January 18th.Since last writing nothing of great importance has taken place.
My recommendation for a majority was sent to Washington about ten days ago by Colonel Hansell. I hope it goes through and goes through quickly. The snow has all disappeared and beautiful, glorious mud reigns in its place. The Colonel is trying to jack up discipline—God knows it needs it. I caught one man staggering home dead drunk and had the pleasure of putting him under arrest. Blankets are being taken and electric-light bulbs. The same old lazy American methods. Saw our officers walking along the roads in their long coats, pretty sloppy looking objects. You cannot make a soldier unless you dress him in a soldierly fashion. The everlasting cry is we are a young country and it takes us time to learn, but, damnation, does it take one hundred andfifty years? Why could not our Government have attended to these matters twenty-five years ago?
February 1st.Kilbane, Steiner and myself are off in the morning for our seven days' vacation. We are going to Nice, motoring to Dijon where we hope to be able to catch the train or rather get accommodations on a train, as we hear everything is crowded.
Took my physical exam. for majority two days ago, Martin examining.
We have had a wonderful fifteen days of clear weather, half of them quite summery, but for the most part the air is very damp and penetrating.
February 14th.Back in Nice, with one day in Paris. We caught the train from Dijon at one thirty a.m., and stood up the balance of the night in the corridor as there were no seats—men and women stretched out full length lying on the floor. Reached Marseilles at twelve noon the next day, and stopped offfor the balance of the day and night, taking the express next morning. Beautiful country. Stopped at Nice at the Hotel Negresco. First class. Perfect weather.
We have twelve new M. C. nurses and enlisted men. A perfect mob now, but they seem a fairly decent lot. Same old job, except this time I am to start some fool work on food with a test squad of fifty men. Cannot make out any point to it, except they want to find out how much waste there is in preparation of food.
February 22nd.Was sworn in as Major this morning by Colonel Island.
February 28th.Howard Peck died.
March 1st.Howard's funeral. 6th Artillery brass band, and all walked down to the new American Cemetery. Poor Major Peck!
March 2nd.We heard two weeks ago that Alfred Stillman's brother was killed while flying. Alfred has been in London, having left on receipt of the news.
There are twelve new raw-boned Southerners added to our Unit since my return from Nice.
This morning we sent two operating teams to American C.C.S. No. 1, McWilliams among them. Armitage Whittman has taken Henry James's bed in our rooms. He seems to be a nice fellow. Stuart Benson, Paul Draper, Beekman Hoppin and Mrs. "Bordie" Harriman have all turned up at one time or another.
March 9th.Alfred Stillman and I got a motor and rode out to American C.C.S. No. 1, just north of Toul—a beautiful spring day and a very pleasant trip. We lunched and dined at the Officers' Club, Neufchâteau, which sports a fine bar.
March 10th.Last night some of the convalescent officers got two motors and we went down and saw Elsie Janis. She told stories, sang songs and danced for an hour and fifteen minutes. It was a delightful performance, she was so perfectly natural and joked and talked with the audience.
March 14th.Am leaving for Paris for two days to-night with Major Malone.
March 23rd.This has been an eventful day. In the first place, Colonel Hansell and Major Peck went on their vacations and I was left C.O., which entails many fussy details. Then this afternoon Colonel Mitchell of the Flying Corps, who was recently a patient of mine at the Officers' Pavillion, paid me a call, asked me to motor out to Hill 412 Aerodrome with him, and sent me off on an aeroplane flight with a French pilot.
It was a wonderful sensation. We flew about twenty miles, circling over Chaumont and the hospital. Words cannot describe it. It has all the thrill of flying. The woods looked like little bunches of moss. We flew over the Canal, which had the color of bright emerald. The Flying Corps for me, if it wasn't for this cursed age.
April 4th.This is approximately the tenth day of the great battle. For many days wehave all been very anxious, but now a rapid feeling of confidence has arisen that the enemy is held.
Have been Commanding Officer at the hospital for the past thirteen days, the Colonel and Peck having taken their vacation in Nice.
April 19th.Paris—Medical conference. Hansell and I roomed together. I heard the big gun go off twice, otherwise all was quiet.
Alexander Lambert asked me to dine with him. There were eight at dinner—his wife, Major Strong and wife, and Colonel Island, also Colonels Martin and Cummings of the English Army. While there Major Thayer told me I was to be detailed to one of the Divisions as Divisional Consultant. I was much pleased, as the news was a great surprise, for among all the wire-pulling I hardly expected to have anything good handed out unsolicited.
