The battalion detrained, formed on the road, and we hiked off through the long summer twilight, guided by Vafiadis, our advance party detail. We were being introduced to the Arras-St. Pol road, with which we were to become well acquainted shortly. We went on, over the railroad tracks at Roellecourt, stopped for a ten-minute rest at dusk and watched the cows come home down the hill--another homesick sight for the country lads--and hiked on and on. At last, well after dark, we turned off up another road; past a bit of woods, then off to the right past a large farmhouse, and Vafiadis pointed out a little plot about as big as a Harlem flat and said we were to billet there. I remarked “likell” and pushed ahead into a nice grassy field where we pitched pup tents for the night. I knew there would be an awful yowl from the owners in the morning, but let it slide. Next morning we found that this was St. Michel, and that St. Pol, quite a sizeable town, was only a quarter of a mile away. Pup tents were pitched up the hill from the field, in the woods, along a rough lumber road. The kitchen was installed under some trees near the farmhouse, which was deserted. We found a lot of kitchen utensils--the place had been an estaminet--and put some of ’em to use. The day was spent in resting and getting cleaned up and settled. In the evening some went into St. Pol. That night we found out why the place was deserted. St. Pol was a railroad center, and quite convenient for the Boche bombers. No bombs landed in camp that night, but they were hitting all around, with a roar and a jar that gave a fellow a queer sensation in the stomach. Being bombed is such a helpless, hopeless sort of process. Earlier in the war St. Pol had been under long range artillery fire; and between that and the air raids there were plenty of shell holes all around. There were some among our pup tents, and a couple of huge ones just across the road in the woods. Company headquarters was established in the attic of the farmhouse, battalion headquarters being on the first floor. Regimental Hdq. was at Foufflin-Ricametz, about 4 kilos away. In a couple of days a vitriolic and voluble French woman descended upon us. It appeared that we had broken into the house, used her things without permission, taken eggs the hens had laid, used several priceless old boards from the barn to make a mess table, walked on the grass, and disturbed the manure pile. I never did believe she and her husband ever lived there; but we put everything back, and ate in the mud until Thompson and Farry found some boards elsewhere. These two French people made life as miserable as they could for us while we were there, continually claiming damages and protesting at everything we did, it seemed.