Late in June, 1918, the 35th Division relieved the French troops on a portion of the front line in Alsace. Ambulance Company 139 entered Alsace on June 24th and located in the quiet little village of Ranspach, thus being the first company of the 110th Sanitary Train to cross the former boundary line between French and German soil. Ranspach is near the much larger factory town of Wesserling, and, Division Headquarters being located at the latter place, the whole 12 or 15 kilometres of front held by the 35th Division has come to be termed the "Wesserling Sector". The front line itself was about ten kilometres east of Wesserling.
Practically the whole front in Alsace was made up of what were called "quiet" sectors, to distinguish them from "active" sectors. Alsace is mountainous and the mountains are usually heavily timbered. The valleys are narrow, and the main ones run north by south. The front lines also ran north by south, parallel to the valleys. Hence, neither side could gain ground without paying dearly for it. By a sort of mutual understanding, both the French and the German troops had come to regard Alsace as a place to rest, after the strenuous campaigns on other fronts. When our fresh troops came, they made Alsace a less quiet front, but for the most part they merely held their ground, as the French had done for nearly four years after having pushed the Germans back part way through Alsace in August, 1914. It was a final training area for American divisions that had just arrived overseas.
Ambulance Company 139 maintained its headquarters at Ranspach for exactly one month. During that time, however, most of the company was at the front. Those who were left did not have to drill, for we were within aerial observation and no formations could be stood. The trenches were scarcely five miles away, tho by the winding road up through the mountains it was twice that far. The main diversion during the day was watching the anti-aircraft batteries shoot at the Boche aeroplanes. On the morning of July 3rd we were rewarded for our patience, upon seeing our first Boche plane fall after being hit. It must have been 5000 ft. in the air when hit, and made a straight nose dive for the earth, but before it landed, it righted itself and spun around like a leaf until it hit the ground.
Every evening we would have our supper contested. An old man and his dog grazed a herd of goats during the day, and brought them home in the evening, just when we were eating. They passed right by our kitchen and tried their best to help themselves to our supper. As the goats passed by their respective houses, the dog would separate them and run them into their own yards. In the morning, at the sound of a horn, the goats would run out of their houses and join the collective herd.
Canes became the style from the buck private up, and every evening we would go walking, Wesserling, St. Amarin, or the cherry trees on the sides of the mountain being the chief points of interest. The canes were a great help in climbing the hills.
For the first time since our arrival in France we were paid, and in French money, and that evening "vin rouge" reigned supreme in the little village. It didn't take us long to become accustomed to francs and centimes, instead of dimes and quarters.
Within two days after reaching Ranspach we sent out small detachments of litter bearers to Nennette, Duchet and Wagram, as the 35th Division was already moving up to relieve the French. The last named detachment returned two days later, because no American infantry was to hold that portion of the line. Still later the detachment at Nennette moved to Larchey.
After studying the maps and roads of the sector, the company commander decided to divide it into two subsectors, the one on the right centering at Larchey, and the one on the left at Mittlach. Accordingly, on June 29th, two detachments from the company left Ranspach together. One detachment of ten men, Lt. Bates, was to take to Larchey; the other of seven men, Lt. Monteith, was to take to Mittlach. As the company had no ambulances, all the men hiked, carrying their packs. One of the Sanitary Service Units commonly known as the "S. S. U." had been attached to our company for ambulance service, so one of its Ford ambulances started out by another route to haul the officers' luggage and some medical supplies to the two stations. There was a box of surgical dressings and a box of food for each station. And herein lies one of the mysteries of the war. The ambulance stopped at Larchey first, as it was the nearer of the two points, but while the box of surgical dressings reached Mittlach, the box of food never did. Was it left at Larchey or lost in transit? Before the two detachments reached Larchey they separated, the detachment headed for Mittlach keeping the main road. When it arrived at Mittlach late that evening the Ford ambulance had already gone, and it left no food box there. Sgt. Pringle accused Sgt. Knight of the theft, and therein lies an argument to this day.
In each of the two sectors the same plan was followed so far as the handling of casualties was concerned. Detachments of litter bearers went out to the different dressing stations established by the sanitary detachments of the infantry. These dressing stations, or infirmaries, as they are sometimes called, were located as close to the front lines as wounded men could be collected with safety. The 138th Infantry held the lines in front of Larchey, and the 137th Infantry in front of Mittlach. Sgt. Wiershing had already taken one litter squad to Mittlach and from there on out to a post called Braunkopf, where the infirmary of the third battalion was located.
The French had an Alpine Ambulance at Mittlach and another at Larchey. It is well, here, to say a few words about these organizations. They in no way resemble our American Ambulance Companies, corresponding rather to our Field Hospitals, though even more complete than these. Alpine Ambulances were usually within three kilometres of the front line and often in plain view of the enemy. Hence they must be housed in dugouts. The one at Mittlach consisted of a series of underground chambers roofed over with heavy timbers and stone. There was a well equipped operating room and a chamber for treating gassed patients. The whole thing was lighted by electricity. In fact, it was a modern hospital located within a mile and a half of the front line trenches.
The staff of each Alpine Ambulance was permanent. It did not move away when the French Infantry left a sector; hence the natural and logical thing to do was to secure permission to use the Alpine Ambulance as a dressing station. This we did at both Larchey and Mittlach. In the former case the dressing station was operated by Lt. Vardon and a detail from our company; in the latter case by a detachment from Ambulance Company 138. The French willingly placed their hospital equipment at the disposal of these detachments.
At both Larchey and Mittlach each litter squad consisted of four men equipped with one litter, and, where the road was suitable, a two-wheeled litter cart. The detachment at Larchey also had a mule which was supposed to pull the litter cart, but usually the men pulled it rather than bother fetching the mule. Theoretically the battalion aid stations of the infantry should be well up toward the front line trench so that the wounded can receive prompt attention. The litter bearers of the Ambulance Company are supposed to take the wounded after first aid has been given, and carry them back to the ambulance dressing station, where an ambulance takes them on back to a field hospital. In practice this plan did not always work out while we were in the Vosges Mountains. The front line was so irregular and good locations for battalion aid stations so few that they were sometimes almost in the front line trench, and at other times quite far back. As a result it was frequently impossible to place relay posts so as to equalize the work of our litter squads.
