The White Road to Verdun | Page 5

his expression changing from jovial good-humour to grimness, he added: "You know, I call him 'Zepp,' because he kills the little ones" ("parcequ'il tue les tous petits").
In one small cantonment where 200 poilus sang, shouted, ate, drank, and danced together to the strain of a wheezy gramophone, or in one word were "resting," I started to investigate the various kinds of pets owned by the troopers. Cats, dogs, and monkeys were common, whilst one poilu was the proud possessor of a parrot which he had purchased from a refugee obliged to fly from his home. He hastened to assure us that the bird had learned his "vocabulary" from his former proprietor. A study in black and white was a group of three or four white mice, nestling against the neck of a Senegalais.
The English Tommy is quite as devoted to animals as is his French brother. I remember crossing one bitter February day from Boulogne to Folkestone. Alongside the boat, on the quay at Boulogne, were lined up the men who had been granted leave. Arrayed in their shaggy fur coats, they resembled little the smart British Tommy of peace times. It was really wonderful how much the men managed to conceal under those fur coats, or else the eye of the officer inspecting them was intentionally not too keen.
Up the gangway trooped the men, and I noticed that two of them walked slowly and cautiously. The boat safely out of harbour, one of them produced from his chest a large tabby cat, whilst the other placed a fine cock on the deck. It was a cock with the true Gaelic spirit: before the cat had time to consider the situation it had sprung on its back. The cat beat a hasty retreat into the arms of its protector, who replaced it under his coat. Once in safety, it stuck out its head and swore at the cock, which, perched on a coil of rope, crowed victoriously.
Both animals had been the companions of the men whilst in the trenches, and they were bringing them home.
A soldier standing near me commenced to grumble because he had not been able to bring his pet with him. I inquired why he had left it behind, since the others had brought theirs away with them, and elicited the information that "his pet was a cow, and therefore somewhat difficult to transport." He seemed rather hurt that I should laugh, and assured me it was "a noble animal, brown with white spots, and had given himself and his comrades two quarts of milk a day." He looked disdainfully at the cock and cat. "They could have left them behind and no one would have pinched them, whereas I know I'll never see 'Sarah' again--she was far too useful."
Entering Vitry-le-Fran?ois we had a splendid example of the typical "motto" of the French trooper, "Il ne faut pas s'en faire." One of the motor-cars had broken down, and the officer-occupants, who were evidently not on an urgent mission, had gone to sleep on the banks by the side of the road whilst the chauffeur was making the necessary repairs. We offered him assistance, but he was progressing quite well alone. Later on another officer related to me his experience when his car broke down at midnight some 20 km. from a village. The chauffeur was making slow headway with the repairs. The officer inquired whether he really understood the job, and received the reply, "Yes, mon lieutenant, I think I do; but I am rather a novice, as before the war I was a lion-tamer!" Apparently the gallant son of Gaul found it easier to tame lions than to repair motors.
We left Vitry-le-Fran?ois at 6 o'clock next morning, and started "the hunt for generals." It is by no means easy to discover where the actual Q.G. (Headquarters) of the General of any particular secteur is situated.
We were not yet really on the "White Road" to Verdun, and there was still much to be seen that delighted the eyes. In one yellow cornfield there appeared to be enormous poppies. On approaching we discovered a detachment of Tirailleurs from Algiers, sitting in groups, and the "poppies" were the red fezes of the men--a gorgeous blending of crimson and gold. We threw a large box of cigarettes to them, and were greeted with shouts of joy and thanks. The Tirailleurs are the "enfants terribles" of the French Army. One noble son of Africa who was being treated in one of the hospitals once presented me with an aluminium ring made from a piece of German shell. I asked him to make one for one of my comrades who was working at home, and he informed me that nothing would have given him greater pleasure, but unfortunately he had no more