laughter in the grossest humours
without losing altogether the finer sentiments of the heart and little
delicacies of mind which seem untarnished by the rank weeds which
grow in human nature. Laughter is one of the great needs of the
French soldier. In war he must laugh or lose all courage. So if
there is a clown in the company he may be as coarse as one of
Shakespeare's jesters as long as he be funny, and it is with the
boldness of one of Shakespeare's heroes--like Benedick--that a
young Frenchman, however noble in his blood, seizes the ball of wit
and tosses it higher. Like D'Artagnan, he is not squeamish, though a
very gallant gentleman.

11

The spirit of D'Artagnan is not dead. Along many roads of France I
have met gay fellows whose courage has the laughing quality of that
Musketeer, and his Gascon audacity which makes a jest of death itself.
In spite of all the horrors of modern warfare, with its annihilating
shell-fire and the monstrous ruthlessness of great guns, the French
soldier at his best retains that quality of youth which soars even
above the muck and misery of the trenches. The character of a
young lieutenant of artillery, who came to fill the place of a poor fellow
killed at the side of his caisson, is typical of innumerable soldiers of
France. He presented himself with a jaunty good humour, made a
little speech to his battery which set all the men laughing, and then
shook hands with them one by one. Next day he knew each man by
name, used the familiar "thee" and "thou" to them, and won their
hearts by his devil-may-care manners and the smile which came from
a heart amused by life. Everything was a joke to him. He baptized his
four guns by absurd nicknames, and had a particular affection for old
"Bumps," which had been scarred by several shells. The captain
called this young gentleman Lieutenant Mascot, because he had a
lucky way with him. He directed the aim of his guns with astounding
skill. A German battery had to shift very quickly five minutes after his
first shell had got away, and when the enemy's fire was silenced, he
would call out, "Don't chuck any more," to the telephone operator.
That was his way of ordering the cease-fire.

But Lieutenant "Mascot," one day jumped on the top of a hayrick to
direct the marksmanship of his battery, and a moment later a German
shell burst above him and scattered part of the rick in all directions. It
was a moment of anguish for the onlookers. The captai