Beyond Robert Espagne we were in thezone of the active army—miles of wagon trains going both ways and smothered in a cloud of dust. At Rivigny we entered on the military railroad, the regular line to Verdun having been cut on the Verdun drive. Also a little later we caught constant glimpses of the Voie Saire on the road that supplied Verdun after the railroad had been cut. There were still thousands of motor-trucks going both ways. Now and then soldiers' graves dotted the fields or lay along the lines of the railroad. The French had a helmet hanging on the cross, the Boche a little wooden fencing around it, which will soon break down and mean that many a poor chap will lie in an unknown grave in foreign soil. At Rivigny, or just beyond, here and there a half-destroyed village, or perhaps just the church. It seemed always the church that was marked.
At Évers the village was practically wiped out.
Then as we approached Fleury towardsunset the air was alive with aerial activity. Planes were constantly flying one way or the other. The French can tell the difference between their machines and the Boche, by the hum of the motors. And now as far as the eye can reach, a long line of observation balloons. We could easily see twelve or fifteen, and as the train pulled in there was a terrific bombing, with dozens of little balls of white smoke in the clouds and a dozen aeros circling in that vicinity. The men cried "bloins," which meant that there was a Boche plane trying to get through.
The air was dead calm. The cotton balls slowly turned from white to black and then faded away. Suddenly a burst of flame which shot precipitately to earth, and murmurs of delight from the officers standing about. The Boche had been winged and fallen to earth.
We went through the hospital. I was not much interested. Salle de Tirage, where the cases were sorted—Salle d'Opération—Salledu Stérilisation—Salle du Pansement et Tisane. But it was all dealing with wreckage, and one wanted to go on and up where men were living and doing.
As dusk came on, flash, flash, some small, some large. Great blasts from a Vulcan's furnace that lit the skyline from horizon to horizon, and through the still night the constant purr drifted back.
The motors kept pouring back from the front, each with a load; driver covered with dust, its contents a mass of dust, grimed and plastered on, often with blood, but the eyes flashed—for they had beenthere.
Captain Félix Melin was shot through the shoulder circling the right side of Hill 304. His arm was in a sling, his coat hung about his shoulders, blood spattered down trousers and over suspenders, but he was the Real Thing. Several men of his Company file down the gangway into the train—soldiers of the 9th Company of the 303rd Regiment—theywere his men and he had led them! A handshake and a pat on the back were waiting for each man. From all the line of wreckage—tired, weary men—never one word of complaint, but on all sides friends met, or members of the same command met and compared experiences. Many were going back for the second, third and fourth time—all had been out in the heart of things, and were coming back for repairs to make the trip again.
Finally we got our load and started back, but just before leaving, the cry of "Boche Aéroplane" was heard. All lights went out. The plane passed over us, then we went crawling back with our load. St. Dozier again, Montdidier, Brienne. There the men were fed meat, bread, wine and cheese. Piney, Troyes and Mesgrigny, where they were all discharged. It was with much regret that I saw Melin go, and his Lieutenant Broule. They were the best.
Then back to Troyes where we gave Major Costacy and his Adjutant Aubert a dinner atthe hotel, and opened a bottle of "fiz." I proposed drinking it with dinner, but they seemed horrified with the idea and said it was for dessert only. So we had white wine first and then "fiz." They enjoyed it and mellowed out. It improved my French tremendously, and when we had finished dinner and gone across the street to the Café for coffee, I was talking fluently on war, petticoats, and soaring prices. However, we all walked out to the train, two kilos outside the town, singing the "Madelon." We climbed into our little compartment which seems like home now.
The Adjutant Aubert—I can't describe him. But to me he was fascinating and I could not keep my eyes off him. A face like Christ, with a full beard, even white teeth, a calm, serene face, but with an eye that flashed hell-fire when he spoke. Ten years in Algeria, through all the North African campaigns, and covered with a mass of decorations. Cora seemed the only thing in life he cared for. Cora was a fox-terrierpicked up in the streets of Chaumont and Cora was everything to him. She followed him everywhere, slept on his bed, and he watched over her like a baby.
During the night we pulled into Joinville and then into Chevillon, where the train pulled into a siding for further orders. We took the train back to Chaumont and came down through a beautiful valley into the town, arriving just in time for lunch at the France. Then back to barracks. Jim and Peck had returned and we exchanged experiences, which were about the same.
Trinder and Hansell have gone to Paris for their examinations for promotion. I spoke to Hansell about being transferred to a regiment, and he said he would try and arrange it. I want to get into the real thing and be with real men, and not sitting around here just taking care of sick people.
August 27th.Life has settled down to the same old routine. A violent thunder-stormlast night, but fine and clear and much cooler to-day. The weather has been fine now for the past ten days.
Hansell and Trinder are coming back to-night and we are preparing a spread for them—cocktails, sweet champagne. I have been tearing all over town to find some gin, which I finally accomplished at la maison of M. Henry, who was well stocked with every kind of wine.
There has been a lot of kick about the food. The men seem to be always hungry—an enormous breakfast and then howls for more lunch—then tears when the bill comes. I had a meeting two nights ago and told them they could have what they wanted, but they would have to pay for it. They finally voted a French breakfast, which began this morning. I did not come down till late, but I was told they were a doleful lot. However, they will get used to it later. Nothing but housekeeping. It takes from two to three hours to get the work straightened out.
August 30th.The dinner was quite a success. Every one limbered up, and laughter, loud and plenty, was the order of the night. Since then nothing worthy of note.
At last I have an orderly and he is working on my books. And perhaps life will now be pleasanter.
September 3rd.The golden morning sun came pouring in the window this morning and Trinder came smashing in the door at six thirty a. m. demanding the key of the storeroom.
Yesterday we took a nice walk, climbing the heights on the west bank of the Marne.
I went to Colonel Hansell this morning and asked permission to resign from the job of the mess. He immediately granted my request. To-night at dinner he made a very pretty little speech, thanking me for my work under very trying circumstances and calling for three cheers for the retiring mess officer, which were given with a hearty good will. It was a mostcourteous thing, and I was deeply touched. What a relief to have the thing off my shoulders!
