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From the Library of
RALPH EMERSON FORBES
1866-1937
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C^SACHUSETTS BOSTON LIBRARY
HISTORY OF THE AMERICAN FIELD
SERVICE IN FRANCE
Marechal Joffre
<Xcirt^ yte. 2 g M&ra ^^9 •
C'est aux aotes qu'on reconnait
les vrals amis. A friend in need is a
friend indeed.-
Quelles autres paroles pour rait-
on inscrire au frontispice de oe livre
"Les Amis de la France", vrai brdviaire
d*h6roigue charity et de joyeuse abne-
gation.
En feuilletant ces pages Je crois
entendre la voix de oes railliers de
blesses franqais ramassds sur les
bords de la Marne par les ambulances
de 1' "American Field Service", desoen-
dus des pontes de I'Hartmannsweiler,
tir^s des boues de la Flandre, arra-
ch6s k I'enfer de Verdun. Qu'il soit
permis k un ami de l'Am6rique de se
fairs ici leur interprete et de dire
aux "Amis de la France" k oes hardis
volontaires d'Avant-Garae, la gratitu-
de infinie de son Pays.
Histoi'y of the
American Field Service in France
"Friends of France"
1914-1917
TOLD BY ITS MEMBERS
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS
Volume I
1?M _ IJV
Boston and New York
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
The Riverside Press Cambridge
1920
^r'
'^>^
COPYRIGHT, 1920, BY HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
lONIV. OF IIM»ftG«lJSraP
i - AT BOSTON - I.:v^**JT
TO
OUR, MOTHERS
before whose silent Sacrifice,
deep hidden in their Hearts,
our Part seems mere Adventure.
PREFATORY NOTE
The American Field Service, as a group of youths serving
the French Army in the Great War, is a thing of the
past. And this is its history. The reader must not assume,
however, that the American Field Service no longer
exists, or that there will never be occasion for record
of its further accomplishment. Although the members
when they enlisted in 1915, 191 6, and 191 7, only pledged
themselves to the French Army for a limited period, it
is within the truth to state that, whether or not they
realized it at the time, they enlisted for life in the service
of France.
Even before this record has gone to the press, and while
the United States is still nominally at war, the peace
plans of the Field Service are well under way — plans for
the perpetuation under its auspices of fraternal relations
among French and American youth for generations to
come. A series of American Field Ser^dce fellowships for
American students in French Universities has already
been established, and projects have been formulated
which it is hoped will ultimately result in securing a
permanent endowment for a Field Service fellowship
in memory of each and every one of the one hundred
and twenty-six Field Ser\-ice men who gave their lives
during the war — either a fellowship for an American
student in a French university, or a fellowship for a
vii
PREFATORY NOTE
French student in an American university. These fellow-
ships not only will furnish fitting memorials of the Field
Service men whose lives were sacrificed to the Allied
Cause, but will give living and enduring impulse to the
advancement of understanding and friendship between
France and the United States, which was ever the funda-
mental Field Service aim.
The section histories, diaries, letters, and sketches com-
prising these volumes, are entirely the contributions of
men who were part of the American Field Service. Many
of these were collected at the Paris headquarters during
the early days, but it was not until the Service ceased to
exist as a volunteer organization that any effort was made
to compile them with a view to producing a complete
record comprising all the activities of the Service. While
the volume published under the name of Friends of
France, in 191 6, contained numerous accounts of the
work of the early days — many of them being here re-
printed — that volume was of necessity more or less pro-
visional and incomplete. The aim of these volumes is to
fill in the gaps and finish the story, to give the final rec-
ord of all the sections, new as well as old, and of the
work of the many hundreds of younger volunteers as
well as of the pioneers of 1915 and 1916.
As in Friends of France the stories of the several sec-
tions have been composed in the main of excerpts from
articles, diaries, and home letters of different members,
a method of composition necessarily involving some du-
plication and incoherence. It is believed, however, that
this is compensated for by the veracity of the first-hand
material so presented, and that whatever the history
may have lost in smoothness and unity is offset by a gain
in sincerity, animation, and originality.
Among those to whom thanks are due for successively
assisting in the compilation of this work are Dr. Ray-
mond Weeks, of the Paris staff, Mr. Frank J. Taylor,
of Section Ten, Mr. Theodore Stanton and Captain
viii
PREFATORY NOTE
Arthur J. Putnam and Mr. Robert A. Donaldson, of Sec-
tion Seventy. The final selection and revision of the ma-
terial has been mainly the work of Lieutenant James
W. D. Seymour, of Section Seventeen.
Grateful appreciation is owing to the French artists
Andre Fraye, Charles Huard, and Bernard Naudin, and
to the following men of the Field Service, Waldo Peirce,
S.S.U. 3, C. Le Roy Baldridge, T.AI.U., F. L. Sexton,
S.S.U. 14, George W. Hall, S.S.U. 70, and Harry de Maine,
who contributed the many drawings which decorate and
brighten these pages.
To those men of the Service who have contributed
articles, poems, and photographs, and to many parents
and friends who have aided by forwarding material from
home letters and diaries, thanks are also due.
The American Field Service
April, 1920
CONTENTS
Volume I
PREFATORY NOTE
IX
INTRODUCTION
The Field Service
Some of the Early Problems
The Effort in America
The Growth of the Service
A . Piatt A ndrew 3
A. Piatt Andrew 17
Henry D. Sleeper 38
Stephen Galatti 60
THE AMBULANCE SECTIONS
SECTION ONE
Henry Sydnor Harrison, 81. Joshua G. B. Campbell, 91.
Tracy J. Putnam, loi. Robert W. Imbrie, 108. Roy H.
Stockwell, 149. John H. McFadden, Jr., 165. W. Yorke
Stevenson, 168. Edward A. G. Wylie, 188.
79
SECTION TWO
James R. McConnell, 203. Leslie Buswell, 212. Carlyle
H. Holt, 217. Henry Sheahan, 220. Frank H. Gailor, 227.
Edward N. Seccombe, 232 and 275. Charles Baird, Jr.,
239. John R. Fisher, 243. William H. C. Walker, 248,
John E. Boit, 251. Henry D. M. Sherrerd, 255. Harmon
B. Craig, 259. Ewen Maclntyre, Jr., 272.
xi
201
CONTENTS
SECTION THREE 279
Preston Lockwood, 281. Tracy J. Putnam, 291. Waldo
Peirce, 303. Luke C. Doyle, 309. Stephen Galatti, 312.
Walter K. Rainsford, 314 and 335. Ahvyn Inness-Brown,
318. William M. Barber, 324. Charles R. Codman, Jr.,
335. Edward I. Tinkham, 338. Charles Baird, Jr., 341
and 382. Lovering Hill, 344, 366, and 374. Robert W.
Imbrie, 346 and 379. Donald C. Armour, 367. J. Mar-
quand Walker, 369 and 376. John ^Vlunroe, 370. Charles
Amsden, 387. John N. d'Este, 389.
SECTION FOUR 393
George Rockwell, Jr., 395. Richard C. Ware. 399. W.
de Ford Bigelow, 419. Leon H. Buckler, 429. Charles H.
Hunkins, 433. Hugh J. Kelleher, 436.
SECTION EIGHT 439
William B. Seabrook, 441. IMalbone H. Birckhead, 455.
Grenville T. Keogh, 457. Charles L. Watkins, 468.
Austin B. jNIason, 470. Harry L. Dunn, 475.
SECTION NINE 483
George R. Cogswell, 485. Carleton Burr, 492. William
C. Sanger, Jr., 496. Har\-ey C. Evans, 505.
THE \'OSGES DETACHMENT 507
Joseph R. Greenwood, 509.
ILLUSTRATIONS
Volume I
Letter of IMarechal Joffre
Frontispiece
6
Funeral of Richard Hall, Christmas, 1915
A. Piatt Andrew 10
Mysterious Nights at Esnes 14
commantdant doumenc 20
Chart of Typical Ambulance Service 28
The Field Service Ambulance 34
Henry D. Sleeper 38
Robert Bacon 4^
Ant)over Men who Died 48
Chart of Subscriptions 52
Farewell to the California Units 54
Stephen Galatti 62
The Garden at 21 Rue Raynouard 70
Map of Passy (in color) 76
Dunkirk, 1915 92
FlANTDERS — AND IT DRIZZLED I02
Side- Panel of a Section One Ambulance (in color) 112
Vacherauville near Verdun 122
Lending a Hand at a " Poste" 122
xiii
ILLUSTRATIONS
Bloody and Silent, but not Defeated 132
The "Poste" at Cappy, the Somme, 1916 132
Shell-Pocked Road near Douaumont 144
Funeral of Howard Lines 152
A Forest in Champagne 152
General Rageneau Conferring the Legion of Honor
upon Mr. Andrew 158
The Gentle Hand of the Shell 166
Ryan's Car at Carriere Sud 166
The Flag of Section One (iii color) 178
A Muddy Road and an Exposed "Poste" 192
Shells on the Cote de Mousson 204
An Aeroplane Duel at Pont-a-Mousson 204
On the Road to Bois le Pretre 212
Fontaine du Pere Hilarion, Bois le Pretre 212
Camouflage on a Road 220
A Railroad Station as a "Poste" 220
Soup Kitchens Smoking beside the Road 228
Verdun 238
The Courtyard at the Esnes Chateau 238
Marre — where Kelley was Killed 248
The Stone "Abri" at Marre 248
Panel of a Section Two Ambulance (in color) 260
Dombasle-en-Argonne, June, 1917 270
Street "Corvee," Fromereville 270
What Night Trips without Lights may Mean 282
The Dangers of the Road 282
The " Poste" near Hartmannsweilerkopf 292
Richard Hall's Grave 304
Winter Days in Alsace 310
An Underground "Poste" 322
Once an Avenue of Stately Trees 322
At a Dressing-Station near Verdun 332
xiv
ILLUSTRATIONS
Section Three's Camp at Sakulevo 346
Type of Sketch Map Used by Drivers 354
MoNASTiR — a Little Girl Killed 362
Road-Building by Members of Section Three 362
The Encampment at Bistrika 370
MoNASTiR IN Winter 376
The Burning of Monastir 388
The "Cat" of Section "Quatre" {in color) 398
Misfortunes of War! 408
Section Four at Ippecourt 408
Service in Verdun 416
Evacuation Hospital at Glorieux 416
Cars at Ippecourt in Winter 426
G.B.D. "Poste" at Bras, above Verdun 434
"Poste" at Vacherauville 434
Stretchers Slung between Two Wheels 444
"Saucisse" above Verdun 454
" ASSIS" WAITING AT CaBARET RoUGE 462
Stretcher Cases Coming into the " Poste " at
Cabaret 462
The Flag of Section Eight {in color) 474
One of our Cars in Trouble 486
Coffins at a Hospital in Alsace 486
General Andlauer's Letter to Section Nine ' 492
Breakfast at an American Field Service Kitchen 500
Wooden-Barrack Hospital — the "Triage" 500
"Le Service qui ne s'arrete jamais" 512
At a Mountain "Poste" in Alsace Reconquise 512
Maps in Color in Pocket at End
The American Field Service in France, 1915, 1916, 1917
The American Field Service in the Balkans
Location of Sections when Federalized, 191 7
HISTORY OF THE AMERICAN FIELD
SERVICE IN FRANCE
•
Introduction
I ^ II. A. Piatt Andrew
III. Henry D. Sleeper
IV. Stephen Galatti
I
I
BOI^:NrE CHANCE 50LDAf5 DE rR,\NCE
The American Field Service
in France
I
THE SERVICE
Les £tats Unis d'Amerique n'ont pas oublie que la premiere page de I'histoire
de leur independance a ete ecrite avec un peu de sang frangais.
AIarech.vl Joffre, 19 i6
The American Field Service may justly claim four titles
of distinction. It anticipated American troops on the
battle-fields of France and the Balkans by more than two
and a half years; it contributed appreciably during these
years to the enlightenment of American opinion in regard
to the crucial meaning of the war; it furnished subse-
quently to the American Expeditionary Forces a small
nucleus of officers and men of quality and devotion ; and
last, but not least from the viewpoint of its members,
it had the happy fortune of serving with and being part
of the matchless armies of France.
It is worthy of remembrance that the little group of
American volunteers told of in this book, numbering at
no one time much more than two thousand, formed, for
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
the first three years of the Great War, the most consider-
able organized representation which the United States
had on the battle front. A few of them had seen service
in the first battle of the Marne in September, 19 14, and
thereafter, as their number increased, there was seldom
an important battle anywhere along the French front in
which they had not their little part.
As early as April, 191 5, this volunteer service was or-
ganized in sections of twenty-five or thirty men on the
pattern of the regular ambulance sections of the French
Army and incorporated for administrative purposes in
the Automobile Service of that army. Each section
was assigned to a particular division of the army, forming
thereafter an integral part of the division, being so con-
sidered and treated by its troops and officers, and or-
dinarily moving by road or by train from one sector in
the line to another with the division. These Field Serv-
ice ambulance sections multiplied before the American
Army came to France until they numbered thirty-four,
which meant that an equal number of divisions of the
French Army depended upon the American Field Service
for practically all of their sanitary transport. It may be
said without exaggeration that there was no sector in
which French troops ser\^ed where they were not known,
and that there was scarcely a poiln who had not seen
the American cars and who had not formed some sort
of acquaintance among the American volunteer drivers.
In 191 5, the little American ambulances driven by vol-
unteers could be seen scurrying every^vhere over the flat
plains of Flanders during the battles of Ypres and the
Yser. They were seen also on the wooded hills of north-
ern Lorraine during the violent engagements in Bois le
Pretre, and they were equally familiar in the mountains
and valleys of reconquered Alsace during the battles of
the Fecht and Hartmannsweilerkopf.
In 19 1 6, throughout the prolonged and terrible battle of
Verdun, they were in evidence everywhere in that sector
from the Woevre to the Argonne, and in the autumn of
INTRODUCTION
that year, two of the Field Serv^ice sections, endowed with
double equipment, were sent to the Balkans, where they
worked during the following year with the French troops
in the mountainous regions of northern Greece, Serbia,
and Albania.
The year 19 17 found Field Sendee sections also in
every great engagement from the April battle in Cham-
pagne to the October battle of the Chemin des Dames,
and during this latter year some eight hundred additional
volunteers of the Field Service, organized in fourteen
camion sections, were engaged in the transport of am-
munition and military supplies in connection with the
last-named campaign. All of this occurred, let it be re-
membered, while the United States was officially repre-
sented on the front by only an occasional military attache
or observer.
French Appreciation
The actual and direct service to France of these men,
when measured by the monstrous task with which France
had to cope during the first three years of the war, was
of course insignificant, but they rendered an inestimable
benefit to their own country, for they helped to keep
alive in France the old feelings of friendship and of re-
spect for us which had existed there since our earliest
days and which otherwise might easily have disappeared.
They helped to demonstrate to the soldiers and people of
France that, notwithstanding official silence and injunc-
tions of prudence, Americans had already begun to ap-
preciate the meaning, not only to France, but to all the
world, of the issues that were at stake, and that many
American hearts and hopes were already with France in
her gigantic struggle.
Numerous and appreciative were the expressions of
this assurance by representative men of France at that
time. An officer upon General Joffre's staff in December,
191 6, wrote as follows:
5
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
The American Field Service is the finest flower of the magni-
ficent wreath offered by the great America to her Httle Latin
sister. Those, who like you and your friends have consecrated
themselves entirely to our cause, up to and including the
supreme sacrifice, deserve more than our gratitude. We can-
not think of them in the future as other than our own.
The distinguished statesman and historian, Gabriel
Hanotaux, in a public address of about the same date,
paid tribute to the Field Service in these terms :
Friends of France! your every act, your every heartbeat of
the past two years gives the proof ! You have left everything
to live among us, to share our sorrows and our joys, to aid our
soldiers at the risk of your own lives. Like our Joan of Arc you
have felt "the great pity that there is in this country of France."
For your love and your eagerness to help, accept our benedic-
tion.
Monsieur Jusserand, Ambassador of France to the
United States, sent across the ocean this message of
gratitude :
Lives saved by thousands, suffering attenuated, amputations
avoided, families spared their fathers for after the war; these
form only a part of the French debt toward the American
Field Service.
Scores of other equally representative and similarly
grateful tributes might be quoted, but perhaps no more
convincing evidence of the attitude of France to the Field
Service is to be found than the fact that in the days when
American troops were not yet on the front, the French
Army decorated the American Field Service sections no
less than nineteen times and conferred either the Croix
de Guerre, the Legion d 'Honneur, or the Medaille Militaire
upon no less than two hundred and fifty of their mem-
bers.
This is perhaps not surprising if one takes account of
the character of the personnel. For, if America cannot
take pride in the number of her representatives in France
during the first three years of the war, she can at least
6
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INTRODUCTION
be satisfied with their quahty. I doubt whether any
other such group of men could have been found in any
formation in any of the armies engaged in the war. The
English poet, John Masefield, after visiting a number
of Field Service sections in the summer of 1916, de-
scribed them as including "the very pick and flower of
American youth." Many hundreds of the members were
graduates or students of American colleges and univer-
sities and many bore names distinguished in American
literary and political history. Some of them had been
business men, lawyers, and doctors; some had been
architects and bankers; some had been teachers; and
some even had been clergymen; but, not willing any
longer to remain inert and distant onlookers in the
great world struggle, they had left their schools and
colleges, their ofhces, shops, and pulpits in order to
come to France and do what they could, were it only
in the most humble capacity, to help her armies. Presi-
dent Sills, of Bowdoin College, well described the char-
acter and motives of the early Field Service volunteers
in his inaugural address delivered shortly after the first
contingent of the United States Army had arrived in
France :
Long before our troops were in France, earlier even than the
messengers of mercy from the Red Cross went in large num-
bers, the drivers in the American Ambulance Field Service
showed France that chivalry was not dead in America, and car-
ried to the gallant and hard-pressed French people the sym-
pathy of the United States that was never neutral. . . . They
anticipated Pershing's admirable phrase, "We are here, Lafa-
yette." And while among them and in the Foreign Legion there
were many athletes and many with technical training, there
were also surprisingly many who were impelled to go by that
idealism that is bred of literature and science and art. Some of
them, like that noble Dartmouth lad who gave his life Christ-
mas night, lie there, the advance guard of that goodly com-
pany,
"Who gave their merry youth away
For the Country and for God."
7
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
The Field Service and American Neutrality
A TABLE in the Appendix shows that approximately
two thousand of the Field Service volunteers came from
one or another of more than a hundred different American
colleges, Harv'ard leading the list with three hundred and
twenty-five of her sons. Scarcely a State in the Union was
unrepresented on the Field Serv'ice rolls, and certainly no
university or college of note. It was in fact because of
this that the organization was able to render what was
probably its most important service to France and the al-
lied cause. For during the long years when the American
Government was hesitating, and those in authority were
proclaiming the necessity of speaking and even thinking
in neutral terms, and while the American people were
slowly accumulating the information that was to lead to
the Great Decision, these hundreds of American youths
already in France were busily writing and agitating in
terms that were not neutral, and were sending to their
families and friends throughout the Union, to their home
papers, to their college publications, and to American
weeklies and magazines the great story of France and
her prodigious sacrifice. At a Field Service gathering
in New York in September, 191 6, Theodore Roosevelt
summed up their service by saying:
There is not an American worth calling such, who is not
under a heavy debt of obligation to these boys for what they
have done. We are under an even greater debt to them than
the French and Belgians are. . . . The most important thing
that a nation can possibly save is its soul, and these young men
have been helping this nation to save its soul.
By personal and published letters, by articles, by books,
by lectures, by photograph and cinematograph, they
were bringing the war ever nearer to those on the other
side of the Atlantic and by the organization of commit-
tees in almost every college and university and in nearly
every city and town in the United States, they were de-
veloping a deeper and more active interest in American
8
INTRODUCTION
participation. This was the aspect of the Field Service
which in the thought of those of us who were privileged
to direct it seemed heavily to outweigh all others. Herein
lay by all counts the greatest contribution which the men
of the Field Service could make and did make to France.
Fortunately, as events proved, they were sowers of seed
in a field that was destined to yield, not merely an abun-
dant but, in fact, a prodigious harvest. As Coningsby
Dawson later expressed it:
Long before April, 191 7, American college boys had won a
name by their devotion in forcing their ambulances over the
shell-torn roads in ever\' part of the French front. The report of
the sacrificial courage of these pioneers had travelled to every
State of the Union. Their example had stirred, shamed, and
educated the Nation. It is to these knight-errants . . . that I
attribute America's eager acceptance of Calvary, when, at
last, it was offered to her by her statesmen.
The Field Service and the U.S. Army
When at last America joined forces with the Allies, and
American troops were sent to France, they found the
ambulance and transport branches of the American Field
Service thoroughly established and functioning as use-
ful parts of the French Army. The ambulance branch
included about twelve hundred volunteers, with nearly
a thousand ambulances built upon a model developed and
perfected in the course of its three years of active service.
It had its own spacious headquarters and reception park
in the heart of Paris, its own construction and repair
park and supply depot, its own training-camp, its own
share in the French automobile officers' school, its own
home and hospital for men convalescing and on furlough,
and above all it had all of its relations with the French
Army, of which it was a part, not merely formulated, but
tested and revised by several years of actual operation.
The transport branch, including about eight hundred
volunteers, using the same Paris headquarters and home,
and the same department of the French officers' school
9
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
as the ambulance branch, but with two special training-
camps of its own, was also a tried and working proposition
which had been rendering helpful and appreciated service
with the French Army for several months. The French
authorities were anxious that both formations should be
continued and that the entry of the United States in
the war should not result in any interruption of either
of these services upon which they had come to count.
Marechal Joffre, in his trip to the States in the spring
of 19 17, appealed to the American Government to this
end, and as a result of his appeal, it was agreed in Wash-
ington that both branches of the Field Service should be
adopted by the American Army and reloaned to France,
so that they could go on functioning as they had before,
only under official American auspices. During the au-
tumn of 191 7, accordingly, the ambulance sections, then
numbering thirty-three, were incorporated in the United
States Army Ambulance Service with the French Army,
and the camion sections, numbering fourteen (the so-called
Reserve Mallet), were militarized as the American Mis-
sion with the French Army of the Motor Transport Corps.
A majority of the Field Service volunteer drivers willingly
enlisted in the United States Army in order that the en-
tity and work of their sections might continue. The
Field Service officers were regularly commissioned. The
Field Service ambulances and other cars, numbering
nearly a thousand, were turned over to the United States
Army, and the sections thus went on serving with the
French Army without change or interruption. The only
exception concerned the Field Service ambulance sec-
tions in the Balkans, which the American Army would
not accept or take over for the ostensible reason that the
United States was not then at war with Austria-Hun-
gary and could not accordingly have even non-combatant
troops in service with the armies that were opposing the
Austrians. We were therefore obliged, however reluc-
tantly, to withdraw the personnel of these sections, but
not before giving their cars, tents, and abundant equip-
10
A. PIATT ANDREW
INTRODUCTION
ment directly to the French Army of the Orient, which
thus continued their service, in the hands of a French
personnel, until the end of the war.
It is worthy of note that while neither the American
ambulance nor transport adjuncts of the French Army,
which rendered such excellent service in France dur-
ing the last year of the war, would probably have ex-
isted except for their previous formation under the Field
Service, both were not only continued under the auspices
of the American Army, but were very considerably en-
larged under those auspices during that final year. Before
the war ended, the American ambulance sections serving
with the French Army had increased to eighty-one and
the camion sections so serving to twenty-four.
With the arrival of the American Army in France, as
more varied opportunities for participation in the war
became available, many of the old Field Service volun-
teers sought service in other branches of the army, such
as aviation, infantry, and the artillery, for which they
felt themselves better qualified by individual endowment
or previous training and experience. In addition, there-
fore, to the hundreds of officers and men which the Field
Service contributed to the American ambulance and mo-
tor transport corps serving with the armies of France,
it also contributed quotas to almost every other part of
the American Expeditionary Forces, and in fact to sev-
eral services of the allied armies as well. The records of
many of the men in these services not only brought dis-
tinction to themselves, but reflected some of that dis-
tinction upon the mother organization under which they
began their serv'ice in France. A hundred and twenty-
seven Field Service men, whose names are listed on a
Roll of Honor elsewhere in these volumes, gave in the
course of the war all that they had or could hope for,
and several times that number suffered mutilation and
wounds.
We know of approximately eight hundred former Field
II
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
Service volunteers who subsequently held commissions
in the United States Army, Navy, or Marine Corps, and
in addition we have record of one hundred and three
who were officers or aspirants in the French artillery
and aviation, and of twenty- two who were officers in
the British Army, principally in the Royal Flying Corps.
In all, the total number of Field Service men serving
as officers and privates in the French and British Armies
was close to two hundred.
Builders of the Service
The success of the Field Service was due, not merely
nor primarily to the hundreds of youths who constituted
its ranks in the field. It was due, in the first instance, to
the concerted effort of a multitude of men and women
scattered throughout the length and breadth of the
United States. In schools and colleges, in clubs and
churches, in business houses and trade oi^anizations of
every sort, with unremitting effort they secured the funds
and recruits which for three years made the Service possi-
ble, and which at the rate of their accumulation in April,
1 91 7 (had America not entered the war at that time), were
destined shortly to make of the Field Service an institution
of very formidable proportions. To these friends of the
Field Service in America, any one of whom would gladly
have welcomed the opportunity to do what the volunteers
on the front were doing, gratitude for the achievement of
the Field Service is as much owing as to the men who
served in France. Particularly is appreciation due in this
connection to Mr. Henry D. Sleeper, the American repre-
sentative of the Service, who during these years with un-
flagging energy organized the committees and spread from
one end of America to the other the information which re-
sulted so successfully in providing men and money for the
work in France.
Whatever success the Field Service sections may have
achieved in the field was equally owing to the devoted
12
INTRODUCTION
effort of the staff in France who, during month after
month and year after year, gave themselves without stint,
caring for and training the men as they arrived from
America in ever-increasing and often unexpected num-
bers, looking after the assembHng and construction of
ambulances, finding and shipping the endless supplies
needed by the sections, handling perplexing matters of
personal discipline and complicated relations with various
branches of the French administration, and meeting, so
far as possible, the innumerable individual problems pre-
sented by several thousand young volunteers in a foreign
army in a foreign land. We passed through many tense
and difficult days together, and I shall never forget their
loyal and faithful cooperation. Above all, and without
any risk of invidious distinction, must be mentioned
Mr. Stephen Galatti, who reluctantly left his section at
the front at the end of 191 5 in order to help in the admin-
istration of the Service, and to whose unswerving loyalty,
unfailing optimism, tireless patience, and wise counsel
during the years that followed, the Service owes an in-
estimable debt.
Our Memories
In the narratives and impressions that follow will be
found something of the life and work of the Field Service
volunteers before American troops had come to France.
The participants themselves tell their own stories, and
by collecting and editing these stories, it is hoped to
hand down to the future, not only the record of what
the Field Service was and accomplished during the first
years of the Great War, but also a considerable number
of first-hand obser\^ations of what life at the front
with the French armies was like during these years.
Writers of greater training have given the world graphic
pictures of the more famous scenes of battle, — of the
tragic days of the Yser, of the Somme, of Champagne, of
Verdun, of the Chemin des Dames, — in all of which
Field Service sections had their small part; but there
13
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
are less known events and places deeply graven in the
memories of Field Service men which also deserve to be
perpetuated and to be sung. Many of the pages that fol-
low will quicken the recollection of such days and places
among the men who "were there," even though they may
give only faint impressions to those whose reading is
unsupported by experiences recalled. What throngs of
varied memories troop by again as one turns over the
pages! Memories of farewell dinners long ago at old "21,"
when sections, on the eve of their departure for the front,
were bid Godspeed by well-known men of France and
America; memories of the excitement of section depar-
tures, in particular of the nights in October and Decem-
ber, 191 6, when Section Three and Section Ten embarked
for their great adventure in the Orient, and of that May
morning in 191 7 when the first Camion Section marched
down through the Passy grounds, under arms, en route for
Dommiers ; memories of days of eager anticipation at the
training-camps by the old water-mill at May-en-Multien,
in the forest at Dommiers, or in the chateau grounds at
Chavigny, the last two of which have long since been
reduced to dust and wreckage by the sweep of battle;
memories of mysterious nights spent under whistling
shells in postes crowded with wounded poilus at Esnes, at
Bras, at Vendresse, at Hartmannsweilerkopf, and scores
of other places ; memories of hours of unutterable sorrow
when comrades who had fallen were laid eternally to
rest; memories of happy days of decorations and defiles,
like that last ceremony in which the Field Service as
such took part, when her camion volunteers were deco-
rated on the champ de mancBuvre of Soissons in the
cold twilight of November 12, 1917!
The American Field Service has passed into history,
and the Great War itself is a closed volume. Fortunate
is it, indeed, if here are gathered together a few remind-
ers of our work and our companions, of our joys and our
sorrows in the great days that are no more.
14
INTRODUCTION
The Field Service and France
When all is said and done, the Field Service volunteers
themselves gained far more than the wounded poilus, far
more than the armies of France, far more than any one
else, from the work which they performed.
Even in ordinary times it is a^privilege to live in this
*'doux pays de France,'' to move about among its gentle
and finished landscapes, in the presence of its beautiful
architectural heritages and in daily contact with its
generous, sensitive, and highly gifted people. Life in
France, even in ordinary times, means to those of almost
any other country daily suggestions of courtesy, refine-
ment, and thoughtful consideration for others. It means
continual suggestions of an intelligent perspective in the
art of living and in the things that give life dignity and
worth.
