at -Saint Thiebault. Company A had marched off to spend the day in -the trenches. Mr. B. had an inspiration; he filled a large suit-case -full of chocolate and cigarettes: hailed a passing ambulance and -set out to carry first aid to Company A in its ordeal in the trenches. -Unluckily neither Mr. B. nor the driver knew just where the field -of operations lay. Two miles north of Goncourt Mr. B. got out -and started to “cut across lots.” It was raining; he waded through -swamps, he scratched through thickets, he wallowed in ploughed -fields, with that suit case which must have weighed a good eighty -pounds growing heavier at every step. There being no sun to -guide him, he got lost and wandered about in circles. Finally, -after several hours, he arrived in a state of collapse at the field -of manœuveurs. Then instead of A Company he encountered another -company, a perfectly strange company; they demanded -chocolate and he didn’t have the heart to deny them. After the -last cake of chocolate and the last package of cigarettes had disappeared -an officer came up, an officer from still another company, -and proceeded to tell Mr. B. in very plain language what he thought -of him for leaving his men out. And when that officer had done -with Mr. B. an officer from the company which had been fed came -up in an awful temper and “bawled out” Mr. B. because forsooth -his men had made such a mess, throwing away the chocolate wrappers -that when the others left, his company would have to stay -behind to “police up” the trenches!</p> -<p>Poor Mr. B! My heart goes out to him.</p> -<p>This evening as we were about to close the canteen, my friend, -the mule-skinner from Texas appeared in the hut. He had a sort -of a weak-in-the-knees expression on his face.</p> -<p>“What’s the matter?”</p> -<p>“Met the Old Man,” he answered ruefully,—the “Old Man” -is the general in command of the division—“Gee! but he sure did -give me some bawlin’ out!”</p> -<p>“But why?”</p> -<p>He explained that his sergeant had misunderstood orders and -told him to go out in his usual rig. The general, encountering the -mule-skinner without his proper war-paint, had expressed his mind -to him on the matter.</p> -<p>“Jumpin’ Jupiter! but the langwidge that that old bird used! -I sure will hand it to him! Why, my ears ain’t done burnin’ yet!” -And he shook his head like a man half dazed.</p> -<p>“What did he say?”</p> -<p>The mule-skinner grew red as a beet, stared at me horrified.</p> -<p>“I couldn’t repeat it, ma’am! I couldn’t repeat nary word of it!”</p> -<p>That a general should so scandalize a mule-skinner, and a Texas -mule-skinner at that, by his address, was so intriguing to my fancy -that I laughed all the way home.</p> -<p>We have a new colonel; he has declared that the regiment is -not fit for the front, and so has laid out a two weeks’ programme -of gruelling hikes and intensive training, in order at the eleventh -hour to try to jack us up to standard.</p> -<p>The Gendarme leaves tomorrow to go <i>en permission</i>.</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Goncourt, February 25.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>If I were God I would lay a blight on every grape-vine in France; -then I would sink every still, wine press, distillery and brewery to -the bottom of the sea.</p> -<p>We have had payday. It happened Friday. The total results -didn’t make themselves evident immediately; it was instead a -cumulative effect, a crescendo, beginning Friday and reaching its -climax yesterday. On these three days, out of the twenty-five -hundred men stationed here, twenty-four hundred and ninety-three, -I could take my oath, have come into the canteen and leaned over -the counter, drunk;—that is to say, visibly and undeniably under -the influence of liquor. When a lad, as some half dozen did,—those -composing the regular attendance in the group about the -fire,—came into the canteen entirely and unmistakably sober, one -welcomed him as a drowning man does a spar. For a moment one -had come in touch with something stable in a reeling world.</p> -<p>Out of a company of two hundred and fifty last night ninety were -capable of standing Retreat.</p> -<p>I have learned to gauge the stages. When a man looks you -squarely in the eye and declares vociferously, “Never took a drink -in all my life!” he is very drunk indeed. And there is always someone -nearby to wink and comment; “He must have joined the gang -that pours it down with a funnel.”</p> -<p>Saturday night a very red-faced lad came up to the counter -and insisted on conversing; from each pocket in his raincoat protruded -a long-necked bottle. I stood it for a few minutes, then:</p> -<p>“Please,” I said, “won’t you take those bottles out of here? -I just hate to see them.”</p> -<p>“Bottles!” he expostulated. “What do you mean, <i>bottles</i>!”</p> -<p>“I mean just those.” I pointed.</p> -<p>“Why I ain’t got a bottle on me!” he burst out indignantly, -fairly glaring at me. Seeing it was hopeless, I edged away toward -the other end of the counter, leaving him standing there, a perfect -picture of outraged and insulted virtue, with those bottles bristling -all over him.</p> -<p>The whole town is pervaded by a warm glow of geniality. Boys -that used to nod shyly in answer to your “Good morning” now lean -from their loft windows as you pass to call a greeting. Last night, -my friend the M. P. tells me, he heard a racket in one of the -sheepfolds up on our street. Going to investigate he met a “bunch o’ -drunken wops” coming out of the door, every man of them carrying -a struggling sheep under each arm. He shouted at them; they -dropped the sheep and fled.</p> -<p>The French find it all vastly amusing. “<i>Beaucoup zig zag</i>,” they -cry. It means, I suppose, riches for them.</p> -<p>And yet in all this orgy I have not yet encountered a single word -of disrespect, nor heard one objectionable expression uttered. Last -night I caught an angry splutter from the crowd in front of the -counter. One boy, evidently a shade less tipsy, had admonished -another boy apparently a shade more so, to be careful of his language -out of respect for me. “Whu’d ’you think? D’you think -I ain’t got sense enough to know how to talk when there’s an American -lady present?” For a moment it looked as if there might be a -fight.</p> -<p>Meanwhile the guard-house, the real guard-house, is so crowded -that they have had to put duck-boards across the rafters for the -prisoners to sleep on.</p> -<p>From a nearby town where part of another regiment is stationed -come even more startling stories. Certain officers there went so -wild that they started to blow up the town with hand grenades. -And one of them coming into the Y. held up the secretary at the -point of his pistol until he sold him—instead of the ordinary -allowance of one or two packages—several cartons of his favorite -brand of cigarettes.</p> -<p>The new colonel is said to be horrified. But what could he expect? -Take an odd lot of twenty-five hundred boys, remove them -from every decent restraining influence, hike them all day through -the interminable mud and rain until they drop by the roadside, -bring them back at night to dark, cold, damp, filthy, vermin-ridden -lofts and stables, add the nerve strain of the imminent prospect -of their first time at the front, close every door to them except the -door of the café, give them money;—what could anyone expect?</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Goncourt, February 27.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>My friend Pat is in the hospital; not the local hospital, but -Base 18 situated at Bazoilles, some six miles to the north of Goncourt. -This afternoon, having our time free between one and -four, Mr. K. and I decided to go to call on him.</p> -<p>“Are we going to walk?” I asked.</p> -<p>“Oh we’ll get a lift; one always does.”</p> -<p>But the lift didn’t heave in sight until we were half way there; -then it was an ambulance that slowed down in answer to our -signals.</p> -<p>“Give us a ride?”</p> -<p>“Sure, if you aren’t afraid of the mumps.”</p> -<p>I was, dreadfully afraid. But Mr. K. wasn’t, he had already -had them, on both sides. I hesitated, then decided to take a -chance. We rode into Bazoilles in an ambulance full of mumps.</p> -<p>As for Pat, we hadn’t an idea in what sort of shape we might -find him. Once, Mr. K. told me, he had come upon Pat in one -of his visits to the Saint Thiebault infirmary. Pat was lying on -a cot with his eyes closed and a sanctified look of patient suffering -upon his face.</p> -<p>“Why what’s wrong with you, Pat?”</p> -<p>“Ssh!” Pat squinted about to see that neither doctor nor orderly -was within ear-shot, then an Irish grin spread over his impudent -features. “Nothin’ at all,” he whispered joyously, “just nothin’ -at all!”</p> -<p>But this time we found Pat’s ailment real enough. He was -in the “bone ward” with a badly broken wrist.</p> -<p>“How did it happen?” we inquired.</p> -<p>“Sure an’ it happened this way,” and he told us both the official -and the confidential versions. Confidentially, Pat’s wrist -had been broken by a blow from an M. P.’s billy in an after-payday -argument at Saint Thiebault. Officially it had been broken -two days later in the barracks by an accidental knock from a -gun-barrel. <i>Pat had hiked and drilled with a broken wrist for two -solid days in order to be able to claim that he had been disabled in -the line of duty!</i> After the second day, convinced that the encounter -with the M. P. was sufficiently a matter of past history -to be discredited, Pat had reported at Sick Call with his trumped-up -tale and had as usual gotten by. Now as he lay on his cot he -was occupying himself by conjuring up visions of the party to -which he and his buddy were going to treat that M. P. just as -soon as he (Pat) should get his hospital discharge.</p> -<p>As we talked I noticed a lad who was walking about the ward -with his right hand done up in bloody bandages. He looked -self-conscious and embarrassed as if he half hoped, half feared -to be recognized. I caught Pat’s eye, his voice dropped to a -whisper.</p> -<p>“That’s Philip R. Don’t you remember him?”</p> -<p>Of course! I smiled at Philip, but he turned away and wouldn’t -come to speak to me. Mr. K. went over to him; they talked for -a long while in undertones. Later I heard the whole pitiful story. -He had been drinking, the terror that was haunting him had -suddenly gripped. He had taken his rifle and shot himself through -his right hand, mutilating it, in order that he might not be sent -to the front. Placed under arrest on suspicion, his nerve had -utterly given way. He had made a full confession. It was likely -to go hard with him.</p> -<p>While Mr. K. was listening to Philip, Pat was telling me about -the regiment of southern negro engineers who had come to Bazoilles -to help build the new hospital. Every time there was an -air-raid alarm, Pat declared, they knelt down and prayed by -companies.</p> -<p>I emptied out my <i>musette</i> bag onto Pat’s cot. Pat looked at -the oranges, dates, chocolates and cigarettes that we had brought, -then took a squint along the hungry-looking ward.</p> -<p>“Well, I guess I’ll get a taste,” he said.</p> -<p>He was “in soft” he told us. The nurses let him help serve the -meals. He had free run of the kitchen and all the milk that he -wanted to drink. Yet he was already chafing at the restraint -and in his wicked head he was scheming schemes. Some day in -the not-too-distant future he was going to give the hospital guards -the slip, make a night of it, and paint “Bazooie” red.</p> -<p>Tonight word reached us that a Y. M. C. A. woman worker -has been killed in Paris in an air-raid. She was sick and they had -sent her to the Hôpital Claude-Bernard. This time the bombs -found it.</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Goncourt, March 2.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>The new hut is opened. Finished or unfinished, we made up -our minds that we would open that hut Saturday night, and open -it we did. The last two days have been fairly frantic. Yesterday -we washed up; today we dried out and decorated. The cleaning -was the worst of it. The hut, as I have hinted, is a sort of island -in a sea of mud. Consequently as the building went up, the floor, -walls, counter, ceiling, everything was splotched, streaked and -plastered with dirt. Thursday night as I looked around the hut -my heart sank. The place was a sight.</p> -<p>“You can’t do anything about it,” they told me.</p> -<p>“But something has got to be done!”</p> -<p>Friday morning arrived a detail of eight prisoners from the -guard-house. They had come to scrub. The guard in charge -took his stand, leaning against one of the pillars, his loaded rifle -in his hands; to see that no one escaped was his only responsibility, -the rest was up to me. My detail proved a sullen, stubborn lot, -slouching, cursing under their breath, all their self-respect turned -to a smouldering rebellion; after the first few minutes I saw just -how much work left to themselves they would be likely to accomplish. -So I told them in a matter-of-fact way just how things -stood: that we had promised to open the hut the next day, that it -was, as they could see, in a frightful mess, that I realized they -were up against a stiff job, but I did <i>so</i> hope that we could put -it through. Then I got a pail and a scrubbing-brush and went -out and scrubbed side by side with them. It is of course strictly -against the rules to talk to prisoners, but all the while I worked -I “jollied” my “jail-birds” for all my wits were worth. I -admired ecstatically the spots which they had scrubbed, I moaned -in despair over the unscrubbed places. Inside of an hour the -prisoners were all grinning cheerfully as they worked like beavers. -When the guard was looking the other way I sneaked them cigarettes. -By night the hut was very damp and somewhat streaky, -but it would pass, at least by candle-light. I didn’t care though -my arms were so lame I could hardly lift them, and my hands -in ruins.</p> -<p>“I congratulate you,” said the new Secretary, “I never thought -it could be done.”</p> -<p>“If only nobody looks at the ceiling!”</p> -<p>For the ceiling was beyond our reach, and back and forth over -every one of its boards had tramped the hob-nailed boots of the -A. E. F. and every step had left its muddy print. As I looked -I thought; if we only had the signatures to put beside each footprint, -what a fascinating autograph collection it would make!</p> -<p>Today we spent in a mad tear, making the hut beautiful and -moving our effects over from the “Guard-House.” The moving -was accomplished by the aid of the Wall-Eyed Boy and his donkey. -These are two of Goncourt’s leading citizens, the donkey, an -ancient moth-eaten beast, being particularly intimately known -to a certain group of doughboys who would joyfully murder -him. His stable is directly beneath the loft in which they are -billeted and every morning, prompt as an alarm clock, at 4 A. M. -that donkey brays, and brays until the soundest sleeper is awakened. -The Wall-Eyed Boy’s name is Martin, and as a donkey -in France is slangily called <i>un Martin</i>, as we call a mule “Maud,” -the two go under the title of <i>Les Deux Martins</i>. When <i>les Deux -Martins</i> and I went trudging along the muddy streets of Goncourt, -side by side, with the little tippy cart loaded with canteen truck -bumping along behind, the M. P.s thought it a rare joke. “I -wish Sister Susy could see you now,” called one.</p> -<p>The last few hours were spent frantically decorating. Our color -scheme is red and blue. This came about through accident rather -than intention. We had a bolt of turkey-red cotton bunting for -curtains, only to discover that this did not darken the lighted -windows sufficiently to comply with the now strictly enforced -aeroplane regulations. So I asked a secretary starting for Paris -to bring me a bolt of black cambric in order to make a set of inner -supplementary curtains. The secretary returning, brought bright -blue; black, on account of the demand for mourning, had proved -too expensive. At first I was non-plussed, but then discovered that -the bright red and blue made rather a jolly combination. So each -one of our many windows is now giddy with red and blue draperies -and the seat that runs all around our writing room is brave with -blue and red cushions (stuffed, if the truth must be told, with -shavings!) Between each two windows is tacked one of my stunning -big French war posters, the long counter is covered with red-checked -oil-cloth, a bouquet of flags flies from the proscenium arch -over the stage which, for the occasion, is banked beautifully with -evergreens. Altogether we present rather the appearance of a -perpetual Fourth of July celebration, but then who cares? If one -can’t be aesthetic one can at least be gay, and it’s anything to take -one’s mind off the mud!</p> -<p>The Gendarme came back from her leave tonight just in time -for the Grand Opening. This took place at seven o’clock. The -hall was packed to the last inch. As one boy said; “There’s plenty -of room for me, but there ain’t none for the buttons on my coat.” -There was a reason for this. The new colonel was to make a speech -and he had advised all the officers and non-coms, in the whole -regiment to be present. I caught a glimpse of Company A wedged -in among the suffocating mass. Everything, I understand, went -off very nicely; there was much music by the band and somebody -sang Danny Deever very thrillingly, but I was too busy in the -kitchen to pay much attention. The new Secretary had wanted me -to sit on the platform, but after a three days’ debate, he had finally -agreed to let me off, and luckily, for the minute the last note of the -S. S. B. had sounded we were ready to start handing out the hot -chocolate and cookies over the counter to the mob. When everyone -else had been fed the colonel himself appeared back of the -counter, to graciously accept a cup of chocolate, and make himself -generally charming.</p> -<p>When the last guest had gone and we were getting ready to -shut up the hut for the night, the Chief who had come over from -Bourmont for the occasion drew me aside, looking solemn.</p> -<p>“I have a question to put to you.”</p> -<p>“What is it?”</p> -<p>“The division leaves for the front within a short while. Do -you wish to go with them?”</p> -<p>“Of course!” said I.</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Goncourt, March 8.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>This week has gone by in a whirl. Because it was our first and -presumably our last week in the big hut we wanted to make it just -as nice as was humanly possible. And this hasn’t been an easy task -because with the regiment putting on the last touches before they go -to the front, there hasn’t been a bit of spare man-power available -to help us; and the mere problem of keeping that huge place anything -like clean has almost swamped us. After mess at night, to -be sure, we have no lack of assistance. The boys swarm into the -little kitchen in droves, eager to help stir the chocolate, or cut the -bread for the sandwiches. If only ten out of every dozen would -be content to stay the other side of the counter, it would simplify -matters, but much as they may be underfoot one hasn’t the heart -to turn them out. Those who can’t get into the kitchen hang -about the doors, looking in, teasing for a “hand-out” of bread and -jam. “I’m just so hungry,” sighed a lad plaintively today, looking -at me out of the corner of his eyes, “I could eat the jamb off the -door!”</p> -<p>We have a Frenchwoman to help us in the kitchen. She is a -treasure, shy and bright-eyed as a brown bird, and so tiny that we -have to set a packing-box by the stove for her to stand on when -she stirs the chocolate. She is deaf and speaks <i>patois</i>, so between -her strange French and mine still stranger we have droll times -making each other understand. Yet, none the less, she and the -boys manage to keep up a running fire of badinage and when they -become too rowdy, the tiny thing turns ridiculously bellicose and -threatens to whip them all with her chocolate paddle. At night -we all go home together and one tall lad must always come along -in order to help Madame over the road of a thousand mud holes -that leads from the hut to the highway, lest she be drowned in -transit. She carries a funny little gasolene lamp that gives about -as much light as an ambitious fire-fly and all the way to the main -road one can hear her moaning; “<i>Mon Dieu, quel chemin! Mon -Dieu, quel chemin!</i>”</p> -<p>This has been our week’s programme:</p> - - - - -<table summary='programme'> - <tr> - <td>Sunday.</td> - <td>Hot chocolate and cookies<br/>Religious Service with special music<br/>Song Service. More chocolate</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>Monday.</td> - <td>French Classes<br/>Hot chocolate and jam sandwiches</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>Tuesday.</td> - <td>Boxing and Wrestling Matches<br/>Hot chocolate and sardine sandwiches</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>Wednesday.</td> - <td>Band Concert<br/>Hot chocolate and jam sandwiches</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>Thursday.</td> - <td>Movies<br/>Hot chocolate and cookies</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>Friday.</td> - <td>Sing Fest with Solos<br/>Hot chocolate and jam sandwiches</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>Saturday.</td> - <td>Stunt Programme<br/>Canned fruit and cookies</td> - </tr> -</table> - -<p>The hut has been filled every night, hundreds and hundreds of -soldiers, the auditorium packed and the writing-room holding at -least a hundred more, while the chocolate line, coiling and curling -about like a monster snake, has for hours seemed absolutely endless. -We have worked out a system for the chocolate serving—the -Gendarme is cashier, taking the money and making change, -fifty centimes or nine cents for a cup of chocolate and a sandwich, -or six spice cookies, or four fig ones. One boy ladles out the chocolate. -I push the cups over the counter, another boy hands out -the cookies, a third gathers up the dirty cups and carries them to -the kitchen, where three or four others are busy washing and wiping -them, while Heaven only knows how many more are around the -stove, helping Madame stir the next kettleful, opening milk cans, -or dipping water into a third container. Thus we keep the line -merrily wagging along.</p> -<p>Last night, quite unknown to the men, Pershing himself came to -town, whirled in after dark in his big limousine and whirled away -again as suddenly and secretly as he had arrived. He came to -give the officers final instructions as to their conduct at the front.</p> -<p>The first faint wistful scents of Spring are in the air. This morning -Madame brought to our room a tiny bouquet of snow-drops. -And one hears from Saint Thiebault a rumour of early violets.</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Goncourt, March 10.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>This morning shortly after I reached the hut, one of the men -from the Bourmont office came in with a note for me, it read:</p> -<div class='bq'> -<div class='tal'>My dear Miss ——</div> -<p>I am glad to be able to tell you more or less confidentially -that you will probably go to the front very shortly. -You had better have everything ready so you could leave on short -notice any time after tomorrow noon.</p> -<div class='tar'>Very sincerely yours, ——</div> -</div> -<p>Enclosed in the envelope was a little slip headed <i>Suggestions for -Men going to the Front</i>. It began “Go light, take no trunk,” and -ended “We provide helmets, gas masks, etc.” The note was dated -yesterday.</p> -<p>I left the canteen and hurried back here to my billet to pack, -while the Gendarme, who does not wish to go with the division but -prefers to stay back and be reassigned, remained at the hut. What -with sorting and mending things, the packing took all afternoon. -What to leave behind in storage and what to take is no end of a -question. Unfortunately the <i>Suggestions</i> were compiled with a -view strictly to masculine necessities.</p> -<p>It has been a grey dismal afternoon. A melancholy donkey in -somebody’s back-yard has kept up an incessant braying. “He does -not please himself at Goncourt,” explained Madame. “He is a -Saint Thiebault donkey.” Meanwhile half the regiment, it seems, -has strayed by under my open window. I never knew before how -consistently and persistently profane the A. E. F. could be when -left to its own devices. The amazing part of it is;—since this seems -to be their natural style of expression, how do they manage to -slough it all and talk with such perfect prunes and prisms propriety -in the canteens?</p> -<p>At supper time we were surprised by a Concert Party which had -arrived today unexpectedly in this area. We were particularly -glad to have them as the nervous tension among the boys is marked -enough to make us welcome anything to divert their attention. -We could have the regular Sunday evening service first, we decided, -and then the concert to finish off with. The Concert Party came to -supper at our mess. There was an ornamental Russian violinist, -male, an American accompanist, also male, and a little French -actress-singer. The minute we laid eyes on her we knew that the -concert would be a success. She was all frills and frippery; lace, -pink-rose buds and pale blue silk, with yellow curls and great blue -eyes peering from beneath a quaint little rose-wreathed poke bonnet; -an amazing vision of femininity to appear suddenly in the mud -and dingy squalor of Goncourt!</p> -<p>The family Peirut was in a great state of mind over such distinguished -visitors. They brought out food enough to feed the -company a week, and kept hovering about the table, urging the -dishes on our guests and emitting little wails of dismay when -any one of the artists refused to eat enough for all three.</p> -<p>I stayed at our billet to finish up my packing, and went over -to the hut late in the evening. The concert was half finished. -As we anticipated, the little singer had made a hit. She gave -some French songs, accompanying them with clever pantomine. -Then she sang <i>Huckleberry Finn</i> and <i>Oh Johnny!</i> As the phrase -has it, she “got them going.” She proved a past-mistress in the -art of using her eyes. They winked at her and she winked back. -Every last man in the first six rows was flirting with her, and -every one was convinced that he was making a hit all his own. -Several, it was confided to me afterwards, developed matrimonial -aspirations on the spot. Then a tragic thing occurred. For the -closing number they must give the Star Spangled Banner. Everybody -rose, and everybody in duty bound removed their hats. The -little singer took one wild survey of the audience, gasped, choked, -then retreated precipitately in order to conceal her giggles. A -week ago an order was published that the regiment should have -their hair shaved off before going to the front;—every head in the -whole auditorium, thus suddenly laid bare, was bald as an egg!</p> -<p>From latest advices it appears that the troops will start entraining -the middle of the week. We are going on ahead in order to -be there to serve them hot chocolate when they detrain after the -journey. Every one has a different idea where that will be, but -the best guess seems to be the Lunéville sector. What sort of -conditions we will find at the front I haven’t the least idea. I -missed the special conference held at Bourmont the other day, -in which instructions and information to the personnel bound -for the front were given. The driver who was to call for us, failed -to do so; I set out to walk, only to find on arriving at Bourmont -that the conference had been cut short, and was already over. -Nobody has told me a word except to tease me by telling me that -I will have to have my hair cut off in order to wear a gas-mask. -Mr. K. amuses himself by predicting cellars and cooties. The -Peiruts shake their heads and talk about my <i>courage</i>, but I can -see that they mean folly. As for the Gendarme’s friends, Lieutenant -Z. warns: “Take my advice, stay out of it. It’s a man’s -game out there.” While Captain X. splutters; “Sending you -to the front without any gas-drill, it’s nothing short of cold-blooded -murder.” Thus do our friends encourage us.</p> -</div> <!-- end of chapter --> -<div class='chapter' id='chIII'> -<h2>CHAPTER III: RATTENTOUT—THE FRONT</h2> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Bar-le-Duc, March 12.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>It’s not to be the Lunéville sector after all, it’s to be the sector -just south of Verdun!</p> -<p>We arrived here at Bar-le-Duc last night after a six-hour trip -by motor car. Mr. K. came by motor-cycle; most of the other -men travelled by truck, sitting perched on top of a load of luggage, -canvas cots, and chocolate boilers. The truck broke down somewhere -<i>en route</i> and never reached Bar-le-Duc until this morning, -when it rolled in carrying a rather weary-looking lot of passengers.</p> -<p>Tomorrow we go on to our station behind the lines. Today -we have spent shopping for supplies. We have bought writing -paper; materials to make hot chocolate, paying two francs and a -half apiece or almost fifty cents for a small-sized can of condensed -milk; and dozens of gross of little jars of confiture. Ever since -I was a child <i>Bar-le-Duc</i> has meant just the one thing to -me,—those little glasses of delectable currant preserve which bear its -label. We went around to the wholesale houses which handle -the famous <i>Confitures Fins de Bar-le-Duc</i>. The sight of all those -gleaming rows of glass jars filled with deep crimson or amber-colored -currants was one that I shan’t easily forget.</p> -<p>Bar-le-Duc is a city which shows the wounds of war. Time -and again, unfortified, defenceless as she is, she has known <i>the -terror that flieth by night</i>. Last summer several blocks in the very -heart of the city were completely demolished by bombs and the -wilderness of ruins lies there untouched. All over the city great -black signs are painted on the houses; <i>Cave, Cave voutée</i>,—vaulted -cellar,—<i>Place Pour 40 Personnes</i>. At the end of the afternoon -we climbed, Mr. K and I, to the top of the ancient clock-tower -which stands on the edge of the fortress-citadel of the Dukes of -Bar, overlooking the city. Just above the clock we came upon a -tiny platform transformed for the time being into light-housekeeping -apartments for two poilus who night and day keep watch -there for enemy aircraft. As we stood on the little balcony outside -and looked down on the house-tops of the city spread beneath -us, with the little children playing in the streets, a telephone -bell in the tower tingled. A moment later one of the poilus announced; -“A squadrille of Gothas has just crossed the lines, -headed for Paris.”</p> -<p>Alas, poor Paris! Yet the news brought a feeling of relief with -it. The little children of Bar-le-Duc are safe for the night, it -seems. The avions are out after bigger game.</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Rattentout, March 14.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>Out from Bar-le-Duc one swings into a separate world, the -World-Behind-the-Lines. Here one is at the back door of the -war, as it were. Passing through the half-abandoned villages -one sees war in its <i>déshabille</i>; you get no sense of the thrill of it, -nor even of its horrors; only the weary disgust, the stultifying -stupidity, the unutterable ennui.</p> -<p>Here everything that moves or lives, it seems, is blue; faded -blue, dingy blue, purplish or greenish blue perhaps, but blue -nevertheless. Everywhere the color insists. It streaks along -the roads in long, broken lines, the meagre trodden villages are -blotched and patched with it. Indeed the whole horizon, at this -season of the year, might be expressed in just two tones; the -almost uniform grey-yellow tint that washes over the fields, the -rolling hills, the dusty roads, the squalid villages, and the ever-insistent -poilu-blue.</p> -<p>You pass by tilled fields labeled <i>Culture Militaire</i>; great grey-green -aerodromes with flocks of little planes resting in rows beside -them, in their gay paint resembling nothing in the world so much -as dicky birds fresh from the toy shop; and always dotted here -and there over the open fields, the little lonely graves, sometimes -hedged in by fences made of sticks and always marked by a grey -wooden cross on which hangs, in painted tin, the tricolor. Farther -on you come to the world where men live underground, burrowing -in the earth like hunted animals. Scattered along the roadside, -or in rows under the shelter of a hill-slope, everywhere you look, -are dugouts, some with the entrances covered with pine-boughs, -others thatched with sticks, still others hidden beneath earth-colored -camouflages.</p> -<p>We arrived here last night about dusk. The poilus as we passed -stared at us as if we were so many lunatics. Rattentout is on the -right bank of the Meuse, about six miles from the trenches. This -means for one thing that you must carry a gas-mask with you -wherever you go. One even sees the little children, what few of -them are left, trudging about with small-sized masks slung over -their shoulders. The Y. here is short of masks and as yet M.—the -only canteen worker besides myself to come with the advance -guard—and I have none. This morning when the Chief went out -he hung his mask on a peg in the hall. “If anything happens,” -he said to M. and me, “you two can settle it between you, which -shall have it.”</p> -<p>Our home here is in a lordly mansion, evidently the Big House -of the village. French officers were living here before we came. -The regiment to which they belonged moving out just as we -arrived, they graciously made over the house to us. The officers -had started a vegetable garden in the back-yard and this they -relinquished with deep regret, one young lieutenant fairly having -tears in his eyes as he took a last survey of his rows of tiny lettuce -and young cabbages.</p> -<p>Today is to be given over to house-cleaning, and getting settled. -Tomorrow the troops are due to begin detraining at the two points -Landrecourt and Dugny and we are to be there to serve them -hot chocolate.</p> -<p>Last night we took our supper at the dingy little house next -door, a surprisingly delicious meal, bread and butter, omelette, -salad and cocoa. The house next door is one of the half-dozen or -so in town still inhabited by civilians. The family consists of -grandmother, mother and little girl of five; the husband is in -the trenches. The child Pauline is half sick with a feverish cold. -They could get no medicine, the mother fretted; we promised some -from Bar-le-Duc. The house itself is painfully unkempt and dirty, -yet Pauline is always fresh in a spotless white pinafore, her glossy -hair immaculately brushed. This morning we went to the house -next door again for bread and coffee.</p> -<p>“Did you sleep last night?” asked Madame.</p> -<p>“But yes,—and you?”</p> -<p>She shook her head. “I was afraid of the Boche aeroplanes. I -could hear them overhead.”</p> -<p>“But I should think you would be used to them by now.”</p> -<p>“Ah! But that makes no difference!”</p> -<p>What consideration keeps her here, clinging to the very door-step -of the war, as it were, hounded as she is, by terrors? Just -the one reason, I suppose,—that she has nowhere else to go.</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Rattentout, March 15.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p><i>Lafayette, nous voilà!</i> The first battalions of the division have -arrived.</p> -<p>The car called for us early this morning to take us to Dugny-Est -where half the men are to detrain. We followed along the east -bank of the Meuse running parallel to the <i>Canal de L’Est</i>. The -canal was a dismal sight, filled with an endless line of empty abandoned -barges, many of them settling slowly down as if water-logged, -a few, already sunk, leaving nothing but a bit of prow protruding -above the water’s surface. We ran along the bank for about three -miles, then swung across the Meuse to Dugny. Dugny-Est is a -half mile north of Dugny proper,—the terminus of a strip of railway -taken over and run by American engineers. Viewed from the -detraining tracks the landscape was bleak enough; the morasses -of the Meuse, strung with barbed-wire beyond, an austere -deserted-looking church in the foreground, and, dreariest of all, right -under the boys’ feet as they detrained, almost, a large military grave-yard.</p> -<p>Arriving at the little stone station-house made over to us for -the occasion, we found the chocolate already made. Four of the Y. -men had spent the night there and by dint of stoking the fires all -night long, as they declared, they had gotten the five huge containers -hot. The equipment assembled in haste at Bar-le-Duc was -evidently proving none too satisfactory.</p> -<p>I had just time to suspend a small American flag from the front -of the station-house before the first train puffed up the track. -Nothing I think has ever looked quite so good to me as that old -American locomotive. It was the first one I had seen in France. -I wanted to throw my arms around it and hug it. As one of the -boys said afterwards: “Why, you’d be happy just to lie down on -the track and let the darned thing run over you.”</p> -<p>I stood under the flag and waved frantically, first to the American -train crew and then, oh joy! to my Company A! There they -all were, crowded in the open doors of their box cars, “Side-door -Pullmans” as they call them, Magulligan the prize fighter, comically -conspicuous with his head done up in a sort of night-cap made -from a large white handkerchief. The train pulled by, slowed -down, came to a standstill up the track. We hustled the chocolate -cans out by the roadside. Company A, the first off the train, -came marching down the road; each man held out his mess-cup -and got a dipperful of cocoa.</p> -<p>“Where are we?” they demanded.</p> -<p>“Four miles south of Verdun. How do you like the scenery?”</p> -<p>“All right except the grave-yard. That’s too handy.”</p> -<p>“Say,” spoke up one of the boys, “I heard the mud out here in -the trenches was pretty deep.”</p> -<p>“Is that so?”</p> -<p>“Yes they said a feller went in over his ankles there the other -day.”</p> -<p>“I wouldn’t call that very deep!” I bit.</p> -<p>“Mm, but he went in head-first!”</p> -<p>I asked one of the corporals how things were going.</p> -<p>“We were feelin’ kind o’ lost,” he confessed. “Then we looked -out and saw the old flag and you. After that it seemed just like -home somehow.”</p> -<p>They marched off down the road looking very business-like and -military. Next came the other companies belonging to the first -battalion, and the regimental machine-gun company. These were -not permitted to stop by the station-house on account of the danger -of being observed by enemy aircraft, but were halted at a distance -down the road. We picked up the chocolate cans and chased after -them.</p> -<p>When every man in the First Battalion had had a drink, we -hurried back to the stone-house to get ready for the next trainload. -As I stirred the chocolate on one of the little stoves set up -outside, several of the train crew came to talk to me. I was the -first “real honest-to-God American girl” they had seen in months -they told me; and they were just as excited over me as I had been -over their engine.</p> -<p>If the history of America in the Great War should ever be written -down in detail, surely one chapter should be given over to a Little -Iliad of the “Six Bit Railway” that runs from Sommeil to Dugny-Est, -five kilometers south of Verdun; how, as I had it from the -lips of one of those engineers, the English took it over from the -French and tried to run it and failed, how the Canadians took it -after them and failed too, how then the —— Engineers fell heir to -it. How they lived with the French, eating French rations which -were gall and wormwood to them. How they struggled with an alien -tongue and finally reduced it to a weird unholy gibberish which -was yet somehow intelligible both to the French and to themselves. -How they came through shell-fire and gas and bombing raids, -seemingly bearing charmed lives. And how they worked forty-eight -hours at a stretch whenever the big drives and shifts were on.</p> -<p>Tonight one of the secretaries told us that, as he was standing -by the roadside watching while we ladled out the chocolate, one -of the boys said to him:</p> -<p>“I’m thinking of a toast.”</p> -<p>“And what might that be?”</p> -<p>“God bless American women,” the boy answered him.</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Rattentout, March 16.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>When we reached the station-house this morning we found everyone -agog over the night’s events. The detraining had gone on all -night; at first without incident. All precautions had been taken, -no one was allowed to so much as light a match. About midnight -one of the marine soup-kitchens had been unloaded and rolled down -the road puffing sparks and scattering coals. Some enterprising -mess sergeant had evidently planned that his men should have a -hot meal. The French spectators in consternation had followed -the soup-kitchen down the road, extinguishing the trailing embers, -but the mischief was already done. There were German planes -scouting overhead, they noted, evidently, the sparks, and signaled -the range to the German gunners. Fifteen minutes later a six -inch shell exploded a few hundred yards from the little stone-house, -then another and another. One shell had fallen in the very center -of the grass-plot where Company D had lined up to eat their -luncheon of cold corn-willy sandwiches and hot chocolate. The -gas-alarm had been sounded. A mule team had become frantic and -bolted, encountering the marine band’s big base drum, had made -toothpicks of it. Meanwhile confusion, it seemed, had reigned in -the little stone-house. One secretary, seizing an article of underwear -and putting it on his head in mistake for a helmet, had dashed -madly up and down the road as the shells fell, and ended by bursting, -in his <i>déshabille</i>, into the private dugout of a French colonel.</p> -<p>No Americans were hurt, but one poilu had been injured and -another killed.</p> -<p>“They have our range now,” said everybody. “And look at -those Boche balloons, will you?”</p> -<p>We looked to the northeast; three German observation balloons -were hanging just above the hills.</p> -<p>We stirred the chocolate and served it to whatever boys happened -to be about, boys on detail, drivers of mule-teams. One can, -having been kept warm all night, had turned. Some bright soul -suggested that it was the concussion of the shelling that had -soured the milk, just as thunderstorms sometimes do. Two -poilus leaned in at the window.</p> -<p>“What are you doing?” they asked curiously. We explained; -they shook their heads. “You spoil your soldiers.” Then, “Was -anyone killed last night?”</p> -<p>“Yes, one Frenchman.”</p> -<p>“Oh that’s nothing!” (<i>Ça ne fait rien.</i>) They strolled away.</p> -<p>The friendly interpreter came in and told us that they were -about to hold the poilu’s funeral.</p> -<p>A troop-train pulled in. It was loaded with soldiers from my -own regiment, the Second Battalion. The chocolate was ready, -smelt delicious.</p> -<p>“You can’t serve it,” they told us. “On account of last night’s -shelling, the troops won’t be allowed to stop until they’re well -beyond the town.”</p> -<p>“Isn’t there <i>some</i> way we can manage?” we teased.</p> -<p>“No, they’ve got our range.”</p> -<p>“Well at least we can say hello to them!”</p> -<p>We went down to the tracks where the men were spilling out -of the box cars. They were gathering up their equipment and -forming in companies in double time. One red-in-the-face sergeant -was furiously demanding who in blazes had stolen his -revolver on him; it was evident that he found the presence of -ladies sadly hampering to his flow of language. Three companies -marched off. The last to go was H Company, the company that -had been billeted on the same street with us at Goncourt. We -waved and they smiled back at us. They marched down the road, -disappeared over the brow of the hill.</p> -<p>We stood chatting with two boys who were on a billeting detail.</p> -<p>There was a dull heavy detonation beyond the hills. A moment -later a strange whistling screech shrilled over our heads. I stared -into the air, trying to see—I knew of course it was a shell, but I had -never thought one would travel so slowly or be quite so noisy about -it. The whistling shriek passed over us, changed to a dropping -whine. Down the street there was a thunderous explosion followed -instantly by a shattering crash. Timbers, tiles, stones, a mass of -debris splashed for a moment up against the sky. The shell had -fallen at the cross-roads. I stared at M. I was cold all over.</p> -<p>“It must have got them,” I heard myself whispering. “My -God! it must have got them!”</p> -<p>We stared down the road. Everywhere figures in poilu blue and -some in khaki, were running like rabbits towards the dugouts. -It seemed to me the uncertainty was more than I could bear.</p> -<p>“I’m going to go and see.”</p> -<p>“I’ll go with you,” said M.</p> -<p>We stopped at the station-house and put on our helmets; then -we started down the road. Just beyond the station-house we -passed a little cortege of poilus carrying the body of their comrade -on a stretcher-bier. They were on their way to the church. When -the first shell came over I had seen the funeral procession waver, -hesitate, seem uncertain for a few moments whether to proceed -or to seek shelter, now, their indecision conquered, they were -continuing their march with what seemed an added dignity. A -limousine drew up behind us, stopped. In the back seat sat an -American major.</p> -<p>“Give you a lift?”</p> -<p>We climbed in. Half way down the hill another shell shrieked -over our heads, burst in front of us. We reached the cross-roads.</p> -<p>“Let us out, please.”</p> -<p>The major stared, then stopped the car. We scrambled out. -The car whirled off. Two houses lay, crushed heaps of stone. -In the road were three dead horses and an automobile with a -crumpled radiator. That was all. Another shell struck, sending -us cowering against the nearest house-wall. As far as we could -see the place was utterly deserted. There was nothing to do but -go back. Half-way up the hill we met a poilu, he was carrying -an O. D. blouse. He asked us where the wounded American was; -he had been carried into some house nearby; this was his coat. -We could of course tell him nothing. The wind which had been -strong all morning, was filling the air with blinding clouds of yellow -dust. The shells were coming over at regular intervals, so many -minutes between them; they were all falling, it seemed, in the -vicinity of the cross-roads. A little further up the hill and we began -to meet mule teams from the supply train driving down. The -mule-skinners on their high seats looked calm enough, but a number -of the mules were becoming quite unmanageable. I recognized -the slim lad of seventeen with whom I had driven into Bourmont -from Goncourt once after a load of canteen supplies. As each -team passed, we waved our hands and wished them luck; but all -the time I kept repeating to myself:</p> -<p>“They’re going right down into it. God help them! Why does -it have to be?”</p> -<p>A French officer encountered us, asked us politely if we wouldn’t -like to step down into a dugout. I was amused at his manner -which was as casual as if he were offering us an umbrella in a shower. -There were some excellent dugouts up on the hill-side he assured -us. “But I don’t want to go into a dugout!” “<i>Mademoiselle a -beaucoup d’esprit</i>,” he observed, “<i>mais ce n’est pas prudent</i>.” Obediently -we climbed the hill, to come upon a little group of Americans -gathered about the entrance to a dugout, watching the shells as -they came over. Taking a peep into the dugout I found it had -already been patronized by several poilus. We sat on the ground -and watched the shelling. On the other side of the town we could -see Company H flung out in skirmish line, marching over the open -fields.</p> -<p>Presently a boy in olive drab came panting and laughing up -the hill. The group welcomed him with a shout. He was one of -the billeting detail. They had been staying in a house at the cross-roads. -When the others had gone out this morning he had been -left to clean up and get dinner. He had washed all the dishes, he -told us, and had just gone out and bought a basketful of eggs to -make an omelette for dinner, when crash! the first shell had fallen -demolishing the house next to theirs. He had stepped out to look -at the ruins and returned, when bang! went the house on the other -side of him! He began to think it might be time for him to move, -when, oh boy! zowie! a shell had wrecked the upper story of the -billet over him. Then he had left. But he was feeling very badly -about those eggs. Corporal G. also of the billeting detail looked -at him with widened eyes. “And I was half a mind to stay upstairs -in bed and not get up this morning!” he remarked. The -boys found solace for the loss of the omelette in the thought that -all the effects of the very unpopular captain billeted next door -must surely have been annihilated.</p> -<p>After an hour or so the shelling stopped. One by one blue forms -emerged from the dugouts. The Chief had ordered the flivver to -report at eleven. It was noon and it hadn’t appeared.</p> -<p>“We must walk to Rattentout,” said the Chief. “No use our -staying here.”</p> -<p>It was hot and dusty and my helmet weighed like a mountain -on my head, but at last we made it. Some two miles or so from -Dugny we passed two marines sitting in discouraged postures by -the roadside.