I walked to town with my wash and felt like a boy out of school. Cave joined me and we went down to the new headquarters. Everything was humming with activity. Tents line the road on both sides. Motors and motorcycles are flying in all directions. Engineers stringing wires and newly-made majors swaggering about, greatly impressed with their own importance, all looking very debonair and rather foolish. They are rather a fine-looking lot on the whole, the Western type easily predominating.
We lunched peacefully at the Hotel France.
Peck told me Bradley had asked for teams to go to the front for a two weeks' tour of duty and McWilliams had chosen me as a team mate. Hurrah!
September 13th.Haven't written. Little to write about. The evening of the 10th, Kildareand I walked along the canal to a little town called Luzy. There we made a find in the form of a nice, good-natured, well-nourished woman who keeps a little restaurant near the station. She cooked us a good omelet with potatoes and salad, with plenty of bread and good butter. Eating it in the court in front of the house, it was all right, and fired me with a sporting spirit of adventure and a bit of life in the open away from all this chaos and turmoil. So, on returning, I proposed to the room that we take a walking trip. Henry James was the only one who took me up and so the next morning, having obtained permission, we started with no definite destination other than to get lunch at Luzy with Madame and then push on to any old place.
Madame at Luzy told us that Nogent-la-Haute was an interesting old town about fifteen kilometers away, so we started off with full stomachs to reach it. We strolled along the canal with its sides lined with beautifulLombardy poplars. The afternoon was hot, but, other than an occasional fisherman who never seemed to catch anything, there were no signs of life alongside the canal. The Marne babbled over the stones, here and there turning a water-wheel, and great gray cattle grazed peacefully in the meadows, and we breathed a deep breath of freedom, and joy of the open road crept into my bones. It seemed once again that care and responsibility had rolled away and that I was a boy with nothing to do but to wander where the spirit willed.
Then an idea struck us. How nice it would be to board a canal-boat and just idle along with it. But none came. Then a plan for taking a train and going to Belfort and from there out to the French, but at the station the timetable said the last train that day had gone, and then again the distance was given as one hundred and fifty-four kilometers, much too far in the short time at our disposal. So finally it was decided, at Faulein, to takethe little narrow-gauge road to Nogent-la-Haute. So narrow-gauge it was; and it puffed up hill for twelve kilometers to a snug little village perched on a high rock surrounded with gardens and the biggest pine-trees I have ever seen. The tower of an old castle spoke of seigneurial days when "barons held their sway."
I looked forward to a nice, quiet, cozy little dinner and a good sleep and a morning's loaf, strolling about the town to the wonderful view from the great precipitous height on the west. But nothing of the sort. As we descended from the train a dozen urchins cried, "Les Américains!" and in half the time it takes to write it, a dozen more sprang up, taking up the cry, so that walking along the main street there was a troop of urchins crowding about us and from the windows heads appeared, the whole town coming to life. The urchins ran into the hotel and told Madame "les Américains" were on the threshold. Madame rushedout all a-flutter and courtesied us in. Mother and sister courtesied. Were we spending the night? Did we eat? We assured her we ate and were spending the night. Then, what would we eat and where would we eat it? This latter point was unfortunately settled by the chief permanent boarder, acting as a delegate and asking the honor of having us join them. There was no alternative. We simply had to dine with them, and we marched bravely in.
Talk! My God! My God! There was no end to it! Words rolled out in avalanches. Special brands of red wine were ordered, coffee, liqueurs—but always talk. Now, if you are not a professor of the French language and you are tired after a day's tramp, and if it is up to you to appear half intelligent (for James was lucky enough not to speak a word of French and so it was up to me), it is exhausting. Those moments were like sitting on a chair and having hot needles stuck all over one's body.
Talk! Talk! The war! Every one had a sonor brother, or at least a brother-in-law, killed or wounded. We were doctors, so a minute account of their deaths or how they acted after they were wounded. Then what the war had done to them, and what they had done to the war. Then politics. What America would do. How independent the Americans were. They smoked cigarettes with their meals. They only smoked them half through, etc., etc., etc.
It seems we were the first Americans since one Gillette, of safety-razor fame, had established a factory there some twelve years ago. Gillette! Gillette! We heard all about razors till I wished Gillette shaved into fragments. We must see the factory in the morning. We must visit Collin's surgical instrument emporium.
At seven thirty in the morning they were on the job, but we stayed in our room and watched the market going on in the public square.
September 14th.A fine driving rain and a beautiful cold in the head, and all the rooms have a dampness that drives to the bone. Finished my twenty-four hours as O. D. at nine this morning—nothing happened.
September 16th.Time drags interminably. It is a glorious day, but absolutely nothing to do, either in the way of play or work. I feel as if my brain were jellifying, or that if something did not happen I must simply run away. Army life! It squeezes every inch of individuality out of a man. Its rules are those of the Medes and Persians, and no blue-black Presbyterian could be more strict in their observance. In the fighting line it is all right, but in the "administering angel" job it is Hell.
The men are playing baseball and the Frenchmen Rugby football. James, Cave and myself lunched at the France, but it was deadly. The streets contain only old women with few teeth and look bedraggled out of all proportion.
September 20th.Tuesday night Kilbane and I dined at the Signal Corps quarters. They are in the Château of Chaumont, down under the hill. It is a wonderful little place, resplendent with a hundred memories, for the place was built by Louis XV for a hunting lodge, and, to all appearances, remains unchanged to-day. It is built on a court, only two stories high, and much of the old fittings still remain. The garden is overgrown with weeds and the flowers are sadly neglected, but in spite of everything one's imagination harks back to former times, for the atmosphere is all there. As we were shown around by Major Dodd it seemed almost sacrilegious to turn it over to the unappreciative hands of officers.
Colonel Churchill was the Commanding Officer. He impressed me very much as a gentleman and a personality of much charm.
September 24th.Two glorious autumn days with wonderful sunrises and sunsets. Only small bunches of clouds are appearing, whichin all probability means trouble for tomorrow.
Everybody is getting very restless and unless something happens to break the calm tranquillity of the daily routine, something is going to blow up. Saturday the officers played the Johns Hopkins unit at Bazoirs and, although they were beaten, they came back full of enthusiasm over the good times they had and the hospitality shown them.
Last night a telegram saying, "War Department offers you commission gastro-enterologist, rank Captain, base hospital here. Only thirty-two appointments. Will you accept if transfer possible. Cable immediately." I answered, "Prefer France."