But the opportunity of living in France, as we Ameri-
cans lived during the first years of the war, meant
all this and more. It meant glimpses of human nature
shorn of self, exalted by love of country, singing and jest-
ing in the midst of hardships, smiling at pain, unmindful
even of death. It meant contact with the most gentle and
most intelligent of modern peoples facing incredible suf-
fering, prolonged and prodigious sacrifices, mortal peril —
facing them with silent, unshakable resolve, victoriously
resisting them with modesty and never a vaunting word.
It meant visions of courage, resignation, and heroism as
fine as any that history records. Nothing else surely can
ever offer so much of noble inspiration as those glimpses
of the moral grandeur of unconquerable France.
The epic and heroic quality of France's whole history,
and especially of that chapter of which we were eye-
witnesses, the quenchless spirit and unfaltering will of
her people, the democracy, the comradeship, and above
all, the calm, unboasting, matter-of-fact courage of her
troops, kindled something akin to veneration in all of
us. The Field Service motto was, "Tons et tout pour la
15
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
France.'" We all felt it. We all meant it. It is forever
ours.
In serving with the armies of France, the men of the
old Field Service enjoyed a privilege of unique and in-
estimable value, a privilege the memory of which will
remain not only a cherished heritage, but a living influ-
ence as long as any of us survive.
A. Piatt Andrew^
France, March, 19 19
1 Organizer and head of the American Field Service. Served in France
continuously from December, 1914, until May, 1919- Commissioned a
Major, U.S.A. Ambulance Service, and subsequently a Lieutenant-Colo-
nel. The Commander-in-Chief of the American Expeditionary Forces
awarded him the Distinguished Service Medal with this citation: " For
exceptionally meritorious and distinguished services. Coming to France at
the beginning of the war, he showed remarkable ability in organizing the
American Field Service, a volunteer service for the transportation of the
wounded of the French Armies at the front. Upon the entry of the United
States into the war, he turned over to the U.S. Army Ambulance Service
the efficient organization he had built up, and by his sound judgment and
expert advice, rendered invaluable aid in the development of that organiza-
tion. To him is due, in large measure, the credit for the increasingly valuable
work done by the light ambulances at the front."
ACTA MANE.NT
II
SOME OF THE EARLY PROBLEMS
It is not France alone that they serve. They are paying for all Ameri-
cans a small instalment on the great debt of gratitude that we have owed
the French people since the very beginning of our national life.
Myron T. Herrick, 1916
Most of the American war activities in France that pre-
ceded the entrance of the United States into the war
can trace some sort of parentage to the small American
hospital in Neuilly-sur-Seine, that had been maintained
by members of the American colony in Paris for some
years before the war. As this semi-charitable institution
was located in the immediate vicinity of Paris, and in-
cluded among its supporters and directors a large num-
ber of the American residents of the French capital, it
naturally, at the outbreak of hostilities, became the rally-
ing centre for all Americans, who, as residents, travellers,
or students, happened to be in Paris at the time, and who
wanted to do something to help.
Money and hospital supplies were donated ; automobiles
were given and lent; men and women of all sorts offered
their services; and within a few weeks, even before the
Germans had reached the Marne, a large hospital for
French wounded had been equipped and opened in the
Lycee Pasteur in Neuilly, another hospital was in process
of organization near Meaux, and a number of ambulances,
rudely extemporized from touring cars, limousines, and
automobile chassis, were ready to bring in the wounded,
which, early in September, the rapidly moving battle
flood brought close to the city.
All of these endeavors began in the name of and under
the auspices of the little ante-bellum American Hospital
of Neuilly, which can claim the signal honor of having
initiated American war relief work in France. They had
the distinguished support and active leadership of the
17
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
American ambassador, Mr. Myron T. Herrick, and of
his predecessor, Mr. Robert Bacon.
In the months that followed, with the crystallization
of the front, and the resultant prospect of a prolonged
war, the efforts of the American residents in France were
supplemented rapidly and in ever-increasing proportions
by men and funds from America. The American effort
began also to differentiate Itself, to specialize its tasks
and its personnel, and one after another many, who had
been associated with the American hospital at the out-
set, withdrew from it, in order to develop new oppor-
tunities for service, — now to establish a new American
hospital at Montdidier (Mr. Herman Harjes) ; now to
organize a hospital at Ris Orangis (Dr. Joseph A, Blake) ;
now to direct a group of automobile ambulances in Bel-
gium (Mr. Francis T. Colby) ; now to head a group of
ambulances with the British (Mr. Richard Norton) ;
now to institute a service for the distribution of relief
(Mrs. Robert Bliss) ; and now to systematize and facili-
tate the import of supplies from America (Dr. Watson
and Mr. Charles Carroll).
In the winter of 1914-15 ascore or two of the donated
automobile ambulances, which, because of the with-
drawal of the front after the battle of the Marne, were
no longer needed by the American Ambulance Hospital
in Neuilly, had been temporarily lent with American vol-
unteers as drivers, to French and British hospitals some-
what In the rear of the army zone at Paris Plage, Hesdin,
Abbeville, Saint-Pol, Beauvais, and Dunkirk. But this
work, however useful it may have been, was not of a char-
acter to appeal to enthusiastic and ardent young Ameri-
cans, who were physically able and morally eager to share
more of war's hardships and dangers. Many young Ameri-
cans were already stirring with the desire to participate
in the great world drama, yet they could not do so as com-
batants without sacrifice of their nationality. Admirers
of France in America were becoming more and more
numerous and generous and were seeking opportunities
18
INTRODUCTION
to contribute aid to the French armies. Every circum-
stance of the time pointed to the possibility of success-
fully developing an ambulance service, conducted by
American volunteers, and supported by American donors,
but working directly in the French army zone as part
and parcel of the French Army.
This was the goal toward which some of us began direct-
ing our hopes and our energies in the late winter of 19 14-
15. But before launching an appeal in America for men
and money for this special purpose certain preliminary
and somewhat formidable obstacles in France had to be
overcome. First of all, the Commander-in-Chief of the
French Army had to be persuaded of the advisability of
allowing representatives of a neutral country, not merely
to circulate in the army zone, but, what was far more
irregular, to serve as actual members of a French division.
One can easily understand that the French General
Headquarters hesitated before such a proposal, envisaged
the difficulties, and asked for certain assurances. These
young Americans were coming from a country whose
people at that time were, to some extent at least, divided
on the issues of the war, and whose Government had
given no indication of friendliness to France. If they were
not to forego their allegiance to their native land, they
could not be subjected, like French soldiers, to the sterner
forms of discipline, such as court-martial, nor to the more
severe forms of punishment. They could not, like French
citizens, be asked to engage themselves for such an in-
definite period as the duration of the war. Above all,
the French Army had to protect itself against the pos-
sible presence within its lines of men of disloyal inclin-
ations.
We recognized these grounds for hesitation and tried
to meet them. We offered formal assurance that no can-
didates would be accepted without at least three letters
from men of standing in their communities, testifying
to their character and unquestioned loyalty to the Allied
cause, which letters would be kept on file at our Head-
19
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
quarters subject at all times to examination by the
French authorities; that each candidate would sign an
initial engagement for at least six months' service, to be
renewable thereafter for periods of at least three months ;
that he would also sign a promise not to communicate
any information of military significance that might come
to his knowledge during his period of service; and finally,
that during this period he would "be subject to French
military discipline." This latter agreement was probably
unenforceable, since any member of the Service, who had
not forsworn his allegiance to his country, might still have
appealed to the American Government for protection
against the execution of a French military punishment,
but fortunately it was never put to the test. During our
three years of service there was never a question of es-
pionage or disloyalty among our volunteers, nor were
there any cases of serious infraction of military dis-
cipline. Among all of the thousands of members of the
Service I recall only one instance where a volunteer,
imprisoned by French military authority for some mis-
demeanor, appealed to the American Ambassador for re-
lief from his punishment, and this was settled amicably
by a prompt dishonorable discharge from the Service of
the youthful offender.
Agreement with French G.Q.G.
Early in April, 191 5, the French General Headquarters
paid us the gratifying tribute of accepting our offer and
our assurances, and authorized the incorporation in the
French Army of such volunteer sections as we might be
able to provide. These sections were to be constituted, as
to personnel, material, and equipment, upon exactly the
same model as the regular French Army ambulance sec-
tions (except that the men and cars were to be furnished
by us), and they were to function in exactly the same way.
The agreement thus signed by the French Headquarters
in the early months of the war is of sufficient interest and
significance to justify the publication of its terms in full.
20
COMMANDANT DOUMENC
INTRODUCTION
The following translation was made from the original
text as slightly modified by subsequent orders.
MEMOR.\NDUM REGARDING THE UTILIZATION IN THE
ARMIES OF THE SANITARY SECTIONS PLACED AT THE
DISPOSAL OF THE GENERAL-IN-CHIEF BY THE AMERI-
CAN FIELD SERVICE
General Provisions
(A) These sections shall have the same elements (material
and personnel) as are provided for the French sections of the
same type and shall be similarly constituted in administrative
units.
(B) A French officer of the automobile service will be ap-
pointed commander of each formation. Attached to this officer
will be a representative of the American Field Service in charge
of the relations between the A.F.S. and the section. He will
have the title of Assistant Commander {Commandant Adjoint)
and will be charged with transmitting to the American drivers
the orders of the French officer and insuring discipline among
the American drivers.
Enlistment Contract — Discipline
(A) The volunteers must enlist for a period of six months
with their Organizing Committee, with the privilege of renew-
ing their enlistment for periods of at least three months. Before
leaving for the section they must hand to Captain Aujay
(Office of Foreign Sanitary Sections) a signed copy of their
enlistment. From this time they shall be subject to French
military discipline,
(B) In addition to their passports, the American volunteers
must be provided while in the army zone with a "carnet
d' Stranger" delivered by the B.M.S.E.
(C) They will have the right to "permissions,''^ regulated
as follows:
Seven days at the expiration of each period of three months'
presence in their formation.
Fourteen days at the expiration of each period of nine
months' presence in their formation.
Fifteen days before the expiration of each period of enlist-
ment, the American drivers will be invited by the French officer
commanding the section to choose between their liberation at
the end of the current period and the signature of a new engage-
ment. In the first case no "permission^' will be granted before
liberation; in the second case the usual "permission'' will be
allowed.
21
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
(D) They will wear the uniform adopted by the American
Field Service, with the grenades of the Automobile Service, in
wool or silk for drivers, in gold or silver for the Assistant
Commander. They should in^no case wear the insignia of rank
in use in the Allied Armies.
(E) The French Chief of Section will have the right to re-
quest from the Chief of the Automobile Service of the army
the dismissal of any foreign driver who shall have been guilty
of a serious breach of discipline. The Chief of the Automobile
Service of the army shall have the right to order immediate
dismissal on receipt of a report setting forth the facts. Such
dismissal involves the absolute prohibition to enlist in any
other foreign sanitary section.
Registration and Upkeep of Vehicles
(A) The cars will be registered and attached to the automo-
bile service of the army with which these sections are con-
nected.
(B) Each section will include a workshop car with two
mechanics for maintenance and light repairs. The unit will
always be able to call upon the resources of the automobile
park of the army for more important repairs.
(C) The request for spare parts will be centralized by the
automobile service of the army which will transmit them to the
Magasin Central Automobile in the form in use for spare parts
for French cars. (Never followed as the American Field Service
always had its own repair park and supplied its own spare parts.)
(D) Gasoline, supplies, and tires will be furnished to these
sections in the same way as to any other section of the automo-
bile service.
Movements of Personnel
Foreign volunteers will conform to all rules laid down by the
Commanding General-in-Chief concerning circulation in the
army zone and especially the rules concerning movements of
drivers of the foreign sanitary sections (particularly the obli-
gatory visit to the ofifice of the foreign sanitary sections on
going to or returning from the front).
Replacing of Drivers and Withdrawal of Cars
(A) In the event of the American Field Service being unable
to maintain the full effective force of a section in drivers or
cars, a supplemental force can be furnished by the automobile
service of the army in question.
(B) The cars can be withdrawn from the armies by the
Organizing Committee at a month's notice addressed to the
Direction of the Automobile Service.
22
INTRODUCTION
Inspection by Delegates of the Organizing Committee
When members of the Committee wish to visit their forma-
tions they should make a request to the Commanding General-
in-Chief {Direction des Services Automobiles).
List of Personnel
1 French officer of the automobile service.
2 Representatives of the American Field Service who will
receive the rations applicable to the rank of sub-lieutenant
to the exclusion of all other pay. These representatives
will have the title of Commandant- Adjoint and Sous-Chef
of section and will have the right to officers' billets.
I Marechal des logis (Sergeant) ^
1 Brigadier fourrier (Corporal) r French
2 chauffeurs 3
40 American volunteers at the maximum
2 American mechanics
A minimum of 22 ambulances ")
I repair truck [• furnished by Americans
I touring car )
I touri^ng car ) f^^nished by French Army
I small truck ) ^ ^
Signed: Doumenc Signed: Piatt Andrew
Director of the Automobile Inspector General of the
Service of the General American Ambulance
Headquarters Field Service
The signing of this agreement at General JofTre's Head-
quarters marked the transition to a new development of
American aid to France. It initiated direct cooperation
with the combatant French armies In the advanced zone.
But It did more than that, for It actually Incorporated
American volunteer units in the French Army under the
authority and control of French General Headquarters.
It meant the beginning of a new undertaking which was
destined to develop rapidly, and to play a considerable
role long before, and Indeed, after, America's formal
entry Into the war. The date of the signing of this agree-
ment has ever since been considered to mark the com-
mencement of the American Field Service, as a distinct
organization with, functions, relations, and a personnel
of its own.
23
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
So began the American Field Service in France, or the
American Ambulance Field Service, as it was at first
called, an American volunteer formation functioning as
an integral part of the armies of France. The agreement
once signed, appeals were immediately sent out to
American universities for recruits; committees were or-
ganized in these universities and in different American
cities to collect funds for the purchase of ambulances and
equipment and for their upkeep; and before the end of
191 5 we were able to offer to the French Army four com-
plete sections, each composed of twenty ambulances and
other appurtenant cars, a contingent sufficient to handle
all of the sanitary transport of four French divisions.
The Personnel of a Section
As to the personnel, the agreement with the French
Army had stipulated that each section should have not
more than forty American volunteers, that being the
customary number in a French ambulance section, al-
lowing two drivers for a car ; but, as in the early months
we had no redundant supply of volunteers, and as those
whom we had, were eager for, and capable of, hard work,
the first sections were sent out with only twenty-five or
thirty American members, which meant, in principle, one
man for each automobile with a small reserve for special
duties or for relief in case of sickness, accident, or fur-
lough. In addition the French Army attached to each
section from two to four French soldiers, nominally to
serve as orderlies and drivers for the French staff, but
practically these soldiers did the work of cooks and
general handy-men for the sections. The French ofhcer
attached to the section was the intermediary through
whom orders from the French Army were transmitted to
the section, and by him the numerous reports, accounts,
and other papers required in the French Army were
prepared and handed over to the French authorities. In
the latter work he was assisted by two French non-
commissioned officers, likewise detailed to the section.
24
INTRODUCTION
Thus, each section had, in addition to its American per-
sonnel of about thirty members, a French personnel of
from fi\'e to seven members. The American Field Service
officer, officially known as the Commandant- Adjoint, was
charged with the enforcement of the orders and the main-
tenance of discipline within the section. In theory such
a division of responsibility and command between two
officers of different nationalities might easily have led to
conflicts of authority and friction between the two, yet,
as a matter of fact, during the long history of the Field
Service instances of such disagreements were rare. The
French officers assigned to the American sections were
carefully selected, not merely for their competence and
training, but for their tact and familiarity with American
character and customs, and in most of our sections the
relations between the French and American officers were
characterized not only by mutual confidence and respect,
but by intimacy and comradeship. Differences of lan-
guage and nationality counted not at all in the old Field
Service sections. French and American members were
comrades, sharing the same life, working for the same
cause, taking equal pride in their joint accomplishment.
The sections, in fact, were more like large families than
military formations, the officers and men, whether French
or American, eating together, if not at the same table, at
least in the same room, and calling each other not infre-
quently by familiar names rather than by formal titles.
For the information of the reader and as a matter of
record it is perhaps worth while to explain how the ex-
penses of an ambulance section were divided between
its members, the Field Service organization, and the
French Army. The volunteer members were expected to
provide their own uniforms, clothing and personal equip-
ment, and to arrange their own travelling expenses from
their homes in America to France, and at the end of their
enlistment, from France to their homes. Aside from this,
practically everything was provided for them. The Field
25
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
Service furnished board and lodging for the men during
their period of training and when In Paris on leave, or
when returning to America. It made also an allowance of
two francs per day for each man in active service to
supplement the regular French Army rations. It provided
the ambulances, trucks, trailers, staff cars, spare parts,
car and section equipment, tents, tools, etc. It repaired
the cars that were damaged In Its own repair shops, from
which It also replenished the sections with new cars, tools,
and parts as occasion required. The French Army fur-
nished to the sections the gasoline, oil, and tires con-
sumed by the cars, and provided regular army rations
and lodgings for the men and officers in the field. It also
paid to the volunteers the regular pay of French soldiers
which, during the early years of the war, averaged about
five cents daily per man. It should be added that the
French Army was notably generous In Its treatment of
our sections, giving them preference wherever possible
in the assignment of quarters, and detailing to them, not
merely excellent officers, but, what was equally appre-
ciated, excellent French cooks.
Finding New Headquarters
The principle of an ambulance service in the French
Army being established, a pressing question was the find-
ing and establishment of an appropriate base. The four
sections which we were able to send out in 191 5 were dis-
tributed at intervals along the French front all the way
from Flanders to Alsace. Their work had no relation with
the work of the American Hospital at Neuilly, which was
more than two hundred miles distant from the nearest
section, and which received Its wounded, not by motor
ambulance, but by rail from the army zone. The problems
of these sections were those of motor transport as part
of the Automobile Service of the French Army, and had
nothing to do with surgery and medical work, as will be
explained In a subsequent paragraph. The Field Service,
with a quite distinct work to perform in a quite different
26
INTRODUCTION
region, with its own special funds, its own committees in
America, and its own staff in France, needed space and
freer opportunity to develop. Inev^itably it was bound to
follow the example of other American (Buvres de guerre
and become a completely independent entity. The um-
bilical cord, which at the outset had bound it to the
American Hospital, had to be cut if it was to undergo
any considerable growth.
For nearly a year we continued to use as our Paris
ofhce a small room in an outhouse in the grounds of the
American Hospital in Neuilly, with a small attic in the
main building as a dormitory for the men en route to the
front. Early in 191 6, however, after months of persistent
search, we found, with great good fortune, the spacious
and historic property at 21 rue Raynouard in picturesque
old Passy, and this estate, thanks to the munificence of
the French family who owned it, the Hottinguers, was
placed at our disposal gratuitously for the duration of
the war. Here were not only plenty of rooms for offices
and stores, but adequate dormitory and messing quarters
for two or three hundred men, a separate building for an
infirmary, and large grounds in which scores of cars could
be parked, hundreds of men drilled, and numerous sec-
tions organized. This, with two neighboring buildings at
5 rue Lekain, temporarily loaned by the same benefactors
during the period or our greatest activity in 19 17, became
the heart and centre of the Field Service, and continued
so to serv^e during the remaining three years of the war.
Thus was another problem of the Field Service solved.
A satisfactory base was found, and indeed a veritable
home established about which will ever cluster the grate-
ful memories of several thousand members who at one
time or another enjoyed its sheltering comfort. The im-
portance of the step is indicated by the fact that although,
when the change of base was made in 191 6, there w^ere
only five sections in the field, a year later the number had
increased to forty-seven sections serving with the French
armies at the front.
27
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
Automobiles and Doctors
In connection with the separation of the American Field
Service from the American Hospital, it is perhaps appro-
priate to digress for a moment in order to draw atten-
tion to a fundamental difference between the French and
American Armies in regard to the relation of the am-
bulance sections to the medical service. As our sections
were with the French Army, it was inevitable that we
conform with the French system which involves much
greater independence between the two services. In the
American Army the automobile ambulances form part of
the Medical Corps, and their supply, repair, and upkeep
are directed by medical officers. In the French Army, how-
ever, such vehicles are not subject to the medical service
in these respects, but are assimilated with other motor
vehicles, and entrusted to a special branch of the army
known as the Automobile Service, which provides and
maintains every sort of motor-car used by the infantry,
the artillery, and all other branches of the army, includ-
ing the medical corps. This service had its own system
of schools for the purpose of training its officers and men,
its own organization centres, repair and revision parks
and supply depots of various sorts, which served alike all
automobiles no matter what their functions might be,
whether for the transport of troops, material, or wounded.
The use of the automobile for the rapid transportation
of wounded, which had reached no considerable develop-
ment before the great European war, rendered possible
in this war the surgical treatment of wounded under
much more favorable circumstances than in previous wars.
Its adoption, however, inevitably suggested many mod-
ifications in the tables of organization of the army medi-
cal service, modifications which were not so thoroughly
recognized in the American Army as in that of Franc^.
In the American Army, motor-ambulances were driven,
looked after, and supervised by men with medical train-
ing, just as had been the horse-drawn ambulances of other
28
CHAET OF TYPICAL AMBULANCE SERVICE AT THE FRONT
(For explanation, see reverse of page)
NOTE EXPLAINING CHART ON REVERSE OF PAGE
A division of the French Army normally included three infan-
try regiments and an artillery regiment, each of which had
its own sanitary formation of stretcher-bearers and doctors,
who gave hasty dressings at the first-aid shelters. In addi-
tion the division had its own corps of surgeons, doctors, at-
tendants, and stretcher-bearers (G.B.D., Groiipe des Bran-
cardiers Divisionnaire), who maintained at least one central
dressing-station or poste de secours, where reexaminations were
made and, when necessary, further treatment given, and
who served as a reserve for the regimental pastes. In addi-
tion the divisional corps maintained a mobile hospital unit,
which served as a sorting-station {triage), assigning cases ac-
cording to their nature and gravity to particular hospitals in
the rear not attached to the division.
Where conditions of the terrain allowed, motor ambulances
brought wounded directly from the regimental first-aid shel-
ters, but ordinarily the wounded were brought from these
shelters to the G.B.D. pastes by hand, or upon stretchers slung
on a light two-wheeled frame. The ambulances then carried
them back to the triage, and from there again to the base or
evacuation hospitals.
INTRODUCTION
wars, the assumption being that with long distances be-
tween dressing-stations and hospitals, such as were fa-
miliar in Mexico and the Philippines, surgical or medi-
cal treatment might be advantageously administered en
route. Such conditions did not exist when motor-cars
decimated distance, and above all in France with its com-
plex network of railroads and its closely grouped towns
and villages in which hospitals could be established. Sur-
gical and medical training had, therefore, no part to play
in the ambulance service in France. The French Army
discovered at the very beginning of the war that the only
role of this service was to get the wounded as rapidly and
comfortably as possible from the battle-line to a field
hospital, usually only a few miles back, where they could
receive proper treatment under advantageous conditions.
What was required of an ambulance section was to fur-
nish to the Division, wherever and whenever required
motor-ambulances in sufficient number, adequately sup-
plied with gasoline, tires, and spare parts, properly looked
after by motor mechanics, and properly handled by ex-
perienced drivers. From the French point of view it was
as illogical to expect doctors and surgeons to accomplish
this work successfully as it would be to ask automobile
experts to do surgical and medical work in the dressing-
stations and hospitals. The divisional surgeon in the
French Army had a certain number of ambulances and
drivers, under the command of an automobile officer,
placed at his disposal by the Automobile Service. The
surgeons decided the daily work to be performed by the
section, but they had nothing whatsoever to do either
with its internal administration and discipline or with
the upkeep of its membership and material.
The French system of entrusting the supply and main-
tenance of motor material to an especially trained corps,
proved not only efficient, but of marked advantage. In
fact so manifest were its advantages that when subse-
quently the American Army came to France, many of
its higher officers perceived the superiority of the French
29
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
system and tried to incorporate in the Ambulance Serv-
ice of the United States Army the principles of organiza-
tion which had already been tested by three years' actual
service in France, both by the French army ambulance
sections and by our American volunteer sections as well.
Almost a year after the arrival of the American troops in
France a Motor Transport Corps was in fact established
as a department of the United States Army, and it was
based in the main on the French model. The war came
to an end, however, before the plans to incorporate the
American motor ambulance sections in this corps had
been adopted.
Standardizing Equipment
But to return to the Field Service, one other problem
presented itself in the early days, the proper solution of
which seems simple enough in retrospect, but which at
the moment was not without its perplexities. This was
the question of the kind of ambulance to be employed,
and its decision furnished a distinct technical contribution
to the machinery of the war. During our first months of
effort many generous friends in America and in France
offered to turn over to us automobiles of diverse makes,
and several such cars were actually sent over from Amer-
ica, equipped as ambulances, with every device employed
by vehicles of that name in American cities. Various
automobile dealers in America also wrote offering to pre-
sent us without charge new cars of their manufacture,
and one firm of considerable standing even promised to
donate cars for an entire section. At a time when the
Field Service was in an incipient and indigent condition,
such offers were decidedly tempting, since they opened
the way to a rapid and immediate development. It was
not, therefore, without initial hesitation that we decided
to reject such offers.
The difficulties, however, attendant upon the utiliza-
tion of such gifts far outweighed any obvious advantages,
as the later experience of other ambulance formations
30
INTRODUCTION
abundantly proved. Ambulances made in America were
not constructed for war work. They were not designed
to carry the largest number of cases in the least possible
space, nor arranged to carry the stretchers upon which
seriously wounded cases are transported in the army.
Such ambulances had to be completely reconstructed in
France before they could be of any use on the front. But
what was far more serious, it was impossible to procure
or keep on hand spare parts of every sort for a great
variety of different automobile types. If an ambulance
service was to function promptly and without interrup-
tion, it must be composed of cars for the repair of which
stocks of interchangeable spare parts were always avail-
able. Uniformity in the type of cars used was, therefore,
a prerequisite of efficiency.
We decided, accordingly, at an early date, not to ac-
cept gifts of miscellaneous cars and to limit our service
to not more than two types of automobiles. Each section
would be given two heavy cars (two- or three-ton trucks) ,
of a uniform make, one to be fitted out as a workshop
with simple machinery, hand tools, and a stock of spare
parts for the section's ambulances, the other to be
equipped as an ambulance with benches for fifteen or
twenty sitting cases, to be used in case of heavy ev^acua-
tions in the rear, and also to serve for the transportation
of tents and other heavy section equipment when the
section moved from one locality to another. One of these
cars was to be used also to trail a specially designed rolling
kitchen, with which each section was provided, a kitchen
fitted up like a small room on wheels with a sto^■e, bins
for coal, wood, and flour, shelves and hooks for pots and
kettles, drawers and cupboards for meat, vegetables,
canned foods, and smaller articles, all arranged after the
manner of a gypsy wagon, so that it could be drawn up by
the roadside, or before any cantonment, and a hot meal
quickly prepared without other installation or shelter.
As for the ambulances which were to constitute the
31
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
main body of the section, we initiated an experiment
which at the outset was considered by many of doubtful
expediency, but which proved in the end so eminently
successful that it was adopted by other formations, and
in particular by a large department of the United States
Army when that army came to France. The French and
British Armies had employed only heavy motors for their
ambulance services, cars equipped to carry from four
to six lying cases or eight to ten sitting cases; but there
were certain disadvantages in these cars. Under the usual
conditions of trench warfare wounded did not arrive at
dressing-stations in such numbers, and the result was,
either that wounded were held at the pastes until a suffi-
cient number had arrived to make a load, or that the am-
bulance had to make its run half empty. On the other
hand, in moments of heavy offensive or defensive opera-
tions, when wounded were arriving in large numbers, the
roads were so encumbered with traffic that a heavy ambu-
lance, being unable to slip in and out of the convoys, had
to keep its place in the endless procession of slow-moving
trucks, artillery, supply wagons, and marching troops,
thus prolonging painfully the suffering of the soldier en
route to the surgeon and the hospital.
From the point of view of adaptation to the ser^nce a
light, small car seemed preferable. From the point of view
of transport from America, it offered the additional ad-
vantage of occupying less space on the cargo ships, when
such space was precious and difficult to obtain. Moreover,
such cars were less expensive, and this was also a point to
be considered when we had not the financial backing of
any government, or of any widely organized institution
such as the Red Cross. So we adopted the Ford motor for
the standard ambulances, and in the years before the
United States Government was lending its support to the
Allied cause, we imported into France approximately
twelve hundred such chassis. Here let it be said that in
doing so we received no favor or assistance from their
manufacturer, who with his peculiar ideas of philan-
32
INTRODUCTION
thropy, was averse to giving any assistance to war ac-
tivities, even to the relief of suffering entailed by war.
From him we could obtain not even the favor of whole-
sale rates in the purchase of cars and parts, and for every
Ford car and for every Ford part imported from America,
in those difficult days before America came into the war,
we were obliged to pay, not the dealer's price, but the
full market price charged to ordinary retail buyers.
