Not one sergeant! Not even a corporal! All those squads which become after a time a well-beloved family to those in charge of them, a family not to be parted from without sorrow and regret--here they are deprived of their leaders, to whom they look up constantly, who watch over them, who sustain them through long and difficult hours by the mere magic of their presence. I had known each one of them so well, those I had lost to-day! They were the men of my choice, men for whom a single word from me was sufficient, men who had never sought to shirk their duties, accepting their task whatever it was, and fulfilling it to the very best of their powers. * * * * * Through the field behind us men are moving. We can hear the rustling of the dried leaves they are gathering; the falling flakes of earth from the roots they pull up; they have discovered some turnips. We remember then that so far we have eaten nothing. It is cold. We shiver. We remain silent. (The young French Lieutenant continues in his book, "'Neath Verdun" these tremendous experiences in which he shows the self-abnegation of the French soldiers. His comrade, Porchon, was killed at Les Eparges on February 20th, 1915. M. Genevoix himself was wounded--but his love for France and his spirit of exaltation lives on. The last chapter in his book, "The Armies Go to Earth" is a vision of the reality of these days when the world is being reconstructed.) FOOTNOTE: [6] All numerals relate to stories herein told--not to chapters in the book. ON THE ANZAC TRAIL--WITH THE FIGHTING AUSTRALASIANS _Adventures of a New Zealand Sapper_ _Told by "Anzac" (Name Suppressed)_ This is the story of the Anzacs. It is told by one of the New Zealanders who was with them in Egypt. He was present at the Landing and did his best to uphold the honor of Maoriland in the long and grim battle of the trenches. Throughout these adventurous days, he kept a diary which has been published under title "On the Anzac Trail." This diary tells the tales of a man in the ranks; it is told without gloss or varnish. A few anecdotes are here retold by permission of his American publishers, _J. B. Lippincott Company_, of Philadelphia. [7] I--STORY OF THE NEW ZEALANDER When the Great War struck Europe I was living with my people in Ireland. I had served in the South African campaign, so, of course, I realized that it was up to me to roll up again and do my bit towards keeping the old flag flying. It's a queer thing, but let a man once go on the war-path and it's all the odds to a strap ring he's off again, full cry, to the sound of the bugle. I reckon it's in the Britisher's blood; he kind of imbibes it along with his mother's milk. When all's said and done we are a fighting breed....