On the top of the knoll where our position was, the Germans had had an anti-aircraft gun, gaudily camouflaged. Some cooks from an artillery outfit had found a lot of ammunition belonging to it, and, dragging it into Vieville, had amused themselves during the day by shooting Fritz’s own H. E. in his general direction. This apparently annoyed Fritz; and just as I got back to our bivvies at the tail of B Co., two ash cans--whoppers--arrived at the gun’s former position, right in the midst of A Co. Our comrades promptly departed to the woods until the next morning. The cooks sent up a good chow--steaks and coffee--and we got to sleep in our holes as best we could. The next day--Thursday, September 19th--was rainy. We dug our shelters a little deeper, and wished this war thing were over. I found a German translation of one of De Maupassant’s novels, which I read through, but for the life of me I can’t remember a bit of the story. In the afternoon the chaplain, Lt. Cressman, came around, and O’Hara’s platoon was allowed to attend his burial service in the little cemetery in the edge of the Bois St. Claude, east of Vieville. In the meantime I had been called to Btn. Hdq., where Mr. Morse, our faithful old “Y” man, had brought up some chocolate and cigarettes. He was supposed by the regulations of the “Y” to sell them, but he refused to take any money from the Co. Cmdrs. at first, intending to account for them out of his own small pay. When we understood this, we insisted on paying for the stuff out of the company funds. The news got out that the “Y” was charging for chocolate and tobacco, and caused some bitterness, under the circumstances. But thereafter Mr. Morse made some arrangement whereby the stuff was issued free. As for Mr. Morse himself, I think we should here express something of our appreciation of his faithful and unselfish devotion to the men of the battalion. A man well past the prime of life, he shared our hardships, hiked with us--not sticking like grim death to a Ford as some of his confreres were prone to do--; slept in mud and rain with us. Right under shell fire he would come plugging on up with his little bag of smokes and chocolate. The Red Cross, the Salvation Army, were only names to us. But the “Y,” which we cussed out so frequently, surely did us proud when they gave us Mr. Morse. That night the 1st, 3rd and 4th platoons went out as separate working parties. Apparently the deaths of O’Hara and Farry had demonstrated even to our friends the Engineers that sporting about in sight of Hun balloons in the daytime was magnificent, but not war.