Each section then was endowed with the following
material: twenty small Ford ambulances actually in the
field; two such ambulances in reserve; a Ford staff car;
a light repair car (Ford) carefully designed to carry an
assortment of spare parts and to make emergency repairs
on the road ; a large repair car (two-ton truck) equipped
with workbench, forge, vises, and other tools to make
heavy repairs in the cantonment; a two-ton truck ar-
ranged to carry from fifteen to twenty sitting cases and
used especially for evacuating lightly wounded «or gas
cases from the hospitals to the trains; a kitchen trailer
with stove and cooking-utensils; and three tents cap-
able of furnishing living, dining, and sleeping facilities
for the men.
The Light F.S. Ambulance
The ambulance bodies we had constructed for us in
France. On account of the short-wheel base of the Ford,
the bodies projected far beyond the rear wheels, which
gave them a characteristic, not to say amusing, appear-
ance. But this very fact had two compensating advan-
tages. First, the cars could be manoeuvred in traffic and
turned around with surprising ease in a very small space.
Second, by reinforcing the rear spring, and lifting it
above the axle on specially made high perches so that
the rear axle was protected against possible bumps from
the loaded body, the overhang resulted in an unusually
comfortable suspension of the ambulance, even when
running on very rough roads.
33
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
Gradually, and after much experimentation, a light
ambulance body was developed by the Field Service of
such dimensions that it could comfortably accommodate
three lying or five sitting cases, and at a pinch could
carry seven or even eight sitting cases. The design pro-
vided for the utmost economy of space, and although
the cubical content was perhaps not more than half that
of the body of an ordinary 'ambulance of the kind con-
structed to carry four stretchers, our cars could carry
three. Letting down the rear gate, two stretchers could
be slid in on the floor of the car, and the third on ingen-
iously contrived tracks above. When not in use these
tracks folded up and rested flat against the sides of
the ambulance, while two seats, which were also folded
against the walls of the car, could be instantly dropped
into position, and the car transformed in a moment into
an ambulance for four sitting cases. In addition to these,
room was provided, by specially constructed seats placed
outside near the driver, for three more sitters, making it
possible in clement weather to carry three lying and three
sitting cases on each trip. In emergencies as many as
eight wounded men have been carried at one time, the
running-boards and mud-guards serving as extra seats
and racks for the soldiers' equipment. An ambulance
loaded like this was an interesting sight. The driver
seemed almost buried under his freight; he had not an
inch of room more than was necessary for the control of
his car. Covered with mud, blood-stained, with startlingly
white bandages against their tanned skin, with puttees
loose and torn, their heavy boots and shapeless uniforms
gray from exposure, and with patient, suffering faces still
bearing the shock of bombardment, these heaps of
wounded rolled slowly from the pastes de secours to shel-
ter and care.
In the earliest of our ambulance bodies the walls and
top were made of painted canvas which had the ob-
vious advantage of being light; but canvas walls could
not be easily cleansed and disinfected, nor could they
34
ide view showing sheet-iron apron and canvas stonn-
k for spare tires, side-box for tools and gasoline res
rack ..,. ^,..... , „ .-- - -
swings open, allowing driver to
stretchers.
curtains to protect driver, tof>-
■ j-i »• »T ,-. o 1-1 1 1.' *-i ♦'»•*-.■■»*■ »-m»-itil »irV»irtVl
301S anci gasoline reserves, also front panel which
range pillows for, or give water to, wounded on
\
• Rear view showing lolding third-stretcher tracks, foliiing seats, rack on
wall for folded stretcher, holes in front wall and canvas pockets in rear
door for extra long stretcher-handles, folding step to aid in entering.
THE LIGHT FIELD SERVICE AMBULANCE
INTRODUCTION
be made to exclude wind and dust and winter's cold.
So after a few unsuccessful experiments with an extra
canvas lining, we abandoned the lighter covering alto-
gether and substituted matched boarding of tough ma-
hogany for the sides and top, and this we continued to
use until the end of the war.
During three years the Field Service ambulance was
undergoing incessant adaptation and improvement of de-
tail. In it were gradually incorporated many contrivances,
suggested by experience, for the comfort of the wounded,
for the protection of the driver against bad weather, and
for the orderly storage of stretchers, tools, and reserves
of oil, gasoline, tubes, and tires. Some of these can be seen
on the accompanying illustrations, but it would take a
long chapter by itself to call attention to all of them, with
their evolution and the reasons therefor.^ It suffices to
say that the Field Serv^ice model, which was the product
of so much experiment and thought, was subsequently
adopted by several French ambulance formations as well
as by the Russians, Roumanians, and Serbians, and
^ We may cite one or two detailed instances to illustrate the way in which
the Field Service model was perfected. For example we had designed our
ambulance interiors to fit the official standard French stretchers, and, both
in order to economize space and to prevent the stretchers from slipping,
the dimensions were trimmed to a close fit. Great was our subsequent dis-
may to find stretchers at different points on the front varying in length
and some with handles even a foot longer than the standard. To meet this
difficulty which would sometimes have necessitated the painful transfer
of a wounded soldier from one stretcher to another, we had openings cut
in the front wall of the ambulance under the driver's seat and folding oil-
cloth pockets inserted in the rear door and curtains into which obstreperous
stetcher-handles might protrude. Thus the problem was solved without
enlarging the body or increasing the weight of the car, and all our later cars
were made with these devices.
Again, although the standard stretchers had wooden legs, one frequently
met stretchers with iron legs which tore the floors of the cars as the stretch-
ers were pushed in. To remedy this and prevent the roughening of the tracks,
the particular boards in the floor and on the upper racks over which the
stretcher legs slid, were replaced by strips of hard oak, which were left
unpainted and were greased to facilitate the sliding of the stretchers
in and out. This detail was also incorporated in all subsequently built cars.
Small as it may seem, the absence of this provision in many United States
, Army cars sent to France caused much inconvenience.
35
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
eventually by the United States Army Ambulance Serv-
ice, but not by the latter until several thousand Ford
ambulances of an inconvenient and less practical model
had been sent to France. We sent over a finished model
to the United States in 191 7 which was exhibited in many
cities, and as a result, light ambulances built upon the
Field Service plan are now also widely used in this
country for civilian work.
The success of the Field Service ambulances answered
every apprehension and exceeded every anticipation.
They could travel over roads impossible to other motor
vehicles. They could climb the narrow zigzag mountain
paths of Alsace, where up to that time the wounded had
only been carried on muleback or in horse-drawn carts.
They could skim over and pull through the muddy plains
of Flanders. They could work their way in and out among
passing convoys, and if they were on a blocked road they
could pull their way through the adjacent fields. If on a
dark night one of our ambulances ran into a ditch, or
dropped into a shell-hole, it only required the help of
three or four passing soldiers to lift out the car and set
it again on the road. The advantages of these ambulances
were particularly evident during the great battle of Ver-
dun in 19 1 6, where they attracted favorable comment from
many observers. Among such comments may be cited
the following excerpt from the London Daily Telegraph:
For fully three months, until railways could be built, France
kept up this endless chain of four thousand autos, two thousand
moving up one side of the roadway from Bar-le-Duc as the
other two thousand moved on the opposite side from Verdun.
The four thousand automobiles included also the ambulance
autos which brought back the wounded. Many of these were
urgent cases, and yet these ambulances could only move at
the established rate of one yard per second. Hundreds of lives
would have been lost had it not been for the sections of the
American Field Service stationed at Verdun. Equipped with
small, light, speedy cars, capable of going almost anywhere
and everywhere that the heavy French auto-ambulances could
not go, the "rush" surgical cases were given to these Ameri-
can drivers. They were not given a place in the endless chain,
36 ■
INTRODUCTION
but were allowed to dart into the intervening space of sixty
feet maintained between the cars, and then make their way
forward as best they could. When an open field offered, they
left the road entirely, and, driving across, would come back
into line when they could go no farther and await another
chance for getting ahead. They were able to bring the wounded
down from Verdun often twice as fast as those who came in
the regular ambulances, and always without ever committing
the one great error upon which the life of France depended,
the tying up for a single instant of the endless chain of the four
thousand automobiles of Verdun.
It was immediately after this demonstration of the su-
periority of our light Field Service ambulances in the Ver-
dun battle, that the Commander-in-Chief of the French
Army requested two Field Service sections to be sent to
the Balkans to serve with French troops on the Serbian
and Albanian front in regions where roads were some-
times little more than river-beds.
In such manner, then, were solved the three principal
problems of the formative days In France. The French
Army had adopted the Field Service as a part of- Itself.
The Service had become a full-fledged entity with an es-
tablishment of its own. Its tables of organization had
been determined and Its type of equipment adopted and
tested. The lines had been staked out along which Its
future might develop. That future, however, depended
primarily upon the response from America.
A. Piatt Andrew
Ill
THE EFFORT IN AMERICA
The root of the plant is not unsightly to science, though for chaplet and
festoon we cut the stem short.
Emerson
The Spirit and the Purpose
As the fruition of this four years' effort has proven of
very practical value, and as its increase has been strong
enough to have withstood many temperatures, the proc-
ess of its growth may interest any one of that good legion
in this country which has toiled so steadfastly in the wide
fields of war activity. Out of the great number of Ameri-
cans whose partisanship belonged inevitably to France
after those incredible days of September, 19 14, there
were many, from East to West, who labored earnestly
and with such science as only determination teaches, for
the building of this Service in France. Even in the first
days, when the effort was still too near earth to give
promise of any such fine branch as it later bore, the mere
appeal of sending our own men and our own cars to work
actually at the front as a living evidence of sympathy —
and the possibility that we might so help even a little in
conserving life in the French Army — sufficed to gener-
ate the energy which finally carried us over the long road
to completion. Friendship spent to its best purpose is re-
flected clearly enough in the story of our labor in France,
but here, too, far in the background, from first to last,
were thousands of busy hands creating the opportunity
of which that record is the fulfilment. Many volumes
would not hold the list of generous deeds in the construc-
tion, nor all the sum of fine desire to which this Service
proved expression. Those of us who saw the first giving,
found in it the revelation of something greater than any
material contribution, and it is doubtful if even the
38
HENKY D. SLEEPER
INTRODUCTION
knowledge now of all the good achievement can outweigh
for us the value in the experience. Those who so gave
need no better recompense than that which they must
find in memory, and our only tribute can be the full
acknowledgment that without their spirit a great pur-
pose would have been lost.
Early in 1915, when the prospect of a long war had
become obvious, and when no gleam of any such help
from this country as it ultimately gave had lighted the
horizon, there came forward, it is good to remember,
that creditable host of every age and rank whom neither
the barriers of politics nor distance could hold back from
service. Restless to offer practical expression of their un-
derstanding, and of their respect for justice and great
courage, they each gave, according to such means as
was possible — in money generously and constantly, or,
where knowledge and education could serve, they spoke
and wrote the truth; but most of all, perhaps, those who
were fortunate enough to be able to give themselves, by
going, helped to light our country on its way, not so
much by example as by the vision many of them were able
to send so clearly back to their own people.
Among the first of these were a few young Americans
whom chance had found in Europe at the hour of in-
vasion. Quick to take advantage of their fortune, they
offered every sort of service, and soon most of them were
detailed to drive such ambulances as could be put to-
gether with the material available at the moment. Dur-
ing the weeks that followed they labored day and night
to probably as useful and stimulating a purpose as they
had ever known. Presently their letters written home be-
gan to find their way into local newspapers, and by their
direct and intimate statement of conditions, did much
not only to arouse sympathy, but to formulate sound
judgments in communities which had previously shown
only passive interest. Later, when the time came for us to
make a general campaign for men and cars, every town
where such early publicity had been given, proved
39
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
doubly ready to cooperate. Doubtless the writers of these
first letters felt their exploitation to be out of accord with
modesty — or even a breach of confidence — but they
may afford to condone a fault which had so profitable a
result. In response to their story came letters to our head-
quarters from various parts of the country, in most in-
stances from students at college, expressing interest not
only in joining the efifort, but in increasing it by organiz-
ing committees for recruiting and for raising ambulances.
For those of us to whom a generous destiny had given
the building of the Service, this meant two vital things:
first, that by the very spontaneity and force of such
means, properly utilized, a wide response would surely
be forthcoming and a large work of conservation founded ;
second, and equally stimulating as a possibility, that by
thus enlisting the cooperation of young men from uni-
versities throughout the country, a way would be opened
of establishing what might develop into a potent and ac-
tive influence for the Allied Cause, not through the ordi-
nary channel of printed or spoken propaganda, but by
virtue of the daily contact which these men would have
with the French Army in action, where there could be no
foundation for any conviction but truth. We realized in
those first days, as now, after four years of constant and
intimate relation, does every member of this Service,
that we could wish our friends in France no surer talis-
man of support than that all the world should know the
truth of them.
Means of Fulfilment
Worth while as such an intention undoubtedly was, the
gulf between desire and fulfilment soon became obvious.
As the ambition, beyond maintaining the service then
existent, was to so increase it as to be able to meet any
possible need which the French Army might express, a
large monthly outlay was inevitable, beside the raising
of a sum sufficient for the purchase of cars, and all other
equipment. We had a good cause, an unusually sympa-
40
INTRODUCTION
thetic means of operation, but at that time no affiliation
in this country on which we had a right to depend for any
large or responsible effort. A way of winning friendship,
a competent organization, and a considerable fund had
therefore all to be achieved — and quickly. The first
step, of course, was to interest a few individuals to such
an extent as might warrant making a general appeal. Al-
though our two first books. Friends of France, and Am-
bulance No. 10, which were soon to prove of indispensa-
ble help, were not published until some months later, we
already had enough letters and records of the days' work
to guarantee its value and justify monetary help. Fore-
most and most zealous in the inception of the fund
was Mr. Edward J. de Coppet, of New York. A man of
distinguished personality and character, he possessed a
rarely generous sense of responsibility toward those with
whom a broad and successful life had brought him in con-
tact. Whatever his objective, whether in furtherance of
individual talent, of educational or philanthropic pur-
pose, or some civic interest, his cooperation was both
active and complete. Most widely known, perhaps, as
founder of the Flonzaley Quartette, and a patron of
the best in the musical life of New York, he was no less
a factor in its business world, as senior partner of de
Coppet & Doremus. A generous guide and cheering phi-
losopher to a large and varied circle of friends, he turned
his influence and power fully toward our Service. From
the moment of our first interview, it was apparent that
rather than having to Interest him in our behalf, we
should have to strive well to maintain the level of his am-
bition for us. After a kindly but very thorough considera-
tion of the practicability of the proposed effort, he en-
dorsed it by giving a number of ambulances, a thousand
dollars monthly toward maintenance, and in addition by
setting aside a sum to meet the immediate needs of or-
ganization. In a letter of July, 191 5, expressing his hope
for our future, he explained that in establishing this
special fund, he trusted we might find it not merely an
41
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
incentive to maintain the sections then in the field, but
by publishing records of their days' work, and by speak-
ing in various parts of the country, that so wide an in-
terest might be aroused as to make possible sending to
France many hundred cars, and a greater number of
students from American universities. How accurate his
foresight proved he was not destined to know, for he died
within the year; but that his hope was so much more
than fulfilled was in no small measure due to the spirit of
his giving. Many an obstacle was later overcome and
many a trial won in memory of our high obligation to
him. All that he had intended was made financially possi-
ble by the generosity of his son, Mr. Andre de Coppet,
and by the prompt and constant cooperation thereafter
of Mr. James J. Storrow, of Boston, who had duplicated
Mr. de Coppet's subscription, and had given us his own
office at Lee, HIgglnson & Co., for our American head-
quarters.
Notwithstanding the sound encouragement which two
such benefactions meant, we could not properly have
succeeded in our larger intention without the approval of
several of the earliest and most interested friends of the
Service. Mr. Robert Bacon, as President of the American
Ambulance Hospital at Neullly, under the auspices of
which we had hitherto operated, was one of the first
sponsors of the Field Service, and logically most deeply
interested in its successful increase. He not only ex-
pressed confidence in our undertaking, but gave us the
benefit of his offices and staff In New York, became
Treasurer of the Fund, and by wise counsel and frequent
cooperation during the next years, did much in the mak-
ing of our history. Upon Mrs. Bacon, as Chairman of the
American Committee of the Hospital, there devolved at
this time practically the whole burden of raising the
larger part of a million dollars annually to maintain that
great Institution. In spite of the magnitude of this task,
she found time to do many a generous deed in our behalf,
and by her advocacy of our cause, established our iden-
42
ROBERT BACON
Died May 29, 1919
INTRODUCTION
tity through her committees in various parts of the coun-
try, where we might have had no other affiliations. To
two other friends the Service owes perhaps as fine an ob-
ligation as to any one. From the hour of our beginning
until the demobilization four years later, Mr. and Mrs.
William K. Vanderbilt, by quick endorsement of our
whole purpose, and loyal support through every trial,
were an unfailing stimulus to our energy. In reminiscence
of our early history in America, there comes ever a pro-
cession of grateful memories of those who helped when
we were surer of our desire than of our capacity. Whether
the need was for recruits, or cars, or effort in some untried
field, to each of them belongs some word or deed indis-
pensable unto the day. So large a part of our structure
were they that even to speak briefly of what they did
would claim too great a share in a story which justly be-
longs to youth and its valiant fulfilment of the trust they
gave into its keeping.
Recruiting the Volunteers
In establishing the new ambulance sections, it was essen-
tial, if the volunteer spirit were to be kept alive, not only
that no salaries be given, but that in every possible in-
stance an applicant should pay his own expenses. With
the French Army the fact that these Americans whom
they saw in so many places, sharing the risks and labor
of their days, did so wholly by choice, and moreover often
spent their small savings for the privilege, established
the sort of friendship which no minor misunderstandings
could efface. Every member of the Service endorsed and
respected this regulation, but it occasionally proved a
barrier to the enlistment of men whose character and ex-
perience exactly fitted them for the work. Particularly
was this so during 191 6 and 191 7, when the need for re-
cruits was much greater. A small subsidiary fund was
therefore established for such cases, and in our subse-
quent history appear many proofs that the benefit of
money well spent may be far out of proportion to its
43
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
quantity. As the experience of four years shows that
practically half the wounded carried were saved by the
promptness with which our cars were generally able to
get them to pastes de secours, and as an ambulance often
carried ten men a day, a driver who had been given the
three or four hundred dollars necessary to put him through
his six months' enlistment could afford some sense of
satisfaction in having brought back so worth-while a
return on the investment of his benefactor.
Committees were soon formed to arouse interest in the
Service both as regards finances and recruiting, in more
than a hundred towns and cities throughout the United
States. A few of these in the Middle and Far West had
permanent recruiting officers, but the majority were
temporary, to make necessary arrangements for the illus-
trated lectures. These committees were in nearly every
case financially independent, raising their own funds to
recruit drivers or to donate ambulances, but sending,
through a local treasurer, upon fulfilment of their effort,
the net sum of contributions to the American Headquar-
ters of the Service. The only exception to this system was
the Chicago office, which was wholly independent, from
first to last, of our American Headquarters, financially
and otherwise. Owing to the liberal contribution of driv-
ers and cars which that city and neighboring places and
universities had offered, it seemed best to establish a per-
manent committee to control directly all the business
and personal questions in that part of the country. To
Mr. Chauncey McCormick, and later to Mr. Charles B.
Pike, who succeeded him as Mid-Western Representa-
tive, as well as to Mr. Charles L. Hutchinson, the Treas-
urer, and Mr. Samuel Insull, Chairman of the Chicago
Committee, the Service owes one of the most vital and
useful factors in its construction. Recruiting committees
were later organized in thirty-three of the larger colleges
and universities, consisting generally of the President,
members of the faculty, and representatives of the lead-
ing elements in the student body. As these committees,
44
INTRODUCTION
owing to the limited number of men we were able to pro-
vide for, could choose only about forty per cent of the
applicants, the character of the personnel was of the
first order.
In the journeys of our speakers through various parts
of America with the moving pictures which the French
Army had taken of our men on duty, the interest in and
knowledge of events in Europe varied much less than
might have been expected. Wherever there was little en-
thusiasm it seemed generally to have been the result of
even less first-hand information. Although publicity and
businesslike preparation for showing the pictures natu-
rally increased the size of our audiences, the proportion-
ate returns seem to have depended more on the sym-
pathy and revelation of the pictures themselves than on
the size or type of audiences.
In the lecturer's daily report of a trip which included
nearly thirty of the larger cities and towns through the
Middle West and West, there appear two rather inter-
esting pages illustrative of this fact, written from differ-
ent sections of the country, and describing the result
of showing the pictures before two audiences of wholly
different character. He writes the following from Cleve-
land:
I find that the utmost forethought and energy has been
spent here in regard to our pictures. The films were shown in
the ballroom of the Hotel Statler. Such prominence had been
given to the event through a continued campaign of publicity
that practically all of Cleveland society came together for it.
Early in the evening many dinners were given and every pri-
vate dining-room in the hotel was occupied. After the prelirni-
nary talk and pictures, a ball took place. As entrance was by in-
vitation, with a charge of ten dollars, quite a sum had been
thereby raised. The interest shown in the first two reels was
so keen that an earnest appeal was then made for ambulances.
Twelve were promptly contributed in this interval, and four
more later. Before the evening was over, numerous others had
been added, so that more than fifty thousand dollars resulted.
Within two days, this amount had risen to eighty-seven thou-
sand.
45
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
A week later there appears this entry, at Butte, Montana:
This is essentially a mining town, and with foreigners of
every description — some of them whose mother countries
were of the Allies, but many whose antecedents were not so.
We arrived just before registration day, and as the authorities
expected trouble, saloons were closed, the militia in readiness,
and the crowds freely displaying the red flag. Our meeting was
held in a large theatre, and the place was jammed. I and several
of the committeemen, on the stage, were at first hissed. Most
of this disapproval seemed to come from the balconies. The
authorities had taken every precaution to avoid trouble, and
there were plain-clothes men stationed behind the scenery on
the stage to protect us. Antagonistic, or at best indifferent, as
the audience had proved itself, as the performance went on
they became quiet. After the pictures were shown, there was
a strong appeal made. The result was surprising. When the
committee in charge counted the proceeds, it was found that
seven hundred dollars more had been given by the miners in
the balconies than by the representative citizens in the orches-
tra, generous though the latter had been. That this liberal
response was forthcoming as the result of merely relating our
story, and in spite of preconceived prejudice, seems proof that
any war apathy that may exist in such towns as this in the
West is largely the result of lack of sympathetic information.
The final comment of this speaker is accurate enough
as far as it goes, but unfortunately we had evidence of
something more than lack of information. Misinforma-
tion and malice, both covert and obvious, were daily
acquaintances, sometimes from clubs or organizations,
and often from individuals — all of Teuton sympathy.
During the first two years, when free expression of anti-
Ally opinion involved no penalty of ostracism, as it later
did, we met at least some spark of enmity in almost every
community, and not infrequently encountered the real
flame. While we could not hope then to do much tow^ard
stamping this out, we knew that by going through it and
succeeding in our particular determination, we should be-
come part of the integral triumph. Once or twice, owing
to this enmity, the appointed place of showing our pic-
tures had to be changed, or an engagement postponed,
and even the legality of our sending men over to serve
46
INTRODUCTION
with the French Army was challenged ; but such opposi-
tion, it is almost needless to say, kindled only a more de-
termined zeal among those who had our interests in hand,
and the outcome was accordingly always in our favor.
The press notice and publicity resulting from these
pictures lent a keen impetus to recruiting. Harvard,
Cornell, California, and many other colleges, and cities
throughout the country, contributed large numbers of
men and cars. The first section of men to go across as a
unit w^as sent by Leland Stanford University, and sailed
directly after the German declaration of unrestricted war-
fare, two months before this country entered the war.
Stanford later recruited two more sections, and within a
few weeks Princeton and Dartmouth each sent four com-
plete units. Harv^ard, which sent over two units at this
time, contributed from first to last nearly three hun-
dred and fifty men to the Field Service. The city of St.
Louis gave the first section of ambulances and drivers
equipped, and wherever necessary, financed, Cleveland,
Chicago, Buffalo, and many other cities showing similar
activity during the spring of 19 17. General and civic in-
terest in the departure of these volunteers was evident in
many ways and places, and even before our actual entry
into the war they met with many tributes of approval
and enthusiasm, such as the public presentation of sec-
tion flags, and various other farewell ceremonies in their
own cities and in New York.
One of the finest sections {camion) in the service, both
as to character and record, was the youngest as to per-
sonnel. Phillips Academy, Andover, shortly before the
American declaration of war, organized a unit, of their
own volition, without our solicitation, and despite the
natural reluctance of their families to have them go be-
fore the day of necessity. The admirable standard of An-
dover's whole war service was due, at least in part, to
the character and attitude of the Principal, Dr. Steams.
Certainly in our relations with the representatives of a
hundred or more colleges or universities in America, we
47
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
met no finer Individual force than his. Among the many
volunteers who crossed on the steamer with this unit,
there were some who expressed skepticism as to such
"boys" being able to "see it through." In a friendly
sparring contest In settlement of this point a few days
later, however, two of them, Frank Talmage and
Schuyler Lee, proved ready victors. Almost within the
year of their arrival in France, Lee and three of those
who went with him — Bruce, Taylor, and Dresser — had
died In battle. Willingly enough they gave their youth,
and their right to the light of life and friendship. We who
knew them, and all that they were, realize the fulness of
that offering. They never looked back but to quicken
those who followed, and so perhaps led more surely than
they knew. Out of their dreams they have left us great
realities — and many tasks to make worthy these days
that are still ours.
The accumulating pressure immediately following this
success made necessary much greater staffs in all our
offices. At this time there were many hundred men
weekly to be dealt with, from each of whom we had to
get six letters of recommendation, a birth certificate, a
guaranty of non-German parentage, a written consent of
parents or guardian when the applicant was under age, a
certificate of inoculation, a driver's license, etc.. In addi-
tion to much preliminary correspondence. During the
later spring it proved necessary to place representatives
in the War Department, to adjust military technicali-
ties; In the Bureau of Citizenship In Washington, to
attend to the matter of passports; In the Compagnie
Generate Transatlantique, New York, to arrange details
of sailing; In the Consulate, and various other offices.
Moreover, during the days of transition which followed,
communication had to be established between all our
men of draft age at the front and their respective draft
boards in all parts of the country — entailing a vast
amount of complicated correspondence.
48
ScHLYLEK Lee
Corp., French Av.
George E. Dkesser
Sgt., U.S. Tank Corps
ANDOVER MEMBERS OF THE FIELD SERVICE
Who died in the fulfilment of their duty
INTRODUCTION
In Boston, by courtesy of Lee, Higginson & Co., our
large staff was amply cared for as to working quarters,
for in this emergency, as well as all others from beginning
to end, the late Major Henry L. Higginson gave us his
support and personal interest. In all the risks and swift
decisions of those days, the Service had no more con-
stant watcher and ally than he. Always when we needed
sound, courageous judgment to justify or to confute a
seeming obligation, he stood ready both with advice and
with responsibility. Appreciating his many other exact-
ing interests, we might perhaps have spared him our
problems, but all of us who knew him felt that one of the
finest factors of his citizenship was that he cared more
to share the burdens than the triumphs of his friends.
It would have been unwise, and impossible, to have been
near him and not to have turned to him for advice in the
creation of any great work.
In New York, as the port of embarkation, a multitude
of recruits had to be helped through the exigencies of
departure, and an immense number of problems had
daily to be disposed of. In facing this almost limitless
increase of detail, we had looked often, if with inarticulate
longing, at some fine ofhces close to our own, and belong-
ing to the estate of the late JNIr. J. Pierpont Morgan.
Large and perfectly equipped as were the offices which
Mr. Bacon allowed us to share, all the American interests
of the Neuilly Hospital had to be cared for there, so that
the omnivorous demands of our growth seemed an im-
position. Mr. Bacon had already gone to France on Gen-
eral Pershing's staff; so after one most busy and con-
gested morning, we were spurred into calling upon Mr.
J. P. Morgan, and to confiding in him our difficulties.
Within the hour he had arranged that we should take
immediate possession, gratis, of the coveted quarters.
As this gave us five large rooms directly across the hall
from where we were, we had only to reinstate ourselves
and were thereby spared the incon\'enience and confu-
sion which a change of address would have involved at
49
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
such a crucial time. Of the many recollections of our
four years, these days were perhaps at once our most
stimulating and our most discouraging; at one hour full
of new opportunity too fine not to be met, and the next
moment facing some impasse of red tape or changing
regulations. The race to meet the unprecedented de-
mands upon our energy and resources, before the inevita-
ble arrival of centralized and governmental control of all
such work as ours, was only won by the younger members
of our staff, who labored voluntarily during long days,
and then met in almost nightly council in order to deal
better with their problems of the morning. Many a thrust
they parried, and many a means they found, where those
who were older and more fearful of result might have
paused, and so missed the good achievement. Should
there be here and there some one who remembers an in-
convenience to himself, or some inaccurate direction
in passing through these offices, let him wonder now if
in those days he spent his energy to any better purpose
than did they.
Upon the entry of the United States into the conflict,
there swiftly followed for us complexities great and
small. Foremost, perhaps, was the question of whether
our volunteers then in France might continue so to serve,
and whether, at least for the present, we might continue
to accept more recruits. In view of the exigencies of mo-
bilization and conscription, it seemed best to consult
at once with the Secretary of War. Although Mr. Baker
had shown himself in various ways appreciative of the
Field Service, he naturally had not felt at liberty to give
any public expression in this regard until April 7, when
he wrote as follows:
Confirming our conversation of this morning, I beg leave to
say to you, as the Representative of the American Ambulance
Field Service, that the War Department looks with apprecia-
tion and approval upon the splendid service being rendered by
American citizens in France in association with the French
Army. These young men are serving their own country in the
50
INTRODUCTION
highest way by their courageous contribution to the efficiency
of the armies of those associated in interest with us in this war.
