Photograph by Herbert Corey 



A FRENCH COOK -JUST OUTSIDE OF MONASTIR 



Despite the fact that the Bulgarians were at the moment shelling the camp heavily, his one 

 concern was to assume a properly martial air 



The tainted breeze that comes down 

 the valley hints at the ghastly food on 

 which they live. By day every man 

 shoots at every dog save the few that 

 cling close to an inhabited cottage. They 

 slink, coyote fashion, behind rocks. At 

 night one hears their feet padding behind 

 him on the lonely roads. Their eyes 

 shine in the flare of the electric torch. 

 Every one carries arms in Macedonia at 

 night, not against man, but as a protec- 

 tion against the dogs. 



The fighting here has been of an oddlv 



personal character. On the western front 

 war is confusing in its immensity. Hun- 

 dreds of guns roar. Thousands of men 

 advance over a front miles long. One as 

 completely fails to comprehend in detail 

 what is going on as though he were 

 caught in an earthquake. Here opera- 

 tions are watched in the open. One 

 crouches in an artillery observation post 

 on the tip of a hill and watches the little 

 gray figures go forward to the charge on 

 the slope opposite. Sometimes they are 

 broken, and one sees them run down hill 



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