The character of a
young lieutenant of artillery, who came to fill the place of a poor fellow
killed at the side of his caisson, is typical of innumerable soldiers of
France. He presented himself with a jaunty good humour, made a
little speech to his battery which set all the men laughing, and then
shook hands with them one by one. Next day he knew each man by
name, used the familiar "thee" and "thou" to them, and won their
hearts by his devil-may-care manners and the smile which came from
a heart amused by life. Everything was a joke to him. He baptized his
four guns by absurd nicknames, and had a particular affection for old
"Bumps," which had been scarred by several shells. The captain
called this young gentleman Lieutenant Mascot, because he had a
lucky way with him. He directed the aim of his guns with astounding
skill. A German battery had to shift very quickly five minutes after his
first shell had got away, and when the enemy's fire was silenced, he
would call out, "Don't chuck any more," to the telephone operator.
That was his way of ordering the cease-fire.
But Lieutenant "Mascot," one day jumped on the top of a hayrick to
direct the marksmanship of his battery, and a moment later a German
shell burst above him and scattered part of the rick in all directions.
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