I, perhaps, have no right to urge that they remain in France
now that the United States has entered upon active miUtary
preparation in the conflict, but, at least for the present, a sub-
stantial mumber of these young men will not be needed here,
and the training they are securing, while a mere incident to the
service they are rendering, will qualify them to be of especial
value in the American Army at a later time.
(Signed) Newton D. Baker
Secretary of War
To a similar telegram sent soon after by the Secretary of
War to our California and Stanford Units, he adds, "I
congratulate you that you are about to join a chosen
company of Americans who have rendered distinguished
service."
Thanks to these official tributes of approval, we were
able to continue our effort; but there quickly followed
the problem of the release of our men from universities
without the loss of their degrees. Within the week, how-
ever, Cornell University had passed the following resolu-
tions:
Resolved, that the University Faculty advises that the
several faculties recommend for graduation all members of the
senior class in good standing, who would normally graduate in
June and who are enrolled or may enroll, in the land or naval
forces of the state or nation, and whose services require their
absence from the University.
Resolved, further, that the above provisions apply to those
students who may become members of the American Ambu-
lance Field Service in France.
Immediately thereafter, Harvard, Princeton, Dartmouth,
Leland Stanford, and practically all the universities and
colleges throughout the country passed similar resolutions
granting to the members of the Field Service the same
academic privileges as were given to those entering the
United States Army or Navy.
During 191 5 and 1916 the growth of the Serv'ice,
though constant, was very gradual, but during April,
May, and June of 191 7 it exceeded any figures which
51
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
could have been logically foreseen, especially as we had
made less effort at this period than previously. This per-
haps resulted from the fact that very many of those who
had seen our pictures, without responding at the time,
felt it the most sympathetic way of giving after this coun-
try had actually entered the war. Until this time we had
experienced no insuperable difficulties in shipping all
necessary material to France, or in building ambulances
as quickly as they were given. Realizing that a greatly
increased output of cars would be necessary to meet the
increase in enlistments, we had purchased several hun-
dred extra chassis, a great quantity of extra parts, and
had engaged to send to France a number of mechanics to
meet the emergency. We had made arrangements in re-
gard to shipment with the automobile companies, the
Clearing House, and steamship lines, and a quantity of
chassis were on the piers in New York awaiting embarka-
tion. Just at this period, however, the French Govern-
ment, to fill an exigent need for aeroplane construction,
assumed practically the entire use of the staff and shops
of Kellner, at Billancourt, to which was attached our as-
sembling and repair park, and where were built our am-
bulance bodies for the chassis we shipped from America.
At the same time there occurred an unusual shortage of
available shipping space from this country on trans-At-
lantic liners, owing to exports of a nature vital to the Al-
lies, and which had to take precedence over our equip-
ment, so that we had no alternative but to submit to the
delay at this time. To our further trial, we had just lost a
large consignment of chassis and parts by the torpedoing
of the S.S. Orduna, moreover, the Red Cross, in the fulfil-
ment of its titanic task, was obliged to assume complete
use of the Clearing House. As soon as it became apparent
that we could not for the time being promise to put large
numbers of new cars into the field, we refused to accept
further such donations, and offered to individuals and
organizations that had given cars at this time the prompt
return of their contributions, if they felt unwilling to sub-
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INTRODUCTION
mit to the inevitable delay. Too warm a tribute cannot
be paid to those who had so contributed, and who then
gave proof of very generous understanding and confi-
dence, for of the several hundred cars received just pre-
viously we were asked for the return of only four. Within
the next few months every car given had gone into the
field and subsequently served its purpose well with the
United States Army Ambulance Corps.
Perhaps the most exigent problem, however, resulting
from the unexpected difficulties of shipment and con-
struction, was that several hundred drivers who had just
sailed could not be advised of the changed circumstances
until their arrival in France; also, we had just accepted
as drivers many men who had left their former addresses
too late to receive the notification before arriving in New
York to sail, and there naturally resulted many personal
equations to be solved. But the men showed a most gen-
erous spirit of readiness to adapt themselves to delays
and disappointments during these weeks, and putting
aside their individual preferences, did the most helpful
part.
The Camion Service and Militarization
Just prior to this, during a period of unusual activity in
the region of Soissons, we had received, through Com-
mandant Doumenc, Director, at the French Ministry of
War, of the Automobile Service, an urgent appeal to the
effect that if it should prove possible for us to supply them
with personnel for transport sections for the carrying of
ammunition and supplies, we could so render the utmost
service. We were advised that they had a sufficient num-
ber of trucks, but were at this time ten thousand drivers
short where it was proposed w^e should cooperate. In
view of the exigency of this need, and the temporary
difficulties in the output of ambulances, we could not
have done otherwise than accept this obligation. As soon
as feasible, therefore, this new branch of the Serv^ice was
inaugurated, and an appeal made to men who had re-
53
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
cently arrived to help in the accomplishment of this pur-
pose. Some of them, who had sailed just before this de-
velopment, of course felt morally bound, on arriving, to
serve only in accordance with the understanding of their
friends in America who had made it possible for them to
come over. Through the courtesy of the French Army,
which soon after loaned us some ambulances pending
the assembling and equipment of the last contingent of
our own cars, the desire of a majority of the men who
were willing to wait was accomplished after a few weeks'
delay.
A large number of drivers, however, were free to
choose, and though perhaps preferring ambulance, ac-
cepted the Camion Service. Whatever the value of our
work in France has been, these men should have the satis-
faction of remembering the double share of credit which
is theirs. To their spirit was no doubt largely due the fact
that, hard and unromantic as this work was, the eight
hundred Field Service men who entered the Reserve Mal-
let later fulfilled so effectively, as their record proves, a
highly important purpose.
The taking over of the Ser\'ice by the United States
Army was not only to be desired, but for several reasons
was inevitable. Our declaration of war and the subse-
quent preparations for sending over our expeditionary
force, which involved strict draft regulations, had placed
members of a volunteer organization at the front in a
technically ambiguous position. While the record and
standing of our ambulance drivers with the French Army
was of the highest order, as the honors and citations con-
ferred upon them testify, it was obvious that the work
that they had undertaken voluntarily had since become
an obligation. The changed circumstances made many
hundred of our men feel that having fulfilled the original
spirit of their intention, they were now free to enlist as
they chose. During the subsequent months a large num-
ber entered artillery, aviation, or other branches of the
army. About sixty per cent, however, remained as mem-
54
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INTRODUCTION
bers of the ambulance and transport. More than a hun-
dred of our men, with fine records and long experience,
who were anxious to enlist for the duration of the war,
were rejected on account of slight physical defect. Be it
said to their credit, the majority of them subsequently
entered the French Artillery School at Fontainebleau,
and graduating in due course, became officers in the
French Army.
The most potent factor, however, necessitating our
enrolment in the United States National Army, was that
when the first French commission arrived in Washing-
ton in May, 191 7, General Jofifre was asked by Surgeon-
General Gorgas what immediate service the United
States Army Medical Department could do for France.
His reply was a request that the United States should
undertake, as far as possible, the responsibility of caring
for the wounded of the French armies at the front. A
more satisfying tribute could scarcely have been paid the
Field Service than this request that the work it had car-
ried on in France for more than two years should be
supplemented and entirely assumed by Americans. As a
consequence. General Gorgas authorized, through the
Secretary of War, the organization of the United States
Army Ambulance Service at Allentown.
During the period of our transition from volunteer to
regular service, our staffs offered the Army as complete
cooperation as they were able, recruiting for it through
our University committees, and all our offices, as long as it
proved possible. If we could not, perhaps, wholly repress
a sense of regret in having to yield all rights of adminis-
tration, and the satisfaction which an intimate knowledge
of each day's achievement in such work as this meant, it
was compensation to remember that the Americans whose
initiative and energy during the first three years had
made so fine a record in France, and we whose opportu-
nity it was to stand behind them, were able to turn over
to our own Army at one of the greatest moments of need
in its history, so useful an organization.
55
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
The Debt to American Youth
No true ledger of our account can exist without recording
the one obligation underlying and supporting all the
traffic of our days. Every one who helped in this country
to make the Service will surely most care to acknowledge
the debt we owe to American youth. In relation to our
w^ork, certainly, its influence was paramount, and upon
its desire to be part of a great purpose we were able to
build a very useful structure. Changing needs and com-
plications made many a day's labor seem on moving
sands, but through the unflagging energy and resource of
those who served us by speaking and recruiting through-
out this country, and by doing their part in France, the
work was at last well accomplished. To them is truly due
the fulfilment — and they brought back high interest on
all that we were able to contribute. Had they done any-
thing else, or anything less than they did, the rest of the
effort would have proved of little consequence. Those of
us whose chance it has been to have had a part in the ad-
ministration of the Service, to have shared its success,
and to have gained through it much credit and many
friendships, owe to these men all of this, and more. Dur-
ing the four years when they passed through our Ameri-
can offices, and later gave fine measure of their character
in France, they were among the first to bear evidence of
a spirit which existed in this country behind the quies-
cence of the first three years of the war — and afterward
among the foremost of those who made the larger sacri-
fice, and won. The pages and roster of this book are testi-
mony enough of the first and final worth of what they
gave. Some of them fought and died as they would most
have wished. Many of them had opportunity for leader-
ship, and so distinguished themselves; to others chance
gave the less inspiring share of obscure service, but
where their part held for them only unheroic toil and
long months of inaction, they did equally well.
Through the burdens which we have been privileged
56
INTRODUCTION
to assume in their support, most of us have probably
reached as high a mark of satisfied effort as we shall
know. Remembering that, and realizing how much they
have passed through that was worth while, we may have
sympathy with their problem of the future. If for us
there is some poignance in having finished an era of
unselfish labor, even less stimulating it must be for
younger men to suspect, as some of these doubtless do,
that they have reached their zenith. In all the pageantry
of war, with its vividness and shadow, many new values
have come before them, and their imagination has been
quickened so that their question is no longer merely
that of "making a living." As we pause on finishing a
book that has taken us far out of ourselves, so the major-
ity must feel in having closed the most stirring chapter
of their li\-es. Keen enough, as they have proven, to give
their utmost, they are not now content to waste it.
For whatever of discomfort and occasional resent-
ment their days in France may have held, there was
compensation in the living drama. There, too, duty was
clear, and they knew that in the end the experience
would be worth all cost. Finally, they had there compan-
ionship and mutual understanding with a greater number
of those about them than any other phase of life could
bring.
The spirit which led them to France by inclination, be-
fore the time of obligation, is the same that in considering
the future makes them hesitate to dedicate themselves
permanently to a purpose with little human interest. In
the maze of possibilities they have come home to face,
some may be fortunate In finding their desire; but very
many will have to be content with small monotony, un-
less those of us whose lives are more established can
ser\"e them to finer purpose. That they are unconscious
of the debt we owe makes the obligation doubly ours.
When one of these men cares to bring us the question of
his future, we may rightly feel inclined to stand up, not
only in tribute to what he has done, and the way he has
57
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
done it, but because so largely in him lies the solution of
the disorder war has left. It is for us to make him com-
prehend our confidence in his capacity. If we can put
many such men forward with the knowledge of our reli-
ance on their strength and resource in meeting new prob-
lems in their own country, as they have met the greater
crisis, we shall have done something for them, more for
ourselves, and much for posterity.
As a useful factor in Franco-American relations, this
small group of volunteers may still prove of value beyond
their numerical proportion. With such influence as is
theirs by affiliation and training, with their willing sense
of responsibility, and of the debt they each wish to pay
for the fine friendship and example they found in France,
they will do much to see that that which they have won
shall not be wasted.
Nor has France forgotten the spirit of our coming. In
the spring of 191 7, when we were soon to become a part
of the American Army, a distinguished French states-
man, then on a mission to this country, said: "If in the
course of events which are to come the Field Service may
seem to lose its identity, that really can never be possible.
To every man in our Army it is the finest tribute of
friendship you could have paid us ; and your work will be
always a page in the history of France."
It has become now as fairly a page of credit in Ameri-
can history, that our future compatriots may gratefully
read, though they perhaps pass over it with little realiza-
tion of many values within the obvious story. For each of
us who has had even a small part in its making, it is the
chapter we shall ever know best by heart, and in relation
to the whole sum of our advantage in the doing, these
volumes can seem but fragmentary facts and figures,
since between the lines for us there lies unwritten so many
an example to make clearer the problem of our days.
In the beginning we sought our task with the will to
help whenever and however it should prove possible ; but
just how small our sacrifice was destined to be, in com-
58
INTRODUCTION
parlson to that of the friends we meant to serve, nor how
sure our own compensation, we could not have foreseen.
We went forth unknowing. But if w^e were not deep
enough of vision to first approach with fitting deference
what were to prove ultimate lights for many of us, nor to
suspect how deeply the revelation might govern our per-
spective, now, after these years, we stand in still respect
for what we have learned. In weighing all the privilege
and gain this Service must ever find its greatest asset in
having served from first to last beside the Army and the
people of France — their friends through many dark,
immortal days. Constancy to such a relation would in
itself have been enough to make its members ever zealous
in duty — but even selfishness could have sought no
larger profit than that which they have gathered. For
most of us it has been truly sic itur ad astra, and on that
far journey there passed before us a standard good to re-
member and to uphold in facing whatever part each of us
may have yet to do for this country of our own. In going
first to France we took what seemed our best, but now
returning we have brought a finer thing than ever we
were able to put upon the altar of our good intention.
Henry D. Sleeper ^
^ Of Boston, Massachusetts; American Representative of the Field Serv-
ice, 1915-16-17; later Director of the A.F.S. Headquarters in France,
1918-19.
IV
THE GROWTH OF THE SERVICE
Bien avant, I'ame de la France, courbee sur la tranchee qui arretait le
flot envahisseur, avait ete profondement emue quand elle avait appris, aux
heures sombres, qu'en Amerique les actes avaient precede les paroles.
Jules J. Jusserand, 1917
The story of the American Field Service will be found
in the section histories and in the narratives that follow,
a story which shows the life that these American volun-
teers shared with their French comrades for upward of
two years. The reader will judge for himself what the
Service gave and what its members gained in serving. He
will find there, above all, what these three thousand men
saw and learned of the French soldier, with whom they
considered it a privilege to serve, during the years before
America's entry into the war.
The opportunity which these three thousand men en-
joyed was necessarily the result of the founding and per-
fecting of an organization which could fulfil a need of the
French Army, It was necessary, not only to foresee its
value, but, once this was established, so to organize it as
to meet the demands of the army it was serving. It is the
purpose of this article to show, by following the growth
of the Service, the various steps which had ^to be taken
to meet the continual demands of the Automobile Serv-
ice of the French Army; and it will be seen that these
demands kept growing as the Service gained in efficiency
and size.
It is of interest to note that not only was there no
precedent to follow, but also that the ever-changing
needs of war continually called for unforeseen develop-
ments of the Service. This was a task which required
confidence, vision, and courage in its leadership. Mr.
Andrew realized, from the moment of its first success in
60
INTRODUCTION
19 1 5, that in perfecting the organization in every detail
he was laying a foundation which could be built upon as
money and volunteers were forthcoming. His task from
then on was twofold: first, to maintain the standard of
efficiency of the sections; and, secondly, to increase the
Service as rapidly as possible. That he accomplished this
task the story of the Service will show. Its accomplish-
ment meant not only the transportation of hundreds of
thousands of French wounded, thousands of tons of shells
and supplies, but also, and what was, perhaps, of equal
importance, the exertion of an ever-increasing influence
on American thought and sympathy in favor of France
and the Allied Cause.
This chapter can be divided into three distinct parts —
for each of the three years was distinguished by certain
results — results upon which the following year's plans
and work were based. The first year saw the success of the
initial conception of the Service ; the second year showed
relatively small but very definite growth, and gave a full
participation of the Service, with the complete confidence
of the French Army, in the great battle of Verdun. In
addition, the organization in America was developed and
experience was gained in this branch which gave, in the
third year, thirty-three ambulance sections and fourteen
transport sections to the French armies at a most nec-
essary time, for the hardest of battles were to be fought
this year at many places along the front. Moreover, it in-
sured the incorporation of both branches of the Service in
the United States Army.
1915
In the month of April, 19 15, all the preliminary arrange-
ments for a volunteer ambulance service on the front
had been completed. These arrangements had proved
no easy task, for the French authorities had had some
bitter experiences with spies masquerading as neutrals
and much disillusionment as to the value of amateur war-
workers. They were slow to be convinced that an organ-
61
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
ization composed entirely of amateur neutrals could
give any real service. They had been perfectly willing to
use volunteers in the evacuation of hospitals in the rear
zone, but it was not until Mr, Andrew had succeeded in
persuading these authorities that young American volun-
teers were more fitted for work at the front, and had
guaranteed that only those whose loyalty to the Allies
was unmistakable would be allowed to serve, that at last
they permitted sections to be formed under army stand-
ards. So, in April, three sections were partially formed
from the volunteers and cars which had heretofore been
serving in scattered squads. These sections, when com-
pleted, consisted of twenty ambulances, a staff car, a
supply car, each with a personnel of an American Com-
mandant-Adjoint and about twenty- five drivers, in ad-
dition to the French personnel. Section Sanitaire Ameri-
caine N° j, as it was officially called, being formed from
squads already working near Dunkirk, was at first sta-
tioned in that vicinity; Section Sanitaire Americaine N° 2
was organized in Paris and sent to Lorraine; Sectioji
Sanitaire Americaine N'^ j was also formed in Paris, and
was ordered to the Vosges Mountains.
The service rendered by these three sections during this
year was one of real achievement which went even beyond
what had been hoped for. Section One, having given an
excellent account of itself in the long-range bombard-
ments and air raids at Dunkirk, was rewarded by being
entrusted with important work in Belgium at Coxyde,
Nieuport, Poperinghe, Elverdinghe, Crombeke, and other
postes de secours during the battles along the Yser. Sec-
tion Two had to win recognition in a region already served
by a French sanitary section and to which it was attached
to do secondary work. The Section not only accomplished
its own work, but made it possible for the French sec-
tion to be withdrawn from this sector, the Americans
taking over the postes de secours in and near Bois le
Pretre, a sector at that time renowned for its continual
and heavy fighting. Section Three was entrusted with a
62
STEPHEN GALATTI
INTRODUCTION
sector in which, previously, automobile evacuations could
only be performed far back of the lines owing to the
mountainous country. The Section was able to send its
light cars up over the narrow mountain roads to the
pastes near Metzeral and at Hartmannsweilerkopf, thus
substituting automobiles for mules which had been, up
to that time, the only means of transporting wounded.
The three sections had faced three separate transpor-
tation problems. In Belgium, the cobblestone roads with
the deep mud had proved no obstacle ; at Pont-a-Mousson,
the heavy ravitaillement convoys had not slowed up the
small ambulances; in the Vosges Mountains, the steep
grades had given the opportunity for the replacement of
the mule. There could be no doubt that the light car
which had been selected was an admirable choice and
that it had fulfilled every test of front-line work.
Although the solution of mechanical difhculties was of
vital importance, the success of these three Sections was
due at least as much to the type of men who had volun-
teered for this serv'ice. Already the universities were
furnishing the largest quota of men. They brought to
their work youth and intelligence, initiative and courage.
In November, 191 5, at the request of General Head-
quarters, a fourth section took its place in the field — •
perhaps the greatest proof of the efficiency of the three
early sections.
The year 191 5 closed with three sections well estab-
lished and a fourth finding its place on the line. The
initial problems of section organization and section re-
lationship with the French Army had been defined, and
four French divisions were being officially served by
American volunteer ambulance sections.
1916
It was evident at the beginning of 19 16 that the Service
now firmly established at the front was the natural ex-
pression of that desire to give active and personal aid
felt by many Americans. To those who were in the Serv-
63
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
ice, and who knew what man-power meant to France,
even at that time, it would have been a betrayal of their
own action if they had not wished others to follow their
example.
To pursue this policy, it was necessary to give pub-
licity in America to the work the American Field Service
was accomplishing as well as to lay plans for the probable
expansion of the organization. It was a suitable period
for this work. The early winter, from the point of view
of the sections, was not an active one. Section One,
attached to a colonial division had moved to the Somme ;
Section Two was still at Pont-a-Mousson; Section Three
had moved from Alsace at the end of January to repos
near Nancy ; and Section Four was receiving its baptism
in the rather quiet Toul Sector.
The material for a book. Friends of France, was collected
and sent to America; moving pictures were arranged for
with the help of the French Government, with a view, not
only of showing at home what the Service was accomplish-
ing, but especially of presenting through the eyes of these
American volunteers the appeal of the Army with which
they were serving and the truth of its cause.
As for the interior organization of the Service itself,
a new system for the repair work of the cars was estab-
lished. Previously spare parts and Ford chassis had been
bought from the Ford Company in France to meet the
current demands of the sections. With an enlargement
of the Service, this hand-to-mouth policy was inadequate,
and it was wisely decided to import parts from America
and to organize a repair park, which was not only to serve
as an overhauling and assembling park for ambulances,
but also as a warehouse and distribution point for spare
parts. The office and the quarters for the new men needed
also to be changed. In the American Ambulance Hospital
in Neuilly, which up to this time had served as the Field
Service Headquarters, there was only space in a little
outhouse (comprising one room and a telephone booth)
for the office, while the attic of the hospital was the only
64
INTRODUCTION
available dormitory for the men. It was hard to find a
place which would be adequate, but fortunately no hasty
decision was taken and the problem was eventually
solved by the generous gift of the spacious house and
grounds at 21 rue Raynouard. A mistake in moving to
quarters smaller than these would have resulted in a
difficult situation later on.
The spring and early summer of 191 6 brought great
activity for the Service. Late in February Section Two
moved to the Verdun sector, where it was assigned first
of all to the service of evacuation from triage to H.O.E.
This service is the hardest test for a volunteer ambulance
section, for it means long runs on crowded roads without
the excitement of front work, still harder here in the
Verdun battle, where the first great test of automobile
transportation was forced on the French. The faithful-
ness with which this task was performed during those
interminable months proved that, under difficult cir-
cumstances, even long evacuations could be handled well
by the light Field Service cars. Section Four moved to
Verdun from the Toul sector early in June with pastes
on the left bank of the Meuse, the paste at Marre being
not two hundred yards from the German lines. Section
Three was the next to take its turn. Ordered from Maxe-
ville on the 20th of June with its division, it arrived near
Verdun at one of the most critical periods of this long
battle. Its division was placed in the line on the right
bank of the Meuse, the Section serving the paste at Bras
and evacuating directly to Verdun. It was at this point
that the Germans nearly broke through, and the road
was under continual bombardment, the village of Fleury,
to which it led, being taken and retaken several times.
The division was taken out after a week and the Section
went on a well-earned repas, curiously enough to Pont-a-
Mousson, the old home of Section Two, The Bras paste
later became familiar to many sections; Four, Eight,
Nine, Eighteen, Sixty- Four, and Sixty-Nine having es-
pecially difficult evacuations there. Long after Section
65
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
Three had left, Barber's car, smashed by a shell, still stood
as a landmark by the side of the road.
Section Eight, formed in Paris in June, 191 6, and sent
to Champagne for a week, was transferred to Verdun,
with its cantonment at Dugny on the right bank of the
Meuse, and its pastes at the Fort de Tavannes and the
Cabaret Rouge.
Section One saw two days of the bombardment which
ushered in the battle of the Somme, and then, to their
dismay, received orders to move. To have worked for
months in a sector, knowing every road, every position,
not only of one's own division, but of the enemy's, to
know an attack was coming, to prepare for its every
possible phase, and then, just as it was starting, to be or-
dered away, was unquestionably bitter medicine for an
ambulance section. But there was consolation in the fact
that orders were soon picked up to go to Verdun, and
a day later, Section One drew up alongside of Section
Eight at Dugny and instantly ran into difficult and dan-
gerous work. Section Eight moved en repos to Lorraine,
and Section One soon after received a repos only to go
back to the same position for another hard period.
The activity at the front was reflected at Headquarters.
The five sections had made necessarily large demands
for material to keep up their efhciency. New cars and
parts had to be sent out without delay. It was at this
moment also that heavy repair cars, kitchen trailers, and
trucks could be issued to the sections, through generous
gifts, thus insuring their capacity and independence as
units. Headquarters activity, however, was not confined
to the supplying and administration of the sections. The
plans of the winter had become realities. The repair park
at Billancourt was an actual fact. A large building had
been rented within Kellner's factory, where the ambu-
lance bodies were constructed. Machinery was installed,
and mechanics were, by May, at work repairing and as-
sembling cars. A large stock-room within the building with
each spare part in its own numbered bin was already
66
INTRODUCTION
filled with the first direct shipment from America. In
June the park was no longer an experiment. The proof
was Section Nine, which, one early morning in the latter
part of the month, received its cars there and rolled out
to Versailles — the first step on its long journey to Alsace.
In July the Headquarters were thoroughly established
and adequate ofhces permitted independence of action.
Extensive dormitories and a refectory offered a home,
not only to the newly arrived volunteers, but to permis-
sionnaires'^ and to those returning to America. It was at
this time also that Bordeaux and Le Havre became princi-
pal points in our sphere of action. Chassis arriving there
had to be assembled and driven overland. A group of
schoolboy volunteers, only able to enlist for the summer,
helped in this necessary work. Thus It was possible to
take advantage of those wonderful summer days to lay
the basis for the next winter, for it took at least three
months from the shipment of a chassis from America for
It to be placed In commission as an ambulance.
It was at the end of this year that we received the first
tangible evidence of the fact that our Service was one
that the French felt they could count on as really be-
ing a part of their army and not simply an auxiliary serv-
ice. In September, 191 6, the French Automobile Service
asked if we could send a section of our light cars to the
Balkans, it being their opinion that the evacuation work
in that difficult region could be most efftciently done by
one of our sections. The request addressed to us to send
a section so far away from the base was also an indica-
tion of the confidence in which the personnel of our Serv-
ice was held, although at that time we were only serv^Ing
six French divisions. It was a request which we felt we
should meet, primarily because the men of our Service
felt very keenly that wherever the French Army must
go, we should go. The French Army had accepted us and
permitted us to participate In the greatest battles : Could
1 The Field Senace volunteers were treated as French soldiers, receiving
permissions every four months.
67
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
we refuse, "tvhich was technically easy, to go to the Orient
because it was not a popular assignment? Section Three
did not think so. Their Section Commander, Lovering
Hill, and the French Lieutenant, Derode (who could
have refused on account of ill-health), were as eager as
the men, many of whom had been with the Section since
its formation eighteen months before.
Twenty-four hours after the agreement had been
made, the Section arrived in Paris, having made the trip
from Lorraine. Extra cars and a supply of spare parts
for at least six months were furnished out of the stock
which had been ordered for just such an emergency. Not
many days later, the order came for the departure of the
Section, and that night at a freight station in the out-
skirts of Paris the men boarded the train which was to
take them and their material to Marseilles, the first lap
of their long journey.
The departure of Section Three marked the inevitable
closing of a chapter in the history of the Service. It was
a chapter of intimate association made possible by the
throwing together of less than 200 young men of the same
education and ideas at a time when there seemed little
hope that their countrymen would take up the cause they
had made their own. Furloughs brought men from differ-
ent sections together in the comfortable home at rue Ray-
nouard, at a time when, more than at any other, Paris
reflected the attitude of the soldiers who were defending
her at the front. This close association and friendship,
afterwards, when the Service grew to much larger propor-
tions, found its expression in the sections.
With the Service in France ready for expansion and the
French Automobile Service insisting not only that our
present sections must be maintained, but that it would
be of inestimable value if we could form more sections,
it was vital that the American Field Service should make
every effort to meet this demand. Since the battle of Ver-
dun it had become evident that the Automobile Service
of the army must be developed ; that on it depended the
68
INTRODUCTION
quick movement of troops and supplies which so many
times afterwards turned defeat into victory. For every
sanitary section that the American Field Service could
send to the front, an equal number of Frenchmen would
be released for other branches of the Automobile Serv-
ice. With this in view, Mr. Andrew went to America, and
with Mr. Sleeper's aid, laid the basis of an organization
there which was destined to furnish substantial results
soon after.
1917
The year 191 7 was destined to be one of little rest for
any one connected with the Service. Very shortly after
Mr. Andrew's return, two demands came from General
Headquarters which proved beyond doubt that they
felt they were dealing with a Service which they could
count on as their own. They asked for another section
to go to the Balkans and for a detachment of ambulances
to be sent to the Vosges Mountains in Alsace. The first
demand was complied with by forming Section Ten,
under the command of Henry Suckley whose long ex-
perience and capacity fitted him well for this task. The
request for the Vosges Detachment was a tribute to the
effective service of the type of ambulance modelled by
this Ser\ace, for since the example set by Section Three,
it was found that no French section could do the. work
of this difficult region so well.
The early winter proved a very hard one for the sec-
tions at the front. Sections One, Two, and Four were in
line on the left bank of the Meuse and in the Argonne,
shifting their stations once or twice, but all taking their
turn at the pastes of Esnes, Montzeville, Hill 272, and
Marre, where the roads were always dangerous even
when there was no attack, and always muddy and difficult.
