regiment of cuirassiers and asked if he might not fight with them. A
number of the cuirassiers spoke English. They took him into the
ranks. The regiment went far over on the Marne, through towns with
French names which he could not pronounce, this man in khaki with
the French troopers. He was marked. C'est un Anglais! People
cheered him and threw flowers to him in regions which had never
seen one of the soldiers of the Ally before.

Yes, officers and gentlemen invited him to dine, like he was a
gentleman, he said, and not a Tommy, and the French Government
had given him a decoration called the Legion of Honour or something
like that. This was all very fine; but the best thing was that his own
colonel, when he returned, had him up before his company and made
a speech to him for fighting with the French when he could not find
his own regiment. He was supremely happy, this Tommy. In waiting
Calais one might witness about all the emotions and contrasts of war
--and many which one does not find at the front.





VI
In Germany



Never had the war seemed a more monstrous satire than on that first
day in Germany as the train took me to Berlin. It was the other side of
the wall of gun and rifle-fire where another set of human beings were