I do not want to leave now because, in spite of the awful waste in time and money, the game is just beginning, and I want to see it through.
There is a rumor that Brewer will be here for lunch. I hope so, as it means a little news of what is going on around us. Steiner and Iare planning to go to Troyes for Saturday night for a bit of a change.
September 25th.Brewer arrived about noon and after lunch recounted his adventures at the front. They were exciting and they all had narrow squeaks. He was on the British lines East of Ypres and while he was there the Evacuation Hospital was bombed three times.
Darrach was asked to join in a poker game one night. He said he was tired and did not want to play as he had been operating all day, but they kept urging him and as he was ahead of the game he finally consented. They had not been playing fifteen minutes when there was a terrific crash. Darrach went out to see what had happened and found a bomb had fallen squarely on his tent. Nothing remained but a few fragments of his overcoat; there was a hole six feet deep and about ten feet in diameter.
A few moments later, when Brewer was in bed, a second crash followed by a shower of fragments. He rushed out and was told someof his nurses were hurt. A bomb had fallen right in front of the kitchen, blowing it to splinters. A fragment had struck Miss McDonald, his former operating nurse, just below the right eye, and fragments of shell wounded two others. There were seventy people wounded that night.
He then went on to recount many little instances of life in an Evacuation Hospital. How the officers finally dug themselves in. They did not like to do it at first, as they were all new at the game and no one wanted to show that he was nervous. They heard Boche avions passing overhead frequently, and at those times they would climb in the dugouts. O—— had a narrow escape. They heard bombs in the neighborhood. He rushed in his tent for his helmet. His servant was there and as soon as they found it they both rushed out. As they ran along, the servant about twenty feet in advance, crash—and the servant was wafted off the face of the earth.
All day and all night shells were passing over them. Also he told us an authentic story of one of his patients who was wounded in a charge, the wound proving to be a compound fracture of the thigh. He crawled into a shell-hole where he met another man with a compound fracture of the arm. They remained there using their rations and water. Then the man with the arm crawled out and brought in food and water from the dead that were lying about them. And so they existed until the forty-ninth day. On that night the arm man failed to return and was never seen again. So the leg man waited two more days, catching some water in his helmet, and then realized he must get out or starve. So starting in the direction in which he knew the British lines to be, he crawled across no-man's-land when, to his surprise, he came up to a trench and found it filled with Germans. He then realized that this trench had been built while he was lying out there and to get home he mustcross it. So he waited for a time, until a moment when there were no Germans near him, and jumped it landing on his good leg. Crawling further he at last arrived in front of his own trench where he was seen and a big fusillade opened. He escaped this and finally by yelling in English they realized it was one of their own men and he was taken in. This was after fifty days. Brewer states the story has been corroborated in all details and is true.
Stillman has sent McWilliams a letter in which he says there are altogether too many shells flying around and very little to do.
I am looking forward to the day when we will get up there and see some of these things for ourselves.
Later the order came. It reads that we report in Paris at nine a. m., Saturday, September 29th, report to the 2nd Army, British Expeditionary Force for a period of fourteen days.
September 27th.Paris.McWilliams and Icame on last night, leaving Chaumont at five thirty reaching here ten p. m. The city was better illuminated than the last time I was here. We are stopping at the Continental Hotel—not as nice as the Ritz and more expensive. The breakfast room here this morning was filled with ambulance drivers, doctors and nurses.
Called on Henry Clews and Lillie Havemeyer. Both out.
Paris to-day looked actually down at the heel.
September 28th.The following medical clinics are held at Paris: Heart Diseases—Hop. St. Antoine Vacquez; General Medicine—Hop. Cochin Vidal; General Medicine—Hop. Cochin Chauffard.
Lunch with Lillie Havemeyer. Called on Dorziat and met General Brook, who is a son of Lord Warwick. D. asked him to give me letters to some of the officers with the Second Army Corps, which he has promised to do.
Last night was a real party. McW. and I started out for dinner, met two British officers at Henry's bar. We had a few, and then went around to Géney's for dinner. It was fine. We all sat down in a little room. Dinner was served at seven thirty to all. There were several very nice girls in the party and we had a very jolly evening.
Dined with Henry Clews to-night.
September 29th.Reported at nine a. m. at Medical Headquarters, 10 Rue Ste. Anne, and there got our orders. We leave at one fifteen for Amiens. Spend the night there. The following morning proceed to Albert, arriving at six fifty-five a. m. There report to the Liaison Officer at Headquarters, 2nd British Army, and then to Director of Medical Service at the same place. A pass has been issued to us and so we are all ready for whatever comes.
Saw Pool and Colonel Winter, who was very cordial. Now to pack and lunch.
We packed up, caught one fifteen train, and a few minutes before six p. m. pulled into Amiens.—On July 30th, 1914, Helen and I spent the night here and met Sir Seymour King in the Hotel Rhin. How well he conceived the magnitude of the whole thing. That evening after dinner he said, "This will be a veritable Armageddon, in which you will be eventually involved." And here we are now after three years and two months.
McWilliams and I dined at the Hotel Rhin and sat in the garden. How memories come back. The dinner was poor and the price high.
Just before dinner we visited the Cathedral. The carving on the outside and inside is piled high with sandbags and was invisible. There were absolutely no lights in Amiens and the streets were simply crowded with Tommies. We managed to get a nasty room in the Belford near the station.
September 30th.We were called at four forty-five a. m. after a horrible night of littlesleep from screeching railroad whistles, and in the dark hurriedly shaved and dressed. The porter brought a cup of coffee and slice of bread, for which they had the nerve to charge two francs. Then carrying our own bags we started for the station. In spite of the early hour the place was crowded, both with military and civilians. It was pitch black, but the train was found and we all piled in and started for Albert. As day dawned a thick mist prevented any range of vision, but just before reaching Albert it began to lift and ruins of villages, or villages partly in ruins, could be seen. Then the train pulled in.
