With the French Flying Corps

by Carroll Dana Winslow

The captain took me to Bar-le-Duc in his own automobile. As we left the field of our activities I looked back at our little camp. The mechanics were busy in the great canvas hangars, cleaning and repairing the aeroplanes and motors. Others loitered outside waiting for the return of their "patron" or for their pilot to go up. No one complained of the work or of the danger. It was indeed a privilege to be with such men. I felt a pang of regret at leaving them. Though they called out a cheery "Au revoir!" and "Bonne chance!" I knew that the parting was not so light-hearted.

JULY 14TH, 1916

My trip back to Paris was very much like the one I had made in the opposite direction about six weeks before. Bar-le-Duc seemed unchanged as far as the outward signs were concerned. The movement of troops was just as great as during the previous weeks, only this time the regiments were leaving Verdun. The German efforts to take the fortress had failed signally and the offensive had passed to the French in the region of the Somme.

My train was very late in starting. Although scheduled for five in the afternoon, it did not actually get off until after midnight. It was filled to overflowing with permissionnaires and the crowded cars reminded me of a New York City rush hour in the subway. Fortunately there was a dining-car attached to the train. As this was kept open all night, we did not have to go hungry, and every one kept in the best of humor. It was interesting to see how quickly the men forgot what they had been through at the front. Within a few hours the permissionnaires were thinking only of the holiday which they were going to enjoy, of the good times they were going to have on the boulevards, and of home. The horror of battle was entirely left behind.

When we arrived at the Gare de l'Est it was barely five o'clock. The quais, however, were crowded with women who had apparently waited all night to greet their loved ones. Every one seemed so happy. The men made no attempt to control their feelings. Tears veiled many a pair of eyes. How strange the contrast between this return and the departure for the front that I had witnessed not very long before!

Before leaving the station I had to have my papers stamped by the military authorities. This done, I hurried to a hotel. I was so tired after the journey that I could hardly keep my eyes open. It was not long before I was fast asleep.

When I awoke it was already late. I dressed and went out on the streets. To my surprise, large crowds lined the sidewalks. All seemed so gay. This was almost too sudden a transition from the type of crowds I was used to seeing in the Verdun sector. Then I remembered. It was the fourteenth of July, the "Fête nationale," always a great day for the French people, but especially so this year. Some one soon informed me that there was to be a great review of the Allied troops, and that every one was in consequence "en fête." At the front, however, I had heard little of this.

At the Place de la Concorde the throng was immense. The more enterprising had provided themselves with boxes and ladders to stand and sit on. Others good-naturedly climbed up on the lamp-posts. The rest craned their necks in an effort to miss nothing of what was going on.

Earlier in the day the statues of the cities of Strasbourg and Lille had been bedecked with flowers. At the Petit Palais the President of the Republic had decorated, as is now the custom, the wives and children of those who had fallen on the "champ d'honneur" before their gallantry and patriotism could be rewarded.

As I reached the place the head of the parade swung out from the Champs-Elysées. It was the most impressive spectacle I have ever witnessed. Every one in the crowd showed his emotion. The women could not conceal their tears, and the men only with difficulty restrained their feelings. First came the Dragoons, followed by the Belgian Bicycle Corps. Then the khaki-clad French African troops, with only their red fezes to remind one of their once showy uniforms. Their mitrailleuses came next, brought back from the front to accompany the gallant regiment on this occasion. The crowd then commenced to roar. A battery of 75's then came into view, the "soixante-quinzes," which to the Frenchman symbolize victory. Suddenly the crowd became attentive and quiet. The Russians were singing their deep battle-hymn as they marched. They were fierce-looking giants, and as they swung by to the wild, measured beats of their chants, the people were silent with admiration.