Our men are getting more and more restless in these dirty woods and the first question that anybody asks is, “When do we get relieved.” I stepped into the woods on the other side of the road to visit my Alabama friends and one of their fine lads voiced the common mind by asking whether the govament hadn’t othah soldiehs than the Fohty-Second Division. I answered, “Well, if they’re using you so much, it is your own fault.” “How is it ouah fault?” demanded my friend, and twenty pairs of eyes asked the same question. “It’s your fault all right; the trouble with you fellows is that you’re too blamed good.” I have become a specialist on what they call the morale of troops and as I go around I find that the morale of the men in this division is still very high. They have had a tough week of it and nearly half the infantry are gone while of those remaining more than half are sick. But they know that they have whipped the enemy on his chosen ground and they feel confident that if they only get rested up a little bit they can do it again and do it cheerfully. The Quartermaster’s Department has helped considerably by fitting us all out with new clothes, underwear, shoes, everything we need, and the food supply is steady. And Miss Elsie Janis has done her part, too, as a joy producer by coming up to us in our mud and desolation and giving a Broadway performance for an audience which was more wildly appreciative than ever acclaimed her on the street of a million lights. The long desired orders for relief finally arrived. We marched out on Sunday morning, August 11th. I had planned with Colonel McCoy to have my Sunday Service a memorial one for the brave lads we were leaving behind. He had me set up my altar in an open field just south of the forest on our line of march to the rear. The men, fully equipped for the march, came down the road, turned into the field, stripped their packs and formed a hollow square around the altar. After Mass I preached on the text, “Greater love than this no man hath than that he lay down his life for his friends.” When the service was over the regiment took the road again and began its march, with the band in advance and the regimental wagon train in the rear. As we passed through Beuvardes General Menoher and officers of his staff were in front of Division Headquarters. Colonel McCoy passed the order down the ranks, the band struck up the regimental air of “Garry Owen” and the regiment passed in review, heads up and chests out and stepping out with a martial gait as if they were parading at Camp Mills and not returning from a battlefield where half their numbers had been lost.