on of the front. The cook is one of the most important men in a
French regiment; he serves many ends. When carrying the food through the
communicating trenches to the front-line trenches, he is always supposed
to bring to the men the latest news, the latest tale which is going the
round of the camp, and anything that may happen to interest them. If he
has not got any news he must manufacture and produce some kind of story.
It is really necessary for him to be not only a cook but also an author.

There is a tale going the round of the French Army how one section of
the cooks, although unarmed, managed to take some twenty German
prisoners. As they went on their way, they saw the Germans in the
distance approaching them; the head cook quietly drew the field-kitchens
behind a clump of trees and bushes, placed his men in a row, each with a
cooking utensil in his hand, and as the Germans passed shouted to them
to surrender. The sun fell on the handles of the saucepans, causing them
to shine like bayonets, and the Germans, taken unawares, laid down
their arms. The head cook then stepped out and one by one took the
rifles from the enemy and handed them to his men. It was only when he
had disarmed the Germans and armed his comrades that he gave the signal
for them to step out, and the Germans saw that they had been taken by a
ruse. One can imagine the joy of the French troops in the next village,
when, with a soup-ladle in his hand, his assistants armed with German
rifles, followed by the soup-kitchen and twenty prisoners, he marched in
to report.

It is curious to note how near humour is to tragedy in war, and how
quick-wittedness may serve a useful purpose and even save life. A young
French medical student told me that he owed his life to the quick wit of
the women of a village and the sense of humour of a Saxon officer.
Whilst passing from one hospital to another, he was captured by a small
German patrol, and in spite of his papers, proving that he was attached
to the Red Cross Service, he was tried as a spy and condemned to be
shot. At the opening of his trial the women had been interested
spectators; towards the end all of them had vanished. He was placed
against a barn door, the firing squad lined up, when from behind the
hedge bordering a wood the women began to bombard the soldiers with
eggs. The aim was excellent--not one man escaped; the German officer
laughed at the plight of his men and, in the brief respite accorded