12

The spirit of youth and the spirit of faith cannot rob war of its horrors, nor redeem the crime in which all humanity is involved, nor check the slaughter that goes on incessantly.  But they burn with a bright light out of the darkness, and make the killing of men less beastlike.  The soul of France has not been destroyed by this war, and no German guns shattering the beauty of old towns and strewing the northern fields with the bodies of beautiful young manhood could be victorious over this nation, which, with all her faults, her incredulities and passions, has at the core a spiritual fervour which lifts it above the clay of life.

The soldiers of France have learnt the full range of human suffering, so that one cannot grudge them their hours of laughter, however coarse their mirth.  There were many armies of men from Ypres to St. Mihiel who were put to greater tasks of courage than were demanded of the human soul in mediaeval torture chambers, and they passed through the ordeal with a heroism which belongs to the splendid things of history.  As yet the history has been written only in brief bulletins stating facts baldly, as when on a Saturday in March of 1915 it was stated that “In Malancourt Wood, between the Argonne and the Meuse, the enemy sprayed one of our trenches with burning liquid so that it had to be abandoned.  The occupants were badly burnt.”  That official account does not convey in any way the horror which overwhelmed the witnesses of the new German method of attacking trenches by drenching them with inflammatory liquid.  A more detailed narrative of this first attack by liquid fire was given by one of the soldiers;

“It was yesterday evening, just as night fell, that it happened.  The day had been fairly calm, with the usual quantity of bursting shells overhead, and nothing forewarned us of a German attack.  Suddenly one of my comrades shouted, ’Hallo! what is this coming down on us?  Anyone would think it was petroleum.’  At that time we could not believe the truth, but the liquid which began to spray on us was certainly some kind of petroleum.  The Germans were pumping it from hoses.  Our sub-lieutenant made us put out our pipes.  But it was a useless precaution.  A few seconds later incendiary bombs began to rain down on us and the whole trench burst into flame.  It was like being in hell.  Some of the men began to scream terribly, tearing off their clothes, trying to beat out the flames.  Others were cursing and choking in the hot vapour which stifled us.  ‘Oh, my Christ!’ cried a comrade of mine.  ‘They’ve blinded me!’ In order to complete their work those German bandits took advantage of our disturbance by advancing on the trench and throwing burning torches into it.  None of us escaped that torrent of fire.  We had our eyebrows and eyelashes burnt off, and clothes were burnt in great patches and our flesh was sizzling like roasting meat.  But some of us shot through the greasy vapour which made a cloud about us and some of those devils had to pay for their game.”