We are in reserve cantonments at Chuignolles, and we all lodge together at the end of the village, near the church, in a large house, which isn’t injured much and which once served the servants of the presbytery. We were shaken up in our last action, and they give us comparatively generous liberty, no manœuvres, no reviews, and no drills. The section leaders have seen to the arms and ammunition and have secured an entirely new equipment from the ordnance officer.
The infantry have turned gunners over to us to fill up our ranks.
The lieutenant recommends the men to distract themselves with games, gossip and songs.
At his solicitation we organized a concert, several concerts, in fact. Each section has its artists which it believes in and of which it is proud.
One evening in the garden adjoining the officers’ quarters we were endeavoring to draw out the meal by chatting, but conversation flagged as night drew near. So Sub-Lieutenant Delpos, who was opposed to dreaming as engendering melancholy, demanded a concert at once, immediately.
The cantonments were scattered about in the surrounding gardens.
“Croharé,” he said, “run to each section and bring back artists—all the artists in each company must be here in five minutes.”
And five minutes later they were there. All the company, too, for each section followed its artists, who were to shine in all the glory of their repertoire before the officers and the “little staff.”
We had singers, comedians and speakers, professional and amateur. Jacquet gave with exquisite artistry several delightful songs, the words of which he had composed and adapted to well-known tunes. The “Lettre à la Marriane” was really touching.
Gaix and Corporal Vail sang with real talent and gave us a full repertoire from the operas. The indefatigable Marseille gave, in a hilarious gibberish, an Italian-Marseilles thing which brought down the house with wild laughter.