April 25th.Orders to proceed to Neufchâteau. Threw the necessities in my old grip, rolled up the bedding and off in a Fordambulance. Of course, all haste was unnecessary, as when I got in Major Thayer was away and Boggs, the Assistant Director of Medical Service, had gone to Chaumont. Saw Finney, who invited me to lunch—one of those sweetly solemn male luncheons where every one was afraid to say anything.
Later that day Boggs turned up and we talked over affairs. The Consultant has charge and direction of all cases in his department. My orders were in a measure vague, and I should imagine it was largely up to me to create the position.
Spent the night at the Officers' Club and next day, Saturday, motored with Finney and Boggs to C. C. S. No. 1 at Sevastepol where we lunched. Saw Pool and McWilliams. The latter has gotten very fat. From there we went on to Bucy, the 26th Division Headquarters, situated in a charming old Norman château with beautiful grounds, and from the terrace a superb view overlooking "Bocheland." Itseemed a sacrilege to desecrate the grounds. Guns were booming in the distance, and the streets of the village were full of United States troops and transports.
For fifteen miles and more behind the lines, the French were digging entrenchments and erecting barbed wire. They are evidently taking no chances.
My original orders were not sufficiently comprehensive, so Sunday returned to Chaumont with Brewer, and here I am (May 3rd) waiting further orders before embarking on my new mission.
May 6th.The new mission was just on the point of materializing when the 'phone rang and I was told, with Colonel Keller's compliments, to "disregard my orders." I felt like one personally conducted to hell and abandoned. Dumped for some reason. It was cruel. I debated for some time and then walked down to H. Q. and saw K. All the satisfaction obtainable was that the 2nd Division wascoming out of the line and that a general reorganization was pending and to sit tight for further orders, which would surely come, and I would not be forgotten. Said he was not at liberty to divulge their plans further, and then changed the subject and talked about Colonel Reno's death by suicide, saying he was his best friend and showing me a letter from his wife.
Moved our mess-hall over on the south end of the ground. Not much to do, and every one depressed and gloomy. Cadwalader and Stillman having their afternoon naps. Saw Major Flint last night at Hotel France—said John Alsop was with him. Paul Draper regaled us yesterday with his days of prosperity. It was a very wonderful story.
With the 42nd (Rainbow) Division
November 18th.It has been many months since I have attempted to write anything, for the principal reason that shortly after the last entry I was sent to the 42nd Division as Medical Consultant. The Division was at Baccarat. At the time of my journey George E. Brewer of New York was the Surgical Consultant, and for the first two weeks we roomed together. Later I got a billet for myself over by the railroad.
It was a great relief to get away from the stuffy monotony of 15. The country was beautiful, and the opportunity to roam around and enter into the life of the war was very refreshing. We had a nice mess, not far from our billets—Sanford, Sam Arnold, "Sister" Rennis (Y.M.C.A.), I. N. Perry (Red Cross), Brewer and myself. Brewer was the cock o' the walk. Henry Sanford was Division Neurologist.
We had an epidemic of what we called "three day flu"—really, I think, grippe. Something like forty cases of pneumonia resulted from it. They ran a very protracted course and the incidence of empyema was high.
While at Baccarat I took many little side trips with Brewer in his motor. According to rules, I was entitled to a motor, but in spite of constant efforts I never got it and it did much to cripple my work with the Division.
Aside from gas attacks there was not much activity in the line. We had several nasty gas attacks. Jaspar Coglan was gas officer and seemed very efficient, but in spite of everything he did, they would get us in much too large proportions.
I drove out almost every day inspecting the regimental aid posts. The Division area was about twenty-five square miles. At one place where there was a gap in the woods, the trees had been shot away; when the Germans saw the dust of the motor they would put over afew shells, but they always broke behind us. Although the line was comparatively quiet, there was always more or less of a thrill in making these trips.
About the middle of June rumors began to spread. One, that we were to move up north and that "big business" was soon to begin. Finally officers from the 77th blew in to look the ground over, and then we knew they were the relieving division and that we were to go. In a day or two the jam in the street was terrific. 42nd moving out—77th coming in.
I motored in advance one morning, about the twentieth of June, to a charming little French town—Châtel. We spent two days here. A pleasant billet and days of real rest after a month's hard work.