In the Larchey sector there was one main road leading out toward the front. About two kilometres from Larchey, at a point called Brun, this road branched, the branches leading to points named Vialet, Sermet, Fokeday and Old Colette. We had litter squads stationed at each of the above named points. An ambulance could go from Larchey to Brun in daylight without being seen by the Germans so when a litter squad had carried their patient to Brun, they telephoned in to Larchey for the ambulance. A separate road led from Larchey to a point to the northeast called DeGalbert. Two litter squads were stationed there, and later a mule was sent down, to be used for pulling the litter cart. Two litter squads were also sent to Vialet and some men had to be kept in reserve at Larchey. By July 4th we had about thirty-two men in the Larchey sector.
At Mittlach our territory was divided into two distinct parts by a rather wide valley that ran straight east and west for about one kilometre below the town, and then joined the main valley running north and south. The German trenches were on the eastern slope of this main valley and ours were on the western slope and in the valley itself. The German artillery had a clear sweep at Mittlach and the side valley, which could not be crossed in the daytime. Nor was it practical for an ambulance to go east of Mittlach in daylight. Hence we had to establish two distinct routes of evacuation for litter cases. The northern route led from Mittlach out along the side of the mountain to Krantz, where a relay squad was stationed. Further on at Braunkopf we stationed another litter squad in the battalion aid station. About three kilometres beyond Braunkopf, at a point called Runtz, we had another squad. This station was at the extreme left of the sector held by the 35th Division Infantry, and was a good eight kilometres from Mittlach. Both Runtz and Braunkopf evacuated to Krantz, where the relay squad took the patients and either hauled them by litter carts or carried them to Mittlach. On the southern route the main road from Mittlach led to Camp Dubarle, where we stationed six men as a relay. Other squads were stationed beyond Dubarle at the ruined village of Metzeral, at D'Angeley, and at Camp Martin, the latter being about nine kilometres southeast of Mittlach. All patients collected on the southern route were evacuated through Dubarle. These numerous posts required many men, so that by July 4th there were forty from the company at Mittlach. The last detachments that left Ranspach were a disappointed lot. The company was preparing a big dinner for the next day, and some of these men had worked helping to prepare it—then they had to shoulder their packs late on the night of the 3rd of July and hike to Larchey and Mittlach.
During the month that this company had a detachment at Larchey there were two raids in that sector. About the sixth of July, Company "H" of the 138th Infantry made a raid. The artillery preparation began at 7:45 in the evening and at 8:30 the raiding party of one officer and 238 men went over the top. They were gone one-half hour, and at about the same time that they came back to our trenches the first wounded were brought in by the stretcher bearers from the line organizations. Meantime our litter squads had known of the contemplated raid, so they were ready to receive the wounded and litter them on back to Brun. The raid took place directly in front of Vialet. From there to Brun it was nearly five kilometres, and uphill. Litter bearing is strenuous work at best, but it is doubly so when performed in the dark, and over strange, up-hill trails. There were in all nineteen patients to carry that night. The first patient, carried by Joe Barnes, Vesper, Toohey and John Crowley, was a Boche. The job lasted nearly all night, and it was getting daylight when the last wounded man reached Larchey next morning. The work of the infantry had lasted not quite a half hour.
Nearly a week later the Germans attempted a raid early one morning, but it was easily repulsed. The work of our detachment during the remainder of the month consisted mostly of carrying occasional patients, and making the climbs back and forth to meals. In some cases this was no small task. Frequently a litter squad would have to go a quarter of a mile or more after rations, and the trails were steep and narrow. Then there were occasional bombardments by the Germans, and the first shell was enough to set everyone going for a dugout. During one bombardment a large shell exploded close to a dugout occupied by three of our men, and caved it in. Covington was one of the three men, and the event was more or less immortalized by his song, a parody on "When you wore a tulip, and I wore a big red rose":
On another night, when Lt. Vardon and Sergeants Knight and Childs were racing for a dugout, Lt. Vardon ran past the entrance. The glare cast by a nearby shell explosion lighted up the dugout and, doubling back, Lt. Vardon beat Childs into it. A man casts dignity aside and sprints when shells begin dropping around him.
At Mittlach there were no raids in the proper sense of the term. No detachment of the infantry ever went over the top there. But there were numerous casualties among our troops, due to the activity of German snipers and to accidents. Then, too, the German artillery had such an open sweep at the town of Mittlach and the valley below it, that several Americans were either killed or wounded by shrapnel. In fact, the very evening that our main detachment arrived in Mittlach, a corporal of the 137th Infantry was killed by a shell as he stood in the street reading a letter. This was the first casualty in the regiment, so the chaplain decided to give the man a military funeral, firing squad and all. He made the funeral arrangements over the telephone and set the time for the funeral at 9 o'clock the next evening. The time for the funeral came and the procession was just leaving the Alpine Ambulance when the German artillery again began shelling the town. There were, by actual count, just twenty-two men in the street when the first three-inch shell came whining towards the town. It took one of those shells about six seconds to reach Mittlach after it could first be heard, and when the first one exploded nearby, half of those twenty-two men had already scrambled into the door of the nearest dugout. And it was only an average size door at that. This was the first real shelling most of the twenty-two men had experienced, yet they took to cover as if they were used to doing it. On another occasion a sudden bombardment caught Lt. Speck and Lt. Martin unawares. A three-inch shrapnel ushered them around a corner and into a dugout in record time—the one ahead trying to keep ahead, and the one behind, trying his best to get ahead.
The ruined town of Metzeral was the foremost point occupied by any of our litter squads at Mittlach. It was in the main valley to the south and east of Mittlach. The American trenches ran zig-zag through the town—along tumble-down walls, into old cellars and basements, through neglected gardens, and around the corner of the ruined church itself. One ducked instinctively as he passed some of the low places in the walls, for the German trenches were visible a few hundred yards away on the eastern slope of the valley.
The ambulance work at Mittlach and Larchey was done partly by the mule ambulances of Ambulance Company 140 and partly by the Fords of the S. S. U. outfit. From the various advance aid stations, the patients were transported by ambulance to a relay station called Treh, situated about five kilos back of Larchey. Lt. Hancock, of Ambulance Company 137 was in charge at Treh, having two motor and two mule drawn ambulances ready to receive and transport the patients back to the various Field Hospitals, which were located at Kruth and neighboring towns, well out of range of the German guns.