The station was full of shell-holes, in fact, half demolished—but we stored our baggage in a shed and started down the street to find the Liaison Officer. But the city was in ruins. The walls were pockmarked by machine-gun fire and only about one in ten habitable. And then as we turned a street corner we saw the Cathedral, or rather the shell of what it once was.From the top of the shell-shattered tower the Virgin and Child were suspended at right angles, the Child extending far out. As the mist lifted the sun struck the gilding. It was like a miracle and one fairly gasped. We were all much impressed and somewhat awed, for there was silence for some minutes afterward.
The Cathedral was totally destroyed, only the four walls and tower standing, and large holes through all the walls. For blocks around there, no houses were left standing and only a block of stone and a few piles which marked doorstep and entrance hall. Some houses had no roofs and some roofs had no house, but remained suspended when all the remaining structure had gone. It was like wandering through some recently excavated city.
At Albert one first comes in contact with English efficiency and there is only one word to express it, and that is "Marvelous." The gaping windows and doorways of shattered houses are wired across to keep out marauders.The streets are fairly polished, signs posted in English—regarding roads, officers' quarters and different staff traffic guards, but above all, one is amazed at the wonderful neatness and order.
After wandering about for about an hour we finally found the S.F.C., Rest House and Mess-Room. The roof was gone and the whole top story, but that was boarded up and a little mess-room made, and around the garden, which had been cleaned up, were rooms for stray officers. We got the first good breakfast there I have had since leaving home. The touch of England was everywhere. A Sergeant received you and gave you a check in the hall. There is a parlor and reading-room, etc. Certainly they know how to do things. But writing this twenty-four hours later, what we admired then we marveled at now. For that same hand of quiet efficiency is everywhere. No wonder they are the most wonderful colonizers of the world. But more of this later.
There was no Liaison Officer, so we went to Medical Headquarters (D.D.M.S.), and speaking about D.D.M.S., one needs a dictionary to understand these initials. Everything is initialed. I am struggling to get on to them, but it is very confusing to a beginner.
From D.D.M.S. we were sent forward in two ambulances, one for baggage and one for ourselves. We left Albert on the Bapaume Road, and now all power of description fails. One looks with mixed awe, wonder and admiration.
The battlefield begins on all sides. As far as the eye can see are trenches, shell-holes and graves. The country is one vast barren stretch. Scarcely a tree remains. Not a habitation is left standing. Barbed-wire entanglements run across the country for miles.
On all sides English soldiers are working, cleaning and salvaging the French lumber and wrecked building material and remaking the roads. The sites of previous hamlets aremarked by a sign in many places, and by signs and bricks and a few remnants of walls. In other places literally not a fragment remains of what once was a little French village.
Words can never paint a picture of what unfolds before the eye. You feel that at the top of the near crest this desolation must end and life begin again, but it goes on and on, mile after mile, a dreary waste of torn-up ground and blighted tree stumps.
And the English. No words can tell of their wonderful efficiency and sanitation. Water-tanks, horse troughs, latrines, water for washing, water-tanks where canteens may be filled, manure dumps where all manure is collected and covered with earth to keep flies away. It all speaks for wonderful order and efficiency.
At crossroads a traffic man stands to regulate vehicles.
Crosses of white, crosses with the tricolor of France, and black crosses, mark the graves of English, French and German, respectively.Here and there little cemeteries of white crosses are scattered through the fields where they have been able to collect their dead.
Fifteen kilometers to Bapaume, which is a mass of wreckage, and on to Battencourt. Here we met Colonel Westcott, who looked us over, and then shipped us to the 2/1 Field Ambulance of the 62nd Battalion at Fevreuil. We get out here, our baggage is unloaded and we enter our shelter. Now a shelter is a round piece of corrugated iron with a wooden floor and serves for winter quarters.
October 1st.I sha'n't attempt to describe a Field Ambulance personnel. Everyone has explained it to me and that is sufficient, because I didn't understand it and probably never shall. Only, it is in three sections and each section is in three parts, so we are part one of second section. Thus 2/1.
We are comfortably quartered and the men are all nice fellows. The colonel is on leave and Captain Pope is in command. The officersare all fed up on the war as they have been at it since the start and have all seen trench service.
All morning we rode around with the Sanitary Officer inspecting camps and sanitation in general. The English make a separate sanitary service under trained sanitary men and not doctors. In the course of the morning we met Major English, a charming fellow, not over thirty, who took us over his battalion of Lewis guns. They had just come back the night before, but quiet, order and cleanliness reigned everywhere. Truly a remarkable people.
In the afternoon we motored over to Péronne with the same Sanitary Lieutenant (Hafflin), and again a vast track of devastation as far as the eye could reach in all directions—trenches, barbed wire and graves. Literally, not a habitable house left standing. Péronne has a school of sanitation where the men are detailed for two or three days for instructionin general camp sanitation. It is a remarkable institution. Every bit of waste material is utilized. Petrol cans make wonderful stoves. Boxes are sawed up into latrine covers, wash benches, meat-safes. Tin cans are cut up and reshaped into many utensils. Hinges are improvised from bits of leather, pieces of tin and wire. It has all been carefully worked out and nothing left to chance. Then again all wagons, bits of equipment, harness, etc., are groomed with just as much care and attention as they would be at home. Autos are washed, shined and polished. It is all simply a marvel.
Péronne is a mass of wreckage like everything else. Evidently a once charming little Cathedral lies in a mass of wreckage, and on the doors of the Hôtel de Ville is scribbled in chalk "Eintritt fur 40 Sanitatespersonnel." The destitution of the Cathedral is so complete that it must have been blown up.
October 3rd.Yesterday morning about nine o'clock we started for Écoust-Longatte, goingout in the motor ambulance about four kilometers. We were fitted out with steel helmets and two gas-masks, the second as an emergency in case anything happens to the first. After going about two kilometers there is a sign "No traffic beyond this point." Here the steel helmet is adjusted and the gas-mask drawn up in front, the bag opened and everything made ready for immediate adjustment. Then over about a two-kilometer stretch of road in full view of Fritz and under the range of his guns. The road is lined with small dugouts. Here and there empty shells are hung, to be rung in case of a gas attack. The condition of the wind is noted on boards as "Wind dangerous" or "Wind safe" depending upon the point of the compass from which it blows.
We crossed the two kilometers on the crest of the ridge. On all sides not a sign of life. This absence of all visual signs of life is almost appalling, for on all sides as far as the eye can reach not a cat is seen. Yet there is the creepyfeeling that some one is always watching you.
