Later, they got into the trenches, where some of the men were standing knee-deep in water, and others were submerged up to their waists. "It was no picnic, but they were a bright lot, cracking jokes or making remarks about the 'Black Marias,' or 'Jack Johnsons,' as they call the big German shells." Although, in the first days on the Aisne, the first line of German troops were opposed to the British, the latter had a very poor opinion of their opponents. The general view was that the Germans were not very keen on fighting, and a number of them when captured said that they were forced by their officers to fight. In one case, when the men had refused to fire, their officers had turned on them and shot them--as might have been expected in any army. One wounded and captured German, placed in the next bed in hospital to a wounded Borderer, spoke broken English, and in the course of a chat was asked what he thought of the British. "British artillery," he said, "no good--not enough. British infantry--_mein Gott!_" His expression as he spoke completed the comment. A Borderer wounded at the Aisne had fought beside the French, whom he described as very plucky, but rather slow. Their artillery, however, won his admiration, and he declared it the best he had ever seen. He was emphatic in his appreciation of the way in which the French people treated the British troops, supplying them with food and fruit, and in many ways expressing their sympathy. "My chum and I came to a village one day," he said, "and wanted to get some bread and tobacco. We met a peasant woman in the village, and I said '_Du pain_.' She took me by the arm and pushed me into a dark room, but I couldn't see where I was, and called for my chum, who came in as well, though we were both afraid it might be a trap. Then we noticed some food and wine on a table. It struck us, when we came to look round, that nearly all the furniture in the house was smashed. 'The Prussians,' the woman told us. And it's the same in every village you go into--these Germans smash everything but us. They're trying hard to smash us too, but they can't manage it." "It is a grand thing," says another man of the regiment, "to shoot at Germans--they make such a lovely target. We can't miss them, and, poor things, they are wishing it was over. Every prisoner we take says they are starving, and they look it, too. Well, never mind, we are there to kill, and kill we do. They are frightened of us, and say we shoot too straight--the French and British are finishing them off in thousands."