On the whole, the time spent in the Wesserling sector was a period of training for our company, and in fact for the whole Sanitary Train. We learned something about maps and trails, and especially that trails on maps and trails on mountain sides are two very different things. We learned also to respect our gas masks and helmets. They became our constant companions. Indeed, the sight of school children six and eight years old going through gas mask drill in the streets of Mittlach was enough to make anyone think about his gas mask. All the civilians there carried masks as they went about their daily work. We learned too, the value of camouflage along the sides of roads, and also the wisdom of keeping behind it. The litter bearers learned to handle patients in all sorts of tight places, and they did their work creditably. We saw a little example of German propaganda, also. On June 30th the Boche sent small balloons over our lines, and to the balloons they attached cards bearing the following message on both sides:
"Soldiers of the U. S. A.As we hear from your comrades seized by us, your officers say that we kill prisoners of war or do them some other harm.
Don't be such Greenhorns!
How can you smart Americans believe such a silly thing?"
Needless to say, this sort of propaganda made no impression on the American troops.
We spent nearly a month in the Wesserling sector. At the end of that time, Ambulance Company 137 relieved us at Larchey, and Ambulance Company 140 at Mittlach. We were glad to move back across the boundary line into France and settle in the sleepy little village of Ventron, where we could hang up our gas masks and helmets, and almost forget there was a war.
Ventron, a typical French village, nestles in a peaceful valley. To the right of the town a broad green meadow stretches out, to be broken at the foot of the mountain by a small, sparkling stream of water. The crude stone houses, few in number, are built adjoining each other, forming irregular lines. A large, quaint, high-steepled church, one shop, several cafes and one hotel, probably patronized by tourists in summer, make up the town. The prevailing cleanliness of Ventron naturally impressed us. Without exception, it was the cleanest town in which we were billeted during our stay in France.
Needless to say, a sigh of satisfaction could be heard when word reached us to the effect that we would be billeted in barracks, instead of the usual hay mow. Having learned to adapt ourselves to the surroundings, most of us were by this time able to carry on a speaking conversation with all domestic animals, so this change to cleaner barracks somewhat elated us, for we would no doubt feel more like human beings.
Our duties were few, consisting of "setting up exercises" and perhaps a two-hour hike in the morning, and gas mask drill (a most unpleasant duty) in the afternoon. It was on one of our hikes that we discovered in a secluded spot on the mountain top an old priest's hermitage. Here in a small white stone shack lived this eccentric old man and worshipped in his peculiar way.
Huckleberries and other wild berries grew abundantly on the hillsides, and oftentimes while we were there a volunteer squad issued forth with pails, to return later with pails loaded to the brim with berries. And each evening by the candle light, with "seven-and-a-half" in vogue, we commented most favorably upon those delicious huckleberry pies, just like the ones mother used to make.
During our stay at Ventron a detail of fifteen men was sent to Kruth, 15 kilometres away, to oversee the erecting of a field hospital. From reports that came back, our men were the engineers, and were forced to do most of the work, much to their dismay.
Here also a Y. M. C. A. secretary came to our company, and through him on several occasions we were delightfully entertained. We were now able to purchase cigars, cigarettes, chocolate and other necessities of soldier life.
Bathing facilities were of the poorest—in fact, none at all, as a bathtub is a rare luxury among the French small-town people. Few of us were bold enough to brave the cold mountain stream for a plunge. After things had reached a climax, in that any time during the day a man could be seen frantically scratching himself in a dozen places at once, and singing "They Go Wild, Simply Wild Over Me," the company marched to Cornimont, the nearest town, where we were "decootized," that is, we were given a bath and all of our clothing was sterilized.
One evening at the hotel several of us ate our first "horse steak," at least we were told that it was such, and the more we thought of it the more we believed it true. After three weeks of this life, with plenty of good food, sleep, exercise and entertainment, we were eager to be back in the fray. Moving orders came, and early in August we took over our second sector of the line.
August 12th, the day we left Ventron, was hot, and being crowded into a dusty truck added nothing to the enjoyment of the trip. We wound up and up the sides of the picturesque Vosges mountains, passing many an old Frenchman plodding along with his oxen and logging wagon. Once we pulled into the gutter to let a long truck train pass, going down the hill. Shortly afterwards one of our trucks, heavily loaded with litters, boxes and men, ran into a hole and came near tipping over the steep bank. After about two hours' work it was gotten out, although it had to be unloaded and reloaded. No further trouble was encountered, and we reached the top of the hill in due time. After the hustle and bustle of unloading we had supper. After supper everyone began to look for a spot to sleep, and most of the men ended the search by making beds on the grass on the hillside.
It was dark when we arrived at Le Collet, and the next morning we had our first view of the camp. Situated on a high range of hills, it would have commanded a wonderful view of the surrounding country but for the tall trees which covered the hills in every direction. The camp was composed of several long, low French barracks, arranged in haphazard style on one side of the road on the hilltop, and many more down the valley, between and on both sides of the forked road leading down to the city of Gerardmer, about twenty kilometres distant. One of the barracks on the hilltop, just at the fork of the road, was used for a triage, our office, supply room and sleeping quarters for several men. About one hundred feet back of this barrack, and reached by a narrow rock road, was a big shed used for housing Gen. McClure's limousine and one or two Ford ambulances. To one side of this road and just in front of the shed was our kitchen, covered by a fly tent.
A French canteen, Red Cross, Y. M. C. A. and Major du Cantonement occupied the remainder of the hilltop barracks. Across the road from the triage was a large barnlike structure which served as the terminal of the electric tramway. This tramway connected Le Collet with Gerardmer by a steam road which came about half way. Its many cars groaning up and down the hill was one of the most noticeable features of Le Collet. It was used for bringing up supplies and also to evacuate patients to the hospitals at Gerardmer.
The 69th Infantry Brigade was ordered to take over from the French the sector immediately north of the front being held at that time by the 70th Brigade. We were ordered to accompany the brigade and evacuate it to Field Hospital 138, which went into action at the little summer resort town of Gerardmer. We were to establish a triage at the camp of Le Collet, which was perched on top of the divide which formerly marked the boundary line between France and Germany.
