iring line. I had never seen the
passion of hate in his eyes before. All that the Germans had made him
suffer had never aroused him, but now that they interrupted him in the
work of making a homely mark for his friend's grave, he was fired by the
will to kill. I was only a few paces from him in the firing line, and,
with the tears still streaming down his face, I could hear him mutter
every time his rifle crashed:

"Damn you! You will, will you?"

We again took to the road. All that day we marched under occasional shell
fire. Along the sides of the roads, we passed the wrecks of scores of
German combat wagons and supply trains. Sometimes there was a field piece
amid the debris. Toward evening we heard terrific firing on our right, but
we were not called to enter the engagement. Later we learned that a French
division had been pretty badly cut up in running the boches out of a
strong position.

Their wounded passed us on the road. You cannot imagine a more pitiful or
a more noble sight. Limping along, supported by their comrades, came
scores of men, whose every step was costing them agony but who smiled at
us as we cheered them. Straggling down the road, as we swung along, came
groups of wounded, each supporting the other as best he could. In one case
in particular, a man who had been badly maimed and was using his rifle as
a crutch, was also supported by a comrade who had been blinded. If there
had ever been doubt in our minds as to the mettle of our allies, it was
dispelled now, as the lame and the blind hour after hour filed past us.

We billeted that night at a place, the name of which sounded like
Villers. I remember that a detachment of French were there before us, and
a peasant pointed out to me a row of trees where they had hung fifteen
Germans captured there, because, when the Uhlans had taken the town
fifteen of them had brutally assaulted and outraged a farmer's wife and
his daughter, twelve years of age. The ropes were still dangling from the
trees.

Volunteers were asked for, to go down and get the mail. Practically every
one offered his services. To get mail from home gave the same sensation as
scoring a victory, and we were all eager to do our bit. This was about
10.30 P.M. and the rain was coming down in torrents. About two miles
behind us lay the mail strewn around the road. The ambulance carrying it
had been struck by a shell. Our volunteer mail carriers gathered the
letters up, and, needless to sa