Section Eight travelled to the Somme during the last
part of the offensive and then travelled back to Verdun
on the Bras run. Section Nine took its turn at Bras and
then went to Lorraine. Section Twelve came to the front
69
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
in January, relieving Section One on the Esnes run, get-
ting there its full baptism of fire.
An interesting custom began this winter with the giv-
ing of farewell dinners to the sections on the eve of their
departure for the front. The custom had been inaugurated
by Section Nine, but the first two dinners were only in-
formal gatherings. Their tone, however, gave the idea
of making them more formal by inviting prominent
Frenchmen and Americans, who by their friendly and in-
spiring speeches made these evenings memorable, \^'hat
member of Section Twelve will ever forget M. Hugues
Le Roux's story of his son who had gone to the battle
front with a fresh enthusiasm such as theirs and who, al-
though almost immediately mortally wounded, would not
allow himself to be carried back until after his wounded
soldiers had been attended to, thus facing hours of agony
and torment. A fitting son to the father, who, while
thanking these volunteers for the service they were giving
his country, taught us all that great lesson of patriotism
which was making France supreme. Each dinner had its
special charm, but whether the speaker was American or
French, soldier or civilian, the theme of service and re-
spect for the country we were serving was always pre-
dominant. After the United States entered the war, we
heard our Ambassador, at last able to speak as he felt;
and at the same dinner, M. Jules Cambon, and later,
Captain (now General) Churchill. At other dinners we
heard inspiring addresses by Captain Puaux, who had
been on General Joffre's staff; Lieutenant Rene Puaux,
who had sers^ed on the staff of General Foch; repre-
sentatives of the French G.H.Q.; Mr. Frank Simonds,
Mr. Will Irwin, President John H. Finley, Abbe Dimnet,
and many others. Surely all honor was being paid to
the men as they left for their place at the front.
In the early spring six more ambulance sections were
placed at the disposal of the French armies; Section
Thirteen, which went to Champagne and took part in the
great April French offensive; Section Fourteen, to Lor-
70
Boxed chassis waiting to be assembled
ir'reparatioiis l<jr tlie ilfiiMrture ol a ffctiuii. Section Fitteen
almost ready to leave for the front
THE GARDEN AT 21 RUE RAYNOUARD
INTRODUCTION
raine; Section Fifteen to Verdun, its first car being hit by
shrapnel near the poste at Esnes less than fifty-four
hours after leaving Paris; Section Sixteen, to the Argonne,
where it stayed for nine months ; and Sections Seventeen
and Eighteen, to the Second Army Resers^e.
The declaration of war by the United States brought
grave decisions for those who were responsible for the
Serv'ice. The physical fact which stood out on April 4,
191 7, was that here in France was a volunteer American
organization growing in size and, as it grew, filling much-
needed vacancies in the non-combatant branch of the
Automobile Ser\-ice of the French Army. \\'hen on April
5, Mr. Andrew telephoned to Commandant Doumenc,
the Head of the Automobile Service, and asked him in
what way the American Field Service, now that America
had come into the war, could help the French Army
best, the answer came back immediately over the tele-
phone requesting seven thousand drivers for camions as
soon as possible under the same conditions as governed
the functioning of the ambulance sections of the Field
Service. There was one indisputable lesson the three
years of war had taught, and that was, that nothing less
than the greatest effort in whatever capacity was worth
while. Could the American Field Servdce, whose record
had always been to try and meet to its fullest capacity
whatever demands had been made on it, refuse now to
make every attempt to further its capacity in a branch
of service for which it was especially fitted? It would
have been easy to have confined our efforts to ambulance
sections, the field in which the Service had been working,
but its growth would have been restricted to four sections a
month, restrictions due to the average amount of gifts be-
ing received at this time, due to delay in transportation,
due to lack of facilities for building bodies, the only avail-
able builders having diverted most of their energies to aero-
plane construction. By extending its functions, the Service
could be of greater immediate aid to the French Army,
at the same time keeping up its output of ambulance sec-
71
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
tions, and this at a time when there was no indication as
to whether the United States would send an expedition-
ary force, and even if so, how large a one. The decision
was taken and a cable was sent to America explaining
that volunteers were needed for this new Service, and
that hereafter the two branches of Service would be con-
sidered as one, volunteers being assignable wherever they
could be of most use. The effects of the urgent request
for men from America soon began to bear results. Volun-
teers began to stream over in May and June, as many as
five hundred arriving within three days. To cope with
this influx, barracks and tents w^ere erected in the gar-
den at rue Raynouard, and a house near by was put at
our disposal by the same generous friends to whom we
owed rue Raynouard. Three camps were established for
the training of these men, their large numbers making
Paris now an impossible centre for this purpose. The
ambulance camp was established at May-en-Multien,
a picturesque farm belonging to a friend of the Service,
on the road between Meaux and Soissons, and the trans-
port camps near Dommiersand Longpont, a few kilometres
south of Soissons. Volunteers only remained in Paris for
such time as was needed to obtain uniforms and necessary
papers, being then sent out to the respective camps.
The first unit to go to the transport camp was a Cor-
nell unit which volunteered to take up this new work.
It was followed by a Dartmouth unit; then by Califor-
nia, Princeton, Marietta, and Tufts units. Dartmouth,
Princeton, Harvard, and Yale units were also sent to the
ambulance camp, and every effort was made to form
them into sections according to their units.
Another development of this period was the opening
of the French Officers' Automobile School at Meaux to
members of the American Field Service, a privilege ex-
tended only to Field Service men. This action was taken
primarily to train our men so that they would be capable
of commanding transport sections, but it was also in-
tended to give the American officers of the ambulance
72
INTRODUCTION
sections sufficient technical knowledge to enable them
ultimately to handle their sections without a French of-
ficer. It was stated at French headquarters that with
the part the American Field Service was now playing, it
was essential that their American commanders should be
familiar with all the details of the French Automobile
Service. The first class was more in the nature of an
experiment, and so only fifteen men were admitted, but
the later classes were each opened to forty of our men.
Now came the period which saw the Service at the
height of its development, namely, the spring and summer
of 191 7. During these months the sections and individ-
uals did work of which they will always be proud. Let us
take the ambulance sections first. Section One had moved
to the Aisne, just west of Reims, in a sector which, al-
though quiet, cost them two comrades. Nineteen-sixteen
history, however, repeated itself, and again they came to
Verdun during a great battle, being once more stationed
at their old poste on the right side of the Meuse. It was a
privilege this time to place their cantonment where for-
merly they had only dared go to advanced pastes at night,
but their work was even more difficult and more danger-
ous in this second great battle of Verdun and they well
merited their Army Citation. Section Two, which had
been in the Fourth Army Reserve, also came back to its
old poste at Esnes and Hill 2-^2, and later at Marre, also
its most trying period. Section Four was in Champagne
during the French attack of Mont Cornillet with Section
Thirteen as its neighbor, the latter also winning an Army
Citation. Section Four then moved to Verdun, running
now past Bras, on to Vacherauville. Section Eight re-
mained at Sainte-Menehould. Section Fourteen came
from Lorraine for the attack in Champagne, then was
sent on repos. Section Fifteen worked in the Verdun and
Argonne sectors, its Commander, Earl Osborn, being
wounded as he was taking over a new poste. Section
Sixteen remained in the Argonne until relieved by Sec-
tion Thirty-Three ; its poste was to the left of the attack-
72>
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
ingline, but in the midst of batteries, which made it
one of the worst sectors for an ambulance section. Sec-
tion Seventeen at first evacuated to the rear, but later
took over advanced pastes to the right of Section Six-
teen. Section Eighteen got its chance for a week on the
Verdun-Bras-Vacherauville road. Section Nineteen was
in the Argonne to the left of Section Sixteen. Section
Twenty-Six was in the Saint-Mihiel sector, a quiet one,
but earned a citation during an enemy air raid. Sections
Twenty-Seven and Twenty-Eight were in Champagne,
the latter having the trying and dangerous sector where
Osborn was killed and two men wounded during their
first week of work. Section Twenty- Nine replaced Section
Two on the Montzeville-Esnes run, the nature of the
work being evidenced by the loss of Newlin and the
wounding of their Chef, Julian Allen, Section Thirty did
evacuation work at Dugny, where its men learned Boche
methods when aviators bombed and mitrailleused the
hospital to which they were attached. Sections Thirty-
One and Thirty-Two were both in the battle before they
were taken over by the United States Army, the former
on the left bank of the Meuse and the latter on the right
bank. Section Sixty- Four at first did evacuation work, but
it, and Section Sixty-Nine, took their turn later on the
Verdun-Bras road. Sections Sixty- Five and Sixty-Six were
at the Chemin des Dames, working at pastes side by side
and made an enviable record in that active sector. Bent-
ley, Hamilton, and Gailey gave their lives in this sector.
Sections Sixty-Seven and Seventy were on the Aisne dur-
ing the strenuous summer activity there which finally
culminated in the battle of Malmaison, and Section Sixty-
Eight did evacuation work in Champagne. Sections Sev-
enty-One and Seventy-Two were to the west in Picardy
in sectors which looked out on Saint-Quentin.
Finally far away on the Balkan front Section Three was
back in the Monastir sector, after having been chosen on
account of its adaptability to the mountainous transport
conditions to follow a French division into Greece, and
74
INTRODUCTION
Section Ten was following an Allied advance in the wilder-
ness of Albania.
The transport sections, formed in groups in the Re-
serve Mallet, were busy carrying ammunition and supplies
in preparation for the Chemin des Dames offensive. The
work of these eight hundred men, although confined to
one area, brought them to all the battery emplacements
in this region, not only difficult runs, but dangerous as
well.
The last months of 191 7 marked the transition period
when both branches of the Service were transferred to
the United States Army. The organization of the United
States Army did not permit of an automobile service, so
the decision was made that the Reserve Mallet would be
taken over by the Quartermaster Corps and the Ambu-
lance Ser\ace would be taken over by the United States
Army Ambulance Service with the French Army, a spe-
cial bill having been passed by Congress to make possi-
ble this new arrangement.
There were many volunteers who, through previous
experience or through desire, wished to enlist or obtain
commissions in the other branches of the American Army.
On the other hand, they had contracted engagements as
volunteers in the French Army for six months. It was a
difficult situation for all concerned, because the French
Army was dependent on the Service to its full capacity,
especially at a time when hard fighting was going on all
along the line. Until the regular army replacements
could reach France in substitution for the volunteers who
did not wish to enlist in the two army branches with
which they were serving at the time, the French Army
could not release them from their contracts. As it proved
this delay did not impair the chances of these men. The
other services were not yet ready to train them and the
long list of commissions in every branch of the United
States Army received by American Field Service volun-
teers indicates that there was little loss in opportunity
due to the fulfilment of their pledge.
75
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
The Spirit of the Service
The enrolment of the American Field Service by the
United States Army terminated the history of the Serv--
ice. The record of the organization depended very much
on the spirit of service shown by the early volunteers of
19 14 and 1 91 5. Their example and understanding became
the standard which was passed on, not only in the old
sections, but in the new ones, a standard which formed
a discipline worthy of the Army to which they were at-
tached. The names of all these volunteers are in the
roster, but it seems fitting to recall a few of them whose
personality and influence helped especially to shape the
Service: Lovering Hill, who arrived in France in 1914,
and, beginning with the pioneer days, was given com-
mand of Section Three in June, 1915, then after eighteen
months on the western front, took his section to the Bal-
kans for another year, his four personal citations prov-
ing the example he set; Herbert Townsend, whose leader-
ship of Section One installed a standard which won for
that section four citations; Henry Suckley, who, after
long servdce as Sous-Chef of Section Three, took Section
Ten to the Balkans, giving his life there in the Service
in which, as a leader, he had set an example of devo-
tion to the cause he knew to be right; Robert Moss, in
charge of the repair and construction park from its in-
ception until the Service was taken into the Army; John
R. Fisher, who so successfully commanded the Ambulance
Training-Camp at M ay-en- Multien; Alan H. Muhr, Con-
troller from 1915 to 1917 and subsequently leader of
Section Fourteen; John H. MacFadden, Treasurer, who
so successfully aided in the collection of funds in America;
Philip K. Potter, who represented the Field Service in
command of the Reserve Mallet; and William de Ford
Bigelow and A. D. Dodge, with their records of long
service as leaders of Sections Four and Eight, respec-
tively, and subsequently their earnest labors and assist-
ance as aides in the Paris headquarters.
76
FIELD SERVICE QUARTERS AND DEPOTS IN PASSY AND BILLANCOURT
INTRODUCTION
This chapter deals only with the part the American
Field Service played as a part of the armies of France.
The record of wounded and supplies carried by the two
Services and the two hundred and fifty decorations con-
ferred by the divisions served, indicates the character
of work rendered. The recognition by the United States
Army of the two Services for which special provision had
to be made, a recognition which was made at the request
of the French Army, proved conclusively how vital was
the continuation of this aid to the French Army. To judge
further of its importance, one has only to see the part
the Service was playing in the two great battles that
were being fought on the western front at the time it was
taken over by the United States Army.
From July until October, 191 7, the Reserve Mallet had
transported ammunition, engineering supplies, thousands
upon thousands of shells day and night in preparation
for the Chemin des Dames attack. The outstanding
feature of this attack was the complete destruction by the
artillery of all the strong positions of the enemy, which
resulted in the infantry attack being such a brilliant one,
with few losses. It was the fourteen Field Service sections
of volunteer camion drivers serving with the Reserve Mal-
let, with their French comrades, who transported from
the railheads to the batteries practically all the ammu-
nition. Recognition of this fact is seen in Commandant
Doumenc's report to Mr. Andrew in which, referring to
the Transport Service, he says: " C'est elle qui a assure la
plus grosse part des transports de munitions, au moment
des attaques heureuses qui porter ent la 6^ Armee sur V
Ailetter
In the Verdun offensive in which the French regained
in a few days all the territory which they had lost to the
Germans in the great battle of 19 16, American Field
Service sections attached to divisions evacuated the
wounded in practically every sector of the Verdun front
from Sainte-Menehould through the Argonne on both
sides of the Meuse, and as far as the Saint- Mihiel sector.
77
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
Sections One, Two, Four, Thirteen, Fifteen, Sixteen,
Seventeen, Eighteen, Nineteen, Twenty-Six, Thirty,
Thirty-One, Thirty-Two, Sixty-Four, and Sixty-Nine
took part at one time or another. The effectiveness of
their service gained for them a place in the headlines
of the Intransigeant, the popular evening newspaper of
Paris, where in referring to the progress of the battle
it was stated: "£/ surtout les ambulances americaines
out marches d, merveille."
Stephen Galatti^
^ Served continuously in France from September, 1915, until May, 1919;
member of Section Three in 1915; Assistant Head of the American Field
Service from January, 1916; Commissioned Captain in the U.S.A. Ambu-
lance Service in October, 19 17, and later promoted to Major.
^^A
The Ambulance Sections
Section One
THE STORY TOLD BY
I. Henry Sydnor Harrison
n. Joshua G. B. Campbell
HI. Tracy Jackson Putnam
IV. Robert Whitney Imbrie
V. Roy H. Stockwell
VI. John H. McFadden, Jr.
VII. William Yorke Stevenson
VIII. Edward A. G. Wylie
SUMMARY
Section One left Paris for Dunkirk on January 20, 1915. The
latter part of March it was moved to Malo-les-Bains. From
there it went on April 6 to Wormhoudt, to be ordered back
later to Dunkirk. On April 22 it went to Woesten near Ypres.
Later half the Section went to Elverdinghe.
In June ten ambulances were at Dunkirk and the remainder
of the Section was transferred to Coxyde, Belgium, the pastes
being situated at Nieuport and Nieuport-Bains. On July 20
the entire Section was sent to Crombeke in Flanders.
On December 22 of the same year the Section moved near
Beauvais, en repos. In January, 1916, it moved to Jaulzy, in
February to Cortieux, and then to Mericourt-sur-Somme.
From here it was suddenly ordered, on June 22, 1916, to Bar-le-
Duc, behind the Verdun front, going from there to Dugny,
where it arrived June 28. On July 13 it went en repos at Tan-
nois, Givry-en-Argonne, Triaucourt, and Vaubecourt, all in
the Argonne region. On the 15th of August it moved to Chateau
Billemont. On September 11 it spent three days en repos at
Triaucourt, and then moved to La Grange-aux-Bois, between
the Argonne and Verdun sectors.
On January 19, 1917, the Section again went to Triaucourt
en repos, following which it moved to Ippecourt. January 25
found it at Dombasle-en-Argonne, and the 14th of March at
Vadelaincourt in the Verdun sector, en repos. On April 17 it
moved to Muizon, ten kilometres west of Reims, and on
June 21 to Louvois. It spent a repos, beginning July 23, at
Evres. August saw it at Houdainville and later at the Caserne
Beveaux. On September 14 it moved to a peaceful little village
in the Jeanne d'Arc country, where it ended its career as a
part of the Field Service, becoming thereafter Section Six-
Twenty-Five of the U.S. Army Ambulance Service, with the
French Army.
Section One
Mon corps a la terre,
Mon ame a Dieu,
Mon coeur a la France.
I
Dunkirk and Ypres
In June, 191 5, it was the pride of the Section in Flanders,
Section One, to feel that it had come closer to war than
any other formation of the American Ambulance. In
June, 1916, when these lines were written, the point of
pride was to know that those first intense experiences
had long since been duplicated and eclipsed.
In Dunkirk we witnessed, and within our powers tried
to cope with, what yet remains, I believe, one of the most
sensational artillery exploits in history. It is remembered
that the little cars of the Americans often ran those empty
streets, and pursued those deafening detonations, alone.
At our base, Dunkirk, we shared the life of a town un-
der sporadic, but devastating, bombardment; forward, in
Elverdinghe, we shared the life of a town under perpetual,
and also devastating, bombardment; still farther forward,
in Ypres, we beheld a town bombarded from the face of
the earth in a single night. There we shared no life, nor
yet in Nieuport, for there was none to share. In the salient
around Ypres we played for many days our small part
in that vast and various activity forever going on at the
81
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
back of the front. There we saw and learned things not
easily to be forgotten; the diverse noises of shells going
and coming, of arrivees and departs; the stupendous up-
roar of the "dtier' before the charge, which makes the
deepening quiet of a run back come like a balm and a
blessing; the strange informality of roadside batteries,
booming away in the sight of peasant families and every
passer; the silence and the stillness, and the tenseness and
the business, of night along the lines; the extreme diffi-
culty of hiding from shrapnel successfully without a dug-
out; the equal difficulty of driving successfully down a
shell-bitten road in darkness like ink; the glow against
the sky of a burning town, and the bright steady dots of
starlight around half the horizon; the constant straggle
of the evicted by the field ambulance's front door, and the
fast-growing cemetery at the back door; the whine and
patter of bullets by the pastes de secours and the business-
like ripple of the machine guns; the whir of Taubes, the
practical impossibility of hitting them from the ground,
and the funny little bombs sometimes dropped by the
same; the noises made by men gone mad with pain; the
glorious quiet of men under the acetylene lamps of the
operating- table ; "crowd psychology," and why a regi-
ment becomes a "fighting machine," and how tender
hearts are indurated with a toughening of the skin; the
high prevalence of courage among the sons of men; draw-
backs of sleeping on a stretcher in an ambulance; the un-
kemptness of Boche prisoners; life, death, and war, and
the values and meanings thereof.
Such things, as I know, passed into the experience of
Section One, in Flanders. And these things, and more,
have similarly passed into the experience of scores of
young Americans since, in their life and ser\-ice behind
the lines of France.
It is the composite experience which the following
pages narrate; it is the composite service which the mind
holds to with most satisfaction. We were the Service Sani-
taire Americaine; a proud title, and we wished, naturally,
82
SECTION ONE
to invest it with the realest meaning. That the American
service was rendered efficiently and even valuably, this
History as a whole attests, I think. That it was rendered
with the requisite indifference to personal risk is also, I
hope, supported by the record. A transient in the serv'ice,
who by no means bore the burden and heat of the day,
may be permitted, I trust, to say these necessary, or at
least these interesting and pertinent things with com-
plete detachment.
I remember the hour of Section One's "baptism of
fire." We stood in the lee (or what we hoped was the lee)
of the Petit Chateau at Elverdinghe, while German shells
whistled over our heads and burst with a wicked crash
about the little church, the typical target, a couple of
hundred yards away. (WTiat interest we felt when a frag-
ment of shell, smoking hot, fell almost at our feet, and
what envy of the man who gathered in this first memora-
ble ''souvenir''^?) We were just dow^n from Dunkirk; we
were greener than the grass that blew; and that the novel
proceedings were acutely interesting to us all will never
be denied. Perhaps each of us secretly wondered to him-
self if he was going to be afraid ; certainly all of us must
have wished, with some anxiousness, that those strange
whistles and roars would turn themselves another way.
And still, when the young Englishman who ran the am-
bulance service there appeared at that moment and asked
for two cars to go down the road to Brielen (which was to
go straight toward the trouble), it is pleasant to remem-
ber that there was no lack of volunteers, and two of my
companions were cranking up at once. There was never
any time later, I am sure, when the sense of personal dan-
ger was so vivid in the minds of so many of us together.
Bad Quarters of an Hour
Every ambulance-driver must have his bad quarters of
an hour, no doubt — and some of the worst of them may
concern not himself at all, but his car or his wounded.
And if it is said that these young Americans, amateurs
83
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
and volunteers, have acquitted themselves well in some-
times trying circumstances, there is no intention to over-
emphasize this aspect of their serv^ice. A volume might
be written on the developmental reactions — all but
mathematical in their working — of war-time. Nor does
it seem necessary to add that the risk of the ambiilanciers,
at the worst, is small in comparison with that of those
whom they serve and from whom in turn they get their
inspiration, — the intrepid youths in the trenches.
\\!e came to know these youths very well — the gallant
and charming poiliis who ha\'e so long carried the West-
ern Front upon their shoulders. We sincerely admired
them; and on them largely we formed our opinions of
France, and of the war generally, and of war.
From the standpoint of observation, indeed, — and
doubtless it is observation one should try to record here,
— I believe we all felt the peculiar advantage of our posi-
tion to have been this, that we mingled with the soldiers
on something like equal terms. We were not officers; we
w^ere not distinguished visitors dashing up in a staff car
for an hour of sight-seeing. We were rankers (so far as
we were anything), and we were permanent; and in the
necessities of our work, we touched the life of the common
fighting man at every hour of the day and night, and
under almost every conceivable circumstance. We were
with the poilus in the hour of rout and disaster ; we were
with them in the flush of a victorious charge brilliantly
executed. We crawled along roads blocked for miles with
them, moving forward ; we wormed into railroad stations
swamped with the tide of their wounded. Now we heard
their boyish fun, and shared their jokes in the fine free
days off duty; and now we heard from the unseen well of
the jolting car, their faint entreaty, '' Doiicement! Donce-
ment!'' We saw them distressed by the loss of their pre-
cious sacs, or elated by the gift of a button or a cheese ;
we saw them again in silence and the darkness beside the
Yser, very quiet and busy, with the ping and whine of
many rifles; and again we found them lying on straw in
84
SECTION ONE
dim-lit stables, bloody and silent, but not defeated. Now
they gave us tobacco and souvenirs, and told us of their
gosses, and helped us tinker with our cars, about which
some of them, mechanicians in happier days, knew so
much more than we did; and now they died in our am-
bulances, and sometimes went mad. We saw them gay,
and we saw them gassed ; we found them idling or writing
letters on the running-boards of our cars, and we found
the dark stains of their fading lives upon our stretchers;
we passed them stealing up like stalwart ghosts to action,
and we left them lying in long brown rows beside the old
roads of Flanders.
The Dominant Note of the Poilu
And to me at least it seemed that the dominant note and
characteristic quality of the poilu, and all his intense ac-
tivity, was just a disciplined matter-of-factness, a calm,
fine, business-like efficiency, an utter absence of all hero-
ics. Of his heroism, it is superfluous to speak now. My
observ^ation convinced me indeed, that fortitude is every-
where more common and evident, not less, than even
rhapsodical writers have represented. There seems liter-
ally no limit to the powers of endurance of the human
animal, once he is put to it. Many writers have written of
the awful groanings of the wounded. I must say that,
though I have seen thousands of wounded, the groans I
have heard could almost be counted upon the fingers of
my hand. Only once in my experience do I remember
seeing any signs of excitement or disorder. That was
in the roads around Poperinghe, in the first threatening
hours of the second battle of Ypres. Once only did I get
any impression of human terror. And that was only a
reminiscence, left behind by women and children in the
tumbled empty houses of Ypres. But in all the heroism,
unlimited and omnipresent, there is observed, as I say,
little or no heroics. That entire absence of drum and fife,
which strikes and arrests all beholders at the front, is
significant and symbolic. These men muster and move
85
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
forward to the risk of death almost as other men take the
subway and go downtown to business. There are no fan-
fares at all, no grand gestures, no flourishes about the
soul and '7a gloire."
It is true, no doubt, that the ambulance-driver views
the scene from a somewhat specialized angle. His princi-
pal association is with the sequelae of war; his view is too
much the hospital view. Yet, it must be insisted, he be-
comes quickly and strangely callous on these points; and
on the whole would be less likely to overstress the mere
horrors than some one who had not seen so much of them.
On the other hand, as I have suggested, he has extraor-
dinary opportunities for viewing war as a thing at once of
many parts and of a marvellously organized unity.
A Fateful Day at Poperinghe
Personally I think that my sharpest impression of war
as a whole came to me, not along the postes de secours or
under the guns at all, but at the station place, in the once
obscure little town of Poperinghe, on April 22^, 1915.
That, it will be remembered, was a fateful day. At five
o'clock in the afternoon before (everybody was perfectly
specific about the hour), there had begun the great move-
ment now known as the Second Battle of Ypres (or of the
Yser). The assault had begun with the terrifying surprise
of poison-gas ; the gas was followed by artillery attacks of
a ferocity hitherto unequalled; Ypres had been wiped out
in a few hours; the Germans had crossed the Yser. Thus
the French and English lines, which were joined, had
been abruptly pushed back over a long front. That these
were anxious hours for the Allies, Sir John French's report
of June 15, 1915, indicates very plainly, I think. But they
were far from being idle hours. To-day the whole back
country, which for weeks had swarmed with soldiers, was
up. For miles around. Allied reserves had been called up
from camp or billet; and now they were rushing forward
to stiffen the wavering lines and stem the threatening
thrust for the coast.
86
SECTION ONE
At three o'clock on this afternoon, I stood in the rue
d'Ypres, before the railway station in Poperinghe, and
watched the new army of England go up. Thousands and
thousands, foot and horse, supply and artillery, gun,
caisson, wagon, and lorry, the English were going up. All
afternoon long, in an unending stream, they tramped and
rolled up the Flemish highroad, and wheeling just before
me, dipped and disappeared down a side street to\A-ard
"out there." Beautifully equipped and physically attrac-
tive — the useless cavalry especially! — sun-tanned and
confident, all ready, I am sure, to die without a whimper,
they were a most likely and impressive-looking lot. And I
suppose that they could have had little more idea of what
they were going into than you and I have of the geogra-
phy of the nether regions.
This was on my left — the English going up. And on
my right, the two streams actually touching and mingling,
the English were coming back. They did not come as they
went, however. They came on their backs, very still and
remote; and all that you were likely to see of them now
was their muddy boots at the ambulance flap.
Service Sanitaire as we were, I think Section One never
saw, before or since, such a conglomeration of wounded
as we saw that day at Poperinghe. Here was the railhead
and the base; here for the moment were the Red Cross
and Royal Army Medical Corps units shelled out of
Ypres; here was the nervous centre of all that swarming
and sweating back-of-the-front. And here, hour after
hour, into and through the night, the slow-moving wag-
ons, English, French, and American, rolling on one an-
other's heels, brought back the bloody harv-est.
The English, so returning to Poperinghe gave, were
very well cared for. By the station wicket a large squad of
English stretcher-bearers, directed, I believe, by a colonel
of the line, was unceasingly and expertly busy. Behind
the wicket lay the waiting English train, steam up for
Boulogne, enormously long and perfectly sumptuous; a
super-train, a hospital Pullman, all swinging white beds
87
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
and shining nickel. The French, alas, were less lucky
that day. Doubtless the unimagined flood of wounded
had swamped the generally excellent service ; for the mo-
ment, at least, there was not only no super-train for the
French, there was no train. As for the bunks of the sta-
tion warehouses, the hopital d' evacuation, they were, of
course, long since exhausted. Thus it was that wounded
tirailleurs and Zouaves and black men from Africa set
down from ambulances, staggered unattended up the
station platform, sat and lay anyhow about the concrete
and the sand — no flesh-wounded hoppers these, but
hard-punished men, not a few of them struck, it was only
too manifest, in the seat of their lives. This was a bloody
disarray which I never saw elsewhere, and hope never to
see again. Here, indeed, there was moaning to be heard,
with the hard gasp and hopeless coughing of the a^-
phyxies. And still, behind this heavy ambulance, rolled
another and another and another.
On my left was the cannon fodder going up; on my
right was the cannon fodder coming back. The whole me-
chanics of war at a stroke, you might have said ; these two
streams being really one, these men the same men, only
at slightly different stages of their experience. But there
was still another detail in the picture we saw that day,
more human than the organized machine, perhaps, and
it seemed even more pathetic.
