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Updated: May 21, 2025
Gouraud received a wound which required the amputation of his leg and his retirement to France, where he later rendered more brilliant and far more effective service.
But how eloquently he would descant on the resemblance between Dougal and Gouraud how the plan of leaving the enemy to waste his strength upon a deserted position was that which on the 15th of July 1918 the French general had used with decisive effect in Champagne! But Dougal had never heard of Gouraud, and I cannot claim that, like the Happy Warrior, he
More good news. It never rains but it pours. The French have made a fine push and got the Quadrilateral by 8 a.m. with but little loss. The Turks seemed discouraged, they say, and did not offer their usual firm resistance. At 10.30 a.m. wired Gouraud: "Warm congratulations on this morning's work which will compensate for the loss of your 2,000 quarts of wine.
Damascus was mulcted of a war-contribution of 10,000,000 francs, after the German fashion in Belgium, many nationalist leaders were imprisoned or shot, while Gouraud announced that the death of "one French subject or one Christian" would be followed by wholesale "most terrible reprisals" by bombing aeroplanes.
While I have been away Braithwaite has cabled home in my name asking which of the new Divisions is the best, as we shall have to use them before we can get to know them. 22nd June, 1915. Imbros. An anxious night. Gouraud has done splendidly; so have his troops.
As already reported, the battle of 4th-5th June resulted in a good advance of my centre to which neither my right nor my left were able to conform, the reason being that the Turkish positions in front of the flanks are naturally strong and exceedingly well fortified. At 4.30 a.m. yesterday, General Gouraud began an attack upon the line of formidable works which run along the Kereves Dere.
May our glorious Infantry gain everlasting Kudos and the Gunners, too, may the good use they made of their shell ration create a legend. The French official photographer has fixed a moment by snapping Gouraud and myself overlooking the Hellespont from the old battlements. Midnight. When I lay down in my little tent two hours ago the canvas seemed to make a sort of sounding board.
Old soldiers have seen so many horrors in all lands, so many grinning corpses on battle-fields, that no physiognomies repel them; and Gouraud began to cast his eyes on the old maid's fortune. This imperial colonel, a short, fat man, wore enormous rings in ears that were bushy with tufts of hair. His sparse and grizzled whiskers were called in 1799 "fins."
Baron Gouraud was one of the generals who took the church of Saint-Merry, delighted to rap those rascally civilians who had vexed him for years over the knuckles; for which service he was rewarded with the grand cordon of the Legion of honor. None of the personages connected with Pierrette's death ever felt the slightest remorse about it.
General Gouraud talked in his deep, melodious voice of other wars in which he had fought, in Annam and Morocco and Madagascar, and the white-mustached old general of artillery at my left illustrated, with the aid of the knives and forks, a new system of artillery fire, which, he assured me very earnestly, would make pudding of the German trenches.
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