er-bank to Rawen Kaulin,
where we turned inland for a few miles and I was assigned to a village
known as Eitelsbach. The inhabitants were badly frightened when we rode
in--most of the men hid and the women stood on the door-steps weeping. I
suppose they expected to be treated in the manner that they had behaved to
the French and Belgians, and as they would have done by us had the
situation been reversed. When they found they were not to be oppressed
they became servile and fawning. I had my officers' mess in the
schoolmaster's house. He had been a non-commissioned officer of infantry,
and yet he wanted to send his daughters in to play the piano for us after
dinner. We would have despised the German less if he had been able to
"hate" a little more after he was beaten and not so bitterly while he felt
he was winning.

The country through which we marched during the next few days was most
beautiful. We followed the winding course of the river, making many a
double "S" turn. The steep hills came right to the bank; frequently the
road was cut into their sides. A village was tucked in wherever a bit of
level plain between the foot of the hill and the river permitted. When the
slopes gave a southern exposure they were covered with grape-vines,
planted with the utmost precision and regularity. Every corner and cranny
among the rocks was utilized. The original planting must have been
difficult, for the soil was covered with slabs of shale. The cultivator
should develop excellent lungs in scaling those hillsides. The leaves had
fallen and the bare vines varied in hue from sepia brown to wine color,
with occasional patches of evergreen to set off the whole. Once or twice
the road left the river to cut across over the mountains, and it cost our
horses much exertion to drag the limbers up the steep, slippery trail. It
was curious to notice the difference between those who dwelt along the
bank and the inhabitants of the upland plateau. The latter appeared
distinctly more "outlandish" and less sleek and prosperous. The highlands
we found veiled in mist, and as I looked back at the dim outlines of horse
and man and caisson, it seemed as if I were leading a ghost battery.

We were in the heart of the wine country, and to any one who had enjoyed a
good bottle of Moselle such names as Berncastel and Piesport had long been
familiar. In the former town I was amused on passing by a large millinery
store to see the proprietor's name was Jacob