d that each man must carry his full
pack upon his back, to lighten the load for the worn out horses. So we
staggered up the mud roads to Thenorgues, where we spent a sleepless day
Monday moving carriages here and there to accommodate the throng of
traffic. In the afternoon we moved on, through Buzancy to Harricourt,
where we made camp at dark, just as enemy planes dropped a succession of
bombs on the road over which we had just passed.

Next morning we learned that Battery E had indeed fired its last shot of
the war. So low had the number of horses become in the brigade that it
was determined to send forward only the guns of two batteries in each
battalion, turning over to them the horses and drivers of the batteries
left behind. This wise provision made it possible for the 149th to be
constantly up in support of the infantry in the long chase northward,
when other artillery outfits were straggling along miles in the rear.
Since Battery E's commander was ranked in seniority by the captains of
both D and F batteries, our guns were left behind.

Although the second battalion did not fire on this pursuit, the trip was
an extremely severe one, entailing little rest, scant opportunity for
meals, and constant exposure to shell fire on the road. The hardships of
the journey are engraven deeply in the memories of Battery E's drivers.
Near Cherery, November 7, they were caught by heavy shell fire fully
horsed and limbered up, but got off the road without injury or
confusion. Worst of all was the night of November 9, at Bulson. As the
batteries entered the town, the guns of the enemy seemed trained by
direct observation on the cross roads, and shell after shell fell
directly in the path of the column. The casualties were the heaviest of
any day in the regiment's history. The death of George Hama caused the
deepest sorrow in the battery, heavier even when the first shock of the
news was past and the loss came to be actually felt. That he should have
gone through all the service of the battery, to be stricken down on
almost the last day of hostilities, was tragic indeed, but the fact that
he was gone, no matter how or when, was to his fellows the greater
tragedy. McLean and Loring Schatz were wounded the same night.
Lieutenant Leprohon went to the hospital, having been severely gassed
when he tore off his mask to guide the batteries up the shelled road,
winning the admiration of all the men by his courage and energy.

In the mean