ing messages to or from
exposed positions when no other means would do. Usually a volunteer from
any branch, he was selected because of courage, agility and ability to
get through somehow, no matter how great the opposing odds. I was
present in an Observation Post near Jolney talking to Colonel Lewis,
when a runner came rushing across No Man's Land through a leaden hail,
saluted, handed a message to Captain Payne, and fell unconscious at his
feet. There were no greater heroes of the war.

Operators and linesmen "carried on" under conditions demanding the
greatest courage--remaining to the last in exposed positions like the
wireless heroes of a sinking ship. I have known lines to be shelled and
blown to pieces a dozen times during the day, and just as often repaired
by daring linesmen.

Frequently sharing their mess and dugouts, I cultivated the friendship,
not only of their generous Commander, but of Captain Cash, of Abilene,
Texas; Captain Jim Williams, of Troy, Alabama; and Lieutenant Phillips
of Brooklyn, New York--three of the most beloved of soldiers. Lieutenant
Andy O'Day, of Detroit, also with them, was heavily gassed at Jolney.

Attached to the Battalion, too, was a brilliant young man, Lieutenant
D'Orleans, French Army. He was from Brittany, had won the Croix de
Guerre, and spoke English, if not fluently, at least interestingly.

CHAPTER IX

REMBERCOURT

On Saturday night, November ninth, I had repaired to my dugout near
Bouillonville, planning to say two Masses at distant points the
following morning. I retired early to snatch a little rest.

At midnight, Lieutenant D'Orleans rushed into the dugout and roused me,
hoarsely whispering,--"Chaplain, a big movement is on!"

Rolling from my blanket I hurried outside. The night was intensely dark;
but there, in the valley before me, I could make out a long column of
troops.

For some days there had been growing signs and vague hints of a big
attack impending. Was this its beginning?

Reporting at once to the head of the column, I found Colonel Lewis and
Major Black. The troops were the 2nd Battalion of the 64th Infantry. The
Colonel, a trimly built little man, and every inch a fighter, was eating
a bar of chocolate. "Here, Chaplain, have a bar of chocolate; I have
an extra one. By the way we are going to attack at dawn."

[Illustration: ST. JOAN OF ARC.]

The personification of coolness, how proud I was of him! He was ready;
he knew his troops