have never seen them.

I think that an injustice has been done to the French army by the
insistence of artists and cinema operators upon the picturesque
Colonial corps. One gets an idea that Arabs and negroes are pulling
France out of the fire. It is absolutely false. Her own brave sons are
doing the work. The Colonial element is really a very small one--so
small that I have not seen a single unit during all my French
wanderings. The Colonials are good men, but like our splendid
Highlanders they catch the eye in a way which is sometimes a little
hard upon their neighbours. When there is hard work to be done it is
the good little French piou-piou who usually has to do it. There is no
better man in Europe. If we are as good--and I believe we are--it is
something to be proud of.

* * * * *

But I have wandered far from the trenches of Soissons. It had come on
to rain heavily, and we were forced to take refuge in the dugout of the
sniper. Eight of us sat in the deep gloom huddled closely together. The
Commandant was still harping upon that ill-placed machine gun. He could
not get over it. My imperfect ear for French could not follow all his
complaints, but some defence of the offender brought forth a 'Jamais!
Jamais! Jamais!' which was rapped out as if it came from the gun
itself. There were eight of us in an underground burrow, and some were
smoking. Better a deluge than such an atmosphere as that. But if there
is a thing upon earth which the French officer shies at it is rain and
mud. The reason is that he is extraordinarily natty in his person. His
charming blue uniform, his facings, his brown gaiters, boots and belts
are always just as smart as paint. He is the Dandy of the European war.