Here and there patchy bits of land could be seen through the haze, but for the most part France was invisible behind a curtain of early winter fog.
One at a time, under the guidance of local pilots, transports moved slowly into the harbor, moved slowly some more, then docked.
Here at last, made fast to a French pier constructed by American engineer troops! But where were the cheering crowds of French?
Absent, for two reasons.

The French had already seen many regiments of American troops arrive in former months, and the novelty of such a sight had worn off.

Besides, most of the French who lived in this same port were now just about quitting their own beds.
"Who'll be first ashore from this regiment ?" demanded a laughing soldier as he witnessed the work of bringing the first gangway aboard from the pier.
"The guard!" tersely replied Captain Cartwright, as he appeared with a sergeant and a detachment from the guard.

As soon as the gangway had been made fast sentries were thrown out, two of them being stationed at the foot of the gangway itself.
Then came a call the soldier never ignores.

The buglers sounded the first mess-call of the day.
After the meal came inspection, after which, a company at a time, the men were sent over the side to the pier.