hat things I have seen! I have seen an officer with his
brain hanging here, over his eye. And black corpses, and
bloated horses! The saddest time is the night. One hears
cries: "Help!" There are some who call their mothers. No one
answers.

All these recitals of soldiers are stamped with the red badge of
courage. A priest serving as an Adjutant was superintending the digging
of trenches close to the firing line on the Aisne. He had to expose
himself for a space of three feet in going from one trench to another.
In that instant a Mauser bullet struck him under the left eye, traversed
the nostril, the top of the palate, the cheek bone and came out under
the right ear. He felt the bullet only where it came out, but soon he
fell, covered with blood and believed he was wounded to death. Then his
courage returned, and he crawled into the trench. Comrades carried him
to the ambulance at Ambleny, with bullets and "saucepans" raining about
them from every direction. In time he was transferred to the American
Hospital at Neuilly. "I'm only a little disfigured and condemned to
liquids," he told his friend the abbe. "In a few weeks I shall be cured
and will return to the front."

Abbe Klein tells the curious story of a Zouave and his faithful dog. In
one of the zigzag corridors connecting the trenches near Arras the man
was terribly wounded by a shell that killed all his companions and left
him three-quarters buried in the earth. With only the dead around him,
he "felt himself going to discouragement," to use the author's mild
phrase, when his dog, which had never left him since the beginning of
the war, arrived and began showing every sign of distress and affection.
The wounded man told the author:

It is not true that he dug me out, but he roused my courage. I
commenced to free my arms, my head, the rest of my body.
Seeing this, he began scratching-with all his might around me,
and then caressed me, licking my wounds. The lower part of my
right leg was torn off, the left wounded in the calf, a piece
of shell in the back, two fingers cut off, and the right arm
burned. I dragged myself bleeding to the trench, where I
waited an hour for the litter carriers. They brought me to the
ambulance post at Roclincourt, where my foot was taken off,
shoe and all; it hung only by a tendon. From there I was
carried on a stretcher to Anzin, then in a carriage to another