ck. I broke the bread open and found another bit of shell in it. I
don't yet know why I was not made mincemeat of that day. There were
fifty chances to one against me.

The two following days I stopped in the cellar, hearing nothing but
their big shells, while the farm and the buildings near it were smashed
in. Now it is all over. I am all right and bored to death mounting guard
over wagons ten miles from the firing line, with a crowd of countrymen
who have been commandeered with their wagons.

I ought to tell you that the two shells I saw fall on the mairie when my
comrade was going there unfortunately killed one and wounded five. It
was a bit of luck for me, as I always used to be hanging about the
courtyard. That's the sad side of it, but we have an amusing time all
the same. [The writer goes on to explain how he and his friends dressed
up some men of straw in uniform and induced the Germans to shoot at
them, and finally to charge them, while they fired at the Germans and
brought several of them down. He continues.]

But that's nothing to what they'll get, and their villages will get, and
their mairies, chateaux, and farms, and cellars, when we get there. I
will respect old men, women, and children, but let their fighting men
look out. I don't mind sacrificing my life to do my duty, and to defend
those I love and who love me, but if I've got to lose my skin I want to
lose it in Boche-land. I want the joy of getting into their dirty
Prussia to avenge our beautiful land. Bandits! Let them and their
choucroute factories look out! If you saw the countryside we are
recovering--there's nothing left but ruins. Everything burned and
smashed to bits. Cattle, more dead than alive, are bolting in all
directions, and as for our poor women, when I see them I would destroy
everything.

Our officers say: "We'll never be able to hold our men when we get into
their country." But I say that I want to go there all the same, and yet
when I say that I had a German prisoner to guard at the mairie. I gave
him half my bread and knocked walnuts off the trees for him. All the
time I saw five or more villages in flames around. Well, it all proves
that a soldier should never say what he will do tomorrow. My job is to
protect the flag, and the Boches can come on. Before they get it they'll
have to get me.... Vive la France!

Somali Volunteers

[From The London Times, Nov. 10, 1914.]

_We have received from a correspondent a copy