"
Perhaps it is lucky, since war is, that men can be like that. When they
cannot, what then? But it was too terrible for me, and I changed the
subject by asking him if it were true that the Germans deliberately
fired on the Red Cross. He instantly became grave and prudent.
"Oh, well," he said, "I would not like to go on oath. We have had our
field ambulance destroyed. But you know the Germans are often bad
marksmen. They've got an awful lot of ammunition. They fire it all
over the place. They are bound to hit something. If we screen our
hospital behind a building and a shell comes over and blows us up, how
can we swear the shell was aimed at us?"
Just here the regiment came over the hill, and I retreated inside the
gate where I had pails of water ready for them to drink. They were a
sorry-looking lot. It was a hot day. They were covered with dirt, and
you know the ill-fitting uniform of the French common soldier would
disfigure into trampdom the best-looking man in the world.
The barricade was still across the road. With their packs on their
backs, their tin dippers in their hands for the drink they so needed,
perspiring in their heavy coats, they crawled, line after line, under
the barrier until an officer rode down and called sharply:--
"Halt!"
The line came to a standstill.
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