October 19, 1916 
LAND & WATER 
13 
to removo any of tlic furniture or effects form the dc- 
molishfd houses. In those houses from whiclr onlj' tlic 
front liad been h\o\\'n away, the spoons and forks were 
in some instances still on the table, set ready for the 
meal that had been interrupted. 
From windows lace curtains and draperies Inmg out 
over the fronts of the houses. Everywhere shattered 
doors, broken cupboards, drawers thrown open where 
the inhabitants had thought to try to save some of their 
cherished belongings, but had finally fled leaving all to 
the care of the soldiers, who protect tlie property of the 
inhabitants as carefully as if it were their own. It would 
be difficult to lind liner custodians. J was told that at 
Bobigny, near Bourget, there' is on one of the' houses 
the following inscription worthy of classical times : 
" The proprietor of this house has gone to the war. 
He leaves this dwelling to the care of the French. Long 
Hve France." And lie left the key in the lock. 
The soldiers billeted in the house read the inscription, 
which met with their approval, and so far each regiment 
in passing had cleaned out the httle dwelhng and left it 
in perfect order. 
From the citadel we went down into the trenches, 
which led to the lines at Thiaumont. The heat 
in the city was excessive, but in the trenches 
it was delightfully cool, perhaps a little too 
cool. We heard the men make no complaints except 
that at times the life was a little " monotonous " 1 
One man told me that he was once in a trench that 
was occupied at the same time by the French and 
the Germans. There was nothing between them but 
sand bags and a thick wall of clay, and day and 
night the . French watched that wall. One day a 
slight scratching was heard. The men prepared to face 
the crumbling of tlie barrier, when through a small hole 
popped out the head of a brown rabbit. Down into the 
trench hopped Mrs. Bunny followed by two small bimnies, 
and although rabbit for lunch would ha\'e improved the 
menu, the men had not the heart to kill her. On the 
contrary, they fed her on their rations and at night-fall 
she departed followed by her progeny. 
From all the dug-outs heads popped out and the first 
movement of surprise at seeing a woman in the trenches 
turned to a smile of delight, since the Poilu is at all times 
a chivalrous gentleman. One man was telling me of the 
magnificent work that had been accomplished by his 
" compagnie." I congratulated him and told him he 
must be happy to be in such a company. He swept 
off his iron casque, bowed almost to the ground, and 
answered : " Certainly I am happy in my company, 
Mademoiselle, but I am far happier in yours." The 
principal grief of the Poilus appeared to be that a shell 
two or three days before had destroyed the store of the 
great dragee (sugared almond) manufactory of Verdun. 
Before leaving the manufacturer had bequeathed his 
stock to the army, and they were all regretting that they 
had not been greedier and eaten up the dragccs quicker. 
In the trenches near Verdun, as in the trenches in 
Flanders, you find the men talking little of war, but much 
of their homes and their families. I came once upon a 
group of Bretons. They had opened some tins of sar- 
dines and sitting around a bucket of blazing coals they 
were toasting the fish on the ends of small twigs. I 
asked them why they were wasting their energies since 
the fish were ready to be eaten straight from the tins. 
" We know," they replied, " but it smells Hke home." I 
suppose with the odour of the cooking fish, in the blue 
haze of the smoke, they saw visions of their cottages 
and the white coiffed Bretonnes frying the fresh sardines 
that they had caught. 
The dusk was now falHng and, entering the car, we 
proceeded towards the lower part of the town at a snail's 
pace in order not to draw the German fire. We were 
told that at the present time approximately one hundred 
shells a day still fall on Verdun, but at the time of the 
great attack the number was as high as eight hundred, 
whilst as many as two hundred thousand shells fell 
daily in and around Verdun. 