At Écoust is A. D. S. (Advance Dressing Station) in the cellar of a ruined brewery. The men sleep, eat and live at least twelve feet below the ground. At the doors are two sets of curtains soaked in a solution of hexamine to be lowered on the sounding of the gas alarm, also with apparatus standing near to keep them sprayed with the same solution. After speaking with the officer in charge we set out on foot through Longatte, which is a small suburb of Écoust. Here the road for a strip of two hundred yards is in view of Fritz and it is camouflaged with wire netting to which small particles of green cloth are tied. We passed two enormous mine pits in the center of the road which the Germans blew up on their retreat to the Hindenburg Line. Bullecourt could be seen about three miles in front of us. All that remains now is a pile of white rubbish. The English line runs up to the suburbs of this town.
Now, at this point we took to the communication trench. It is called Bullecourt Avenue, and we followed it for about three miles. It is just wide enough to walk in and the floor is covered with duck boards. And now shells begin screaming overhead. The first desire was to duck, but it is surprising how soon one grows accustomed to the sound. In a quarter of an hour we paid but little heed to them. Occasionally we passed little groups of men working their way back, when one or the other of us had to stand and flatten ourselves against the side and squeeze past. Twice we met groups of officers on inspection. One was General Lord Harnbleu. In about twenty or thirty minutes we came to a trench running at right angles. This was Railway Avenue, paralleling the railway embankment. In front of this were only outpost points, so we were practically in the front trench and about fifty yards from the Boche at places.
The most surprising thing was the few menthat one saw. At intervals of about one hundred feet were sentries while scattered along in little bunches of two or three were men eating or sleeping. Every here and there gun points or men stationed with Lewis guns or Victor automatic.
The sunshine was warm and pleasant, so we stood around, chatted, looked at the maps and looked at the German positions through the periscope. A wonderful thing, because it was absolutely similar to peeking through a hole in the embankment. Not a sign of life from the Boche, except the constant whiz of shells both coming and going, but they all appeared to be dropping on our left. Every little distance were deep dugouts, twenty-five to thirty feet under ground and well timbered. On this line were two Regimental Dressing Stations. It was like living in a mine shaft. There were quarters for officers, officers' mess. The men cook their own food and get good hot stuff. What cannot be cooked is broughtup in large cans built on the principle of thermos bottles.
From Railway trench into Tower trench, where we inspected another R. D. S., and then back to the railway embankment. From one line of this trench where the ground sinks there is an open road leading back to Écoust. Captain Pope said that Fritz seldom troubled small numbers of men walking back and that this road was frequently used by the stretcher-bearers. So we started back over it and after about one hundred yards one could turn and look full into the German trench with its wire entanglement in front of it. Standing there I fully expected to be fired at, but nothing happened, although our shells were breaking on his parapets not four hundred yards to the left, throwing up big columns of dirt. So we spread out and started along the two-mile stretch.
The whole ground was pocked with shell-holes, a fallen aeroplane was lying there, a dead horse, but all the bodies had beenapparently gathered in as I saw none. All the time shells kept screaming overhead. Some English battery would fire a salvo, and then Fritz would reply, trying to find out where our guns were.
We finally reached the A. D. S., had lunch at three thirty, and then climbed out on an old crumbling wall and watched one of our batteries shell Fritz's trench. It was a fascinating sight to see the shells throw clouds of earth in the air. I walked home with the Padre, Michael Moran, an R. C., a bully fellow. On our left was Vaux. Like all the rest it was a heap of rubble. Below was Beaumont Hamil. All this country was the scene of the wildest, bloodiest fighting of the war.
Below I note some of the Boche's tricks and his ways as given by the British Padre, Reverend Michael Moran of West Riding Field Ambulance:
Dugout Traps—
Branch in front of dugout connected with mines.
Spade wired to mine.
Pictures, vases, helmets, fountain pens, books on tables, nails in wall, loose boards in floor, things on verge of falling, and piano connected with wires; clocks connected with mines, bells connected with mines timed to go off by a rod in acid.
Mining of churches and other buildings which have not been touched. This was pulled off at Bapaume where sacristy was left untouched. When French Mission collected vestments, bombs had been connected and exploded, killing eleven.
Bombs up chimney with fire all ready to light.
Slip trench with false bottom letting men through on spikes.
Church furniture used to make crosses for German men.
Poisoning wells and roots of young trees. Some trees left sawn halfway in.
Poisoned wine bottles, one out of several poisoned.
Left perfect latrines. First time chain pulled, exploded.
Tank traps, making hole before the tank. The crater is also mined.
Party of Boche went around with English motor-car inspecting dumps. Spoke English perfectly. Few days later dumps blown up. Boche also use English aeroplanes.
Not safe to walk over grass or earthy grass as bombs are strewn everywhere.
Bombs in potato-mashers.
Boche military police on duty for five weeks in English front.
Smoke bombs to blind tanks. Barrage of gas shells before our batteries, so gunners have to work twelve to fifteen hours in gas-masks.
Town hall at Bapaume blown up three days after occupation by British troops, due to acid bombs.
Umbrella left in stand attached to a mine.
Gas clouds sent every ten yards apart in bunches of three (three each ten yards).
German deserter's family at home deprived of rations and separation allowance.
Boche found carrying machine-guns on stretchers to lines.
October 4th.The above facts were given by the Padre last night from notes he had made. He has been in the thick of the fighting and has gone right along with his men all the time.
Yesterday morning rode around with Lawson (Quartermaster) visiting the Ordnance and Army Service Corps (Captain Bateson) dumps. Then to the water head where the water is supplied to this section. Lunch, and after that the Padre, McWilliams and I started out in the ambulance for Vaux—a mass of wreckage. The Padre took us in a garden of a once-château. The grounds were overgrown with weeds, but flowers still struggled out of their old beds. The château was a pile of bricks, beautiful trees were half cut through and left to die. Nothing but two gateposts and a small segment of the outbuildings were leftstanding. Such wanton destruction is simply appalling to see. About one hundred and fifty shells were dropped on Vaux last night and from the edge of the town one is fairly in sight of the German lines. The Padre lived in the garden during the bombardment, and we saw the dugout that he and his servant had built.
