e that, in intervals
between the heavier snow-flurries, I could see the stabs of fire in the
brownish sky. Wrapped in sheepskins and muffled to the ears in knitted
scarves that might have come from New England, the territorials who had
charge of the road were filling the ruts with crushed rock. Exhaustion
had begun to tell on the horses; many lay dead and snowy in the frozen
fields. A detachment of khaki-clad, red-fezzed colonial troops passed
by, bent to the storm. The news was of the most depressing sort. The
wounded could give you only the story of their part of the line, and you
heard over and over again, "Nous avons recules." A detachment of cavalry
was at hand; their casques and dark-blue mantles gave them a crusading
air. And through the increasing cold and darkness of late afternoon,
troops, cannons, horsemen, and motor-trucks vanished toward the edge of
the moor where flashed with increasing brilliance the rays of the
artillery.

I saw some German prisoners for the first time at T---, below Verdun.
They had been marched down from the firing-line. Young men in the
twenties for the most part, they seemed even more war-worn than the
French. The hideous, helot-like uniform of the German private hung
loosely on their shoulders, and the color of their skin was unhealthy
and greenish. They were far from appearing starved; I noticed two or
three who looked particularly sound and hearty. Nevertheless, they were
by no means as sound-looking as the ruddier French.

The poilus crowded round to see them, staring into their faces without
the least malevolence. At last--at last--voila enfin des Boches! A
little to the side stood a strange pair, two big men wearing an odd kind
of grayish protector and apron over their bodies. Against a near-by wall
stood a kind of flattish tank to which a long metallic hose was
attached. The French soldiers eyed them with contempt and disgust. I
caught the words, "Flame-throwers!"

I do not know what we should have done at Verdun without Lieutenant
Roeder, our mechanical officer. All the boys behaved splendidly, but
Lieutenant Roeder had the tremendously difficult task of keeping the
Section going when the rolling-stock was none too good, and fearful
weather and too constant usage had reduced some of the wagons to wrecks.
It was all the finer of him because he was by profession a
bacteriologist. Still very young, he had done distinguished work. Simply
because there was no one else to attend