We motored along country lanes preferably to the main highways, where our autos would be more easily discerned by the German aeroplanes constantly hovering about. In these lanes we found lines of men sneaking along, sometimes crawling inch by inch, to surprise an imaginary enemy down around the bend. In the fields we saw charges and counter-charges from trench to trench. We saw cavalry manoeuvres across the open country and cavalry on foot facing each other in long lines along the roadsides, fighting desperately with lance and clubbed carbine.
Occasionally a real shell would come popping over from somewhere to tear a hole in the roadside to make our automobiling more difficult. In fact, we discovered that during "Joffre's offensive" days of repose mean drill, drill, and more drill, and when the men are not drilling many of them are guarding prisoners.
Along other roadsides we saw hundreds of prisoners, usually in charge of a cavalry company marching them to the rear. At one place we stopped and talked with them—several could speak French. There were many well set up, fine-looking fellows, who seemed perfectly content to do no more fighting. About a dozen under one guard were across the road in a meadow, tossing a tennis ball about, laughing and joking. Others were eating luncheon. It was just 1 o'clock. They had the same fare as their captors, the only difference in service being that the captors got theirs first.
Our officer talked to the Captain of the guard, who explained that his lot of about 400 had just been taken at Neuville Saint Vaast. Our officers then talked to the prisoners. I was surprised to note the extraordinary decency of their attitude and conversation. There was no boasting, no arrogance, no animosity. On the contrary, I heard one Captain telling the prisoners considerable they apparently did not know about the progress of the fighting in that neighborhood. He smiled as he talked, and concluded by telling the men they would be well fed and well treated.
I also noted the attitude of the prisoners. As a French officer approached the German soldier, true to his years of iron discipline, leaped to his feet and stood rigid as a poker through the talk, but never the raising of a hand to cap, never the salute to the Frenchman.
I strolled down the road and found another with whom I was able to talk. He was a non-commissioned officer, young and very intelligent. I told him I was an American, which aroused his interest. He wanted to talk about America. He had friends there. I asked him:
"How long do you think Germany can hold out against so many enemies?"
He stood very straight, looked me directly in the eye, and said: "Germany knows she is beaten, but she will fight to the last cartridge."
He spoke French. His final words, "La derniere cartouche," rang out. His eyes flashed. Several others crowded about.
Just then a company of Spahis cavalry came clattering down the road—a more ferocious-looking lot I have never seen—and disappeared in a cloud of dust. All of us turned to look, the prisoner remarking: "I'll say one thing, though: we never thought we would have to fight men like those."