"I was there" with the Yanks on the western front, 1917-1919

Seicheprey, America's old home sector--first trenches entirely under their own command.

THE LINE Form a line! Get in line! From the time that I enlisted And since Jerry armististed I've been standing, kidding, cussing, I've been waiting, fuming, fussing, In a line.

I have stood in line in mud and slime and sleet, With the dirty water oozing from my feet, I have soaked and slid and slipped, While my tacky slicker dripped, And I wondered what they'd hand me out to eat.

Get in line! For supplies and for inspections, With the dust in four directions, For a chance to scrub the dirt off, In the winter with my shirt off, In a line.

I have sweated in an August training camp, That would make a prohibition town look damp, Underneath my dinky cap While the sun burned off my map And I waited for some gold-fish (and a cramp!).

Get in line! For rice, pay-day, pills, and ration, For corned-willy, army fashion, In Hoboken, in the trenches, In a station with the Frenchies, In a line.

I've been standing, freezing, sweating, Pushing, shoving, wheezing, fretting, And I won't be soon forgetting Though I don't say I'm regretting That I stood there, with my buddies, In a line.

The Lids We Wear-- [Illustration: Dungaree style] [Illustration: This tin derby with winter knitted helmet] [Illustration: Old "rain-in-the-face"] [Illustration: The charming red-and-white effect] [Illustration: Fuzzy-wuzzy] [Illustration: The tank helmet] [Illustration: Some managed to hang on to the old reliable] [Illustration: With the French army] [Illustration: With its canvas overcoat on]

The Ration Detail--a job which no one relishes. Each day the other fellow's artillery tries to lay down a fire which will keep these boys from getting back. They travel to where their supply company has dumped the food from mule carts--the point nearest front where creaking wheels may go. The man in the center is carrying a string of French loaves, the round black variety common before we got our own bakeries started.

The Headquarters Company of the Reserve Mallet taking its bath at Chavigny Farm. The tub is a tin-lined cigarette box used by the Y.M.C.A. Water is heated in the old farm fire-place.

"PREPARE FOR ACTION"

I ran into Johnny Redlegs A-sitting on his bus, And I asked him why the devil He dropped half his shells on us. He just smiles and puffs his corn-cob, As peaceful as a Persian, And, "Buddy," says he, "you can't blame me, You gotta blame dispersion."

I says to Johnny Redlegs, "If I didn't have nine lives Your barrage would have got me With those lousy seventy-fives." He grins and puffs his corn-cob, And then he winks, reflective, And, "Buddy," says he, "you can't blame me If you pass your damn objective."

I says to Johnny Redlegs (Just kidding him, you know), "The trouble with your popgun is She pops too gol-darned slow." Then Redlegs drops his corn-cob And spits on both his han's, And, "Buddy," says he, "you can kid with me And the whole damned Field Artilleree, But there'll be a dud where you used to be If you kid my swasont-cans!"

"Johnny Redlegs"--guardian of the "Soixante-quinze." (the famous French "75")

...and the doughboy who tries to keep just the right distance from the covering barrage fire.

Among the first sent across/They served with the French in '17

American and French field artillery gun crews camped together in a wood near Charsoney. The canvas overhead keeps the fire from being observed by aeroplanes at night.