</p> -<p>“What’s the matter?”</p> -<p>“He’s had a fit,” growled one of the warriors, jerking his thumb -in the direction of his comrade’s back.</p> -<p>“He has ’em. They never ought ter let him come.”</p> -<p>There was nothing we could offer them but sympathy.</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Rattentout, March 17.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>Here I am sitting on a bench in the little garden back of our -billet, soaked in spring sunshine. Over my head the lilacs are -leafing out against a sky of Italian blue, at my feet are golden -crocuses and the first pale primroses. But the sky, as one gazes -at it, has an odd trick of breaking out in little puffy dots of white -like nothing so much as kernels of corn in a corn-popper. These -are of course the bursting shells fired by French anti-aircraft batteries -at the enemy aviators overhead; sometimes you can see the -plane itself, skimming like a gnat among the smoke puffs. “They -don’t seem to get ’em often,” as a boy remarked to me. “But golly -they do make ’em move!”</p> -<p>Ever since the Americans began to arrive the German planes -have been constantly overhead. They are taking photographs; -they say. Where, oh where are our American aviators?</p> -<p>In my ears as I sit here is a curious sound, a sound like the pounding -of tremendous breakers on a stormy shore: it is the guns of -Verdun, Les Eparges and St. Mihiel. At rhythmic intervals this -sound is punctuated by heavy crashing thuds nearer at hand. They -are shelling Dugny again. All the civilians fled yesterday. A -driver, coming in last night, told us how they went, empty-handed, -creeping along the edges of the roads under the cover of trees or -brush, fearing to step out in the open lest they be spied and bombed -by the German aeroplanes overhead. The church where they held -the poilu’s funeral has already been struck by a shell and the steeple -demolished.</p> -<p>In front of the house the street is quiet. All through the day -the town seems a sleepy deserted place, but at night it is a different -matter; then the real business of the day begins. Carts and camions -may straggle past at odd intervals during the daylight hours, but -with darkness, the traffic starts to pour by in a perfectly unbroken -stream. One lies awake and listens, it seems for hours, to the -absolutely incessant rattle of carts, trucks, caissons and gun carriages -passing along the road, until it seems as if the whole French -Army must be on the move.</p> -<p>Little Pauline is better today. She has just come running into -the garden through the back gate, in company with a big curly -dog. Rattentout they tell us is the “Dog Town” for this sector; -every dog picked up near the front, lost mascots, faithful beasts -looking for their masters, strays of every sort, are sent back here -for keeping.</p> -<p>Presently I must go in and help M. get the supper. Our food, -over and beyond what we brought from Bar-le-Duc in tins and sacks, -is furnished us by the French Army. Every morning a dapper -little corporal calls to take our orders. When the official interpreter -is out it falls to me to do the parleying. The corporal is -patient and very military and oh so polite! He brings us fresh -butter, fresh eggs, even so much as a quart of fresh milk, and the -most delicious fresh French bread I have ever tasted. The first -day he came he was dreadfully distressed; he had no fresh meat -to offer us. This morning he shone with smiles. There was plenty -of fresh beef now, plenty! We ordered some and ate it stewed for -dinner. It was dark and tough and stringy. I could dare swear -that I saw that “beef” freshly slaughtered yesterday at Dugny -cross-roads.</p> -<p>A French <i>liaison</i> officer called here this afternoon. He told me -that it was quite true that a certain regiment of French infantry -had gone into battle, each man carrying with him the wooden -cross which was to mark his grave if he fell. To earn <i>le croix de bois</i> is -the current slang phrase among the French to designate -dying a soldier’s death.</p> -<p>Yesterday noon a detachment of marines arrived in Rattentout. -During the day they must keep under cover, but last night after -sundown they came out and played baseball in the street. When I -looked out my window and saw those lads in olive drab nonchalantly -throwing and catching a baseball under my window, I felt -as if something safe and sane had somehow appeared in the midst -of a strange nightmare world.</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Rattentout, March 18.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>I have said; “Good-bye, Good luck!” to my boys.</p> -<p>Today we received word that the first battalion of my regiment -was to take its place in the trenches by Les Eparges at twelve -o’clock tonight, leaving Genicourt where they have been billeted, -at eight. I breathed a piteous appeal to the Chief. At five o’clock -the car called for us.</p> -<p>Earlier in the afternoon there had been an air battle over Genicourt. -I heard the soft <i>whut</i>, <i>whut</i> of the anti-aircraft guns, and -later the staccato rattle of machine-guns in the air. Looking out -I could see the planes, one German and two French darting among -the shrapnel puffs, the German escaping, sad to say, unharmed. -Now a French observation balloon was floating over Genicourt, a -curious-looking thing shaped like a huge ram’s head, and a dull -green in color. As we neared the town they started to haul the -balloon in: it came down with astonishing rapidity.</p> -<p>We rolled into Genicourt, a sodden desolate village clinging under -the lea of a low hill, just now alive with suppressed vitality. The -boys had been ordered to keep their billets until the last moment, -as any unusual number of men about might be observed by an -enemy aeroplane. Nevertheless there were plenty of stragglers in -the streets, while out of the windows were leaning several hundred -more, craning their necks in order to get a glimpse of the descending -balloon.</p> -<p>We went to the <i>Foyer du Soldat</i>, a bright clean barracks, the -walls covered with posters in vivid hues. It was full of our boys. -They laughed, joked, played checkers and pounded the piano, some -were dancing together. Yet through all the gaiety one had a sense -of tension, of nervous strain. Some of the boys asked us to sing, -one lad evidently in a more solemn mood repeatedly requested -“My Country ’Tis of Thee.” We sang the “Long, Long Trail” -and “Keep the Home Fires Burning.” Then we went out in the -street again. The French, we gathered, were quite astonished at -the high spirits of the Americans. “Ah, but it’s their first time,” -they said. “After four years it will be different.”</p> -<p>In the public square they had been holding some sort of ceremony, -an interchange of formal greetings between the French and -American officers. A French military band had just finished its -programme. As we passed they played the Marseillaise and the -Star Spangled Banner; we all stood at attention.</p> -<p>We came to the street where Company A was billeted. The -boys leaned out of the windows and waved and called to me. Everywhere -it was the same question:</p> -<p>“What shall I bring you from the trenches?”</p> -<p>“Do you want a live Boche for a souvenir? I’ll get you one!” -They thought my gas-mask was a lovely joke. “What’s that -strap across your shoulder for?” they teased.</p> -<p>“That? Oh that’s my new Sam Browne belt!”</p> -<p>“Say! Bet you don’t know how to put it on!” Then they would -yell “Gas!” just to frighten me.</p> -<p>In the street a little crowd of boys were tossing coppers. Everybody -was anxious to get rid of his “clackers,” in order not to have -to carry all that useless weight into the trenches with him. They -invited me to join. I tried one penny while the boys all cheered, -only to miss by a good yard. Lieut. B. came by: “Will you take -tea with me in my dugout?” he asked.</p> -<p>The order was given for the companies to form. The streets -filled up; dusk was gathering. The Chief said that it was time to -go. We found the car in the public square. Slowly we moved out -of town. I shall never forget those long brown files drawn up -against the dim grey houses. Five hours hence and those very boys -would be in the front line trenches, face to face with the enemy. -We passed Company A. I called out to them to be sure not to -stick their heads up over the top, and not to dare to take off their -gas-masks before they were ordered to. Never before did I realize -how much those boys meant to me. Each face I saw flashed some -vivid unforgettable association to my mind. “When you come -back,” I called, “I’ll be waiting for you with the hot chocolate -ready.” They smiled and waved Good-bye to me. Some of them -held up their fingers to show how many Germans they were going -to account for. A turn in the road shut it all from sight. On -the way back to Rattentout we passed the Third Battalion, -who were marching in on their very heels to take over their -billets.</p> -<p>It’s eleven o’clock now. They must be almost in. They are -marching, I know, in darkness and silence; not a cigarette is to -be lighted, not a word spoken above a whisper. One hour more -and the relief will be completed.</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Rattentout, March 19.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>I am to be sent to Paris for reassignment. I have, it seems, -been guilty of conduct unbecoming a lady under shell-fire. This -sentence has been hanging over me ever since that day at Dugny. -I knew of course that I was in disgrace but never dreamed that it -would come to this.</p> -<p>It seems, what no one had troubled to hint to me, that we have -been allowed to go farther front than any women of any of the -Allied Nations in France have been permitted to go to work before. -Moreover that the French, whose guests we are in this sector, were -very much opposed to the presence of women here, and only finally, -after much persuasion, allowed us to come here on trial. Now -the Chief says that he is afraid that my indiscreet action at Dugny -in going down to the cross-roads instead of into a dugout may have -shocked the French. In order to forestall any possible protest by -our Allies I am to be made an example of the discipline of the -organization.</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Etretat, Normandy. March 28.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>I have been here a week on leave. Tomorrow I start back for -Paris once more. Where I am to go after that is uncertain.</p> -<p>It seems strange to be in France and not be wading through seas -of mud, but to have firm turf and dry roads beneath one’s feet. The -hamlets here, while picturesque, are quite spruce and tidy, amazingly -different from the quaint but indescribably dirty little mudpie -muck-heap villages to which I have been used.</p> -<p>This pretty little coast town, once a fishing village, then a summer -resort, is now chiefly a hospital. All the large hotels have -been taken over for wards and nurses’ quarters, the big casino -filled with row on row of iron cots. It is an American hospital with -American doctors, nurses and orderlies, but attached to the B. E. F. -and filled of course with British patients. As in all the English -hospitals, as soon as a patient is able to get out of bed he is dressed -in a “suit of blues;” trousers and jumper blouse of bright blue -cotton, white shirt, scarlet tie and handkerchief to match, making -him look exactly like a grown-up Greenaway boy. The men hate -them, they tell me, but I for one am grateful to the designer as the -bright blue and scarlet makes wonderful splotches of color in the -landscape.</p> -<p>There may be a more disgusted set of boys in France than these -here in the hospital corps at Base No. 2, but if so I have yet to meet -them. One of the first units to come across, landing in May of 1917, -every man enlisted, so they tell me, because he thought it was the -quickest means of getting to the front in field hospital service -and most of them enlisted to do some form of specialized work; -but, medical students, college professors, and motor experts, they -each and all were given the job of hospital orderly which means -scrubbing floors, washing windows, shovelling coal, doing the hard -and dirty work of a hospital, and, most galling I fancy of all,—taking -orders from girls with whom you are not allowed to associate -or even speak except in the line of business. The X-ray expert -has been delegated to the job of keeping the hospital pigs. I saw -him in a pair of grimy overalls trundling a well-worn wheelbarrow -down the street. The man who speaks eight languages, and enlisted -as interpreter, spends his days checking up clothes in the -laundry. And here as hospital orderlies in spite of their frantic -efforts to get transferred, it seems likely that they will stay.</p> -<p>But these are dark days for us all just now, with the news that -comes in every day of the German drive. “What do the officers in -the hospital think? What do they say about it?” I tease the -nurses.</p> -<p>“They think that we will hold them,” they reply, but none too -hopefully.</p> -<p>At the hotel where I am staying there is a French officer <i>en permission</i>, -with his wife and apparently unlimited offspring. With -them is an English governess. She is a little nervous thing all -a-twitter these days with excitement and apprehension. Will the -Germans get through to Paris? Monsieur’s aged mother is there. -He is thinking of going back to get her, together with a few essential -household treasures. She herself had fled with the family -from Paris in 1914. It was a dreadful experience; fourteen people -crowded in a coach for six, and nothing to eat. Oh dear! wasn’t -it all just too terrible!</p> -<p>There is also an old French lady here who frankly fled from Paris -to escape the air-raids; now someone has taken all the joy out of -life for her by suggesting that Etretat might be shelled from the -sea by a German submarine.</p> -<p>The Tommies in the hospitals, they say, flatly refuse to believe -that Paris is being shelled. It isn’t possible, they declare, for a gun -to shoot as far as that, and to them that is the end of it. But tonight -a little crowd of the hospital boys who had gone on pass to -Paris came back as eye-witnesses. One of the first shells had fallen -very close to them, killing a number of people who were sitting drinking -in a sidewalk café. The boys had gone up to the Church of -Sacré Cœur on Montmartre and from the tower there had watched -the shelling of the city. It had been a beautiful clear day: they -could see where each shell struck. One of the boys brought back -with him for a souvenir a piece of a French lieutenant’s skull, -picked up, after the shell had wrecked the café, from the sidewalk.</p> -<p>Tonight there was a concert at the Y hut here. The hall was -crowded; the concert party, a group of pretty girls, had just completed, -to much applause, the first number, when a horn sounded -in the distance. Everybody started up. The Y man stepped forward -and announced the programme over. In a few minutes the -hut was deserted. “The convoy is in,” they said, which meant -that a train load of wounded had arrived at the station.</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Paris, Easter Sunday.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>On the way here from Etretat I saw a sight which brought the -war closer to me somehow than anything before; at the junction -station connecting the line to Le Havre with the line to Amiens, -a string of box cars full of women, little children and decrepit -old men, packed in like cattle, fleeing before the German drive, -many of them empty-handed, others with a few pathetic futile -treasures, a hen or two, a copper cooking-pot, snatched up evidently -in a moment of half-witless panic haste.</p> -<p>Nor is Paris itself without its refugees. The German advance, -the air-raids, the shelling, culminating in the Good Friday horror, -have combined to render the city half deserted.</p> -<p>“Paris? We call Paris ‘the front’ now-a-days,” one Frenchman -on the journey had remarked to me.</p> -<p>Yesterday I went shopping. Everywhere it was the same reply. -Nothing could be made to order for an indefinite period, the workrooms -were all deserted, the workers fled. As for those who remain, -they seem to take life calmly enough; what else can they -do? When, as yesterday, every sixteen minutes a tremendous -jarring crash tells you that a shell has fallen somewhere in the -city,—and the concussion is so great that it always sounds as -if it had fallen in the next block!—you see people turn their -heads as they walk, staring in the direction of the explosion; -others come out on the balconies to see what they can see and -that is all.</p> -<p>Of course the danger of all this lies in its effect on the civilian -morale. In connection with this I learned an interesting thing -today. While the hospitals outside are overcrowded, the hospitals -in Paris with their splendid equipment and staffs are left half empty, -because they dare not show the people of Paris too many wounded. -And when convoys are brought into the city, they are often -detained outside, sometimes for hours, in order that the wounded -may be transferred to the hospitals at night.</p> -<p>Yesterday at Brentano’s I got talking with a boy who belonged to -the American Ambulance Section which is attached to the French. -He told me an incident which struck my fancy:</p> -<p>One night, at the front, after a hard day’s work, he had just -dropped off to sleep when he was awakened. There was a <i>blessé</i> -to be taken back to the hospital, he was in bad shape, they had -placed him in an ambulance. The boy rolled out of his blankets, -started up the car. It was a bitter night. Once he was on his way -everything went wrong; the water had frozen in the radiator, he -had to get out and crawl along the ditches on his hands and knees, -trying, in the dark to find a pool that was still unfrozen. And all -the while he was tortured by the thought that the life of the wounded -man in the car depended probably on his speed in reaching the -hospital, and this urged him to an agony of haste. Finally, as the -dawn was breaking, he reached his goal. They came to carry the -blesse in. The wounded man was dead; he had been dead, it was -evident, some while before the boy started. At the front, he explained, -they hate to take the time and trouble to bury bodies. So -whenever it is possible they work this method of passing on the -task to someone else. You have to be constantly on the look-out -for such tricks. This time they had fooled him.</p> -<p>Last night there was an air-raid. It was a mild affair. I was -awakened by the sirens. They make what is to me quite the most -fascinatingly horrible sound I have ever heard. That long agonized -wail, now sinking to a shuddering whimper, now rising to a -banshee screech, flashes vividly to my mind’s eye a myriad little -demons sitting on the roofs of Paris, cowering, shivering, crying -out their abject terror. I went to the window and looked out, but -although my room is on the top floor of the hotel, I could see nothing -and so went back to bed again. The anti-aircraft guns put -up a tremendous barrage; they have them mounted on trucks now -so they can quickly be shifted from point to point about the city. -I am sure there was a whole battery just in front of the hotel. -Today the papers inform us that the Gothas were driven back after -reaching the suburbs.</p> -<p>This morning I went to service at Notre Dame, entering through -piles of sand bags heaped so as to hide the carvings about the doorways. -In that vast cathedral only a few were present, a fair share -of the congregation being comprised of Americans.</p> -<p>Tonight an ambulance driver attached to one of the Paris hospitals -came to the hotel for dinner. He spread a startling tale. -Every ambulance in the city has been ordered to be in readiness; -for tomorrow, it has been learned, twenty-seven long-range guns -are to be turned at once on Paris!</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Aix-les-Bains, April 6.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>When they said “Leave Area” to me my heart sank. The Lady -in the Office explained to me how very important she considered -the work, and the assignment, she added, need not be permanent. -“Very well” I said, “I’m willing to go there temporarily.”</p> -<p>I left Paris Tuesday, taking the night train. Getting off was -something of an ordeal. The lighting at the stations, as on the -streets, has been reduced almost to the vanishing point. The -great Gare de Lyon was filled with a mass of distraught humanity -over whom the few violet-blue bulbs cast a ghostly glimmer. There -were no porters to take one’s luggage; a number of women had -possessed themselves of the baggage trucks and were pushing them, -heaped high with bags and household stuff, recklessly through the -crowds. I could find no officials anywhere about. All the French -orderliness and red tape seemed to have been swept clean away -and the result was chaos. Somehow, I don’t know quite how, I -found my train and reached my seat.</p> -<p>Three very fat old gentlemen and one old lady occupied the -compartment with me. The fat gentlemen had one little spoiled -dog between them which they kept passing from one to the other, -in order that each in turn might kiss him. The old lady had a -bird in a cage; presently she opened her hand-bag and brought out -her supper, a loaf of bread, unwrapped, together with a good-sized -turtle. For a moment; such were her raptures over her pet, -I thought that she was going to kiss the turtle. The first minute -that one of my companions entered the compartment, each informed -all the rest that he or she was <i>not</i> running away from the -air-raids or the long range guns. “I? I am not afraid of the -Kaiser’s Gothas! I laugh at them!” A few minutes later however -they began: Ah, what a fearful night, last night had been! Five -hours in the <i>Caves</i>! No sleep at all! One might as well be a mole -and take up one’s dwelling underground. What a life! Oh it was -terrible, terrible! Then one old gentleman turned proudly to the -little fat canine. “But of a verity, my little Toto is possessed of -a sagacity extraordinary. The moment that he hears the sirens, -he will run down into the cellar, and nothing can induce him to -come up again until the ‘all clear’ has sounded!”</p> -<p>We pulled into Aix soon after dawn as the rising sun was touching -the tops of the mountains and the morning mists were hovering -over the lake. Whatever the work may prove to be like here, -the place is surpassingly lovely. It is too early for the summer -resort pleasure seekers. The French don’t care for it here until -it grows really hot, they tell us. But to me the season is at its -most appealing moment. One glimpses pink peach blossoms against -the blue lake over which stand purple mountains with snow still -lying on their summits. Several of the large hotels and casinos -have been requisitioned for French convalescent hospitals, but -the largest of all has been taken over by the Y. From this canteen -excursions are constantly setting out, motor-boats on the lake, -motor cars to Chambery, the cog-wheel railway up Mt. Revard, -picnics, hikes and fishing parties, yet many of the boys seem to -find it pleasantest to do nothing,—just to sit around in lazy comfort -all day long, watching the others playing billiards, listening -to the orchestra in the afternoon Beneath the gold mosaic casino -dome, sitting luxuriously in a box at the vaudeville in the evening, -gaining a maximum of pleasure with a minimum of exertion. Many -of the boys came here with their heads full of pessimistic expectations.</p> -<p>“They told us it would be Reveille and Retreat and one day’s -K. P. for each of us,” confided one lad to me.</p> -<p>Some brought their mess-kits and some even their blankets. -When they find themselves guests in hotels that are among the -finest in Europe, lodged in comfortable rooms, eating real food off -tables furnished with china-ware and linen, at first they are fairly -dazed.</p> -<p>“I’m feared somebody’ll pinch me an’ I’ll wake up,” declared -one lad today.</p> -<p>More than one has told me, that the first night he got here, he -could not go to sleep in bed at all and only finally achieved slumber -by rolling himself in blankets on the floor.</p> -<p>There are no troops from the line here at present; only boys -from forestry regiments, motor mechanics and a few lads from -medical detachments. They are holding up the leaves of all combatant -troops on account of the drive. It may be that presently -they will hold up all leaves altogether. Then we will have to shut -up shop here temporarily.</p> -<p>It is the pleasant custom here for the Y ladies to go down to the -train every night to see the boys off.</p> -<p>“It’s a shame you can’t stay longer,” we say to them.</p> -<p>“I’ll say it is!”</p> -<p>“I’m awfully sorry you have to go.”</p> -<p>“You ain’t half so sorry as I am, Lady.”</p> -<p>“Maybe some day you’ll be coming back again.”</p> -<p>“I’ll tell the world one thing; I’m going to be good as gold when -I get back to camp, so they’ll let me.”</p> -<p>One of the Y women tonight repeated what one boy on leaving -had confided to her:</p> -<p>“If I said to you that this had been my happiest week since I -joined the army it wouldn’t mean much,” he told her, “but that’s -not what I’m going to say. What I’m going to say is that this -has been the happiest week of all my life.”</p> -<p>So far I have found just one man who wasn’t enjoying himself -here. He had been stationed for six months at Paris. Aix, he -declared, “Weren’t no town at all, nothin’ but a one-horse place.” -He evidently had no soul for the beauties of nature.</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Paris, April 22.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>They held the leaves up. The boys kept leaving; fewer and -fewer came, then finally none. Last week they disbanded the -force of workers at Aix; a few stayed to look after things until -such time as the crowds should start to pour in again; the rest were -sent back to Paris to be reassigned.</p> -<p>If I thought the trip down was a chore, it wasn’t a patch on the -trip back. We waited half the night for the train at the Aix railway -station. When it finally pulled in, I found my seat was in a -compartment which was full, and had evidently been so for hours, -of French people. Now life in France tends to cure you of belief -in several popular superstitions; one is the idea that it is dangerous -to have wet feet, and another that there is anything in the germ -theory; but there is one notion to which I still cling, an obstinate -belief in the desirability of fresh air. I put my head in the compartment, -then withdrew, shutting the door. For the twelve hours it -took to reach Paris I stood up outside in the corridor.</p> -<p>Arrived in Paris, they assigned me temporarily to the Avenue -Montaigne Club House. This is a beautiful building, the home -of one of Napoleon’s generals; but the best thing about it is the -tea-room restaurant, for here they serve apple-pie, chocolate cake -and ice-cream. Since the latest food restrictions were issued, -forbidding the French to make desserts employing milk, cream, -sugar, eggs or flour, such dainties have been unobtainable anywhere -else in Paris; but the Americans drawing supplies from their -own commissary, are of course untouched by such regulations. -Indeed the saddest sign in France these days I often think is that -over the deserted shops which reads <i>Patisserie</i>. To be sure some -of these stores still make a show at doing business, filling their -windows with raisins, dried prunes and other prosaic edibles, together -with heaps of pseudo-chocolates wrapped gayly in tin-foil, -but which when purchased proved to be nothing but what one boy -termed “the same old camouflage,”—an unappetizing paste of -dried fruits and ground nuts. Yesterday a curly-headed lad, who -looked about sixteen, came into the canteen carrying a big bunch -of pink carnations. These were for the waitresses, he said, because -they were the first American ladies that he had seen in France. -We each pinned a spray to the front of our pink aprons, and then, -since he pretended famine, let him have “seconds”,—quite against -the rules—on everything, with all the ice-cream and cake that he -could swallow.</p> -<p>Yesterday I saw Mr. T. who was with us for a while at Goncourt. -He told me that French troops <i>en repos</i> were occupying that area -at present. They had asked for the use of our hut and of course -it had been granted them. A Y man, happening by the other day, -had stopped in. They had converted our beautiful hut into a regular -French <i>Cantine</i> with three men to hand the bottles over the -counter “and a smell enough to knock you down.” Who shall say -that this is the least of life’s little ironies?</p> -<p>This morning I met N. who had reached Rattentout the day I -left. She tells me that all the villages occupied by our troops in -the sector have, one by one, been shelled. Rattentout was shelled -and two Frenchwomen killed. Because of the constant shelling all -the Y women workers had been withdrawn from the canteens and -sent back to safety at Souilly where they have nothing to do but sit -and possess their souls in patience.</p> -<p>Tonight they gave me my new assignment. It is at Gondrecourt. -I leave tomorrow. I am glad, so glad over the prospect of being -back on a real job once more! Here at the Avenue Montaigne -as in the gilded casino at Aix I have been desperately homesick, -to be back in a real hut again!</p> -</div> <!-- end of chapter --> -<div class='chapter' id='chIV'> -<h2>CHAPTER IV: GONDRECOURT—THE ARTILLERY</h2> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Gondrecourt, April 28.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>Gondrecourt is quite a place. It boasts a brewery, a hotel, a -mediœval tower and a number of little stores. Each one of these -stores contains at least one pretty girl on its selling force and the -ratio between the sales of goods and the charms of the ladies is, -I fancy, quite exact. From the military point of view Gondrecourt -is important as being the site of the First Army Corps Training -Schools. But to me the really distinguishing feature of Gondrecourt -is the fact that it boasts a bath-tub. If anybody had said -bath-tub to me the day before I arrived here, I would have said -with the doughboy that,—short of Paris—“there ain’t no such -animal.” But now I have beheld it with my own eyes, a white-enamelled -bath-tub, a Y. M. C. A. bath-tub, in the basement at -Headquarters. The tub is supposed to be a strictly family affair,—on -the door are posted hours for the Lady Secretaries and hours -for the Men Secretaries,—but in spite of the plain English before -their eyes, it seems that army officers occasionally slip in and steal -a bath off us, yes, even impinging on the sacred bath hours of the -ladies!</p> -<p>My first day here they sent me to “The Café.” This was once -a very wild place indeed. When the Y. first came to Gondrecourt -it tried to buy the proprietor out, but the proprietor refused; he -was doing too profitable a business. Then one night Providence -sent some Boche planes wandering in this direction. There was a -panic among the populace; the proprietor, with visions of his place -wrecked by a bomb, sold out in a hurry and left town. Since then -the Cafe has led a reformed and decorous existence but the old -name still clings. My second day I spent at the “Double Hut,” -the big hut built up on the hill close by the Infantry School. The -third day I was introduced to my own canteen.</p> -<p>According to directions, I climbed the hill by my billet, went -past the athletic field, past the warehouse and out along the edge -of the rolling open upland. About half a mile out of town I came -to a group of seven French barracks, covered with black tar paper, -built at the edge of the railway cut. This was the Artillery School. -I crossed the field, entered the nearest barracks which bore a Y. -sign at one end, and found myself in a Greenwich Village Tea -House. I stood and stared. Some modern-school interior decorator -had been at work. The place was a riot of red, yellow, salmon-color -and black, worked out from a nasturtium motif. In the -wall panels were paintings, some conventionalized fruits and flowers, -evidently done by the decorator; others, landscapes, Japanese -scenes and some rather awful Indians just as evidently executed -by the boys. The whole effect to be sure was a bit sketchy and in -spots frankly unfinished, and yet to one used to such simplicity -in the huts as I, the <i>ensemble</i> was startling. Back of the black and -orange partition which screens the canteen and the kitchen from -the hut proper, I found the staff, secretary and canteen worker. -The lady whom I am to replace, it appears, belongs in reality to -the Motor Transport Section. She turned canteen worker to help -out in a pinch, and now is anxious to return again.</p> -<p>When dinnertime came the Motor Transport girl told me that -we had been invited to dine at the camp. We went over to the -mess-hall. “Let’s help feed the chow-line for a lark!” said the -M. T. girl. So we stood behind the serving-bench and ladled out -big spoonfuls of mashed potato and gravy. This amused the boys -immensely; and as they passed they would sing out:</p> -<p>“When did they put <i>you</i> on K. P?”</p> -<p>“What have <i>you</i> done to deserve this?”</p> -<p>The kitchen was white-washed and specklessly clean, the earth -floor was covered with cinders. These cinders which are in use -for floors and walks in all the camps about, come, I am told, from -a great heap down by the river which marks the site of one of -Napoleon’s cannon foundries.</p> -<p>“Why are the boxers in a company always found on the kitchen -force?” I asked one of the cooks.</p> -<p>“That’s so they can handle the boys when they come back for -seconds.”</p> -<p>As soon as the chow-line had been fed, the M. T. girl and I had -ours with the Top Sergeant. After dinner the Top Sergeant, who -had formerly been mess sergeant, was moved to unburden his soul -as to the sorrows of a mess sergeant.</p> -<p>“When I was mess sergeant,” he reminisced, “I sure got to -know the way to a man’s heart all right. Why, the days when I -gave them a good dinner there wasn’t a man in camp who wouldn’t -positively beam at me; but if something had gone wrong and the -chow wasn’t up to scratch, half the fellers in the company wouldn’t -speak to me the rest of the day.”</p> -<p>Then he grinned. “I wouldn’t want Mother to know the way I -used to get stuff for the boys last winter.”</p> -<p>He went on to tell us. French freight trains have no brakemen -and the conductor rides in a caboose directly behind the coal car. -Trains pulling into town from the north hit a grade curve close to -the camp, up which they must pull very slowly. The camp guard -kept a lookout; when a freight train with flat cars was sighted, -word was immediately passed to the mess sergeant who with a -number of K. P.s hurried to the tracks and boarded the slow-moving -train; if the cars proved to hold anything of value for the mess,—be -it coal or cabbages,—all the way up the grade the sergeant and -his assistants were busy, hastily throwing or shoveling what they -could over the sides of the cars. At the top of the grade they would -jump off and returning along the tracks, gather up the spoils.</p> -<p>Tomorrow the Motor Transport girl departs and I “take over” -the canteen.</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Gondrecourt, May 4.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>The Artillery School consists of some few hundred officers and -non-coms enrolled for each four-weeks’ course, in addition to the -two batteries who are here for demonstration work; Battery D from -a regiment of “75s” and Battery A from a regiment of the big -“155s.” Selected for this exhibition work on account of their exceptional -ability, they are, I suppose, the equal of any batteries in -the world. When the boys enlisted these batteries were declared -to be about to be “motorized,” but at present the motor power is -being supplied by a particularly unresponsive set of French cart -horses, whose daily care is the greatest trial of the boys’ lives. Last -night we had a movie-show; one reel gave the story of a discontented -boy on the farm—showing him at one moment disgustedly grooming -Dobbin. For a full minute it seemed as if the roof of the hut -was going to be lifted right off.</p> -<p>The officers’ quarters and the class-rooms lie across the railroad -track from the camp, in the grounds of the Château. Here they -have a canteen of their own, a cool little place in cream color and -blue presided over by a most refreshing and delightful English -lady. The Château itself was partially destroyed by fire a few -years ago and though the lower story is available for offices, the -upper story stands roofless, with empty windows staring against -the sky. Every now and then a rumour goes the rounds:—Pershing -is going to move his headquarters to Gondrecourt,—the -Château is to be repaired for his use! The Château and the school -buildings stand on high ground. To the south the ground falls -away suddenly; below is “off limits” and is Fairyland. Here are -meadows warm with the color of spring flowers, here are groves -such as one sees in the pictures of Eighteenth Century shepherds -and shepherdesses, and here is the river flowing so placidly that -its waters seem to form still lagoons, white-flecked with swans and -arched with rustic bridges. Here while the boys are at their mess, -I have been stealing to eat my picnic supper; an orange, a sandwich -and a piece of chocolate. The guard walking post at the -foot of the embankment shuts one eye as I go past,—and usually -gets half of my supper! For that matter I gather he is there largely -for the sake of appearance, for there’s not a boy in camp I’m sure -who hasn’t explored those groves, fed the swans, and angled for -fish in the river. And the only reason, I’m certain, that they don’t -surreptitiously go in swimming there is that the water, fed by -springs, is cold as ice! Nor is the touch of romance that should go -with such a setting absent. One of the cooks in the officers’ mess -kitchen is deep in an affair with Lucile, the caretaker’s daughter, -a girl like a wild rose, shy, slender, freshly-tinted. Every other -night when he is off duty he carries her chocolate from the canteen -and she “gives him a French lesson.”</p> -<p>“Serious?” I asked inquisitively.</p> -<p>“Fat chance!” he glowered at me frankly. “She tells me that -she’s engaged to twelve fellows now already and that twelve’s -enough.”</p> -<p>The proprietor of the Château, Monsieur S., has the distinction -of being the father of ten girls. I like to fancy that the spirits of -the ten lovely daughters,—for lovely they must be, as no Frenchman, -I am sure, would have the courage to father ten homely ones!—haunt -the Château gardens.</p> -<p>The boys, however, don’t have to rely on phantoms for thrills -of this sort. Yesterday, they tell me, that during the progress of an -exciting ball-game on the Y. athletic field a beautiful lady dressed -<i>à la Parisienne</i> strolled by. The batter dropped his bat, the pitcher -forgot his ball; the game came to a dead halt until the beautiful -lady had passed out of sight.</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Gondrecourt, May 13.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>The Secretary is sick. He lies in his little bed-room office and -reads the latest magazines and gossips with his visitors while I -attempt to run the hut single-handed. At times during this last -week I have been strongly tempted to get sick myself. Indeed I -think I probably would have done so if it hadn’t been for Snow. -Snow, Snowball or Ivory as he is variously called, is Battery D’s -albino cook. “Say, ain’t I the whitest-haired beggar you ever did -see?” he asked me the other day in a sort of naive wonder at himself. -“Anyway, nobody ever had a cleaner-looking cook,” remarked -the Top Sergeant, ex-Mess Sergeant. Snow has the sweetest -disposition in the world. “If Snow was starving to death,” -declared one of the boys to me today, “and somebody gave him a -sandwich, and he thought you were the least bit hungry, he’d give -you that sandwich.” Ever since the Secretary has been sick, Snow -has been bringing him toast and eggs and things while he has -brought me lemon pies, the most wonderful lemon pies that ever -I tasted. Already Snow has come to be looked upon by the boys -as an authority on all things pertaining to the canteen and has to -stand a battery of searching questions, such as, whether he thinks -that my hair is really all my own?</p> -<p>Just to add to all our other troubles this week we have run -amuck of the Major. This I suspect was all my fault. I was furious -because when he came into the hut he made the boys stand -at attention. This was something I had never seen done before -and is, I am sure, contrary to all the rules. I was so angry that -when the Major came up to the counter I stood and glared at him.</p> -<p>“You will find the Secretary in his office,” I said and turned -and walked out the back door. It was the Major’s turn to be -angry then. He stalked out behind the counter, looking for trouble, -and began to hold an inspection in the kitchen. The Secretary -appeared, the Major let loose. That kitchen, he declared, was not -up to army standards in cleanliness. This was a matter of utmost -importance. Hereafter the medical officer would inspect the -kitchen daily. Then he proceeded to prescribe a schedule of -canteen hours outside of which nothing at all must be sold.</p> -<p>Now I admit that kitchen hasn’t been quite all it might be. It -is a small, overcrowded place, built of rough dirty boards and there -are no shelves, nor of course running water, nor conveniences of -any kind. Moreover, the Major, I learn, has the reputation of -being a tartar in this respect; “Major Mess Kit” they call him -because of the rigour of his inspections.</p> -<p>The next morning the medical officer arrived at the crack of -dawn. He found the chocolate cups from the night before unwashed. -He was shocked. He too read the Secretary a lecture. Then he -departed to do the sensible, the saving thing, which was to -recommend to the Major that we be allowed a detail. So it all worked -out for the best in the end. “Neddy” as we have christened the -detail is now a part of the family. A shy, dreamy lad, he is at -hand to help from early morning until closing time at nine at night, -and I actually have to shoo him out to his meals. The only trouble -with Neddy is that he is so good I am sure that he is going to -die young. And besides Neddy I now have a pet bugaboo. This -has proved so useful these last few days that I don’t know how -I ever kept a canteen without one. Now any time that officers -come to my kitchen door to tease for cigarettes out of selling hours -I can gleefully tell them:</p> -<p>“Oh, but I wouldn’t dare! The Major, you know! He’s expressly -forbidden it! If I did and he learned about it, he would -surely have me court-martialed!”</p> -<p>Of course when the boys come out of hours that is quite a different -matter.</p> -<p>Then, too, as the Major is detested by the men, this furnishes -a common bond of sympathy. This morning a boy came to my -back door to borrow our axe in order to chop up the Major’s wood.</p> -<p>“You can have it on one condition,” I told him.</p> -<p>“What’s that?”</p> -<p>“That you chop off the Major’s head with it too.”</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Gondrecourt, May 24.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>I have always cherished a secret longing to have pets in my -canteen: I have heard of huts that kept kittens and canaries, and once -I visited in one where an ant-eater, if not an <i>habitué</i>, was at least -a frequent and honoured guest and sat in the ladies’ laps at the -movie-shows. At various times I have considered and regretfully -abandoned the project of rabbits, a puppy, goldfish and a goat. -But till recently the nearest I have come to realizing my dreams -was when I found two large snails with black and yellow shells -by the roadside. I carried them into the canteen and set them -on a flowering branch in a vase. For two days the boys took a -casual interest. They nicknamed them Bill and Daisy.</p> -<p>“The French eat snails you know,” I told them.</p> -<p>“You don’t say!”</p> -<p>“Yes and I had some myself the other day.”</p> -<p>“Aw shucks! You didn’t <i>really</i>, did you? Why, before I’d eat -them things! Say, what did they taste like anyway?”</p> -<p>“They would have tasted pretty good,” I answered, “if only -while you were eating them you could have stopped thinking what -they were!”</p> -<p>One boy staring at my pets asked innocently;</p> -<p>“Will butterflies come but of those?”</p> -<p>After the snails our only livestock for a while was the canteen -rat, whom I have never met myself, but of whom I have heard -large rumours. The other day however I received a present of -two real pets. One of the Y. drivers had been out to a wood-cutting -camp in the forest. There an Italian lad had given him two -young birds in a beautiful cage he had made himself with nothing -but a pen-knife and a hot wire, and the driver brought the birds -to me. I don’t know what sort they were but they were tame and -most amusing. To feed them was the immediate question. I -asked the boys to dig me some earth worms, but this they seemed -to consider beneath their dignity. Finally Neddy went out with -a can, only to return wormless. He couldn’t find any, he declared. -I considered the advisability of asking the Top Sergeant for a -worm-digging detail, but decided against it. Then I confided my -troubles to my friend, the Warehouse Man.</p> -<p>“I know,” he said, “I’ll ask Pierre.”</p> -<p>Now Pierre is a little orphan refugee from the devastated district. -He lives with one of the families on the edge of the town -and I am afraid is none too well treated. When he isn’t herding -the cows over the meadows, he is usually hanging about the warehouse. -A handsome, rather wild looking lad, dressed in a brown -cap and an old brown suit, I always think of him as Peter Pan. -The next morning Pierre appeared at my kitchen door with a can -full of long fat wriggly angleworms and had his pockets filled with -chocolate by way of recompense. Later I learned that the -Warehouse Man, not being able to pronounce the French word for birds, -had told Pierre that I wanted the worms for fishing, and Pierre -after taking one look at the bird-cage had gone straight back and -told the Warehouse Man that he was a liar. But cunning as my -pets were, I couldn’t quite reconcile myself to the idea of keeping -wild birds in a cage. This morning I looked at Neddy:</p> -<p>“Let’s let them out.”</p> -<p>“Let’s,” he answered.</p> -<p>Now the only pet I have in prospect is the baby wild boar which -a boy from one of the aviation camps nearby has promised me.</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Gondrecourt, June 2.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>Night before last, at half-past ten, as I was sitting here in my -billet trying to write a letter, I heard a voice calling me from the -street below.</p> -<p>“What is it?”</p> -<p>“It’s Sergeant B——. I’ve brought you a gas-mask.”</p> -<p>“What!”</p> -<p>“There’s a bunch of German planes headed in this direction. -They’re afraid of gas bombs. We got the alarm out at the school.”</p> -<p>I went down to the door. The sergeant gave me two gas-masks. -I gave one to the English lady who has the room across the hall -from me. Then I sat up waiting for the fun to begin. Nothing -happened. I went to sleep with the gas-mask lying on the pillow -beside me.</p> -<p>The next morning the Chief declared that all the Y. personnel -here must go to gas drill and have masks issued to them. Last -night they rounded us up for a lesson. We stood in a big circle at -the Gas School over on the hill while the gas instructors instructed -us and the boys looked on and grinned. Gas drill consists of -learning how to put on and take off your mask in the prescribed -and formal manner. It is all done by count. If you can’t do it in -six seconds you are a casualty. As we popped our masks on and -pulled them off again the hair of all the ladies present proceeded -to slowly but relentlessly fall down their backs. The English Lady -stood next to me. “It’s all stuff and nonsense,” I could hear her -muttering; “stuff and nonsense!”</p> -<p>The noncom instructors walked around and informed each and -all of us that if we didn’t change the style of our coiffures we -certainly would get gassed.</p> -<p>“And now,” said the instructor cheerfully, “I am going to send -you through the gas-house.”</p> -<p>I looked desperately for a chance to sneak away, but there -wasn’t any; besides, several boys from my batteries were watching.</p> -<p>“Oh this is nothing, nothing at all,” declared the instructor. -“We’ve only got the tear gas on tonight. You will go through -once with your masks on, and then a second time without them.” -We put our masks on and marched in a long line into the gas-house. -There was a table in the middle with candles burning on -it, which gleamed golden through the thick yellowish clouds of -gas. We marched around the table and out again. There was -nothing to it; the masks were a perfect protection.