I shall remember our one night's
stay in Lieramont. First, the men's cook discovered a German officer's
silver-edged iron cross. One of the servants, a noted searcher after
unconsidered trifles, had found a Boche officer's overcoat in one of
the huts. He went through the pockets and threw the coat away. The
cook, coming after him, picked up the coat, and, "Blow me," said he,
"if this didn't fall out."

Also, while Major Veasey, Major Simpson, and Major Bullivant were
standing talking, a British soldier, pushing a bicycle, passed along
the road. Following him, sometimes breaking into a run to keep up, came
a plump, soft-faced German boy in infantry uniform, the youngest German
I had seen in France. "Why, he's only a kid," said Major Veasey. "He
can't be more than sixteen."

"Was ist ihr regiment?" called Major Bullivant. I took it that the
major was asking the youngster to what regiment he belonged.

The British private and his prisoner stopped. The boy Boche smiled
sheepishly, yet rather pleasantly, and said something which I didn't
understand, and don't believe Major Bullivant did either.

There was a half-minute pause. Then the practical British private moved
on, calling simply, "Come on, Tich!" The phrase, "He followed like a
lamb," became appropriate.

And I remember one further episode, not so agreeable. Major Veasey and
myself had been to call on the Divisional Artillery, under whose
orders we were now working. When we returned the dead British officer
still lay outside the Red Cross hut. But the neat brown boots had been
removed.

"By God, that's a ghoulish bit of work," said the major, angry disgust
in his face. "The man who did that is a cur."

XIV. THE FIGHT FOR RONSSOY

Sept. 16: The first autumn tints were spreading over field and tree,
and the tempestuous rains of the last few days had chilled the air; but
the weather had righted itself now, and would prove no bar to the next
advance, which it was whispered would take place on the 18th. The
American offensive at St Mihiel on the 12th had undoubtedly keyed-up
our men, and any one supposed to know anything at all was being
button-holed for fore-casts of the extent of the Allies' giant thrust
up to the time of the winter rains.

There had been a four days' withdrawal of our Brigade to more peaceful
areas behind the line, and, praise the Saints! we had again come under
our own Divisional Artillery.

The colonel had returned, and, as usual,