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A DAY AT DUN iii
But it was now one o’clock, and I was engaged to dine with
Colonel Betz at the officers’ mess, where a party of a dozen
assembled at a big round table. The mess was installed in a
private house, very plain but well preserved, although a few
shots or splinters of shell had made their way through its
walls. Even the piano had been pierced by a bullet, but its
tone was still irreproachable. At this table, again, the German
officers spoke with unmixed respect of the French soldiers
and their commanders. They are equal and worthy opponents,
they are real, fully trained soldiers, not mercenaries who fight
for money. They fight for their lives with skill and with the
courage of despair.
After dinner I continued my ramble and visited amongst
other places a hospital, where trained Red Cross sisters were
at work. Finally I halted in the main street and sketched it
and the bridge. A sheet was stretched right across the street,
and on it was written, in enormous letters that nobody could
help seeing, a notice that all empty vehicles returning from
the front must be reported at the headquarters of the officer
in command, where they would find out whether there were
any wounded to be transported home. One constantly sees
all kinds of directions, on calico, paper, planks and on white-
washed walls, to drive carefully, to keep to the right, as well
as information of the distances in kilometres, the names of
villages, where different roads lead, the position of the head-
quarters and other local offices, especially that of the hospital,
and many things besides. Here, as in everything else, an
exemplary orderliness prevails. Nobody needs to ask, he
has only to follow the painted directions. As regards finger-
posts and milestones, however, the French had done a good
deal in advance ; the notices which had to be added concerned
the German lines of communication.
The day was drawing to a close as I walked along the
principal street of Dun with Colonels Betz and Fretzdorff.
Fresh bands of French prisoners
—" Red trousers," as the
German soldiers call them—had come in during the day and
were now standing with their guards outside headquarters,
waiting for orders as to their further destination. The
prisoners were patient and calm as usual. Some sat on a
bench chatting, others on the kerbstone ; but the majority
stood with their hands in their trouser-pockets, looking at
the movement of the Prussians around them. They had never
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