</p> -<p>“Now,” said the instructor,” you will go through without -your masks. This is to give you confidence in them.” The idea -being that discovering how very nasty it was without one, you -would be taught to appreciate the blessing of a mask. I had an -inspiration. I would shut my eyes and hang on to the man in -front of me! But alas, for my pretty plan, the line was too long; -as I was about to enter: “Break the line here!” shouted the -instructor. I had to lead the second line into the gas house. I made -double-quick time around that table. Just as I was about to dart -out the door an English noncom instructor seized my arm and, -halting me, started to explain something.</p> -<p>“Yes, yes,” I choked. “It’s all very interesting, but I don’t -feel like stopping now!” I pulled away and made a break out the -door. I was weeping horribly. My eyes felt as if someone had -rubbed onion juice on them. They stung and burned for hours -afterward.</p> -<p>“The next time,” said the instructor genially, “we’ll put you -through the mustard gas.”</p> -<p>Now in the mustard gas lesson a fellow must walk into the gas-house -without his mask, and put it on after he has entered. If he -fails to hold his breath long enough, or is nervous and clumsy and -so doesn’t get his mask on quickly enough, why it means a trip to -the hospital for him. The mustard gas test is an ordeal which -causes the boys considerable apprehension.</p> -<p>“Oh thank you! You’re very kind,” I said.</p> -<p>As we took our departure down the hill I noticed a darky doughboy -in a group who were drilling. He was in an awful fix; every -time he tried to fasten the nose-clip on his nostrils, it would slip -right off again!</p> -<p>When the next lesson is held I have decided to be among the -missing.</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Gondrecourt June 9.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>We have a new detail. His name is Jones. About six weeks -ago he was kicked by a mule and had three of his ribs broken. He -was sent to the hospital at Neufchateau. Learning that there was -a chance that his battery might be sent to the front shortly, he -pestered the docters until they let him go, his besetting fear -being that he might become separated from his outfit. He returned -three days ago. The next day he went out on the range as -one of a gun crew. Yesterday he came into the hut and collapsed. -The Secretary put him on his bed where he spent the rest of the -day. Moved by purely altruistic motives, the Secretary then -went to his captain and asked that Jones be assigned to the Y. as -a supplementary detail. Now this is very nice for Jones, but I am -not so sure whether it is nice for the Y. Jones, it seems, goes by -the nickname of “Mildred.” At one period of his past life he was -engaged in selling soap, a fact which inspires the boys to shout at -frequent intervals: “Three cheers for Jones! Soap! Soap! Soap!” -He brings echoes of his commercial training to the canteen counter. -No east-side shopkeeper was ever more anxious to make sales than -he. If a boy asks for tooth-paste when we happen to be out of it, -he is sure to answer:</p> -<p>“No, but we have some very fine shoe polish.”</p> -<p>Or if somebody wants talcum powder when talcum there is none:</p> -<p>“I’m sorry we’re out of it today, but can’t I interest you in -some tomato ketchup?”</p> -<p>Some day I think I shall write on essay on the psychology -of suggestion as demonstrated in canteen sales. Nothing, it -seems, ever really wins the boys’ approval unless it bears the -label; “Made in the U. S. A.”—nothing that is, with the possible -exception of eggs. Anything originating in Europe, from mustard -to matches, is looked upon with a certain amount of suspicion, -while goods coming from America are hailed with an enthusiasm -often quite inconsistent with their quality. The other day we put -a case of “Fig Newtons” on sale. The news flashed all over town. -As one of the boys said; “Why it was just as if General Pershing -or somebody’s mother had come to camp.”</p> -<p>Lately we have had for sale quantities of fat French cookies. -Some of the boys are mean enough to suggest that these were baked -before the war.</p> -<p>“Those cookies ought to wear service stripes,” one boy declared.</p> -<p>So “Service Stripe Cookies” they have been ever since.</p> -<p>“They’re all right for eating,” observed another customer -solemnly, “but the Lord help you if you drop one on your toe!” -This morning when I reached the hut I found Jones languidly -washing dishes.</p> -<p>“Where’s Neddy?”</p> -<p>“Neddy? Why he’s in the guard-house.”</p> -<p>For a moment I was goose enough to believe it, then I learned -that Neddy, with a lieutenant and some twenty other boys, had -all gone off, the day being Sunday, on single mounts to Domremy -to visit the birthplace of Jeanne D’Arc. Late in the afternoon the -little cavalcade returned.</p> -<p>“Neddy,” I teased, “I hear you’ve been in the guard-house.”</p> -<p>To my astonishment Neddy’s mouth twitched, his eyes filled. -“I wish I’d never gone!” he blurted out.</p> -<p>“Why, what’s the matter?”</p> -<p>Then the whole pitiful tale was unfolded. Neddy hadn’t any -money, not a clacker, and being too shy to ask for a loan, he had -gone on the trip with empty pockets. He hadn’t been able to buy -himself a bite of dinner. But that wasn’t what hurt. What hurt -was that he couldn’t purchase any souvenirs for his girl, and there -had been so many enticing ones!</p> -<p>“Gee,” he moaned, “but that’s an awful place for a feller to go -who hasn’t any money.”</p> -<p>Then, just as the last straw of misery, his horse had been taken -sick on the way home!</p> -<p>We are going through one of those painful periods of pecuniary -depletion which are periodic in the army, the inevitable prelude -to payday. In Battery A there are two lads whom I have privately -dubbed Tweedledum and Tweedledee. They are both short, roly-poly -and always smiling and they are absolutely inseparable. When -either of them buys anything at the canteen he always buys double; -two packets of cigarettes, two “bunches” of gum, two cups of hot -chocolate “one for me and one for my friend” as the stock phrase -goes. This morning I received a shock. Tweedledum asked for -<i>one</i> bar of chocolate and <i>one</i> package of cigarettes.</p> -<p>“What’s the matter?” I asked, thinking alarmedly of how in -the immortal poem “Tweedledum and Tweedledee agreed to have -a battle,”—“You and your buddy haven’t quarrelled, have you?”</p> -<p>“No ma’am, oh no indeed ma’am! It’s just that it’s an awful -long ways from payday!”</p> -<p>Later I saw them carefully dividing the purchases between them. -I leaned over the counter, beckoned to Tweedledee.</p> -<p>“You boys go around to the back door, but don’t let anybody -see you!”</p> -<p>At the back door I gave them each a slice of Snow’s latest lemon -pie.</p> -<p>Tonight the Major suddenly made his appearance in the kitchen -to find Snow, Neddy and myself all sitting on the floor sorting out -rotten oranges. Snow and Neddy faded away out the back door, -but I stood my ground. For once his Majorship was pleased to be -gracious. He complimented me on the improvement in the appearance -of my kitchen. Indeed we did look pretty fine, Neddy -having just covered the shelves with newspapers whose edges -he had cut into beautiful fancy scalloping.</p> -<p>“What do you do with those over-ripe oranges?”</p> -<p>“Put them in a box outside the back door.”</p> -<p>“Well? What then?”</p> -<p>“The French children do the rest, sir.”</p> -<p>But the boys are more incensed than ever against the Powers -That Be. They have been writing too many letters of late for the -censor’s comfort. So yesterday at Retreat the order was read out -that no boy might write more than two letters and one postal card -per week!</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Gondrecourt, June 13.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>The School has closed. It is common knowledge that the two -batteries will soon join their respective regiments at the front. -Curiously enough, here with the artillery I have never had that -same feeling of closeness to the war which I had when I was with -the doughboys. The attitude of the men here is so much more -detached, impersonal. I fancy this is because, however dangerous -their work may be, they do not look forward to any actual physical -conflict. It is the imaginative image of “Heinie” with a bayonet -thrusting at his breast which makes the front so vivid in anticipation -to the doughboy.</p> -<p>But now with the news from Château Thierry there is a certain -tenseness everywhere. One feels that the hour is close at hand -when every man that Uncle Sam has in France may be needed. -The barking of the guns at practice has taken on a new significance. -Yesterday indeed it just missed implying tragedy. Shortly after -the jarring thunder of the “75s” had started our dishes in the -kitchen to rattling, came a frantic message by telephone. A party -of engineers were surveying for the narrow-gauge railway just -beyond the hill over which the battery was shooting. One shell -had narrowly missed them.</p> -<p>Today an aviator in a little Spad machine came down at our -back door. He had lost his way, exhausted his gas, and was forced -to descend. He had thought he was over Germany so his relief -on finding himself among friendly faces may be imagined. But -aviation doesn’t mean what it used to any more to us. We have -lost our aviator. Shortly after I came to Gondrecourt we began -to have an aerial visitor. Every few days about sundown he would -appear; flashing up over the eastern hill horizon, to circle the big -open drill ground, dipping, soaring, playing all manner of madcap -tricks just for the sheer joy of it, now he would sweep so low as -almost to touch the ridgepole of the hut, then up, up again with a -rush, waving his hand to us below as we waved and shouted with -all our might up at him. The whole camp would turn out to see; -it was one of the events of the day. “It’s Lufberry,” some one told -me. Not long ago we read in the paper that Major Lufberry had -been killed. We waited in suspense. Had it really been he? Would -our aviator never come again? Night after night we watched for -him; he never came.</p> -<p>The fields about, which have been golden with buttercups and -primroses, white with daisies, and purple with flowers whose names -I do not know, are now crimsoning with poppies. “Artillery -flowers,” the boys call them. They pick them and stick them -jauntily in their overseas caps, or in great bunches, bring them -to me to brighten the canteen.</p> -<p>Since the boys are going soon I have been trying desperately -to make them extra special goodies; candy, stuffed dates, frosted -cookies, and—what pleases them as much as anything—hard-boiled eggs. -It has been a revelation to me here in France, the -American appetite for eggs. The boys will walk miles to get them; -they will cheerfully pay as high as two dollars a dozen for them. I -buy twelve dozen at a time, carry them out to the canteen and boil -them in the dishpan. Placed on sale they disappear in the winking -of an eye, and then the cry is always, “Ain’t you got no more?” -Sometimes I take Neddy with me on my shopping expeditions; -Neddy carries my market basket, smokes his pipe and looks as -pleased as Punch. Today in our quest we stopped in at a store -kept by two extremely pretty <i>Mademoiselles</i>. As we entered we -were greeted by peals of girlish laughter. In a chair in the corner -sat a tired M. P. fast asleep, his mouth wide-open; between his -lips one of the pretty girls had just at that moment popped a -round ripe strawberry.</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Gondrecourt, June 18.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>Besides the American Camp Hospital there is a French Hospital -at Gondrecourt, a place with a hint of old-world flavour to it, the -nursing being done by Sisters of Charity. Here through some -freak of chance a week ago arrived sixteen Tommies from the English -front, after having travelled half over the map of France. -They were none too pleased to find themselves in a French Hospital -and several, being walking cases, straightway deserted and -sneaked over to the American Hospital only to be regretfully returned -again. They have a little Algerian in a red fez with them -whom they have nicknamed “Charlie Chaplin.” Although intercourse -between them is restricted entirely to sign language, the -Tommies have adopted Charlie as their mascot and Charlie follows -them about just like a dog.</p> -<p>My friend the English Lady, having little to do in her canteen -since the School closed, has appointed herself as a sort of foster-mother -to the whole cockney brood. She acts as interpreter and -sometimes as intercessor, for the Tommies are impatient of the -hospital discipline and cause the authorities frequent anxiety, -helps the Sisters out in nursing them and, best of all, makes them -tea at four o’clock or thereabouts, accompanying it with bread -and butter sandwiches. Frankly, the Tommies think that they -are little short of starved on the French Hospital rations, and the -tea helps. When they can they sneak over to the American Hospital -and beg a meal there, but such excursions are frowned upon -by those in authority.</p> -<p>Yesterday the English Lady gave a tea party for the Tommies -in her canteen. She arranged to have a truck go fetch them. To -her astonishment, instead of one, two trucks appeared and instead -of just the Englishmen, the whole hospital that was able to stand -on two legs or one arrived with them; big black Algerians and Moroccans -in every shade of duskiness and poilus by the half score. -The hut was crowded, there weren’t enough chairs to go around. -The English Lady sent out a hurry call to bring up the reserves -in refreshments. Neddy and I came over from our hut with our -arms full of cups; more water was put on to boil for the tea, new -packages of biscuits opened. Then while the water heated the -English Lady took all the liveliest ones out for a walk through the -Château grounds, while “Skipper”, her detail, who is a clever -pianist, entertained the rest with music. During the playing one -enormous Algerian, as black as night, stared fascinated at the piano, -then edged slowly nearer and nearer to finally lay one incredulous -finger, with infinite caution on one of the end keys. He had evidently -never seen such a thing before, and more than half suspected -it was all magic.</p> -<p>Then the water boiled and we made the tea and carried cups -and bowls of it around with canned milk and commissary sugar. -The Frenchmen, true to type, with the scarcity of sugar in mind -would only take one lump, until you invited them to have another, -when each, with evident pleasure, took a second. As we could -only muster six teaspoons between our two canteens to supply the -whole company, we had to pass the spoons from guest to guest -allowing each man just long enough for a good stir and then on to -the next. The men with wounded arms got their neighbors to -stir for them. With the tea we served sandwiches; these were a -special treat to the poilus because they were made with American -army bread. Now to my mind our white army bread is very poor -and tasteless stuff in comparison with the grey well-flavored French -war-bread, but the French, probably on account of the novelty, -prize highly any scraps of the <i>pain Américaine</i> that they can obtain. -“Why, they eat it just like cake!” one boy said to me. Besides -the sandwiches, there were little cookies and candies and cigarettes -and finally, the gift of an American officer who happened in, an -orange for each man to take home with him.</p> -<p>When the tea was finished it was time for the guests to go. -Crowded into the trucks they rolled out through the Château -gates, the poilus smiling and waving their good hands, while the -Tommies raised a ragged cheer.</p> -<p>As Neddy and I returned to our canteen we paused at the -door of one of the barracks to listen to the band producing pandemonium -within. This band is the pet project of Battery D, -the dearest hope of Corporal R. who is theatrical producer, -impresario, librettist, base soloist, and band leader for the battery. -The instruments were finally assembled some ten days ago. -The one thing required of a member seemed to be that he had -never played that particular sort of an instrument before. For -the last ten days the band has been practicing, mostly in the Y. -They have always played the same tune, yet I have never been -able to decide what that tune was. Now that the battery is going -to the front, the instruments must be put in store and our budding -band disbanded almost before it had begun. The instruments -are to be interned at Abainville, the town next door. When the -day comes to relinquish them the band is going to march all the -way from Gondrecourt to Abainville in state, playing their one -tune over and over.</p> -<p>Tonight Corporal R. sat on a barrel in the kitchen polishing -his French horn with the Secretary’s pink tooth-paste. It made -excellent brass-polish he had discovered.</p> -<p>“It’s too bad you can’t take that band of yours up front,” -remarked Snow.</p> -<p>“What for?”</p> -<p>“’Cause it sure would make the boys feel like fighting.”</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Gondrecourt June 22.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>The boys have gone! We saw the last battery off on the train -tonight. The guns were loaded on flat cars, horses and men -lodged together in the box cars, the boys sleeping under the -horses’ very noses and in danger of being nipped, it seemed to me, -by an ill-tempered beast. The boys who were to sleep with the -guns on the flat cars would be much better off I thought; they had -made themselves cozy little nests of straw underneath the -gun-carriages. Some of the boys in the box cars, I was pained to observe, -had smuggled in bottles with them.</p> -<p>The English Lady and I had arrived at the station none too -soon. We had no more than walked the length of the train, inspecting -each car and wishing every boy Good-bye and Good-luck -when the engine whistled and was off. We stood on the -platform and waved to the boys who leaned from their cars and -waved back until a curve in the track cut off our sight.</p> -<p>These last few days have been hectic. Wednesday was my -birthday. Neddy found it out and told the boys. They had -observed that I didn’t have any raincoat; indeed rainy nights -I was always embarrassed by the offer of half a dozen different -rubber coats and ponchos to go home in; so they decided,—bless -them!—to supply this lack. A crowd of non-coms went downtown; -they took along one boy with them as a cloak model because he -was about my height and “looked like a girl”; and they made him -try on every raincoat in Gondrecourt. Finally they selected one, -brought it back and made a ceremonious presentation. The -raincoat is a beauty, and ever since I have worn it every day, -rain or shine, just to show them how much I thought of it.</p> -<p>It was hard to part with little Neddy. The Secretary presented -him with a farewell pipe. I clasped around his neck a chain -bearing a little silver cross; it was to keep him safe, body and soul -from harm. He was almost moved to tears. The Secretary and -I, he told me, had been “like a little papa and a daddy to him,” -and then, flushing, joined in my laughter.</p> -<p>At the last moment one of the D Battery cooks came stealthily -to the back door.</p> -<p>“Me an the other fellers in the kitchen,” he confided <i>sotto -voce</i>, “we wanted to do something to show you folks how much -we thought of you. So we just made up our minds to send yer -this.”</p> -<p><i>This</i> was a ten pound can of issue bacon.</p> -<p>The Secretary leaves tomorrow for Paris. He is going in order -to buy himself some new clothes. It seems that all his belongings -entrusted to the local laundresses disappeared one by one until -he found himself reduced to a single set. Last night he washed -these out himself and put them in the oven to dry. When he -remembered them this morning it was to find nothing left but a -little cinder heap.</p> -<p>The camp, for the present at least, is to be abandoned; the hut, -for the army wishes to use the barracks elsewhere, torn down. -In a few days the little Artillery School Canteen will be nothing -but a memory.</p> -</div> <!-- end of chapter --> -<div class='chapter' id='chV'> -<h2>CHAPTER V: ABAINVILLE—THE ENGINEERS</h2> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Abainville July 1.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>“Abainville is going to be bombed off the face of the map.” -Every time anyone has mentioned Abainville in my hearing during -the last six weeks they have wound up with some such prophecy -as this. Abainville is an engineering camp, Abainville is the starting-point -for the narrow-gauge system that is to supply a certain -sector of the American front. Already the great car shops have -been built and stand gaunt and staring with more glass in their -glittering sides than I have seen on this side of the Atlantic. It -is these shops in particular that are held to be such shining marks -for enemy aircraft. Anyway we have this comfort that if the Boche -gets us we will all go together, for the town is so tiny that if a bomb -hit it anywhere, it would wreck the major part of the village and -there isn’t a single cellar in the whole vicinity!</p> -<p>Just at present Abainville is in a state of suspense. There is -some question among those in high places as to whether after all -the site, for such extensive operations as have been planned, is -well selected. Work on the narrow-gauge goes on, but the work -on the shops has been suspended. Everyone is anxiously awaiting -the decision.</p> -<p>The hut, which is on the far edge of the camp, is a huge empty -shell, for work on this too has been stopped pending developments. -Up till the day I arrived the Y. was doing business in a tent near -the highway, but being notified that the engineers were going to -run a railway through that spot the next day, they had moved -out and over to the unfinished hut in a hurry.</p> -<p>My billet has a fine central location,—at the corner of La Grande -Rue and the national highway that runs through the town. My -window overlooks what approximates the town square, an open -dusty space, bounded on the south by the principal café, on the -east by the butcher’s shop, on the west by manure-heaps and on -the north by my billet. In this square, it appears, all the village -pig-killings take place. It is incredible and painful how many pigs -of a marketable maturity a town no larger than Abainville can -produce. Arguing from the frequency of the pig-killings I am convinced -that if a census were taken Abainville would be found to -contain more pigs than people.</p> -<p>Further down la Grande Rue one comes to the church and the -town-hall. Upstairs in the Mairie my co-worker, Miss S., has her -billet. Downstairs is the village school and the living apartments -of the schoolmaster’s family, refugees from the invaded territory. -I peeped in at the empty schoolroom yesterday: on the wall was -a large pictorial chart designed to impress upon the infant mind -the advantages of drinking beer, cider and wine, rather than the -more potent alcohols; a lesson vividly demonstrated by a series -of cuts portraying a pair of guinea pigs. The guinea pig who indulged -in cognac and kindred beverages was depicted in successive -stages of inebriation until at the end he is shown expiring in all -the horrors of delirium, while the prudent guinea pig who took -nothing stronger than <i>vin</i>, <i>biére et cidre</i> is pictured first in a state -of mild and genial intoxication, and then the “morning after” -with all the zest of a good digestion and a clear conscience, breakfasting -on a sober cabbage leaf.</p> -<p>The church next door to the Mairie is remarkable for nothing -except the peculiar sound like a wheezing snore which may be -heard every evening issuing from the belfry. At first this sound -was a mystery to us. I inquired of Madame; she was blank.</p> -<p>“Perhaps,” I suggested remembering how in medieval lore evil -spirits were reputed to haunt church towers, “perhaps it is the -devil in the belfry.”</p> -<p>“But no!” cried Madame scandalized. “The devil doesn’t live -in Abainville!”</p> -<p>“To be sure,” I amended hastily, “the devil is a Boche! He -lives at Berlin.”</p> -<p>“<i>Mais, oui, oui, oui!</i>”</p> -<p>But now the riddle has been read. The devil in the belfry is -in reality an ancient owl, <i>une chouette</i>, who has inhabited the church -tower time out of mind.</p> -<p>There is a Salvation Army hut here, the first one I have seen. -It is down by the main road; the canteen occupies one end of a -barracks, which is used as a store-house, then there is an ell containing -the kitchen. The staff comprises one man and two women; -they are pleasant people, “real home folks.” Two or three times -a week, for supplies are hard to obtain, they make pie or cake or -doughnuts. On these nights, passing the hut on our way back from -mess, one sees a long line stretching down the road, waiting patiently -for the chance to get a piece of pie “like Mother used to -make.” Our relationships are cordial. We help each other out -in the matter of change. They come to our hut for sweet chocolate -and movies; we go to them, when our consciences will permit, for -doughnuts. I only wish that one of their huts could be in every -camp in France.</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Abainville, July 8.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>By courtesy of a group of officers we are messing at a house -with a particularly noisome front-door gutter and the Most Beautiful -Girl in France to wait on us. La Belle Marguerite, as I always -think of her, is tall and stately with a lovely gracious bearing and -a sensitive, responsive face; what’s more, she only paints a little. -She affects to speak no English but I suspect she understands a -good deal. At meal times when we are present the officers never -look twice at her, but any evening that one happens past the house -one can see two cigarette ends gleaming from the darkness just -inside the mess-room window: the officers are making up for lost -time. Yesterday La Belle looked so pale and <i>distraite</i> at dinnertime -that I was quite distressed, fancying heart-break. “Mademoiselle -Marguerite is sad,” I told Madame my hostess. Madame -immediately went forth on a Visit of investigation. “Mademoiselle -has the tooth-ache!” she announced on her return. Today -at dinner, having finished our salade, we waited in vain for dessert. -La Belle Marguerite, usually so prompt and so efficient, simply -did not appear. After waiting until I grew tired I gave it up and -left. Passing by the kitchen door I glanced inside. In front of -the hearth stood Marguerite and a handsome Russian officer, and -oh! the coquetry of her eyes, the seduction of her smiling, scarlet -lips! It was evident that the mess in the next room was wiped as -clean from her mind as if it never had been! Whether my messmates -ever got their dessert or not I haven’t heard.</p> -<p>Besides La Belle Marguerite, the one unique feature of our mess -is a certain set of plates. These are French picture plates with -jokes on them. The jokes are all of a gustatory nature and pertain -to things which most people would prefer not to think about while -they are eating. One rather striking design represents the proprietor -of a Swiss resort hotel delicately sniffing a platter of fish -as he says to the waitress:</p> -<p>“These trout are passe. Keep them for the customers who -have colds in their heads.”</p> -<p>On another an irate diner is exclaiming over an item on his -bill:</p> -<p>“Three francs for a chicken! What’s that?”</p> -<p>“Why that was the little chicken that Monsieur found in his -egg!”</p> -<p>There is always an anxious moment of suspense whenever a -guest comes to dinner, a moment in which one peeps furtively out -of the corners of one’s eyes to see whether the newcomer has -noticed the picture on his plate, and if so, whether he has got the -point. Sometimes the guest will ask to have the text translated -for him and then there is an awkward pause.</p> -<p>The question of what to serve at the canteen is a vexed one -these days as it is quite too hot for chocolate. By scouring the -country we managed to procure several cases of lemons, and then -found our work for the day laid out,—just squeezing them. A few -days ago, however, a shipment of bottled fruit juices arrived at -the warehouse; by mixing this syrup with water and a small -amount of lemon a delicious drink can be obtained. The boys -have dubbed it a dozen different names, “<i>Camouflage vin rouge</i>” -being one of them, but “<i>pink lemonade</i>” is the title it commonly -passes under. Already it has become famous and every drunk in -camp if questioned as to how he came to be in that condition will -unblushingly assert that it was through drinking “that Y. M. C. A. -pink lemonade.”</p> -<p>If we could only get ice! Yesterday I investigated the -possibilities, to find that if one were very ill and in desperate need of -it, could produce a certificate to that effect signed by half a dozen -doctors, approved by the Sanitary Inspector, passed upon by the -local Board of Health and sealed by the Mayor with the sanction -of the Town Council, one could, by means of this document, -procure at the brewery at Gondrecourt a piece of ice about as -large as a small-sized egg. Somehow it doesn’t seem quite worth -the trouble.</p> -<p>Lacking ice, we do our best with freshly-drawn water which -comes pleasantly cool from the deep wells drilled by American -engineers to supply the camp,—when it does come. But often -just when the thirsty ones are crowding thickest you make a -frantic dash to the faucet only to find that the supply has been cut -off: there is not enough water in the wells, it seems, to supply all -the engines and pink lemonade besides for the whole camp. Then -there is nothing to do but to take a pail and set out. After climbing -over a couple of freight trains and ploughing through a dozen -cinder heaps one comes at last to the pump-house, where one may, -by assuming an ingratiating manner, beg a pailful,—strictly -against the regulations,—from the man at the pump. And then, -after all, what use is a mere pailful of lemonade in a thirsty camp?</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Abainville, July 10.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>We have stopped fighting the war and have gone into the movie -business. For two days all work has been suspended while the -camp has posed before the camera. They are making a big propaganda -film for use in the States, entitled “America’s Answer to -the Hun” and Abainville and the Abainville-Sorcy narrow-gauge -is to be part of that answer. “Camouflage pictures” sneer the -boys, and camouflage pictures I blush to say they frankly are. -For on the screen the peaceful valley through which the narrow-gauge -is being built is to masquerade as a field of battle. Camouflaged -engineers, armed and equipped as infantry will march -valiantly across the landscape, while other engineers in helmets, -with their gas-masks at the alert, are plying their picks and shovels -amid the smoke of camouflage shrapnel; the climax being attained -when the helmeted engineers effect a lightning repair feat by -bridging over a carefully dug camouflage shell-hole.</p> -<p>Yesterday I saw a photograph cut from the Sunday Supplement -of one of America’s best known and most respected newspapers. -Underneath the picture ran the text, “American boys playing -baseball on a field in France where shells fall daily.” To my -certain knowledge the only shells that have ever fallen on that -field or within many miles of it are peanut shells. For the field in -the picture is most plainly and indisputably the Y. athletic field -at Gondrecourt. Will I ever, I wonder, recover my pre-war faith -in newspapers and photographs and movies and such things?</p> -<p>But now we have done our turn before the camera, it’s back to -work again and very hard work at that, for the officers are determined -to set a record for all the world in laying track. Already -the little railway has shot ahead at an amazing rate; though -whether track laid in such a hurry is really going to make for speed -in the long run is a question on which the trainmen, sipping their -pink lemonade at the canteen counter, have their own opinions. -For no train, it seems, can make the run at present without leaving -the track at least once during the journey. “Sun-trouble” -say the officers, which means, being interpreted, that the heat of -the sun’s rays has warped the rails. “Sun trouble nothin,’” -grunt the men. “It’s just not takin’ the time to do the job decent.” -When the “sun trouble” doesn’t serve to throw a train off the track, -the French children see to it that the same effect is produced by -the simple expedient of dropping spikes in between the ends of -adjoining rails.</p> -<p>Yesterday I was talking with an engineer from Tours. He and -his fireman had just brought a Belgian engine up from that city -for use in the Abainville yards. The attitude of the train crew -who received it was plainly “thank-you-for-nothing-sirs!”, Belgian -engines being none too popular with A. E. F. railroad men. -The two crews sat in the hut for a long while holding a symposium -over the Belgian engine’s oddities; at last the home crew departed, -looking very glum. In the course of my subsequent conversation -with the visiting engineer I happened to ask:</p> -<p>“Would you vote for Pershing for president?”</p> -<p>“No sir!” he answered emphatically. “All the railroad men -over here have got it in for him.” He went on to explain.</p> -<p>French railroad engineers are allowed a certain amount of -coal and oil with which to make their runs; for anything that they -can save out of this, they are reimbursed. This idea appealed to -the American train crews who were attached to the French. They -set to work and saved,—far more than the French were able to! -The French proceeded to depreciate the quality of coal allowed -them, instead of giving them half dust and half briquets, they -gave them three-quarters dust and finally all dust yet still the -Americans were able to beat the French at saving. And each man -in fancy was rolling up a tidy little sum for himself.</p> -<p>“And then,” continued my informant, “Pershing came out and -said that we weren’t here to make money off the French, but to -help them, so we weren’t to get the money for all the coal and -oil we had saved after all. And that’s why there isn’t a railroad -man in France who has any use for him.”</p> -<p>How much of politics could be reduced, I wonder, to a mere -question of pocketbook?</p> -<p>He went on to tell me among other things that although a -French conductor would be furious if you stopped a train in the -middle of a run for any other reason, if you just said; “Come -on, ol’ top, and have a bottle of <i>vin rouge</i> on me,” he was all beaming -acquiescence. “Just imagine,” he concluded disgustedly, -“stopping a main-line train in America so the crew could go into -a saloon and get a drink!”</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Abainville, July 14.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>The Bastille has fallen! We celebrated its fall today with much -enthusiasm. Ostensibly in order to signalize the Franco-American -Alliance, the festivities in reality were planned as propaganda of -a different sort. Surreptitiously but quite definitely the end and -aim of them was to flatter the Major.</p> -<p>Now the Major in command of the camp at Abainville is what—if -he weren’t a major—one would be tempted to term a “hard-boiled -guy.” Being of the bid school he looks with a jaundiced -eye at all welfare organizations, particularly, I gather, at the feminine -element in them. He calls the college men in the regiment -“sissy boys” and believes in treating them to an extra dose of pick -and shovel. What’s more, it is an open secret that he would like -to swap the whole outfit of them for a regiment of Mexican desperadoes, -with whom he has had considerable experience. As the -boys say, he speaks three languages, English, Mexican and Profane, -and of the three he is the most proficient in the last.</p> -<p>So in view of all this, the Fourteenth of July celebration was -gotten up chiefly in order to give the Major a chance to appear in all -his glory and make a speech, this being, it is claimed, one of the -surest ways to tickle the vanity and so win the heart of a man.</p> -<p>We decorated the half-finished hut with flags and bunting, -screening the yawning cavern back of the stage with broad strips -of red, white and blue cheesecloth. Then we officially invited the -whole town to attend. The whole town, from grandmother to -baby, came dressed in their Sunday best. The programme started -with an informal concert by an impromptu jazz orchestra varied -by some Harry Lauder impersonations delivered by an unexpected -youth who somehow strayed on to the stage. For a few moments -we were painfully uncertain as to whether the effect produced was -due just to Harry Lauder or to <i>vin rouge</i>, finally deciding that a -share at least of the credit should be allowed the latter. Fortunately -Harry’s appearance on the stage was short; he left us fondly -hoping that the French hadn’t realized anything was amiss.</p> -<p>The Major of course opened the formal programme. He read -his speech. It wasn’t a bad speech, representing, as it did, the -combined efforts of one captain, two lieutenants and the clerk in -the Headquarters office, and was sufficiently fiery in its reference -to the Germans to be quite in keeping with the Major’s character. -The Major sat down amid thunderous applause. The Secretary -had vainly tried to arrange to have a little girl present him with a -bouquet at the end of his speech: perhaps it was just as well the way -it was,—a bouquet might have proved embarrassing to the Major. -When the applause had died down the Major’s interpreter stepped -out and gave a brief summary of the address in French for the benefit -of the villagers. Then we had the Mayor of Abainville and after -him the Cure, looking very handsome in his beautiful French -officer’s uniform. They both delivered flowery speeches, enlarging -upon the mutual affections of the two nations, which were translated -briefly into English by the interpreter for the benefit of the -Americans.</p> -<p>After the speeches the school children, who had been fidgeting -about like so many little crickets in their front-row seats, swarmed -up on the stage and, standing in a long line with flag-bearers at -each end, sang the Marseillaise in their funny shrill little voices. -Then we all sang the Star Spangled Banner, and after that there -was a movie. As luck would have it, instead of an adventure of -the western plains, fate had sent us a romance of high finance. -We had asked the interpreter to announce the titles of the pictures -in French for the benefit of the villagers but when he discovered -that this meant making clear the intricacies of the New York Stock -Exchange to the mind of the French peasant, he baulked and bolted. -It must have been just about as intelligible to them as Coptic, -yet they sat tight and at least looked interested.</p> -<p>Everybody considers the affair a success. The Secretary was -in high spirits over the evening.</p> -<p>“The Major was pleased, I’m sure,” he declared. “As for the -French, it was an occasion which they will always remember. Why -it was just like transplanting the whole village there. The grandmother -and the babies, the mayor, the priest, the school-teacher -and his scholars; every village institution was represented!”</p> -<p>“Everything,” I said—I was tired, “but the pig-killings.”</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Abainville, July 20.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>I have just established what I think must be the smallest “hut” -in France, and such fun as it was doing it!</p> -<p>There is a detachment of about a hundred engineers stationed, -while they build the narrow-gauge railway, at a little village about -ten miles to the north, called Sauvoy. The other day I went with -the Athletic Director in a side-car to take them some baseball -equipment. The boys I found were billeted in dark dingy lofts -and had to eat their meals, rain or shine, sitting just anywhere in -the streets of the village. The thought came to me; why shouldn’t -they too have a Y? I approached the French Town Major, -taking the barber-interpreter with me to lend me both moral and -lingual support. After some uncertainty he admitted that there -was a room which might be made to serve, a room over a stable to -be sure, but a good room for all that; the rent would be thirteen -sous a day,—I snapped it up.</p> -<p>Yesterday with all my materials assembled I started out for -Sauvoy again. We began work a little before noon, myself and -four engineers. Before the afternoon was over we had changed a -filthy loft, its grimy walls covered with obscene scrawls, into as -cunning a little pocket-edition Y. as one could find I think in France. -Sweeping the dust and cobwebs from the rafters, we calcimined -the ceiling and walls a pretty creamy yellow; filled in the missing -panes with vitex; hung curtains of beautiful blue and green chintz -at the windows; laid runners of the same across the tables lent with -the benches by the <i>Major du Cantonment</i>; decorated the walls, -half-dry as they were, with stunning French posters; built shelves -in the alcove corner where the built-in bed had been, filled them -with books, games and writing materials; hung two big green Japanese -lanterns from the beam in the center; and last of all put bowls -of the loveliest flowers, larkspurs and snapdragons, begged by the -boys from the village gardens, on the shelves and tables, together -with heaps of fresh magazines and the company victrola. In the -midst of all the scurry and hurry a red-faced frowsy Frenchwoman -marched in upon us. She stalked across the room and tried the -door which led into the hay-loft: we had nailed it fast. We must -open that door immediately, she declared, otherwise she could -not get the hay to feed the horse downstairs. I saw my pretty -room used as a passage-way by a beery old termagant and my -heart sank. After some discussion, however, our visitor proposed -an alternative. If we would supply her with a ladder, she could -climb up into the loft from below. But how, I asked helplessly, -was I to get a ladder? One of the boys winked at me and disappeared; -ten minutes later he was back dragging a ladder after him. -Our French friend was satisfied.</p> -<p>“But how did you get it?” I asked wonderingly.</p> -<p>He looked at me reprovingly. “In this Man’s Army,” he -remarked, “you should learn not to ask such questions.”</p> -<p>When the last touch had been bestowed there was still an hour -before the truck which was to take me home was slated for departure. -Someone suggested a visit to the Château. So the Top -Sergeant, the barber-interpreter, the Town Major and I all set -out together.</p> -<p>The Château at Sauvoy is a fifteenth century Château, cut -out of an old picture-book, surrounded by a high wall and just -about big enough for two. One enters, oddly enough, through -the kitchen which is enormous and like a Dutch <i>genre</i> painter’s -“Interior,” with a cobble-stone floor, an eight-foot fireplace, -dried herbs and vegetables hanging from the rafters and everywhere -on the long shelves, the soft gleam of pewter and the mellow -tones of old china-ware. From the kitchen one steps into a tiny -dining-room paneled in dark carved wood with a bird-cage, empty -now, built into the wall. Beyond this is the <i>salon</i> with a wonderful -old tapestry stretched across one of its walls and some exquisite -Louis Quinze chairs in which kings and queens might have -sat.</p> -<p>But the best thing about the Château is the Chatelain, an old -French gentleman, eighty-nine years of age, the last of his family, -who lives all alone, except for one antique serving-woman, in this -beautiful dim old mansion, wears <i>sabots</i>, keeps bees for a living, -and every day of his life cuts from the <i>journal</i> the little daily -English lesson, pastes it in a tiny note-book, and then his poor -old eyes an inch from the paper, cons the words over and over, -reading them aloud with <i>such</i> a pronunciation!</p> -<p>“In three months,” he told us proudly, “I am going to be an -American.”</p> -<p>He related to us how in 1870 the town was invaded by the -Germans and he taken prisoner. But the Germans were gentlemen -then and treated him humanely; he couldn’t understand what had -changed them to such savage beasts. He took us out and showed -us his precious bees. We went through the garden, a charming -place with little box hedges and rose bushes and currant bushes -and gooseberries all growing together in the true French style. -Beyond we came to an open oblong of greensward edged by trees -with fifty hives ranged around it, the hives,—of all quaint conceits—being -made like little Chinese houses, each one different -from the rest, each painted red and blue, a bit shabby and worn -by time, but still gay and jaunty nevertheless. Monsieur guaranteed -us that the bees wouldn’t sting, they weren’t bad bees he -said, so we consented to be led about to each hive in turn and -peered in through the little glass windows at the bees making -honey. Sad to say, this is a bad year for sweets and instead of -hundreds of pounds of honey, there will be scarcely one to sell.</p> -<p>We went back through the garden and here Monsieur must -gather a bouquet for me. Around and about the garden he hurried, -going to every bush in turn, putting his poor dim eyes down -into the very leaves of each, searching for just what he wanted; -and finally it was done, pink and white roses, red geraniums, -camomile and white pinks, made up in a little stiff bunch and tied -with a bit of scarlet string. Then he must present it with a deep -bow and a gallant speech “from an old Frenchman to <i>une jolie -Américaine</i>”, while all the rest, including the ancient maid-servant -who had just returned from the fields with an apron full of clover -for the rabbits, stood about and applauded and cried “Vive la -France!” and then “Vive l’ Amérique!” in a quite truly stage -manner.</p> -<p>We left the little Y. in charge of a boy from the Medical Corps. -He has little to do except dispense pills to the French people, so -he was willing to look after it.</p> -<p>This morning word came in from Sauvoy that the Germans -bombed it last night. Luckily the bombs, evidently aimed at the -railroad, fell just outside the village and did no harm; but poor old -Monsieur must have gotten a bad fright.</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Abainville, August 1.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>Abainville’s future is at last assured. Work upon the hut -has been resumed. The buzz of barracks-building fills all the -place, the railroad yards gradually but relentlessly encroach; -little by little they are ruining the most beautiful poppy field in all -the world.</p> -<p>Meanwhile our family too has grown. A few days ago three new -companies of engineers arrived in town. These are draft troops -from Texas and Oklahoma, in camp for only a few weeks in the -States, shipped here directly from the base port, and so green to -France that they don’t even know what <i>oui oui</i> means. On the trip -here one of these boys, they tell, after gazing out the door of his -“side-door pullman” in silence half the morning, remarked disgustedly;</p> -<p>“This is a hell of a country!”</p> -<p>“What’s the matter?”</p> -<p>“Why all the stations have got the same name!”</p> -<p>“The hell they have! What’s the name?”</p> -<p>“<i>Sortie!</i>”</p> -<p>The Major in command of the new arrivals proves to be an old -and none too amicable acquaintance of our Major’s, their mutual -esteem having been obscured by a law-suit some time in the past -which resulted in our Major’s being forced to part with a considerable -sum of money. To make himself more welcome the new -Major has introduced innovations. Up till now, in accordance -with our Major’s theories, we have been a strictly business community, -our energies concentrated chiefly upon what the boys -call P. and S.—pick and shovel. But now with the coming of the -new detachment we have blossomed out with all sorts of military -frills. Armed sentinels marching their beats in a military manner -fairly encumber the camp. One is halted and challenged a half-dozen -times on one’s way home from the canteen at ten o’clock in -the evening. I am startled out of my dreams in the middle of the -night by shouts of, “Corporal of the Guard, Post Number Four!” -under my very window. And the best part of it is that these -“Long Boys,” never having had so much as the A-B-C of -military training, make the drollest imitations of real soldiers -that ever were. The atmosphere at Headquarters has of late, I -gather, been slightly tinged with electricity. But the boys belonging -to the older organizations in camp have been enjoying themselves -to an unholy degree “stuffing” the new arrivals with ghastly -tales of air-raids, gas bombs, and Serial machine-gun barrages.</p> -<p>As in all huts, we have a big map of France tacked to the wall -where the boys can have easy access to it. After one of these maps -has been up a short while, it is always a simple matter when glancing -at it, to locate one’s self—one has only to look for a dirty -spot; a little later, countless more grimy fingers having in the -meantime been applied, one looks for the hole. Yesterday one -of our new friends came to me and asked:</p> -<p>“Please, Ma’am, could you tell me where that there place, -‘No Man’s Land’ that they talk about in the papers is? I’ve -been a-lookin’ an’ a-lookin’ an’ I can’t find it on the map nowhere.”