During the lull in the firing at dusk the first American machine guns appeared in a little deserted, shell-wrecked village well within hostile gun range and a few kilometers from the American trenches. The guns were hauled by Missouri mules, whose drivers were swathed in ponchos and helmeted to their eyes. The cavalcade moved in a long, silent line along a road margining a dark canal, followed by infantry rolling camp kitchens. Other infantry followed through the cobble-paved streets. The darkness hid lines of men with packs on their backs, rifles slung on their shoulders, rain glistening on their helmets and coats, the wind whipping their coat skirts round limbs moving with machinelike precision. Only the tramp of many hobnailed boots disclosed their march through the village. They safely entered their trenches, unit by unit, and passed quickly to the places assigned them. The French welcomed them with ardor. Every American was shaken by the hand, some were hugged, and even kissed on both cheeks in the French custom. Quietness was essential, since the German trenches were not far away; but the fervor of the French troops overcame their precaution. It was too great a day for mute welcomes. The Americans had arrived! [Illustration: The American front in France where the first clashes between Americans and Germans occurred.] The trenches were found to be muddy but well constructed. The troops settled down in them, and at daylight, under low-hanging, dripping clouds, they obtained their first view of the German lines, stretching away in the rolling terrain. They were in contact with the enemy at last. They received their baptism of fire mingled with showers of mud, their clothes soaked to the skin. American shells fell and exploded in German territory, and German projectiles broke near the American positions, sprinkling fragments, but doing no serious damage. They were merely establishing contact as a prelude to more serious operations. Gunners and infantrymen alike, the latter in first-line trenches, over which both American and German shells whizzed, were satisfied, though wet, feeling that the distinction of being the first Americans to be in action more than recompensed for weather discomforts. Their first quarry was a stray German mail carrier who had lost his way in the dark and was taken prisoner near the American trenches. He encountered an American patrol in no-man's-land in company with another German, and was shot while running away after refusing to halt. While waiting for a real attack sniping engaged the troops' attention, especially on clear days, when German snipers sought targets. Many bullets passed singing harmlessly overhead. Their frequency called for retorts, and a number of infantrymen were detailed to single out the snipers. Sniping the sniper became part of the preliminaries of settling down to trench warfare.