We lunched in the small but hospitable village of Sezannes in
company with a most charming invalided officer, who informed us
that he was the principal in that district of the S.D.R. R.D. (Service
de Recherche des Rattiers) (the Principal Recruiting Officer for
Rat-Catchers). In other words, he is spending his time endeavouring
to persuade suitable bow-wows to enlist in the service of their
country. Likely dogs are trained until they do not bark, and become
entirely accustomed to the sound of firing; they are then pronounced
"aptes a faire campagne" or "fit for service," receive their livret
militaire, or certificates--for not every chance dog is allowed in
the trenches--and are despatched to the trenches on a rat-hunting
campaign.
At the commencement of the .War, dogs were not utilized to the
extent they are at present. A large number are now with the
French Army and the wonderful training they have received, aided
by their natural sagacity, renders them a holy terror to prowling
bodies and spies. Those employed in carrying messages or
tobacco to the soldiers in dangerous trenches now wear gas
masks, as many of these high trained animals have been lost in
consequence of too closely investigating the strange odour
caused by this Hun war method.
From Sezannes we proceeded direct to the new camp for German
prisoners at Connantre. The prisoners were mostly men who had
been taken in the recent fighting on the Somme or around Verdun.
The camp was already excellently installed and the prisoners were
busy in groups gardening, making bread, or sitting before great
heaps of potatoes preparing them for the evening meal. In one
corner the inevitable German Band was preparing for an evening
concert. The German sense of order was everywhere in evidence.
In the long barracks where the men slept the beds were tidy, and
above each bed was a small shelf, each shelf arranged in exactly
the same order, the principal ornaments being a mug, fork and
spoon; and just as each bed resembled each other bed, so the
fork and spoon were placed in their respective mugs at exactly the
same angle. There were small partitioned apartments for the non-
commissioned officers.
The French Commander of the camp told us that the German love
of holding some form of office was everywhere apparent. The
French made no attempt to command the prisoners themselves,
but always chose men from amongst the prisoners who were
placed in authority over their comrades. The prisoners rejoiced
exceedingly and promptly increased in self-importance and, alas,
decreased in manners, if they were given the smallest position
which raised them above the level of the rest of the men.
In the barrack where they were cutting up bread for the prisoners,
we asked the men if they deeply regretted their captivity. They
replied unanimously that they were "rather glad to be well fed,"
which seemed an answer in itself. They did not, however,
appreciate the white bread, and stated that they preferred their
own black bread. The French officers commanding the camp treat
the prisoners as naughty children who must be "kept in the corner"
and punished for their own good. In all my travels through France I
have never seen any bitterness shown towards the prisoners. I
remember once at Nevers we passed a group of German prisoners,
and amongst them was a wounded man who was lying in a small cart.
A hand bag had fallen across his leg, and none of his comrades
attempted to remove it. A French woman pushing her way between
the guards, lifted it off and gave it to one of the Germans to carry.
When the guards tried to remonstrate she replied simply: "J'ai un
fils prisonnier la bas, faut esperer qu'une allemande ferait autant
pour lui." ("I have a son who is a prisoner in their land; let us hope
that some German woman would do as much for him.")
On the battlefields the kindness of the French medical men to the
German wounded has always been conspicuous. One of my neutral
friends passing through Germany heard from one of the prominent
German surgeons that they were well aware of this fact, and knew that
their wounded received every attention. There is a story known throughout
France of a French doctor who was attending a wounded German
on the battlefield. The man, who was probably half delirious,
snatched at a revolver which was lying near by and attempted
to shoot the doctor. The doctor took the revolver from him, patted
him on the head, and said: "Voyons, voyons, ne faites pas l'enfant"
("Now then, now then, don't be childish") and went on dressing his wounds.
Everywhere you hear accounts of brotherly love and religious
tolerance. I remember kneeling once by the side of a dying French
soldier who was tenderly supported in the arms of a famous young
Mohammedan surgeon, an Egyptian who had taken his degree in
Edinburgh and was now attached to the French Red Cross. The
man's mind was wandering, and seeing a woman beside him he
commenced to talk to me as to his betrothed. "This war cannot last
always, little one, and when it is over we will buy a pig and a cow
and we will go to the cure, won't we, beloved?" Then in a lucid
moment he realised that he was dying, and he commenced to
pray, "Ave Maria, Ave Maria," but the poor tired brain could
remember nothing more. He turned to me to continue, but I could
no longer trust myself to speak, and it was the Mohammedan who
took up the prayer and continued it whilst the soldier followed with
his lips until his soul passed away into the valley of shadows. I
think this story is only equalled in its broad tolerance by that of the
Rabbi Bloch of Lyons, who was shot at the battle of the Aisne
whilst holding a crucifix to the lips of a dying Christian soldier. The
soldier priests of France have earned the love and respect of even
the most irreligious of the Poilus. They never hesitate to risk their
lives, and have displayed sublime courage and devotion to their
duty as priests and as soldiers. Behind the first line of trenches a
soldier priest called suddenly to attend a dying comrade, took a
small dog he was nursing and handing it to one of the men simply
remarked, "Take care of the little beast for me, I am going to a
dangerous corner and I do not want it killed."