</p> -<p>Along with the new engineers Nanny arrived in town. Nanny -is an Alabama goat, smuggled on board the transport wrapped up -in one of the boys’ overcoats. Her fleece is pure white and she is -fat as a little butter-ball. Already she is one of our most -distinguished citizens. Possessed of an adventurous spirit, she -makes herself free of every house in town, being particularly fond -of climbing stairs and appearing at unsuspected moments in odd -corners of one’s billet. Madame explains the attraction here: -“She smells an American, you see!” which is a quaint thought. -Nanny is the pet detestation of the Adjutant, for she has a <i>penchant</i> -for straying into his office and nibbling at every paper within -reach. Already several valuable documents have disappeared -down her greedy little throat. Last night, in revenge, one of the -boys in the Adjutant’s office, armed with a pot of bright red paint, -painted Nanny in “dazzle” designs. Today she is a sight.</p> -<p>This morning I was puzzled to observe that a considerable -number of the newcomers were wearing pink tickets in their hats.</p> -<p>“What’s that?” I asked.</p> -<p>“Them? Them’s meal tickets!” They explained; the report had -gone around that the chow of one of the companies was of superior -quality; immediately the chow line of that same company had -assumed an inordinate length. The mess sergeant, unable, since -the company was so new, to distinguish his own men from the -self-invited guests, had found it necessary to attach tags to the -company.</p> -<p>With the coming of the new engineers, the sale of one article -in stock has swelled to unprecedented quantities. One member of -the force is fairly kept busy from morning until night cutting off -chunks of chewing tobacco. Texas and Oklahoma, it seems, have -unlimited capacities for this commodity. Now with all due respect -to the honourable American tribe of chewers, this indulgence -raises a very delicate question for the canteen lady in whose -charge rests the appearance of the hut. The scrap-boxes are -already in a bad way, I frankly advocate spittoons, but our -detail, who is a very superior lad, known among his cronies as -“The Infant” because of his pink cheeks and innocently solemn -air, flatly refuses. There are some things, he declares, to which -he will not stoop, and he grows very stiff and red in the face if I -hint at it.</p> -<p>“I have discussed the matter,” he told me yesterday, “with -several very eminent chewers, and they all agree that there isn’t -the slightest necessity for their behaviour!”</p> -<p>There may not be any necessity,—how am I to judge? But -there is a very actual and urgent state of affairs. And what is one -to do about it?</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Abainville, August 13.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>The hut is finished. Now if at any time Marshal Foch or General -Pershing or President Poincaré should happen this way, we -could say: Come in, gentlemen, and behold us; don’t we look nice?</p> -<p>The main part of the hut, the big auditorium, is done in creamy -yellow and brown with rafters of bright blue, the windows hung -with curtains of sumptuous orange chintz. The writing-room is -blue and yellow too, with green and yellow curtains on which, -in a bower of branches, black-birds perch; runners of the same -material lie across the writing tables, the practical advantage of -this pattern being that whenever anyone spills a bottle of ink on a -runner, it merely gives the effect of one more black-bird. In each -window of the writing-room is a little pot with a scarlet geranium, -while the walls of both writing-room and auditorium are bright -with beautiful French posters.</p> -<p>But the best of all the hut, to my mind at least, is the Tea Room,—so-called -until we think of something better to name it,—for the -Tea Room was my own particular pet scheme. According to the -plans, the ell behind the canteen counter was cut up into half a -dozen little rooms. By eliminating part of the central hall, the -“mess-room” and the “ladies’ room” and moving the office out -to an unused corner by the movie machine booth, we got space -for a fair-sized room connected by a serving-window with the -kitchen. Our matched lumber having run short we used rough -lumber and covered it with burlap; each strip was a different weave -and texture, to be sure, but all the same it was burlap! The woodwork -and little tables we painted a bright green, hung vivid -green curtains at the windows, then, taking the covers of chewing -tobacco boxes, stained these green too, pasted in the centre of each -a bright little water-color reproduction cut from an English art -magazine, tacked them up on the walls, and <i>voilà!</i> as pretty a -little room as could be found short of Paris!</p> -<p>In the Tea Room we serve pink lemonade, hot chocolate, jam -sandwiches, cookies and canned fruit. The boys are living on a -diet of what they call “goat’s meat” at present;—whenever it is -time for a chow line to form you can hear a chorus of bleats and -baas half across the camp,—and so sick of this have they become -that many will sup off chocolate and sandwiches in the Tea Room -by preference. Yesterday I took a chance and tried making a ten -gallon boiler full of raspberry tapioca pudding, using the bottled -fruit juice. At first the boys were inclined to be cautious.</p> -<p>“What do you call that?”</p> -<p>“How would raspberry slum do?”</p> -<p>“Well, I’ll try anything once!”</p> -<p>But after the first taste it went all too fast.</p> -<p>“Say, are there any seconds on this?”</p> -<p>“Lady,” said one lad solemnly to me, “with pudding like that -I could stay four years more in the army.”</p> -<p>One of the divisions from the lines arrived in this area, a few -days ago, for a short period of rest. A number of the men are -encamped up on the hill near the old Artillery School and they -come straying down to our hut. Poor lads, it is pitiful to see how -wonderful it seems to them to be in a place that is clean and pretty.</p> -<p>“This looks like a bit of heaven to me,” declared one boy.</p> -<p>Another, sitting in the Tea Room stirring his chocolate, commented, -“Gee, this is a swell place in here. You ought ter get some fancy -name for it.”</p> -<p>“What would you suggest?”</p> -<p>“Well I should think,” he looked around, “you might call it -Canary Cottage.”</p> -<p>Yet occasionally I wonder if it really all pays, as when I pick -out the cigar butts which, in spite of the trash boxes beneath the -tables, the boys will persist in sticking in the vases of flowers and -planting in the geranium pots, or when, as last night, I catch a -fellow using one of the beautiful chintz runners from the tables -with which to wipe the mud off his boots.</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Abainville, August 21.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<div class='cb-container'> -<div class='cb'> -<div>Talk kills men.</div> -<div>Don’t talk. The walls have ears.</div> -<div>Keep mum, let the guns talk for you.</div> -</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>Thus are we placarded. Every hut, every café, every garage, -every place of any sort where the A. E. F. may meet together and -indulge in conversation, now bears a board with some such legend -printed on it and after each terse warning is the terser admonition; -Read G. O. 39. A campaign of silence is on foot. These catchy -phrases, American variations on the classic French line: <i>Taisez -vous, méfiez vous, les oreilles ennemies vous ecoutent!</i>—Be still, -beware, the ears of the enemy are listening!—are to be perpetual reminders -to us that we are all too prone to gossip indiscreetly.</p> -<p>As to just what one may say and mustn’t say, I for one confess, -not having read G. O. 39, that I am in a quandary. I find myself -hesitating before mentioning the fact that we had baked beans for -dinner. As for talking about the weather, why that leads naturally -to the subject of moonlight nights, and moonlight nights, as every -one knows, now imply not romance but air-raids and air-raids are -of course a tabooed topic. Indeed I am beginning to have a sneaking -conviction that perhaps it would be better to discard speech -entirely and take to conversing in dumb show.</p> -<p>Sometimes some small thing that comes to one’s attention will -crystallize a difference between two races so sharply as to be -startling. This was impressed on me the other day by two posters. -Both the French and American authorities have recently issued -warnings to their soldiers concerning the practice of riding on the -tops of railroad cars, since this habit has led to a number of -casualties. The French poster reads something like this:</p> -<p>Whereas it has been brought to the attention of the Commissioner -of Railroads, that various accidents have occurred resulting from -the practice indulged in by soldiers of obtruding a portion or the -whole of their bodies beyond the limits of the car; it is urgently -requested that the soldiers in transit upon the railroad should -henceforth restrict themselves to the interior of the cars.</p> -<p>The American sign runs thus:</p> -<p>“If you want to see the next block, keep yours inside! Your -head may be hard but it’s not as hard as concrete!” Pithily it -states the number of casualties resulting from this trick, explains -that the French bridges and tunnels only allow six inches clearance -above the top of the cars, and ends;</p> -<p>“Your life may not be worth anything to you, but it may cost -your country $10,000.”</p> -<p>But the triumph of American sign art, a specimen of which hangs -in the Adjutant’s office, is the gas-defense poster. It starts off -with the Gas School slogan:</p> -<p>“There are two classes of men in a gas attack, the quick and the -dead,” proceeds to poetry:</p> -<div class='cb-container'> -<div class='cb'> -<div>“The hard-boiled guy said gas was bunk,</div> -<div>It couldn’t hurt you, only stunk....</div> -<div>The hard-boiled guy went up the line,</div> -<div>Fritz spilled the mustard good and fine;</div> -<div>And now some people wonder why</div> -<div>It’s flowers for the hard-boiled guy,”</div> -</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>and ends with the admonition that seems a little ironical to one -who must struggle to make green wood burn in a broken-down -French range; “Cook with it, don’t croak with it.”</p> -<p>Today we put up a sign fill of our own over the counter. For -some reason, transportation probably, there has been a most distressing -lack of supplies in this area recently. Not only are we -suffering, but the Salvation Army and even the sales commissaries -have all been stricken with the same famine. Indeed I was -told of one commissary which bore the warning; “We have salt, -mustard and baking powder. That’s all.” Tired of replying several -hundred times a day; “I’m awfully sorry but we haven’t any -so-and-so,” I made a sign which was a list of all the “haven’t gots” -and tacked it up over the counter. Thinking to be funny I included -strawberry ice-cream among the rest, to be promptly punished -by an innocent-eyed youth who inquired hopefully; “What -kind of ice-cream <i>have</i> you got?”</p> -<p>Another boy read through the list once, twice, then looked up -at the Infant disgustedly.</p> -<p>“Why don’t you put ‘Hell!’ at the bottom of it?” he queried.</p> -<p>“’Pears to me it would be easier to make a list of the things -you <i>have</i> got,” suggested another.</p> -<p>A little while longer and if no help comes, we shall be doing this. -I can see that sign in my mind’s eye now. It will read something -like this:</p> -<div class='lgc'> -<div>We have</div> -<div>chewing tobacco</div> -<div>indelible pencils</div> -<div>and</div> -<div>shaving brushes</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Abainville, September 2.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>Once a month, according to schedule, the whole personnel of -the division is summoned to Y. Headquarters at Gondrecourt for -a conference. Formerly these conferences were largely religious in -significance, consisting of much righteousness with a slight leaven -of business. Each one in turn was looked forward to as a pious but -unprofitable duty and evaded when possible,—which wasn’t often. -Now with a change in the directorship the conferences have taken -on an almost entirely practical tone. Incidentally they have -gained amazingly in popularity. For now one can attend a conference -with confidence that during its progress one will surely -glean more than one quaint bit of human comedy.</p> -<p>Today it was the Aviation Camp Secretary who supplied most -of the spice. This is an odd but very earnest little man whom I -shall always remember as I saw him at the Gondrecourt railway -station last May, starting for Paris dressed up in a “tin hat” and -a gas mask. Whether this was in order to bluff Paris into thinking -that he had come straight from the front, or whether this was to -protect himself against the assaults of Big Bertha while in the city, -I could not determine, but never since have I been able to take the -gentleman quite seriously.</p> -<p>The Aviation Secretary created the first sensation by rising -suddenly to his feet and reading a motion to the effect that the -Gondrecourt Division of the Y. M. C. A. should go on record as -registering a protest against “the wicked state of the Paris streets,” -citing Mr. Edward Bok and his action in the case of the streets -of Liverpool. For a moment no one said a word, then a secretary -arose and requested that the motion be amended to read more -clearly, as in its present form it might be taken to refer to the -condition of the paving, or the criminal recklessness of the taxi -drivers. The Warehouse Man then solemnly proposed that in view -of Mr. Bok a ruling should be passed that while in Paris all secretaries -should be required to travel by the subway or in a cab. I -wanted to ask if it wouldn’t do just as well if special prayers -should be offered for each secretary on his departure for the wicked -city, but refrained.</p> -<p>No sooner had the excitement over the Paris streets subsided, -than the Aviation Secretary was on his feet again with a second -resolution. This was in effect a petition to the Paris office that -they send us proportionately less tobacco and more sweets for sale -in the canteens. This precipitated a fiery argument, the smokers -lined up against the non-smokers. Listening to the non-smokers -you became convinced that the manhood of America was on its -way to ruin through excessive cigarettes; listening to the smokers -you became equally certain that the war would be won by tobacco -smoke. The situation became so tense one could almost see the -sparks in the air. In the end the smokers had it.</p> -<p>The next thrill was caused by one of the women workers who in -the course of a speech took occasion to deprecate the housekeeping -abilities of the men secretaries. On Fourth of July, she -declared, when the chocolate cups from all over the area had been -sent into Gondrecourt for the celebration there, some of them had -been discovered to be in a shocking state. These had later been -traced to a hut where there was no woman worker. Instantly the -Aviation Secretary was up again. This charge was a personal -matter, he declared, as the cups in question had been his. However -he denied the implication. The cups had been perfectly clean -when they left the hut, they must have become soiled en route. -And so the conference comedy is played out.</p> -<p>At the town of X. there is a secretary who declares he is devoting -his life to the service of the Lord. Some years ago he -found himself becoming deaf. So he told the Lord that if He -would restore his hearing he would spend the rest of his days in -performing good works. He was cured. Last week he created a -corner on eggs in this vicinity by buying one hundred and twenty-five -dozen at five francs per. Now he is reselling them for six. -Wanting eggs badly to make custard for some sick boys here, and -not being able to obtain them any other way, I walked over to X. -and bought two dozen. When I got home I counted them, there -were just twenty-three. Surely the Lord got the worst of that -bargain!</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Abainville, September 9.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>Something is going to happen.</p> -<p>We have been used to seeing the French Army go by; interminable -lines of camions, so many feet apart, rolling through the town -for hours on end. Sometimes we have seen a section pass through -on its way to the front, only to return again some ten days later. -Once seen, a French camion train is never forgotten, for each -automobile section bears painted on its sides the distinctive -insignia of the unit. These are sometimes droll, sometimes sentimental, -but always cleverly designed and usually striking,—a poilu -drinking <i>pinard</i> from his canteen, a pelican, a polar bear, -a dancing monkey, a soldier embracing a peasant girl, a grinning -Algerian’s head in ear rings and a red fez, a gendarme holding up -a threatening club.</p> -<p>But now by day, by night, it is the Americans who are passing -through, their faces set toward the front, on troop-trains, in -camions, on foot. Coming home from the canteen in the evening -one hears the heavy rattle that means artillery on the move, and -standing by the roadside peering through the darkness one can -just discern horses and caissons, slat-wagons, supply-wagons and, -looming ominously in the dim light, the formidable bulk of the -great guns.</p> -<p>Night before last I was awakened by the sound of troops passing, -a regiment of infantry on the march. I lay and listened; -the tramp, tramp, tramp of the rhythmic feet was unvarying, -incessant, then came a break. The order had been given to halt -for a rest. The boys were evidently sitting down by the edge of the -road. But though they rested they were by no means still.</p> -<p>“<i>Oh Mademoiselle!</i>” they entreated the dark and unresponsive -houses, “<i>Oh, Mademoiselle! Deux vin rouge toot sweet s’il -vous plaît, Mademoiselle!</i>”</p> -<p>They swore genially. They sang snatches of <i>Hail, hail the -gang’s all here</i> and <i>Tipperary</i>. One boy had a mouth organ which -he played with vim. Someone introduced a barnyard motif and -they were off, crowing and cackling, mooing and bleating, imitating -every animal known to domestic life. They sounded like -schoolboys off for a holiday and my God! they were soldiers on -the march to the front, their faces set to the battle!</p> -<p>Tonight as we came home from the hut, we were startled by -a strange sight. The sky was clear, except for one dark mass -shaped like a cloud of smoke which hung above the horizon to -the north. As we looked, suddenly the under side of the cloud -turned an angry crimson, then in a moment grew dark again. A -minute later the red glow showed again only to fade but and be -repeated. We knew that the angry light must be the glare reflected -from the flashes of the guns which were belching red death -across the lines. All at once the battle-field seemed very near.</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Abainville, September 14.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>We have taken the Saint Mihiel salient! The news came in -yesterday over the wires. At first we couldn’t believe it. We -have heard so many wonderful but alas! too hopeful things over -those wires! But now the newspapers have proved it, with their -maps showing the salient cut off as clean as by a knife. And -if we wanted concrete proof, why we have that too. They -have sent for a detail of engineers from Abainville to build hurry-up -prison pens. They simply haven’t any place to put the thousands -of captive Germans. The detail set out in high spirits looking -forward to doing a brisk business in souvenirs; already reports -have come in to the effect that buttons and shoulder-straps may -be had in exchange for a cigarette, and a ring for a sack of -five-cent “smoking.”</p> -<p>The inhabitants of Saint Mihiel, they say, were terror-stricken -at the sight of the Americans. When our troops first entered the -town they believed the city had been retaken. The Americans, -they thought, were Austrians. No one in Saint Mihiel had ever -seen an American; they hadn’t even known America was in the -war!</p> -<p>But even in Saint Mihiel I don’t believe that there was any -greater joy than the joy that was here in our own kitchen. Madame -who helps us with the dishes at the hut is the daughter of the -refugee schoolmaster, a shy, sensitive, appealing little woman, -girl-like in spite of her half-grown daughter. When we told her -that the salient had been taken she went white and trembled. -And what of Vieville? she begged; Vieville, her own little village? -We got the map and showed it to her. Sure enough, there was -Vieville and the new line stretching the other side of it! It was -true past doubting. Madame shivered. “I don’t know whether -to laugh or to cry,” she told us and there were sobs in her voice -while she smiled at us. She tried to go on with scrubbing the floor, -but she couldn’t. Would we mind if she ran home for a minute? -She must tell the news to Papa and Maman. But certainly, stay as -long as you like! we told her. In an hour she was back again, to -go about her work in a dazed uncertain fashion, smiling tremulously -while the tears stood in her eyes. We must get someone to -take her place at the canteen, she told us,—they would be going -back to Vieville right away. It was plain to see that she would -have liked to start that very moment. We said nothing. Of -course it was impossible. Vieville though liberated was close to -the lines. When I looked at Madame so happy, so confidently -eager to return to her home, I sickened to think of the ruin that -probably awaited her. How do they have the courage to face it, -these French people? I thought of the words of the old schoolmaster: -“We are living under tension now, it is the strain that -keeps us up. When the war is over there will be a terrible reaction.” -They have been brave, so brave, these peasant villagers, -but how will they bear the future? Where will they be swept when -they are caught in the fearful ebb of that reaction?</p> -<p>Already odd-looking little German narrow-gauge engines and -freight cars have begun to appear in the yards, part of the Saint -Mihiel booty. It does the eyes good to look at them.</p> -<p>One doesn’t want to hope too greatly, but is it possible that -this may be the beginning of the end?</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Abainville, September 18.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>Last night they bombed Gondrecourt. We were startled out of -our sleep by the explosions. Lying in bed I could hear the angry -growling gr-gr-gr which distinguishes the German plane, as it -flew over Abainville headed back towards the lines. Would it -drop another bomb? It seemed to take an interminable time to -pass over us. Finally the growling hum grew faint, died away. -Then the real excitement of the night began. Swarming into the -streets, men, women and children, they proceeded to turn the -occasion into a social event. Standing in the square in the moonlight, -all talking at once and all talking at the top of their voices, -they discussed, narrated, compared, commented, sympathized, -while high above all the din I could hear Madame’s voice in semi-hysterical -outbursts of emotion. How they could find so much to -say about it I can’t imagine. If Hindenburg’s whole army had -suddenly appeared in Gondrecourt they couldn’t have been more -excited. I went to sleep and left them still busy analyzing, as I -took it, their psychological reactions.</p> -<p>This morning we learned that the bombs, falling at the edge -of the town, had injured nothing except a few trees.</p> -<p>“What would you do if they should start to bomb Abainville?” -I asked Madame when she brought me my morning toast and -chocolate.</p> -<p>“I? I would go to the church.”</p> -<p>“What you, the infidel! You who never go to mass!”</p> -<p>“I know.” Madame smiled a little sheepishly. “And yet all -the same, one would feel safer there.”</p> -<p>At the canteen a lieutenant who was just finishing his course -at Gondrecourt came in.</p> -<p>“Nobody can imagine who should have wanted to bomb the -school,” he declared, “unless it was some former pupil.”</p> -<p>“Why I was told that the Gondrecourt School was the ranking -school of France!” I exclaimed.</p> -<p>“Made a mistake in the last syllable,” he responded sourly, -“it should have been spelled e-s-t.”</p> -<p>But if the inhabitants of Abainville have experienced no losses -through air-raids yet, they have nevertheless, suffered a minor -casualty. Victor, the town simpleton, the genial, harmless Victor, -was knocked down by a passing automobile yesterday and became -separated from his left ear in the ensuing confusion. Poor wretch! -I saw him this morning hobbling down the street with a cane, his -head swathed in bandages, but the same old cheerful smile on his -half-wit face, as he cocked one eye warily on the look-out for -approaching autos. Meanwhile a heated controversy is being -waged between the medical officers of Abainville as to whether or -not that ear might after all have been saved.</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Saint Malo, Brittany, September 23.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>Today I took tea with a Baroness, not only I, but about eighty -odd members of the A. E. F. here <i>en permission</i> like myself. Our -hostess was an American lady, the widow of a French Baron; the -tea a weekly party held at her Château out in the country, to which -all boys on leave in this Brittany area are invited.</p> -<p>We took the funny little narrow-gauge train from Saint Malo, -a “mixed” train and so crowded by the tea party that the boys -must ride in the baggage car and on the flat freight cars, and started -our journey out to Châteauneuf. The feature of the train trip -was the blackberries. Here in Brittany these grow all along the -roadsides, the bushes topping the narrow earth-covered walls like -dykes that serve for fences. Strangely enough in this land of -thrift, the blackberries go untouched, untasted. A Frenchman -who lectured to us last spring declared that as a child he was warned -not to eat them: they would give him lice, he was told. This, he -explained, was the method which French parents took to dissuade -their children from eating berries which, growing along the roadsides, -would be full of dust—a quaint scruple to find among people -ordinarily so superior to sanitary considerations! But the Americans -had no such superstitions; at every cross-roads stop we made, -the boys swarmed off the cars and fell upon the wayside bushes. -I tasted some that one of the boys brought back for me. Compared -to our blackberries at home they were flat and flavorless, but anyway -they were fruit and they were free and that was all the A. E. F. -demanded.</p> -<p>Arrived at Châteauneuf, we must first file through the reception -room where each and all of us shook hands with the Baroness, a -gracious, stately old lady dressed in black, and then out upon the -lawn beyond the long ivy-covered, many-gabled house, to sit upon -the grass and drink our tea. But tea was a misnomer unless it -might have been the sort which the English call “high tea,” it was -a supper; salad, sandwiches, buttermilk and fruit punch served on -real china plates and in dainty goblets. Many a covetous eye I -saw fixed on the silver forks with the coronets engraved on them, -while the whispered word “souvenir” caught my ear, but to the -boys’ credit I am glad to say that, as far as I know, they one and -all resisted this temptation.</p> -<p>After supper the boys sang and then we were invited to go -through the house and wander about the grounds and garden. -Coming back to the house after having made the rounds, the boy -who was with me suddenly stopped stock-still.</p> -<p>“Well I’ll be darned!”</p> -<p>Before us wound a tiny stream and perched on its bank an old, -old peasant woman was busy scrubbing what was evidently the -Château wash. The boy turned and looked at me despairingly, -“And for all that’s such a fine house,” he groaned, “I suppose there -ain’t so much as a speck of plumbing in the whole blamed building!”</p> -<p>On the lawn we found games were in progress. All the youngsters -from the neighborhood had assembled to watch the Americans -at the tea party. At first they had hung shyly on the outskirts, -but now a lad from the air service had started them to romping. -Taking hold of hands a long line of these little gamin would pursue -a soldier victim, encircle him, bring him to earth, then pile on him, -holding him a helpless prisoner until he bought his liberty with a -ransom of cigarettes, gum or coppers. It was a wonderful game -for the children but I could not help but watch with apprehension, -every time there was a pig-pile, to see where all those wooden -shoes would land.</p> -<p>Coming home, we walked to the little fishing village next door -and took the train there. As this visit to the village is also a weekly -affair, all the inhabitants were on their door-steps to greet us, the -women with their red cheeks, dressed invariably in black dresses -and little stiffly starched net caps. We went into the church with -its array of votive offerings in the shape of tiny models of fishing -boats and then, on our way to the station, stopped to view, over -the hedge, the picture-book garden of one old fisherman in which -the trees and shrubs were all clipped and trained into the quaintest -shapes—peacocks and animals and little ships. As the crowd -moved on I lingered. An old man leaning on a cane, who had been -watching from the roadside, stepped forward and spoke to me. -He was the owner of the garden. He wanted to express to me his -gratitude to America, America who had saved France! “<i>Ah! -Vive l’Amérique!</i>” The old fellow’s tribute, unsolicited and unpremeditated -evidently, touched me deeply.</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Abainville, October 4.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>While I was away it seems several things occurred. For one, -we lost Nanny. Whether some enterprising mess sergeant thought -the day’s menu would be improved by the addition of kid pie, -whether some French family lured her away to be interned in their -back yard, or whether, as one might more darkly suspect, the Adjutant -had something to do with the matter; nobody knows. The -bare fact confronts us: Nanny has disappeared.</p> -<p>We have also lost one of our most picturesque customers. This -was a handsome young Greek with a beautiful curled mustache, -named Niccolo. He used to hold up the chocolate line, while, his -eyes fairly shooting fire, he rolled up his sleeves and showed me -the scars of the bayonet wounds which he received fighting the -Turks. “The German, he just the same the Turk! I tella the -Captain he letta me go front, killa ten, twenty, hundred Germans!” -Why such a bloodthirsty soul as his should be cribbed, cabined and -confined in an engineer regiment, he never explained. Just before -I went away on leave a detail of prisoners from the guard-house -arrived at the hut one morning to scrub the floor. To my regret -I noticed Noccolo was among them. Niccolo, however, did not -seem to mind, he was quite happily occupied with telling the others -how the work should be done.</p> -<p>“That feller’s nuts,” complained a fellow-prisoner to me, “he -spends all his time when he’s in the brig, tryin’ to read the Bible -to us.”</p> -<p>While I was away they sent him to the Gondrecourt hospital -on suspicion of insanity. The other night he escaped and made his -way back to Abainville clad in his hospital pajamas, only to be -caught and taken back again. Poor Niccolo with his beautiful -mustache and his fiery spirit! I am sorry he never had the chance -to get those Germans.</p> -<p>Worst of all, the Y. is in disgrace with the officers. It came about -through the matter of seats at the movies. The officers wanted -to come to the shows and they also wanted seats reserved for them; -naturally they wanted the best seats. Now this is always a vexed -and delicate problem in a hut, for if the officers ask for reserved -seats one can’t very well refuse them, and yet to grant them is to -raise resentment among the men. When I left the matter was hanging -at loose ends. Shortly afterwards our Secretary, who is more -distinguished for sentimentality than tact, had an inspiration; he -would put it up to the men. Undoubtedly when the case was laid -before them, their nobler natures would be touched and they would -discern that it was their patriotic duty to voluntarily relinquish -the best seats in the house to their military superiors. So one night -just as the show was due to start the Secretary walked out onto -the stage and made his little speech, ending with the appeal:</p> -<p>“And now boys, where shall we put the officers?”</p> -<p>A perfect roar answered him. “Put ’em on the roof! Put ’em -on the roof!”</p> -<p>It was frightfully embarrassing. The officers were furious. They -withdrew and called a mass-meeting to consider the matter. What -the exact statute that covered the case was I don’t know. I suppose -the crime was one of a sort of military <i>lèse Majesté</i>. Anyway -the Secretary had indisputably laid himself liable to a court-martial. -In the end, however, the officers decided that as long as the case was -one of stupidity rather than malice, they would let the Secretary -go with a warning.</p> -<p>And now they have stationed spotters among us! The hut, it -seems, has proved to possess an all too potent charm for boys who -should by rights be engaged at “pick and shovel” and other uninviting -but necessary occupations. In view of this the authorities have -taken drastic action; passes must now be issued to the boys to -allow them to enter the hut during work hours, and alas for the -unhappy lad who ventures in without a permit, the lynx-like eye -of the amateur detective detail is sure to light upon him!</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Abainville, October 11.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>Nanny has returned! She was found tethered in a back-yard -in a nearby village. Since the French household which claimed -her as their lawful property refused to relinquish her peacefully, -she was taken by storm. There was a scrimmage, the neighbors -rallied to their friends’ assistance. But the two lads who had been -the discoverers managed to break away bearing the struggling -Nanny with them and, followed by the whole village shouting -“Stop thief!” gained their truck and rolled triumphantly away. -No longer, however, does Nanny wander at large, innocently -trimming the villagers’ cabbage rows, or slipping slyly into the -Adjutant’s office to sample his latest orders. Nanny is under -guard. The engineers are taking no chances.</p> -<p>Yesterday we acquired a kitten,—a wild-eyed yellow scrap -brought in last night by a lad as an offering. The boys immediately -christened her “The O. D. Cat.” Every time I give her a -caress some one of the boys leaning over the counter is sure to -remark: “Gee, wish I was a cat!”</p> -<p>“But what shall I feed her?” I questioned, thinking of the -difficulty of fresh milk.</p> -<p>“Corn willy and cognac! What else would you give an O. D. -cat?” they chorused.</p> -<p>“And where shall she spend the night?”</p> -<p>“I’ll keep her for you ma’am,” volunteered a brawny Texan. -“She’ll sleep right in the bunk longside o’ me.”</p> -<p>This morning the canteen was full of tales of the night. “Yes -sir! he tied her up to a post with a rope as big around as your -arm! An’ the pore cat nearly hanged herself. She hollered all -night long!”</p> -<p>This the Texan emphatically denied; he had a tale all of his own -to tell however.</p> -<p>“There was a mouse last night in the barracks. It was the -littlest mouse you ever seen, but it chased that cat all around -them barracks. Yes ma’am, it sure did run that cat ragged!”</p> -<p>“Did you give her any breakfast?” I asked, disdaining any -comment on his story.</p> -<p>“Sure ma’am! I gave her a saucerful of cognac.”</p> -<p>“You never did!”</p> -<p>“Yes, an’ it did that cat good, it did. Soon’s she’d lapped -up that saucer; ‘Bring on your mouse!’ she says.” He shook his -head reflectively. “My, but that cat sure was feelin’ its strength -this mornin’!”</p> -<p>“Waste cognac on a cat! That’s a likely story for that guy to -be telling!” was the single comment of the bystanders.</p> -<p>Right here I wish to record a formal apology to the Secretary -at X who sold me the six-franc eggs a month ago. Today I was -talking to the Top Sergeant whom I encountered on my way home -and who carried my basket for me. From something he let fall -I now more than suspect it was he who accounted for that twenty-fourth -egg!</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Abainville, October 16.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>His real name, of course, is Horace but since Madame refers to -him as ’Oreece, as ’Oreece he must go,—’Oreece is our new detail. -He is cautious, conscientious and slow. If ’Oreece ever showed -signs of having spunk enough to do something that was really bad, -I would feel that there was hope for him. Madame, who adores -the Infant, is very cold to ’Oreece. The other day she requested -him to save her all the cigar stubs he found while sweeping. She -wanted them for an old derelict of a Frenchman who is a sort of -scavenger around camp. Poor old papa could smoke the butts -nicely in his pipe she declared. But ’Oreece was so disobliging as -to turn his nose up at their proposal. Anyway ’Oreece cuts the -bread for the jam-sandwiches very, very nicely.</p> -<p>Three nights ago we had an air-raid alarm. The evening’s -programme was over but the hut was still full of boys. Suddenly -without any warning, all the lights went out. We looked out the -door, the camp was in total darkness. In the machine-gun pit -nearby we could hear quick excited orders interspersed with -curses,—the gunners were getting ready to stand off the aeroplanes. -The boys left the hut. We waited for a while and then, getting -tired of the dark, went home. The planes didn’t show up; I went -to bed feeling that it had been a case of Hamlet without Hamlet.</p> -<p>Last night we were in the middle of a movie show when a shattering -explosion sounded outside. Back in the kitchen where I -was serving hot chocolate to the Tea Room line, everyone started -and stared. Was it a raid? Surely that was a bomb! There was -another explosion. Then the lights went out. So it was the real -thing! I seized the Cash-box and stood pat. Another crash; -instantly outside there was a stampede. In the dark it was impossible -to see just what was happening, but from the sounds -it appeared that about seven hundred pairs of hob-nailed shoes -were doing double-quick time out the doors. In less time than -one could believe the auditorium was empty. I heard Madame’s -voice behind me in staccato exclamations. Somebody scratched a -match and lit a candle, a little group of boys were still standing at -the window waiting for their chocolate, their faces looked a bit -white I thought. Then the Infant put his head out the kitchen -door:</p> -<p>“Why, the lights in camp are all on!” he exclaimed.</p> -<p>A boy came up to the window. “They’re practising at the -school,” he told us. “I heard the other day that they were going -to pull some stunts in the trenches tonight.”</p> -<p>“So that was it!”</p> -<p>The lights flashed on.</p> -<p>“But why did they go out?” I asked confused. Nobody could -explain it.</p> -<p>At that moment ’Oreece drifted into the kitchen, he wore a -very pale and apologetic grin.</p> -<p>“’Oreece!” I gasped, “Did you—”</p> -<p>“I turned the lights off,” he admitted. “I knew where the -switch was. I thought it was a raid.”</p> -<p>I glared disgusted: “And a nice night’s work you’ve done!”</p> -<p>My friend the Texan strolled up to the deserted counter.</p> -<p>“I met ’em all coming down the road,” he remarked. “Gee, but -it was like the retreat of a whole division!”</p> -<p>Today the boys have been asking to tease me: “Where were -<i>you</i> in the Great Air-Raid?”</p> -<p>“I? Oh, I was under the kitchen-table,” I reply.</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Abainville, October 23.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>The Chief has just brought me great news. I am to have a hut -all of my own. I am to be head cook, bottle-washer, and grand -high secretary all in one. And I am to go out into the wilds of -France and start a new hut alone.</p> -<p>It seems there is an ordnance depot at a village called Mauvages -about six miles north of here. The camp itself is small, some two -hundred men, but the town has a large billeting capacity and -additional bodies of troops will be stationed there from time to -time. The C. O. of the Ammunition Reclamation Camp,—that -is its official title,—has requested that a hut be established there. -With the personnel in its present state no man secretary, says the -Chief, can be spared, but if I care to undertake the job on my own -I am welcome to it. And if after two months or so of solitary -confinement “out in the sticks,” as the boys say, I get to hankering -too badly for the flesh-pots of civilization, why they will arrange -to have me relieved. Need I say that I snapped up the offer on the -spot? I had asked to be transferred from Abainville some while ago, -as the conditions here have been none too congenial, but to have -a hut all of my own is beyond any luck that I had dared dream.</p> -<p>I would like to sling my old kit bag over my shoulder, tuck a -chocolate container under one arm and a case of cigarettes under -the other, and catch the first truck that passes bound northward -for Mauvages. But it seems they won’t let me go until a New Lady -comes here to take my place. They have telegraphed to the office -at Nancy. If the New Lady doesn’t come quick, I have a good -mind to go A. W. O. L. and start my canteen willy-nilly.</p> -<p>Meanwhile I am planning plans. Because of the grey chill days -of winter I am going to paint my hut inside the brightest sunshiny -yellow I can find, hang it with orange curtains, and then in honor -of the ordnance, christen it the Pumpkin Shell!</p> -</div> <!-- end of chapter --> -<div class='chapter' id='chVI'> -<h2>CHAPTER VI: MAUVAGES—THE ORDNANCE</h2> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Abainville, October 26.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>I have been to Mauvages; a reconnoitering expedition. As regards -the town the most striking feature about it is the Egyptian -Fountain. A somewhat startling structure to come upon in a little -French mudpie village, it stands in the centre of the town and -consists of the façade of a temple in front of which towers an ancient -God of the Nile—or so I take him—in dull green bronze, -pouring from pitchers held in either hand clear streams of water -into a broad semi-circular basin. Behind the columns is another -pool, this one for the village washerwomen: a cleverly conceived -arrangement, for every passing stranger must stop to stare at the -fountain and this in turn affords the washerwomen the opportunity -to stare at him.</p> -<p>Around two sides of the town curves the canal along whose -placid surface the slow barges occasionally pass. They tell me -that some very beautiful women go by on these canal boats, but -I suspect that the reason that they seem so beautiful is just that -they do go by—the lure of the unobtainable. At the south end -of the town the canal disappears into a hill-side, four miles to the -southwest it appears again; a rather remarkable, and in view of -the fact that in the most piping times of peace the traffic on the -canal never exceeded four barges each way a day, inexplicably extravagant -feat of engineering. Every now and then a little crowd -of ordnance boys will take a notion to walk through the tunnel -which has a path cut at one side, an excursion which must be unspeakably -dreary as the whole length is quite unlighted and the air -damp and close beyond anything. More than once on these excursions -a boy has fallen into the canal and had to be fished out again.</p> -<p>My hut-to-be is on the further edge of town in the centre of a -beautiful open green field like a lawn. Just behind it is a large -ruined stone house which the boys use as a background against -which to take pictures “at the front” and on one side is a lovely -tall wayside cross and a tiny chapel, the smallest I have ever seen, -almost hidden in a little grove of bushes. The hut is a French -recreation barracks; long, low, covered with black tar paper, the -windows filled with grimy cloth, it is comprised of four walls, a -roof, a tiny stage and a mud floor,—a good mud floor, the best mud -floor, I am assured, in this part of France.</p> -<p>As for my billet, I am to lodge, it seems, with Monsieur le Curé. -He was out when I called but the Major du Cantonment and Madame -the Caretaker settled things between them. What Monsieur -le Curé will say when he come home and discovers that <i>une demoiselle -Américaine</i> is to live <i>chez lui</i>, I don’t know, but as Monsieur -le Major himself suggested it, it must be in accordance with the -clerical proprieties.</p> -<p>The Curé’s mansion is a rather stately, gloomy square house -set back from the street with a rose-garden edging the path in -front. My room has a Juliet balcony with a view of the Egyptian -Fountain, the ancient church and a scrap of rolling hills beyond. -Breakfasts I have arranged to take with Madame the Caretaker -who lives several doors down the street, dinners and suppers I am to -eat by courtesy of the C. O. at the camp.</p> -<p>When I returned tonight I told my landlady of my plans. Her -eyes fairly danced with mischievous glee.</p> -<p>“Oh la la! You and the Curé!” she cried. “<i>Le diable avec le -bon Dieu!</i> It will be necessary for you to become a good Catholic, -say your prayers, and go to mass every morning. Who knows? -Perhaps you may end by becoming a <i>religieuse</i>.”</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Mauvages, November 2.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>We are building. This proves to be a painful process, consisting -largely of discovering what you can’t have and what you will have -to do without. For instance, it appears that there is not enough -lumber to be had in France to furnish me a complete floor, and I -had set my heart on having a nice, whole, <i>sweepable</i> floor! French -barracks, one should note in passing, are constructed of sections; -the upper part of the walls containing the window sections being -vertical, the lower sloping outward at an angle of about thirty-five -degrees. By a process of begging, borrowing and salvaging—nobody -says <i>steal</i> any more these days,—I have visions of getting -the floor in the centre all filled in, but for the edges, under the -sloping sides, I am afraid there is no hope. But I’m not going to -mind, I tell the boys; I shall start a series of war gardens in the -little mud-plots, cabbages in number one, brussels sprouts in number -two, and violets just for my own satisfaction in three. And the -boys can take turns hoeing them.</p> -<p>For the rest, we have cut a door in the side for general entrance, -the original one being reserved for cooks, colonels and K. P.s, -and across the front end opposite the stage we have constructed -our store-room, kitchen and canteen. A lattice is all that separates -the kitchen from the counter; this is so, in order to facilitate social -intercourse between the cook and the customers, and also to enable -the secretary, no matter if she is engaged in stirring the chocolate -or washing the dishes, to keep a weather eye on what is going on -outside. But the triumph of my hut-plan is the window-seat. -Half-way down the hut we have a stove, a stove which looks as -big as an engine-boiler, a stove which makes the eyes of all beholders -fairly pop with admiration. “That’s a real stove,” say the boys. -“That ain’t no frog stove I’ll tell the world!” And back of the -stove we have a seat three sections long against the wall. Wonderful -to say that seat is comfortable and what’s more it has sofa-cushions. -“What are those pillers for?” demanded one boy suspiciously. -“Are they for the officers to sit on?”</p> -<p>“D’you know what this is?” asked a boy today as he luxuriously -stretched his length on the window-seat. “This is the Lounge -Lizard’s Roost.” So the Lounge Lizard’s Roost it is.</p> -<p>The yellow curtains are already up in place. They give a rather -stunning effect against the black tar paper when the æroplane -camouflage curtains are let down. In each space between the windows -we have tacked one of that gorgeous series of French railway -posters, so my hut is brave with color, tawny orange, sharp blues, -and shadowy purples.</p> -<p>Meanwhile the whole French populace has called, singly or in -crowds, in order to see just what is going on. As for the children, -I am sure they must have declared a school holiday in honor of us. -The whole concern is evidently a bit puzzling to the French mind; -but they have solved the riddle by terming the hut a “<i>coopératif</i>,” -and so I let it rest.</p> -<p>But you will be wondering how <i>le diable</i> is contriving to live -with <i>le bon Dieu</i>.</p> -<p>Monsieur le Curé is quite old. There is something stern and -something tragic in his face, with all his urbane graciousness. He -is a refugee from the devastated area and like myself a lodger in -the house, whose owners have fled this zone of armies. Monsieur -le Curé was a captive for six months with the Germans and the -desolate confinement wrought a little on his mind; “At times he -is absent,” says Madame the Caretaker. This morning I stopped -and chatted with him at his door downstairs, he called me in to -show me “a souvenir of his captivity,” a little dirty-white tin -basin out of which as prisoner he ate. “I learned to smoke then,” -he told me. “There was nothing to do the whole day long but sit -and smoke and wait for the clock to strike.” Tonight I am going -to take him a little gift of American tobacco.