While these frame barracks were not so picturesque as other billets we had had, they were infinitely better adapted to our uses. There were bunks for all, mess halls, a parade ground large enough to form the battalion, and a fine level drill field near by, along the railroad track. A good-sized creek ran close by, and Breuvannes was only 5 minutes walk away. A pretty enough little village, with five or six stores and estaminets. Also there was a Y hut, where you could see movies at night if you got there soon enough. The 42d Division had been here until the day before, resting and replacing their losses from the fighting in July. A bn. of the 5th Marines had preceded them, and that evening I ran across a Marine lieutenant who was following up his outfit. My own alma mater, the Virginia Military Institute, furnished a number of officers to the Marines, and I was particularly interested in news from them. This officer told me of the death of several of my old school fellows at Belleau Woods. When he said that only one in ten had come through out of his own company, however, I thought he was pulling a long bow. The next morning, August 31, we resumed the familiar drill schedules. Every effort was made to teach the use and mechanism of the new Chauchats. Special training went on as usual, and we practiced the formations of the O. C. S. U. (Offensive Combat of Small Units) on all the bushes and trees in the vicinity. Barney O’Rourke and I spent one day on a pilgrimage to Bourmont, where the courtmartial heretofore referred to took place; Barney quite prepared to be shot at sunrise, and I suspect a little disappointed at the affair ending so undramatically. The drill field furnished a very fair baseball diamond, and several inter-company contests were staged. We played one ten-inning thriller with “A” Co., in which Joe Fahey finally pitched us to victory, supported by an able cast. We had the makings of a good football team under way, too, and I remember I had most of the skin off my right arm. But more serious business was on hand, and our athletic activities had to be temporarily laid aside. On Sept. 4, we prepared to move. The battalion was formed at dusk, and at 9:00 P. M. we filed off for our first night march in France. It started raining promptly, of course. Wasn’t it dark! In an hour you literally could not see your hand an inch before your nose. No lights or smoking were allowed; and even a chew was risky, as you never knew who you’d hit when you let fly. Now and then a glimmer of light from some cottage fire would show the shadowy forms of the last squad of “C” Co. in front, hastening on into the darkness. I walked into an ungainly quadruped and requested the rider to get his damned mule out of the road; and was immediately and discourteously informed that I had better keep my mouth shut and drive on. I recognized Major Odom’s voice and drove on.