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Updated: June 8, 2025
The chauffeur of an army automobile must make his way against cavalry, artillery, motor-trucks, motor-cycles, men marching, and ambulances filled with wounded, over a road torn by thousand-ton lorries and excavated by washouts and Jack Johnsons. It is therefore necessary for him to drive with care. So he drives at sixty miles an hour, and tries to scrape the mud from every wheel he meets.
We breakfasted off the strong, sweet tea that I have grown to like so much, and some bread, butter, and chocolate we bought off a smiling old woman at the warehouse gates. Later in the morning we were allowed into the town. First, a couple of us went into a café to have a drink, and when we came out we found our motor-cycles garlanded with flowers by two admiring flappers.
In the morning we rode down into Sermoise for the motor-cycles. Sermoise had been shelled to pieces, but I shall never forget a brave and obstinate inhabitant who, when a shell had gone through his roof and demolished the interior of his house, began to patch his roof with bully-tins and biscuit-tins that he might at least have shelter from the rain.
Down below in the street, where the wagons were beginning to rattle over the pavement, could be heard the steady march of bodies of soldiers, frequently interrupted by the noise of motor-cycles. There could no longer be any doubt the affair was getting serious.
There were German aeroplanes about, so we covered our stationary motor-cycles with straw. Starting from brigade headquarters the despatch rider in half a mile was forced to pass the transport of a Field Ambulance.
On the road I always meet officers riding along, military cars flying along, army couriers spluttering along on motor-cycles, heavy motor transports groaning up hill, or thundering down, and now and then a long train of motor-ambulances.
"Well, she can't help it, being a woman, I suppose. But we'll manage. Do you know the man?" "Never saw him before to-day, when he tried to run me down. Guess he doesn't know much about motor-cycles. But come on, dad. He may bleed to death." Father and son hurried to where the stranger lay. As they bent over him he opened his eyes and asked faintly: "Where am I? What happened?"
And imagine any fellow who worked at repairing motor-cycles admitting that he couldn't ride! "I can!" said Jimmie. "I can!" said every other workman in the place. "What is it!" asked Jimmie always of the forward and pushing sort. "The French ask for half a dozen men in a rush. They've had several motor-cycle units wiped out or captured." "Gee!" said Jimmie. "I'll go!" "And me!" said another.
Jerry held up at the lumber camp, for he wished to ask a few questions of the cook, who was a man he happened to know in a small way, though never particularly fancying Jock Stovers. The fellow stared at seeing a quartette of elegant motor-cycles come dashing up to the loggers' winter quarters. "Hello! Jock.
This marvellous creature waited on his slightest nod, and when she was not busy running errands for him, she sat by his bedside and chatted, asking him all sorts of questions about himself and his life. She thought he was a soldier, and he, shameless wretch, discovered what she thought, and delayed to tell her that he was a common repairer of motor-cycles!
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