</p> -<p>I am planning a house-warming with which to formally open -the hut.</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Mauvages, November 6.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>We didn’t have that house-warming. Even as we were finishing -the hut all hands came down with the flu. Curiously enough it hit -the camp all in a heap after dinner. Thirty per cent of the boys, -the two officers, the building detail and myself were all laid low -between one and six o’clock. Fortunately it was the lightest sort -of an epidemic, a mere <i>soupçon</i> as it were, in every case. I merely -retired to my bed for a day and a half and refused to eat. On -the third day, which was yesterday, I crawled back to the canteen. -It was a case of pipe all hands on deck and stand to the counter. -Two companies of engineers had arrived in the night. They were -back from an advanced station just behind the lines and they were -starved for chocolate and cigarettes. Two months ago they left -Abainville, green troops, just over, now they are seasoned veterans, -in proof of which they carry souvenirs salvaged from German dugouts. -I heard all about these souvenirs, as I was taking breakfast, -from the lips of an excited Neighbor Woman. From the list -of unwarlike trophies which she rattled off I gleaned umbrellas -and a wall-clock; but the best was reserved for me when I reached -the canteen. One of the boys had met one of these same engineers -toiling up the hill from the railroad with a large upholstered armchair -on his back.</p> -<p>“You can’t imagine,” he complacently replied to his gaping -questioners, “how nice it is, at the end of a hard day’s work, to -be able to sit down and smoke one’s pipe in real comfort.”</p> -<p>Up and down the street are heaps of pale-green cabbages. -The field kitchens by the fountain are busy cooking them. The -town is fairly steeped in the odor of boiling cabbages. These are -the famous German cabbages captured in the Saint Mihiel drive, -and for the past two months, the engineers, they tell me, have had -them boiled for dinner, for supper and for breakfast, until it seems -that they hate the Germans for those cabbages as much as they -hate them for the rape of Belgium and the sinking of the Lusitania.</p> -<p>At the corner by the fountain this noon a lady stopped to -speak to me. She was tall and white-haired and bore herself with -gracious dignity. She had heard, she told me, that these men had -just returned from Hattonchatel. She was very anxious to learn -something of the fate of a nearby town, Haumont by the lakes, -where her aged sister had lived. Since the German invasion four -years ago she had heard absolutely no word of her. Was the town -in such a state that it was possible her sister might still be there, or -had the inhabitants been herded off to Germany? I questioned -several boys, finally I found a lad who spoke French. Yes he -knew the town to which she referred. He had often observed it -from the height of a nearby hill,—it had been daily under -shell-fire. Very sadly, but with her gracious sweetness undisturbed, -the lady turned away.</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Mauvages, November 9.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>Life is just one breathless bustle now-a-days. Hardly had -we got our minds adjusted to the engineers when a whole battalion -of machine-gunners marched into town. From the moment -they arrived it has been one interminable line from morning -until night, demanding the Three C.s,—chocolate, cookies, and -cigarettes. Luckily my closet was well stocked and so has stood -the strain.</p> -<p>And speaking of closets, I have acquired a skeleton in mine. -It came about through a sick soldier, an accommodating captain -and an egg-nogg. The sick boy I discovered in Madame the Caretaker’s -stable while breakfasting this morning. He was very -miserable, Madame told me, and had been quite unable to eat a -thing for days. I stopped in at the stable and verified her words. -The boy looked wretched.</p> -<p>“Come to the canteen at ten o’clock and I’ll have something -for you to eat,” I told him. Then I begged a cup of fresh milk -from Madame.</p> -<p>The Captain I discovered in front of my canteen counter, and -knowing him to be a southerner and a gentleman, I summoned my -courage and whispered a petition for a few drops of something, -from the flask he carried in his pocket, to put in the egg-nogg for -the sick boy. The Captain, who was corpulent and dignified, in -some embarrassment replied that he was unfortunately without -anything at present, but that the lack would be immediately -supplied. He disappeared, returning to produce before my startled -eyes, from beneath his coat, a life-sized bottle labeled cognac. -Then he invited himself into the kitchen to help make the -egg-nogg. He proved expert. I quaked fearing the customers would -sniff the cognac through the lattice-work. The sick boy came, -turned out to be one of the Captain’s own men. The Captain -cocked an unsympathetic eye.</p> -<p>“What’s the matter with you, Smith?” he questioned, “been -drunk again?”</p> -<p>“Captain,” I scolded horrified, “I won’t have any rough talk -like that in my kitchen!”</p> -<p>Smith indignantly denied the charge. He drank his egg-nogg -and left looking three shades happier.</p> -<p>“Captain,” said I, “did you ever make an egg-nogg for one of -your men before?”</p> -<p>“Never,” replied the Captain with decision. He drained his -own bowl and took his departure. “I will leave the bottle -behind,” he told me.</p> -<p>“But I don’t want it!”</p> -<p>“You might need it again,” he declared. And nothing could -induce him to change his mind.</p> -<p>That bottle weighs on my conscience like a crime. I have hidden -the guilty thing in a corner of the store-room shelf behind -some perfectly innocent-looking bundles of stationery and a pile -of safety razor blades. But out of sight it continues to haunt my -mind. I feel as if I were giving sanctuary to the devil. And, worst -of all, I have a vision of coming into the hut some day to find -that the bottle has been discovered and the whole Y. M. C. A. is -on a jag.</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Mauvages, November 11.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>It isn’t true. It isn’t real. It can’t be that the war is really -ended.</p> -<p>This morning I awoke to the sound of the most tremendous -barrage I have ever heard. At this distance however it was almost -more like a sensation than a sound, a sort of incessant thrilling, -throbbing vibration.</p> -<p>The question was on everybody’s lips: “Do you suppose they -really <i>will</i> sign the armistice?” “It don’t sound much like peace -this morning!” would come the dubious reply. We have heard -rumours just since yesterday, but in rumours we have so long -ceased to put any faith! As the morning wore on our skepticism -grew. The almost unbroken reverberation frayed the nerves. -As eleven o’clock drew near the tension became torture. Would -the guns cease? Could they? It seemed as if they must go on -forever. The clock in the old grey church tower began to strike the -hour. I flung open the kitchen door. We all stood breathless, -frozen, listening. Ding-dong, ding-dong; through the notes of the -bell we could still hear the throbbing of the great guns. Eleven -times the slow bell chimed, there was a heavy boom, one more, -and then absolute silence. We stared at each other blankly -incredulous. “They’ve signed,” said a boy.</p> -<p>I walked down the little lane that leads to the ammunition -dump and picked a bunch of orange-scarlet berries. I wanted to -be alone, to listen. It was a day all pearl and lavender, a violet -mist hung over the brown hill-sides. No one passed on the road, -there was not a sound of any sort that reached me, the world -seemed to be asleep. The stillness was terrifying. I waited, tense, -not able to believe, expecting every moment to have the silence -broken by the resumption of the cannonade. Then as the minutes -passed and still my strained ears could not catch so much as a -whisper, I turned back and entered the little roadside Chapel in -the Bush. There in its dim blue and silver solitude I knelt down -before the little statue of Jeanne d’Arc and prayed.</p> -<p>At noon someone started the old church bell to ringing, it -jangled frantically for hours.</p> -<p>I think we are all a little dazed. I for one have a curious feeling -as if I had come up suddenly against a blank wall.</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Mauvages, November 12.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>Last night we celebrated. The whole ordnance camp got out -and set off flares and signal rockets from the dump, while two of -the boys put over a barrage with the machine-gun on the hill. -And there was much champagne. This morning the street is hung -with flags,—I never knew before how thrilling the tricolor could -be until I saw it like this, against the stone-grey of the old houses.</p> -<p>A company of French cavalry is just passing through town. -They are very beautiful to look at, with their bright blue uniforms, -their bright bay horses, and the long slim lances which they carry -in one hand, each with a tiny pennant at the end. As each one -comes into view down the street I think; “Thank God, for one -more Frenchman left alive.”</p> -<p>The boys have already begun to argue about the date on which -they will reach home. But though the fighting may be over, there -are long months still ahead of us here I am sure. And now with -the strain and the excitement gone, France is bound to look greyer -and muddier and more whats-the-use to the boys than ever before. -May Heaven help us all!</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Mauvages, November 17.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>I want to make you acquainted with Bill and Nick, my two -invaluable assistants. Bill is my official detail formally assigned. -Nick is a volunteer, his services a free-will offering proferred at -such times as he is not required in his regular capacity as guardian -of the bath-house.</p> -<p>Bill is a lame tame giant six feet two and up. He slipped a cog -in his knee one time while shuffling shells last summer and never -got quite straightened out again. Bill is my salvation. He redeems -what would otherwise be a desperate situation. For Bill has a -Business Brain. If it weren’t for that, I believe I should be driven -to the mad-house trying to balance the francs and centimes at the -end of each week. Besides having a head for figures, Bill is an all -round handy man with a turn for inventions. When I come back -to the hut after a morning expedition to Gondrecourt in quest of -suppplies, I may or I may not find last night’s dishes washed but -I am pretty sure to find some wonderful new contrivance added to -my hut equipment. Bill has made me a stove-pipe out of a German -powder can. Bill has installed an automatic closing attachment -for the main door, which consists of a rope, a pulley, a stove grate -and an excruciating squeak; the chief advantage of this invention -being the squeak which always betrays the sneak who tries to -escape undetected in the middle of a prayer. Sometimes I think -it hurts Bill’s pride to have to take orders from a lady, especially -one with such an unmathematical brain as I. Occasionally he lapses -into a you’re-only-a-little-girl-after-all sort of attitude and then I -have to put on all my dignity and read the riot act to him. But -when I hand in my weekly cash sheets at Headquarters and the -cashier there tells me that my accounts are the best in the whole -area, why Bill could have the whole hut and everything in it.</p> -<p>As for Nick, if Bill is right hand man, why Nick makes a quite -indispensable left, and this in spite of the fact that the poor fellow -is almost blind. He got a crack in the back of his head from the -corner of a case of “75s,” while unloading ammunition some two -months ago, which affected the optic nerve. And though the doctor -promises a partial restoration of his sight, at present he must -grope about in dark glasses and semi-darkness. Nick has a history. -An orphan, educated for the priesthood, he ran away at the age -of sixteen and started on the career of a cowboy. After having -broken every bone in his body in the course of his broncho-busting -he rose to the heights of his profession and joined Buffalo Bill’s -Wild West Show. Here he met his wife, a lasso and pistol expert. -While riding an “outlaw” in Madison Square Garden, he was -thrown and had one of his legs badly smashed, which forced him -to retire from public life. After this he spent a couple of years as a -bar-tender in New York. In his spare moments, aided by his -ecclesiastical Latin, he learned practical chemistry from an old -German druggist who kept shop next door. Now in his civilian -capacity Nick is consulting chemist for a Brooklyn laundry concern, -while his wife conducts successfully a French millinery store -in Flatbush. So much for romance!</p> -<p>Nick is, I am quite sure, the politest Irishman in France. Moreover -he is the darling of the feminine portion of the town. Partly -by reason of his blindness, which appeals to the quick sympathies -of the Frenchwomen, and partly because of his unvarying courtesy, -his kindliness and his quaint humour, he is the most sought-after -man in Mauvages. He knows, I should judge, some six words of -French, but with these he manages to “get by.” And he is forever -being invited out to supper.</p> -<p>Every morning between sweeping up and washing the dishes -and waiting on the counter we hold a coffee party in the kitchen; -Bill and Nick and myself and whoever else happens to be around. -The party consists of coffee with plenty of sugar and canned milk,—always -a treat in the army as in the messes you must drink it plain;—and -K. P. cookies. Now K. P. cookies, you must understand, are -cookies from the end of the package that the mouse didn’t eat. As -there is considerable activity on the part of the mice these days -there are any number of K. P. cookies. And yet I have done -my best. Pricked on by conscience I said to Nick day before yesterday, -“Nick do you suppose you could get me a trap?”</p> -<p>“Certainly Ma’am, I’ll buy one at the store.”</p> -<p>“But wait a minute, do you know the word for mouse-trap?”</p> -<p>“Don’t worry. That’s not in the least necessary.” And he set -out for the <i>General Store Articles Militaire</i> down the street.</p> -<p>But for once his sign language failed him. He was offered everything -in the store from a screw-driver to an egg-beater and only -achieved the trap finally by stumbling over one on the floor. It -was a French trap to be baited with flour and sewed up with thread; -I looked at it skeptically, but the next morning we had caught a -mouse. However today it was K. P. cookies as usual.</p> -<p>“Bill,” I said, “you’ll have to borrow Iodine.” Iodine is the -Medical Sergeant’s cat.</p> -<p>“Aw shucks,” says Bill, “Iodine is a frog cat. She wouldn’t -look at a mouse unless you served it to her on a platter dressed with -garlic.”</p> -<p>Bill says no home is complete without a dog. I quite agree with -him. Only, I say, we must catch him young so we can bring him -up in the way he should go. These French dogs for the most part -seem to have neither manners nor morals. So Bill is keeping an -eye out for a likely puppy.</p> -<p>“But,” he said, “when we close up here, the only way we’ll be -able to settle it between us will be to make him into sausages.”</p> -<p>If we ever do get a dog I think I shall call him “Tin Hat” just -because every other dog in the A. E. F. is named “Cognac.”</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Mauvages, November 20.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>Our relations to the French populace are enough to try a diplomat. -Hardly a day passes in the hut but what some delicate -social or ethical problem arises.</p> -<p>First, there is Louis, a most disreputable old scamp if there -ever was one. He keeps the café across the street and so is my -deadly rival. The other day the old rascal appeared at my counter -grinning from ear to ear, and demanded “<i>bonbons pour le rheum</i>,” -producing, in witness of his urgent need, a feeble and patently -artificial cough. When I answered that unfortunately we had -none, he instantly substituted chocolate in his request. Unable to -resist the rapscallion’s grin I gave him a handful, whereat in beaming -gratitude he immediately invited me over to the café to have -a glass of wine at his expense. And when I hastily informed -him that I didn’t care for wine he genially amended the invitation -so that it stood, “glass of beer.” And now I am told by the boys -that he has announced that I, forsooth, am his “fiancée!”</p> -<p>But chiefly there is Rebecca. We call her Rebecca because -when Bill goes to the well to get a pail of water he usually happens -to meet her there. Rebecca is thin and dark and lively. Her -English vocabulary includes such phrases as “beeg steef” and -“Mek eet snappee!” She is, as the boys put it, “full of pep.” -Rebecca has a little black and villainous-looking husband who -occasionally appears in town from the trenches, but for the most -part she is free to follow where her fancy leads. If it should -ever lead her to confession I am afraid she would make the old -Curé’s eyebrows curl.</p> -<p>Bill’s acquaintance with Rebecca is entirely on business lines -he wants me to understand. She does his laundry for him. “It’s -all very well,” I say, “to take her your washing, but why must you -take her chocolates?” He knows I disapprove. When he lingers -too long on the water detail I eye him severely on his return.</p> -<p>“Bill, have you been hobnobbing with Rebecca?”</p> -<p>Bill grins admission.</p> -<p>Rebecca lives in a white little one story door-and-window -house just around the corner on the Rue d’Eglise which I must pass -going to my canteen. And Rebecca keeps tab on the precise hour -and minute at which I return to my billet under Bill’s escort every -night. Going home one stormy night I took Bill’s arm. The -next day Bill informed me that Rebecca had advised him that such -conduct, according to French notions, was not quite <i>comme il faut</i>.</p> -<p>Bill, I find, is able to make an astonishing amount of conversation -with his “nigger French” that takes absolutely no account -of moods, tenses, conjugations, declinations or any of the other -stuff in grammar books. And I am afraid he understands a great -deal that it would be just as well he didn’t.</p> -<p>“How did you learn it all?” I asked him.</p> -<p>He looked at me side-wise. “Rebecca gave me lessons,” he -answered grinning.</p> -<p>Last night, as we passed Rebecca’s house, I noticed that her -door was the least bit ajar.</p> -<p>As Bill left me at my gate I admonished him; “Now don’t you -stop to say good-night to Rebecca.”</p> -<p>“Gosh, no!” said Bill, “if I did I’m afraid I might have to -hurry or I’d be late for breakfast.”</p> -<p>Whenever I meet Rebecca on the street she always bows to -me most urbanely.</p> -<p>Nor is Rebecca all my concern in relation to Big Bill. There -is also the pretty girl who lives down the street who undoubtedly -would not be averse to accompanying him to America. Bill -stops at her house every night in order to get a quart of fresh milk -for the C. O.’s breakfast. I bid him be wary of these Franco-American -alliances, citing horrible examples I have known, such -as the machine-gunner, for instance, who, in order to be in harmony -with his future family-in-law, felt it incumbent on him to appear -at his wedding wearing a pair of wooden shoes; and of the doughboy -who married a widow with two children, and, since he knew no -French and she no English, persuaded his company commander to -detail an interpreter to live in the house with them for the first -three days after their marriage.</p> -<p>Not many days ago a girl came to my kitchen door in company -with a soldier. She had a United States paymaster’s cheque which -she wished to have cashed. Afterwards I questioned Bill. It -seems a lieutenant had married and afterwards divorced her. She -was still drawing his allotment. She looked so thoroughly the -peasant, bare-headed, in a shawl and shoddy skirt, with nothing -to particularly distinguish her pretty but inexpressive face, that -I voiced my wonder to the boys.</p> -<p>“Oh but you ought to see her when she gets dressed up!” they -said.</p> -<p>“Fine feathers don’t make fine birds,” I remind severely. “Bill, -be warned!”</p> -<p>“Yes, but there’s Gaby,” Bill suggests. “What about her?” -Now Gaby is the little chauffeuse who has been driver for a -French general three years and who turns up periodically in town. -She is quaint as a wood-cut and solemn as an owl, with her shock -of bobbed hair and her great staring child-like eyes. She sits -at the mess table and never says a word but draws your glance -irresistibly. Always she wears an odd little straight-cut dress -hanging just below her knees and a <i>croix de guerre</i> pinned to her -breast. Gaby killed a man with her car not long since and was -held a prisoner at Ligny-en-Barrois for ten days in consequence. -Gaby and one of the sergeants at the A. R. are undergoing all -the woe and wonder of love’s young dream.</p> -<p>“Oh well,” I say, “Gaby is different.”</p> -<p>This afternoon Rebecca appeared at the canteen and asked -for Bill. She was so elegantly attired that at first I didn’t know -her. After a parley at the door, Bill, with an odd expression -on his face, takes his second-best raincoat from the peg and hands -it to her. I looked my inquiries. An old doughboy sweetheart of -the lady’s, it appears, had returned on leave and they were going -travelling together.</p> -<p>“Going off on a honey-moon with another feller, in my raincoat! -Gosh, it’s a cruel war!” grinned Bill.</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Mauvages, November 24.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>Now that the time is drawing on toward Christmas the boys,—bless -them!—are all wanting to send some remembrance to mothers, -sisters, wives and sweethearts at home. But what to send has been -the desperate question. One sort of goods and one only is offered -for such purposes by the French stores in this locality, a line of -flimsy silk stuff, handkerchiefs, scarfs and little aprons, machine-embroidered -with gay flowers and each bearing the legend “Souvenir -de France.” They are fragile slazy things, absurdly high-priced, -inappropriate and often hideous. But to the boys they are -altogether beautiful. After many requests and inquiries I gave in. -I went to Gondrecourt and purchased what I could find that was -the least tawdry, the least exorbitant. I brought them to the canteen; -they proved so popular that three days afterward I had to -make another trip to town to buy some more. Now we carry a -regular stock of fancy silk handkerchiefs and aprons in addition -to the chewing tobacco and cigarettes. But here one is faced with -a delicate problem. Each handkerchief is embroidered with some -such specific legend as <i>To my Sweetheart</i>, <i>To My Dear Wife</i>, <i>To -my Darling Daughter</i>,—I refused to consider the bit of lacy frippery -marked <i>To my Dear Son!</i>—and this complicates matters immensely -I find. Somehow we always manage to have a supply of Sweethearts -on hand when a man is in quest of a Dear Wife and vice -versa. In vain I artfully suggest that it would be a pretty compliment -to call one’s wife “Dear Sweetheart,” to their minds there -seems to be something essentially compromising in such a notion. -Occasionally the reverse will work however, and a boy, grinning -and abashed, will select a handkerchief marked “Dear Wife” to -send to his sweetheart. Sometimes during these sales one’s faith -in the single heartedness of Young America receives a shock, as -when an innocent-looking lad will blandly select half a dozen “Dear -Sweethearts” and put each in a separate envelope to send to a different -girl!</p> -<p>Speaking of souvenirs, there is a boy who acts as fireman on the -dinky little engine that pulls the work-train on the narrow-gauge -between Mauvages and Sauvoy. He belongs to a regiment of -engineers who served with the British in Flanders for some eight -months. While there he dug up enough dead Germans,—“You -could always tell where they were buried because the grass grew so -much greener there,” he explained,—and picked enough gold fillings -out of their teeth, to make a whole match box full. He was going -to take it home and have a dentist put the gold in his teeth “for -a souvenir,” but unluckily in the spring drive he lost all his possessions -and the match box with them. Now this, as Kipling would -say, is a true story.</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Mauvages, November 30.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>Let me recount to you the gentle tale of the German prisoners -and the Thanksgiving movies, an incident which I consider a sort -of sermon in a nutshell and a Warning to the Nations.</p> -<p>Unluckily there is in this division a secretary who is a sentimentalist. -He has an idea that an important part of his object -in France is “to enliven the long evenings of the French villagers,” -and particularly does he consider it his Christian duty to do something -to demonstrate how much we love the poor German prisoners, -those gentlemen who wear the big P. G. for <i>Prisonnier de Guerre</i> on -their backs and “ought,” as the boys say, “to have an I in the -middle.” There are several hundred of them in a camp at Gondrecourt -and they are, it is said, just as well housed and fed as our -boys, and not made to work nearly as hard.</p> -<p>Now, as there was no other sort of entertainment available, I -had set my heart on having movies in my hut on Thanksgiving. -I had presented my request at the Headquarters office and understood -the matter settled. But the Sentimental Secretary it seems -had made up his mind that the poor dear German prisoners must -have a treat and, other schemes falling through, he also put in a -request for the movies. There was only one portable machine -in working order. Through some misunderstanding or something -in the office, the P. G.s got the movies. To enlarge upon my sentiments -when the news was broken to me Thursday morning or to -record the opinions expressed by the boys in regard to the matter, -is not to the purpose of this tale.</p> -<p>Failing our show, all that I could manage in the way of celebration -was a little box of nuts and raisins tied up with a bit of red, -white and blue ribbon for every man in camp. The mess sergeant, -however, outdid himself. Our Thanksgiving dinner was nothing -less than a feast. For days the A. R. jitney had been scouring -the country for poultry. At last the sergeant had succeeded in -getting enough for all. He did this by assembling specimens of the -whole feathered tribe; turkey, duck, chicken and goose. And I -had a slice of each. But for all that I didn’t enjoy that dinner -worth six-pence. Those movies were on my mind. I tried to think -of the touching gratitude of the German prisoners. Perhaps after -all if one should pursue them with delicate attentions it might lead -them to see the error of their ways. Perhaps giving them a movie -show would inculcate, by example, a beautiful lesson of Christian -charity and forgiveness. Who could tell what uplifting moral -influence Charlie Chaplin or Mutt and Jeff might exert?</p> -<p>Last night was our regular movie-night. In the midst of preparing -for the show, Georges, the French operator, who was getting -the machine ready, Georges the little dandy, always nonchalant -and blasé, came charging back to the counter, his eyes as big as -arc-lights. He thrust his hands, which were full of cartridges, -beneath my nose, fairly dancing on tip-toe in his excitement. He -had found them in the carbide; when the carbide had gotten hot, -“<i>Poof!</i>” he dramatized the wrecking of the hut with explosive -gestures. “<i>C’est les Boches!</i> <i>Les cochons!</i>” Never again would he -take his machine there, never, never!</p> -<p>As the machine had been left at the German Prison Camp after -the Thanksgiving show and then brought directly from there to -Mauvages there seems little room for doubt that the prisoners -had placed the shells there. Of course, if there were any poetic -justice in things, the Sentimental Secretary himself would have -been blown up by the Germans’ cartridges, but unfortunately in -real life things don’t happen that way.</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Mauvages, December 3.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>The French Army is in possession of Mauvages. A regiment -of artillery moved in on us yesterday afternoon. There seemed -a never-ending line of them as they crawled into town, the horses -just barely able to drag the heavy pieces. There must have been -a shocking shortage of fodder in the French Army; the poor -beasts look wretched beyond words. The big guns are lined up -all along the street. They look like great spotted lizards in their -green and brown and yellow coats of camouflage. Each piece -has a girl’s name carved on the muzzle. The one in front of my -canteen is Marthe, further up the street stand Lucile and Marie. -We watched them as they brought the guns into place, unhitched -the teams and made their preparations to settle down and stay. -Once settled, our perplexities began. Immediately they started to -trickle into the canteen in search of cigarettes. To the first comers -in a weak moment I slipped a few packages. That was enough. -Thereafter it was just like flies to the molasses jar, and then of -course I had to harden my heart and say no. But they wouldn’t -take no for an answer. They begged, pleaded and cajoled. I -posted a polite sign at the end of the counter explaining how the -canteen supplies had been brought into France without payment of -any duty, under the strict agreement with the French Government -that they would be sold only to Americans. But they refused -to read the sign. One handsome brigadier stopped me on -the street in order to present his petition. And at the canteen -a little poilu with a round cherubic face, after being refused -some nine or ten times over at the counter, followed me out into -the kitchen to urge his piteous plea. It was dreadful, it was -harrowing. I have never felt quite so mean about anything in all -my life.</p> -<p>In the evening we had billed a stereoptican lecture on London. -Forseeing that the poilus would form a large proportion of the -audience, I tried to get an interpreter to explain the pictures in -French to them but at the last minute the interpreter failed me. -Notwithstanding, the Frenchmen remained courteously quiet while -the lecture lasted. But once it was finished the atmosphere of the -hut underwent a change. The blue-coated figures who were swarming -into the canteen now had evidently spent the earlier part of the -evening in the cafés. I went out into the centre of the hut to see -what was going on; all about me stretched a swarm of poilus in a -genial mood. The door squeaked open, a little soldier came skipping -into the hut. To my horror I saw he carried in one hand a tall -tumbler and in the other a large bottle of Benedictine. The victrola -was jigging out a rag on the counter. Posing for a minute in an attitude -reminiscent of the great Isadora, the little poilu proceeded to -dance in time to the music, pirouetting on one toe as he waved the -bottle and the tumbler above his head with Bacchanalian gestures. -Then suddenly he sat down at one of the tables and started to pour -himself a glass. I swooped down upon him. It was <i>défendu</i> I explained, -strictly and absolutely <i>défendu</i> to drink in this hut. He -stared incredulous. I reiterated with emphasis. Finally he nodded -sulkily and, slipping the bottle underneath his arm, turned away. -Two minutes later I caught him offering a red-nosed friend a drink -square in front of my counter. I flew to the attack again. I told -him it was against the rules to so much as <i>bring</i> wine into the hut. -He held his ground defiantly. I wanted to take the little wretch -by his coat collar and march him out the door; I felt I could have -done it. Instead I plead, expostulated and commanded. A score -of grinning poilus crowded about us: it was evidently as good as a -show to them. I entreated the little poilu please, <i>please</i> to carry -the bottle out of the hut! “<i>Dehors!</i> <i>Dehors!</i> Outside!” they -chorused gleefully. I exhausted my vocabulary, apparently without -effect. The little poilu wasn’t used to taking orders from a -girl, especially one who spoke French so badly, but finally I won. -“<i>Bon!</i>” he snapped explosively, turned on his heel and marched -out. I fled precipitately to the kitchen and stayed there until closing -time. I didn’t feel equal to coping with any more tipsy poilus.</p> -<p>It’s curious how the whole character of a dwelling-place can -change. When the priest and the cat and I are keeping house -together, the old mansion is the dimmest, most decorous place -imaginable. At night I let myself in the dark front door, locking -it carefully behind me,—Monsieur scolded me for leaving it unlocked -once; I had left him, he said, at the mercy of the passersby!—then -grope my way down the cold unlighted hall and up the -steep stairs to my chilly room and to bed by one flickering candle’s -light. The place is as silent and lifeless as a tomb. Then new -troops come into town and suddenly everything is changed. The -lower floor is taken over for an officers’ mess and often too, for -Headquarters. Savory odors of cooking, warm smells mount up -the dim stairway, candles gutter in niches in the passage-ways, -smart-looking officers in khaki or horizon-blue as the case may be, -meet and salute one in the hall. The tramp of booted feet, the -ring of spurs, the clink of glasses, laughter, song, the piano played -tumultuously sometimes late into the night,—everything from -Madelon to Mozart—and most startling, and incredible of all, -the jangle of a telephone bell, installed for the occasion; for a -few days we live in a strange bustling vivid world, then on they -move and we are left again to our silence and solitude.</p> -<p>Tonight as I was washing up for supper I was startled by a -rap on my door. There stood Monsieur le Curé and a French -officer. I had a bad moment wondering what the cause of such a -visitation might be. Was he going to turn me out of my billet -perhaps? Or was he going to complain about the treatment his -men had received in the Y.? Monsieur le Curé was ambling through -a long and elaborate peroration. At first I could make no sense -out of it, then suddenly I caught on. Monsieur le Capitaine was a -stamp collector. He wanted to know if I perhaps had some stamps -<i>des États-Unis</i> which I could spare him!</p> -<p>Reports have come in tonight of friction between the French -and American soldiers in town, resulting in a number of scrimmages. -The whole trouble springs, I gather, from the eternal -feminine and the native jealousy of the male; the Fair Sex of -Mauvages having made quite evident to the poilus their decided -preference for the doughboys.</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Mauvages, December 6.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>The theatrical season at Mauvages has been inaugurated. The -carpenters were busy in the hut all day yesterday, hammering and -sawing, making us a roll curtain out of roofing paper, manufacturing -foot-lights from commissary candles and tin reflectors cut from -the lining of tobacco cases. When the stage was done it was very -gay. We had a red curtain across the back, bright yellow wings, -red and yellow draperies around the proscenium arch, festoons of -little flags strung across the top, and a large American flag draped -centre back. It wasn’t what we wanted, it was just what, by hook -or crook we could get, and the effect really wasn’t half as bad as it -sounds.</p> -<p>The programme might be classed in two parts, rehearsed and -impromptu. For a starter we dropped a tear over Baby’s Prayer, -that bit of ninety-nine one-hundredths pure sentimentality, without -which no programme in the A. E. F. is complete these days; -after which we were adjured to “Pray for sunshine, But always -be prepared for rain,”—a quite superfluous admonition in this part -of France at this season of the year!</p> -<div class='cb-container'> -<div class='cb'> -<div>“Put all your pennies on the shelf,</div> -<div>The almighty dollar will take care of itself.”</div> -</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>“Humph!” grunted the boy next me, “I’ll bet it was a Jew wrote -that.”</p> -<p>Following the songs we heard Barney, the Poet Laureate of the -Camp, celebrate the deeds of the ordnance detachment in verse. -At least we supposed that was what it was, for Barney has a brogue -all his own and if you get one word in ten you’re lucky. As the C. O. -says, it is much easier to “<i>compree</i>” a Frenchman than it is to -understand Barney.</p> -<p>After Barney we had a sermon, a burlesque darky sermon -preached by a black-face comedian. As luck would have it, two -real darkies from a labor camp up the line slipped in at the back -of the hut just as the preacher began. They took it all in deadly -earnest, and warmed, I suspect, by a glass at the corner café, they -presently began to respond to the preacher’s exhortations with -genuine religious fervor.</p> -<p>“Dat’s so! You tell ’em bruder! Hallelujah! Bless de Lord!”</p> -<p>The audience up front, hearing a commotion and unluckily not -catching the comedy, hissed indignantly and the darkies, abashed, -slunk out.</p> -<p>Of course at the last moment some of our headliners failed to -come across. The mumps claimed our dramatic reader and our -buck-and-wing dancer sent word, just as the curtain was going up, -that in all the camp, no shoes outside of hob-nails, large enough -for him could be found. But we made up for these defections by -our impromptu acts. The most surprising of these was the Little -Fat Poilu. He popped up suddenly from Heaven knows where, a -round rosy dumpling of a man with a shiny nose and a fat black -beard, and offered his services. On his first appearance he played -the violin with vim and spirit. Then in answer to the applause he -dropped his violin, seized the tall hat from the head of the darky -preacher, clapped it on his own, and bounced back onto the stage. -The transformation was amazing. In an instant, instead of a -poilu he had become a jolly little bourgeois shopkeeper out for -a stroll on the boulevard. He proceeded to sing a comic song, a -song with an interminable number of verses, unquestionably very -funny and in all probability quite scandalous. The French portion -of the audience was charmed, they joined vociferously in the jiggy -choruses, and when he had done they insisted on another and another. -For a while it looked as if France was going to run away -with the programme, but finally the little poilu came to the end -of his repertoire,—or of his breath maybe, and America once more -took the stage.</p> -<p>Today we are living in an atmosphere of theatrical enterprise. -Already there are three or four “bigger and better” rival shows in -process of incubation. What’s more, Barney is writing a play. He -sits at one of the canteen tables surrounded by a group of admiring -would-be actors and each sheet, as he finishes it, is gravely handed -around the crowd. So far it seems to contain just three characters; -Rose the beautiful stenographer, the villain landlord and the office -boy. I am waiting in suspense to see whether Barney’s masterpiece -is going to turn out a melodrama, a problem play or a -dramatic treatise on the social and political wrongs of Ireland.</p> -<p>The French troops are moving tomorrow. Tonight the Little -Fat Poilu came to bid us good-bye. When no one was looking I -filled his pockets up with cigarettes.</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Mauvages, December 9.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>A very regrettable incident occurred last night. The day being -Sunday we were due for a religious service at seven-fifteen. At -seven-ten the Reverend Gentleman, who was to instruct my flock -in the way wherein they should go, arrived in company with the -Business Manager from Gondrecourt. Now it happened that the -Reverend Gentleman on this occasion was none other than my -friend the Sentimental Secretary. He surveyed the congregation; -there were nine boys in the hut. He sat down and waited for the -audience to arrive. But the audience didn’t. Instead one wretch -surreptitiously sneaked out the door. At last I felt it necessary -to come forward with apologies and explanations; my flock at -present was small to start with, the sheep had all gone to Domremy -on an excursion, the goats were deep in an after-payday poker game.</p> -<p>“Do you wish me to hold the meeting?” the R. G. questioned -grimly.</p> -<p>“If you will.”</p> -<p>The Reverend Gentleman, a bit tight about the lips, laid on. -It was a cold night; we gathered by the fire. I tried to make myself -look as large as possible, but stretch the congregation as you might, -we only reached two-thirds of the way around the stove.</p> -<p>“Well,” said the Business Manager when it was all over with, -“how soon will you be ready to close out this hut?”</p> -<p>I reminded him that after all it would have only taken ten righteous -to save Sodom, so might not eight save Mauvages?</p> -<p>Of course just as soon as the Reverend Gentleman and the Business -Manager had shaken our dust off their feet and disappeared, -a whole crowd of boys came streaming into the hut. I accused -them of having waited just around the corner until they had seen -the Religious Service depart. As for Big Bill I consider him nothing -short of a slacker, he sat in the kitchen all evening and wrote a -letter to his girl. I tell him that as hut detail it is obviously his -duty to attend all services but he explains that “it makes him -homesick.”</p> -<p>In a town on the road between Mauvages and Gondrecourt -there is a labor camp of Chinese coolies. These are the laziest folk -in Europe I am sure. They are supposed to be working on the -road, which needs it badly enough, resembling, as one boy declared, -“the top of a stove when all the lids are taken off.” All day long -they squat by the roadside, or stand idle watching the traffic go -by. “They’d rather be caught dead than caught working,” as -one boy said. The story goes that if one of them dies the French -Government must pay the Chinese Government thirty francs. -They come dear at that. Moreover, they are unconscionable -thieves. Up on the hill back of the town where they are billeted -there is an American aviation field. The camp was abandoned -after the armistice, but twelve boys from the air service were -detailed to stay and guard the property. These boys find that -the chief end of their life is to chase the Chinks out of the -stores; they are quite persistent and perfectly unabashed. More -than that, if the Chinks catch one of the guards by himself, they -are likely to attack in force armed with sticks and as our boys -are not allowed to carry weapons, such an attack is no laughing -matter. The trouble began, the boys tell me, in the days when -the camp was populated; two mechanics had once thought it -a good joke to give one of the Chinks a bath by ducking him in -the horse-trough.</p> -<p>One of these heathen, I am told, came to church here at Mauvages -yesterday and almost broke up the meeting. It pleased -him to sing all the way through the service, a wierd sing-song -chant all his own, and as if that were not bad enough, in the -middle of a prayer he had turned square about and started to play -with the rosary of the scandalized Madame behind him! The -most pious-minded could scarcely keep their thoughts on the -priest’s dissertation. There was “<i>beaucoup distraction</i>” as one -Mademoiselle phrased it.</p> -<p>This morning I went down to Gondrecourt.</p> -<p>“Well, and how are your eight men?” asked the Business -Manager.</p> -<p>“One of them has gone to the hospital with the mumps,” I -answered. “So now I have seven.”</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Mauvages, December 12.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>I have been A. W. O. L. I have been on a joy ride. For the -first time since I came to France I have taken a real day off. I -got a chance to go up to the old battle front on a “speeder.” I -didn’t mention the matter to the office, but I took the chance. -I knew I could safely trust the hut to the management of Bill -and Nick for one day.</p> -<p>We started out shortly after six A. M., on the narrow-gauge -bound for Mont Sec. There were five of us on the speeder which -is, you must know, a little flat car something like a hand-car, -only that instead of being propelled by hand power, it is run by a -gasolene motor. Speeders are the jolliest possible way of travelling -and they can go like the wind: they possess just two disadvantages, -their propensity for having engine trouble, and -the ease with which they jump the track at the slightest provocation. -It is told how in Abainville the other day a speeder -jumped the rails, the engineer, after turning a half a dozen somersaults, -picked himself up, squared off, demanded; “Who in hell -put the pebble on the track?”</p> -<p>From Mauvages we followed the A. and S. to Sorcy. There -we switched onto the line which the boys at Abainville used to -declare “ran through the trenches.” They would tell me wonderful -tales of the trips they had taken on this line; the smoke-stack -of the engine protruded over the top, they explained, and “Gosh, -you could hear the bullets just splatterin’ against it!”</p> -<p>A short ways out from Sorcy we passed the last inhabited -village. Ahead of us we could see the barren sinister outline -of Mont Sec, that little Gibraltar of the land which the Germans -had captured and fortified early in the war, which the French -had endeavored to retake in 1915 with the most fearful losses, but -which had remained impregnable, commanding, looking down in -contempt on our men in their muddy lowland trenches of the Toul -Sector, until, on September twelfth, the American Army had -taken it along with the rest of the Saint Mihiel salient.</p> -<p>As we neared Mont Sec we began to pass devastated villages, -some of them mere formless ruins, others from a distance holding -the shape and outline of habitable dwelling-places but on approach -revealing themselves as mere groups of riddled house-shells. -Across the open places stretched interminable grey -swathes of rusting tangled wire, “barbed-wire enough to fence -Texas,” as one boy put it. On sidings we passed long lines of -cars full of salvage, all the junk of war tossed carelessly together. -Along the tracks were scattered empty shells and here and there -piles of unexploded ammunition. In a shell-hole by the roadside, -half filled with water, lay a hob-nailed shoe,—prosaic but -pitiful witness of some tragedy. It was the loneliest land, the -most forsaken I have ever seen. Far and wide as one looked over -the empty plain there was no living, moving creature anywhere.</p> -<p>At the foot of Mont Sec we stopped. There in the woods were -the remains of a German camp; it had been a jolly little place -fixed up like a beer garden underneath the trees, with fancy -“rustic” work and chairs and tables. We left the speeder there, -and tramping across the fields, climbed Mont Sec. Near the top -we found the entrances to the dugouts. The hill was tunneled -through from side to side, all the corridors and rooms walled, -roofed and floored with the heaviest oak lumber. Everywhere -through the passage-ways ran a perfect network of electric wires. -Long stairs led to the different levels. No furnishings were left -except the bunks and some rough tables. We ate our luncheon -of bread, jam and corn willy in what had evidently been the -officers’ quarters; the room was nicely finished with cement, -there was a fancy moulded pattern in bas relief over the doorway, -a pipe-hole showed where a stove had been.</p> -<p>After lunch we inspected the concrete machine-gun pill-boxes -which dotted the hill-top. Then we went down the steep eastern -slope to the village of Mont Sec. About the town, to judge -from the ploughed and pitted vineyards, the fighting must -have been the fiercest. The village was a village of the dead. -We went inside the church; part of the tower, some of the walls, -a little of the roof was left, beyond that nothing. Near the door -a French officer had scrawled “<i>Maudite soit le boche qui détruit -les églises</i>,”—cursed be the Hun who destroys the churches. In -this church, Madame the Caretaker tells me, the Germans commanded -all the male inhabitants of Mont Sec to assemble. Here -they were kept prisoners for three days and nights. On the -fourth day they were marched off at the bayonet’s point into -Germany, and no one has ever heard a word from them since.</p> -<p>Just outside the village in the little cemetery, ploughed with -shell-holes, we found French, American and German graves. The -German inscriptions all commemorated “heroes dead for the -Fatherland;” one of them vowed, with the help of God, vengeance -on the enemy.