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In the middle of the afternoon one of the men on watch called out "Two officers coming, Lieutenant". Two horsemen came into view from downhill, headed toward us. They reached our post and halted a few yards away so that I would have to come to them. One I recognized as General Parshing. The other was Brigadier Generall Sunn^[[mm]]erall, commander of the First Field Artillery Brigade. I stepped forward, saluted, and identified myself and my unit. General Pershing never looked at me at all. He just sat there gazing off into the distance. He made a fine figure on [[corrected]] in [[/end corrected]] horseback.

General Summerall said "Let me see your orders". I unbuttoned the top of my trench coat and took the orders from the inside pocket, where I had been keeping them dry.  He took them, looked, and asked "Now what are your orders?" I recited them from memory. He returned them, saying "Very good. Button up your overcoat".

My trench coat had been properly buttoned when th[[strikethrough]] r [[/strikethrough]] ^[[e]] generals arrived. When I handed that paper to Summerall I knew it would be returned to me in a moment, and had thought it unnecessary to button up again while waiting. I don't think Summerall actually expected me to do so, or that he was displeased with my performance. He was merel^[[y]] following the time-honored military convention that requires an inspecting officer to always scold if he can find any pretext for doin^[[g]] so. The convention requires him also to wear an expression of restrai^[[ned]]] disgust as he scolds. I had been in the army long enough to know those formalities. It was a miracle that he had not noticed my unshaven face.

Some time later the signal rockets went off. I duly noted the time, and we went through the prescribed pantomime of firing. Then we just waited again until dusk came on. Finally a messenger arrived with orders and a horse for me.  The men were to walk to the nearest road. There the battery, just starting on its way ho^[[m]]e to our winter quarters at Morley, would pick them up. I was to ride back to Houdelaincourt and there take charge of our supply wagons, [[strikethrough]] L [[/strikethrough]] ^[[l]]eading them also home to Morley. From Houdelaincourt it was about 15 miles.

Our journey in the dark was slow and tedious. It had turned cold and the road was icy, the rain freezing as it fell.  The horses kept s[[strikethrough]] t [[/strikethrough]] ^[[l]]ipping, threatening to fall and break a [[strikethrough]] k [[/strikethrough]] leg. We passed a 75 gun