Just before we reached the entrance to the citadel 
the enemy began to shell the city, and one of the shells 
exploded within two hundred feet of the car. We knew 
that we were near the entrance of the vaults of the citadel 
and could take refuge, so we left the car and proceeded 
on foot. Without thinking we walked in the centre of 
tlie road, and tJie sentinel at the citadel began in some- 
what emphatic I'-rench to recommend us to longer lea 
murs (to hug the walls tightly). The Germans are well 
aware of the entrance to the citadel and daily shell the 
spot. If one meets a shell in the centre of the road it is 
ob\iously no use to argue, whilst in hugging the side of 
the wall there is a possibility of only receiving the frag- 
ments of the bursting shell. 
A Subterranean City 
The subterranean galleries of the citadel of Verdun 
were constructed by Vauban, and are now a hive of 
activity — barbers' shops, sweet shops, boot shops, 
hospitals, anything and everything which goes to make 
up a small city. 
One of the young officers ])laced his " cell " at our 
disposal. The long galleries are all eqiupped with central 
heating and electric light and some of them have been 
divided off by wooden partitions or curtains like the 
dormitories in a large school. In the " cell " allocated 
to us we could see the loving touch of a woman's hand. 
Around the pillow on the small camp bed was a beatitifnl 
edging of Irish lace, and on the dressing-table a large 
bottle of eau-de-cologne. There is no reason to be too 
uncomfortable in Verdun when one has a. good little 
)vife to send one presents from time to time. 
Emerging from the galleries we met General Dubois, 
a great soldier, and a kindly man, one who shares the 
daily perils of his men. The General invited us to remaia 
and dine with him. He had that day received from 
General Nivelle his cravate as Commander of the Legion 
of Honour, and his officers were giving him a dinner- 
party to celebrate the event. " See how kind fate is 
to me," he added, " only one thing was missing from 
the feast — the presence of the ladies — and here you are." 
It would need the brush of Rembrandt to paint the 
dining-hall in the citadel of Verdim. At one long table 
in the dimly-lighted vault sat between eighty and ninety 
officers who all rose, saluted and cheered as we entered. 
The General sat at the head of the table surrounded by 
his staff, and behind, him the faces of the cooks were lit 
up by the fires of the stoves. Some short distance 
behind us was an air-shaft. It appears that about a 
week or a fortnight before our arrival a German shell, 
striking the top part of the citadel, dislodged some dust 
and gravel which fell down the air-shaft on to the General's 
head. He simply called the attendants to him and asked 
for his table to be moved forward a yard, as he did not 
feel inclined to sit at table with his helmet on. 
An excellent dinner — soup, roast mutton, fresh beans, 
salade Russe, Frangipane, dessert — and even champagne 
to celebrate the (ieneral's cravate — qiute reassured us 
that people may die in Verdun of shells, but not of hunger. 
We drank toasts to France, the Allies, and, silently, to 
the men of France who had died that we might live. I 
was asked to propose the health of the General and did 
it in English, knowing that he spoke English well. I 
told him that the defenders of Verdun would live in our 
heart and memories, that on behalf of the whole Britisli 
race I felt I might convey to him congratulations on his 
honour. They asked me to repeat a description of the 
flag of France which I gave first in Ottawa, so there, in 
the citadel of Verdun with a small French flag before me, 
I went back in spirit to Ottawa and remembered how I 
had spoken of the triumph of the flag of France : 
The red, white and blue — the red of the flag of France a 
little deeper hue than in time of peace since it was dyed 
with the blood of her sons, the blood in which a new history 
of France is being written, volume on volume, page on 
page, of deeds of heroism, some pages completed and 
signed, others where tlie pen has dropped from the falter- 
ing hands and which posterity must needs finish. The 
white of the flag of France, not quite so white as in time 
of peace since thousands of her sons had taken it in their 
hands and pressed it to their lips before they went forward 
to die for it, yet without stain, since in all the record of 
the war there is no blot on the escutcheon of France. 
And the blue of the flag of France, true blue, torn and 
tattered with tlieinarks of the bullets and the shrapnel, 
yet unfurling proudly in the breeze whilst the very lioles 
were patchecl by the blue of the sky, since surely Heaven 
stands behind the flag of France. 
{To he continued) 
