This volume contains an ensemble of true episodes about the French
_poilu_ taken from my diary.
The reader will regret, perhaps, the absence of continuity in the
following chapters; that will rapidly disappear, however, when he sees
the characteristic figures he should better know and love for a long
time to come. A scruple has always guided me: to write the truth. I
have been strict in writing nothing but what I have seen or heard.
In giving these souvenirs to the American public, I have had but one
object: to mold in relief the warlike virtues of the admirable soldiers
of France with whom I have fought for more than three years.
Mothers, wives, sweethearts and children of the heroes fallen in
defense of their country, will find in these pages a precious
consolation: they will see that with just reason they can be proud of
their cherished dead.
I ask indulgence, much indulgence of the public. I have written these
lines simply and faithfully during a long and painful convalescence;
many times I have felt that my physical forces would abandon me before
I could arrive at the end of my task. I shall be fully recompensed for
these efforts if I know I have brought to my readers the emotion and
feeling, which I still experience, of those epic hours.