The Division was slowly moving north to an unknown destination, some of it by train (the infantry)—the artillery and other overland. We found out that it would be somewhere in the neighborhood of Châlons, sostarted on ahead. We were finally assigned to a sector, of which the town of Souain was the center, about twenty-five kilometers north of Châlons. Medical headquarters at Vardanay.
While there visited Châlons many times and had some excellent dinners at the Hôtel Angleterre, which was afterward totally destroyed by a bomb. Also had a most interesting lunch with General Gouraud, to whose 4th Army we were attached. General Gouraud sent us to Verdun, where we were well entertained by Colonel Dehays, and lunched with General Hirschauer, the Commander of the Army of Verdun. It was all wonderfully interesting. The view from Fort St. Nicholas was grand, but we were shelled heartily while enjoying it. The whole country is devastated.
The days were full of new and interesting experiences. The end of June found me in a little peasant house at Vardanay across the way from the church. Our mess was in a combination schoolhouse and café, just to theright of the church. Madame Michel was the old lady proprietor's name. I had a little room under the roof, papered with daily newspapers. She had a nice little garden. After our mess we would congregate there and discuss what news there was.
It was pretty evident that they expected Fritz to start his next push somewhere in that neighborhood, as there were very extensive preparations being made. Troops and guns were arriving in large quantities every night, and all night long truck-loads of supplies were rumbling by my billet. Bussy-le-Château, about twenty kilos to our east, was chosen for our evacuation hospital, and two of our field hospitals, together with Mobile No. 2 (Captain St. John) were installed there. Walter Cannon came with a shock team, and I think we had either ten or twelve surgical teams.
I made almost daily trips in to Souain and the different positions held by our men.Toward the west (Rheims) there was almost constant bombarding, and at night the sky was brilliantly illuminated with gun flashes and rockets, but on our immediate sector there was almost an ominous quiet. Our artillery put over a daily barrage, but scarcely a shell came in.
Everything was ready, and still nothing happened. All sorts of rumors were afloat, that the attack would probably develop elsewhere, etc. In the evening after dark it was my habit to walk out on the plains and watch the artillery at work. The night of the fourteenth of July was cloudy, and it had been blowing a gale from the south all day. The guns were all very active, some shells coming in. The gale blew so that standing two hundred yards from the 155 mms. I could hardly hear the report. Starting the homeward trip about eleven against the wind, it almost made walking impossible. It seemed surely as if nothing would happen that night.
I had just undressed and blown the candle out, when crash and a roar. I knew what had happened and jumped from bed, pulling on a shirt, trousers and boots, without stopping to lace them. Before I had finished shells were dropping in Vardanay, many of them singing over the roof. As I ran down the stairs poor old Madame Michel met me. I sent her to the remains of the old Roman catacombs under the garden, and walked out into the road after fumbling with the gate for what seemed an age, trying to find the key and get it in the lock. While I was fussing a house further down the street was struck and dust and splinters dropped all over me.
I met Fairchild (D. S. Fairchild, Chief Surgeon, 42nd Division). His motor was waiting, and we got in and started east toward Bussy. I looked at my watch—it was twelve ten.
The roar of the artillery was so great that we had to yell to make ourselves heard. Shells were flying over our heads, breaking on bothsides of the road. Where the road turned north for a few hundred yards our motor suddenly stopped. The chauffeur managed to make it run again, but as we waited shells were constantly screeching over our heads.
We reached Bussy in due time. The roads were crowded with all manner of transport, and we crawled along, the only light being the gun flashes.
At Bussy all was ready. The first wounded began coming in about two a. m. At the same time the Boche opened fire on the hospital. At first the shots were wild, but with the break of day and probably aerial observation, they began getting direct hits. After three or four we decided to send nurses below and evacuate patients to dugouts, and, after further consultation, to fall back on the other two field hospitals and Evacuation 4 at Écury-sur-Coole. These had been prepared in advance for just such a contingency.
The nurses left first. I took charge of thepatients, and superintended the loading of them on ambulances and got the whole lot loaded in a little over an hour.
I had no leggings, in fact had nothing but trousers, socks, shirt and jacket, so while we were waiting for transportation to move with, I went in and Allison loaned me a razor with which I started to shave, but while I was all lathered and had just commenced, they began shelling again. I kept on, but had a good many nicks on my face, for I could not keep my hand from jerking when they whizzed over. About five minutes after I left the hut it was struck and completely demolished.
