nished that last meal, which consisted of cold corned
beef, two slices of dry bread per man, and coffee.

The sight of that one wounded man did not make our boys realise more
than they already did, what was in front of them. They had already made
a forty mile march over frozen roads up to this place and had incurred
discomforts seemingly greater than a shell-shattered arm or a
bullet-fractured shoulder. After that gruelling hiking experience, it
was a pleasant prospect to look forward to a chance of venting one's
feelings on the enemy.

At the same time, no chip-on-the-shoulder cockiness marked the
disposition of these men about to take first grips with the Germans,--no
challenging bravado was revealed in the actions or statements of these
grim, serious trail-blazers of the American front, whose attitude
appeared to be one of soldierly resignation to the first martial
principle, "Orders is orders."

As the companies lined up in the village street in full marching order,
awaiting the command to move, several half-hearted attempts at
jocularity died cold. One irrepressible made a futile attempt at
frivolity by announcing that he had Cherokee blood in his veins and was
so tough he could "spit battleships." This attempted jocularity drew as
much mirth as an undertaker's final invitation to the mourners to take
the last, long look at the departed.

One bright-faced youngster tingling with the thrill of anticipation,
leaped on a gun carriage and absently whistled a shrill medley,
beginning with "Yaka-hula," and ending with "Just a Song at Twilight."
There was food for thought in the progress of his efforts from the
frivolous to the pensive, but there was little time for such thoughts.
No one even told him to shut up.

While there was still light, an aerial battle took place overhead. For
fifteen minutes, the French anti-aircraft guns banged away at three
German planes, which were audaciously sailing over our lines. The
Americans rooted like bleacherites for the guns but the home team failed
to score, and the Germans sailed serenely home. They apparently had had
time to make adequate observations.

During the entire afternoon, German sausage balloons had hung high in
the air back of the hostile line, offering additional advantages for
enemy observation. On the highroad leading from Ansauville, a
conspicuous sign _L'enemie vous voit_ informed newcomers that German
eyes were watching their movements and could interfere at