No word was vouchsafed to us as to when we should move again; and this playing at secrecy cost “D” and “C” Cos. their meal. It was more luck than good management that gave me the hunch to rout out our weary cooks and have chow at 11:00 o’clock. At 12:00 o’clock orders came in a great hurry that we were to clear the crossroads at 2:30. We did it at 3:00.
Our new lieutenant-colonel, Arthur Budd, had joined us the night before. During the first halt Lt. Foulkes came galloping up on old Mary, and his former platoon—the first—chortled with glee every time daylight showed between Louis and the saddle. Col. Budd promptly treated me to a cold and fishy stare, and inquired if it was the custom for “B” Co. to yell at officers when they passed. I hastily delivered a brief resume of Louis’ career with the company and the estimation in which we held him, intimating that he was regarded as one helofa good fellow, and that no mutiny was breaking out. Meanwhile I had hastily sized up our new acquisition as a goof. I had reason to revise this estimate, and that shortly.
The rain let up this evening, for a wonder, and the march wasn’t half bad, except for the mud under foot, which we were pretty well used to. We passed by a sizeable cantonment of Chinese labor troops, and Diskin wanted to fall out and leave his laundry. We had only the most vague idea of where we were; in fact, our notions of French geography were of the crudest anyhow. Bill Reid, from his six-foot eyrie, solemnly announced that he saw the Alps ahead, and had the 1st platoon craning its respective necks for an hour.
Just as darkness fell, we ran into an ammunition train, the tail end of the 42d Division. We pushed on behind them up a hill into the village of Viocourt, where our old dependable of the advance party, Sgt. Hill, met us and pointed out our billets, in lofts and stables on both sides of the “street.”
We all knew pretty well by now that we must be in for action soon. The St. Mihiel salient meant nothing more to us than it did to folks at home then. The general impression was that it was to be a drive on Metz; and this wasn’t so far out of the way, at that.
By this time it didn’t take us long to make ourselves at home in a strange place. We had bagged a good place for the rolling kitchen, and the billets weren’t so bad. Between showers we got in some drilling, and a couple of hours on an extemporized 30-yard range that Lt. Schuyler put up one morning before breakfast. Everyone tried his hand at the Chauchat for a magazine full. This was the only chance we had to fire this gun before we had to meet the enemy with it. The men armed with pistols punctured a few tin cans after a vast expenditure of lead.
There was a beautiful meadow below town, and on Sunday, the 8th, we staged a couple of good ball games. On Monday we had a company problem through the woods beyond the meadow, and Tuesday we got in the target practice.
Wednesday morning the Major assembled the Co. cmdrs. and ordered us to be ready to march at 1:30. After the usual bustle all was ready for the road, two days’ rations being carried. Our kitchen and cooks were attached to the regt’l supply train.
It had been raining all the morning, but old J. Pluvius had only been practising for the real show. We started off in a steady downpour, which speedily became a regular deluge. The wind rose to a gale, which drove the sheets of water directly at us, penetrating right through slickers and clothing. In 15 minutes we were all wet to the skin.
It was only an hour’s march this time. At 3:00 P. M., we came to a crossroads just outside Chatenois. There stood a long line of motor trucks, stretching away in either direction as far as the eye could see. The embussing was well handled, and in 20 minutes we were packed in, 20 or more to a truck, jammed as tight as they could be, every man wet through and chilled. Even our incorrigibly optimistic regimental history says, “We shall never forget this day because of its miserable and nasty weather.”