RecordHunter

        I could write volumes of the wonderful old Gothic cathedral at Avioth in France near the Belgian border. And my visit to the beautiful city of Luxemburg, not as medieaval as McCutcheon's description in "Graustark" but full of wonderful crooked streets and beautiful buildings all alive with flags, not as many allied banners as Belgian but quite a number, especially French and Belgian, and the people are friendly. Many talk English and have relatives in America. One Luxemburger told me there were 250,000 in America and only 150,000 in Luxemburg.

IN GERMANY AT LAST

Peffingen, Rhine Province, December 3, 1918.

        In Germany at last. For twenty minutes we marched beside the rail­road, high cliffs on our right and on our left, beyond the tracks the rushing Sauer. Then a sharp turn to the left past the last building flying the red, white and blue of the Grand Duchy and across a bridge past our General and we were in the "enemy's country." Our march continued about two or three hours when we arrived at this little village. It took some time for Captain Graef to find the Burgomeister and make arrangements and I went forward to find Co. B billeted and the Burgomeister busy with Co. C. I was astounded to learn from Mr. Coen, the "Y" man, that the Burgomeister was putting only about half as many men in a billet as it would hold, so all the people could have some Americans! I went around with him when he billeted me and was everywhere greeted with smiles. I could have imagined myself still in Luxemburg were it not for the pictures of men in the uniform I learned to hate so on the walls. It's simply incredible, during the day I had seen very few people with scowls on their faces but hadn't been prepared for hospitality.

        Sergeant Rehner arranged for a room beside the rolling kitchen for the officers' mess and the owner, only two weeks out of the army, and his son killed, himself spread a white cloth, brought us fresh bread, butter, home made prune jam. preserved apples and china plates and cutlery. And his sole resentment seems to be against the authorities who caused the war as an institution' I can't explain my feelings, they are something akin to pity

Nieder Adenau, Germany, December 10, 1918.

        Some ground we've covered since last I wrote. We're not letting the grass grow under our feet. Here follows the route:

Dec. 5—Ehlenz, via Wettlingen, Bettingen, Oberweis, Rittersdorf.
Dec. 6—Budesheim, via Schleid, Seffern, Lasel, Reuland, Wetteldorf, Hersdorf, Wallersheim.
Dec. 7—Belsdorf-Lissingen, Gerolstein, Bewingen. Dohm, Lammersdorf.
Dec. 8—Udelhoven, via Hillesheim, Weisbaum, Mirbach, Dollendorf. Ahrhutte.
Dec. 9—Nieder Adenau, via Ahrdorf, Dorsel, Musch, Antweiler, Fuchshofen, Schuld, Insul, Dumpelfeld.

        My note book says Billet No. 79—that counts fox holes, etc., which are not really billets, and it don't count trains where I've slept many nights. Well, I don't expect we'll be at it much longer. We don't know our destina­tion but we can't go much farther. We can make the Rhine from here in about three days. Our latest hunch is that we're going to or near Bonn.

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