From there we walked down the Mareuil Road, no vehicle or horses are allowed to show themselves on the northern end of the town beyond the cross-road, as the Mareuil Road is in clear view of the enemy. Gun batteries were placed every here and there, carefully camouflaged, as is everything. Two dummy guns stuck out in one place. The gunners live along the roadside in small shelters with sandbag roofs. In the hollow were two six-inch guns, which were firing a salvo of one hundred rounds each at a section of Boche trench which was pushed too near to ours. The target was 7,500 yards away over the crest of a hill. They fired at intervals of about two minutes, firstone and then the other. The crash was tremendous. After watching them working for a while till my ears rang, returned to Vaux and then took the ambulance to the A. D. S. on Mareuil sector. This was well fitted up. In the past twenty-four hours under cover of the haze they had run a narrow-gauge track up to it.
Back at five p. m. for tea and then to the Bow Bells. This is a Divisional theatrical troupe, or, as it is officially known, a Divisional Concert Party, of 56th Division. It was wonderfully dramatic, as it was held in a partially demolished barn. They gave a capital show. Good voices. Two of the men were superb in their impersonation of women's parts. The show begins at six p. m. and was simply crowded. Tickets have to be booked up days in advance. We groped our way home as no searchlights can be shown on cars and had dinner at a little after eight. On the way back Very lights were constantly going up from thelines. Think of a first-class performance in a battered village, three miles away from a world war, and you can in fact surmise some of the sensations one has in watching it in a battered barn filled with nearly a thousand men and officers. And they appreciated it like children.
In the evening Padre, Mackenzie and Lawson told stories until one thirty a. m. A bully day—
Our 'phone call is "Pork."
October 5th.Yesterday was comparatively quiet. It blew a hurricane and in the afternoon rained hard. So we loafed about, gossiped, called on some other messes, and in the evening dined with Captain Welsh 2/6 West Yorks. He gave us a bully dinner, and several young officers were there—Captains Humphrey and Baker—they did not look twenty. Humphrey, Welsh said, had a wonderful record for bravery. He had already been decorated.
There has been a terrific barrage on since eleven a. m. We could hear the roar all through dinner, and constantly Very lights were being put up. The night was pitch black and we lost our way in the mud and darkness in trying to get to the 2/6.
This afternoon we went out with the Padre to A. D. S. at Eauze. We were going out on the railway embankment toward St. Léger when they began a pretty stiff bombardment (the English). Shells were hurled over from all directions and the air fairly hummed. It stopped our trip and we watched behind an old piece of wall the shells breaking on Bull-dog Trench, the German front lines. Some were big 5·9's and they threw up a perfectly enormous cloud of earth.
We had tea in the A. D. S. with House and Blackburn. It is their casual conversation that gives one the real sidelights on the situation. Fox, an Engineer, was standing a bit down the road when a shell broke near him.He came sauntering in as if it had been a rose-fall. When things quieted down we walked down the road and joined some of the Engineers for a bit of gossip. Then home in the ambulance.
Took a short walk into a small German cemetery. Boche when he retreated scratched off the number of the unit on every cross.
October 6th.Rain. Nothing doing. Bitterly cold.
October 7th.Bitter cold. Had ten blankets and still shivered. Went to service this morning. It was one of the most impressive sights I have ever seen. The Divisional Yorkshire Band. Most of the men were going up the line and were in heavy marching order. It made shivers up and down one's spine.
We move to 45 C. C. S. this afternoon. Shall be sorry to go.
October 9th.We moved to C. C. S. in a pouring rain and came into a wallowing mud hole after dark. We got a real Britishreception and were shown into a tent that contained nothing. "Have you a servant?" was the first question. "We have not," was the answer. So they detailed us the camp idiot. Mud, rain and a howling gale, and British stoicism. They are not a bit like the nice bunch we left.
There is nothing doing here but some trench fever cases (P. N. O.). There is absolutely nothing to do or see, so we hang around in the wet and cold and shiver.
I am anxious to hear what became of the little Padre, because some of the men were "going over the top" Sunday night, and he was going with them. If it does not rain this afternoon, McW. and I will try and find our way back there on foot for tea, as Colonel Lister said he would send us back in the bus if we did.
I shall be glad to be back at Chaumont again.
October 11th.We are still at Casualty Clearing Station 45, and a dreary hole it is. Wetried to get away, but the D. D. M. S. would not hear of it, so we must stay our week out.
I am officer of the day to-day and am actually running H. M. C. C. S. 45, having inspected, etc., a detail of H. M.'s forces this morning.
Tuesday we went to Greyvillers and saw C. C. S. 3. They seemed much more alive there. And yesterday we were shown over C. C. S. 49, our neighbor.
It has rained the greater part of the time, with patches of sunshine here and there for short intervals.
Last night we went to Béhagnes to see the Pelicans' show. It was wonderfully good, but not as interesting or amusing as Bow Bells at the 56th Division. The Pelicans are the 62nd Division. We dined at the Officers' Club there. There were somewhere between one hundred and one hundred and fifty officers there, many fresh from the trenches. They walked in—and drove in. There was a large well-patronizedbar, papers, and everything well appointed. At eight we went in to dinner, and a very good one only not sufficient. Met Crab there and several other officers I had met at the 2/1 West Riding. They were all most agreeable. The Pelicans began at nine. We walked almost all the way out and it was quite wonderful, as the battle-front was illuminated by constant gun-fire and Very lights. It is hard to imagine that one is only three or four miles away from it all.
During the performance last night the gun-fire was constant, and a battery somewhere behind our tent has kept going constantly now since four p. m. yesterday.
My duties as officer of the day are to inspect the camp detail, outgoing men, censor letters, inspect kitchens, latrines, etc. Also, I am in charge of Ward D. We shall leave Saturday morning at seven forty-five. The British Army is all right, but this lot of men are dead. I have yet failed to meet a British medicalofficer with any range of vision. They are provincial to the last degree and thoroughly self-satisfied. Those who have seen more of their work than I have say that as a rule it is poor, but their cleanliness and general camp sanitation is beyond criticism.
This C. C. S. is 3rd Army, 6th Corps. The C. C. S. are attached to the Army. The Commander is F. G. Fitzgerald. He just returned from leave early this morning.
