the march or in billets, were the black men.
There is no prejudice against the "chocolates," as they are called, who
provide variation and amusement, not to mention color. Most adaptable of
human beings is the negro, whom you find in all lands and engaged in all
kinds of pursuits, reflecting always the character of his surroundings.
If his French comrades charged he would charge and just as far; if they
fell back he would fall back and just as far. No Frenchman could
approach the pride of the blacks over those captured guns, which brought
grins that left only half of their ebony countenances as a background
for the whites of their eyes and teeth.

The tide of infantry, vehicles and horses flowing past must have been a
strange world to the German prisoners brought past it to the inclosures,
when they had not yet recovered from their astonishment at the
suddenness of the French whirlwind attack. The day was warm and the
ground dry, and those prisoners who were not munching French bread were
lying sardine fashion pillowing their heads on one another, a confused
mass of arms and legs, dead to the world in sleep--a green patch of
humanity with all the fight out of them, without weapons or power of
resistance, guarded by a single French soldier, while the belligerent
energy of war was on that road a hundred yards away.

"They are good Boches, now," said the French sentry; "we sha'n't have to
take that lot again."

Boches! They are rarely called anything else at the front. With both
French and English this has become the universal word for the Germans
which will last as long as the men who fought in this war survive.
Though the Germans dislike it that makes no difference. They will have
to accept it even when peace comes, for it is established. One day they
may come to take a certain pride in it as a distinction which stands for
German military efficiency and racial isolation. The professional
soldier expressing his admiration of the way the German charges, handles
his artillery, or the desperate courage of his machine gun crews may
speak of him as "Brother Boche" or the "old Boche" in a sort of amiable
recognition of the fact of how worthy he is of an enemy's steel if only
he would refrain from certain unsportsmanlike habits.

At length the blue river on the way to the front divided at a crossroad
and we were out on the plain which swept away to the bend of the Somme
in front of Peronne. Officers returning from the front