Our work in this sector, except that of the triage, was carried on at three advanced dressing stations and a relay station. Running from south to north, the dressing stations were Nicholas, Morlier and Richard. The relay post was at Spitzenfels, situated on the road from Le Collet, where it forked to go to Nicholas and Morlier.
The work at Nicholas was taken over by Lieut. Siberts and a detachment of twenty-five men, who established a dressing station in connection with the French Alpine Ambulance Service. The entire detachment, with the exception of six men who remained at the station, was sent to the battalion aid stations to act as litter bearers, their duties consisting of carrying patients from the battalion aid stations to the ambulance station. Detachments were also sent out to Moriez, Miradore, Jourdan, Eck and Amphersbach.
The activities in this area were very small, consisting principally of sniping by machine guns and an occasional artillery duel. The latter sometimes became interesting to the party at Nicholas, because the artillery was directly behind the station and the arc of fire was overhead, both for the Boche and our own boys. Many were the times when they all ducked for a friendly dugout door, to the tune of a screaming shell.
In connection with this station there was a motorcycle with litter sidecar operated by an Englishman. He carried all single cases to Spitzenfels thus relieving the ambulances from extra runs. This Englishman was a good scout and was liked by all.
Lieut. Siberts was relieved a few days after the station was established by a lieutenant of the 162 Ambulance Company, and reported at the company triage to operate that station.
The detail for the dressing station at Morlier left Le Collet shortly after dinner on August 13th, under command of Lieut. Vardon. Our program was to go by truck to Spitzenfels, where, after dark, for much of the road to be traveled was under enemy observation, we were to be picked up by a supply train and taken to our destination. But the best laid plans will sometimes go wrong, and in this case a confusion of orders stopped the supply train before it had gone far, and there was nothing for us to do but proceed on foot. The road was a long one, winding up the mountainside, past the ruins of many buildings that had once been the homes of shepherds, lighted up now and then by a brilliant star-shell, while an occasional rifle shot, or rather a machine gun, sounding almost underneath us, broke the silence. Finally about midnight, after following the many twists and turns in the road, each of which it seemed must be the last, we arrived at our destination.
Morlier was situated about five miles north of Nicholas, on the same ridge of hills. It was built on the opposite side of a small hill from the lines, and about a quarter mile distant. Dugouts and small shacks formed the principal part of the camp, and most of the best dugouts had heavy half-circular corrugated steel ceilings. This metal was painted white to make the interior light. Several rooms in the Alpine Ambulance Station were fixed this way.
The dressing station was established in the Alpine Ambulance. Lieut. Vardon and about nine men formed the personnel of this place. The one outpost was Barbarot, about a half mile to the north. Morlier was approachable by night only by a rock road which wound up the hillside in full view of the German lines. In daylight the only safe way was by a gallery about a mile long which ran over the hill from Camp Bouquet, a branch of which ran down to Barbarot. The gallery was a trench about six feet deep, sided up and roofed over with branches and camouflaged.
In the Alpine Ambulance we found such luxuries as electric lights, piano and talking machine and furniture much better than we had been used to, all taken from "Altenberg," the former summer home of the Kaiser, which was near by. The French and British soldiers there proved to be excellent companions and treated us royally.
We were close to the lines and under constant observation, but when the first two days passed uneventfully our boldness grew. However, just at supper time on the third day "Jerry" woke us up by planting eight shells in the kitchen, and from then on did not let us forget that he was near by. Bombardments were frequent, while wandering German patrols paid our vicinity frequent visits at night. Our work consisted mostly of handling the sick, as there were very few wounded, this being a "quiet" sector.
Our stay was not without its humorous incidents, such as the time when one of our dignified "non-coms," at the sound of the first exploding shell, dove into bed, and, pulling the blankets over his head, remarked that "even a blanket might help some if a shell hit," and the time when our commanding officer, deceived by a false gas alarm, wore his gas mask for nearly three hours in the middle of the night before discovering that we would be breathing only the purest of mountain air without it.
Our pleasant stay at Morlier came to an end when the division was relieved on the night of September 1st. The enemy, scenting a troop movement, kept up a steady bombardment, and it was well towards morning before we were able to make a getaway. The trip was an exciting one, as it was necessary to run a gauntlet of exploding shells. Gas was also encountered, but, in spite of it all, we all arrived safely about daybreak at company headquarters.
Richard was situated in a narrow gap on the bank of Lac Noir (meaning Black Lake). The dressing station there was established by Lieut. Monteith and a detachment of twenty-five men. The outposts were Vignal and Pairis, and detachments of litter bearers were sent to each of those places, which were occupied by the Infantry Battalion Aid Stations. Later Lieut. Bates and six men arrived from Rudlin, where a station had been established but abandoned. Relay litter squads were formed, thus making the work lighter.
The men on outpost duty at Pairis were billeted in an old hotel basement, where there was running water, electric lights and real beds, but even with these luxuries at their disposal they can hardly be said to have had an enjoyable time. This hotel had a road running alongside, and whenever anyone appeared in the road, the Boche immediately opened up on the hotel with high explosives and shrapnel. The boys got to be experts at hitting the cellar entrance on a moment's notice—in fact, they stayed pretty close to it at all times, unless at the kitchen, which was about three hundred yards distant.
The outpost at Vignal was not so well situated, but was rarely shelled. This party took part in a raid which was pulled off just before they were relieved. They went out with the raiding party to its starting point and remained until the raid was over, when they evacuated the wounded to the foot of the hill below Richard, from where the litter cases were taken to the top of the hill by squads from Richard. At Richard there was big preparation when word of the intended raid was received. Two spare ambulances and twelve men were ordered out from Le Collet. When the word was telephoned up that three litter cases were on the way, a detachment of nineteen men went to the bottom of the hill and brought the wounded to the station, where they were dressed and sent to the triage.
The work of both the outposts was highly complimented by the battalion surgeons. The Americans at Richard were relieved by French Colonials. In coming in, the French seemed to have attracted the attention of the Boche, and as a result they received an unmerciful shelling. One litter case and two walking cases was the toll, and they were evacuated through our station, much to the satisfaction of the French authorities.
