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CHAPTER Backwith 1the Old Brigade Armistice Day—Mailly-le-Camp—Haussimont—General Chamberlaine—Naval Guns—In Front of the Front—Prisoners of War—Étain—Metz—Marshal Pétain. Sunday, November 10, 1918 It had been finally decided that pending my promotion to major general and command of an infantry division, I should go up to the front and take over the old Railway Artillery Brigade with which I had come to France. This brigade had been reorganized once or twice, split up to form new organizations, and was now known as the 30th Railway Artillery Brigade.1 Harbord was certain that the appointment as major general would come along any day and advised me to study the organization and tactics of the infantry division at every possible opportunity.2 He said he had found himself painfully ignorant upon this subject when he took command of the Marine brigade at Château Thierry.3 He presented me with some writing paper stamped with major general’s stars, and after a sad adieu to all my old associates at Barracks 66 and at Beaulieu,* I left for Mailly at 2:30 p.m. and arrived in Paris at 7:30. I went to the Y.M.C.A. hotel—Hôtel Richmond—for the night.4 Monday—November 11th, 1918 L’Armistice Est Signé I suppose that if a man were asked where he was on Armistice night, he might derive some concealed pleasure by replying nonchalantly, “In Paris,” adding, “At the Folies Bergères.” That’s where I happened to be.5 General Pershing says that many foolish things were done in Paris on Armistice night, by persons whose ordinary conduct was marked by dignity *Our château at Tours. 16 Caissons Go Rolling Along and composure. I can vouch for this. But among the things they did not do in Paris that night was to blow whistles and ring bells, unless it were [sic] chiming the cathedral bells. Parisians do not find amusement in disagreeable noises—in screeches or clangs, harsh rattles, or even in yells. Nor do they get anything out of synthetic fun—the kind of fun that bores you, but (in your imagination) enlivens other people. A Frenchman’s idea of pleasure is personal , not collective. The people of Paris went out on Armistice night to have a good time themselves, not simply to watch other people make fools of themselves.6 At the Folies Bergères a good time was had by all. The foyer of this famous resort is a large hall, filled with tables, where they serve wines and light refreshment. There were ladies present—Ladies of the Stage, Ladies of the Audience, and Ladies of the Street. Passing one of the tables, an American general officer was invited to sit down. Said a young lady in a pleading voice, “Asseyez-vous, Mon Lieutenant.” “Shush,” said the captain with her, “That’s not a lieutenant! That’s a general.” “Oh, Mon Dieu,” said the young lady, “C’est un Général.” Throwing her arms around his neck, raising both feet off the floor, and trying to kiss him, she said, “Pardon! Pardon! Mon Général! But won’t you sit down anyway?” The general was very much embarrassed. Generals had been sent home for less (so it was said), and whatever may have been his private inclination, his public reaction was in the nature of a rebuff. November 13th—November 16th In Paris I met General William Chamberlaine, the commander of all the American railway artillery, who had come to see a 14-inch naval gun at Versailles enroute to the front. He was my new boss, and he directed me to remain over a day and return to Mailly with him.7 What a different aspect Mailly presented from what I saw in it a year ago. All of the novelty and romance had worn off. I had seen many French camps and barracks, both at the front and at the rear, and Mailly struck me now as a dull headquarters, full of drudgery, paper work, and red tape. There were none of my old French friends. The Germans had been very near to capturing it. It had often been the object of air raids. The French had moved away everything not absolutely essential. General Chamberlaine General Chamberlaine was an old friend of mine. We had served as captains together in the Coast Artillery in the old days at Fort...

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