The Flotsam of War
Behind me as I stood and watched the mingling stream
of soldiers, the little square was black with refugies. Far-
ther back, in the station yard, a second long train stood
steaming beside the hospital train, a train for the home-
less and the waifs of war. And presently the gate opened,
and these crowds, old men and women and children,
pushed through to embark on their unknown voyage.
These were persons who but yesterday possessed a lo-
cal habitation and a name, a background, old ties and
associations, community organization, a life. Abruptly
88
SECTION ONE
severed from all this, violently hacked off at the roots,
they were to-day floating units in a nameless class, droves
of a ticket and number, refugies. I walked up the plat-
form beside their crowded train. A little group still lin-
gered outside — a boy, a weazened old man, and three
or four black-clad women, simple peasants, with their
household goods in a tablecloth — waiting there, it may
be, for the sight of a familiar face, missed since last night.
I asked the women where they came from. They said from
Boesinghe, which the Germans had all but entered the
night before. Their homes, then, were in Boesinghe? Oh,
no; their homes, their real homes, were in a little village
some twenty kilometres back. And then they fixed them-
selves permanently in my memory by saying, quite
simply, that they had been driven from their homes by
the coming of the Germans in October, 1914; and they
had then come to settle with relatives in Boesinghe,
which had seemed safe — until last night. Twice expelled
and severed at the roots — where were they going now?
I asked the question, and one of the women made a lit-
tle gesture with her arms, and answered stoically, "To
France," which was, as I consider, the brave way of say-
ing, God knows. As the case seemed sad to me, I tried to
say something to that effect; and, getting no answer to
my commonplaces, I glanced up, and all the women's
eyes had suddenly filled with tears.
And outside the English were still going up with a fine
tramp and rumble, nice young clerks from ]\Ianches-
ter and greengrocers' assistants from Tottenham Court
Road.
I have never forgotten that the very last soldier I car-
ried in my ambulance (on June 2^^, 191 5) was one whose
throat, while he slept, had been quietly cut by a flying
sliver of a shell thrown from a gun twenty-two miles
away. But it will not do, I am aware, to over-emphasize
the purely mechanical side of modern war, the deadly
impersonality which often seems to characterize it, the
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terrible meaninglessness of its deaths at times. Ours, as
I have said, was too much the hospital view. That the
personal equation survives everywhere, and the personal
dedication, it is quite superfluous to say. Individual exal-
tation, fear and the victory over fear, conscious consecra-
tion to an idea and ideal, all the subtle promptings and
stark behavior by which the common man chooses and
avows that there are ways of dying which transcend all
life, — this, we know, must have been the experience of
hundreds of thousands of the young soldiers of France.
And all this, beyond doubt, will one day be duly recorded,
in tales to stir the blood and set the heart afire.
Henry Sydnor Harrison ^
June, 19 16
1 The novelist; Columbia, '00; a member of the Field Service from March
to July, 1915.
II
The Year in Flanders
Old Section One had at least one distinguishing charac-
teristic. It was the first section of substantial proportions
to be geographically separated from the American Am-
bulance at Neuilly and turned over to the French Army.
Until it left for the front, American automobiles had
worked either to and from Neuilly Hospital, as an evac-
uating base, or, if temporarily detached for service else-
where, they had gone out in small units.
The Section's story began in the cold, wet days of early
January, 191 5, when twenty men with twelve cars left
Paris for the north. En route we spent our first night in the
shadow of the Beauvais cathedral, passing the following
day through many towns filled with French troops, and
then, as we crossed into the British sector, traversed vil-
lages abounding with the khaki-clad soldiers of England
and her colonies and the turbaned troops of British India.
The second night we stayed at Saint-Omer, the men sleep-
ing in their cars in the centre of the town square; and the
third morning, passing out of the British sector once more
into the French lines, we arrived in Dunkirk where our
work began.
We were at once assigned to duty. Every school, bar-
rack and other large building — even the public theatre —
in the town, or in the neighboring towns within ten miles
of Dunkirk, seemed to have been turned into a hospital.
The cars were parked in the railroad yard near the sta-
tion where a big freight shed was fitted up as receiving-
post. The drivers on active duty were quartered in a small
lean-to in the station yard, which lean-to was furnished
with straws-covered bunks, a table, and a stove. It was
the principal loafing-place for the young Americans, and
being an ill-smelling place, soon acquired the name of
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"Monkey House." The men secured their meals in a near-
by cafe, remembered chiefly for its dirty, dingy interior.
The blesses arriving at Dunkirk by hospital trains from
Belgian villages, a few miles away, were unloaded in this
freight-shed and then carried to the twenty-five or more
hospitals in the city and in the towns roundabout.
Our first incident of an exciting nature came on the sec-
ond day. We were nearly all at the station, quietly waiting
for the next train, when high up in the air there appeared
first one, then three, and finally seven graceful aero-
planes. We watched, fascinated, and were the more so
when a moment later we learned that they were Taubes. It
seemed hard to realize that we were to witness one of the
famous raids that have made Dunkirk even more famous
than the raider Jean Bart himself had ever done. Explo-
sions were heard on all sides and the sky was soon spotted
with puffs of white smoke from the shells fired at the in-
truders. The rattle of the mitrailleuses and the bang of
the " 75's" became a background of sound for the more
solemn boom of the shells. A few moments later there was
a bang not thirty yards away and we were showered with
bits of stone. We stood spellbound until the danger was
over and then foolishly jumped behind our cars for pro-
tection.
When Bombing was Young
This incident of our early days was soon thrown into
unimportance by other raids, each more interesting than
the last. One of them stands out in memory above all the
rest. It occurred on a perfect moonlight night, quite cloud-
less. Four of my companions and 1 were on night duty in
the railway yard; about eleven the excitement started;
and to say that it commenced with a bang is not slang
but the truth. Rather it commenced with many bangs.
The sight was superb and the excitement intense. One
could hear the whirr of the motors, and when they pre-
sented a certain angle to the moon, the machines showed
up like enormous silver flies. One had a delicious feeling
92
DUNKIRK, 1915. EFFECT OF ONE SHELL FROM THIRTY MILES AWAY
SECTION ONE
of danger, and to stand there and hear the roar of the
artillery, the buzzing of the aeroplanes, the swish of the
bombs as they fell and the crash as they exploded made
an unforgettable experience. One could plainly hear the
bombs during their flight, for each had a propeller at-
tached which prevented its too rapid descent, thus in-
suring its not entering so far into the ground as to explode
harmlessly. To hear them coming and to wonder if it
would be your turn to be hit next was an experience new
to us all. The bombardment continued for perhaps an
hour and then our work began. I was sent down to the
quay and brought back two wounded men and one who
had been killed, and all my companions had about the
same experience. One took a man from a half-demolished
house; another, an old woman who had been killed in her
bed; and still another three men, badly mutilated, who
had been peacefully walking along the street. An hour
later all was quiet — except perhaps the nerves of some
of our men.
About this time our work was enlivened by the appear-
ance of the one and only real ambulance war dog, the
official mascot of the squad, and my personal dog at that!
I was very jealous on that point and rarely let him ride
on another machine. I got him at Zuydcoote. I found him
playing about, and as he appeared to be astray and was
very friendly, I allowed him to get on the seat and stay
there. But I had to answer so many questions about him
that it became a bore, and finally I prepared a speech to
suit all occasions; so when any one approached me and
took up the dog question, I used to say, " Non, Madame,
il n'est pas americain, il est frangais. Je Vai trouve id
dans le Nordy One day a rosy-cheeked young lady came
up and called the dog "Dickie"; whereupon I started
my speech: "// ne s'appelle pas Dickie, Mademoiselle,
mais Khaki, et, vous savez, il est frangais.'' " Je le sais
hien. Monsieur, parce quHl est d moi." I felt sorry and
chagrined, but not for long, as a moment later the lady
presented him to me.
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The Drive for Calais
We will skip over the humdrum life of the next weeks to
a night in April when we were suddenly ordered to the
station at about i a.m. It was, I think, April 22. "The
Germans have crossed the Yser" was the new^s that sent
a thrill through all of us. Would they this time reach
Calais or would they be pushed back? We had no time to
linger and wonder. All night long we worked unloading
the trains that followed each other without pause. The
Germans had used a new and infernal method of warfare;
they had released a cloud of poisonous gas which, with
a favorable wind, had drifted down and completely en-
veloped the Allied trenches. The tales of this first gas at-
tack were varied and fantastic, but all agreed on the sur-
prise and horror of it. Trains rolled in filled w^ith huddled
figures, some dying, some more lightly touched, but even
these coughed so that they were unable to speak cohe-
rently. All told the same story, of having become suddenly
aware of a strange odor, and then of smothering and chok-
ing and falling like flies. In the midst of all this had come
a hail of shrapnel. The men were broken as I have never
seen men broken. In the months of our work we had be-
come so accustomed to dreadful sights and to suffering
as to be little affected by them. The sides and floors of
our cars had often been bathed in blood and our ears had
not infrequently been stirred by the groans of men in
agony, but these sufferers from the new form of attack
awakened in all of us feelings of pity beyond any that we
had ever felt before. To see these big men bent double,
convulsed and choking was heart-breaking and hate-in-
spiring.
At ten o'clock we were ordered to Poperinghe, about
twenty miles from Dunkirk and three miles from Ypres,
where a great battle was just getting under way. The
town was filled with refugees from Ypres, which was in
flames and uninhabitable. Through Poperinghe and be-
yond it we slowly wound our way in the midst of a solid
94
SECTION ONE
stream of motor trucks filled with dust-covered soldiers
coming up to take their heroic part in stemming the Ger-
man tide. We were to make our headquarters for the time
at Elverdinghe ; but as we approached our destination the
road was being shelled and we put on our best speed to
get through the danger zone. This destination turned out
to be a small chateau in Elverdinghe, where a first-aid
hospital had been established, and where, all around us,
batteries of French and English guns were thundering
their aid to the men in the trenches some two miles away.
In front of us and beside us were the famous " 75's," and
"i2o's," and farther back the great English marine guns,
whose big shells we could hear every few seconds pass-
ing over us.
Before we reached the chateau, an automobile had just
been put out of commission by a shell; so we had to
change our route and go up another road. The chateau
presented a terrible scene. In every room straw and beds
and stretchers, with mangled men everywhere. We
started to work and for twenty-six hours there was
scarcely time for pause. Our labor consisted in going
down to the pastes de secours, situated in the Flemish
farmhouses, perhaps four hundred or five hundred yards
from the trenches, where the wounded get their first-aid
attention, and then in carrying the men back to the dress-
ing stations w^here their wounds w^ere more carefully at-
tended to, and finally in taking them farther to the real
to the hospitals outside of shell range. The roads were bad
and we had to pass a constant line of convoys. At night
no lights were allowed and we had to be especially careful
not to jolt our passengers. But the best of drivers cannot
help bumping on the pavements of Belgium, and when,
during an hour or more, each cobble brings forth a groan
from the poor fellows inside, it is hard to bear, especially
as they are often out of their heads, w^hen they call for
their mothers, order the charge or to cease firing, see
visions of beautiful fields or of cool water, and sometimes
die before the trip is over.
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Anxious Days
The following morning we decided to stay in Eherdinghe
and try to get a little sleep ; but no sooner had we turned
in than we were awakened by the order to get out of the
chateau at once, as we were under fire. While I was put-
ting on my shoes, the window fell in and part of the ceiling
came down. Then we were instructed to evacuate the
place of all its wounded and we were kept busy for hours
getting them to a place of safety. In the meantime shells
were falling all about us. One great tree in front of me
was cut completely off and an auto near it was riddled
with the fragments. For two weeks this battle lasted, and
we watched our little village gradually disintegrating
under the German shells. Our cars were many tim.es more
or less under heavy artillery and rifle fire and few of them
escaped without shrapnel holes.
To most of the pastes we could go only after dark, as
they were in sight of the German lines. Once we did go
during the day to a paste along the banks of the Yser
Canal ; but it was too dangerous and the General ordered
such trips stopped. These few trips were splendid, how-
ever, for to see the men in the trenches and hear the
screech of the shells at the very front was thrilling indeed.
At times a rifle bullet would find its way over the bank
and flatten itself against a near-by farmhouse. One was
safer at night, of course, but the roads were so full of
marmite holes and fallen trees that they were hard to
drive along. \\'e could find our way only by carefully
avoiding the dark spots on the road. There was not a man
among us, however, who did not feel a hundred times re-
paid for the danger and anxiety he had gone through
when he realized the delay and sufi"ering he had saved the
wounded. Had we not been there with our little cars,
the wounded would have been brought back on hand-
stretchers or in wagons far less comfortable and much
slower.
The advantage of our little cars over the bigger and
96
SECTION ONE
heavier ambulances was demonstrated many times. On
narrow roads, with a ditch on each side, choked with
troops, ammunition wagons, and vehicles of all sorts
moving in both directions, horses sometimes rearing in
terror at exploding shells, at night in the pitch dark, ex-
cept for the weird light from the illuminating rockets, the
little cars would squeeze through somehow. If sometimes
a wheel or two would fall into a shell hole, four or five
willing soldiers were enough to lift the car out and send
it on its way undamaged. If a serious collision occurred,
two hours' work sufficed to repair it. Always "on the
job, " always efficient, the little car, the subject of a thou-
sand jokes, gained the admiration of every one.
The Great Bombardment of Dunkirk
Finally the second battle of the Yser was over, and the
front settled down again to the comparative quiet of
trench warfare. Meanwhile some of us were beginning to
feel the strain and were ordered back to Dunkirk for a
rest, which we reached in time to witness one of the most
exciting episodes of the war. It was just at this time that
the Germans "sprang" another surprise, — the bom-
bardment of Dunkirk from guns more than twenty miles
away. Shells that would obliterate a whole house or make
a hole in the ground thirty feet across would fall and ex-
plode without even a warning whistle such as ordinary
shells make when approaching. At about 9.30 in the morn-
ing we were in the railway station working on our cars
when, out of a clear, beautiful sky, the first shell fell. We
thought it was from an aeroplane, as Dunkirk seemed far
from the range of other guns. The dog seemed to know
better, for he jumped off the seat of my car and came
whining under me. A few minutes later came a second and
then a third shell. Still not knowing from where they came,
we got out our machines and went to where the clouds of
smoke gave evidence that they had fallen. I had supposed
that by this time I had become something of a veteran ;
but when I went into the first dismantled house and saw
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what it looked like inside, the street seemed to me by far
a safer place, for the building was one mass of torn tim-
bers, earth and debris. Even people in the cellar had been
wounded.
\A'e worked all that day, moving from place to place
in the town, sometimes almost smothered by dust and
plaster from the explosion of shells in our vicinity. We
cruised slowly around the streets waiting for the shells to
come and then went to see if any one had been hit. Some-
times when houses were demolished, we found every one
safe in the cellars, but there were many hurt, of course,
and quite a number of killed. The first day I carried three
dead and ten terribly wounded soldiers, civilians, and
women too. In one of the earliest bombardments a shell
fell in the midst of a funeral, destroying almost every
vestige of the hearse and body and all of the mourners.
Another day one of them hit a group of children at play
in front of the billet where at one time we lodged, and
one never knew how many children had been killed, so
complete was their annihilation.
For a time every one believed the shells had been fired
from marine guns at sea, but later it was found that
they came from hea\'y land guns, twenty or more miles
away ; and as these bombardments were repeated in suc-
ceeding weeks, measures were taken to safeguard the
public from them. Although the shells weighed nearly a
ton, their passage through the air took almost a minute
and a half, and their arrival in later days was announced
by telephone from the French trenches as soon as the ex-
plosion on their departure had been heard. At Dunkirk a
siren was blown on the summit of a central tower, giving
people at least a minute in which to seek shelter in their
cellars before the shell arrived. Whenever we heard the
siren, our duty was to run into the city and search for
the injured, and during the succeeding weeks many
severely wounded were carried in our ambulances, in-
cluding women and children, so frequently the victims
of German methods of warfare. The American Ambulance
98
SECTION ONE
cars were the only cars on duty during these differ-
ent bombardments and the leader of the Section was
awarded the Croix de Guerre for the services which they
performed.
Quieter Times
In the summer a quieter period set in. Sunny weather
made life agreeable and in their greater leisure our men
were able to enjoy sea-bathing and walks along the sand
dunes. We kept up a regular ambulance service in Dun-
kirk and the surrounding towns, but part of the Section
was moved to Coxyde, a small village in the midst of the
dunes near the sea, between the ruined city of Nieu-
port and La Panne, the residence of the Belgian King
and Queen, where we worked for seven weeks, among the
Zouaves and the Fusiliers Marins, famous the world
over as the ' ' heroes of the Yser.
Then once more we were moved to the district farther
south known as Old Flanders, where our headquarters
were in a Flemish farm adjacent to the town of Crombeke.
The landscape thereabout is flat as a billiard-table, only
a slight rise now and again breaking the view. Our work
consisted in bringing back wounded from the vicinity of
the Yser Canal, which then marked the line of the enemy
trenches; but owing to the flatness of the country we
had to work chiefly at night. Canals dotted with slow-
moving barges were everywhere, and as our work was
often a cross-country affair, looking for bridges added to
the length of our runs. Here we stayed from August to the
middle of December, 19 15, during which we did the am-
bulance work for the entire French front between the
English and the Belgian sectors.
Winter — and a Move
Just as another winter was setting in and we were once
more beginning to get hordes of cases of frozen feet, we
were ordered to move again, this time to another sector.
The day before we left, Colonel Morier visited the Sec-
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tion and, in the name of the Army, thanked the men in
glowing terms, not only for the work which they had
done, but for the way in which they had done it. He re-
called the great days of the second battle of the Yser and
the Dunkirk bombardments and our part therein; how
he had always felt sure that he could depend upon our
men and how they had always been ready for any ser\ ice
however arduous or dull or dangerous it might be. He
expressed officially and personally his regret at our de-
parture. We left on a day that w^as typical and remi-
niscent of hundreds of other days we had spent in
Flanders. It was raining when our convoy began to
stretch itself out along the road and it drizzled all that
day.
Joshua G. B. Campbell^
1 Of New York; member of Section One from January, 1915. to Decem-
ber, 1916; subsequently first lieutenant in the U.S.A. Ambulance Service.
Ill
Notes from a Diary
Dunkirk, May i6, 19 15
We started out in four Fords from Paris yesterday and
arrived here at about 4 p.m. The journey was one of the
most beautiful I have ever taken. The sky was blue, with
puffy white clouds, the rolling country a bright green
dotted with red and white houses. The villages we passed
through were almost deserted except for a few women
and children. Once we came across a lot of men working in
a field; but they were digging trenches, not ploughing.
The children would shout " Vivent les Anglais!'' as we
passed, and once an old woman tossed me a bunch of
Hlacs.
Malo-les-Bains, May 20
We are billeted, twenty of us, in a tiny villa here, just
outside the city and right on the beach. We draw rations
from the French Army and a red-haired Flemish girl
cooks them for us. Work is rather slack just now. Occa-
sionally a train full of wounded comes in and we take
them out to the hospitals in the vicinity. Some German
blesses arrived yesterday, all that were left of four com-
panies. Poor devils! How melancholy they looked. An
officer among them, though shot through the shoulder,
was still full of nerve and kept his head up ; but the others
were too miserable.
There is another squad of us at Poperinghe, near the
firing line, and I shall be sent there soon.
Saturday, May 22
I WAS "chow orderly" day before yesterday and spent
all day setting or clearing the table and flirting with the
cook.
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Sunday, May 23
They say that the gun is broken down and that is why
it does not shoot at us any more. But I doubt it. Took
two couches from Hondschoote to Zuydcoote, really a
pleasant trip, for the weather, road, and scenery were
beautiful. I gave a lift to a bicyclist who had been billeted
near the English. It is noticeably more difficult to under-
stand or talk to French soldiers who have had intercourse
with the Tommies because these men have acquired the
habit of saying only a few words in a sentence in the
hope of making the meaning clear. I don't know whether
the Tommies can understand such men, but I am sure I
cannot. A motor truck I saw the other day was mottled
in greens, reds, blues, grays, and browns, so that it looked
at a distance like a mass of foliage — camouflage, I sup-
pose.
Monday, May 24
I AM beginning to think that for once news unfavorable
to the Germans is true and the big gun is broken. A red,
white, and green flag flew from the town hall to-day, for
Italy has entered the war. In the morning, at Malo Ter-
minus, I had a hot and bitter dispute with a Turco officer
because I insisted that the Ford could not carry eight.
They say, though no one seems to know for certain, that
an aeroplane dropped a bomb here last night. To-morrow
I leave for Poperinghe.
Poperinghe, Tuesday, May 25
Started for this place at 10.30 and arrived about 12.30.
A warm, dusty road. Roads partly good and partly vile.
Most all of the Belgian roads are paves, very much worn
from heavy motor convoys and are thick with dust, too,
which in wet weather turns to deep mud. Our billet,
which I had some trouble in finding, is an old Flemish
farmhouse. The rooms are low-studded and have beamed
ceilings. The cooking is done over an open fire. All this
is picturesque, but most of the men prefer to sleep in
102
■4,
3
<
N
S!
I
SECTION ONE
their cars rather than in the house. Day and night one
hears continual cannonading.
Thursday, May 27
Very raw and windy. Sky overcast. I regret that I con-
sidered overcoats too expensive in Paris. I think I will
make one out of a blanket. We went up to VVoesten about
7.30 P.M. I closed up my ambulance as tightly as possible
and lighted a lantern to keep warm, with fair success.
An Algerian miner gave us some coffee. About midnight
some wounded came in and in the shadowed moonlight
I took two to West Vleteren.
Veterans of Mons
Sunday, May 30
I AWOKE this morning from a rather chilled sleep to see a
long file of khakied soldiers coming up to our farm. They
were the 2d Durham Regulars, being sent to the upper
end of the British sector after a few days' rest. Some of
them had been fighting since September, with no fur-
lough. This is the type of soldier that has built the em-
pire — tough, coarse, rather stupid, well-drilled, and with
beautifully kept rifles. They did not look bloodthirsty and
most of them were married. But they had become used
to killing people and being killed, as a trade, and their
point of view seemed rather strange when the enemy was
concerned. However, we became very good friends. They
were all lamenting the fact that most of their ofhcers had
been transferred to the newer regiments and they had
been given amateurs. One of their lieutenants seemed
no more than sixteen or seventeen. Several of the men
confirmed the report in the papers of the Prussians de-
liberately firing upon the Saxons when the latter tried to
surrender. There is no great love between them. They say
that frequently the Saxons would shout over to them to
save their ammunition for the Prussians and there would
occasionally be an exchange of tobacco and canned stuff
between the trenches. The French, on the other hand,
hate the Saxons. It's a strange war.
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Monday, May 31
The Durhams left about 5 o'clock. One poor fellow who
was on sentry duty last night, found our wine barrel too
attractive and had to be taken away under guard. The
next time there is a dangerous but unimportant job to be
done he will be given it and will probably get shot. After
they had gone, I found and appropriated a raincoat \vhich
one of them had left. They also left some bully beef and
biscuits which were confiscated by the ambulance. In
the evening we saw a Zeppelin flying over the Belgian
lines. It was fired at but not hit. Another was seen at
Dunkirk about the same time — probably both bound
for London.
Tuesday, June I
I WOKE from a deep sleep about noon, to find the farm
once more full of soldiers — this time the Buffs. They did
not, however, swarm all over it as the Durhams did. They
lay down in a neat column in the shelter of the hedge
and stayed there. But one or two non-coms came over to
talk to us and make us some very welcome presents of
Bovril and marmalade. One told us of finding in the field
a wounded German he had known in London, who begged
to be put out of pain. But the Britisher refused to do this,
and the poor fellow died a few minutes later on an Eng-
lish stretcher.
Wednesday, June 2
The BufTs left in the afternoon. They were not so sociable
as the Durhams, but neater and better drilled.
Easy Times
Friday, June 4
The irrepressible Budd seeing an old gentleman squint-
ing at an aeroplane through a very long telescope, sud-
denly cried: " Ne tirez pas, c'est tm frangais!" The old
man was very indignant.
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SECTION ONE
Saturday, June 5
I WAS "chow " to-day. Except that one has to get up early,
the job is a "cinch." The loaf was welcome. About 6.15
there w^as a very heavy call and I deserted my duties and
took five assis to Zuydcoote.
Monday, June 7
War]\i, hazy day. The scarlet poppies are suddenly out
and the fields are gay with them. At midnight, one trip
to Rosendael. As I was about to leave, the pleasant old
janitor ran into the garden and came back with a little
bunch of white wild carnations growing there in the star-
light. At 5.30 in the morning there was a false alarm for
all the cars to go to Zuydcoote. Stebbins and Ferguson
answered it; but we found there were only six blesses to
be carried.
Poperinghe, June 11
There is a pretty little light-haired girl here about four-
teen years old, who can run like a deer, even in sabots.
She runs races with Johnson and Budd and beats them !
She does most of our work, and is very pleasant and in-
telligent and understands a little English as well as
French and Flemish. I think she is a little higher class
than the rest, and is, of course, a refugee.
Saturday, June 12
In the morning Haney got a trip to Ypres. He reports
that there is not a single undamaged house in the city. ^
Sunday, June 13
In the afternoon, just after lunch, two joy-riding doctors
strolled over to the billet and asked for some one to take
them to Nieuport and Ypres. I took them. The doctors
were very mmch afraid of being seen by some one from the
hospital, so they hid inside the car until we were out of
Poperinghe. We went through Saint-Sixte, Oostvleteren,
Furnes, to Coxyde, one of our new pastes; and then up
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THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
the coast to Nieuport. The vicinity of the Yser was
flooded. As we came near the city, the road and fields
were frequently dotted with marmite holes. Occasionally
wretched farmhouses would also be seen, and when we
reached the city itself we found it a ruin. There is scarcely
a block that does not contain several ruined houses, and
in the middle of the town every building is wrecked.
Sometimes]only the front door and the windows of a house
are broken in ; sometimes a corner or a side is taken off,
giving a sort of diagrammatic view of all the floors ; some-
times nothing is left but a pile of plaster and bricks. Leav-
ing the city we drove along the east bank of a canal to
Ypres, which was even more of a ruin than Nieuport. It
seems as if not a house were untouched. We entered a
rather small church — Saint Pierre, I think, was its name.
We moved cautiously for the roof had been blown in.
The two doctors proceeded to help themselves to the
carvings over some confessional booths, while I rum-
maged around with the best of them and found a pewter
collection plate, an old Dutch prayer-book and some
little waxen images. The whole proceeding seemed to me
a trifle unscrupulous. But after all we were only robbing
the next looter and the value of the pilfered articles was
almost purely intrinsic. We got back to Poperinghe about
half-past six. The doctors were much alarmed because
they were seen by two of the men from the hospital out
walking in the town. They made me drive up a back
road and sneaked home on foot.
CoxYDE — The Dunes of the Belgian Coast
Coxyde, Tuesday, June 15
This morning about 10, twelve of us started for this place
where we arrived in perfect convoy without accident.
Like Malo, it is on the shore; many dunes and much wind-
driven sand. We are billeted in a hay-loft, from which we
have removed the hay, and we eat at a house near by.
The place is full of marines, territorials and zouaves —
a cheerful bunch. We have all the poste de secours work
106
SECTION ONE
around Nieuport — shifts — also one car at Oost-Dun-
kerke. Our meals are excellent. The two chief outs about
the place are that it is obtrusively sandy and is infested
with dirty, prying children, who shout the ugliest Flemish
in shrill harsh French voices — an ineffable nuisance.
Friday, June i8
Went down to Adinkerke about 8.30, where I met two
young Belgian chauffeurs one of whom spoke English.
They were very cordial and pleasant. A lot of Belgian
soldiers were there and I had my first opportunity to see
them near to. One is struck by their youthfulness, as com-
pared with the French and English, due partly to their
being blond and clean-shaven. Some of the cavalry have
a most brilliant uniform; the breeches are magenta with
a yellow stripe. I must get a pair. The Belgians are all
very grateful to America, but are afraid that if we go into
the war, their countrymen under German rule will starve.
Tracy Jackson Putnam ^
1 Of Boston; Harvard, '15; was in the Field Service from April, 1915, to
January, 1916, serving in Sections One and Three.
^j>.P^'^
. 0^£^ m
IV
In Action — The Aisne
As you come along the Compiegne-Soissons road, pro-
ceeding in the direction of Soissons, about midway be-
tween the two cities you sight a small cluster of gray
stone buildings. It is the village of Jaulzy. Here it was we
had cast anchor. Before reaching the village you will have
noticed a dark round spot in the walls. As you approach,
this resolves itself into an arch. Passing through you will
find yourself in a muddy stable-yard. I say "muddy"
advisedly, for I firmly believe that whatever the season
or whatever the weather conditions are, or may have
been, you will find that courtyard muddy. Whether the
mud is fed from perennial springs or gathers its moisture
from the ambient atmosphere, I do not know. The fact
remains, that courtyard was, is, and always will be,
muddy. Facing the arch on the farther side of the yard,
stands a single-storied building of one room. Its inside
dimensions are, perhaps, fifty by twenty-five feet. Access
is had by a single door and three windows admit a dim
light. We found it simply furnished with a wire-bottomed
trough, raised about three and a half feet above the floor
and extending about double that from the walls on three
sides of the room. This left free floor space enough to
accommodate a table of planks stretched across essence
boxes, flanked on either side by two benches belonging
to the same school of design. Such was our cantonment.
