y regiments.

Our men treated their prisoners, nearly always, after the blood of
battle was out of their eyes, with a good--natured kindness that
astonished the Germans themselves. I have seen them filling German
water-bottles at considerable trouble, and the escorts, two or three to
a big batch of men, were utterly trustful of them. "Here, hold my rifle,
Fritz," said one of our men, getting down from a truck-train to greet a
friend.

An officer standing by took notice of this.

"Take your rifle back at once! Is that the way to guard your prisoners?"

Our man was astonished.

"Lor' bless you, sir, they don't want no guarding. They're glad to be
took. They guard themselves."

"Your men are extraordinary," a German officer told me. "They asked me
whether I would care to go down at once or wait till the barrage had
passed."

He seemed amazed at that thoughtfulness for his comfort. It was in the
early days of the Somme fighting, and crowds of our men stood on the
banks above a sunken road, watching the prisoners coming down. This
officer who spoke to me had an Iron Cross, and the men wanted to see it
and handle it.

"Will they give it back again?" he asked, nervously, fumbling at the
ribbon.

"Certainly," I assured him.

He handed it to me, and I gave it to the men, who passed it from one to
the other and then back to the owner.

"Your men are extraordinary," he said. "They are wonderful."

One of the most interesting prisoners I met on the field of battle was
a tall, black-bearded man whom I saw walking away from La Boisselle when
that place was smoking with shell-bursts. An English soldier was on each
side of him, and each man carried a hand-bag, while this black-bearded
giant chatted with them.

It was a strange group, and I edged nearer to them and spoke to one of
the men.

"Who's this? Why do you carry his bags?"

"Oh, we're giving him special privileges," said the man. "He stayed
behind to look after our wounded. Said his job was to look after
wounded, whoever they were. So there he's been, in a dugout bandaging
our lads; and no joke, either. It's hell up there. We're glad to get out
of it."

I spoke to the German doctor and walked with him. He discussed the
philosophy of the war simply and with what seemed like sincerity.

"This war!" he said, with a sad, ironical laugh. "We go on killing
one another-to no purpose. Europe is being bled to death and will
be impoverished for long years. We Germa