[Original]
THE SONS OF FRANCE
1915
To you, in God's country, safe and sound, far removed from the conditions existing over here, a few notes of our daily existence may not come amiss.
First, let me quote the lines found on a dead boy in Champagne, his "Feuille de route" (diary), which shows eloquently how the little "piou-piou" feels these sorrowful days of 1914.
FEUILLE DE ROUTE
Diary of Albert Ledrean, volunteer for France in the war of 1914. Aged 18 years. In the 10th Regiment of Infantry. Fell on the field of honor, October 17th, 1914, in Champagne. (This diary was found on his body and sent home to his mother.):
"Auxonne, Cotes d' Or, September 15th, 1914—At last this long-wished-for moment has arrived. The great clock on the facade in our barracks marks 12:45, it is the hour for our departure; the clear notes of the bugles announce our colonel's approach; he appears, his fine horse curvetting and prancing, and our battalion stands rigidly at attention as he passes us on review. He draws his sword and gives orders to advance. The regimental music shrills loudly, our troopers with quick steps and alert bearing, start for the battlefields, which we have so long desired to see.
"We have decorated our rifles with huge bunches of flowers. On our route the people have strewn autumn leaves. More than one woman weeps as we go by, for our passing recalls so vividly to them, those poor women, their husbands, or brothers, or sons, who are fighting out yonder in the defense of the sacred soil of France. At the railway station a large crowd awaits, hands are shaken, adieux are made to those comrades who remain. We climb into the waiting train. Our colonel calls us to the windows and stirs our souls with a speech of patriotic feeling. He gives the accolade to our commander, and through him, to us all. The train starts, as the strains of the Marseillaise float in the air. From all our throats burst the cry, "Vive la France!" The regiment, massed near the station, salutes us, the bayonets glisten in the pale autumn sun and the drums and bugles sound gaily. We lean far out of the windows waving our kepis joyously to the crowd. The train moves faster and faster to our unknown destination. Who knows where? But what does it matter? It is for our country.
"Wednesday, September 28th—We were marched today to Dugny, by Verdun. Our adjutant ordered us to descend from our train at 8 a.m., and with enthusiasm we stepped through the clear morning air towards our destination. In traversing the village we met large Parisian autobuses heavily ladened with meat for the ravitallement of our troops; it was droll indeed to see the great vehicles with signs "Trocadero, Odeon, Porte Maillot, Louvre, Versailles, etc., in big letters here in the silence of the Champagne plains, so far from the crowded Paris streets, where before the war, they carried their human freight.