LIFE is a curious thing. In time of war Life is itself the extraordinary and Death seems the only ordinary thing possible for men.
In time of war man is but a straw thrown into the wide ocean. If the tossing waves do not engulf him he can do no more than float on the surface. God alone knows his destiny.
This book, Under the German Shells, is another instance of war’s uncertainties. Sent by my government to America to join the new American army as instructor, I wrote the greater part of the book on the steamer which brought me. The reader will, perhaps, read it when I am dead; for another steamer is about to carry me back to France, where I shall again be “under the German shells,” before the book will see the light.
This is the second work which I have written during the war. The first, Gens du Front, appeared in France while I was in America. I wrote it in the trenches. The second will appear in America when I shall be in France. The father will not be present at the birth of either of his two children. “C’est la Guerre.”
My only wish is that the work may be of use. I trust it may, for every word is sincere and true. That it may render the greatest service, I wish to give you, my reader, a share in my effort: a part of the money which you pay for the book will be turned over to the French Red Cross Society, to care for the wounded and assist the widows whom misfortune has overtaken while I have been writing. Thus you will lighten the burden of those whom the scourge has stricken.
I hope that you will find in the work some instruction—you who are resolutely preparing to defend Justice and Right and to avenge the insults of the infamous Boche.
I have no other wishes than these for my work, and that victory may be with our united arms.
EMMANUEL BOURCIER.
CAMP GRANT, December 16, 1917.