was withdrawn from the Franco-German
border to a line ten miles inside of France. The German appreciation of
this evidence of peacefulness was manifested when the enemy, at the
outbreak of the war, moved across the border and occupied that ten-mile
strip of France.

France had succeeded in driving the enemy back again in that part of
Lorraine, but only at the cost of many lives and the destruction of many
French towns and villages. Since the close of the fighting season of
1914, there had been little or no progress on either side at this point.
The opposing lines here had been stationary for almost three years and
it was known on both sides as a quiet sector.

The country side was of a rolling character, but very damp. At that
season of the year when our first American fighting men reached the
Western front, that part of the line that they occupied was particularly
muddy and miserable.

Before nine o'clock that morning as we rode on to the front, the
horse-drawn traffic, including our battery, was forced to take the side
of the road numerous times to permit the passage of long trains of motor
trucks loaded down with American infantrymen, bound in the same
direction.

Most of the motor vehicles were of the omnibus type. A number of them
were worthy old double-deckers that had seen long years of peaceful
service on the boulevards of Paris before the war. Slats of wood ran
lengthwise across the windows of the lower seating compartment and
through these apertures young, sun-burned, American faces topped with
steel helmets, peered forth.

Some of our men reposed languidly on the rear steps of the busses or on
the tops. Most of the bus-loads were singing rollicking choruses. The
men were in good spirits. They had been cheered in every village they
had passed through on the way from their training area.

"Howdy, bowleg," was the greeting shouted by one of these motoring
mockers, who looked down on our saddled steeds, "better get a hustle on
them hayburners. We're going to be in Berlin by the time you get where
the front used to be."

"Yes, you will," replied one of the mounted artillerymen, with a
negative inflection. "You'll get a hell of a long ways without us. If
you doughboys start anything without the artillery, you'll see Berlin
through the bars of a prisoner's cage."

"Lucky pups--the artillery--nothing to do but ride," was the passing
shout of another taunter, perched high on a bus. This was an
unanswerable