he road. The day was hot,
the dust was stifling.

From Meaux we proceeded along the straight highway that borders the
south banks of the Marne to LaFerte, at which place we crossed the river
and turned north to Montreuil, which was the newly occupied headquarters
of the Second United States Army Division, General Omar Bundy
commanding. On the day before, the two infantry brigades of that
division, one composed of the 5th and 6th U. S. Marines, under command
of Brigadier General Harbord, the other composed of the 9th and 23rd U.
S. Infantry, had been thrown into the line which was just four miles to
the north and east.

The fight had been hot during the morning. The Marines on the left flank
of the divisional sector had been pushing their lines forward through
triangle woods and the village of Lucy-le-Bocage. The information of
their advances was given to me by the Divisional Intelligence officer,
who occupied a large room in the rear of the building that was used as
Divisional Headquarters. The building was the village _Mairie_, which
also included the village school-house. Now the desks of the school
children were being used by our staff officers and the walls and
blackboards were covered with maps.

I was accompanied by Lieutenant Oscar Hartzell, formerly of the _New
York Times_ staff. We learned that orders from the French High Command
called for a continuation of the Marine advance during the afternoon and
evening, and this information made it possible for us to make our plans.
Although the Germans were shelling roads immediately behind the front,
Lieutenant Hartzell and I agreed to proceed by motor from Montreuil a
mile or so to a place called La Voie du Chatel, which was the
headquarters of Colonel Neveille of the 5th Marines. Reaching that place
around four o'clock, we turned a despatch over to the driver of our
staff car with instructions that he proceed with all haste to Paris and
there submit it to the U. S. Press Bureau.

Lieutenant Hartzell and I announced our intentions of proceeding at once
to the front line to Colonel Neveille.

"Go wherever you like," said the regimental commander, looking up from
the outspread maps on the kitchen table in the low-ceilinged stone
farm-house that he had adopted as headquarters. "Go as far as you like,
but I want to tell you it's damn hot up there."

An hour later found us in the woods to the west of the village of Lucy
le Bocage, in which German shells were continu