We were all on tiptoe when the order came.
Every man whose shoes did not fit him got a chance to change them. Then a list of promotions was published and, to my surprise and pleasure, I was promoted to be a sergeant in place of one reduced. I was assigned to a loading detail by the top, and with nineteen men went to the quartermaster’s depot with an auto, and loaded up with ten days’ traveling rations, and hauled them to the depot. By ten o’clock the barrack bags came down, seven days’ rations were put in a freight car, and three laid out on the platform.
All was ready, and after dark the companies marched down to the station to entrain. I fell in line in my place on the platform with the rest. Then the mess sergeant and cooks dealt out enough “chow” (rations) for the corporals, so that each man had for his squad a can of beans, two cans of Willy (corn beef), and four packages of hard bread, and a can of jam.
“It has got to last you three days,” cautioned the mess sergeant; “so go easy on it.”
The top came along and checked every squad as it embarked. The officers shook hands with the railroad transportation officer and, together with the French interpreter, climbed aboard.
They were little box cars, and painted on the outside “32 hommes, 8 cheveaux.” There were portable benches at each end and a good lot of straw.
“Sure,” said Pat who was in my car, “it is comfortable enough for a pig.”
“[Aw!” rejoined Shaw, “Cheveaux means horses, you wild Irishman!]”
“AW!” REJOINED SHAW, “CHEVEAUX MEANS HORSES, YOU WILD IRISHMAN!”—[Page 50].