Got down to Écury in time for a bite to eat (lunched with Campbell), then went back to Triage where I had been working all night. Short of ambulances. Sent Fagely out to find trucks. He got some thirty Q. M. trucks and pressed them into service. Majorie Nott and several other R. C. women came on the scene, making coffee and sandwiches.
Wounded pouring in. Triage crowded. A. lost his head and was flying around like a madman. Many necessaries lacking. Profanity flying. Night. Dare not show a light. Promptly at ten p.m. air full of avions, dropping twenty or more bombs on Châlons. Saw three large fires. Wounded coming in all night. Six operating teams going, but not half enough. They can't nearly handle the work, and too many men kept waiting who need urgent attention.
Two p. m. Avions again over Châlons and us. More bombing. The sky full of searchlights. Dawn. Almost dead. Two nights and a day, but the wounded still coming in. At seven a.m. am relieved by some one. Go down and climb in Spielman's bed and sleep till ten a. m., then go on duty.
Third night. Châlons bombed. Aviator flew over us. He could not have been one hundred feet above the tents, and in the moonlight clearly visible. He dropped two bombs. No one hurt. Don't remember how long exactlywe stayed here, but think it was eight or ten days. Châlons bombed nightly.
About the sixth day returned to Vardanay. The house was locked and Madame M. gone, but climbed in the window, got my belongings and put them in the motor. The village was deserted, save for a few old women and a child. They sat around the mouth of the cave and went below whenever the shelling started. It was a pathetic sight. I left some money with them, which surprised them more than the shells.
There is a lot of talk about the rotten way things were handled in general. Not enough ambulances, nor general equipment, and such as we had was antiquated.
About July 24th or 25th, orders to move. Where, no one knows. Started cross country with field hospitals, going west.
Château-Thierry. Started in all over again. Night and day wounded pouring in. Insufficient ambulances. Insufficient hospitalization.Not an evacuation hospital on the scene till the main push is over. Two field hospitals taking the brunt of the work. Transporting wounded in trucks thirty-five kilometers clear to Commercy.
Pushed on with the troops to Épieds and later to Fère-en-Tardenois. Much evidence that the Boche is beating a hasty retreat, from the quantities of stores and munitions left behind.
Considerable bombing. Was almost caught on the road by three bombs returning from La Ferté with Perry.
We pulled out the end of August and left for Bourmont near Chaumont. En route spent three delightful days in a small French château in Lysantry, five kilometers from La Ferté. The old caretaker cooked for me and I ate under the trees. I hated to go.
We understand the Division gets thirty days' rest, but we get seven, then orders to move. All night groping our way in the dark,arrive in Longchamps at dawn in a drizzling rain. I knocked on the door of the first house in the village and after a long pause was admitted by a very old man. He had a fine spare room and without undressing I wrapped myself in blankets and fell asleep. The old man was eighty-six and his wife eighty-four. They lived there all alone.
Next day moved to Chatenois two kilometers away where headquarters were. No news of probable destination. Three nights later another move, this time to Germiny on the road to Toul, or rather just off it. Dirty little place, but got a fair billet. Two nights here, then all night on the road, arrived at Bicqueley in early morning and camped by roadside thirty-six hours (B. is ten kilometers south of Toul). Later on to Bruley. Rotten billets. The place is full of French and everything is crowded. Rain and mud.
Probably the attack will be at St. Mihiel.
Saw a ghastly notice posted in theY. M. C. A. to the effect that if any of our men were taken prisoner and questioned to say nothing; that torture would undoubtedly be used, and that such men would never be allowed to return alive, no matter what they said. It ended by saying let them meet Eternity with the knowledge they had done their duty. It gave me a thrill as I read it.
At most of our stops I have been fortunate in finding French families where I could get something to eat.
It is St. Mihiel. We move to Ansauville. The attack commences—I forget the date. In fact, one seldom knows it. We are in advance of the heavies, they firing over our heads. The show opens at one thirty a. m. It is drizzling. The fire is very intense, but nothing like Souain.
By four p.m. the guns ease off and the men go over. Met Normand who was in charge of Vittel, also a Major Finck, a fine man. They asked me to billet with them. The whole place is shot to pieces and there is scarcely anyshelter to be found. We three, and sometimes a fourth casual, sleep in a kitchen. It is about the only place that has half a roof.
