A long column of German prisoners filed by under guard of American doughboys.
“What outfit, buddy?” asked Jimmy of a guard.
“First Division,” answered the man.
“Seen much of the Twenty-sixth doughboys?” questioned Jimmy.
“Oui, they beat us into Vigunelles. Those guys sure bagged some Boches,” and the guard picked up a faster step with his prisoners.
The attack was still in force and shells were plowing up the broken ground in every direction when the battery arrived opposite a German cemetery. Orders were received at that point for the regiment to go into position behind the hills of St. Rémy. The tired and worn columns entered the woods by a road that had been used by the Germans only the day before.
“The Boches must have thought that they was here to stay, by the looks of this joint,” said Jimmy, pointing to the graveyard with its high stone fence and tall tombstones. “The Boches got in here four years ago and never moved till last night. That accounts for all this stuff. Guess they had regular funerals and church services for the guys that got knocked off. Just goes to show how they was fightin’ the guerre up here. Livin’ the life of Riley and didn’t know it.”
He and O. D. climbed over the fence and inspected some of the tombstones. They came to an exceptionally big one.
“Guess this gink must have been a general. Can’t read Boche, but most likely all the stuff reads, ‘He died for God and Country.’ See that ‘Gott’ business on ’em all. Everybody pulls the same line when a guy gets killed. Funny thing, but there ain’t many shell-holes in cemeteries. Now and then you see one all turned upside down from shell-fire. But most of ’em that I’ve seen get by somehow. Maybe the shells get superstitious.”
“There is where one shell hit.” O. D. showed Jimmy a grave that had been dug out by a shell.