V“CarNo.13”Having been duly declared a qualified driver, I was assigned to a car which happened to be number 13, but as I am not particularly superstitious this did not make me nervous.Then I was sent to post for duty out at the town of Ludes. Here we had our headquarters in a little Swiss chalet hidden behind a clump of trees; though within sight and sound of the war, it was peaceful enough, at least for those on war duty. Everything is comparative. Before many days had passed I was to see that peaceful little chalet stained with blood. The place was equipped with a telephone bell, which would signal when a car was needed at a front line post. Those on duty here answered the calls in rotation.About noon of my first day on duty a call came in for two cars. One of the cars was to carry wounded men back to the town of Epernay, the other car was to go to the extreme front line post. One of the calls was for Joe Patterson of Pittsburgh, the other call was for me. Out of politeness to a new man “Pat” gave me the choice of runs.It seemed to be much easier to get right into the serious work than to have the suspense of waiting, so I chose the run to the front line post. I started off over the hills, through the ancient town of Verzeney, famous for its wines—through the winding streets, turning sharply at a corner—down a long steep hill hidden from view of the enemy by camouflage—past what was known as the Esperance farm till finally I reached the post. Here I stopped my car and waited. Here there was a canal, the waters of which had been let out, and into the canal banks had been built little dug-outs. In the one where I was to wait and sleep until needed were two rough cots, a shelf on which there were some rather dirty eating utensils and a loaf of dry bread.During the afternoon there was intermittent firing but no great activity on either side of the lines. Occasionally an aeroplane would fly overhead. Once during the afternoon a German plane flew over in an effort to attack an observation balloon, but was successfully driven off by the French.The afternoon passed quickly enough without having my services called for and at supper time I had my first meal of trench fare with French poilus for company, a cup of hot soup, a chunk of meat, a slice of bread and a cup of coffee. The cook who served us was a big fellow with a black beard. He was killed a short time after and his body lay all day in a nearby dug-out.After supper I clambered over the canal bank and walked along the empty canal bed observing the marks of German shells. Then there was a sudden volley of shots from a French battery near at hand, the guns of which were so carefully concealed that I had not observed it. I quickly clambered back over the “safe” side of the canal bank and waited.I began to feel restless and to wonder when I would be called to get out into the battle of the night.In the meantime the firing had increased on both sides of the lines.
Having been duly declared a qualified driver, I was assigned to a car which happened to be number 13, but as I am not particularly superstitious this did not make me nervous.
Then I was sent to post for duty out at the town of Ludes. Here we had our headquarters in a little Swiss chalet hidden behind a clump of trees; though within sight and sound of the war, it was peaceful enough, at least for those on war duty. Everything is comparative. Before many days had passed I was to see that peaceful little chalet stained with blood. The place was equipped with a telephone bell, which would signal when a car was needed at a front line post. Those on duty here answered the calls in rotation.
About noon of my first day on duty a call came in for two cars. One of the cars was to carry wounded men back to the town of Epernay, the other car was to go to the extreme front line post. One of the calls was for Joe Patterson of Pittsburgh, the other call was for me. Out of politeness to a new man “Pat” gave me the choice of runs.
It seemed to be much easier to get right into the serious work than to have the suspense of waiting, so I chose the run to the front line post. I started off over the hills, through the ancient town of Verzeney, famous for its wines—through the winding streets, turning sharply at a corner—down a long steep hill hidden from view of the enemy by camouflage—past what was known as the Esperance farm till finally I reached the post. Here I stopped my car and waited. Here there was a canal, the waters of which had been let out, and into the canal banks had been built little dug-outs. In the one where I was to wait and sleep until needed were two rough cots, a shelf on which there were some rather dirty eating utensils and a loaf of dry bread.
During the afternoon there was intermittent firing but no great activity on either side of the lines. Occasionally an aeroplane would fly overhead. Once during the afternoon a German plane flew over in an effort to attack an observation balloon, but was successfully driven off by the French.
The afternoon passed quickly enough without having my services called for and at supper time I had my first meal of trench fare with French poilus for company, a cup of hot soup, a chunk of meat, a slice of bread and a cup of coffee. The cook who served us was a big fellow with a black beard. He was killed a short time after and his body lay all day in a nearby dug-out.
After supper I clambered over the canal bank and walked along the empty canal bed observing the marks of German shells. Then there was a sudden volley of shots from a French battery near at hand, the guns of which were so carefully concealed that I had not observed it. I quickly clambered back over the “safe” side of the canal bank and waited.
I began to feel restless and to wonder when I would be called to get out into the battle of the night.
In the meantime the firing had increased on both sides of the lines.