I shall always remember the picture of General Petain seeing us into our car with his parting words, “You are about to do the most dangerous thing you have ever done or will ever do in your life.  As for Verdun, tell them in England that I am smiling, and I am sure that when you see General Nivelle you will find him smiling too.  That is the best answer I can give you as to how things are going with us at Verdun.”  Then with a friendly wave of his hand we passed on our way.

After leaving the headquarters of General Petain we were held up for some time at a level crossing and watched the busy little train puffing along, carrying towards Verdun stores, munitions, and men.  This level crossing had been the scene of active fighting; on each side were numerous graves, and the sentinels off duty were passing from one to the other picking a dead leaf or drawing a branch of trailing vine over the resting-places of their comrades.

Above our heads circle les guepes, the wasps of the French Army.  They had been aroused by the appearance of a Taube and were preparing to sting, had the Taube waited or made any further attempt to proceed over the French lines.  However, deciding that discretion was the better part of valour, it turned and fled.  It is unwise, however, to stir up the “wasps of France”; they followed it, and later in the day we heard that it had been brought down near Verdun.

We were now in the centre of activity of the army defending Verdun.  On every hand we saw artillery-parks, ammunition-parks, and regiments resting, whilst along the road a long line of camions passed unceasingly.  During the whole length of my stay on the French front I only saw one regiment marching.  Everywhere the men are conveyed in the camions, and are thus spared the fatigue which would otherwise be caused by the intense heat and the white dust.  There are perhaps only two things that can in any way upset the perfect indifference to difficulties of the French trooper:  he hates to walk, and he refuses to be deprived of his pinard.  The men of the French army have named their red wine pinard, just as they call water la flotte, always, however, being careful to add that la flotte is excellent “for washing one’s feet.”

As we passed through the headquarters of General Nivelle, he sent down word to us not to wait to call on him then, but to proceed at once to Verdun, as later the passage would become more difficult.  He kindly sent down to us one of the officers of his staff to act as escort.  The officer sat by our chauffeur, warning him of the dangerous spots in the road which the Germans had the habit of “watering” from time to time with marmites, and ordering him to put on extra speed.  Our speed along the road into Verdun averaged well over a mile a minute.