In the trough twenty of us slept, side by side. At the table
we messed, wrote, mended tires, played chess, or lanced
boils. Two of the windows lacked glass, so there was
plenty of cold air; a condition w^hich a small stove did its
inefficient best to combat. The galley was established in
a tiny hut on the left of the yard and from here the food
was transported to the mess by the two unfortunates
lo8
SECTION ONE
who happened to be on "chow" duty. Since the court-
yard was not sufficiently large to accommodate all the
cars, half were placed in another yard about two hundred
metres down the road, where also was established the
atelier. At night a sentry was posted on the road between
these two points and ' le wo/" was a condition precedent
to passing, a circumstance which sometimes gave rise to
embarrassment when the password was forgotten.
At Jaulzy
The village of Jaulzy is made up of some twoscore forbid-
ding-looking houses. It is situated on the south bank of
the Aisne and is bisected by the road from Compiegne
to Soissons. At this time, February, 191 6, it was, as the
shell travels, about four kilometres from the line. Though
thus within easy reach of the enemy's field artillery, it
showed no signs of having been bombarded, and during
our entire stay only five or six shells were thrown in. This
immunity was probably due to the insignificant size of
the place and the fact that no troops were ever quartered
there. Back of the village proper, on the top of a steep
hill, was Haut Jaulzy, or Upper Jaulzy. Here a large per-
centage of the houses was partially demolished — from
shell-fire, one of the few remaining inhabitants informed
me. Halfway up the hill, between Upper and Lower Jaulzy,
stands an ancient stone church. A line of reserve trenches,
crossing the hill, traverses the churchyard. Here are
buried a number of soldiers, ''mort pour la patrie." Above
one grave is a wooden cross upon which appears the in-
scription: "To an unknown English soldier; he died for
his father's land." And this grave is even better kept and
provided with flowers than the others.
PlERREFONDS — " VeAL CuTLETS"
The region roundabout Jaulzy is surely among the most
beautiful in all France. Hills, plateaus, and wooded val-
leys, through which flow small, clear streams, all combine
to lend it natural charm, a charm of which even w^inter
IC9
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
cannot rob it. Numerous villages are everywhere scattered
about, and while those near the front had a war-worn
aspect, in proportion to their distance from the line their
freshness and attractiveness increased. Railhead for this
sector was Pierrefonds, a pleasant town overshadowed by
the fairylike castle from which it takes its name. It was
at Pierrefonds we obtained our supply of essence and huile.
Off to the southwest, in a magnificent forest bearing the
same name, is the quaint little city of Villers-Cotterets
— by the Squad rechristened "Veal Cutlets." It was
here Dumas was born and lived. The city owed its chief
interest to us, however, to the fact that here was lo-
cated one of the field hospitals to which we transported
wounded. Some twenty kilometres to the west of Jaulzy
is the old city of Compiegne, reminiscent of Robert Louis
Stevenson, and here too were located evacuation hos-
pitals. Its curious town hall, its venerable houses, and
dark, mysterious shops are interesting, but our most
lasting memories of the city will be of its silent, wind-
swept streets through which we carried our wounded on
those dark, icy nights.
The day began at 6.30 a.m. when the detested alarm
clock went into action, supplemented by shouts of
"everybody out" and sleepy groans of protest. A quick
shift from flea-bag to knickers and tunic, and a promis-
sory toilet was accomplished by 7, by which time, also,
the two orderlies for the day had set the table with coffee,
bread, and jam. This disposed of, the cars were cranked
— and a bone-wrenching job this usually was, the motors
being so stiff from the cold it was next to impossible to
"turn them over." There was a Squad rule for "lights
out" at 9.30 P.M., but as there were always some indi-
viduals who wished to write or play chess or read after
this hour, excellent target practice was nightly furnished
to those who had retired in the trough and who objected
to the continued illumination. Thus I have seen a well-
directed boot wipe out an intricate chess match as com-
pletely as did the German guns the forts of Liege. The
no
SECTION ONE
"gunner" in these fusillades always endeavored to see
that the ammunition employed — usually boots — was
the property of some one else and the joy which a "direct
hit " engendered was apt to suffer abatement on discovery
that they were your boots which had been employed.
Evacuation — Vic-sur-Aisne and Compiegne
The schedule under w^hich the Squad operated while on
the Aisne was a varied one, and yet so systematized that
a driver could tell a fortnight in advance, by the list of
sailings posted on the order board, where he should be
and what his duties at any given day or hour. There were
three regular-route runs, to each of which were assigned
two cars a day. These were known as "evacuation runs"
from the fact that the blesses were picked up at regularly
established field dressing-stations, from two and a half
to fifteen kilometres back of the line, and transported
to an "evacuation hospital," either at Villers-Cotterets,
Compiegne, or Pierrefonds. The longer of these routes
was made twice each day, a run of about forty kilometres.
About two kilometres to the east of Jaulzy, on the north
side of the river, is the village of Vic-sur-Aisne, at this
time not much above a kilometre back of the line. Here
was established our picket post and here w^e maintained
always three cars, serv^ing in twenty-four-hour shifts.
From this station we served nine frontal pastes de secours,
or line dressing-stations, some of which were within five
hundred metres of the German line. Such were the postes
of Hautebraye and Vingre. The crossing of the Aisne to
reach Vic is made by a single-spanned iron bridge, over
which passed all the transport for this portion of the line.
Because of the importance thus given it, the bridge was
a continual object of the enemy's fire, being within easy
range. The village itself, considering the fact that it was
within 'sight of the Germans and had been under more
or less continuous fire for months, was not so complete
a wreck as might be imagined. This was due to the fact
that the buildings were of stone and the shelling was
III
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
usually done with small-calibre guns. To obstruct the
enemy's view and prevent his spotting passing traffic, the
roads leading from the village were screened with brush
and poles. These served their purpose in winter when the
roads were muddy, but when the roads dried, the rising
dust betrayed the passing of the transport and then the
enemy was able to shell with a greater degree of accuracy.
Our station at Vic was located in the carriage-house of a
chateau which stood on an eminence overlooking the
river, about a quarter of a mile to the east of the village.
When on duty there, we messed with some soiis-officiers
in the cellar of the chateau, the place being fairly safe
from shell eclats though not from a direct hit.
Besides the three route runs described and the Vic
service, the Squad was subject to special calls at any time
of the day or night from any part of our sector or the
surrounding country. This service was known as ''bureau
duty," from the fact that the cars assigned to it were
stationed at our office or bureau, which was in telephonic
communication with the line and region about. Twice a
week one of the cars on bureau service was despatched
to Compiegne on "chow" foraging, an assignment much
coveted, since it meant a chance for a hot bath and a good
feed.
Under this schedule a driver had one day in every
seven for repos. This was more in theory than actuality,
however, as the seventh day usually found work needed
on his car.
We had reached Jaulzy on the 27th of January. On the
first day of February we took over the sector from the
retiring French Ambulance Section, and that day went
into action. Heretofore we had watched the passing pano-
rama of war; now we were of it. My first voyage was an
evacuation route and hence wholly back of the line. I
went in company with another car, and as there were
only four assis which the other car took, I had no passen-
gers. Coming back from Coeuvres, the road leads across a
plateau which overlooks the Aisne Valley, and the coun-
112
PANEL FROM THE SIDE OF A SECTION ONE AMBULANCE WITH
THE ORIGINAL INDIAN HEAD INSIGNIA
I
SECTION ONE
try behind the German lines was plainly visible. It was
from this plateau road that for the first time I saw shells
bursting. The French batteries in the valley below were
in action and over there in Boche-land white puffs of
smoke showed where the shells were breaking.
Though I had several times been very close to the line,
it was not until February was nine days old that I received
my baptism of fire. On that day I was on twenty-four-
hour duty at Vic and my journal written just after I came
off duty, will, perhaps, give an idea of a typical shift at
this station:
Notes of a Call
"Jaulzy, February lo. Relieved the other cars at Vic
promptly at eight o'clock yesterday morning. The French
batteries were already in action, but there was no re-
sponse from the enemy till about ten, when a number of
shells whistled by overhead, dropping into the village of
Roches, about a half mile down the road. Toward noon
the range was shortened, and as we went to mess in the
dugout an obus struck the w^all back of the chateau, a
hundred yards away. After lunch I went out with a sol-
dier to look for the fusee, as the bronze shell-head is called.
To my surprise, the man suddenly dropped flat on his
face. Then I heard an awful screech, followed by a crash,
as though a pile of lumber were falling, and a cloud of
dust rose in a field, perhaps ninety metres away. Almost
immediately two more crashed in. I am unable to analyze
or describe my sensations and I question whether a
trained psychologist would be much better off. There is
something "disturbing" about shell-fire which is not con-
ducive to abstract or analytical thought. I do not believe
I was especially frightened; my feelings were more of
curiosity. I knew this shelling would soon mean work for
us, so I got back to my car and -saw that everything was
ready for 'marching.' Meanwhile a shell had dropped just
back of the chateau, getting one of the stretcher-bearers.
Joe carried him to the dressing-station at Roches where he
113
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
died a little later. My first call came at two o'clock, from
Roches. Here I got three men, just wounded by shell eclats,
evacuating them to the field hospital at Attichy. Got
back to Vic about four. Found the village still under fire,
both our own and the enemy's fire having, if anything,
increased. Both of the other cars were out, which meant
I was due for the next call. Got into my sleeping-bag to
try to get warm, but was hardly settled before a Mede-
cin Major came in announcing a call for Vingre. In five
minutes we were on our way. After leaving Vic the road
was a sea of mud. An enemy observ^ation balloon had
the way in full view, so the word was vite.
"Through deserted, shell-shattered villages we
ploughed, the mud spraying us from tires to top and
filling our eyes, over the wind-break. It was nearing dusk
as we reached the paste, a dugout in the side of a hill.
Just above us, on the crest was the line and we could hear
distinctly the popping of hand-grenades between the bat-
tery salvos. Our men, one shot through the leg, the other
hit in the chest, were brought in from a boyau and we
started back, this time going more slowly. It was a deso-
late scene through which we passed, made more desolate
by the fading light of a gray day. The miry, deserted
road, the stricken villages, the overgrown fields — it
seemed the very stamping-ground of death and the voice
of that death passed overhead in whining shrieks. There
was little of life to dispute its reign. Now and then, at the
nozzle of a dugout, there appeared a soldier's head, but
that was all, and, for the rest, there might not have been
a soul within a thousand miles.
"One of my blesses required an immediate operation,
so I passed on through Vic and headed for Complegne,
reaching there about seven o'clock and evacuating to St.
Luke's Hospital. At once started back to my station.
Found the cook had saved me some dinner, and after
stowing this crawled into my flea-bag. The blankets were
barely around me when a brancardier came in with a call
for the paste at Hautebraye. The moon gave a little light,
114
SECTION ONE
but not enough to drive fast with safety, so we drove fast
and let safety look out for itself, our motto being not
"safety first," but "save first." We found our man ready,
shot through the body, raving with delirium, his hands
bound together to prevent him tearing his wound.
Though a part of our way was exposed to the enemy's
machine-gun-fire, the road was too pitted with shell-holes
to permit of fast driving with so badly wounded a man
and so we crept back to Vic. The order was again to
Compiegne. It was close to midnight when, numbed with
cold, we rolled through the silent streets of the town.
On my return trip I twice found myself nodding over the
wheel. Nevertheless, we made the thirty-two kilometres
in less than an hour. Found Vic quiet, the shelling having
ceased, and save for an occasional trench-flare, little to
indicate It was the front. At one o'clock I turned in on
the stone floor, this time to rest undisturbed till morning.
"Roused out at 6.30 to greet a gray winter day and
falling snow. The batteries on both sides were already in
action and the piit-put-put of machine guns came to us
through the crisp air. The relief cars rolled in at eight and
we at once cranked up and set out for quarters. As we
crossed the Aisne, the Germans were shelling the bridge,
with *i5o's,' I think. They had the exact range, as re-
gards distance, but the shells were falling about a hun-
dred yards to one side, throwing up great geysers of water
as they struck the river. On reaching the other side I
stopped and watched them come in. They came four to
the minute. Reached quarters here, Jaulzy, at 8.30 —
completing the twenty-four-hour shift."
So it was I had my baptism of fire. Perhaps I was not
frightened by those first shells; curiosity may have sup-
planted other sensations, but as time went on, and I saw
the awful destructive power of shell-fire, when I had seen
buildings levelled and men torn to bloody shreds, the
realization of their terribleness became mine, and with it
came a terror of that horrible soul-melting shriek. And
115
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
now after a year and a half of war, during which I have
been scores of times under fire and have Hved for weeks
at a time in a daily bombarded city, I am no more recon-
ciled to shell-fire than at first. If anything, the sensation
is worse, and personally I do not believe there is such a
thing as becoming "used" to it.
The Sensation of Night Driving
It was early in February that I got my first experience
at night driving without lights. To you gentlemen who
have shot rapids, great game, and billiards, who have
crossed the Painted Desert and the "line," who have
punched cows in Arizona and heads in Mile End Road,
who have killed moose in New Brunswick and time in
Monte Carlo, who have tramped and skied and trekked,
to you who have tried these and still crave a sensation,
let me recommend night driving without lights over un-
familiar shell-pitted roads, cluttered with traffic, within
easy range of the enemy, challenged every now and then
by a sentry who has a loaded gun and no compunction
in using it. Your car, which in daylight never seems very
powerful, has now become a very Juggernaut of force.
At the slightest increase of gas it fairly jumps off the road.
Throttle down as you may, the speed seems terrific. You
find yourself with your head thrust over the wheel, your
eyes staring ahead with an intensity which makes them
ache — staring ahead into nothing. Now and then the
blackness seems, if possible, to become more dense, and
you throw out your clutch and on your brake and come
to a dead stop, climbing out to find your radiator touch-
ing an overturned caisson. Or mayhap a timely gun-flash
or the flare of a trench light will show that you are headed
off the road and straight for a tree. A little farther on,
the way leads up a hill — the pulling of the engine is the
only thing that tells you this — and then, just as you top
the rise, a star-bomb lights the scene with a dense white
glare and the hrancardier by your side rasps out, " Vite,
pour V amour de Dieu, vitel Us peuvent nous voir I '\ — and
Ii6
SECTION ONE
you drop down the other side of that hill like the fall of a
gun-hammer. Then, in a narrow, mud-gutted lane in
front of a dugout, you back and fill and finally turn; your
bloody load is eased in and you creep back the way you
have come, save that now every bump and jolt seems to
tear your flesh as you think of those poor, stricken chaps
in behind. Yes, there is something of tenseness in lightless
night driving under such conditions. Try it, gentlemen.
On the afternoon and night of February 12, there was
an attack on the line near Vingre, preceded by drum-fire.
As such things go, it was but a small affair. It would per-
haps have a line in the communique; as, "North of the
Aisne the enemy attempted a coup upon a salient of our
line, but we repulsed him with loss." That and nothing
more. But to those who were there it was very real. The
big guns spat their exchange of hate; rifie-fire crackled
along the line; the machine guns sewed the air with
wicked staccato sounds, and men, with set jaws and bayo-
nets, charged to death through barbed entanglements.
As night closed down, the flare-bombs spread their fitful
glare on mutilated things which that morning had been
living men: now set in the bloody back-wash of wounded.
With the coming of the night, the enemy lengthened the
range of his artillery, so as to harass the transport, and
the zone back of the line was seared with shells. The field
dressing-station at Roches, near Vic, suffered greatly, and
it soon became apparent that its evacuation was necessary.
I had already been on duty fourteen hours when the
call reached quarters for the entire Squad. My journal
for the 13th reads: "I'm too tired for much writing as
I 've had but two hours' sleep in the last forty, during
which I have driven close to three hundred kilometres,
been three times under fire, and had but two hot meals.
The entire Squad was turned out just after I got into the
blankets last night. Roches was being bombarded, and it
was necessary to take out all the wounded. There were a
number of new shell-holes in the road and this made
interesting driving. It was 1.30 when I reached Com-
117
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
piegne, 3 when I had completed my evacuation, and 4.15
this morning when I reached quarters. Up at 6.30 and
working on my 'bus. This afternoon made route 3. To-
night I am hien fatigue. Firing light to-day, possibly
because of sleet and rain. The attack was evidently
repulsed."
The Squad did good work that night. Afterwards we
were commended by the Colonel in command. It was in
this attack that "Bill" won his Croix de Guerre when
''ci un endroil particulierement expose, au moment oil
les ohus tomhaient avec violence, a arrete sa voiture pour
prendre des blesses qu'il a aide avec courage et sang-
froid.'' A week later he was decorated, our muddy little
courtyard being the setting for the ceremony.
In celebration of his decoration, "Bill" determined to
give a "burst." There would seem to be few places less
adapted to the serving of a banquet or less capable of
offering material than poor little war-torn Jaulzy. Never-
theless, at six o'clock on the evening of February 27, the
Squad sat down to a repast that would have done credit
to any hotel. "Bill" had enlisted the services of a Paris
caterer, and not only was the food itself perfection, but it
was served in a style that, after our accustomed tin cup,
tin pjate service, positively embarrassed us. Our dingy
quarters were decorated and made light by carbide lamps;
a snowy cloth covered our plank table; stacks of china
dishes — not tin — appeared at each place ; there were
chairs to sit upon. Even flowers were not forgotten, and
"Bill," being a Yale man, had seen to it that beside the
plates of the other Yale men in the Squad were placed
bunches of violets. The artist of the Section designed a
menu card, but we were too busy crashing into the food
to pay any attention to the menu. For a month past we
had been living mostly on boiled beef and Army bread,
and the way the Squad now eased into regular food was
an eye-opener to dietitians. Hors d'oeuvres, fish, ham,
roasts, vegetables, salads, sweets, wines, and smokes dis-
appeared like art in a Hun raid. Twenty men may have
118
SECTION ONE
gotten through a greater quantity and variety of food in
three hours and lived, but it is not on record. And through
it all the guns snarled and roared unheeded, and the flare-
bombs shed their fitful glare. Verily, in after years, when
men shall foregather and the talk flows in Epicurean
channels, if one there be present who was at "Bill's
burst," surely his speech shall prevail.
February, which had come in with mild weather, lost
its temper as it advanced ; the days became increasingly
cold and snow fell. The nights were cruel for driving. One
night I remember especially. I had responded to a call
just back of the line where I got my hlesse, a poor chap
shot through the lung. It was snowing, the flakes driving
down with a vicious force that stung the eyes and brought
tears. In spite of the snow it was very black, and to show
a light meant to draw fire. We crept along, for fear of
running into a ditch or colliding with traffic. At kilometre
8 my engine began to miss. I got out and changed plugs,
but this did not help much and we limped along. The
opiate given the hlesse had begun to wear off, and his
groans sounded above the whistling of the wind. Once in
the darkness I lost the road, going several kilometres out
of my way before I realized the error. The engine was
getting weaker every minute, but by this time I was out
of gun range and able to use a lantern. With the aid of
the light, I was able to make some repairs, though my
hands were so benumbed I could scarcely hold the tools.
The car now "marched" better and I started ahead. Sev-
eral times a ''qui vive?" came out of the darkness, to
which I ejaculated a startled ''France.'' The snow- veiled
clock in Villers-Cotterets showed the hour was half after
midnight when we made our way up the choked streets.
But "the load" had come through safely.
Uncomfortable as these runs were — and every mem-
ber of the Squad made them not once, but many times —
they were what lent fascination to the work. They made
us feel that it was worth while and, however small the
way, we were helping.
"9
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
It was about this time that the Service was mihtar-
ized and incorporated into the Automobile Corps of the
French Army. Thereafter, we were classed as ' ' Militaires
and wore on our tunics the red-winged symbol of the
Automobile Corps. We were now subject to all the rules
and regulations governing regularly enlisted men, with
one exception — the duration of our enlistments. We
were permitted to enlist for six months' periods with
optional three months' extensions, and were not compelled
to serve "for duration." As incident to the militarization,
we received five sous a day per man — the pay of the
French poilu — and in addition were entitled to "touch"
certain articles, such as shelter tents, sabots, tobacco,
etc. We had already been furnished with steel helmets
and gas-masks. We were also granted the military fran-
chise for our mail.
While at Jaulzy, the personnel of the Squad changed
considerably. The terms of several men having expired,
they left, their places being taken by new recruits. Thus
"Hippo," "Bob," "Brooke," and "Magnum" joined us.
Nor must I forget to mention another important addition
to our number — the puppy mascot "Vic." He was given
to us by a tirailleur, who being on the march could not
take care of hirn, and one of the fellows brought him back
to quarters in his pocket, a tiny soft, white ball who in-
stantly wriggled himself into the Squad's affections.
When we got him, he could scarcely toddle and was
never quite certain where his legs would carry him. Yet
even then the button, which he fondly believed a tail,
stuck belligerently upright, like a shattered mast from
which had been shot the flag. For he, being a child of
war, had fear of nothing, no, not gun-fire itself, and as
he grew older we took him with us on our runs and he
was often under shell-fire. He was always at home, in
chateau or dugout, always sure of himself, and could tell
one of our khaki uniforms a mile away, picking us out of
a mob of blue-clad soldiers. Such was "Vic," the Squad
mascot.
120
SECTION ONE
Leaving Jaulzy
On the evening of March 3, orders came in to be pre-
pared to move, and the following afternoon, in a clinging,
wet snow, we left Jaulzy and proceeded to the village of
Courtieux, some three kilometres distant. The village is
in the general direction of Vic-sur-Aisne, but back from
the main road. For months successive bodies of troops
had been quartered here and we found it a squalid, cheer-
less hole, fetlock deep in mud. Our billet was a small,
windowless house, squatting in the mud and through
which the wind swept the snow. There was also a shed,
with bush sides and roof wherein our mess was established.
Why we had been ordered from Jaulzy to this place but
three kilometres away, it would be impossible to say.
We were maintaining the same schedule and Courtieux
was certainly not so convenient a place from w^hich to
operate. We cogitated much on the matter, but reached
no conclusion. It was just one of the mysteries of war.
The three days succeeding our arrival were uncomfort-
able ones. The weather continued bad with low tempera-
ture. When we were off duty there was nowhere to go,
save to bed, and there were no beds. What Courtieux
lacked in other things it made up in mud, and our cars
were constantly mired. As a relief from the monotony
of the village, three of us, being off duty one afternoon,
made a peregrination to the front-line trenches, passing
through miles of winding, connecting hoyaux until we
lost all sense of direction. We really had no right to go
up to the line, but we met with no opposition, all the sol-
diers we met greeting us with friendly camaraderie and
the officers responding to our salutes with a bonjoiir. W^e
found the front line disappointingly quiet. There was
little or no small-arm firing going on, though both sides
were carr>dng on a desultory shelling. Through a sand-
bagged loophole we could see a low mud escarpment
about ninety metres away — the enemy's line. It was not
an exciting view, the chief interest being lent by the fact
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that in taking it you were likely to have your eye shot out.
All things considered, the excursion was a rather tame
affair, though we who had made it did our best to play
it up to the rest of the Squad upon our return.
We remained at Courtieux but three days, and then,
at nine o'clock on the morning of the 4th, assembled in
convoy at Jaulzy. It was one of the coldest mornings of
the winter; the trees were masses of ice and the snow
creaked beneath the tires, while our feet, hands, and ears
suffered severely. As usual, we had no idea of our destina-
tion. That our Division had been temporarily withdrawn
from the line and that we were to be attached to another
Division, was the extent of our information. By the time
the convoy had reached Compiegne we were all rather
well numbed. When the CO. halted in the town, he had
failed to note a pdtisserie was in the vicinity, and the mo-
tors had hardly been shut off before the Squad en masse
stormed the place, consuming gateaux and stuffing more
gateaux into its collective pockets. Meanwhile, outside,
the "Lieut" blew his starting whistle in vain.
MONTDIDIER — MOREUIL
Shortly before noon we made the city of Montdidier,
where we lunched in the hotel and waited for the laggard
cars to come up. About three we again got away, passing
through a beautiful rolling country, and as darkness was
falling parked our cars in the town of Moreuil. It was too
late to find a decent billet for the night. A dirty, rat-
infested warehouse was all that offered, and after looking
this over, most of us decided, in spite of the cold, to sleep
in our cars. Our mess was established in the back room
of the town's principal cafe, and the fresh bread, which
we obtained from a near-by bakery, made a welcome addi-
tion to Army fare. Moreuil proved to be a dull little town,
at that time some twenty-five kilometres back of the line.
Aside from an aviation field there was little of interest.
On the third day of our stay we were reviewed and
inspected by the ranking officer of the sector. He did not
122
VACHERAUVILLE THAT WAS A CHEERFUL, VILLAGE NEAR VERDUN
LENDING A HAND AT A " POSTE '
SECTION ONE
appear very enthusiastic, and expressed his doubt as to
our abiHty to perform the work for which we were des-
tined, an aspersion which greatly vexed us. Our vindi-
cation came two months later when, having tested us in
action, he gave us unstinted praise and spoke of us in the
highest terms.
After the review, the CO. announced that we had
received orders to move and would leave the following
day for a station on the Somme. He refused to confirm
the rumor that our destination was "Moscow."
The Somme
It was 10.50 on a snowy, murky morning — Friday,
March 10 — that our convoy came to a stop in the village
of Mericourt, destined to be our Headquarters for some
months to come. There was little of cheer in the prospect.
One street — the road by which we had entered — two
abortive side streets — these lined with one- or two-storied
peasants' cottages — and everywhere, inches deep, a
sticky, clinging mud: such was Mericourt. This entry
from my journal fairly expresses our feelings at the time:
" In peace times this village must be depressive ; now with
added grimness of war it is dolorous. A sea of mud, shat-
tered homes, a cesspool in its centre, rats every^vhere.
This is Mericourt: merry hell would be more expressive
and accurate." .
Our first impression was not greatly heightened by
viewing the quarters assigned to us, and we felt with Joe
that "they meant very little in our young lives." Two
one-and-a-half-storied peasants' cottages, with debris-
littered fioor and leaking roof, these rheumatic structures
forming one side of a sort of courtyard and commanding
a splendid view of a large, well-filled cesspool, constituted
our cantonment. It would have taken a Jersey real-estate
agent to find good points in the prospect. The optimist
who remarked that at least there were no flies was cowed
into silence by the rejoinder that the same could be said
of the North Pole. However, we set to work, cleaned and
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disinfected, constructed a stone causeway across "the
campus," and by late afternoon had, to some extent,
made the place habitable. A bevy of rats at least seemed
to consider the place so, and we never lacked for company
of the rodent species.
The twenty of us set up our stretcher-beds in the two
tiny rooms and the attic, and were at home. One of the
ground-floor rooms — and it had only the ground for a
floor — possessed a fireplace, the chimney of w^hich led
into the attic above. Here it became tired of being a chim-
ney, resigned its duties, and became a smoke-dispenser.
It was natural that the ground-floor dwellers, having a
fireplace, should desire fire. It was natural, also, that the
dwellers above, being imbued with strong ideas on the
subject of choking to death, should object to that fire.
Argument ensued. For a time those below prevailed, but
the attic dwellers possessed the final word, and when their
rebuttal — in the shape of several cartridges — was
dropped down the chimney on the fire, those below lost
interest in the matter and there prevailed an intense and
eager longing for the great outdoors.
We established our mess in what in peace times was a
tiny cafe, in the back room of which an adipose proprie-
tress, one of the few remaining civiles, still dispensed
pinard and hospitality. It was in the same back room one
night that a soldier, exhibiting a hand-grenade, acciden-
tally set it off, killing himself, a comrade, and wounding
five others, whom we evacuated. Incidentally the explo-
sion scared our zouave cook who at the time was sleeping
in an adjoining room. He was more frightened than he
had been since the first battle of the Marne.
The front room, which was our mess hall, was just long
enough to permit the twenty of us, seated ten to a side,
to squeeze about our plank table. The remaining half of
the room was devoted to the galley, where the zouave
held forth with his pots and pans and reigned supreme.
The walls of this room had once been painted a sea-green,
but now were faded into a bilious, colicky color. Great
124
SECTION ONE
beads of sweat were always starting out and trickling
down as though the house itself were in the throes of a
deadly agony.
Mericourt-sur-Somme
M6ricourt is situated about a fifth of a mile from the
right bank of the river Somme, and at this time was
about seven and a half or eight kilometres from the front
line. The Somme at this point marked the dividing line
between the French and English armies, the French hold-
ing to the south, the English to the north. Though within
easy range of the enemy's mid-calibre artillery, it was
seldom shelled, and I can recall but one or tw^o occasions
during our entire stay when shells passed over.
As on the Aisne, we got our wounded from a number
of scattered pastes, some close to the line, others farther
back, some located in villages, others in mere dugouts in
the side of a hill. Evacuations were usually made to the
town of Villers-Bretonneux where were located a number
of field hospitals, or to an operating hospital at the village
of Cerisy about fifteen kilometres from the line. A regular
schedule of calls was maintained to certain pastes, the
cars making rounds twice a day. Such were the pastes at
the villages of Proyart, Chuignes, Chuignolles, and in the
dugouts at Baraquette and Fontaine les Cappy, all some
kilometres back of the line, but under intermittent shell-
fire. Besides these pastes there were several others which,
because of their close proximity to the enemy and their
exposure to machine-gun-fire, could only be made at night.
There was Rainecourt, less than half a kilometre from the
enemy's position ; the Knotted Tree, four hundred metres
from the Germans, and actually in the second-line trench,
where, in turning, the engine had to be shut ofT and the
car pushed by hand, lest the noise of the motor draw fire.
