Page:History of the 305th field artillery (IA historyof305thfi01camp).pdf/136

114 “You know I'm picking up a lot of this lingo," he would boast contentedly.

Then the locomotive whistle would blow.

"That can't be for us!"

But the chef de gare would think otherwise. He would come running, waving his arms.

“En voiture! Vite! Lc train partira."

That's always easy enough to understand.

"Quarante minutes. Vous—dit."

The chef de gare would be through with argument. The engine driver, never having wasted words on the subject, would simply start the train, out of the kindness of his soul holding the pace down at first. The men would tumble back into the cars with their half-finished dinners. The details would come scurrying back with their pails. From all directions soldicrs who had gone in scarch of water would tear hack, tlicir clusters of cantccns tinkling pleasantly.

Usually everybody got aboard. Word would come back to the captain that the men had been checked. Then everyone would comment pleasantly on the customs of the country.

But as a rule we got fed, and it was good, very, very good.

When we could we planned meals for the long halts allowed us for watering the horses. But the schedule for a troop train is not a constant thing, and these halts often came at had times. They were not troublesome affairs as a rule. Beside our siding were usually a number of taps, so that the job seldom occupied much time. Sometimes we could wheedle hay from the American officials. Sometimes we couldn't. Yet on the whole those summer changes of stations were not unpleasant or too troublesome. The weather was fine. The men were not crowded. They sang. That's the best indication you can have that things are going well.