My mention of a chorus of coughs naturally suggests the subject of music, which was another of the multitudinous activities of the Quartermaster Corps. By this I do not mean to imply that the “Q. M.” furnished the army with bands, for it did not, but it did supply the bands of the army with instruments and music. Music, you must understand, was one of the most important factors in the maintenance of that intangible something called morale. It was a curious characteristic of the American psychology that when a homesick soldier heard a band playing “Home, Sweet Home,” or “When You Come Back,” or “Keep the Home Fires Burning,” it did not increase his homesickness. It had, instead, precisely the opposite effect: it cheered him up! Recognizing this, the military authorities saw to it that bands were stationed in every town and hamlet in France where any considerable body of troops was billeted. By the last summer of the war we had in France nearly 400 bands, to say nothing of the musical organizations improvised by the various units. As a result, the French inhabitants of the zones in which our armies were operating became as familiar with “Over There,” “Good Morning, Mr. Zip-zip-zip,” and particularly with “Oh, How I Hate to Get Up in the Morning,” which was the soldier’s favorite because it so satisfyingly expressed his feelings, as they were with the “Marseillaise.” The American Army was, indeed, as noticeable for its musical proclivities as the French Army was for its total absence of them. Ours was a whistling, singing army, if ever there was one, though for some reason it seemed to delight in plaintive, melancholy tunes. Many and many a time I have heard a column coming down a road in the darkness, the softly whistled chorus of “The Long, Long Trail” rising above the clink of accoutrements and the _slog-slog-slog_ of marching feet.