At the place where my platoon was quartered was a black eyed, sad-faced little woman, with a family of small children, living in a cellar. Her mournful face lit up and her eyes sparkled, at the sight of our friendly faces and uniforms--and for one day, at least, neither she nor her little ones were hungry. For we shared our rations with them and gave to them all that we could spare when we resumed our march in the morning. This first glimpse of a ruined village left a deep impression on us. The surpassing brutality of it all! The homes, the factories and churches, the gardens and orchards and vineyards to which so much loving care had been given, can never be replaced to those whose loving work and sacrifice created them. The needless cruelty of it seemed to us, so recently from the safe shelter of American homes, almost beyond belief. On our next day’s march we passed through several such ruined villages; and, in the intervening country, had found women and old men working on their little farms, with faith in their armies and brave soldiers that was wonderful and pathetic. Later we found peasants laboring to raise crops on land not over a mile from the trenches where battles raged. And all through our march through ruined France were white-aproned women sitting in ruined doorways, or in huts of corrugated sheet iron sewing and knitting for their children, or for their absent loved ones fighting for “beautiful France.” Though their part of it was blighted by the invader, they were clinging to their ruined homes with a tenacity of faith in their armies almost beyond belief. The love of home and country was stronger in their hearts than the fear of death. It was well for them and us that we saw these things, for it strengthened our resolve to fight to the death those who had blighted these homes. So we marched on, in storm and sunshine, observing all these bitter cruelties, gaining with every step new resolution to rescue France from her brutal invaders. It seems to me that the German authorities, who sanctioned all the cruelties of this war, little comprehended how firm a friend they were making of America for France, and how steadfast an enemy for themselves, when their pitiless hands were laid on all that is sacred in humanity, love, and religion. At one mass of ruined homes, where we had halted, we were sheltered for a night in the wine cellars. One of the cellars the Germans had used as a range-finder. These cellars were so vast, that even the German hordes had not been able to deplete its stores of wine by their thirsty demands, though their destructiveness was seen on every side. We passed through town after town without roofs to the houses and with precious little of the walls left standing. All the orchards were relentlessly cut or sawed down, leaving behind them little of value save the unconquerable spirit of their brave and home-loving people.