</p> -<p>We went back to the speeder. As it was early in the afternoon -we decided to go on. Rounding Mont Sec, we passed into German -occupied territory. We saw the famous cabbage patches which -fed our soldiers after the Saint Mihiel drive, and, on a hillock beside -the road, one memorable scarecrow dressed from head to foot -as a German soldier, “feldgrau” uniform, cartridge belt, helmet -and all. At Hattonchatel we looked down on the German barracks -from the hill-side but didn’t have time to stop. It was growing -late, so we must turn about-face. Once headed for home our troubles -began. The rain which had been teasing us all day as a faint -drizzle, settled down to business. A few hundred yards down the -hill-side the speeder jumped the track. Fortunately we weren’t -running fast and the speeder jumped on the right side, if it had -jumped on the left we might have gone over the edge of the mountainous -hill-side. As it was no real harm resulted beyond a violent -bumping and shaking up; I jumped and got a lame wrist. “The -chances are, that whatever happens, she won’t turn over,” the -boys told me, “so hang on after this.” So I hung tight. The -engine, which had worked like a charm all the way up, began to -sulk and balk by fits. Presently it grew dark. We had one lantern, -we lighted it and the boy who sat at the front end held it so the -light would fall on the rails. Every now and then the wind would -blow it out. At each station along the track we would stop and -ask the engineer operators whether the block ahead was clear. -When we came to the last station before the long forest stretches -about Mont Sec the operator who came out to speak to us was quite -angry; there were three trains, he said, somewhere on the track -ahead; we were doing a very dangerous thing, running after dark. -We went on, straining our eyes as we entered the woods in order to -discern the dark mass on the track ahead which would mean a -train, for the trains, in memory of war days, I suppose, carry absolutely -no lights. A week ago a speeder ran head-on into a -train at night just above Sauvoy; of its three passengers, two were -killed, the other fearfully injured. We held ourselves tense, ready -the moment we had made out a train, and the speeder slowed -down, to jump, and, lifting the car, push it to one side off the tracks -until the train had passed. Once we were lucky enough to make -a siding just at the critical moment. Sometimes we ran at the edge -of high embankments, sometimes we would cross, on a trestle, a -wide marshy stream; then the thought would come to me, <i>What -if the speeder should jump here?</i> And she did jump twice more on -the way back, but luckily both times in well-selected places. The -worst feature of these acrobatics was that the jar had an unhealthy -effect upon the engine and after each occasion the mechanics in -the crowd had to delve and tinker before the speeder could be -coaxed to speed again. Also it was wet. The rain soaked through -my raincoat, through my sweater, into my leather jacket; my skirt -was a dripping rag, the water oozed from my gloves, raindrops -dripped from my nose, my “waterproof” shoes were like sponges. -You felt, as one of the boys put it, exactly like a figure in a fountain.</p> -<p>Between Mont Sec and Sorcy we got a tow. In the dark we -came upon the rear end of a salvage train, tied ourselves up to -it, and bumped merrily along behind until the train turned off -on a branch line and we had to cut loose and make our own way -with the increasingly contrary engine. Fortunately, from that -point most of the way was down hill; on the up-grades we got off -and walked; the last part of the way the boys simply had to push -the car. We reached home at half-past ten, tired, soaked to the -skin, but happy.</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Mauvages, December 16.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>After this, Mauvages is going to be on the map! Mauvages is -to be headquarters for the —— Artillery Brigade, with seventeen -hundred men in town and thousands more in the villages about. -Wonderful to say, this is the very brigade to which my two batteries -from the Artillery School belong and though neither of these -will be here in town, still they will be near enough so I can get a -glimpse of my old boys, I am sure.</p> -<p>Already we have an ammunition train and a crowd of “casuals” -waiting here for their outfits. The hut, which has of late been -rather empty mornings, is now filled all day. These casuals are -for the most part replacements, shipped here directly from the -ports, after a ten days’ residence in France. They have nothing -to do at present but sit in the hut and think how miserable they -are. It is funny to hear them talk. Their opinion of Mauvages -is inexpressible in polite terms. They are quite convinced that -they have come to the Very Last Hole on Earth. In vain I assure -them that Mauvages is quite a fine town, as French towns go, in -vain I draw their attention to its beauties and advantages. They -are absolutely certain that nothing could be worse!</p> -<p>Meanwhile I have been busy making frantic trips into Gondrecourt -to demand, in view of the coming crowds, a new hut, an -electric lighting system, an addition to the old hut, anything or -everything, except a man secretary! But Gondrecourt takes the -situation very calmly.</p> -<p>Just to pass the time away, one of the new arrivals went fishing -in the canal yesterday. He bestowed his catch on me; it measured -about six inches by one and a quarter. As it was still wriggling -faintly I put the poor thing in the water-pail, only to find later -that Big Bill in disgust had thrown water and fish out into the back -yard. Whereupon I raised such an outcry that Bill must go out -in the dark and feel through the wet grass for that fish until he -found it. I carried it down to camp, inviting the K. P.s to prepare -it for the C. O.’s dinner. At dinner it appeared elegantly garnished -with parsley in the center of a huge platter. Just to pay me back -they made me eat it, while the rest dined on steak.</p> -<p>“How do you suppose he caught it?” asked the C. O. I said -nothing. Fishing with hand-grenades is strictly against the law.</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Mauvages, December 18.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>Mauvages is in disgrace. Mauvages is the black sheep in the -Y. fold. Mauvages is in wrong all the way around. And it’s all -because of one Old Gentleman and his ill-timed opinions.</p> -<p>The Old Gentleman came out to talk to us yesterday evening. -We weren’t expecting him. We were expecting a lecture on the -Man Without a Country,—whoever that may be, Jack Johnson or -the Kaiser! as the boys say,—by the Educational Department. -But then we have almost given up expecting to get what we expect. -This is only the third time we have been fooled on the Man -Without a Country who appears to be our Old Man of the Sea.</p> -<p>The Old Gentleman was brought out in state in the best Y. car -by the Big Chief, the Entertainment Department and a driver. -The Entertainment Department immediately ensconced himself -by the cook-stove with a Sunday Picture Supplement; the driver -retired to a secluded corner to play a game of checkers with one -of the boys; while the Big Chief took his stand out front. I for -once back-slid scandalously, and, instead of occupying a front -seat with a deeply interested expression spread upon my countenance, -sat in the kitchen and ate jam and waffles, the waffles -which were heart-shaped and crisp and heavenly, having been -brought by Nick from his latest supper party.</p> -<p>The Old Gentleman stood out by the stove, the stage proving -too chilly. There was a crowd in the hut. He put his foot in it -at the start. He announced himself as an intimate friend of ex-President -Roosevelt. The boys, sniffing politics, grew suspicious, -even hostile. He began on the scandal of America’s unpreparedness, -from that passed by degrees to the view that Germany was -not yet defeated and as a climax called upon the boys to rise and -put themselves on record as being willing to stay in France until -Kingdom come, if necessary, in order to do the job up brown. -The boys did not rise. Instead they heckled the Old Gentleman -until he grew as red as a turkey-cock and so indignant as to fairly -wax speechless. One of the ammunition train boys, a husky lad -who, they tell me, is an old guard house standby, led the opposition. -Out in the kitchen you could have heard a pin drop. The -Entertainment Department and I sat and stared at each other.</p> -<p>The whole trouble as I saw it, was that the Old Gentleman had -slipped up on his dates. He was giving them a Before-November-Eleventh -speech when it was after the eleventh. It was as if -he had quite failed to comprehend that at eleven o’clock on -that date the whole psychological outlook of the American doughboy -underwent an instantaneous change. His entire mental -horizon became forthwith concentrated to one burning point,—the -desire which he expresses simply but adequately in the words; -“I want to go home!” And not ex-President Roosevelt, nor -President Wilson, nor General Pershing, nor anybody else could -make him interested in anything that was not remotely, at least, -related to that issue.</p> -<p>At last the agony was over. The Old Gentleman came back to -the kitchen mopping his brow. When he had finished expressing -his opinion of Mauvages, the driver went out to crank the car. -The car was gone. Of course then, everyone remembered having -heard a car drive off in the middle of the lecture,—every one -that is, but I, I had been too interested in the waffles,—but of -course no one had really thought that it could be, etc. A search -party was recruited which scoured highway and byway. The -M. P.s at Gondrecourt were notified by ’phone. Meanwhile it -was ten o’clock, a bleak night and four indignant gentlemen were -stranded six miles from home. An ambassador was elected to go -and lay the case before the A. R. C. O. The C. O. on his way to -bed, instructed the emissary where billets for the night might -possibly be had. But the Old Gentleman, upon receiving the -information, flatly and finally refused to stay in any billet in -town; he would sleep in his own bed or no other. After a nervous -interval the ambassador again approached the C. O., this time -suggesting the loan of his car and chauffeur. The C. O., aroused -a second time from bed, acceeded shortly, the ambassador returned -to despatch the unfortunate Bill to camp to break the news to the -chauffeur. The chauffeur, who was in the midst of an after-hours -poker game, when he recovered from his astonishment, -replied (expurgated) that he’d come when he got good and ready, -and settled back to his game.</p> -<p>In the meantime my four guests by the kitchen-stove discussed -in part the peculiarities of the Japanese language, but chiefly the -shortcomings of Mauvages. The Chief, however, showed himself -a gentleman. He washed the dishes up! And considering that -he was a man and a minister and that the light was dim and the -water cold, he washed them pretty well.</p> -<p>At a quarter to eleven the A. R. chauffeur having presumably -forced all the others into bankruptcy, or gone bankrupt himself, -drove up to the door and I said farewell to my friends.</p> -<p>This morning a rescue expedition was sent out from Gondrecourt. -It finally discovered the lost car, none the worse for its -joy-ride, in a ditch half-way to Sauvoy. Information has reached -me on the side that it was a little group of “hard-boiled guys” -from the ammunition train who stole the auto. They were displeased -with the Old Gentleman’s opinions, and they made up -their minds that he should walk home.</p> -<p>So this is how matters stand: I and my hut are in discredit at -Headquarters, because my boys stole their car. The Old Gentleman -has openly declared that Mauvages is the most unpatriotic -spot in France. The A. R. C. O. is disgusted because he was routed -twice out of bed in one night. The chauffeur is so incensed at -me and mine at having to drive into town at eleven P. M. that he -persistently forgets to stop for my daily papers. And the boys -are all sore and touchy on account of the opinions expressed by -the Old Gentleman in and after his lecture. Such is the happy -lot of a hut secretary.</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Mauvages, December 23.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>The Big Push is here. Our lawn has turned into a gun park with -limbers and caissons elbowing each other under our very eaves. All -day the little hut is crowded to its capacity and at night it becomes -so full that I am literally afraid it will burst out at the seams. -Colonels and captains are forever bobbing up like so many Jack-in-the-Boxes -in my kitchen which I was used to consider as a refuge -and a sanctum. They have the best intentions in the world; -they offer me advice on every subject under the sun from the -building of new shelves in the canteen to the frequency with which -I should require Big Bill to shave. And quite unsolicited they have -given me a detail,—a detail of such proportions that I am swamped. -I don’t know how many there are. They never stand still long -enough for me to count them. Sometimes there appear to be ten -and sometimes twenty. Like the Old Woman who lived in the -shoe, I have so many details I don’t know what to do. They are -the nicest boys that ever were, if only they didn’t take up quite so -much room! Now when I am minded to sit down for a moment to -think, my only course is to go into the store-room and sit on a -packing-box, and the store-room is very cold. And the worst of it -is that they all, from colonel to K. P., have the beautiful idea in -their heads that I am not to do any work, but just to be a sort of -parlor ornament, and a sweet influence; that I will, in short, like -the old man who was afraid of the cow, “sit on the stile and continue -to smile,” while the army runs my hut. Which is not at all -my notion of things.</p> -<p>In the meantime we have been busy making such preparations for -Christmas as we could. Chiefly we have decorated the hut. I -begged two boxes full of lanterns, flags, tinsel and festoons, from -the office, then I merely mentioned the fact that I wanted a tree -and lots of branches to trim with and the boys did the rest. I -don’t know where those greens came from, I don’t want to know. -But there is one spectre that keeps haunting me; the apparition of -an indignant Frenchman at my canteen door, with a bill half a -metre long for damages.</p> -<p>This new outfit has brought a heathen custom to town with -them. The band plays for Reveille! We had been so peaceful, so -unmilitary here in town with not so much as a bugle note to make -a ripple in our slumbers! But now at some unimagined hour before -daylight a brazen clangour bursts suddenly forth. Down the -street and past under my window in the dark they go, making the -grand tour of the three streets in town, thumping and tooting as if -their lives depended on it. I never knew a band could make such -an amazing racket, nor could sound quite so joyously impudent. A -bucketful of cold water couldn’t dispel sleep any more effectively. -I feel like jumping out of bed. But I don’t, for it is pitch dark and -cold and very damp. There is a fireplace to be sure in my room -but after one or two fruitless attempts at making it produce a little -heat I abandoned the idea and decided to spend all my time between -my bed and the canteen. But when I desire to view my -countenance in the mirror, I have to take a towel and wipe off the -moisture that collects on it to trickle down in little streams.</p> -<p>I have received my first Christmas present. Bill and Nick—the -dears!—have presented me a beautiful silk umbrella. I think -they did it largely for the honor of the family. As long as my old -faithful only had its handle gone, they could overlook it, but when -the ribs took to parting company with the covering, they evidently -thought that something should be done about it. Nick went to -Gondrecourt to buy it; coming back, he managed to fall off the -truck, was picked up and given first aid by a kindly Frenchwoman, -and reached home in slightly damaged shape but with the precious -umbrella safe. I have been suggesting to Bill that he set a two -franc piece in the handle and then I will have his and Nick’s initials -carved on it, but he doesn’t wax enthusiastic.</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Mauvages, December 25.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>We sat up half the night packing Christmas boxes,—seventeen -hundred of them, one for every man in Mauvages. Two packages -of cigarettes, a cigar, two bars of chocolate and a can of “smoking” -went into each little cardboard box labelled in red “A Merry Xmas -from the folks at home through the Y;” that is, theoretically they -went in, practically it was discovered that no human ingenuity -could so arrange the pesky things as to make them fit the box. -So finally we decided to treat the “smoking” as a separate affair. I -wanted badly to have Santa Claus hand the boxes to the boys -underneath the Christmas tree, but the boys finally convinced me -that the difficulties, including the danger of “repeaters” ad lib, -were too great, so we fitted the boxes into packing-cases and shipped -a case to each company and let each of the top sergeants play -that he was Santa Claus.</p> -<p>It was half past twelve by the time I passed the church on my -way back to the billet. They were celebrating midnight mass. -The light of the altar-candles illumined the old windows with a -soft radiance. They were Y. M. C. A. candles. Monsieur le Curé -had begged them from me in the afternoon; he could get no others, -he said, and was in great distress.</p> -<p><i>Chez nous</i> there was much activity. I stopped inside the door -to chat with the cooks. They were up plucking the Colonel’s -goose and expected to make a night of it.</p> -<p>Sounds of gaiety were ringing from the dining-room. A young -lieutenant, slightly touseled, thrust his head out of the door. I -wished him a Merry Christmas; in return he asked me in to partake -of an anchovy sandwich. I took one look inside the door at -the array of empty bottles, declined with thanks, and climbed the -stairs to bed. For a long while afterwards someone downstairs -kept mewing like a cat. It might have been the slightly touseled -lieutenant.</p> -<p>Today it has been raw and damp and chill and grey and drizzly. -I had a notion that I might ask the French kiddies in this afternoon -to see the tree and receive some little gifts of cookies and -chocolate but when I reached the hut this morning and saw how -packed it was I quickly gave up the project. Not for all the children -in ten villages would I turn the boys out into the rain.</p> -<p>Tonight there is to be some sort of show, arranged by the entertainment -officer.</p> -<p>Just before dinner time the Second Lieutenant from the A. R. -came in, looking full of mysterious importance. “The C. O. leaves -this noon,” he said. “He’s ordered to report at Souilly by twelve -tonight. I’ll tell you all about it later.” Later I learned. Inspectors -had been visiting the dump. They had found it in a very -dangerous state indeed. The wet weather has affected the explosives -so that should the sun come out for a day or two the chemical -change ensuing would in all probability cause an explosion -which would set off the whole dump with its millions of dollars -worth of high explosives. In which case little Mauvages would of -course go higher than Halifax. The C. O. has been removed and -the Second Lieutenant left in charge. The work of destroying the -dangerous explosives is to be pursued at top speed. In the meanwhile -we will pray for continued rain.</p> -<p>I received two gifts today that touched me deeply. One was a -pretty pink embroidered scarf from the boys at the aviation field. -The lad who brought it to me had walked twelve miles, into Gondrecourt -and back again in the sleety rain, to buy it! The other was -a package labeled; “Wishing you a Mary Xmas from the Operators -at A. S. No. 9, and may the next one be in the States.” Inside -were two boxes of chocolates, their Christmas candy issue!</p> -<p>As for me, I am ashamed—I have been so busy and so bothered -that I just couldn’t seem to manage a gift for anyone, not for Bill -nor Nick nor even Monsieur le Curé.</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Mauvages, December 28.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>Neddy has come back! His battery has just arrived at Rosières -and last night he got off and walked over here to see me.</p> -<p>We sat and talked by the kitchen-stove and I found him just -the same shy, slow-spoken dreamy lad. The long months at the -front have seemingly instilled nothing bitter in him, nor left -any scars on his spirit, no matter if he is wearing a wonderful -belt quite covered with German buttons all “cut off of dead ones.” -He dug out of his pockets for me two odd little picture frames -made cleverly out of rings from German fuses, with pieces of -celluloid cut from the eye-holes of German gas-masks for glass, -and held together with surgeon’s plaster. Then of course there -were the latest pictures of his girl to show me.</p> -<p>He told me about the battery. On the whole their casualties -have been light. Jones was gassed, and is in hospital somewhere; -it seems just like Jones, somehow, to get gassed! The boys, he -told me, had been fairly homesick for the little old Artillery -School Hut,—most of all, he said, they had missed my hot -chocolate.</p> -<p>Then just to make the occasion perfect, who should walk in -but Snow! Snow’s battery is at Delouze, two towns away; but -Snow has been on leave down on the Riviera, having the time of -his young life.</p> -<p>“I never could see what there was in this country worth fighting -for,” he told me, “until I went down there. But now I know.”</p> -<p>He had just returned from his furlough this very afternoon. -He hadn’t a thing to eat all day, being of course, “dead broke.” -I got the best impromptu supper I could and we all three sat in -the kitchen and ate it. The menu was: crackers and canned milk; -sardines and crackers; cracker-pudding and cocoa; crackers and -jam. The boys gossiped and swapped yarns like two old veterans. -Neddy related how the gunners at the front when loading -would pat and even kiss a shell as they adjured it not to be a dud! -Snow told me how ——, the talented, the brilliant, had gone to -pieces at the front and had been sent back to the S. O. S. This -must have been hard on Snow for the two were close friends. “I -said to him one day,” recounted Snow, “——, you must have done -something awfully wicked in your life to make you so afraid to -die.” Undoubtedly the poor fellow’s failure was due, not so much -to lack of courage, as to over-sensitiveness and too much imagination. -The pity of it is that this will surely prove a bad blow to -his self-respect.</p> -<p>When it was time for Neddy to go I saw there was something -he wanted to say to me. At last it came out. Around his neck, it -seems, he is still wearing the chain with the little cross which I -gave him when he went to the front. And he has the unshakable -notion in his quaint head that it was the cross which kept -him safe!</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Mauvages, December 29.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>Tonight we gave a party: hot chocolate and cookies for the -whole camp. Every Sunday before the Big Push came I had been -serving hot chocolate free but I had been staggered by the thought -of trying to make chocolate for seventeen hundred men on my -little stove that is just big enough to sit on, over a fire which has -to be coaxed with German powder sticks and candle ends before it -will burn, and serving it in our sixty odd cocoa bowls. This morning, -however, I had an inspiration. I consulted the detail, they approved. -Accordingly we sent requests to three of the battery mess-kitchens, -asking that they should each furnish us, at five-thirty, the -largest container they possessed full of hot water. Then we asked -the mess sergeants to announce the party at supper and tell the -boys to bring their mess-cups. The sentry at the street corner was -also instructed to let no one pass without his mess-cup. Then we -started in, heating all the water we could manage, making chocolate -paste, opening whole cases full of canned milk.</p> -<p>At six o’clock the fun, per schedule, began. The boys lined -up from the counter to the stage. But instead of a single line, -it soon became evident we had two, one coming and one going, -which together formed an endless chain like a giant wheel which -kept slowly but surely revolving. After the second or third time -around a boy would begin to acquire a slightly sheepish look and -endeavor to avoid my eye, but when they found that all they got -was a grin and “I’m glad you like it!” they grinned back unashamed.</p> -<p>“I can’t stop,” joyfully explained one lad to me, “I’m in the line -and I can’t get out; I just gotter keep on coming round.”</p> -<p>“Oh boy! but that’s the best thing I’ve had in France!” declared -another.</p> -<p>While a third announced; “Gee, but I’m full all the way up! -If I drink another drop I sure will bust”—a confession which -may have contained more fact than fancy, for some of the boys -did drink so much that they got sick right then and there. It was -an orgy. And when the last of the four huge containers had been -drained to a drop, why everyone, I believe, for once had had -enough.</p> -<p>“You’ve got all the business in town right here tonight,” one of -the boys informed me. “I just took a look in at the cafés. Every -one of them is empty.”</p> -<p>Personally I feel that the party was a Great Success. We -shall have to have one just like it every Sunday.</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Mauvages, January 1, 1919.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p><i>Mes meilleurs voeux de Bonne Année!</i> or, as the boys say; “Bun -Annie!” We welcomed the new Year in <i>con molto giubilo</i>. Downstairs -at my billet there was music until late and after that sounds -as of a repetition of the Christmas party. At twelve o’clock by -the old church bell, the band, which I had imagined long since -safe and sound in bed, burst forth into music and straggled down -the street playing “<i>There’ll be a hot time in the old town tonight</i>,” -and all the rest of the most rakish airs in its repertoire. I stepped -out on my Juliet balcony. The boys were setting off pyrotechnics -of all sorts “salvaged” from the dump; flares, colored lights, -and rockets. The street burned out of the darkness in rose-colored -mist against which showed black silhouettes of soldiers -who waved their arms and shouted and sang; while from the edge -of the village sounded a sharp tattoo of rifle shots. Just as the -light was beginning to fade out I heard an emphatic bang of the -front door below me and looking down saw two figures; a little -brisk bustling one and a tall, lean one go hurrying down the path -and out the gate. It was our Colonel and an attendant officer. -Retribution, I knew, was bearing down upon the revellers. Sure -enough, this morning I learned that the Colonel, sallying forth, -had struck right and left, leaving a trail of arrests all over town.</p> -<p>But even with the Colonel’s sortie, quiet did not descend on -Mauvages for some time. The party below-stairs was not confined -to the mess-hall this time but was also being celebrated in the -kitchen. At about one o’clock a K. P. stumbled up the stairs -and knocked on the door of the Curé’s chamber just across from -me. He had some champagne for the Curé, he explained in thick -and execrable French. The Curé must drink it in honor of the -New Year. It was good champagne. I could hear the Curé -replying from his bed in rapid deprecating sentences, but the -K. P. held to his point; he had set his heart on the old man’s -joining the celebration. “<i>Champagne bun</i>,” he kept repeating, -“<i>Vous camarade. Bun annie.</i>” For a long time they carried on -the argument, but finally, as the priest implacably refused to -open his door, the genial K. P. gave up in disgust, confiding to -his friends as he reached the floor that the Curé was, after all, -nothing but a dried up old fish.</p> -<p>This morning I went down to Headquarters to turn in my -accounts. Alas, for the vanity of human intentions! At Christmas -I had sent little boxes of fudge to several of the men at the -office, hoping thereby to curry favour for my canteen and counteract -any bad impressions which our delinquencies in the matter -of attending Sunday Services and appropriating other people’s -autos might have caused. Now I find I have made more enemies -among the ones that I left out, than I made friends of the ones I -favoured.</p> -<p>In spite of this sad condition of affairs I managed to tease one -driver into agreeing to take me to Vaucouleurs. At Vaucouleurs -I had been told that there was a commissary where one could -purchase candles, and the boys are desperately anxious for candles. -At first I did not quite understand so burning a desire as -they exhibited, but now I am wise. They want them—poor -wretches!—so they can “read their shirts,” before they go to bed! -I stayed down in Gondrecourt, missing dinner, and then set out -for Vaucouleurs with my heart full of hope and my pockets -crammed with currency. It was a long, cold trip in the driving, -drizzly rain. Arrived at Vaucouleurs we found that, being the -first of the month, the commissary was closed for inventory.</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Mauvages, January 3.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>Everybody has a little pet trouble of his own these days. The -A. R. has its share and more of them. Lieutenant C. recounted -some of his tonight. He had been carrying the dangerous explosives -over beyond the woods to the west of the town where they -were being blown off. Then the French Town Major had called.</p> -<p>It wouldn’t do, he said, to blow off the ammunition there any -more; there were sick people in the town and the explosions fairly -made them jump right up out of their beds. And really one couldn’t -blame them. So then the Lieutenant had switched to the north, -over beyond the narrow-gauge, only to be promptly visited by a -furious delegation of engineers. Whether it was because proper -precautions hadn’t been taken or what I don’t know, whatever the -case, in the course of the explosions a large rock had made a gaping -hole in the roof of A. S. No. 9 and narrowly missed one of my good -friends the operators. The complaint of the engineers was shortly -followed by an indignant ultimatum from the Captain at Abainville -who is in charge of the railway. Unless the explosions were -forthwith stopped, he threatened, no more trains would be run -on the road. On top of all this the Colonel of artillery must call -the Lieutenant to account. The boys whom he arrested New Year’s -night had been shooting off their rifles. The shells must have -come from the dump. Since it was Lieutenant C.’s dump, it was -his business to keep his shells in their proper places. Therefore -Lieutenant C. was responsible for the shooting.</p> -<p>I don’t know just how the matter has been arranged with the -Captain at Abainville, but the explosions beyond the tracks have -been going on all day. Latest reports testify that that roof of A. S. -No. 9 is riddled like a sieve with stone-holes and that the cook, -who never was known to be a religious man, spends all his time -beneath the table praying.</p> -<p>Two of the ordnance boys have been badly burned while setting -off the explosions, and the whole detachment is sore and disheartened -because they are being worked so hard in the mud and rain -and their Sunday holiday denied them. Special details from the -artillery are being sent to work at the dump every day in order -to hasten the work of destruction, but these boys, too, are sullen -and rebellious. They have been used to handling shells at the front, -they say, and they consider it an indignity to have to handle them -here in the dump as if they, forsooth, belonged to the ordnance! -And so the work goes none too quickly. Everyone has been instructed -to keep a particular lookout for German delay fuses, those -deadly little infernal machines, which can be set, according to the -strength of the acid which eats through the spring, to explode -any time between a week and six months. They are disguised -cleverly to look exactly like ordinary percussion fuses, the only -betraying mark being a tiny six pointed star on the nose. Several -have already been found planted in dumps which contained captured -German ammunition, and the tale runs through camp that -some have been discovered here, although this I rather suspect is -just another army rumor.</p> -<p>Tonight one of the ordnance boys hobbled into the hut, his left -foot swathed in bandages; a shell had fallen on a toe and crushed it. -I attempted to sympathize.</p> -<p>“Don’t waste any of your sympathy on me,” he retorted, “I’m -the luckiest feller you know. There ain’t a man in camp who don’t -envy me.”</p> -<p>As for me, I am having a few pet troubles too. One of these -is concerned with the army dentist at Gondrecourt. And this is -all in consequence of the kind operators at A. S. No. 9 and their -Christmas chocolates, for among those chocolates was a caramel -and,—well that candy was made in Switzerland and so was probably -pro-German anyway.</p> -<p>Yesterday I had to witness the harrowing spectacle of a stalwart -doughboy being separated from a tooth. When the ghastly -business was over he shook himself.</p> -<p>“I’ve been over the top,” he declared, “and got filled up with -machine-gun bullets,”—he was wearing two wound stripes,—“but -I’ll tell the world them bullets weren’t nothin’ to that tooth!”</p> -<p>But the chief of my troubles is the hut lighting problem. So -far, I have not been able to get any response to my petition for an -electric lighting system. Our fine carbide lamps are a frank fizzle, -our candles are all gone, we have nothing but a few lanterns and -small oil lamps. Every day someone breaks my heart by breaking -another lamp chimney, and new ones, alas! are not to be had for -love or money in this part of France. Moreover the boys have -developed a most inconvenient habit of walking off with the lamps. -At first I said in exasperation; “Well, let them take them! As -soon as the oil burns out they’ll find the lamps aren’t any use to -them.” But I didn’t reckon on their Yankee ingenuity. They are -smart enough, it seems, to bring back the empty ones, and exchange -them for filled ones, every evening!</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Mauvages, January 5.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>Mauvages is in a state of mind for mutiny, and it’s all over a -little piece of cloth about two inches square. The case is this; -the —— Artillery Brigade, having served six months continuously -at the front, having participated in all the big offensives, -and having won an enviable reputation, was attached, on coming -to this area, for the sake of military convenience, to the —— -Division already stationed here, a draft organization which had -never been to the front at all. The artillery were far from pleased -over the arrangement, but they managed to swallow their pride -and put a good face on the matter. A few days ago, however, the -order came out that they were to abandon the insignia of their old -division and appear—every last man of them,—with the insignia -of the new division on his arm. The men were furious. The batteries -stationed at Rosières made a bonfire and burned the detestable -insignia publicly, for which they got two weeks restriction -to camp and a new set of little red patches. One boy sewed his -“clover-leaf,” as they call them, to the seat of his breeches. Raincoats -have become all the wear, even in the best of weather, for -under these the hated symbol is hidden. Indeed the feeling was -so intense that in some places both officers and men tore off their -service-stripes before putting on the new insignia.</p> -<p>I alone in the town am wearing the insignia of the old division -and this is a wonderful and weird affair cut out of turkey red bunting -and pinned to my sweater sleeve in a moment of reminiscent -loyalty by my indignant detail. But the band keeps on lustily -proclaiming the brigade’s undying allegiance, for every morning -for Reveille, as it makes the grand tour of the town it brays forth -defiantly the war march of the old division.</p> -<p>“We haven’t got orders to stop <i>that!</i>” says the leader.</p> -<p>Since the spirit of rebellion is abroad I have been managing a -little mutiny of my own. It came about in the matter of Sunday -movies. Up till the present we had been accustomed to having a -service every Sunday night, but since the artillery moved in we -have been furnished with a full-fledged morning service by the regimental -chaplain, in view of which I had set my heart on having -movies in the evening rather than a second service. I based my -position on the grounds that, since to my notion at least, the main -end of the work over here is simply to keep the boys away from the -things that would hurt them, on Sunday night, the most dangerous -night of all the week, this could best be done by drawing them to -the hut with a movie show; always provided that their “religious -needs” had been supplied earlier in the day.</p> -<p>The movie machine was at the hut, I had found an operator in -one of the batteries, a little Jewish boy who bragged of long -experience in the states; all I wanted was a film. I went with my -request to the office. My logic it seemed to me was unassailable. -But the office couldn’t see it that way. After much debate we -agreed to disagree in theory. In practice I carried off my film. -But I did it with a sinking of the heart. My relations with the -office have always been quite cordial, this was the first incident -to cast a gloom over them. Anyway, I thought, we’re going to -have those movies! I advertised the show extensively.</p> -<p>Sunday night came. The hut was thronged. I was feeling -rather particularly pleased with things. We had ministered to -the boys’ souls in the morning, fortified the inner man with free -hot chocolate at six o’clock, now we were going to finish out the -day by satisfying their romantic cravings with a film drama of -love and adventure.</p> -<p>But oh! for the pride that goes before the stumbling-block! -When it came to the test it seemed that the little operator, for -all his bragging, couldn’t make the movie machine go. Perhaps it -was because the lad didn’t understand the foreign make, perhaps -it was because the machine needed to be talked to in French, or -perhaps it was just because the project had been unblessed from -the beginning; I don’t know. We had half the camp ganged -around the machine, offering to take a hand. Everybody was -criticizing and advising, which, I suppose, added the last touch to -the little operator’s confusion. After waiting an interminable time -in the dark we witnessed a few feeble flickers on the screen and -then darkness once more. The audience dribbled disgustedly away. -They probably made up for their disappointment in the cafés.</p> -<p>This morning the driver stopped at the hut to take the machine -away. “Have a good show, last night?” he asked.</p> -<p>“Umm hm,” said I, grinning cheerfully.</p> -<p>I am praying that the truth about that show never reaches -the office!</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Mauvages, January 10.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>Tonight I leave Mauvages. Two weeks more and I shall be -“homeward bound.” I am so tired that it has seemed to me for -some time that the only thing I can do is to go home. There -isn’t any room in France these days for anyone who isn’t perfectly -strong, perfectly rested. A week ago I went to Nancy and -persuaded the lady in charge of the women workers of this division, -after some argument, to let me go. I have already overstayed -my contract by eight months. Now they have telegraphed -from Paris that they have a sailing for me. The man secretary -is here to take over this hut.</p> -<p>Because I hate leave-takings I tried to keep the fact that I -was going dark until the very last minute but at the end word got -around. The boys came flocking into my kitchen with messages and -missives for the states. Boys whom I had never to my knowledge -seen before pledged me to call up their wives on the long distance -telephone as soon as I should land. One boy gave me two German -fuses weighing a number of pounds apiece to carry home. If I -would take one for him, I might keep the other one, he said.</p> -<p>“Say hello to the Statue of Liberty for me!”</p> -<p>“Give my regards to Broadway.”</p> -<p>“Say Lady, can’t you take me in your trunk?” they chorused.</p> -<p>As for Nick, he has instructed me to go to Brooklyn, pick out -the best hat in his wife’s millinery store, “And tell the missus -it’s on me.”</p> -<p>I have taken my last agonized inventory, turned in my last -accounts,—balanced by Big Bill. This afternoon I went to take -my last look at the little hut. It is all torn to pieces, they have -begun to build that addition which I started begging for a month -ago; I slipped one of my canteen tea-cups into my bag just for old -times sake.</p> -<p>Neddy came in to say Good-bye. At the last moment he shyly -placed a little box in my hand. In it was a pretty gilt Lorraine -cross. He had walked all the way into Gondrecourt to get it. He -would have bought me a chain too, he explained with a flush, -only he was “pecuniarily embarrassed.” Dear little Neddy! If -he only knew how much better I liked it without the chain.</p> -<p>My luggage is all packed and Bill has strapped it up for me. -I have said adieu to the Curé and the Colonel. Madame the Caretaker -has kissed me on both cheeks and dropped a tear over me. -Now I am waiting for the A. R. jitney to come and take me to the -station.</p> -<p>A horrid thought has just occurred to me. The captain’s -cognac must be still in the corner of the store-room shelf. What -<i>will</i> the secretary think?</p> -</div> <!-- end of chapter --> -<div class='chapter' id='chVII'> -<h2>CHAPTER VII: VERDUN—THE FRENCH</h2> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Paris, January 12.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>It is fortunate that the world looks tolerantly on a certain -instability in the feminine mind. When I left Mauvages there was -just one thought in my head,—to go straight home. I have been -twenty-four hours in Paris; already my resolution is wavering. -It’s all on account of what they said to me at the Headquarters -office.</p> -<p>Paris is truly a different city from the one I last saw in September -on my way back from Saint Malo; the streets thronged -with people, and brightly lighted at night, the shop windows -gay and inviting, freed from their patterned lattices of paper -strips which formerly protected the glass from the concussions -caused by shells and bombs. In the Place de la Concorde the -statue representing the City of Strasbourg, divested of the mourning -wreaths which it has worn ever since 1870, now smiles triumphantly -above a mass of flags and flowers; and, most thrilling of -all, the crouched grey guns of Germany, like so many dumb impotent -monsters, throng the Place de la Concorde, stretch in a -double line along the Champs Elysées all the way to the Arc de -Triomphe.</p> -<p>Everywhere the shop windows display a picture; a woman’s -form, heroic, bearing a great sword, with wide spread wings which -are at the same time wings and American flags; before her the -bent and cowering form of the Emperor; while beyond, a sea of -khaki, illimitable hosts of warriors melting away in waves against -the horizon; and underneath the words:</p> -<p>“But what tremendous fleet could have brought hither such -an army?”</p> -<p>“The <i>Lusitania</i>.”</p> -<p>The Patisserie shops are full of enticing little cakes once -more; but, sad to say, the quality one finds has depreciated while -the prices have gone sky-rocketing. I thought I would economise -this noon and, instead of eating a five franc luncheon at the hotel, -substitute a cup of cocoa and some little cakes at a tea-shop. -When I came to pay my bill it was seven francs fifty! While I -was partaking of my frugal repast a French Red Cross nurse came -into the shop leading two blind poilus. She bought them each -some cakes as if they had been two little boys and they stood -there eating them. The poilu nearest me, a tall fine-looking -fellow, tasted his, “<i>Ah!</i>” he exclaimed, “<i>c’est une vrai Madeleine!</i>” -He lied. It was no more like a pre-war Madeleine than chalk is -like cheese, but if it had been made of India-rubber I suppose he -would have said the same thing, and said it with just the same -grave and gracious courtesy.</p> -<p>Now that the war is over, one feels sorrier than ever for the -French officers who haven’t medals.</p> -<p>“The Frenchies are issuing the <i>croix de guerre</i> with their rations -now,” the boys used to say. And indeed when one sees a French -officer without some sort of decoration one feels instinctively -that something must be the matter with him.</p> -<p>To go or not to go? I am thinking of a compromise. I will -postpone my sailing, take the furlough that is due to me. At the -end of two weeks I can calmly make up my mind.</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Cauterets, January 20.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>“There’s only one poor feature about this place;” declared -a boy today, “they won’t let you stay long enough.”</p> -<p>This is a representative but not a universal sentiment. Some -of the boys don’t like the snow, for Cauterets being high in the -Pyrenees, is deep in snow at present. A few complain that they -don’t get enough to eat. It is the breakfasts chiefly that fail to -satisfy. The French having been used, time out of mind, to a -<i>petit déjeuner</i> of rolls and coffee, utterly fail to comprehend the -American need for heartier sustenance. When the contracts with -the hotels were made it was carefully stipulated that eggs, meat -or fish should be served at breakfast in addition to the continental -menu, but the quantities were not stated and to a hearty doughboy -on a cold morning <i>one</i> egg is a mere tantalization, if not an insult. -Every morning you may see them flocking in swarms to the Y. in -order to round out their unsatisfactory breakfasts with hot chocolate -and bread and jam. Yesterday I overheard some indignant -splutterings from a little crowd at one of the canteen tables.</p> -<p>“What’s the matter, boys?”</p> -<p>“They gave us fish this morning for breakfast!”</p> -<p>“They did?”</p> -<p>“Yep! One sardine to each man!”</p> -<p>Yet in spite of a few such inharmonious notes, Cauterets, like -Saint Malo and Aix-les-Bains, is instinct with the spirit of the American -soldier on leave. And the American soldier on leave is the -Playboy of the Western World. When the last doughboy has -walked up the gang-plank of the last west-bound transport, I -think the railway officials, gate-keepers, station agents, and train -conductors all over France will settle back in their chairs and draw -a deep breath of relief.</p> -<p>The French poilu and the English Tommy have both questioned -often and bitterly why it was that while they must ride third class, -the American soldier habitually traveled second and first; the answer -being that you simply can’t keep the doughboys out! It is -the idea of the social distinction implied by the <i>classes</i> I fancy that -makes half the trouble. However that may be, it is absolutely -against the rules of the game for any doughboy to ride third class -if there are any second class coaches, and equally disgraceful to ride -second class if there is a first. I myself have seen an American -buck private with third class transportation in his pocket stretching -his legs in a luxurious first class compartment seat, while a -French general stood up outside in the corridor! At another time -I took a journey in a first class compartment built for six, in which -three English officers, an English titled Lady, her companion, two -muddy doughboys and myself were all crowded. This was an -anxious trip for me, for not only was I worried lest an indignant -conductor should eject the doughboys, but I was also guiltily conscious -of having paid only a second class fare myself!</p> -<p>One joyous company of eight lads on leave whom I encountered -on the way down here counted in their number one sergeant with a -well-worn second class pass. Things arranged themselves very simply. -In the line-up at the gate or in the car, the sergeant, heading -the file, presented his pass first, then, as it was handed back to -him, slipped it behind his back to the next man and so on down the -line. Once in a second class compartment it was usually an easy -matter to transfer to first. This same crowd related to me how, -when locked out of an empty first class compartment by an irate -conductor they merely waited until the next stop, then getting -out climbed through the window on the off side of the train into -the forbidden seats.</p> -<p>“Golly, but that old frog got a shock when he looked in through -the glass door and saw us sitting there!”</p> -<p>They were overcome with chagrin because at the last change one -member of the party allowed himself to be bullied by a hard-boiled -M. P. into leaving the first class car.</p> -<p>“He’s broken our record,” they mourned; “he’s disgraced the -family!” And half their pleasure in the remainder of the trip was -spoiled it was evident.</p> -<p>Irrepressible, curious of all things, awed by nothing, the doughboy -cares not a snap of his fingers for the whole of French Officialdom. -An officer told me how, when standing on a station platform -the other day, an irate and husky doughboy sailed by him, -headed for the baggage-room in search of somebody’s luggage.</p> -<p>“If you hear a noise, Major,” he remarked in transit, “you’ll -know that I’m stepping on a frog.”