October 16th.We left the C. C. S. Saturday morning after rather a dreary week, as it was bitterly cold and raining every day.
The train from Achet-le-Grand was crowded. We met Pool and his crowd, stopped over at Amiens for lunch, paying a second visit to the Cathedral. Then down to Paris, arriving at the Hotel Continental about five p. m. I dined alone at the Café de Paris, and then back to bed.
Sunday was beautiful, cool and clear, and a walk up to the Arc in the morning wasdelightful. On the way down saw Dorziat for a half hour. She was still in bed, although she said she was rehearsing daily.
Called on H. C. and L. Havemeyer, but they were both out, and so ended the day.
Monday we started out for Chaumont, and so reached the old barracks again. Everything just as we left it. Drew 226 francs travel allowance this morning. To-morrow I am to take over three wards at Piercy.
October 21st.A truly interesting day. Saturday we heard that four Zeppelins had been brought down, one near here. So this morning the Colonel sent down to Headquarters and found that one was near Bourbonne-les-Bains.—H. James, Schwander, Russell, Colonel and I went down in the Marmon car. It was a beautiful ride. We came on the Zep. about one mile outside Bourbonne. It had come down across a little ravine, the nose almost resting on the road. It was almost intact, the forward car only having been smashed. Some of thegas-bags and the rear end of the body seemed to be cracked.
It was simply a marvelous bit of construction, and appeared like a whale thrown up on land. Two hundred meters long and a wonderful frame built of aluminum. The bombs had all been dropped. It was built like a watch. I climbed into the forward car. The motor appeared intact and the gauges and levers were all there just as they had been left. It was all very wonderful. They had apparently lost their way and had to come down on account of lack of petrol. The crew were all taken prisoners. They tried to fire the machine, but were discovered in time and prevented.
We drove on after that to Bourbonne for lunch. The place was packed with French and Americans. Every one seemed to have come out to see the sight. Going in we saw the two officers dressed in suits of leather. One turned and smiled at us as we passed. Schwander got permission for us to talk to the prisoners, butthey had all departed for Dijon when we had finished lunch.
On the way back we stopped and saw where the second had caught in the tree tops. The forward car had been broken off by the contact and fourteen men taken prisoners, but the remaining four got the Zep. going again, and went along—to be captured later. The men captured first burned the basket, but as we passed there was still a lot of wreckage sticking in the trees.
Every one was hunting for souvenirs, and they pocketed bits of the linen envelope and particles of fused metal, perfectly worthless objects. The Sergeant who captured the first lot of Boches told us that one of the officers had a bottle of poison that he was going to drink if caught. But on second thoughts he presented it to the Médecin Chef, saying he knew the French wine was good as he had lived two years in Paris working in a motor factory.
Altogether we had a most delightful and interesting day's outing.
On the way back we passed nearly a hundred motors with officers and men. The road was filled with peasants going on foot, bicycle, or in their crazy little carts packed in so thick that the poor horse could scarcely drag them. The excitement all through the countryside was intense.
October 28th.Nothing of any particular interest during the past week. Have charge of 11, 12, 13, 14 and 15 wards, besides two Sergeants' rooms.
To-day Floyd leaves for a tour of inspection of camp sites, and I have charge of the building.
October 30th.One of the girls from Vittel honored me by a visit, and while we were dining the military police rushed in and said there was an impending air raid and that all men were ordered to quarters. I thought I heard the hum of motors but was not sure.
We are trying to collect a "fee allowance" for fees given on the "Lapland" and "Grand Tulley Castle." This is at B's instigation, as he was much piqued that I collected 26 francs more than he did in travel allowance on our trip to the British front.
Two letters from America arrived to-day, one posted July 26th, the other August 6th. Some going!
It has poured rain steadily for two days now, and everything is wet and muddy.
Miss Sheriff has gotten the officers' lounge almost ready for occupancy.
November 1st. All Saints' Day!And a wonderful clear day, not a cloud in the sky and scarcely a breath of wind to scatter the falling leaves. There was real joy in the air and everyone showed it.
In the morning Miss A. came. Miss A. is one of the Red Cross and is rummaging around, God knows why, because she cannot speak French, nor does she know anything ofhospitals. I showed her through my wards, but it was all Greek to her.
In the afternoon I started out on my bicycle. Rode to Noisy-sur-Seize and then crossed the hills to Luzy. It was just sunset as I went over the divide, and no one can describe the peaceful beauty of it all. The church bells were tolling the Angelus, the long Angelus for the repose of souls. Smoke curled up in thin, blue columns from the little houses below in the valley, and the slanting rays of the sinking sun lit up woods and meadows with a wonderful golden glow. It lasted for a few minutes and slowly died out, and always the bells, ringing out the fading day. I sat on the crest of the hill and watched the last shadows, and then went on down into Luzy in the gray twilight, and so on home.
The Padre (Burnett) was in the room, and a hot discussion was in progress on the All Hallowe'en dance, which was given for all enlisted men, nurses and officers.
November 4th.I am now senior medical officer, Floyd having been called away to organize some hospital.
Major Lewis shot himself last night (suicide) down in the pretty little château at Chamaronde. Alfred Stillman was called down. He found him lying with the automatic revolver in his hand.
Peck and Cave have returned from the French front where they were working for five weeks. They are full of it, saying they were treated royally.
November 8th.The same old story.—Last night dined with Kilbane at Luzy. Rain and general slow times.
November 12th.The times are absolutely uneventful, and the life is monastic. Am taking over an American ward to-day. The Medical Chief told me I was holding too many patients and I must discharge them. It seems pretty rough, as there is hardly one that is fit to return to duty in the strict sense, but hesays France lacks man power and that is their sacrifice. Their food in hospital is inadequate and miserably prepared. It seems a poor economy, because if they were well cared for they would be able so much sooner to return to duty. This is the first day the sun has shone.
November 24th.We received over two hundred Americans and three hundred and twenty odd French in the past forty-eight hours. The work has been very severe—practically only Henry James and myself to do it, as Martin and Peightel were both sent on other details. The C. O. knew they were coming, but we had no official notification. Everything was pandemonium, and still is. I made nearly seventy-five physical examinations per day, besides having the general directions. It was pretty strenuous and I don't think it is over yet.