Later next day Normand and I pushed north with the advancing troops. The roads were simply jammed, but we followed up, finally getting into Essie. Every one is wild with enthusiasm, for the Boche is simply on the run. Groups of German prisoners are constantly passing us on the road down. Many have their knapsacks all packed, so must have been expecting us. I counted over eleven hundred going through the fields. They certainly make a most cheering sight.
We pass through several small towns, nothing but a mass of rubble now. The balloons are all moving forward.
Essie is a mass of ruins. The 82nd Division is holding the place. None of the transports have come up and there is still intermittent shelling.
The 42nd's triage is here in a cellar. We metand talked to a large number of the liberated civilians. They were happy, but very quiet. Most of them were old people. One woman had a baby by a Boche. Every one pointed her and it out, but it was more in the spirit of historical interest than anything else. An unfortunate accident. She clutched the baby as if in her eyes it was a perfectly good infant.
Toward night we made our way back and the next day started for Thiaucourt to help get out the civil population. The town was fairly intact when we first entered it, but while we were there they started up a violent artillery action. Soon buildings began to go. Most of the shelling was for one of their ammunition dumps they had abandoned in their precipitous flight. However, a little later the guns were turned on the town.
We got out all the civilians without any casualties. I have heard since that the place is completely wrecked. They kept on shelling it intermittently until November 11th.
A few days later we went out to Pont-à-Mousson. (We referring to Normand and myself.) The action had shifted more to the east, judging from the intensity of the artillery action. We passed out along the Thierry road. The lines had, of course, all pushed forward, but the place was just lined with the old gun emplacements. As our road gradually neared the Boche lines one could hear that a very heavy duel was in progress. We continued to the cross-road which turns into Pont-à-Mousson. Shells were dropping here every three minutes. We timed them, and when one exploded, beat it, full steam ahead. Our batteries were more terrifying than Fritz's, because they were on both sides of the road and were going off right under your nose.
When we arrived in the town things were very active. We took shelter in an abri for a time, but as most of the shells were passing over, searching out our "heavies" behind the town, we decided to walk along, across theriver and climb into Mousson, a high conical hill where the French observation post was. It was a long, hot pull with a constant accompaniment of whistling shells, but when we got there it was well worth while.
The post was on the very top in some partially demolished buildings, the view from whence was superb. One, with the aid of the glass, could see Metz distinctly, even reading the time on the Cathedral clock.
Five hundred yards across to the next hill was the German observation post, but "noblesse oblige," they left one another alone. Below, across the river, were three German towns with the peasants working quietly in the fields, and right across the river was one of the Crown Prince's many châteaux, untouched, although one of our 75's could have blown it to fragments in five minutes.
As the gun-fire was likely to increase rather than diminish with sunset, we started down the hill and back through Pont-à-Mousson.The place was all but deserted, only a few Americans hanging around the mouths of abris. We found our motor and driver, however, after some little search, keeping careful lookout in the meanwhile where the shells were falling. Just as we were leaving the town two 77's broke in the road behind us, but doing no further damage than to cover us in a cloud of earth.
Two days later ordered to move forward and accordingly took position at Beaumont just behind Sains made famous by the stand of the Marines earlier in the summer.
Beaumont was nothing but a mass of wreckage and mud. We pitched the two field hospitals on the ground floor of all that remained of an old-time château, while the officers lived in the abandoned French dugouts. These were fairly comfortable, but infested with rats. The whole place is a sea of mud and filth.
During most of the St. Mihiel drive we had fine weather, except the first three days. Thedrive started September 12th, with the moon in the first quarter, consequently we had great German aerial activity. One evening a Boche plane was brought down by one of our men just at sunset. Both Germans were killed. Every night planes flew over our heads all night, but fortunately nothing fell near us.
* * * * * * * *
On September 26th I was detached from the 42nd Division and sent as Medical Consultant to the Justice Group of seven hospitals at Toul. H. C. Madden (Lt.-Col.) was Commanding Officer—an efficient man. The work here is purely medical and very tame after the Division. I was much disappointed as Thayer had promised me the 3rd Army Corps.
Toul is a dreary place and the darkest corner of France I have found. I have tried to organize the service, a thing requiring some tact, as each hospital has an excellent chief of its own medical service.
On October 6th I got into Paris for the Red Cross medical meeting. It was my first sight of real civilization since the previous April when I hated the everlasting dreary nights. However, this time it did not make much difference, as I was dog-tired and only too glad to turn in after dinner. Spirits are brighter moreover with the continuing good news. ***
November 11th.The last salvo was fired at eleven this morning!While I was in Paris called on L. There were two old chatterboxes there who cackled about divorces and clothes. It gave me such a strange sensation and seemed so unreal and trivial. I suppose the world must go on in spite of war—"battle, murder and sudden death."