</p> -<p>The French railway system affords him a never-failing topic -for amusement. And truly it has its quaint points. On the trip -down we passed over one line where the heating system for the -cars consisted entirely of long flat metal cans filled with hot water -which were shoved in under our feet, so that, no matter how chilly -the rest of us might be, our toes at least could travel in comfort; -while on the walls of each coach, we observed with glee, was an -official notice requesting the passengers to refrain from throwing -objects such as <i>empty bottles</i> out the windows as numerous casualties -among the employees had resulted from this practice!</p> -<p>The doughboy passes everywhere by virtue of the magic words, -“<i>no compree</i>.” Traveling he develops a stupidity that is absolute -and unshakable.</p> -<p>“I never understand anything they say,” chuckled one youngster -joyously, “until they begin to talk about something to eat”.</p> -<p>Wonderful tales are told of escapades and adventures; such as -the story of the boy who started out to spend his leave at Aix-les-Bains -and traveled half over Italy before he came back, all on the -the strength of the pass-word “onion-stew” and an unidentified -document that happened to have a red seal attached. Common -rumour has it that the official report records sixty thousand -A. W. O. L.s at the present date in the A. E. F. in France. I don’t -know whether this is correct, but I rather hope it is. Now that the -war is won I am glad that in spite of Provost Marshals and M. P.s -some of the boys at least are on the way to discovering that there -is something more to France than just “mud and kilometers.”</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Paris, February 7.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>I’m going to stay. If I went home now I would feel like a quitter -all the rest of my life. I don’t know where I’m going. They -asked me if I would like to go to Germany but I said no, I didn’t -want to look at Germans. I shall have to stay here in Paris for -a week or so anyway in order to get that wretched business of a -broken tooth, which the Christmas caramel at Mauvages began, -straightened out. In the meantime, I am doing what I can in a -perfectly amateur and impromptu way to help young America see -Paris.</p> -<p>Paris is the lodestar of France for the A. E. F. From every part -of the country it draws them like a magnet. When on leave, no -matter from what portion of France they may have come or what -corner they may be bound for, they always contrive to get there by -way of Paris. If the R. T. O. instructs them to change to another -line before they reach the city, they arrive there just the same, to -explain blandly to the M. P. that they went to sleep on the train: -“and when I woke up, why here I was in Paris!” What dodges -the doughboys haven’t worked in order to circumvent the M. P.s -and get into Paris without official permission, or once in Paris to -stay longer than the short time allotted them, would be beyond -human imagination. There is one story current, for whose truth -though, I cannot vouch, of an American private who passed -a week in the forbidden city in the uniform of his cousin, a lieutenant -in the French Army. At the time of the signing of the -armistice, for several days the M. P.s’ vigilance was relaxed and -boys from all over France swarmed to the city to participate in -the festivities, but since then the penalties for the unlucky ones -who are caught have grown more and more severe.</p> -<p>Yesterday by request I took two boys to the Louvre. We -wandered through the galleries of Greek and Roman sculptures. -One boy, looking at the yellowed and discolored surfaces, declared -himself bitterly disappointed. He had heard that the -statues were all real marble here, but it was perfectly plain that -they were nothing but plaster imitations! The other boy asked -naïvely if the mutilated statues were “meant to represent people -who had had their heads chopped off.” After about half an hour -they consulted their watches, announced that we had just time to -get to a movie show, and wouldn’t I go with them?</p> -<p>But if the finer points of Greek art are lost on many, there -are plenty of other things which they do appreciate.</p> -<p>“Can you climb to the top of the Eiffel tower?”</p> -<p>“Where is the church that the shell struck on Good Friday?”</p> -<p>“What would you advise me to buy to send home to Mother?”</p> -<p>“How often does the Ferris Wheel go?”</p> -<p>“Is there any place in Paris where one can get ice-cream soda?”</p> -<p>These are some of the questions that they ask you. Some go -to the Opera, sitting invariably in the best seats to the amazement -of the French people. Yesterday I stopped at the box-office to -buy some tickets. A boy standing just inside the door spoke to me.</p> -<p>“I beg your pardon, were you going to buy a seat for this -afternoon?”</p> -<p>“No,” I said; “for Saturday.”</p> -<p>“I have an extra ticket. I’d be glad to have you use it.”</p> -<p>He went on to tell me that he was taking the six o’clock train, -that he had bought tickets for himself and a friend for the matinee -as a last pleasure, but that his friend had failed him. I hesitated, -uncertain. “What’s the opera?” I asked, just because it was -something to say.</p> -<p>“It’s La Bohème,” he said. I fell.</p> -<p>“I’m mighty glad,” he told me, “I was just about to go out and -pick up a chicken on the street, when you came in.”</p> -<p>The opera was a dream of loveliness. I felt as if I must have -done something very good indeed in some previous existence to be -thus rewarded.</p> -<p>Today I encountered two boys who told me how they had -“done” Paris.</p> -<p>“We stopped at a store and bought a bunch of post cards, all -the famous buildings and everything. Then we got a taxi. After -that all we’d do was to show the chauffeur a post card and he’d -drive us to it,—then we’d show him another one, and so we kept -a-goin’ until we’d seen most all of Paris. But gee! That taxi bill -was a fright!”</p> -<p>This afternoon, coming down the “Boulevard de Wop,” as the -boys call the Boulevard des Italiens, I paused beside a fiacre, -attached to a particularly wretched looking old nag, which was -drawn up by the sidewalk. Into it were piling merrily some -eight or nine doughboys, the cabman fairly dancing on his seat as -he uttered frantic but perfectly unheeded expostulations. Finally -as the cabby appeared to be developing apoplexy, I spoke up.</p> -<p>“Boys, you know that <i>really</i> that broken-down old beast never -<i>could</i> pull all of you!”</p> -<p>Whereupon half of them immediately piled out again. One of -the remaining ones leaned out of the fiacre.</p> -<p>“Say Lady, can you talk French?” he demanded earnestly.</p> -<p>“Why a little.”</p> -<p>“Well tell that old guy for me, will you,” he indicated the -still disgruntled <i>cocher</i> who, like the rest of his tribe, was crowned -with an ornamental “stove-pipe,” “that I want him to lend me -his hat.”</p> -<p>Tonight I met a girl I know who is in the Hut Equipment -Department. She has just returned from an extended tour of -inspection. I told her I didn’t know where my next assignment -was to be.</p> -<p>“Why don’t you go to Verdun?” she asked. “The conditions -about there are worse than any other place in France. Men are -commiting suicide there every day.”</p> -<p>So I wrote a note to the Office asking that I be sent to Verdun.</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Bar-le-Duc, February 16.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>Somewhere here in Bar-le-Duc there is an extraordinary thing. -It is the Mausoleum of René of Chalons, prince of Orange, and -designed in accordance with his wishes. Against an ermine mantle, -under a rich armorial crest, stands a skeleton or rather the rotting -carcass of a man, half bone and half disintegrating tissue, holding -aloft in one ghastly hand, his heart, an offering, so the story goes, -to his lady wife.</p> -<p>Every time I am in Bar-le-Duc, even if it is only an hour between -trains, I go hunting for that skeleton; but the nearest I have come -so far, is to find it on a picture post card. Once I thought I had -surely run it to earth when I came upon a strange old church -built so as to bridge a narrow moat-like canal, and so low that it -seemed as if the water must ooze up through the stone slabs of the -floor, but no.</p> -<p>I am here at Bar-le-Duc for a few days because it seems that -after all it isn’t quite certain whether I had better go to Verdun -or to Souilly. While my fate is being decided, I am acting as a -sort of errand-girl, special messenger and Jack-of-all-jobs here at -Headquarters.</p> -<p>This morning I went out in a flivver to do an errand. The -driver told me how, a few days ago, he had carried a young French -girl all over the country-side looking for her aviator-lover’s grave. -Finally with the help of a French officer they had found it. The -girl had placed a wreath on the grave, said a little prayer and -turned away. He showed me the place, three grey wooden crosses, -one with a china wreath on it, marking the field where a large -aviation camp had once been and now quite the loneliest and most -deserted spot in the world.</p> -<p>Coming back, I was sent to the Provost Marshal’s office to -telephone. While I waited for my connection two M. P.s brought -in a prisoner. He belonged to the —— Division which reached -France in September. Two days after he landed he went A. W. -O. L. and had been missing ever since. By some unknown means -he had managed to acquire a typewriter and all winter, it appeared, -he had been living in the woods supporting himself by typing -faked travel orders and selling them to the soldiers. He was a -heavy-set fellow, sullen and taciturn under their questioning. -They went through his pockets and turned out the collection on -the table; chewing gum, tobacco, a shaving-set, old newspapers, -screws and nails, buttons and string and matches and pins, pencils, -and post cards, a knife and three toothbrushes.</p> -<p>Bar-le-Duc I understand does a thriving business in A. W. O. L.s. -One of the M. P.s told me of a lad who, when asked for his papers, -took to his heels and was promptly pursued.</p> -<p>“I chased him all over town, and finally I ran him into the -canal,” he narrated joyfully. “He stood out there with the water -up to his waist while I stood on the bank and shied stones at him. -And he had on a serge uniform too.”</p> -<p>“How did it end?” I asked.</p> -<p>“Oh I let him go; I figured if he wanted to get away that bad -he had a right to.”</p> -<p>Up this same canal a few weeks ago came a flotilla of French -submarines bound for the Rhine, the sailors startling the inhabitants -by their sudden appearance in the streets in their naval -uniforms and their casual references to their ships close at hand. -Somebody was unkind enough to declare that the subs had started -their journey from the coast on Armistice Day, but I am sure this -must be a libel.</p> -<p>This afternoon I asked if I might work in the canteen. This is -in a French house, a few doors beyond the beautiful Officers’ -Club, the home of one of the wealthy manufacturers of the <i>Confiture -de Bar-le-Duc</i>, lent by him, rent-free for the use of the Americans -during the war. In the course of the afternoon I became the -possessor of a puppy-dog presented me by a motor-truck driver, -who, following some careless remark of mine about wishing I had -a puppy, dropped the scared little black thing in my arms and fled. -As soon as I could collect my senses I flew around the counter and -out the door after him, calling on him to take his dog back. But -when I reached the street, motor-truck and driver both had -vanished. I would have loved to keep the little beggar, but here -I am, a transient traveller bound for nobody knows where; what -could I do? I explained my dilemma to the grinning crowd in the -canteen. One of the boys spoke up.</p> -<p>“I’ll take him and give him to my French girl,” he said. I -relinquished the little fellow regretfully. I hope Mademoiselle -makes him a good foster-mother.</p> -<p>A little while later I noticed a boy at the counter who wore -three service stripes and two wound stripes. “What’s your division?” -I asked. He told me. He belonged to my old regiment! -He had been in the Milk Battalion at Goncourt, and he remembered -me. He was a Class B man now and in the post office at -Bar-le-Duc.</p> -<p>“What of the rest?” I asked.</p> -<p>“They’re mostly dead,” he answered, and he told me how, -after one charge, out of the whole Company M six men and the -captain had come back.</p> -<p>I broke down and cried; I couldn’t help it. The boy, -embarrassed, drew away. He is the only man I have seen out of my -regiment since last March, and all he could say was, “They’re -mostly dead!” Dead at Château-Thierry, dead on the Marne, -dead by Soissons, dead in honor, dead with glory. America, will -you ever forget?</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Bar-le-Duc, February 18.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>Everyone here is incensed this morning over the action of the -French troops in the matter of the theatre. It seems that the -Americans had arranged a schedule of movies and shows to be -given at the local theatre a month in advance. A soldier show was -billed for tonight, the company had reached town, the audience was -beginning to gather from the nearby villages, when the French -troops who began to arrive in town yesterday announced that they -had their own exclusive and immediate uses for the building. All -efforts to arbitrate the matter have so far failed. And now word -comes that a French lieutenant in order to be ready to repel any -possible move on the part of the Americans to take possession of -the theatre for the night has had his bed made up in one of the -boxes!</p> -<p>It is the greatest of pities that there should be this wretched -element of friction between the two allies. If every American could -have been miraculously whisked out of France the day after the -armistice was signed the doughboy would likely have been to this -day a bit of a popular French idol. It is this hanging about with -no ostensible end in view that frays nerves on both sides and leads -to a mutual stepping on each other’s toes. No two nationalities -I am convinced could be thrown into such an intimate and trying -relationship and produce perfect harmony. There must inevitably -be a clash of temperaments. The case in this instance, as I see it, -is complicated to an extraordinary degree, with human foibles and -failings a-plenty on both sides.</p> -<p>We Americans have undoubtedly been guilty of bad manners. -Quite openly and persistently the doughboy has called the Frenchman -“frog” to his face and this the French have by no means enjoyed. -The odd part of the thing is that the doughboy can give -no explanation of the nickname.</p> -<p>“But why do you call them frogs?” I ask the boys. Usually -they look quite blank.</p> -<p>“It’s ’cause they sound like frogs when they talk,” explained -one lad.</p> -<p>“’Cause they jump around like frogs when they get excited,” -offered another.</p> -<p>Not one of them suspects that this nickname is a curious survival -of the old term of contempt “Frog-eaters” applied to the -French by the English in the days when they were enemies instead -of allies!</p> -<p>Undoubtedly too the feminine factor, leading as it has to jealousy, -has played its share in arousing antagonism.</p> -<p>“The chief victories of the Americans in France,” declared a -French officer bitterly the other day, “are his conquests over the -feminine heart!”</p> -<p>Indeed from the start it has been an open secret that the “Mademoiselles” -have taken a prodigious fancy to the American soldier. -This is partly because he possesses the charm of novelty, partly -because he has money and can procure chocolate and cigarettes and -partly just because he is himself.</p> -<p>“There are three thousand men in this town and three girls,” -ran a postal addressed by a joyous youngster on leave to his lieutenant; -“I’m going with one of them and Abe has the other two.”</p> -<p>And who can blame the poilu for a certain amount of resentment, -when, coming back from the trenches he has discovered that a dashing -American stationed at an engineering camp in his home town -has supplanted him in the affections of his sweetheart?</p> -<p>On the American side there is of course the old grievance of the -overcharging.</p> -<p>“D’you know why you don’t see any Jews in France?” asked a -lad of me the other day, “It’s because they couldn’t make a living.”</p> -<p>In part, this sense of grievance, as I see it, is justifiable. An -officer told me not long ago that he had recently been left behind -when his outfit moved out from a village, as “Mop Up Officer” -to settle the claims of the townspeople for damage done by the -soldiers during their stay,—a pane of glass, a truss of straw, the -tine of a pitchfork. Hearing a commotion in the town square he -looked out; the town crier was announcing to the populace that -now the Americans had gone the price of wine would be cut from -five francs a bottle to two. But in part this sense of grievance is -unjustifiable, for the American has in no small measure brought -this state of affairs upon himself. From the start the doughboy’s -disgust with the flimsy paper bills and the puzzling tricky scheme -of the francs, sous and centimes engendered a carelessness toward -French money which the tradespeople took as a delightful indication -of unlimited wealth. “But everyone is rich in America!” -I have heard them declare with childish conviction. So prices began -to rise and presently, with the prices, the doughboy’s resentment, -and then the poilu’s; for the rise automatically put all luxuries -out of the French soldier’s reach and this of course he in turn -blamed bitterly on the “rich” American. Indeed the sending of a -large body of men paid at the rate of a dollar a day into a country -where the native troops were paid at the rate of five cents a day -was a social-economic error which somehow, say by some system -of reserve pay such as the Australians have, should have been -avoided.</p> -<p>Then too, the American won’t haggle. The Frenchman, as a rule, -won’t buy unless he can. Prices are fixed with the expectation of a -compromise after bargaining. Not easily shall I forget a dramatic -scene witnessed at the “Rag Fair” at the Porte Maillot in Paris between -a prosperous householder and a “rag” seller over a second-hand -padlock. The seller remained firm in demanding six cents -for the padlock. The householder was equally determined not to -pay more than five. Finally the householder with great dignity -withdrew, only to be called back by a despairing yelp from the -seller. He had capitulated. To the American such a performance -seems both tedious and undignified; he either takes the article at -the first price asked or leaves it.</p> -<p>Nor can it be denied that the doughboy tends to be a bit of a -prodigal. Chief of his spendthrift weaknesses are two; he will pay -almost any price for sweets, sink almost any sum in a present for -his girl. Then too the universal custom of gambling in the army, -leading to swollen fortunes for the favoured ones, has helped to -establish standards of extravagance. An officer in charge of a -company belonging to a negro labor regiment told me of seeing two -of his boys in a café sit down to a twenty-five franc bottle of champagne -and then, the taste for some reason not quite suiting their -fancies, walk out leaving the bottle practically untouched behind!</p> -<p>In the light of such incidents as this, who can blame the French -people for regarding the American as a sort of gift from God beneficently -allowed them at the time of their greatest national impoverishment, -for the replenishing of their depleted pocketbooks?</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Verdun, February 20.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>The little narrow-gauge train pulled us in here from Bar-le-Duc -at ten o’clock last night, a thirty mile run and six hours -to make it! When I asked for a first class fare at the station -I noticed an odd expression on the ticket-seller’s face. “They’re -all the same,” he said; “all second class.” Arrived at the train -I understood. The coaches were filthy and furnished with -straight-backed wooden benches; a heap of rubbish surrounded -the rickety stove in the centre. Shortly after we crawled out of -Bar-le-Duc it began to rain. Half the windows were innocent of -glass. The rain beat in through the empty sashes. Presently it -grew dark. Several of the passengers, American, reached in -their pockets and brought out a few grimy candle-ends. We -made little grease-spots on the benches and stuck the candles -there, but the gusts of wind from the empty windows kept blowing -them out, so half the time we jogged along in darkness.</p> -<p>Among the passengers was a little old Frenchman with one -arm. He was returning to his native village in the devastated -area the other side of Verdun, after an absence of four years. -With him was his young son, an immature lad of seventeen.</p> -<p>“<i>J’ai tine passion</i>,” declared the old man with startling fervour; -“<i>j’ai une passion véritable de revoir le village de ma naissance!</i>”</p> -<p>In all probability he was returning to nothing but a crumbled -heap of stones.</p> -<p>“You are very brave,” I told him.</p> -<p>Ah but it was for them, the old, to set an example for the young! -It was they who should lead the way! It was they who should -rebuild France! His frail old body fairly shook with the strength -of his emotion. What a strange, thrilling, tragic pilgrimage!</p> -<p>Verdun resembled nothing but a ruin mercifully wrapped in -darkness as we passed through the gate and made our way up the -hill. We had found, luckily, a guide who had a lantern; nowhere -else in all the city was so much as a gleam of light to be seen. -In places, as we passed, the shells of houses still stood, staring -down with empty eyes at us, in other places there were nothing -but rubble mounds with here and there a narrow jagged bit of wall -or a naked chimney standing out like a lonely monolith.</p> -<p>Headquarters offices are at the Château on the summit of the -hill close to the Cathedral, one of the few buildings left undamaged -in this part of town, a rambling, ungainly, rather gloomy structure. -The second story consists almost entirely of a series of -great empty barren loft-like store-rooms. In one of these, known -as the Ladies, Cold Storage, I have my habitation. Supposed -to be a sort of one-night-stand dormitory for female tourists,—nurses -chiefly,—who are touring the battle-fields, the Ladies, -Cold Storage is a large dusty garret with grimy rough-plastered -walls, without a window or as much as a crack to let in any light -or air except for a few small slits in the roof where the rain leaks -in. A stove, a long row of cots and a tin basin on a shelf surmounted -by a broken piece of looking-glass are its only furnishings. -However, the L. C. S. boasts one luxury, it is equipped with -electric lights. This helps—when the current is turned on!—when -it isn’t, we light a candle stub and stick it in an old milk can. -The electricity is generated underground in the Citadel. When -the Americans first came to Verdun some enterprising electricians -tapped the wires and had forty lights working before the -French knew anything about it. Upon discovery the French cut off -the Americans, only to find shortly afterwards that another connection -had been made. This absurd performance was repeated no -less than seven times. After the seventh time the French gave up.</p> -<p>We were fairly frightened out of bed this morning by a most -horrible hubbub,—a Klaxon gas-alarm which is used to call the -guests to breakfast. Having heard it I am quite convinced that -if Gabriel wishes to do the job efficiently on the last day, he will -scrap his trumpet and take a Klaxon.</p> -<p>After breakfast we newcomers hurried out to get a glimpse of -the town. There were plenty of others likewise occupied as -Verdun is a veritable magnet for A. E. F. tourists. The Cathedral -is closed to visitors but we happened upon two French officers -who kindly took us through. The roof is badly damaged and the -stained glass of the windows shattered to bits, but beyond that the -Cathedral is comparatively unharmed. I was much embarrassed -when the officers informed me that the <i>sacrés pierres</i>, the sacred -stones from the altar, had been stolen and presumably sent as -souvenirs to America. At first I pretended not to understand, -but they took such pains to explain, finally taking me to the -altar and showing me where the little marble slabs had been dug -out, that I finally had to admit I understood. The two nurses who -were with us were anxious to climb the clock-tower, but this, -we found, was strictly <i>défendu</i>. All through the war, we learned -afterwards, the clock in the tower had been kept going by the -faithful verger who refused to leave his post, and what’s more, -it had kept time. But a short while ago the clock had started -“skipping.” A party of American boys had just visited the tower. -Upon investigation it proved that one of the wheels was missing! -Sometimes I think the French are very patient with us.</p> -<p>Everywhere we went we came upon German prisoners engaged -in the most leisurely fashion in cleaning up. There are several -thousands of them here and more to come. Verdun is to rise from -her ruins and live once more. Yet she can never be in any sense -the stately city that once she was; for while the business and -poorer portions of the city below the hill are not irreparably -damaged, the finer part with its stately mansions and exquisite -specimens of mediæval architecture is wrecked beyond repair. -The most serious obstacle in the way of making at least some small -portions of the city habitable at present lies in the great difficulty -of obtaining window-glass.</p> -<p>From the Cathedral we went to the Canteen-in-the-Convent. -How the nuns would stare, I thought, if they could see their -virgin precincts in possession of a mob of boys in khaki, white and -black, interspersed with the blue-coated poilus! Across the back -of the building runs a wide terrace, once worn by pious feet of -patient sisters engaged in holy meditations. Here among the -lounging boys stand life-sized carved and colored images of saints -and angels. Their size of course prevents them from traveling -to America as souvenirs, but even so they must stand witness -to the irreverence of young America, for the Angel Gabriel is -hideous in a German gas-mask!</p> -<p>After dinner we went on a trip through the Citadel, that vast -underground soldier-city with its miles of corridors and rooms enough -to harbor a whole army, a little world deep underneath the earth. -We saw the bakery which bakes bread not only for the whole garrison -but for all the troops in the vicinity; the Foyer, a writing and -recreation hall, named in honor of President Wilson; the movie -theatre; and the hospital with its wards and operating room,—what -a nightmare horror I thought to be sick in those damp and -dimly-lighted subterranean caverns! But we were not allowed to -see more than the outer door of the chapel which they say is sumptuous, -since it is enriched by all the costly furnishings and precious -images moved there for safety’s sake from the Cathedral. Nor -were we shown the underground café where, I have been told, an -unusually good brand of beer is sold.</p> -<p>From the Citadel, rumour has it, tunnels lead out to the circle -of forts that form the defences of Verdun, but if you ask a Frenchman -if this is so, he only looks wise and keeps mum.</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Verdun, February 25.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>I don’t believe there is another canteen quite like my canteen -in the whole of France. It is a canteen for French civilians. The -one-time inhabitants of Verdun and the devastated area beyond -are allowed by the government, it seems, just twenty-four hours -in which to visit their former homes, after which they must return -as there is no food for them here and very little shelter. In -return for many favours the French authorities asked the Y. to -co-operate with them in running a sort of rest-room for these -refugees; they supplying a detail, and we supplying the materials -to make hot chocolate which is given away, and a secretary to -take charge. The canteen is in the Collège Buvignier at the foot -of the hill. There is a <i>dortoir</i> in the building also, in charge of -the man who was once manager of the principal hotel in the city; -two long halls full of cots with straw mattresses where the refugees -may pass the night. My assignment to this canteen is only -to be temporary.</p> -<p>The room where my canteen is must have once been quite beautiful, -high-ceilinged with wainscot panelling below and embossed -leather covering the walls above. Even now in its state of dingy -disrepair, with half the panes in the tall arched windows replaced -by dirty cloth, it keeps something of its old dignity and charm. -Beyond the main room is another smaller one, connected by two -doors, in which the detail lives and in which we make our chocolate.</p> -<p>When I took over the canteen from the man who had been in -charge of it, it was absolutely bare except for four tables and -some backless wooden benches. My first act on assuming charge -was to clean house, my second was to persuade the detail to make -the very watery chocolate richer. After that we proceeded to -refurnish and adorn. We ran a frieze of war-pictures in color, -taken from a child’s pictorial <i>Histoire de la Guerre</i> around the -top of the wainscoting, hung French and American flags from -the chandeliers, teased the French authorities into bringing us -some nice upholstered armchairs for the old ladies to sit in, and, -finally, put a little pot of primroses or snow-drops, dug with a -broken tile from a ruined garden, in the centre of each table. -Then a kind secretary bound for Bar-le-Duc was persuaded to go -shopping for us and brought back an array of French magazines, -hand-picked, and an assortment of toys to amuse the kiddies who -must often wait here with their families between trains, though -so far, it must be confessed, it is chiefly the detail who have been -amused by them. And now I am wondering what there is to do -next.</p> -<p>Besides the hot chocolate, we carry on a trade in bread, a huge -sackfull of which is brought us fresh every day from the underground -bakery on the back of a little round-faced poilu; and we -do a brisk business in checking parcels, without checks. Yesterday -a rabbit was left all day in our care. I was sorry for the -poor beast cooped up in the little box and wanted to give it a -drink of water, but the poilus insisted that this would be fatal. -Whether this might possibly be a zoölogical fact, or is just part -of the national prejudice against water, I can’t determine.</p> -<p>At first, remembering my difficulties with the French Army -at Mauvages, I was a little apprehensive as to how my two poilus, -Emil and Guillaume and I might get along. But though I am -sure they think me the oddest creature in the world, and my presence -here unconventional beyond words, yet their behaviour -could not possibly be more courteous, considerate and deferential. -They won’t even allow me to wash the chocolate cups.</p> -<p>“Mademoiselle will soil her hands!”</p> -<p>And they are forever telling me that I am working too hard. -“But Mademoiselle will be fatigued!” Which is so absurd as to -fairly exasperate me.</p> -<p>Besides Emil and Guillaume we have four soldier friends-of-the-family, -as it were, who also frequent the back room. The -canteen is supposed to be a strictly civilian affair, but we make an -exception in favour of the four <i>camarades</i>, and they repay us by -helping chop the stove-wood which is stacked in a great pile -outside the door and is nothing more or less than the stakes to -which were once fastened barbed-wire entanglements. Each -stake still bears two little rings of wire around it and every few -days one has to clear out the accumulation of barbed-wire entanglements -from the chocolate-stove. <i>Les défences de Verdun</i> -the poilus call the wood-pile. The poilus are all artillerymen -from a regiment of “75s.” Guillaume has brought down three -Boche planes, he tells me, and Emil five. One of the poilus is a -handsome brigadier, or corporal, who wears wooden shoes. I -said something about <i>sabots</i> the other day. But don’t they wear -<i>sabots</i> in America? The poilus were astonished to learn that -wooden shoes were unknown among us! There is also a sergeant -who is the aristocrat of our little circle, a dreamy looking lad, a -student of architecture at the Beaux Arts. Yesterday he shyly -proffered me an envelope; in it was a pretty pen-and-ink sketch -of two little girls, one in the costume of Alsace, the other of Lorraine, -proffering bouquets, and underneath was written, “Souvenir -of a Frenchman who thanks America for having given the victory -more quickly.” Our poilu friends are constantly straying into -the back room in order to read the newspapers here and to get -a cup of hot chocolate. Every now and then they all get together -and hold a <i>vin rouge</i> tea party. On these occasions it is evidently -a mystery to them why, though I join them in eating bread and -cheese, I always refuse the <i>vin rouge</i>!</p> -<p>The politeness of the poilus is equalled by that of the clientele. -They are extraordinarily grateful for what little we do for them. -Today an old lady, in spite of anything I could say, insisted on -tipping me with a two franc piece! I spent it buying chocolates -and cigarettes for the poilus at the Canteen-in-the-Convent. -Every class of society flows into my little canteen from gently -bred ladies under the escort of immaculate officers to old men who -resemble nothing but the forlornest vagabonds. The cheerfulness -and courage of the refugees in general is astonishing. One would -think that a room full of people engaged in such a mournful -mission would be a gloomy place, but on the contrary, although -occasionally you see a woman quietly sobbing, at most times we -fairly buzz with pleasant sociability. The women come in with -faces bright with excitement. “Oh the poor Cathedral!” they -cry.</p> -<p>“Did you find anything of your home?” I ask. For a moment -the tears swim in their brave eyes. “<i>Rien</i>” they answer shaking -their heads. “Nothing!”</p> -<p>Today an old man in a long white apron smock was the centre -of attention here. He was busy searching the ruins of his house -for buried treasure. Every little while he would come back to -the canteen with the fruits of his pathetic salvaging,—a few silver -spoons, some paint brushes, a bolt of black velvet ribbon,—place -them in a basket and then return to look for more. Two German -prisoners were digging for him. Finally he came back with six -unbroken champagne glasses and a face scored with tragedy. -He had been hoping against hope to recover the treasures in his -wine cellar but he was too late, not a bottle was there left!</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Verdun, February 28.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>This morning I went out on a truck to Fort Douaumont. This -is the fort which was captured by the Germans, held by them -for five months, and then retaken by the French and marks the -enemy’s nearest approach to the city. Oddly enough the French -were the gainers through this occupation to the extent of a splendid -electric lighting system introduced by the Germans into the -fort!</p> -<p>A modern fort does not resemble in the least the idea that one -has of a “fort.” Viewed from outside it is nothing more or less -than a hole in the ground. Once inside we had the sense of being -in a monster ant-hill as we followed our guide through a network -of tunnelled corridors. We saw the room of the Commandant -with its wonderful relief maps both French and German of the -Verdun hills, we saw the war-museum, the Foyer, the store-rooms -and engine-rooms, the magazine rooms where the big shells were -stacked like cord wood, and we climbed up into the turrets of -the disappearing guns. In this strange fort which has been both -friend and enemy we looked through one empty doorway into a -pit of ruins open to the sky, under the wreckage sixteen Germans -lay, they said; it was here that a French shell had broken through. -We passed by another door which bore a sign on it announcing -that this was the tomb of five French mitrailleurs who had been -killed by a German shell in the room within; instead of burying -the bodies they had simply sealed up the door and left them. -Then we ducked through a little low door and climbed up over -the hillock which forms the roof of the fort as it were. All about -us stretched the abomination of desolation of the battle-fields, -wracked tortured earth, seared and scarred into a yellow-grey -desert waste. Here and there lay bones, human bones, sometimes -scattered loose, sometimes gathered in a little heap with -a rusty helmet and a broken rifle lying close beside them. Only -a few hundred feet from the road, the man who guided the party -told us, he came yesterday upon two unburied bodies.</p> -<p>To the northeast we could just discern a large wooden cross. -A French officer who was stationed at the fort pointed it out to -us. Here, he said, lay buried no less than twelve hundred French -soldiers. They had been given a line of trench to hold, the officers -were taken from them, they were to expect no reinforcements -or relief. They were left there knowing it was only a question of -days or hours. When the French finally reached the line again -every man was dead. So they left them where they lay and filled -the trench in over them, but each man’s rifle they took and -planted upright in the earth beside him. There is a heroic theme -for a poet!</p> -<p>When I reached the canteen again I found a ragged disconsolate -old soul occupying one of the benches. On seeing me he began a -sad recital of sore feet, ending with the petition that I procure -him a pair of rubber boots and emphasizing the point by taking -off his shoes then and there and exhibiting his troubles,—which -weren’t pretty,—to me. I was perplexed, not knowing what to do, -when the friendly M. P. on the beat happened in; so I put the case -up to him. He told me that there was a salvage dump at the -station. We set out together and succeeded in finding an enormous -pair of rubber overshoes, and, what’s more, in getting away with -them. The old man was pleased as Punch, put them on and hobbled -off in them. Tonight someone told me a melancholy tale. An -M. P. stationed upon the hill had spied an old Frenchman going by -in a pair of American overshoes and had straightway held him up -and ordered him to relinquish what was Government property. -And the old man perforce had to sit down in the street and take off -his shoes.</p> -<p>Speaking of boots reminds me of the tale told me by a doughboy -the other day; a tale of a pair of tan shoes, handsome, shiny, new -tan shoes which was sold to every man in turn in his whole company -only to be finally purchased as a bargain at thirty-five francs -by an unsuspecting Frenchman. They were beautiful shoes, the -boy assured me, the only trouble was that they both happened to -be for the left foot.</p> -</div> <!-- end of chapter --> -<div class='chapter' id='chVIII'> -<h2>CHAPTER VIII: CONFLANS—PIONEERS, M.P.’s AND OTHERS</h2> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Jarny, March 2.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>I am living in a hospital. Being in the occupied territory, -the hospital has been for the last four years, of course, a German -hospital. Over the doorways are painted such pious mottoes as -“<i>Gruss Gott!</i>” and the theatre, for there is an amusement hall in -the building, is adorned with a back-drop on which a Siegfried-esque -hero overlooks an ideal German landscape wherein a picture-book -castle perches on the top of an impossible mountain. At the -other end of the hall is painted an enormous iron cross. The -masterpiece of the collection, though, is on the wall of the basketball -court and is, naturally, a portrait of His Late Imperial Majesty, -although one indentifies him rather by inference than recognition, -for the countenance having recently served for a pistol -target is battered almost out of human semblance. The main -part of the hospital is occupied by the Y.; in the wings some two -hundred ordnance boys are quartered; we ladies find comfortable -lodging in the operating room. There are five of us here at present, -two American girls, besides myself, and two Englishwomen. -These latter are ladies of high degree, I gather, being related to -bishops and other such personages. They go under the unvarying -title of the “British Army, First and Second Battalions.” -According to report they were sent over here from England to do -propaganda work, that is, to create a pleasant impression on young -America and thus help to forge another link between the two -nations etc., but this they indignantly deny. However that may -be, the boys derive a rather wicked joy from teasing and arguing -with the good ladies, and particularly from filling them full of -amazing tales about “The States.” Even the Secretary can’t -resist the temptation to “rag” them, and though they are usually -very patient under his plaguing, today at dinner we received a -shock. In response to one of his more daring sallies, the Bishop’s -sister, fixing the Secretary with an icy eye, lifted one patrician hand -to her august nose, and thumbed it! Which only goes to show -that even an English Lady of Quality has human moments. And -if we on our side must laugh a bit at them, it is plain to see that -they, in their turn, find us infinitely amusing. In fact I half suspect, -since they spend hours every day covering sheets of paper -with close, fine handwriting, that the good ladies are engaged upon -writing a book concerning the peculiarities of their American -cousins when seen at close range. And in view of all the wonderful -material the boys have furnished them, that book should make -rich reading.</p> -<p>There are three Y.s here in a little triangle each a mile apart, -all under the same management; Jamy, Conflans and Labry. -Within this triangle, besides the ordnance detachment, there is a -regiment of engineers, two companies of pioneer infantry, a telegraph -battalion and a detachment of negro labor troops.</p> -<p>When the Americans came here last November, the town, they -tell us, was an indescribable mess, the roads choked with abandoned -military material and litter of all sorts. To the Americans -as usual fell the pleasant task of cleaning up. Sometimes I think -that if France doesn’t come out of this war as clean as the classic -Spotless Town it will only be because the Americans weren’t here -long enough. And yet, funnily enough, France being cleaned up -by America has often provided a spectacle analogous to a little boy -having his face washed against his will. At Bourmont, when the -Americans sought to make the town sanitary by a liberal use of -disinfectants, a frantic protest went up from the inhabitants: their -wells, they claimed, had all been ruined! At Gondrecourt the -Mayor presented a formal complaint; the Americans were wearing -away the streets, he said, by too much cleaning! And on the other -hand this sort of work proves none too pleasant a pill for American -pride to swallow. Today a young New York Jew came into the -canteen. He was a handsome fellow and in civilian life evidently -something of a dandy. He belonged to the pioneers and he had -been engaged all day, I gathered, in following about at the tail of a -dump cart, picking up tin cans and rubbish.</p> -<p>“My God!” he suddenly burst out. “If my wife could see me -now! My God! if she could see me!”</p> -<p>One day last fall going down a street I passed a boy who was -engaged in a particularly dirty sort of cleaning. He looked up, -caught my eye, stood grinning sheepishly at me a moment. Then -he drawled, half humourously, half-bitterly:</p> -<p>“And my mother thinks I’m in the trenches!”</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Conflans, March 10.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>After so many weeks of wandering, I have settled down to a -job again. The last six “huts” in which I have been were in a barracks, -a casino, a private house, a convent, a college and a hospital. -This “hut” is in a hotel. The hotel is situated directly back of -the Conflans-Jamy railroad station. Before the war the hotel -was a prosperous and pleasant place, judging from the photograph -which Madame showed us; its windows filled with real lace curtains -all matching! as she pointed out; the broad terrace in front on -sunny days filled with little tables and crowded with well-dressed -people. Now, after four years of German occupation, it is a melancholy -spectacle; ragged, dingy, half the panes gone from the windows, -its front painted over with staring German signs. There are -two entrances, one into the hall leading to the rooms given over to -the Y. the other into what we call the “Annex,” a little café kept by -Madame and Monsieur, the proprietors of the place. Next to our -red triangle sign stares a board announcing brazenly in red and -yellow <i>Vin et Bière</i>; but the irony of the juxtaposition is quite lost -on the French; indeed yesterday Madame asked me if I couldn’t -get her the loan of a truck to go to Nancy for a load of beer!</p> -<p>Madame and Monsieur have been here all through the German -occupation. The Germans weren’t bad, Madame told me, if one -were very meek and never said a word, but did just exactly as they -said,—she had had some difficulty to be sure, reducing her more -temperish spouse to the proper attitude of meek submission!—but -they had made a clean sweep of everything of value; all her linen -that she had carefully hidden, her copper utensils, everything.</p> -<p>The Y. consists of a canteen room, a reading and writing room, -store-room, kitchen and office. When I first saw the place it was -as uninviting as anything could well be; dark, dirty, ill-smelling, -the walls covered with soiled ragged paper. But now it is very -nice; the dirty cloth in the window frames has been replaced by -vitex, the windows hung with pretty curtains, new electric lights -have been added, and best of all, the walls entirely covered with -German camouflage cloth and decorated with bright posters. This -camouflage cloth is a Godsend; woven of finely twisted strands of -paper, it comes in three colors, a soft brown, a yellowish green and -a dark blue, resembling, when on the walls, a loosely woven burlap. -It was used by the Germans to conceal and disguise military objects -and was left here in large quantities when they evacuated. -The Americans hereabouts use it for every imaginable purpose; for -covering unsightly walls, for curtains, for officers’ mess table-cloths. -Then there are the ammunition bags made of paper cloth which the -boys use for laundry bags. “When in doubt, camouflage,” is the -motto. I chose brown for my canteen and now it is on the walls -I feel that no millionaire could ask for anything prettier. Only -I wonder; will they ask me to join the paper-hangers’ union when -I get home?</p> -<p>Besides running the dry canteen, we serve hot chocolate free every -night for all comers here, filling up their canteens so the boys can -take it away with them, and run a free lodging-house. Every day we -have boys coming into the canteen asking for a bed. So after nine-fifteen -we stack all the chairs and tables at one end of the writing-room, -and bring out canvas-cots and blankets from the store-room -for our lodgers. There is only one unfortunate feature of this -scheme; the lodgers become so attached to their blankets that they -are all too apt to carry them away with them the next morning!</p> -<p>A man secretary and I are to run the hut together; a minister -in the states, here he answers to the unvarying title of “Chief.” -The “Chief” I find at present chiefly remarkable for his trousers. -These are garments with a past apparently and a present of such -a sort that in the company of ladies he is only rendered at ease -by assuming a sitting posture. If compelled to rise he backs out of -your presence as if you were royalty or goes with the gesture of the -little boy who has been chastised. Outside the house, no matter -how fine the day may be, he goes discreetly clad in a raincoat.</p> -<p>“I must,” declares the Chief at least six times a day, “go to Toul -and get a new uniform.”</p> -<p>“Amen,” say I under my breath.</p> -<p>Besides the outfits stationed in town there are some twenty more -in the neighborhood which draw their rations here at the railhead -and then there are the leave trains on their way to or from Germany, -whose passing, like a visitation of locusts, leaves the canteen -stripped and bare. The negro labor troops in the vicinity -supply quite a new element. Sometimes this takes the form of a -bit of humour. Last night I had drawn several cups of cocoa -ahead of the demand when a darky lad came shyly up to the counter -and pointed to one.</p> -<p>“Please ma’am,” he asked, “am dat cup occupied?”</p> -<p>There is one fat and genial little darky who is a constant customer, -always he comes in munching a sandwich or an orange or -some other edible bought from a street-vendor.</p> -<p>“Eating again, Jo?” asked the Chief today.</p> -<p>“Why Boss,” expostulated Jo, “I only eats one meal a day! But -dat,” he grinned, “am all de time!”</p> -<p>“Shines” the boys invariably call them.</p> -<p>Tonight we were amused to see a negro corporal, who, not content -with the chevrons on his sleeve, had sewed an additional pair -on his overseas cap!</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Conflans, March 14.