ng. An
officer of another regiment informed us that he knew of no British
battalion in all history which had sustained such heavy losses and yet
been able to maintain its formation and fight on. We watched with
interest the Scotchmen of that regiment file by after dismissal. They
were incredibly tattered and torn, their kilts dirty and frayed; many
of them wore big, battered straw hats. The only things about them
which were neat were their rifles, their bayonets, and their
clean-shaven faces. One could certainly have no doubts as to the
excellent state of their morale; we were, indeed, much impressed by
the morale of all these British troops who, notwithstanding the fact
that they had been beaten back during two long weeks across a hundred
and fifty miles of country and had been retreating until that very
morning, in no sense felt themselves defeated but eagerly awaited the
word to advance and attack.

We spent a profitable and long-to-be-remembered hour and a half
talking with the British officers and watching the troops. We had
brought with us a supply of the two things they most craved--matches
and newspapers, and whenever any of these were distributed it nearly
produced a riot. When a box of matches was handed out, two matches
would, as long as they lasted, be given to each man of a company.

Word was passed around that we were to return to Paris that evening,
and first and last we were given some fifty notes written hurriedly by
the men who wished to send a last word to their homes before the
battle which was to begin on the morrow. We, of course, accepted these
notes only with the permission of the officers.

It was long after dark before we started back toward Paris. Mist and
fog hung close to the ground, and it was a weird ride as we felt our
way through lonely woods and deserted villages, being continually
stopped by ditches or barbed wire or a barrier across the road. Often
ahead of us we would suddenly see bayonets flickering through the mist
as our head-lights shone out upon them, and immediately the terse cry
of "Halte-la!" followed; a sergeant would come forward, lantern in
hand, to examine our papers and suspiciously look us over. All the
time we felt that a dozen unseen rifles were leveled at us from
somewhere out in the dark.

We re-entered Paris through the Porte de Vincennes at half-past eight.
After dinner I made a report of our trip to Mr. Herrick, saying that a
great battle was about to begin;