We removed from ground we occupied to a point west of an ancient city, not far from a river. Regiments of French and American soldiers were marching on the roads to places assigned them. Machine-gun emplacements were being made. The effective light guns were hurrying into place. Here and there cavalry was sparsely seen. Engineers, with their sappers and miners with shovels and picks, moved along with pontoon trains of collapsible canvas boats and wooden batteaux for bridges. Here and there were pitiful families of refugees, with wagons high piled with household goods, escaping from homes about to be swept by the fiery tide of war. The women with babes in arms, and children hugging rag dolls and toys, were straggling on in pathetic groups. To the ordinary eye all seemed confusion, but there was a thread of order controlling this mass of moving material and men. “This is going to be a sure enough battle,” remarked Corporal Sutherland. “Not for us,” said a lieutenant; “we shall get in the edges of it, possibly.” “We have got to do our best today,” said our “Top.” “They,”--making a gesture toward the French regiments--“are watching us.” “They will find fighting stuff here,” proudly replied the lieutenant. And our captain, looking along his halted company with a critical but satisfied glance, said, “They will do!” An enemy airplane, hovering high in air, viewed us. Several of our craft flew upward in circling flight to punish his inquisitiveness. Near us marched a regiment whose uniforms and long strides showed them to be Americans. Some horses were passing with the marching column. Muddy flew out, barking vociferously. One of the horses gave a whinney of recognition, as the dog jumped and yelped at his head. “I think it is ‘Jack,’ our colt!” I said to Lieutenant Nickerson. “I think so too,” he replied. But we had no time to investigate; we had more serious business, for the uproar of battle had already begun. With other regiments we moved forward and were halted behind a small clump of trees. But not for long, for the Boches wanted the ground. Gas shells came whistling over us and we quickly adjusted our gas masks. We were so grotesque that again a laugh was heard along the line, and jokes were exchanged. “Even the officers,” said Sutherland, “have to hide their glory in these things.” “I hate ’em,” said Sam Jenkins; “they interfere with a good aim!” Then came the thunderous roar of guns from our rear, and the replies of the enemy, who had not, as yet, got our range. Followed the chatter of machine-guns and the mingling rifle fire of contending men on our front. Some of our men upon trees, observing, reported long lines of German infantry in sight. Then broken French troops appeared, slowly and doggedly falling back.