November 18th.Was commissioned Lieutenant-Colonel to-day and walked down town and bought some silver leaves in the afternoon.
On November 3rd a telegram from Helentelling me that dear father had died on the tenth of October. I had expected it, but it was a shock.
November 24th.Have just returned from what I hope will be the last Paris medical meeting. I want to get home, and kicking about the city is pretty dreary. Called on every one I knew. Saw Dorziat and Lucien Guitry in "Samson" and supped at Maxim's.
Have applied for home, and am hoping with all my heart that it will go through. Work over here is an awful anti-climax now.
December 6th.Toul. Called up Neufchâteau three days ago and spoke to Major McLean. General Thayer, as usual, was not there. However, McLean told me I would get my home orders. The same night Colonel Thornburgh told me he had arranged matters so I could go, but now it was necessary to wait for my rating card before the final orders could be issued, so here I am, waiting.
Last night we went over to a musical showat the Marshal Ney Barracks. It was very poor—absolutely devoid of imagination or humor.
This morning I got the motor after some scrapping and took Yocum, Hodges and Kennon over to Metz. We went via Pont-à-Mousson. There was a thick fog which practically obscured the views. As we passed through Pont-à-Mousson I could not but think of the time I was last there with Normand when shells were coming and going all the time. The road was still fairly full of transports, but nothing like old times. Pont-à-Mousson was more shot up than when I last saw it, and it was almost deserted.
From there we soon ran into German territory, with old gun emplacements, camouflage and ruined buildings all along the road.
Metz was gaily decorated with flags, and the streets were gay with French and Americans, but the whole air suggested a conquered city. Some shops had posted "MaisonFrançaise" on the door; painters were rapidly changing the signs from German to French. The Hotel welcomed one, but everywhere it was with the air of the conqueror. The people were frightened and did not know what was going to happen. There were only eight thousand real Alsace-Lorraines in the city, so an intelligent German officer told me, and most of the "hurrahing" was done from policy.
Boys and men were doing a thriving business in selling Boche souvenirs. Iron crosses and belts being their specialty. And the Americans were the victims, especially the large army who fought the war in swivel chairs and are seeing the front for the first time.
In spite of all tales to the contrary, the shops seemed full, especially the provision stores. Prices are very high. I saw plain women's hats, that are generally seen at a store like Macy's piled by hundreds in a box and selling for fifty cents, marked fifty and sixty francs. There was no rubber, so bicycle tires were made of asteel spring arrangement and one of rope. Shoes had wooden soles.
We had a very good plain dinner, but paid ten francs for what ordinarily would have been about three marks. The beer was simply bitter water.
Coming home we passed on the other bank of the Moselle and back through Lorry, Fleury, Meiul-la-Tour, and so home, but the roads were all deserted—so very different from my previous visits.
December 12th.Yesterday Fullerton (Major Robert Fullerton of St. Louis) asked me to go to Montfaucon and Varennes with him. We started this morning at eight a. m. in a drizzling rain and fog.
On our way out we went through Commercy, St. Mihiel and Verdun. The latter looked much tidier than when I saw it in July with Brewer. Out of Verdun through the Gate St. Paul into the beyond on the Montfaucon road, the battlefield is still fresh. The destructionis worse than anything I have so far seen. The earth for miles is torn with shells, one hole knocked out and then the edge of that hole knocked into another. Several of the holes were twelve to fourteen feet deep, and thirty-five or forty feet across. Everywhere was wreckage; gunners' positions, guns (77's), machine guns, clothes, rifles and quantities of Boche ammunition; all the towns about were obliterated.
While we were waiting at the former Crown Prince's house, the owner turned up after an absence of four years and three months. I wish I could describe the scene. She was a plump little woman of fifty-five or more. Two men friends drove her out from somewhere. We were standing in the door when she descended from the old trap. She came in through the mud and announced in a cheery voice that this was her old home. There was a little tremor in her voice when she turned and said: "There was the salle-à-manger, but gentlemen, as yousee, it is all no more. We left it at two a. m. September 2nd, 1914, and with it everything in my life departed." Still the voice was cheery. "My husband, son-in-law and two sons have been killed. My grandfather, who was buried over there (pointing) has been turned out of his grave." She then looked around a few minutes, gazing in a wistful way, then walked out the front door, turned and looked back at the mass of wreckage. Her lips trembled, she covered her mouth with her hand, and we heard a few soft sobs. Then she quietly turned, pulled up her skirts and tramped out into the muddy road.
