.

It was on the night of September 15th that we saw our hardest
fighting, and were given a taste of how hard Germans could fight when
pressed. It was on this night that our losses were the heaviest of the
drive.

My post was dug in on a ridge that was occupied by a detachment of
incomparable fighters--the Marines. The ridge was only about 500 yards
in length. The roads being in bad condition, we were unable to get the
protection of any artillery. All that we had to keep Fritz at bay on
this ridge was about forty machine guns, which were no match for the
heavy shells that the Huns were pouring on us, having our range to a
nicety. We were in what is known as "graves," or shallow trenches, not
having had time to dig deep trenches or to strengthen our positions as
we were constantly under fire. But these Marines laid down a machine
gun barrage, the first that I had ever seen. They kept up the fire all
night and thus held Fritz away. It was a tense period. Hun shells were
dropping all around us and frequently right among us, but the machine
guns never ceased their excellent defensive work. When day broke, and
the Hun ceased firing, only seventeen of these machine guns and their
crews were in condition to fight. Twenty-three of them had been
destroyed by the German artillery. It was a sad sight that met our
eyes the morning when we saw the losses that we had suffered during
the night.

It was on the night of the fourth day of the drive that fresh men were
brought up, and those of us who had been out in front during the drive
were relieved. It was, indeed, a great relief. It permitted us to
relax our bodies and minds after four days of steady strain, with no
more food than was sufficient to sustain us and without rest during
the entire time. We were grateful to be away for a short time from the
devastating fire that the Huns were pouring into our front line
trenches in an endeavor to check a further penetration into their
lines, but we were still under shell fire.

We were taken a short distance to the rear, where we were billeted in
German dugouts. The day before these had been occupied by German
officers. They were elaborately fitted up with all things necessary
for luxury and comfort, such as beds, bathtubs, electric lights, etc.

It was here, seemingly as a reward for my small services in the great
fight, that I met my friend and companion, McKinley Johnston, of
Sacramento. Nothing could have pleased me more for McK