On August 13th a detachment of six men and two ambulances was sent from Le Collet to the relay post at Spitzenfels. Ambulances and drivers from the 162nd Ambulance Company, 41st Division, were attached to our company to furnish motor transportation to and from the different stations, as we had no ambulances at that time. Spitzenfels was a French Red Cross post and an ambulance relay station. It was located on a mountain side in the midst of a thick pine forest and at a junction of the Paris-Strassburg road, about three kilometres inside of the France-Alsace boundary line. The place had not been shelled by the Germans for four years and was very quiet. The billets were comfortable and rainproof, making it an ideal place to stay.
Upon first taking over the station at Spitzenfels we worked with the French medical men, but they soon left, leaving the entire station to us. The duties were comparatively light, consisting of making a sick call at 9 A. M. to two infantry aid stations, and transferring the sick and wounded back to the triage. Another duty was to give out Red Cross supplies, mostly tobacco and hot chocolate, to the passing soldiers. Most of the Red Cross business was with the French troop, as very few of the American forces knew of the station, and thus were unable to take advantage of it.
At the triage Lieut. Siberts was in charge, with the assistance of a sergeant and three men, and their work testified that they were on the job. They had to unload all ambulances, register all cases, sort out the ones for the various hospitals and reload them into the ambulances, or onto the tram car. They were compelled to work at all hours.
One incident to be long remembered by all the company was the big fire of the truck at Le Collet on the night all the posts were relieved. Two men were attempting to fill a Pierce-Arrow truck with gasoline, by the aid of a candle, when there was an explosion and the entire truck caught fire. The blaze shot thirty feet into the air and could be seen for miles around. It was a wonder that the place was not shelled, because it was as light as day and crowded with soldiers.
On September 1st the order came to move again, and the old routine of packing and loading was on. We were not sorry to leave Le Collet, because our stay had not been long enough to let us become attached to the place. We were not sorry, for another reason. Rumor was, now that our training was over, that we were to go north and take active part in the great battles that were then raging on the western front. The term "shock troops" came into use, and all were proud to belong to a division so designated. With our movement came orders to turn over our dressing stations and triage to Ambulance Company 39, of the 6th Division. This was their first trip up to the front, and as none of them had ever heard a Boche shell ring, we had a lot of fun yarning to them about the things they would soon experience.
After being relieved in the Vosges sector by the 6th Division, headquarters of the 35th Division was moved from Gerardmer to Rosieres, a rest camp in the Luneville area. In the evening of September 2nd we left Le Collet in trucks, and arrived at Barbey-Seroux about midnight. Pup tents were pitched in an open field, and for two days and nights they served as our homes.
At 9 o'clock on the morning of September 4th the entire 110th Sanitary Train started on the march for the railhead at La Haussiere, about fourteen kilos away. Full field equipment was carried by each man, and a lunch, consisting of one bacon and one jam sandwich, which turned out to be the only rations for the next twenty-eight hours.
Arriving at La Haussiere about 1 P. M., the sanitary train boarded the box cars. A previous train carrying troops on this route had been attacked by Boche airplanes, so we had machine guns mounted on a flat car to be prepared for any which might attack us. Fortunately, or unfortunately, we saw none and so missed what would have been an interesting experience.
The destination of this trip was to be Benney. The trucks carrying the kitchen and supplies went overland, and the intention was that there should be a hot supper waiting for us on our arrival. The railroad passed through several towns within a very short distance of Benney, and why we didn't detrain at one of these has always been a deep, dark mystery. At the time we were on the train we did not know what our destination was to be, and we only found out after reaching Luneville at 8 P. M. that we were confronted with the necessity of retracing a large part of our trip—but this time on foot, and supperless to boot.
While we were waiting for the 140th Ambulance Company to unload its mules and ambulances we laid down upon the muddy sidewalks and watched the powerful flashlights searching the sky for Boche airplanes. Luneville was a favorite visiting place for such planes, and the shattered buildings testified to the accuracy of their aim.
About 11 P. M. the column was formed and began to move on the long and never-to-be-forgotten hike to Benney. Ambulance Company 139 was the last marching company, with Ambulance Company 140 bringing up the rear. The orders were no lights, and only men tagged sick would be allowed to ride in the twelve mule ambulances.
Major Salisbury was in command of the train, and at 1 A. M. ordered a halt of two hours. Some of the men unrolled their packs and wrapped themselves in their blankets, while others laid down in the mud and managed to get a little sleep, covered only by their raincoats. When the column resumed the march several of the men were left sleeping peacefully alongside of the road, against trees or upon piles of rocks. Here we nearly lost Lieut. Bates, who fortunately awoke just as the last ambulance was passing by.
It soon began to rain, and by 3:30 the men were splashing through a regular downpour. When the orders to fall in were passed back, most of the men would turn their backs, and give their faces a brief rest from the stinging cuts of the rain. Others would sink down on the roadside, regardless of mud or water. It was a weird looking lot of soldiers that marched into Blainville, with raincoats thrown over their heads and packs to prevent them, especially the latter, from becoming soaked with rain. Many here found an empty hayloft and lost no time in getting to sleep, leaving the column to struggle on without them.
As the eastern sky was beginning to show signs of the welcome daybreak, the rain diminished to a light but uncomfortable drizzle. Slowly but steadily the column moved on through the towns of Rehainville, Haussonville and Velle-sur-Meuse. Upon entering each small town every man in the train was hoping that that would be the end of the hike. The morning of the 5th wore away, and as the wet and weary column continued to leave town after town behind, the men came to the conclusion that we were "lost again," and that we were doubling back toward Bayon, through which they had passed the day before on the train.
Since daybreak straggling had become general. After leaving Haussonville there was hardly a kilo that did not claim its group of stragglers. The heavy laden plum trees along the roadside helped thin the ranks, because the men had had nothing to eat for breakfast but a few pieces of water-soaked bacon and bread. During one of the hourly ten-minute rest periods Tony Cataldi, who was perched up in a plum tree enjoying the delicious plums, was seen by a passing officer and immediately ordered down. Unable to see who was giving the order, on account of the leaves and rain, he inquired with true Italian curiosity, "Who in de h—l are you?" He soon found out that the officer was in command of the column.
As the men continued their weary way there was little talking—the men had enough to do in keeping going. By this time the companies were reduced to platoons, for buck privates, non-coms and even company commanders were falling out. The only thing that kept the rest going was pride. Pride would not allow them to drop out while others were "making the riffle."
