The
channel was rough enough to make the windward side of the deck wet and
unpleasant and the officers with which the boat was packed huddled
into their trench coats and British warms trying to keep out the cold.
The torpedo boat destroyers threshed about hither and thither in
smothers of spray while away to the north the mine sweepers stretched
across from shore to shore intent upon their never-ending search.
It was rough travelling on the road to the north next day; rain, snow,
sleet and hail, driven by a stinging wind, lashed our faces during the
whole of the trip. En route we called at General Headquarters and Army
Headquarters to report, and arrived at noon in the little French town
on the Belgian border which was the new location of our field
laboratory.
The Major and Captain seemed glad to see me and escorted me to my new
billet near the railway station; there was no glass in the windows and
the room was very cold. The officers pointed out a big hole in the
pavement in front of the house, made the day before by a German bomb.
The bomb had killed a number of horses and several men and had blown
the glass out of all the windows in the neighborhood. But the Major
assured me that a bomb seldom struck twice in the same place and that,
as the Bosches were after the railway station close by at the end
of the street, the safest place was the immediate neighborhood of the
station.
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