Cressy à Varennes. We passed through there on the way back. Like the other neighboring towns it only exists in name. The same utter desolation, shell holes, tin cans, wire, guns, shells, fog and rain. Nothing can ever picture the dreary awfulness of it all. It looked as if the sun had faded and we were at the end of the world, stepping into the Infinite.
Back to Toul at seven and it was good to see a few lights burning in the homes.
December 13th.Raining hard all day, but very warm and balmy. Cornelia Landon and Rose Saltonstall of Boston are at our mess for a few days. I asked Colonel Thornburgh to invite them, as they were billeted here and sick. The Madame told me there were two sick Americans down there, and I was much surprised to see little Landon. Saltonstall is very bright and attractive. We don't see much of them, for they only show up for lunch, playing in the evening.
It seems strange to be sitting December 13th with your window open, enjoying the efforts of the moon to work through the clouds.
December 15th.Went to Neufchâteau on the excuse of seeing Thayer, who was not there. A beautiful sunny day. Met Tommy Robertson at the Officers' Club and had a fairly good representation of a real cocktail.
Landon and Saltonstall left this morning. Idid not see them again, but they left two nice little good-by letters.
December 20th.A bit colder. There was a flurry of snow yesterday, but still, with the exception of a few days in October, there has been no cold weather.
Took my daily walk up to the railroad track. Found the life of P. T. Barnum among some old books and read hard for two hours.
Colonel T. has an attack of rheumatism, is in bed, and feels very sorry for himself.
We take Christmas dinner at B. H. 45, that is unless I have the good luck to get away before then. Every one is beginning to feel very homesick and restless. I cannot realize that Christmas will be here in four days. There isn't a suggestion of it in the air.
The children keep up a continual chatter in the next room, but strange, it is rather pleasant than otherwise. If they would only not start the squeaky old pump at seven in the morning!
Christmas Eve, 1918.It hardly seems possible that another year has rolled by and Christmas is here again. One year ago to-night, and now here again in Toul.
Goodall, Yocum and self went to Nancy this afternoon. In the evening the Delatté children came in my room, played the piano and they danced. I gave them some candy; then to supper.
Dinner was pretty sad. Never try and be gay, is a rule that should be taught in childhood.
My landlady, is having "tea" at nine this evening, and I am expected to join. The day started beautifully, but it is sleeting hard now. And mud everywhere.
No signs of Christmas anywhere among the French, except Madame Delatté asked me to go to Midnight Mass with her. She got confessed this afternoon, and is ready now for another year of miserliness. Much to my astonishment, she made me a brioche.
December 28th.Waiting! Waiting for orders to return. Cadwalader called me up Friday and said he had received his, and that my name was on the same paper, but nothing has come. It is very trying. Over three weeks now in daily anticipation.
Yocum, Goodall and self went to Neufchâteau. Saw Finney, Boggs and Longcape, but no one knew anything about what was happening. We lunched and came back by way of Domremy, Jeanne d'Arc's birthplace. Then across via Voucoleur to Colombey-la-Belle. Heavy fog and rain, as usual. There were no lights on the machine, so we had to grope the last four miles home.
New Years Eve.By special invitation I was asked to see the old year out with Madame De Salle, my neighbor of the next room. There was great stirring about all afternoon in her rooms, and I could hear a stirring of something in a bowl. Phillip, her son, age eight, came in to get me at eight p. m., but I did not turnup till nine. When all the guests were assembled, which was promptly at nine, we sat down, ate a piece of dry sponge-cake, drank a small glass of white wine, then a little coffee. Lieutenant Le Beau, Madame Gérard, the local teacher of the art of piano-playing, a fat, healthy, false-toothed dame, Madame Ralling, and her son waxing into manhood, down on his upper lip and a voice that wabbled from treble to bass. At midnight we all kissed.
But this is all as nothing now, for it is January 2nd, 1919, and at three fifteen p. m. this afternoon, after all hope of anything immediate had vanished, received orders for home. Telegraphed H. and leave for Paris Saturday, January 4th, en route for Angers and from there to a port of embarkation.