The last mile told. The long hill that hid the little town of Benney was lined with the men who had fallen out. Just twenty-eight men out of the ninety that left Luneville with our company pulled into the town about 11:30 A. M. They had made the entire trip without dropping out or having their packs hauled. They had marched 14 kilos, ridden seven hours in box cars, and then marched 41 kilos more, all this on a two-sandwich ration, and through rain and muddy roads.
So ended the hike to Benney, a hike whose only claim to distinction is the fact that it need never have been made. Why the companies were not detrained at Bayon, or even Blainville, through which they had passed on the train and thereby saving 15 hours of long and weary hiking, will probably always remain a "military secret." From either of these towns the march would have been only a walk. Efforts were made at both places to have the troops detrained, but they were unavailing.
Immediately upon our arrival in the village of Benney we were billeted in haymows, which is the customary home for the American soldier in the country of France. These "billets," as they have been called by the men, are usually located in the haymows of the French homes. The French peasant's home usually consists of one large building, in which the entire family, including horses, cattle and pigs, is housed. While it seems strange to us, who are not accustomed to this manner of living, they are quite comfortable compared to pup tents in a wet, soggy forest, and especially at the end of a long hike by night with full equipment.
Benney was, we believe, the dirtiest village we have been in to date, so consequently the next day we had to clean up the manure piles and refuse left by the populace of this village. The village had, at one time, been occupied by the Hun armies, who left their customary destructive earmarks upon it. Those who remain consist mainly of women, children and men too old for work. It can therefore be easily understood why its streets were dirty and conditions in general were neglected.
We spent four days in the village, our duties being to clean up the streets. We had become quite proficient with shovels and push-brooms, by reason of previous experience, and strangely enough the men usually chose this duty in preference to the daily duties of kitchen police and guard. Most of us were badly in need of a bath, as all soldiers generally are, and upon investigating discovered an old swimming hole which we soon Americanized by taking a plunge every day during our short stay there. We were entertained two evenings by the French movies while here.
It was evident to us that a large troop movement was taking place, and from the many precautions taken to avoid observation, it appeared that the movement was of more than usual importance. Troops were marched only at night and no lights of any kind were permitted, even smoking being barred outside of cover. Kitchens were covered and mess lines were being divided into sections so that Boche planes could see but a few men at a time. We were told that we must get under cover and stay there whenever hostile planes were about. No drilling was done and every effort made to keep every evidence of the presence of troops hidden from observation. All this could mean but one thing—a big attack was being prepared and we would undoubtedly be in it. We were curious to know just when and where it would be, but we had to be content with guessing, for the secret of the St. Mihiel drive was well kept.
Leaving Benney, we hiked a distance of 13 kilos to a little village called Haussonville, arriving there at 3:30 A. M. We had a very sloppy march and passed our kitchen truck, stuck in the ditch by the roadside. Of all trucks, this should have been the one to pull through, judging by the yearning in the region of our stomachs. Immediately upon our arrival in Haussonville we were billeted in a large barn and "hit the hay" for a few hours. We were soon awakened by the glad news that our kitchen had arrived, was in action and that we would have breakfast at 10. The name Haussonville stands out prominently in the minds of the boys, for we recall, with a shudder, that this is where we caught our first real batch of cooties.
Dinner was served at 3, and after this meal we again rolled pack and had hopes of leaving this unwelcome company at 8 P. M., but did not until three hours later. At last under way, we hiked 14 kilos with full packs and reached our next destination, a salt factory a few kilos from Nancy. Though much fatigued by our night journey, we were somewhat encouraged to find a soft pine floor upon which to rest our weary bones, and with the aid of a few salt sacks, which we found, soon made ourselves as comfortable as possible under the existing conditions. After the customary late breakfast and dinner, orders were received to resume the hike as soon as it became dark.
Darkness found us again trailing the rock roads amid a steady downpour of rain. The night grew darker and darker, until it was impossible for the men in ranks to see each other. This however, was nothing unusual and all went well until we suddenly found ourselves lost in the streets of Nancy. It was a fine night for ducks, which might have enjoyed the next three hours, but as soldiers it was far from pleasant wandering around the town aimlessly, first up one street and then down another, with a soggy pack upon our backs. At last, righting ourselves, we left the city just as it was getting dawn, and continued our course.
Seemingly endless lines of artillery regiments on their way to form the reserve for the St. Mihiel drive, passed us along the road with their caissons and guns of all sizes. Later an impressive sight greeted us as we marched along. Dawn was breaking in the east, but the northern horizon was lighted by flares from the muzzles of hundreds of Allied guns, the intermittent flashings of which indicated to us that the great drive was in progress. Tired, hungry and foot sore, we pitched tents a little later in the woods safely concealed from enemy observation.
Thus ended the long-drawn-out hike. We knew now why we had been marched every night and subjected to seemingly unnecessary hardships. Not a man regretted the experience, and all proud that they helped form a cog in the mighty machine which straightened the St. Mihiel salient, and marked the first American triumph over the Hun.
While at Five Trenches, we were in constant readiness to move, and on Sept. 18th, orders were received to embuss at three o'clock P. M. Where we were going we did not know, but we prepared for a ride, which, we were told would be a long one. A short march brought us to a large number of French trucks which we boarded, filling each to its utmost capacity.
The trip was through a country of rolling hills, dotted with the picturesque French villages with their stone houses and red tile roofs. Late in the afternoon the Moselle was crossed and we passed through the outskirts of the ancient city of Toul. Our journey continued throughout the night and after passing through Bar-le-Duc, and Triacourt, we arrived at our destination, the small village of Senard, about six o'clock the following morning. The truck containing our kitchen had been sent on ahead to prepare breakfast for us when we got there, but with the usual fortune of the kitchen buss, it had been mis-instructed and so it was afternoon before it arrived to fill the stomachs of the very hungry soldiers.
Our billet was a large barn, over a hundred years old, in which the whole company was housed. Its bunks with straw mattresses were a welcome change after sleeping on the ground in the forest. It had at one time been quarters for German soldiers, for in 1914 when the army of the Kaiser poured into France, Senard had been occupied for about nine days. Although the city shows plainly the scars of battle, it was fortunate compared to some of the neighboring villages, many of which were complete ruins.
