We were going back of
the lines, and the scene of breaking camp in our preparations for
returning to the rear was picturesque in the extreme. Bonfires made of
refuse and waste material for which we had no further use were burning
everywhere; men were hurrying hither and thither; and through it all you
could hear the steady digging, shoveling and pounding of the German
prisoners who were repairing the roads their own guns mangled. I felt a
large measure of satisfaction at seeing them working as hard as they
could go, restoring at least that much of their destructiveness; they
will never, they can never replace the wantonness, the frightfulness,
of which they have been the inspired tool in this the struggle of their
lords and masters for the earth's control.
Night and day for three days we traveled on our batteries, arriving at a
place called Camblain-Chatillon, a small town in a mining valley. Here
we were billeted in barns, but the inhabitants hearing that we were
Canadians who had been operating on the Somme, came out _en masse_ to
greet us and give us of their best.
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