Have been talking with Colonel Mitchell to-night. He is the head of the U. S. Aviation—a bright, able man. He says Germany has won the war from the military standpoint. The French man power is gone; Great Britain has made too many blunders—and now the Italian business, which was rather expected. It all certainly looks pretty dreary to me.
November 28th.Sergeant Hartman died of pneumonia and was buried to-day. A full military funeral with the 101st Engineers Band. He is the first one of us. It was very solemn and impressive. The Padre read the service in Pavillion Raymond, and then his body was put on the ambulance and we started for the cemetery, the band leading, then the hearse, the body draped in the American flag and covered with flowers. Twelve of the officers followed, Peck, Jim, Reed and self walking in the first column of fours, the men followed, about sixty of them, and then an ambulance with the nurses. We went down to the cemetery where at least two hundred French were gathered. We stood at attention while "Taps"were sounded, and then we turned and walked away, leaving him alone in France, looking over the valley. He had done his bit and done it well.
The corner of the little French cemetery is beginning to fill.
November 29th. Thanksgiving Day.From early morn every one has been smacking his lips and thinking and talking and dreaming of food. We got ours at one thirty. Of course, they had to ask in some of the 101st Engineers, and they have been hanging around our rooms all afternoon waiting for the dance. The dance is yet to come, but all is enthusiasm. The 101st Band played in the compound in the afternoon. At present there is a great hustle and bustle, hammering and knocking around in general.
My little sergeant leaves me to-night. A dapper little gentleman. I got him in the dining-room and stuffed him full of turkey, red wine and mince pie. He is a finely madefellow. In twenty days he returns to the front. Ganthor is his name.
My new uniform has come home after a three months' struggle to get it, and, of course, it does not fit.
Now for the dance!
December 9th.Thanksgiving has come and gone. The dance was generally reckoned a great success. The 101st Band of Engineers was very fine, but the punch put the punch in the evening, and it had plenty of spirit.
Since then things have moved along uneventfully. H. James and Calvin Coulter left the next morning for Boulogne, so Martin and I have practically carried on the medical service, aided by John Williams. The officers' quarters have been running heavily, but no particularly interesting cases anywhere.
Last night Jim Russell had a birthday and asked some of us down to eat an exceedingly good ham, and we had champagne.
Life is becoming about as eventful as amonastery and goes on with the same regularity. It is rounds, meals and a little reading, with an occasional walk. Every one is coughing and snuffling. James and Coulter are expected back to-morrow, and I hope about a week from to-day we—Martin and self—will get off. If all goes well I hope to spend Christmas in Paris.
December 12th.Martin and I leave Friday for Boulogne, spending Saturday in Paris. James will be in charge of the medical service. It will be very nice to get away, but I hope they give me back my function as chief of the medical service when I return.
The French seem to make absolutely no preparation for Christmas. There is not an extra ribbon hung in any shop, and in fact the only signs of Christmas are the bundles in pink ribbon that keep arriving for the men—they are many. I imagine pretty many are homesick.
Henry James and Coulter got back Monday from their trip to Boulogne. Henry saidit was well worth while and seems to have enjoyed it very much.
Every one is coughing. Bronchitis is rife, and is running a very virulent course. An autopsy on one of the men yesterday showed the bronchia to be filled with pus. This was especially true in the smaller ramifications. They die from an apparent sepsis and are fine examples of a purulent bronchitis. McW., James, Stillman are all coughing and sneezing. Practically all the younger men have been in hospital with bronchitis, or influenza. I fear that our sick reports are running, and will continue to run, very heavy this winter, with a comparatively high mortality.
We had news yesterday that the Engineers of the line of communication would not take half the building over, which means that we are going to stay here and that the whole place will be run as a hospital.
Kilbane and Steiner left for Paris to-night to blow off steam.
December 15th.Paris!Martin and I arrived last night and came to the Wagram. This morning, it is not yet nine, we have had our "café complet" in our rooms which are overlooking the Tuileries Gardens. The Louvre and the Panthéon are golden tinged in the early sunlight. It is like a spring morning and a great joy to be away from the routine.
December 18th.Boulogne.Mostly medical. Arrived here Sunday night. In the arms of the English. General high prices and bad manners prevail. Hotel Folkestone. We met Pool and Burt Lee in the dining-room on arrival Monday. Saw Cushing and Harvard Unit, then No. 3 Canadian and McCree, who showed us some of his chest work. Robinson of Harvard Unit has been doing some good blood work.
Lunch with Colonel Evans at Stationary Hospital 14. Walk home along the cliffs with a great dirigible balloon hovering over the sea. In the afternoon Robinson read his paper on transfusions and the preservation of blood.
Last night and again to-night Boche aeroplanes over the city and all lights suddenly turned out about five p.m. The city was literally in inky blackness, save for the pale flicker of the moon. Two wonderful clear cold days. The atmosphere of the place is distinctly one of depression. They all admit the situation is serious.
December 24th.We left Boulogne last Thursday and started for Paris. The train was packed with "permissionaires" and all in a very jolly humor. The trip was well worth while, because it gave me many suggestions of the problems of war medicine. The crowd was terrific when we arrived in Paris—no taxis, so we struggled with the complications of the metro, finally reaching the Wagram.
Friday visited Vidal at Hospital Cochin. He had his clinic. We waited for him and met him in his ante-room. He was most cordial. The man has done a tremendous amount of literary work. There were volumes of it. He is a thickset,forcible man of about forty-eight or fifty.
I lunched with Lillie H. that afternoon where she had Cross and a Miss McCook, Y. M. C. A. In the evening dined with Henry Clews, who was in good form and opened up in the old style. Saturday L. lunched with me and in the evening I dined with Mrs. Stuart. Friday afternoon saw Madam A., an American woman with a Dutch husband. P. wanted me to see her. Stupid old thing, as deaf as a post.
Martin left me this morning. Am alone now till Wednesday or Thursday, and then back again.
December 27th.Returned from Paris with S. Ground white with snow. They all seemed glad to see me. Evidently Christmas was a great success. A full round of drinks, and they say all were happy, the Colonel included. The place is packed with patients. Y. M. C. A. tent is up and for the present filled with cots—cots in the corridors, so we are in now for a lively time.