The stay here was a short one. We left on the night of Sept. 18th and marched for several hours along roads already crowded with artillery and supply trains moving toward the front, and shortly after dark pitched pup tents at Camp Wagon, in the heart of the Argonne Forest. The few days spent here passed uneventfully; even pay day failing to cause its usual enthusiasm, for what good was money in the heart of a forest? An occasional barrage sounding nearby kept us on the alert, for we imagined each one to be the prelude to the big drive we knew we were soon to engage in.
Finally, definite information came and it left us rather dazed, causing many of us to write home letters that we thought might possibly be the last ones. We learned that the greatest offensive of the war was about to take place, extending from the North Sea to the Moselle river. Also, and what was more to the point, that on that part of the front to be taken by the American Army the position assigned to the 35th Division to reduce was expected to be the most difficult to take. Our division had the honor positions on the whole front.
Our part in the offensive began the night of the 25th of September. Orders were received to move up to Bourelles as soon as it should become dark. Camp was struck and supplies were stacked along side the road before dark so that we would be able to find them when the time came.
A vast sense of relief settled down over every one as we realized that the time which we had enlisted for, trained for, worked and waited for was finally at hand, and that by morning we would be doing our work over in the Boche trenches instead of on our own side of the line.
As soon as it was dark we got our stuff packed into the trucks and packed ourselves in on top, mud and all, and started for Germany. The roads were muddy and slippery and often the convoy was held up until a truck could be pulled out of the ditch. No lights were allowed—the roads were under shell fire and no chances were taken in showing troop movements to the ever vigilant enemy aeroplanes. Several times we were led astray, but finally, about midnight we arrived at Bourelles.
Here we unloaded the trucks behind the protection of a steep bank and the men settled down on the rocks and grass for a few hours' rest, while the cooks borrowed a fire and began to prepare soup for breakfast. We did not secure much sleep. Jerry was sending over a few in search of some of our "heavies," but it was these same heavy guns that most disturbed our rest. The crack of these guns whipped across the valley with such a force that the hills fairly shook. They were not firing very fast but what they lacked in speed they made up in noise.
At 2:30 A. M. our fire opened up in earnest and the thought of being on the receiving end of that terrific rain of steel was almost enough to cause a little pity for the Germans—almost. With the coming of dawn the artillery seemed to slacken and at 6:05 the doughboys went over the top. Little could be seen through the haze and smoke by those who waited. We could see the groups of airplanes go sailing overhead and the elephant-shaped observation balloons move snail-like in a race to the enemy lines. While the big guns were methodically sending over their "messages of hate," here and there could be seen groups of horses nibbling unconcernedly at the trampled grass, while their drivers were wrapped up in shelter halves catching a well earned rest.
After a reconnaissance had been made, we received the order from our Director of Ambulances, Maj. Wm. Gist, to advance. We piled into the trucks again and started forward. The effects of Jerry's fire could now be seen. The large shell holes, the demolished trees, the shattered buildings, were beginning to make us realize that we were fighting some force that had the power to fight back. We passed through several ruined villages and finally reached Neuvilly, which was the end of the road for motors at that time. Here we unloaded and were heavily equipped with litters, packs, medicine belts and extra shell wound dressings.
The plan of operations was quite simple. The company was divided into sections, each under an officer, and each section further divided into litter squads of four men each. The non-coms were charged with locating wounded and directing litter squads to them, and also with doing most of the dressing. The wounded were to be gathered into groups located so that ambulances could reach and evacuate them to the triage which was established later in the day at Neuvilly, by Ambulance Company 138. The entire company, less cooks, took to the field and the cooks, by trading grub for transportation, managed to keep in touch with part of us part of the time.
Lieut. Bates with his section covered the rear of the 137th Infantry which was on the left. Lieut. Siberts with a detachment, bore to the right, covering the 138th Infantry, while Lieut. Monteith, with his detachment undertook to handle some wounded who were already coming into the old position of the 138th Infantry. Lt. Speck with Sgt. Rowland and a few men remained at Vacquois Hill and established a collecting station for wounded there.
As the men marched thru the lines the evidences of the superhuman struggle grew more and more. They could see dead horses, shattered wagons and caissons, trampled and torn up wire entanglements, and ambulances darting here and there. Groups of artillery were constantly shifting about, advancing all the time.
In places we passed the long naval guns, some of them so hot that they seemed to be fairly panting. Every clump of trees concealed a den of seventy-fives or larger guns, and miles of deserted trenches were passed through.
The work on hand was enough to keep all the men busy. Many German prisoners were coming through by this time and each group helped by carrying back wounded. Some of the German wounded were brought back in this way by their comrades. By this time, also, a shortage of litters began to be felt. The ambulances had not been able to get up owing to the blocking of the roads by artillery which was moving forward. Towards evening ambulances began to come in to Vacquois, and Hill No. 290. The last load of wounded had been removed by about 4:00 A. M., the next morning. Meanwhile, Lt. Siberts had reached Cheppy, close on the heels of the victorious 138th Infantry and collected a large number of wounded there.
In crossing the German trenches, we saw the effects of our artillery barrage and the evidences of the fierce fighting that the doughboys were doing. The ground was fairly pulverized. There were shell holes large enough to drop houses into, and parts of the hills were seemingly scalped and cast aside. Concrete dugouts were crushed as if they had been made of cardboard, trenches were leveled and barbwire entanglements were cut to pieces. The Germans had contested the ground inch by inch, and we could see where groups of our men had been literally blown to pieces—scenes that the boys will never forget. As we advanced further, the evidences of the struggle were not so ghastly, although we were passing the lifeless forms of many Kansas and Missouri boys mixed with those of the drab uniforms of the enemy.
The field was sprinkled with shell holes whose burnt sides seem to have been blasted by the touch of hell. Our artillery was crawling forward and were blazing away from behind the shelter of clumps of bushes. The doughboys were now moving so swiftly that the big guns could hardly keep up.
As we neared Cheppy, we could see where the infantry boys had charged an almost impregnable machine gun nest. About thirty men had been mowed down in front of this position. At a cross roads, a big shell had landed in the center of a collection of wounded doughboys, tearing them to pieces. Gas had been used, but nothing could stop the boys from entering Cheppy. The fierce struggle in this town had caused heavy casualties.
