that we would be prepared to take the road by eight o'clock
the next morning. That meant reveille around four
o'clock. Other orders came to send teams and G. S. carts
to various points to change and move equipment. It
wasn't until 2 o'clock Saturday morning that the excitement subsided. Bicycle Messenger Montgomery came
around then with a verbal order that we wouldn't move
until the time we had been given originally, four o'clock
in the afternoon. We took advantage then of what remained of the mutilated night.
The regiment was to rendezvous at Doue. It would take its place in the brigade column on the national highway beyond. So at four o'clock each organization mounted and pulled out of its comfortable billets. August smiled its best that afternoon. The cheerful countryside seemed reluctant to let us go, Natives watched us with emotionless faces. In their eyes we saw dull souvenirs of four years of departures.
In the old days of pitched battles men walked from their bivouac directly into the obliterating shock of a fight whose duration was a matter of hours. Maybe that was simpler than to move as we did for three nights into a battle apparently without cud, with sights and sound of a new and peculiar brutality crowding each moment closer about us.
We did get tired.
During our wait at the rendezvous we drank hot coffee, and munched cold rations. When we turned into the straight national highway, flanked by huge lime trees, we could see the entire brigade stretching before and behind us. French and American trucks snorted past without end.
The pleasant, warm sun sank lower. By twilight, on the outskirts of a town, we watched youths of the French 1920 class, freshened after their day's training, walking
