or light duty in the service of supply," he had made his
way back to the division. While we were talking another car came up and
out from it jumped my brother-in-law, Colonel Richard Derby--at that time
division surgeon of the Second Division. We were the only three members of
the family left in active service since my brother Quentin, the aviator,
was brought down over the enemy lines, and Archie, severely wounded in leg
and arm, had been evacuated to the United States. I well remember how once
when Colonel Derby introduced me to General Lejeune, who was commanding
his division, the general, instead of making some remark about my father,
said: "I shall always be glad to meet a relative of a man with Colonel
Derby's record."

On the 11th of November we had just returned to our original sector after
attacking Sedan. None of us placed much confidence in an armistice being
signed. We felt that the German would never accept the terms, but were
confident that by late spring or early summer we would be able to bring
about an unconditional surrender. When the firing ceased and the news came
through that the enemy had capitulated, there was no great show of
excitement. We were all too weary to be much stirred by anything that
could occur. For the past two weeks we had been switched hither and yon,
with little sleep and less food, and a constant decrease in our personnel
and horses that was never entirely made good but grew steadily more
serious. The only bursts of enthusiasm that I heard were occasioned by the
automobile trucks and staff cars passing by after dark with their
headlights blazing. The joyous shouts of "Lights out!" testified that the
reign of darkness was over. Soon the men began building fires and
gathering about them, calling "Lights out!" as each new blaze started--a
joke which seemed a never-failing source of amusement.

We heard that we were to march into Germany in the wake of the evacuating
army and occupy one of the bridge-heads. All this came through in vague
and unconfirmed form, but in a few days we were hauled back out of the
line to a desolate mass of ruins which had once been the village of
Bantheville. We were told that we would have five days here, during which
we would be reoutfitted in every particular. Our horses were in fearful
shape--constant work in the rain and mud with very meagre allowance of
fodder had worn down the toughest old campaigners among them. During the
weary, endless night marc