Ambulance Co. 138 having moved up the triage to Cheppy on the 28th, Lt. Siberts started for Charpentry with his detachment. By the morning of the second day, the entire company had reached Cheppy and we had a warm meal, the first one in thirty-six hours. Lt. Siberts and his detachment deserve a great deal of credit for the tremendous amount of work they accomplished at Cheppy in an old abandoned dugout, where hundreds of wounded were cared for under distressing and dangerous conditions.
Mr. Wesley R. Childs of the Y. M. C. A. came up to the station here with chocolates and was of material assistance in directing a party of walking wounded back to Neuvilly by the road through Verennes, which we had been unable to explore before. During this time the action was in view of the dressing station at times and the sound of the machine guns made it plain that there would be much more work for us. The dressing station at Cheppy was subjected to machine gun fire from hostile airplanes several times but no casualties resulted. Mule drawn ambulances from Ambulance Co. 140 arrived at the Cheppy station in the morning of the 27th. Later, motor ambulances came up and the work of evacuating went steadily on. There was very little rest for anyone.
On the 27th, Lt. Monteith with a detachment went forward to Very, and established another collection point in some German dugouts there. The next morning, evacuation of these wounded was begun by ambulances as the congestion at Cheppy was somewhat relieved. Litter bearer squads worked forward from Very in the direction of Charpentry and many wounded were collected together and cared for pending the arrival of mule drawn ambulances. In the meantime Ambulance Co. 137, and the dressing station section of Ambulance Co. 140, had arrived by trucks at Charpentry. They brought a large supply of dressings and other medical equipment and we were able to replace the contents of our belts. The field from Very to Charpentry was thus cleared, and by noon some of the advance squads had reached Charpentry.
All three companies worked together at Charpentry under the direction of Maj. Gist, and shared rations and supplies in common. The dressing stations at Charpentry were located in old French barns and buildings set around a sort of courtyard. They had served until a couple of days before as the headquarters of the German division holding the sector. After the place had been examined to make sure that no German souvenirs in the way of hand grenades and shells had been hidden within, we started fires and soon had some warm places for dressing the wounded. At the south end were some empty buildings evidently used as store rooms and an arched opening into the court. On the east side was a former dwelling house which contained several rooms on the ground floor. All of the second story had been shot away. On the north end was a large barn which contained a small amount of engineering stores. The other side was open and had a garden which contained vegetables for the Germans. This spot was later used to bury some of the men who died in the dressing station. Back from the east side there was a steep hill which contained several excellent dugouts, some of which were used as dressing rooms. As soon as the wounded were dressed they were placed in these empty rooms to await transportation to the rear. These rooms were soon filled, however, and it became necessary to place the men in the court yard on litters or rubber blankets. The wind and rain added nothing to the comfort of these poor chaps, but there was no murmur of complaint from any of them. They were so exhausted from lack of sleep and food and constant fighting, that they were able to sleep undisturbed either by their wounds, or by the thunder of the guns all around.
Two batteries of seventy-fives, of the 129th Field Artillery took position behind our station here, in such a way that their fire passed directly over us. At each discharge, a shower of dust from the roofs of the buildings would descend upon the wounded and workers alike. We had some gas this day, but there were more alarms than gas. No shells fell in our immediate vicinity as the dressing station was more or less protected by the hill. Every one worked at top speed, as the wounded were coming in so fast that it required the services of almost the entire company to take care of them. Later in the afternoon a detachment was sent to Baulney, and with the aid of some mule ambulances, cleared the regimental station there of wounded. Later, motor ambulances began to arrive and the wounded were started back toward the triage at Cheppy. From this time on the evacuation was continuous, ambulances from Ambulance Co. 41 and S. S. U. sections undertaking this work. Many empty, returning ammunition trucks were also used. The trucks carried the wounded, for the most part, to the old triage at Neuvilly, which had been taken over by the field hospital companies. Those who were able to walk, were started out on foot, as all available transportation was required for recumbent cases. By morning of the 29th, the influx of wounded having lessened somewhat, two bearer parties went forward, one under Lt. Speck, and the other under Lt. Bates. Mule ambulances accompanied these parties, the detachments coming under heavy fire and some of the mules being killed. One of the drivers was mortally wounded. These parties were out until about the middle of the afternoon. The work of the bearers was the most laborious owing to the mud and the long distances of the carries.
Information was received that the salient created by the attack was to be protected by establishing the first line in the area being covered by the bearers. The parties were, therefore, withdrawn to Charpentry. It was during this operation that Pvt. Lloyd Richmond was wounded, while remaining with wounded at Chaudron Farm. Upon arrival of the bearers at Charpentry, their patients were loaded into ambulances, which, by this time, had cleared the station there, since the location was becoming a target for gas. Orders were received to move the station back to some more sheltered position where the wounded could be kept in more security. Ambulance companies were now ordered to Varennes. Lt. Siberts, with a detachment of men, proceeded to Very, joining the company at Varennes the next day.
In leaving Charpentry, the men were forced to run a gauntlet of high explosives, gas and shrapnel. A rain of shells were pouring into the valley in a desperate attempt to silence the American batteries. One of the spectacular scenes of the drive occurred when a battery of French artillery came crashing down the road, the gunners riding the seventy-fives which were drawn by big trucks. The little men in blue were leaning forward and gazing eagerly ahead to the nearby hill where they afterwards whirled their guns into position and poured a murderous fire, point blank, into the counter-attacking Germans. It was a little incident that gave us a slight insight into the reason why the Germans failed to crush France.
On arriving at Varennes, volunteers were called for to return to Charpentry to take care of the wounded who might be expected, and to relieve congestion in regimental stations, which had fallen back to that place. Lt. Bates with 15 men and an equal number from Ambulance Co. 137, were selected. This detachment had a very exciting and strenuous forty-eight hours of work at Charpentry. During the first night wounded were numerous and there was much hard and tiresome work carrying wounded and loading out ambulances.
The 35th Division was now being relieved by the First Division, and we received orders that we had been temporarily attached to that division until their own Ambulance and Field Hospitals could get into action. After being relieved from this duty, the company assembled at Neuvilly, and left the next day for a rest.