The men could hear the wounded officer protest. “Go away,” he said. “Leave me; I shall be all right. It’s madness to expose yourself like that.” The lieutenant took no heed of this, but picked his major up, put him in the perambulator, and started to wheel it back to the edge of the little wood. At last he reached safety with his precious burden. Then he ran and joined his men in the fight again. I expect you have heard how, at Fontenoy, the French called out to the British, “Fire first, gentlemen.” But the latter refused to fire, shouting back at once rudely and politely, “No, gentlemen and assassins, you begin!” This famous exchange of courtesies is recalled by the action of another French lieutenant, who, during a sharp fight which took place round a small railway station near Meaux, pursued a German officer into a locomotive shed, and found him under the tender of an engine. The two looked each other up and down, and by tacit agreement took up a duelling position at fifteen paces. “Please fire first,” cried the French officer. The German fired and missed. Then the Frenchman fired and hit. The last human quality one would naturally associate with war is kindness. Yet it is not too much to say that every great battle, every scene of carnage, is brightened by truly wonderful acts of kindness. By this I do not mean deeds of heroism, the saving of one gallant soldier by a pal, but simple, homely kindness. Such was the following: Trooper Philippe, of the 2nd Chasseurs, under heavy artillery fire, bullets and shrapnel falling thickly, not only brought his captain in, but after that went back eight times more to take water to the wounded. A French soldier, wounded in this same battle of Meaux, had with him a dog nestled in his coat while the fighting was going on, as it was apparently terrified at the noise of the firing. The soldier fed it from his rations, and after he was wounded smuggled it in the train which took him to the hospital. Our own soldiers have always had a special fondness for dogs. It is said that when a dog once enters barracks he never afterwards seeks to change his quarters. At Vittoria the Guards made a poodle puppy a prisoner, and it became their pet. At Bidart, when Colonel Ponsonby was encouraging his men to advance, they were delighted to see the poodle jumping and barking, much amused at the bullets which rained round him. Colonel Ponsonby and the poodle were wounded at the same moment, a bullet breaking one of the dog’s legs. He was, however, tenderly nursed, and the rest of his life was happy, although spent on only three legs. CHAPTER VIII THE BATTLE OF THE AISNE For while the tired waves, vainly breaking, Seem here no painful inch to gain, Far back, through creeks and inlets making, Comes silent, flooding in, the main.