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>My family at the hut consists of the Chief, Harry, Jerry and -Slim. Harry and Jerry are as nice lads as one could find anywhere, -but Slim is the bird that hatched out of the cuckoo’s egg. Lean, -uncouth, according to his own claim, “the tallest man that Uncle -Sam’s got in his army,” with an inordinately long neck and an -Adam’s apple so prominent as to give him the appearance of an -ostrich in the act of swallowing a perpetual orange, “Slim Old -Horse” as the boys call him, seems to me at times more like an animated -caricature of the middle west “Long Boy” than a being of -flesh and blood and bone. How he ever became attached to the Y. -is a point on which nobody seems certain, but here he is and here he -sticks in spite of every effort to dislodge him. I fancy his “Top -Kick” was only too glad to get rid of him and when he discovered -Slim’s inclination toward the Y. simply let him go and washed his -hands of him. Slim’s health is uncertain. Most of the time he -only feels well enough to sit in the office and eat or “chaw.”</p> -<p>“I started in ter chaw terbaccer,”—he talks with a nasal twang -which is impossible to reproduce,—“when I was a kid four years -old; when my daddy an’ my mammy found it out, they sure did -start ter raise hell with me, but I says to ’em; ‘All right, have it -your way, but then it will be whisky and rum fer mine, when I’m -twenty-one!’ So my mammy says ‘Let ’im chaw.’ An’ I’ve -chawed ever sence.”</p> -<p>“I’ve only got one lung,” he remarked the other day, “and that’s -a little one.”</p> -<p>“Slim,” I urged, “I’m worried about you. You oughtn’t to be -here. You ought to be in the hospital where you could be properly -cared for. Go to your medical officer and tell him from me that -he must send you to the hospital.”</p> -<p>Slim reluctantly departed. I dared to hope we had seen the last -of him. But before the afternoon was over he was back on his -old perch. He had brought some little pills back with him. Just -wait, I thought, until I meet that medical officer!</p> -<p>Slim seldom feels attracted to the meals at the mess-hall. So -he sits in the office and lives chiefly upon cheese, Y. M. C. A. cheese -purchased to make sandwiches for the canteen at a cost of a dollar -and a quarter a pound. Sometimes he fries himself eggs, taking -whatever mess-kit, Harry’s or Jerry’s or mine, happens to be -handy and never, in spite of anything I can say, will he wash it up -after him! Sometimes Harry and Jerry and I decide that instead -of going to mess we would like to have a supper-party at the canteen -ourselves, and then the question is, how to get rid of Slim?</p> -<p>“Slim, it’s getting near chow-time,” we say, “I’ll bet they’re -going to have mashed potatoes and brown gravy tonight. Isn’t -that ‘Soupy’ I hear going now?”</p> -<p>But Slim refuses to budge any more than a bump on a log, so -we usually have to end by inviting him. But if I find Slim a burden, -how must the Chief feel toward him? For Slim has appropriated -the extra cot in the office, which also serves as the Chief’s -bed-room, and so has fairly camped down on him. And the Chief -is a gentleman of nerves and delicate perceptions.</p> -<p>“He gets up in the middle of the night,” confided the Chief -to me today in an almost awe-struck voice, “and he goes for the -water-bucket and drinks a half a pail without stopping. He -makes a noise just like a horse swallowing it.”</p> -<p>I have given up trying to do anything with Slim. Nothing -that I can say seems to make the least impression on him. Slim -is a married man, yet yesterday I caught him embracing Louise, -Madame’s cross-eyed maid of all work, in the passage-way. I -undertook to reprove him.</p> -<p>“Why that ain’t nawthin!” he turned a blameless and unabashed -eye upon me. “That’s jest a man’s nature.”</p> -<p>This is the first time that I have eaten regularly from a mess-kit -and I am learning things. I have learned that the aluminum -mess-cup draws the heat from the hot coffee so that it is impossible -to drink out of one until the liquid has become half-way cold, -and that it is most unappetizing to have to wash one’s mess-kit -afterwards in a pail of greasy soap suds in which a hundred odd -other mess-kits have already been bathed. I used to tease the -boys with their mess-cups in the chocolate line by telling them -that I could tell just how recently they had had inspection by -the shine on their mess-cups, but now whenever I look at the -state of my own cup I think I won’t have the face to ever tease -them that way again! I have also learned that cold “gold fish” -or “sewer carp,” as the boys call their canned salmon, is just as -bad as they say it is, and that slum made of hunks of bacon, -potatoes, onions and unlimited water is no easy thing to swallow. -But this sounds ungrateful and I don’t mean to be, for the cooks are -nice as can be and never say a word no matter how late I may be. -While as for the boys, they put on all their company manners for me.</p> -<p>Here at the hut we are busy building an addition in order to -enlarge our restaurant business. This is in the shape of a room -on the terrace. The Germans had kindly built a roof over one -end, a detail from the ordnance detachment at Jarny is enclosing -the sides; we are to have three real glass windows looking out onto -the street and a door connecting the terrace-room with the present -canteen. This afternoon the detail ran out of lumber; the Chief -managed to get the loan of a truck to fetch some more. He asked -Slim to go with the truck. The afternoon wore away, neither -Slim nor the truck appeared, the detail, disgusted, sat and twiddled -their thumbs. Nobody could understand what had happened -as the lumber yard was just around the corner! Jerry went out -to search. There was no trace of Slim or the truck to be found. -About five o’clock he turned up. He had gone to Mars-la-Tour -he told us coolly. We had been talking of going to the commissary -at Mars-la-Tour for canteen supplies, and that great goose had -gotten into his head that the <i>lumber</i> was to be obtained there! -At least that is his explanation. But Harry and Jerry insinuate -darker things:</p> -<p>“We didn’t know you had a girl in Mars-la-Tour before,” they -tease. “Oh Slim, you old devil, you!”</p> -<p>I wonder now, just what <i>was</i> he up to in Mars-la-Tour all afternoon?</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Conflans, March 19.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>Why is it that all the world loves a rascal? What is the secret -of the fascination that outlaw and free-booter have exercised -from Robin Hood down to Captain Kidd? Is it because each -one of us, in our secret hearts, would like to go and do likewise, -if we only dared? Of all the minor piracies committed by the -A. E. F. in France, none, I think, are so picturesque as those of -the — Engineers.</p> -<p>The — Engineers are a railroad regiment. My first acquaintance -with them was last summer. A company of these engineers -was located at a station on the Paris line just north of us. It -was a point at which supplies for the American front were transferred -from the standard gauge to the American narrow gauge; -in order to effect these transfers the — Engineers had a switch -of their own. Now freight trains in France are quite unguarded -and so at the mercy of marauders. Indeed the losses in transit -have been so serious that since the armistice it has been the custom -to have cars containing American goods “convoyed” to their -destination by soldier guards. Last summer of course the -men could not be spared for convoy duty. So it was the easiest -thing in the world for the — Engineers to “cut out” a Y. -or a Red Cross car, side-track it, and lighten the load at their leisure.</p> -<p>“I went through their company store-house while I was there,” -a Q. M. sergeant told me, “and it was as well stocked with delicacies -as the store-rooms of a big hotel back in the States.”</p> -<p>No wonder there was such a dearth of supplies at Abainville -last summer!</p> -<p>But it was after the — Engineers moved into the occupied -area here following the armistice that they performed their most -notorious exploits. Assigned to run a stretch of railway in cooperation -with the French, a certain amount of friction was -inevitable from the start, the red tape in the French railway -system exasperating the Americans as much as our more direct -methods scandalized the French. Finally the French protests -at the Americans’ disregard for the formalities of railroading -moved the engineer officers to stricter discipline. “I’ll <i>hang</i> the -next man of you who runs a train out of the yards without a pilot!” -declared one captain. After that things went more smoothly,—on -the surface. Then came the Dance.</p> -<p>Now unfortunately for the — Engineers there is an extra -large M. P. force here at Conflans under a Major whose greatest -delight in life is the detection and punishment of both major and -minor infractions of the law.</p> -<p>The Dance was quite an affair over which the — Engineers -had spread themselves and to which the French fair sex was -generally invited. When the party was about to begin, however, -it became evident that the feminine partners afforded locally were -all too few. Some bold soul had a bright idea; a train-crew forthwith -hurried down to the yards, commandeered an engine and a -couple of cars, and, in spite of the horrified protests of the French -railroad men, ran it to a nearby town. Here they filled up the -train with girls from the village and were about to start back -again when a detachment of M. P.s, rushed up in autos from -Conflans, broke in upon the scene. A sanguine scrimmage ensued, -resulting in a victory for law and order.</p> -<p>In the meanwhile, back at the dance hall the engineers were -waiting in impatient expectation for partners. Among the invited -guests were two friendly M. P.s, old soldiers, with genial dispositions -and several wound stripes to their credit. When word -reached the party that the M. P.s had prevented the arrival of the -“Mademoiselles” the engineers were furious. “Kill the M. P.s!” -went up the cry. Catching sight of the red-arm bands on their -two innocent guests the crowd started for them with the evident -intention of making a beginning then and there. Heaven only -knows what would have happened if the two M. P.s, by affecting -an exit at the double-quick, hadn’t immediately made their escape, -unharmed but badly scared.</p> -<p>The most notable exploit of the — Engineers occurred not -long afterwards. It is referred to as the Affair of the Serge Uniforms. -One fine day, not very long ago, it was noised abroad that -a car full of tailored serge uniforms, consigned to and paid for by -officers of the Army of Occupation in Luxembourg, was standing -down in the yards. The idea of going home in an officer’s serge -uniform from which, of course, the braid on the cuffs had been -discreetly ripped, made a strong appeal to the boys’ imaginations. -When the time came for that car to be sent to Luxembourg -it was found to be quite empty. But for once the Engineers -had gone too far. The M. P. Major took the war-path. Word -flew around the camp that a strict search was being conducted. -The possessors of the incriminating uniforms must get rid of -them and get rid of them quick. Some hid them in out-of-the-way -places, between the floors and ceilings in the half-ruined houses; -others frantically ripped the uniforms to pieces and burned them -in the barracks stoves. The camp, they tell me, was full of the -stench of scorching woolen. Still others got rid of them by planting -them among the possessions of their innocent neighbors. One -company postal clerk, a most upright and blameless lad, to his -horror discovered one of the fatal uniforms stuffed in a mail-bag -lying at his feet. Before the search party had made its rounds -most of those serge uniforms had been safely disposed of; a few, a -very few were found.</p> -<p>But now, having been baulked in his attempt to bring the -culprits to justice, it is common rumour, that the M. P. Major -is lying low, waiting to “fix” the — Engineers.</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Conflans, March 23.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>The — Engineers have left. They are on their way to Le -Mans, presumably the first stage of their journey home. Their -departure was not unmarked by incident. At the last moment, -when they had all entrained and were ready to pull out of the station, -the M. P. Major sallied forth, court-martials in his eye, to -search the trains for contraband. But he had reckoned without -the Colonel of the engineers who flatly refused to allow any such -procedure. Being outranked by the Colonel, the M. P. Major -was seemingly helpless. Then, however, the Colonel made a bad -mistake. There were two train loads. The Colonel left with the -first. The second, being left without any protector of sufficiently -high rank, fell an easy prey to the Major. He searched to his -heart’s content, discovering several articles of unlawful loot and, -one unfortunate clad in one of the notorious serge uniforms! The -train was held in the yards while the M. P. Major indulged in an -orgy of court-martials.</p> -<p>On the morning of the departure the captain of the motor -unit where we had messed stopped in to speak to me. He came by -request of the boys to bring an apology for any careless language -which might have been uttered unwittingly in my hearing! Then -the captain of another unit called to tell us, sub rosa, that, forced -by shortage of transportation, he was leaving behind an over -supply of rations which would be ours for the fetching. We -fetched accordingly and found that we had fallen heir to dozens of -loaves of bread, sugar, coffee, canned meat, canned tomatoes, -hard bread, soap and unlimited beans. What to do with these -surreptitious stores is now the embarrassing question. One simply -can’t offer the boys hard bread, tomatoes plain or scalloped, in the -canteen, no matter if one should dress them with all the sauces of -Epicurus and serve them on gold-plate. Yet they mustn’t be -wasted. What’s more, the fact that they are in our possession -must be kept absolutely dark, lest we get the kind captain into -trouble. I feel something like the man who was presented with a -million dollar check and then found he couldn’t cash it.</p> -<p>With the — Engineers went Harry, Jerry, and Slim. I couldn’t -believe until the last moment that Slim was actually going. His -departure almost compensated for the loss of Harry and Jerry. -But though gone, he is not forgotten. This morning a lad came -into the canteen. He would like his watch please, he said. I -looked blankly at him. He explained; several days ago, just as he -was leaving on a long truck-trip, he had broken the strap of his -wrist watch. Happening to be in front of the Y. just then, he had -brought it in and left it for safe-keeping “with the Y. man in the -office.” The Chief knew nothing of it.</p> -<p>“What did the Y. man look like?” I questioned.</p> -<p>He described him. It was Slim. We have searched every nook -and cranny of that office, hoping to come upon the missing watch, -in vain.</p> -<p>“I’ll come in again,” said the boy. “Perhaps by that time you -will have found it.”</p> -<p>But personally I am sure that that watch is now on its way -to Le Mans, en route for the States. Was there ever anything -more wretchedly embarrassing?</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Conflans, March 27.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>This is a curious world. Six “Relief Trains” pass through -here every day bound east, loaded with food for Germany. Meanwhile -in the little half-ruined hamlets within a stone’s throw of -the tracks the French villagers, for whom no provision has been -made, are famine-stricken.</p> -<p>Lieutenant A. came in from the little town of Pierrefond which -lies between Conflans and Verdun yesterday.</p> -<p>“They have nothing to eat there,” he told me, “but the weeds -they dig up in the fields for <i>salade</i> and the frogs they catch in -the marshes. When the days are cold the frogs bury themselves so -deep in the mud that they can’t be caught. There is one old -gentleman who told me today that he had existed for weeks entirely -on a diet of turnips. They come to me and beg pitifully -for a bite of something from the mess-kitchen, but I don’t dare -let them have it, as that would be, of course, strictly against regulations.”</p> -<p>I thought of those bushels of beans in the store-house. It -was taking a chance of course, because after all it was government -property and nothing else, but I told the Lieutenant that if he -was willing to run the risk, I was; then I put it up to the Chief.</p> -<p>This morning the Lieutenant came in with a flivver. We drove -over to the store-house and loaded it up with army beans, issue -coffee, sugar, rice, onions, potatoes and soap. Then we filled a -special sack with canned soup, “gold fish,” corn meal, canned -tomatoes and corn syrup for the old gentleman who had lived on -turnips. I felt he had a special claim on our sympathy.</p> -<p>We reached Pierrefond after a long drive in a stinging rain. -It was a quaint pathetic village with a pretty little church whose -tower had been sliced off as neatly as by a knife. Was it a German -or a French shell which had done it, I wondered. We drew up -in front of the Mayor’s house. He came out to greet us, showed me -a list of the seventy-three inhabitants of the town; men, women -and infants in arms. All the supplies were to be duly weighed and -measured and distributed, so much per capita. While they were -unloading the flivver we stopped in at Madame C.’s for coffee and -compliments, and to dry out by her hospitable fire. Everyone -made pretty speeches, of course, and Madame bestowed on me a -delectable bouquet of wall-flowers and daffodils. Poor things! -It’s little enough one can do for them. This will keep the wolf -from the door for a short while perhaps, but after that, what then?</p> -<p>Pierrefond, like Conflans, was occupied by the Germans for -four years. Now there is a young half-German population growing -up, even as many as three to one family. The villagers accept -the situation with tolerant humour; “Souvenirs Boches,” they call -the children.</p> -<p>As for the rest of the rations, I made jam sandwiches with the -bread and bestowed them together with hot chocolate on a hungry -leave train. What to do with the “Charlie Horse,” as the boys -call the canned roast beef, was a puzzle. Finally I made a paste -of it mixed with bread crumbs, tomato soup, a few weenies and -some ham scraps, pickles, parsley, onion and an egg,—we had six -assistants in the kitchen and each added an ingredient,—put it -between slices of bread and christened the result “Liberty Sandwiches. -Guaranteed to contain neither Gold Fish nor Corn Willy.” -The boys ate and wondered and came back for more.</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Conflans, March 30.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>In our back yard a detail of German prisoners is busy cleaning -up; already they have made quite a transformation. Madame -must have a garden. I wonder, as I watch them, what their state -of mind may be; their phlegmatic faces give no hint. Did some of -these very ones, perhaps, make merry in this self same café, only -six months ago, when they were conquerors?</p> -<p>Madame tells me how, when the German officers were living here -at the hotel, they ate off priceless old French plates, which, apparently -quite ignorant of their value, they had carried off as loot. -Madame, coveting these treasures, tried to arrange an exchange with -the mess orderly, offering a number of modern dishes in return for -one antique; but the mess orderly, fearing that some officer might -notice the substitution, hesitated and before they could come to -an agreement the precious plates, with the rough handling accorded -them, had all been broken to bits.</p> -<p>Some of the boys seem to think that the French don’t give their -prisoners enough to eat. The Germans, they say, when they get -the chance, will wait outside the mess-hall door and seize eagerly -the leavings in the mess-kits that the boys are about to throw away.</p> -<p>“Maybe it’s just because they’re greedy,” I say. “Surely they -look fat enough!” And then a picture comes back to my mind, -the picture of a Red Cross train seen while waiting at Pagny on my -way to Paris last January, a train full of French prisoners who were -being brought back from Germany, so weak from starvation that -they lay on stretchers or sat pressing against the windows faces as -wan and white as spectres.</p> -<p>The German prisoners, according to the boys’ repeated stories, -are by no means a humble or repentant lot. They’re not beaten -for good, the prisoners invariably declare. Just as soon as the -Americans have gone and things have calmed down a bit, they are -coming back to France again, they say, and this time they will -settle matters with the French for good and all!</p> -<p>Last night a train load of German prisoners in box cars pulled into -town. When the doors of the cars were opened it was found that one -of the prisoners had died on the way. The dead man was wrapped in -a blanket and left lying on the freight station platform. A “shine” -from the labor battalion happened along in the dark, tripped and -fell flat over the body. He came into the canteen in a state of -nerves, quite prepared, evidently, to see a ghost in every corner.</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Conflans, April 2.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>The latest member of our household is something quite new in -the way of details. He is a Salvation Army man and a very nice -fellow indeed. A year or so ago he was beating a big drum in front -of Gimbel’s Store; then he was drafted to come to France with the -pioneers; now he has applied for a discharge in order to join his -organization over here; and while waiting for his release he is proving -himself an invaluable aid in the canteen. Now more than ever, -since The Salvation Army, as everybody calls him, has joined our -force, I have been longing to realize a dream which I have cherished -ever since I came to France,—to make doughnuts for the A. E. F. -I have the recipe, I can get the materials, the stove is the sticking-point. -At present our cooking equipment consists of a hot water -boiler and a wretched German range which is really fit for nothing -but the scrap-heap. As the boys say, I have lost more religion than -I ever thought I had over that stove! So while we hope and hunt -for a doughnut-stove we are specializing in sandwiches and puddings. -The puddings are my special pride as I worked out the -ideas for them myself and, as far as I know, they are served in no -other canteen. There are four of them; Coffee Jelly, Raspberry -Jelly (made with the “pink-lemonade” fruit juice) Chocolate Bread -Pudding, and Blackberry Bread Pudding. The bread-puddings are -baked for us, by kindness of the cooks, at a nearby mess-kitchen. -The only trouble with the puddings is, that there never is enough! -But lest anyone should think that I take this as a compliment to my -culinary skill, I must explain that the boys would eat anything you -offered them, I believe, just as long as it was sweet and was a change. -And then there is perhaps a quaint psychological factor too.</p> -<p>“A man don’t like to eat food that’s cooked by a man,” a lad -confided to me the other day. “Anything that’s cooked by a -woman tastes better.”</p> -<p>So if a boy does leave any scraps of pudding on his plate it bothers -me unreasonably.</p> -<p>“Somebody didn’t like his pudding,” I remark mournfully to -the S. A. as I pick up the dishes. This amuses him. Last night -as we were clearing up before we closed he marched up to the -counter, deposited a tiny wad found on one of the tables in front -of me.</p> -<p>“Somebody,” he declared in a tragic tone, “didn’t like his chewing-gum!”</p> -<p>Nor can I boast, as a cook, of a record of unvarying success. On -more than one occasion I must admit to having scorched the cocoa, -and once, not many days ago—to my shame be it said!—I ruined -a ten gallon can by putting in salt instead of sugar!</p> -<p>Here at Conflans we have an unusual amount of competition in -the light lunch line. The other day a French fried potato booth, -like a hot-dog booth at a country fair at home, established itself -on the terrace just outside our door. Now a hungry doughboy can -take the edge off his appetite with a paper full of hot French fries -in return for a franc at any hour of the day.</p> -<p>Also in the street below the terrace are many little stands where -oranges and sandwiches made of rolls and slices of sausage are on -sale. The rivalry between these stands, it appears, is acute. Yesterday, -hearing a hubbub, I looked out to see a comic battle in -progress, the proprietors of two neighboring stands, a fat frowsy -old woman and a little ragged man like a weasel, pelting each other -for all they were worth with rotten oranges while half the A. E. F., -it seemed, stood around and cheered. Nor did matters settle down -to calm until a gendarme and intervention appeared on the scene.</p> -<p>This morning I stopped in at the little French store around the -corner to buy half a dozen eggs to make a custard sauce for my -chocolate bread pudding. When the man gave me my change I -noticed he had overcharged me by twenty-five centimes.</p> -<p>“Why’s that?” I asked.</p> -<p>“That,” returned the shopkeeper, “is because you picked them -out by hand.”</p> -<p>Some canteen ladies can cook and wait on the counter and open -milk-cans and wash the chocolate cups and yet keep spotlessly and -specklessly clean. But I have come to the conclusion that as long -as I live in Conflans, with its air full of smoke and soot from the -train yards, and its water so hard that it curdles the soap,—and -sometimes the milk in the cocoa too, that I will have to content -myself with being godly and leave the cleanliness till a happier day. -We have been having a regular plague of inspectors and investigators -of late. Last night just as I had my final bout with the last -chocolate container, a major and a lieutenant colonel wandered -in, evidently in search of scandal. The lieutenant colonel fixed -a piercing eye on me.</p> -<p>“So you are the only ‘white woman’ in this part of the world -at present?”</p> -<p>“Well,” I said looking at my fingers smudged with cocoa, “tonight -I should say that I was a pale chocolate-colored woman.”</p> -<p>“I noticed that your face was dirty,” coolly returned the gentleman. -I hurriedly excused myself in order to consult a looking-glass. -Sure enough, there on my nose was a large smudge of soot! -I must have got it the last time I stoked the chocolate-stove.</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Conflans, April 7.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>The M. P.s live in the hotel next door. Naturally we see a -good deal of them. I try to treat them extra nicely because I -feel sorry for them. They can’t help being M. P.s any more than -they can help being unpopular. And though many of them go -about with a chip on their shoulders and an attitude of -I-don’t-give-a-tinker’s-damn, still to know that you are anathema to -the major portion of the A. E. F., to be publicly referred to as -Misery Providers, Mademoiselle Promenades, and Military -Pests, besides being made the subject of songs such as; <i>Mother -take down your service flag, Your son is only an M. P.</i>, must be -galling to the most insensitive.</p> -<p>Just as soon as the armistice was signed the doughboys started -in to pester the M. P.s with the classic taunt:</p> -<p>“Who won the war?—The M. P.s!”</p> -<p>For a long while the M. P.s could think of no more crushing -rejoinder than the time-honored;</p> -<p>“Aw, go to hell!”</p> -<p>But lately some bright soul has hit upon a bit of repartee that -goes far to salve the M. P.s’ self-respect. Now if a soldier is so -rash as to jeer; “Who won the war? The M. P.s!” the response -comes instantly:</p> -<p>“Yep! They chased the doughboys up front!”</p> -<p>There are two M. P.s from the detachment next door who have -lately joined themselves to our family. Like Slim, they came -unsolicited, and like Slim, they stick. They are known respectively -as the Littlest M. P. and the Fattest M. P.</p> -<p>The Littlest M. P. is a pest. I feel sorry for him because he -is so young and has no mother; otherwise there would be no tolerating -him. He hangs about the canteen from morning until late -at night under pretence of assisting us, and eats and eats and -eats and eats. The other day I heard him proudly averring that -he hadn’t taken a meal in the mess-hall for two weeks, and I -believed him. Yet when you ask him to do any particular piece -of work, like filling up the wood box or fetching a pail of water, -in return for his board, he always has some perfectly good reason -for not doing it. Besides which, he has no morals. The other -day he confided to me triumphantly that the reason that they -didn’t put him on guard work was that they knew he would take -money to let men into cafés at prohibited hours. He went on to -tell me about the town of S.</p> -<p>“That was a good place, you could get twenty-five francs for -lettin’ a feller into a café out of hours there.”</p> -<p>I have tried to find out what he does in return for Uncle Sam’s -dollar a day and have discovered that his job is sweeping out -the halls in the M. P. Hotel.</p> -<p>“But I skip about twenty feet at each end every time, so it -don’t take me more’n ten minutes.”</p> -<p>Yesterday morning he came in with an air of righteousness -rewarded.</p> -<p>“I told ’em I’d got to have help on that job,” he announced, -“so they put another feller on too.”</p> -<p>This morning I got so exasperated with him that I told him -in unmistakable terms that we could dispense with his company. -He disappeared, and I congratulated myself that we were rid of -him. But at supper-time he bobbed serenely up again.</p> -<p>“Some fellers would have got sore if you’d spoke like that to -them,” he told me with a magnanimous air, “but I just took it -as a joke.”</p> -<p>Now what is one to do with anybody like that?</p> -<p>The Fattest M. P. is the most unleavened lump of good-nature -I have ever known. He is, I understand, a notorious poker-player -and his breath, to my embarrassment, betrays the fact that he -has a weakness for Conflans beer. Besides which, he really takes -up quite too much room behind the counter. Yet in spite of all -this, he is such a simple soul and is so anxious to help that one -hasn’t the heart to send him away.</p> -<p>Yesterday I thought I was going to be arrested by an M. P. -I had gone over to Verdun in an army flivver to get some stock. -Turning the corner into Conflans on our way home we were halted -by the upraised billy of the M. P. on duty.</p> -<p>“Sorry, Buddy!” he called to the driver, “but you can’t do that!”</p> -<p>Then, approaching, he got a closer view, turned red as fire and -stammered;</p> -<p>“Beg your pardon, Miss. Made a mistake. That’s all right, -driver, you can go on.”</p> -<p>Later he sent apologies to me at the canteen. It is, of course, -against regulations to allow civilian women to use army transportation. -The M. P., catching sight of a skirt, had taken me -for a Mademoiselle on a joy-ride.</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Conflans, April 7.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>We must start an Orphans’ Annex here, the boys tell me. -Three nights ago as it was drawing on toward closing time the -Chief called me into the office. By the table stood two young -boys, about fourteen and sixteen I judged them; each carried -on his shoulder a little sack which evidently contained all his -worldly possessions. They were German boys from Metz; they -had just come in on the train. Why had they come? we asked -them. They had come to join the American army. But they -were too young! He was eighteen, declared the elder. He dug -into his pockets and produced documents. I looked at two of -the papers, they appeared to be the birth certificates of his father -and mother. Had his parents given their consent? He nodded. -“And you really are eighteen?”, “<i>Ja! Ja wohl!</i>” It was hard -to believe,—he was so small. We stared at them a bit helplessly. -Then, finding our German not quite adequate to the occasion, -we called an interpreter. But to all the interpreter’s questioning -the boy returned the same unvarying answer. He had come to -join the American army! As for the younger one, he merely stood -and smiled and looked as guileless as a young angel. Whatever -the elder one’s intention might be, I was sure I could divine the -younger’s. <i>He</i>, I am certain, had set his heart on being an American -“mascot.” And he, for all his innocent and engaging air, -had most patently run away from home!</p> -<p>We told the boys that we would put them up for the night. -I busied myself in getting them some supper and then—another -waif appeared! A little French lad of thirteen, with a peg-leg -and a crutch, he came shyly hobbling into the office, and the -face he lifted to us was one of the sweetest, the most sensitive -and appealing that I have ever seen. Silently he tendered us a -letter. It had been written by an American lieutenant; the -bearer, it stated, was an orphan of the war; he had been shot by -German machine-gunners near Verdun; his right leg had been -amputated at the thigh. I looked at the crippled child in apprehension. -How would he take the presence of the Germans? But -my question was already answered. The little German lad and -the French <i>mutilé</i> had drawn close together, seemingly drawn -instantly to each other by a bond of childish understanding. -Although neither could speak the other’s speech they appeared -to be communicating in some shy wordless way. Later, as we -were getting the cots ready for the lodgers, passing the empty -canteen room, I glanced inside. Somebody had started the victrola -on the counter to playing a waltz, and to its music the -German boys were dancing while the little French lad gaily kept -time with his crutch!</p> -<p>We fed the three of them and put them up for the night. The -next morning the French lad took his leave. Later he came back -to see us dressed in a little American uniform; he had been adopted -by one of the companies here. The German lads stayed with -us, or rather, they slept and ate with the M. P.s next door and -spent the rest of the day with us in the canteen. They loved to -help about the counter; they were quick and deft and willing. -The only trouble with the arrangement was that I fairly went -distracted trying to talk three languages at once!</p> -<p>Two days afterwards, the M. P.s having taken the matter in -hand, the German boys were sent back to Metz. But the French -lad comes in often to visit us. We see him playing ball with the -soldiers in the street in front of the hotel. This morning the S. A. -and I stood watching him.</p> -<p>“I wouldn’t mind it so much somehow,” the S. A. remarked, -“if he didn’t have that wrap-legging wound so tight around that -pitiful little peg-stick!”</p> -<p>The tenderness toward little children which the war has shown -forth so vividly has been a revelation of an inherent sweetness -in the boys’ natures; this fondness for children other than their -own, being, I believe a distinctive characteristic of our American -men. Any number of companies have mascots, little French -boys, orphans usually, whom they dress in miniature uniforms, -take about from place to place with them, and, of course, spoil -quite shamelessly. And in every unit that possesses a mascot -you find boys whose dearest wish is to adopt the little fellow as -his own and take him back home; but this the French law forbids.</p> -<p>“That’s the best part of France, the little kids,” remarked -a boy to me as we passed a group of little tots by the roadside.</p> -<p>Unfortunately though, this petting has another side. Spoiled -by the soft-hearted soldiers, the French gamins have developed -into a brood of brazen little beggars. They have come to regard -all Americans, it seems, as perambulating slot machines for -“goom” and chocolate with whom, however, the purchasing -penny is quite superfluous. I shall never forget being held up, as I -was walking with a doughboy through the streets of Lourdes, by a -tiny lad who demanded pathetically;</p> -<p>“<i>Une cigarette pour moi, et une pour Papa, et une pour Maman qui -est malade!</i>”</p> -<p>Nor the fifteen year old conductor on a suburban tram line -near Paris, who took up our tickets with a forbidding scowl, and -then, his rounds made, hurried back down the car to confront us -with the wistful childish plea: “’Ave you goom?”</p> -<p>For some while there has been a red-headed urchin of perhaps -thirteen years hanging about the hut. As he was dressed in an -O. D. blouse, breeches and leggings, I concluded that he was -somebody’s mascot. He kept coming into the canteen to buy gum -and cigarettes; presently I discovered he was purchaser for a little -gang of ragamuffins who would wait for him just outside the door. -I asked the boys in the canteen if they knew anything about the -red-head, but no one seemed to know who he was or to what outfit -he belonged. The boy himself seemed stupid and sullen when I -questioned him. Finally I told him that I could sell him nothing -more. Tonight my friend the M. P. Sergeant asked casually;</p> -<p>“Do you remember that red-headed kid that used to hang -around? Well we’ve got him and eight others.”</p> -<p>“Why, what for?”</p> -<p>“They’re Propaganda Kids. They came over here from Germany; -they’ve been stealing American uniforms and smuggling -them to the German prisoners so they could escape in them.”</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Conflans, April 15.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>Of all the roads over which I have ever passed, the road from -Conflans to Verdun will remain, I think, most sharply etched upon -my memory.</p> -<p>Leaving Conflans, as one passes through the occupied territory, -the predominant impression made upon one’s mind is of signs. -German military signs. These are everywhere, painted in great -staring letters on the sides of buildings, covering bill-boards set at -the road’s edge, or hung suspended from the branches of trees over -the truck drivers’ heads. Here in this German sector behind the -lines every movement was timed, ordered and regulated. No one -could possibly go astray, no one could lose a moment in hesitation -as to where he should go, in what manner and at what rate. Half-way -between Conflans and the lines you come upon two great bill-boards -at the highway’s edge, one duplicating the other, in order -that, marching past, what might have been missed on the first -board, could be supplied by the second. They are headed “Under -Enemy Observation!” and give in strict detail the order of procedure -from that point forward, both by day and night, just -what strength the marching groups should be and how many -metres should intervene between them. The German thoroughness, -the German system! Everything has been thought of, everything -provided for, everything possible done to reduce the individual -to an automaton, a mere senseless cog in a vast machine. -And yet among all these signs there is one that lacks, a sign that is -notable by its absence; it is the sign that should read <i>Nach Verdun</i>.</p> -<p>Once across the lines on the French side you are struck by the -startling difference; here the only signs that one sees are two, -poignant in their simplicity and directness. They are <i>Poste de -Secours</i> and <i>Blessés à Pied</i>.</p> -<p>Every time I approach Verdun by this road I thrill when I -think of the enormous energy that poured along it, directed, it -must have seemed, irresistibly, over-poweringly against the -city in the hills; a thrill only surpassed by the emotion that one -must feel when he traverses the <i>Sacra Via</i> on the other side of -Verdun, the “Holy Way” over which men and munitions flowed -incessantly to the defense of the beleaguered city.</p> -<p>Everywhere one sees the ineffaceable scars of struggle, the -aftermath of destruction. The stately trees bordering the roadside, -the trees that Napoleon ordered planted along the highways -of France, are barked with great ugly gashes where mines had -been placed, the exploding of which would have felled the great -trees across the road, blocking the pursuer’s way. Others bear -platforms high up in the branches where machine-guns were placed. -Rotting camouflages of every sort, paper strips woven like -lattice, curtains of branches woven through wire which once -screened the road for miles from the enemy’s observation, now lie -disintegrating in the ditches. Shell holes pit the fields, concrete -“pill-boxes” lurk in unsuspected places, every mound is shelter -for a dugout, walls are riddled with ragged holes cut for machine-guns. -Further on, one comes to the trenches zigzagging in what -seems erratic and aimless patterns and the interminable barbed-wire -entanglements, like the devil’s brier patches.</p> -<p>Half across the open plain that lies before the hills of Verdun -you come upon a German tank defence, a long line of heavy -concrete pillars with enormous cables, once highly electrified, looped -between. A little farther and the road crosses an impromptu bridge -thrown hastily over the great gaping crater torn by an exploding -mine. And always here and there over the plain, little heaps of -glimmering whitish stones which mark the places where once were -villages. Starting to ascend the hills, one looks down upon a ghost -city, a city where many of the walls still stand, making you think of -nothing but a huddled host of tombstones, a city chalk-white, -naked, as if the flesh were all picked away from its dead bones; the -most haunted, the most wraith-like, the most desolate of any.</p> -<p>Climbing the hills, sweeping around one slow curve after another, -one beholds suddenly before him, a lesser hill ringed by higher -ones, Verdun, scarred, wounded, but victorious, like the Winged -Victory of Samothrace, mutilated yet triumphant!</p> -<p>When I first made the trip from Verdun to Conflans there were -still good pickings for the souvenir-hunter by the way; shell-cases, -helmets, gas masks lying along the roadside; but lately it has looked -as if these trophies had been thoroughly gleaned. Nor does one -wonder where they have gone when one sees the flivvers piled high -with homeward bound souvenirs pulling in at the post office -around the corner. But will they reach home, is the question? -Ominous rumours are abroad that salvage plants have been established -at the base ports for the particular purpose of confiscating -shell-cases on their way to America, and thereby saving the Allies a -fortune in brass. Some of the boys are inclined to try to carry their -trophies with them rather than entrust them to Uncle Sam’s mail -service, but this entails some trouble to prevent their seizure during -inspections. Nowadays, passing by, one can tell when an inspection -is in progress within, by all the junk which is hanging out -of the barracks windows! Homeward-bound troops have already -discovered a use for gas masks not mentioned in the Drill Manual: -the cases provide an excellent receptacle in which surreptitiously -one may carry photographs and post-cards! When I first came to -Conflans, camouflaged German helmets were a prize so rare as to -be much sought after by the souvenir enthusiast; but now camouflaged -helmets may be had for the asking; an enterprising bugler -possessed of a knack with a paint-brush has gone into the business -of camouflaging them while you wait.</p> -<p>Yesterday, after having returned from Verdun, I noticed a post-card -in a Jarny shop. It showed a black cat and a white cat silhouetted -against the moon, perched on the skeleton beams of a -half-demolished house, peering disconsolately about them. Underneath -the sentence ran; <i>Où est-il le toit de nos amours?</i> Where is -the roof of our love? Could any nation but the French thus make -light of such tragedy?</p> -<div class='lg'> -<div class='tar mb0r7em mt1em sc'>Paris, April 21.</div> -</div> <!-- end of line group --> -<p>I am on my way home at last. I am waiting here for my sailing. -This time I am really going all the way through. Now that I am -on the brink of the <i>retour au civil</i>, as the French say, it seems very -odd. For eighteen months I haven’t worn white gloves, or silk -stockings, or a veil, no, nor even powdered my nose. And the -worst of it is, these things don’t seem to matter any more. Even a -uniform, and a homely uniform at that, has tremendous advantages -as part of a working scheme of life. As one girl remarked;</p> -<p>“You don’t have to spend any time thinking: Shall I put on the -pink or the blue tonight? The only question is, Do I or do I not -need a clean collar?”</p> -<p>Somehow I feel a little unfitted to go back to a civilian existence -once more. The same feeling one finds expressed continually among -the boys.</p> -<p>“When I get back home, if I see a line anywhere I’ll go and stand -in it just from force of habit,” remarked one boy, grinning ruefully.</p> -<p>But most often this feeling takes the form of a pathetic and -wistful fear.</p> -<p>“I’m afraid I’ll shock Mother when I get home.”</p> -<p>“They won’t know what to make of us, back home, the way -we’ll behave.”</p> -<p>“I reckon I’ve forgotten how to act civilized.”</p> -<p>And over and again they confess to a shame-faced apprehension -lest they should unguardedly relapse into the language of the army -and so frighten their women folk!</p> -<p>A famous French surgeon confided to my friend, the English -Lady:</p> -<p>“In that first year of the war when we were allowed no <i>permissions</i> -we became like savages. The first time that I returned home -I was afraid. I was afraid all the while, afraid before my wife, before -my children,—afraid that I would act the beast.”</p> -<p>If by coming to France, we women who have had this privilege -have discovered the American doughboy, the American doughboy, -by coming to France, has discovered America. I don’t know who -first said; “After I get back, if the Statue of Liberty ever wants -to see my face again, she’ll have to turn around,” but whoever did, -uttered a sentiment which has been echoed and re-echoed all over -France. The doughboy has been to Paris, “the City of Light,” -he has amused himself in the playgrounds of princes along the -Riviera, he has visited the châteaux and palaces of kings and -queens. And though he admits it is all mighty fine, in the face of -everything he holds staunchly to his declaration of loyalty; “I’ll -tell the world the little old U. S. A. is good enough for me!”</p> -<p>At times perhaps his patriotic enthusiasm has outweighed his -manners. Again and again a French villager, evidently echoing -some doughboy’s dissertation, has asked me a little wistfully;</p> -<p>“America <i>bon</i>, goode! France <i>pas bon</i>, no goode! <i>Hein?</i>”</p> -<p>“Anyway the war has done one good thing,” I used to say to the -lads in the canteens, “it has taught you to appreciate your homes.”</p> -<p>“I used to want to get away from home,” confided one boy to -me, “but when I get back there again I’m just going to tie myself -so tight to Mother’s apron-strings that she’ll never get the knot -undone.”</p> -<p>“Say, when I get back,” declared another lad as he helped me -wipe the dishes, “my mother’s going to find I’m just the best little -K. P. she ever knew.”</p> -<p>“When I get home, I’m going to lock myself in the house and -then I’m going to lose the key and stay right there for a month,” -announced another.</p> -<p>“Who’s in your house?”</p> -<p>“Just Mother. She’s good enough for me.”</p> -<p>Sometimes I have thought that three things have stood as concrete -symbols of all that was desirable to the American boy through -his ordeal over here: a dollar-bill, the Statue of Liberty, his -mother’s face. And only a shade less touching than the doughboy’s -realization of all that is implied by “Mother;” is his attitude -of chivalrous idealism toward the American girl. Once I ventured -to say something in praise of the women of France.</p> -<p>“But they’re not as fine as our girls!” came the instant jealous -rejoinder.</p> -<p>“No <i>Mademoiselles françaises</i> for me, thank you. I’ve got a -little girl of my own back home!”</p> -<p>“Our American girls, they’re as different from these French -girls,” declared a tall Virginian, “as day is from night!”</p> -<p>“I’ve laid off of lovin’ while I’ve been over here,” confided one -little engineer, “but, oh boy! my girl’s goin’ to get an awful -huggin’ when I get home!”</p> -<p>The most pitiful and hopeless cases that I have seen over here -were boys who had taken to drink because their girls at home had -proved inconstant. “That man never touched a drop,” confided -the buddy of one of these to me, “until he got that letter from his -girl telling him that she was married to a slacker.”</p> -<p>Not that the doughboy’s conduct has always been above reproach. -“Single men in barracks,” as Kipling once remarked, -“don’t grow into plaster saints;” and he has been sorely tempted. -But in his heart he has kept an ideal. It has stood between him -and utter darkness. In this ideal he has put all his faith. If he -loses it, he loses everything. Those women back home, I wonder, -do they really understand?</p> -</div> <!-- end of chapter --> -<!-- generated by ppxgo.go version 2.00 on 18 Mar 16 21:21 MDT --> - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Uncensored Letters of a Canteen -Girl, by Katharine Duncan Morse - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK UNCENSORED LETTERS--CANTEEN GIRL *** - -***** This file should be named 51495-h.htm or 51495-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/1/4/9/51495/ - -Produced by Roger Frank, Sue Clark and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.bookcove.net. - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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