There, too, was the paste at the village of Eclusier, a par-
ticularly fine run, since it was reached by a narrow, ex-
ceedingly rough road which bordered a deep canal and
was exposed throughout its length to mitrailleuse fire.
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Besides this, the road was lined with batteries for which
the Boches were continually "searching."
Villers-Bretonneux — Proyart
We went into action on the afternoon of the same day we
reached Mericourt. My orders were to go to a point indi-
cated on the map as the Route Nationale, there pick up
my blesses and evacuate them to the town of Villers-
Bretonneux. I was further instructed not to go down this
road too far, as I would drive into the enemy's lines. How
I was to determine what was "too far" until it was "too
late," or how I was to determine the location of the poste
— a dugout beneath the road — was left to my own solu-
tion. With these cheering instructions I set out. I reached
the village of Proyart through which my route lay, noted
with interest the effect of bombardment, passed on and
came to the Route Nationale. Here, as were my instruc-
tions, I turned to the left. I was now headed directly
toward the line which I knew could not be very far away
and which transversed the road ahead. I pushed rather
cautiously up two small hills, my interest always in-
creasing as I neared the top and anticipated what sort of
greeting might be awaiting me. I was on my third hill and
feeling a bit depressed and lonesome, not having seen a
person since leaving the sentry at Proyart, when I heard
a shout somewhere behind me. Looking back I beheld a
soldier wildly semaphoring. It did not take me long to
turn the car and slide back down the hill. Reaching the
bottom, I drew up by the soldier, who informed me that
the crest of the hill was in full view of the enemy and
under fire from the machine guns. I felt that the informa-
tion was timely.
The poste proved to be a dugout directly beneath where
I had stopped my car. Here I secured a load of wounded
and by dusk had safely evacuated them to the hospital
at Villers-Bretonneux. Consulting my map at the hospital
it became evident that there was a more direct route back
to quarters, and I determined on this. As I was by no
126
SECTION ONE
means sure of the location of the Hne, I drove without
lights, and as a result crashed into what proved to be a
pile of rocks, but which I had taken to be a pile of snow,
the jar almost loosening my teeth-fillings. The car was
apparently none the worse for the encounter and I reached
quarters without further mishap.
The aftermath of the mishap occurred next day. Driv-
ing at a good pace up a grade — fortunately with no
wounded on board — I suddenly found the steering-gear
would not respond to the wheel. There was half a moment
of helpless suspense, then the car shot off the side of the
road down a steep incline, hit a boulder, and turned com-
pletely upside down. As we went over I managed to kick
off the switch, lessening the chance of an explosion. The
Quartermaster, who was with me, and I were wholly un-
able to extricate ourselves, but some soldiers, passing at
the time, lifted the car off us and we crawled out none
the worse. "Old Number Nine," save for a broken steer-
ing rod, the cause of the spill, and a small radiator leak,
was as fit as ever, and half an hour later, the rod replaced,
was once more rolling.
Cappy
Our picket poste was established at the village of Cappy.
To reach the village from Mericourt we passed over a
stretch of road marked with the warning sign, "This road
under shell-fire: convoys or formed bodies of troops will
not pass during daylight." Continuing, we crossed the
Somme, at this point entering the English line, and pro-
ceeded to the village of Bray. Thence the road wandered
through a rolling land for a kilometre or so, again crossing
the river and a canal at the outskirts of the village.
Cappy lay in a depression behind a rise of ground
about a kilometre and a half from the line. In peace times
it was doubtless a rather attractive little place of perhaps
three hundred people. Now, devastated by days and
months of bombardment, and the passing of countless
soldiers, deserted by its civil population and invaded
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by countless rats, it presented an aspect forlorn beyond
imagination. On a gray winter's day, with sleet beating
down and deepening the already miry roads, and a dreary
wind whistling through the shattered houses, the place
cried out with the desolation of war. And when, at night,
a full moon shone through the stripped rafters, when the
rats scuttled about and when, perhaps, there was no
firing and only the muffled pop of a trench-light, the spirit
of death itself stalked abroad and the ghosts of the men
who had there met their doom haunted its gruesome,
cluttered streets. And then, while the silence hung like
a pall until it fairly oppressed one, there would come the
awful screech, and the noises of hell would break loose.
There was no way of telling when the bombardment
would come. It might be at high noon or at midnight, at
twilight or as the day broke. Nor could the duration be
guessed. Sometimes a single shell crashed in; sometimes
a single salvo of a battery; or again, the bombardment
would continue for an hour or more. It was this uncer-
tainty which gave the place a tense, uncomfortable atmos-
phere so that even when there was no shelling the quiet
was an uncanny quiet which was almost harder to bear
than the shelling itself.
In Gappy no one remained aboveground more than
was necessary. Nearly every house had its cellar, and
these cellars were deepened, roofed with timbers, and
piled high with sandbags. A cave so constructed was
reasonably bomb-proof from small shells — "77's" —
but offered little resistance to anything larger, and I recall
several occasions when a shell of larger calibre, making a
direct hit, either killed or wounded every occupant of
such a shelter. The resident population of the town was
limited to a group of brancardiers, some grave-diggers,
the crews of several goulash batteries, and some doctors
and surgeons. I must not forget to mention the sole re-
maining representative of the civil population. He was
an old, old man, so old it seemed the very shells respected
his age and war itself deferred to his feebleness. Clad in
128
SECTION ONE
nondescript rags, his tottering footsteps supported by a
staff, at any hour of the day or night he could be seen
making his uncertain way among what were the ruins of
what had once been a prosperous town — his town. With
him, also tottering, was always a wizened old dog who
seemed the Methuselah of all dogs. Panting along behind
his master, his glazed eyes never leaving him, the dog,
too, staggered. There, alone in the midst of this crucified
town, the twain dwelt, refusing to leave what to them
was yet home. And daily as their town crumbled, they
crumbled, until at last, one morning, we found the old
chap dead, his dog by his side. That day was laid to rest
the last citizen of Cappy.
The dressing-station was located in what In peace times
was the town hall, or mairie, a two-story brick building
having a central structure fianked by two small wings.
The building was banked with sandbags which, while not
rendering it by any means shell-proof, did protect It from
shrapnel and eclats. The central room was devoted to the
wounded, who were brought in from the trenches on little
two-wheeled, hand-pushed trucks, each truck supporting
one stretcher. A shallow trough was built around the sides
of the room and in this, upon straw, the wounded were
placed in rows, while awaiting the doctor. In this portion
of the building was also located the mortuary where those
who died after being brought in were placed preparatory
to burial. The bodies were placed two on a stretcher, the
head of one resting on the feet of another. It was a ghastly
place, this little room, with its silent, mangled tenants,
lying there awaiting their last bivouac. On one side of the
room was a small, silver crucifix above which hung the
tricolored flag of the Republic guarding those who had
died that It might live.
In the left wing was the emergency operating-room
where the surgeons worked, frequently under fire. At the
opposite end of the building was the room we had for our
quarters and where we slept when occasion permitted.
The place was quite frequently hit — on five separate
129
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
occasions while I was in the building — and its occupants
suffered many narrow escapes. The location was regarded
as so unsafe that an elaborate ahri was finally constructed
back of the mairie. This was an extraordinarily well-built
and ample affair, consisting of several tunnels seven feet
high in the centre, walled and roofed with hea\y galvan-
ized iron supported by stout beams. The roof at the
highest point was fully ten feet below the surface of the
ground. There were two rows of shelves running along
both sides of the tunnels which had a total capacity of
forty stretcher cases. At one end was a small operating-
room, and there were t\vo exits, so that, if one became
blocked, the occupants might find egress through the
other. Both of these exits were winding so as to prevent
the admission of flying shell fragments and were draped
with curtains to keep out the poison gas. Beside these
curtains stood tubs of anti-gas solution for their drench-
ing. This structure was proof against all save the heaviest
shells and took some eight weeks in building.
The Human Shell — "Huit Jours de Prison "
When on duty at Gappy we messed with some medical
sous-officiers in a dugout, entrance to which was had by
descending a steep flight of steps. Down in this cellar, in
the dim twilight which there prevailed, we enjoyed many
a meal. The officers were a genial lot, like most French-
men delightfully courteous and much given to quaffing
pinard. Their chief occupation was the making of paper
knives from copper shrapnel bands, and they never lacked
for material, for each day the Boche threw in a fresh
supply.
One of these chaps, through constant opportunity and
long practice, could give a startling imitation of the shriek
of a shell, an accomplishment which got him into trouble,
for happening one day to perform this specialty while a
non-appreciative and startled Colonel was passing, he
was presented with eight days' arrest.
The cook of the mess was a believer in garlic — I might
130
SECTION ONE
say a strong believer. Where he acquired the stuff amidst
such surroundings was a mystery beyond solution, but
acquire it he certainly did. Put him in the middle of the
Sahara Desert and I am prepared to wager that within
a half-hour that cook would dig up some garlic. He put it
into ever>-thing, rice, meat, whatever we ate. I am con-
vinced that, supposing he could have made a custard pie,
he would have added garlic. His specialty was beef boiled
in wine, a combination hard on the beef, hard on the
wine, and hard on the partaker thereof.
Coming out of the cellar from mess one noon — a wet,
dismal day I remember — I was startled into immobil-
ity to hear the splendid strains of the "Star-Spangled
Banner," magnificently played on a piano. I was still
standing at attention, and the last note had barely died
away, when the one remaining door of a half-demolished
house opened and a tall, handsome young fellow with the
stripes of a corporal appeared, saluted, and bade me
enter. I did so, and found myself in a small room upon the
walls of which hung the usual military- trappings. Stacked
in the corners and leaning against the walls were a num-
ber of simple wooden crosses with the customar^^ inscrip-
tion, "Mart pour la patrie." Five soldiers rose and bade
me welcome. They were a group of grave-diggers and
here they dwelt amid their crosses. Their profession did
not seem to have affected their spirits, and they were as
jolly a lot as I have ever seen, constantly chaffing each
other, and when the chap at the piano — who, by the
way, before the war had been a musician at the Carlton
in London, and who spoke excellent English — struck
a chord, they all automatically broke into song. It was
splendidly done and they enjoyed it as thoroughly as did
I. The piano they had rescued from a wrecked chateau at
the other end of the town and to them it was a godsend
indeed. Before I left, at my request, they sang the Mar-
seillaise. I have seldom heard an\*thing finer than when
in that little, stricken town, amidst those gruesome tokens
of war's toll, these men stood at attention and sounded
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THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
forth the stirring words of their country's hymn. When I
left it was with a feeling that surely with such a spirit
animating a people, there could be but one outcome to
the struggle.
We had another twenty-four-hour station at the vil-
lage of Cerisy some fifteen or more kilometres back of the
line, where was located an operating hospital. Here we
maintained always one car for the transportation of such
wounded as required evacuation to the railhead. At this
station we were privileged to sleep on stretchers in the
same tent with the wounded. Personally I found one night
in their quarters was quite enough for me. The groaning,
the odor of anaesthetics, the blood, the raving of the de-
lirious, and "the passing" of two of the inmates before
morning drove me out to my car, where I often slept
when on duty at the station.
We soon began to feel completely at home at Meri-
court. Our schedule kept us busy without overworking
us, and there was just enough risk in the life to lend it
spice. We had a splendid Commander, an efficient Chef,
and as a result the Squad worked in entire harmony. At
this time we were attached to the 3d Colonials, a reckless,
hard-fighting bunch, as fine a lot as serve the Tricolor.
The relations existing between ourselves and the French
could not have been more cordial. The innate courtesy
and kindness, which is so characteristic of the people,
found expression in so many ways and their appreciation
so far exceeded any service we rendered that we could
not help but be warmly drawn toward them, while their
cheerful devotion and splendid courage held always our
admiration.
Perhaps a few entries taken at random from my journal
will serve as well as anything to give some idea of our life
and the conditions under w^hich we worked.
Notes at Mericourt
"Tuesday, March 14. After a rat-disturbed night, got
away on Route No. 3 to Proyart and Baraquette, evacu-
112
BLOODY AND SILENT, BUT NOT DEFEATED"
.«iN--
ff . .
til*
THE "POSTE DE SECOURS " AT CAPPY, THE SOMME, 1910
SECTION ONE
ating to Cerisy. At four this afternoon, with Brooke as
orderly, made same route, evacuating to Villers-Breton-
neux. There were so many blesses that I had to return to
Baraquette for another load. We are just in from Yillers-
Bretonneux at lo p.m. after a drive through the rain.
''Saturday, March i8. On route No. 2 to Chuignolles.
Road was under fire, so sentry refused to let me return
over it, as the way was up-grade and with a loaded car I
could not go fast. Ran down it this afternoon, evacuat-
ing by another route. Put in an hour to-day making
an almost bedstead out of old bloody stretchers and now
the rats will have to jump a foot or so off the floor if they
want to continue to use me as a speedway.
''Thursday, March 23. Slept well in the car at Cappy,
but lost all inclination for breakfast on opening door of
stretcher-bearer's room and seeing two bodies, one with
its jaws shot away, the other, brought in from No Man's
Land — half eaten by rats. Got a call to Chuignes be-
fore noon, evacuating to Cerisy. Of course worked on my
car this afternoon ; that goes without saying — the work,
not the car. To-morrow we have another one of those
dashed inspections, this time the General commanding
the Division.
" Thursday, March 30. To Cappy early, with as many
of the Squad as were off duty, to attend the funeral of
the Medecin Chef. He was killed yesterday when peering
over the parapet. It was a sad affair, yet withal impres-
sive. We walked from the little shell- torn town, Cappy,
to the cemetery just beyond the village, following the
simple flag-draped box upon which rested the tunic and
kepi; and then, while the war planes circled and dipped
above us and all around the guns spoke, we paid our last
respects to a very gallant man. Waited till ten for
wounded. At the exact minute I was leaving, three shells
came in. One burst by the church and the other two just
back of my machine as I crossed the bridge. They must
have come from a small-bore gun, possibly a mortar, as
they were not preceded by a screech as with a rifle shell.
133
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
Visited regimental dentist this afternoon and found him
operating on a poilu whose teeth had been knocked out
by a Boche gun butt in a recent charge. To-night the guns
are going strong.
''Wednesday, April 5. The mess-room presented a
ghastly sight this morning, a hand-grenade having been
accidentally exploded there last night, blowing two men
to bits which bits are still hanging to the walls. Got my
spark-plugs in shape this morning. This afternoon at-
tempted to take a nap, but a confounded battery just
stationed here insisted on going into action, and as the
shots were at half-minute intervals I got to counting the
seconds in the intervals, banishing all chances of sleep.
Two of the Squad are down with the gale — a skin dis-
ease contracted from the blesses, and which seems almost
epidemic with the Division."
Amiens — The British Headquarters
It was toward the end of March, and hence some three
months after leaving Paris, that one morning I received
orders to evacuate a load of wounded to the railroad hos-
pital at Amiens, some forty kilometres from Mericourt.
Amiens is a modern city, one of the most pleasant in
France, a city of about one hundred thousand inhabitants
with up-to-date shops, tramways, tea-rooms, and a de-
cided air of gayety. As I drove my mud-spattered ambu-
lance down its main street I felt singularly out of place.
An hour and a half before I had been within rifle range
of the German trenches where men were battling to the
death and big guns barked their hate, and now, as
though transported on a magic carpet, I found myself in
the midst of peace, where dainty women tripped by, chil-
dren laughed at play, and life untrammelled by war ran
its course. After the weeks amid the mud and turmoil of
the front, the transition was at first stupefying. After
evacuating my wounded, I parked my car, and being off
duty for the rest of the day I strolled about gaping like a
countryman. A "burst" at the best restaurant I could
134
SECTION ONE
find and a good cigar put me in an appreciative frame of
mind and my impression of Amiens will always remain
the most favorable. Though the city had been in the
hands of the Huns for nearly a fortnight in the early
part of the war, and had several times been the object of
air raids, there was little indication of either. The beau-
tiful cathedral was piled high with sandbags and the
beautiful windows were screened as precaution against
bomb eclats, but of the precautions such as I later saw
in Bar-le-Duc, there were none.
Amiens at this time was the administrative Head-
quarters of the English Army of the Somme. Its streets
were alive with English officers and Tommies. There
were many "Jocks" in their kilties, besides, of course,
many French officers. Being well back of the lines it was
a great place for swanking, a condition of which the
English officers especially took full advantage, and in
their whipcords and shining Sam Brownes, they were the
last word in military sartorialism.
Permission
Having now been at the front for three months I became
entitled to la permission, the six days' leave, in theory
granted the soldier once every three months. George's
permission was also due, and we managed to arrange it so
that we secured leave simultaneously. One of our cars
was so well wrecked that it had to be sent to Paris, and
accordingly we secured the assignment of taking this in.
This car had lost its mud-guards and part of the top of
the driving-seat; its lockers were gone and its sides had
been pierced by shell splinters. It certainly looked as if
"it had been through the war." It was afterwards sent
to New York and there put on exhibition at the Allied
Bazaar.
We set out for Paris on the morning of April 15. It was
a fearful day for driving, hail and rain and a piercing wind,
but we were en permission, so what cared we. It was on
this voyage that, for the first and only time during my
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serv'ice in the Army, I saw lancers. This group was some
seventy kilometres back of the line. With their burnished
casques, graceful weapons, and fluttering pennons they
have left me one of the few memories of the picturesque
which the war has furnished.
We made Beauvais in time for luncheon; found the
little restaurant, and our mere appearance was sufficient
to set the little waitress off into a severe attack of giggles.
By four that afternoon we were in Paris. After one hun-
dred days in the war zone, it seemed like another world.
We took the military oath not to reveal information likely
to be of value to the enemy and were free to do what we
liked for six days. Personally, as I remember it, I pretty
well divided the time between taking hot baths and con-
suming unlimited quantities of white bread and fresh
butter. Often we found ourselves subconsciously listening
and missing something, — the rumble of the guns. We en-
joyed the respite, but the end of our permission found us
willing, almost eager, to get back "out there."
It was after midnight — Easter morning — and the
rain was falling when we ploughed our muddy way across
"the campus" at Mericourt. It was cold, and the rat-
infested garret, in the flickering light of an oil lamp,
looked dismal enough as we felt our way across its dirty
floor. Outside the sky was now and then lighted by a flare
and from all around came the boom of the guns. We were
home.
Spring and Hectic Days
May opened with delightfully warm weather, a condition
that was not to continue. The brown fields were clothed
in green. Up to within a few kilometres of the line the
land had been cultivated, and wheat and oats flourished
as though shells were not passing over and the grim
Reaper himself were not ever present.
Early in the month our Division moved, going into
repos some fifteen kilometres back of the line. It is a
simple statement — "our Division moved." But think
136
SECTION ONE
of twenty thousand men plodding along, twenty thou-
sand brown guns bobbing and twenty thousand bayonets
flopping against as many hips. Think of twenty thousand
blue steel helmets covering as many sweaty, dusty heads ;
think of the transport for the men, the horses straining
in their traces, the creaking wagons, the rumbling artil-
lery, the clanging soup-wagons, the whizzing staff cars,
and the honking of camion horns ■ — think of this and you
have some idea of what is embraced in the statement
"our Division moved." We did not follow them, though
we did assign four cars to serve them during repos, and
to take care of the sick. Instead we were attached to the
incoming Division, the 2d Colonials.
My journal shows there were some hectic days in May.
In the record of May 2 I find: "Rolled pretty much all
night, one call taking me to Eclusier. The road was shelled
behind me while I was at the poste, knocking a tree across
the way so that on my w^ay back, the night being so dark,
I could see absolutely nothing and I hit the tree and bent
a guard. It's as nasty a run as I have ever made, a canal
on one side, batteries on the other, and the whole way
exposed to machine-gun-fire. Expected to be relieved here
this morning, but one of the replacement cars is out of
commission so that I am on for another twenty-four hours.
To-day I measured the distance from where I was sitting
last night to where the shell hit. It was exactly fourteen
paces."
Again a week later: "Two cars out of commission, so
I am fated for another forty-eight hours* shift here in
Cappy. Last night was uneventful. To-day we have been
bombarded five times. So far have made but two runs,
returning from second under fire. We have been ordered
to sleep to-night in the partially completed dugout, so I
am writing this fifteen feet underground, with sandbags
piled high above my head. Verily the day of the cave man
has returned. Now for the blanket and, thanks to the
dugout, a reasonable assurance of greeting to-morrow's
sun."
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It was in May that "Josh" won his recognition for
bringing in his wounded from Eclusier under machine-
gun-fire. I was not there, but I know he could not have
been cooler had he been driving down Broadway.
Leaving Mericourt
On the 30th of May we received orders to change our
base. The Squad was genuinely sorry to leave Mericourt.
The village, which had looked so forbidding to us when
we had first arrived, through the familiarity of three
months' residence had grown to mean home. The peace-
ful canal with its graceful poplars where we used to swim,
"the campus," the scene on moonlight nights of many a
rousing chorus, the lane where the cars were parked, the
little caf6, all held pleasant memories. Here we had en-
dured the rigors of winter, had seen the coming and
passing of spring, and now as summer was upon us we
were leaving.
We left in fleet, about one in the afternoon, and an
hour later drew up in the village of Bayonvillers on the
farther side of the Route Nationale. We found it an
attractive place, having two squares well shaded with
fine trees. In peace times its population probably num-
bered about four thousand. The town was far enough
back of the line to be out of range of field artillery and
showed no sign of bombardment. Being only slightly off
the main road and about midway between the line and
Villers-Bretonneux, the location was a convenient one for
us, as for the present we were maintaining the same sched-
ules and routes which prevailed at Mericourt. We were as-
signed quarters in the loft of a brick barn, but some of us
preferred more airy surroundings and pitched a tent under
the trees in a little park in the centre of the town, thus
establishing the "Bayonvillers Country Club." Later,
because of the arrival of a fleet of camions, we moved the
club to a meadow on the outskirts of the town. Mess was
also established in a tent.
138
SECTION ONE
Preparing the Somme Offensive
Early in the spring it had become apparent that some-
thing was in the air. Ammunition depots began to appear,
placed just out of gun range; genie pares, with enormous
quantities of barbed wire, trench-flooring, and other con-
struction materials were established; a new road was
being built from Bray to Cappy; additional aviation
fields were laid out, and rows of hangars, elaborately
painted to represent barns and ploughed fields, to deceive
the enemy airmen, reared their bulky forms. Back of the
line numerous tent hospitals sprang into being. Near
Cappy immense siege guns, served by miniature railways,
poked their ugly noses through concealing brush screens.
Through the fields several new standard-gauge tracks
made their way. The roads back of any army are always
cluttered with supporting traffic, and as the spring wore
on the traffic in the Somme increased day by day. There
were huge five- ton camions loaded with shells, steam
tractors bringing up big guns, caterpillar batteries, ar-
mored cars, mobile anti-aircraft guns, stone boats, mobile
soup-kitchens, oxygen containers to combat poison gas,
field artillery, searchlight sections, staff cars, telegraph
and telephone wagons, long lines of motor busses now
used as meal vans, horse wagons piled high with bread,
portable forges, mule trains carrying machine-gun ammu-
nition, two-wheeled carts carrying trench mortars. All
the transport of war was there until by the first of June
the roads back of the Somme front presented a congestion
of traffic such as the world has never before seen. To the
most casual observer it could not but be apparent that
all this tremendous activity, the enormous supplies, the
preparations, were not solely for defensive purposes. It
could connote but one thing — an offensive on a great
scale.
Directly opposite Cappy, within the German lines, lay
the little shell-riddled village of Dompierre. Between the
sandbags of the first-line trench I had peeped forth at it,
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and as early as April I knew that the village was mined,
for the electrician who wired the mine was a friend. I felt
sure, therefore, that our Section was to be in the offensive
when it came. But as to the day of the attack, of course
that was a matter of speculation. As the days wore on all
the talk was of "the attack." There was no longer any
doubt as to the fact that an attack was to be launched;
the question now was, simply, when? Both the firing and
activity in the air had increased. Sometimes for hours at
a time there would be continuous drum-fire and scarcely
an hour passed without a fight between planes.
The opening days of June were wet and sodden. The
weather was raw, almost cold, with frequent hailstorms,
so that it was difficult to determine just what season was
being observed. The roads, trodden by thousands of
hobbed feet and cut by horses' hoofs and by tires, were
deep with mud. It was sale temps. We found Bayonvillers
teeming with troops. But if we thought the place already
crowded, it was nothing compared to the congestion
which the succeeding days brought. Day by day, almost
hour by hour, the troops continued to come in, colonials,
chasseurs, the famous zouaves, the Senegalese; and the
sound of drum and bugle scarcely ever died.
Senegalese
The Senegalese were an amusing lot. I have been in
Senegal, and when in the Congo, had a Senegalese for a
headman, so I know a few words of their language. When
I hailed them in this, they would immediately freeze into
ebony statues, then their white teeth would flash in a
dazzling smile as they hailed me as a white chief who
knew their home. They were armed with deadly bush-
knives, and for a dash over the top made splendid sol-
diers. In the trenches, however, they were nearly useless,
as artillery fire put fear into their souls. It was said they
never took or were taken prisoners, and many gruesome
tales were current regarding this. Most certainly they
must have been useful in night manoeuvres, for with that
140
SECTION ONE
complexion it would be a matter of impossibility to deter-
mine which was the Senegalese and which was the night.
The lot upon which the "Country Club" had been
the original and only squatter began to fill. A " 155 " bat-
tery moved in alongside us, and several "75" batteries
with their ammunition transports became our neighbors ;
some horse transport convoys also creaked their way in.
Horses by the hundred plunged and pulled at restrain-
ing ropes or stood with downcast heads — bone-weary
of the struggle. All around us rose the little brown dog-
tents and at night countless small fires flickered. It was
like camping in the midst of a three-ring circus.
The Waiting
We mingled with our neighbors and talked with them,
but no matter how the conversation started, it was sure
to come around to the one, great, all-important subject —
the attack. Even for us, who were not to be "sent in,"
but whose duty it would be merely to carry those who
had been, the delay and suspense were trying. How much
worse, then, it must have been for those men who "were
going over the top," waiting, waiting, many of them for
their chance to greet death. I remember one afternoon
talking with a chap who before the war had kept a restau-
rant in Prince's Street in Edinburgh, a restaurant at
which I remember having dined. He was an odd little
Frenchman, alert and bright-eyed, and every now and
then as he talked he would pat me on the shoulder and
exclaim, "Oh, my boy." He assured me that very soon
now we should see the attack. "Oh, my boy, the world
very soon will talk of this place. You will see the name
of this village on maps" — a true prophecy, for when
the New York papers came to us weeks after the attack
had started, I saw a map with Cappy marked upon it.
"Soon greater than Verdun we shall see great things,
and oh, my boy, we are here to see them; we are part of
them, Cest niagnifique! but the waiting, the waiting; why
can't they end it? Send us in! Quant d moi — I go with
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the second wave, and if I come out apres la guerre, you
will come to my place, my place in Prince's Street which
you know, and for you I will open the finest champagne
of la belle France and we will raise our glasses and drink
to these days; but oh, my boy, the waiting, c'est terrible!"
My journal for these days reflects the feeling of sus-
pense: " Tuesday, June 13. En repos to-day for which I was
thankful, since the rain still continues, with a low tem-
perature. Spent most of the day in my bag reading, as
being about the only place I could keep warm. The 20th
zouaves marched into town to-day, their bugles playing.
Their arrival and the presence of the Senegalese can
mean but one thing: the attack will soon be launched.
Well, if it's coming it can't come too soon. This suspense
is trying. If this weather continues I will have trench
foot again, as my shoes are leaking. Firing has been un-
usually heavy to-day, and to-night a terrific bombard-
ment is in progress.
^'Thursday, June 15. Encore this ghastly weather.
More Senegalese coming in until the place looks like a
Georgia camp-meeting. Three runs to-day ; slow progress
working through the traffic. Surely attack cannot be far
off. Passed wreck of plane near Villers-Bretonneux which
was fired on, falling and burning to death both pilot and
driver.
^'Sunday, June 18. To Fontaine les Gappy, which inci-
dentally was being shelled, evacuating to Villers-Breton-
neux. Changed rear spring on my 'bus this afternoon,
other having proved too light. Have fixed some hooks
and straps on the car so that I can carry blanket roll
and dunnage bag in event the line breaks and we follow
the advance. 'New Number Nine' is ready for attack.
Rumor says it will start in three days. Now that the
clock has been set ahead — this occurred several days
ago — we turn in by daylight."
Dry, hot weather succeeded the rains and in a day the
mud of the roads had been beaten into dust. A khaki-
colored fog hung over the sinuous line of never-ceasing
142
SECTION ONE
traffic and choked man and beast. It was trying work
driving now but still it was exhilarating, the feeling of
being a part of a great push. By the middle of June the
advance position from which we should operate from the
time the first wave went over the top had been chosen.
It was close back of the line near the boyau of Fontaine
les Cappy. It was very much exposed and much in ad-
vance of the position usually taken by transport sections,
but it appeared the spot of greatest usefulness and this
being determined, our CO. was not the man to question
further.
Bitter Disappointment
On the morning of June 20 I left for duty at Cappy.
My journal for that date reads: "Left quarters at eight
this morning, reaching Cappy an hour later, taking on
a load, evacuating at once to Villers-Bretonneux. This
afternoon evacuated to Chuignolles. So far I have heard
but one shell come in to-day. Our batteries, too, have
been singularly quiet. The calm before the storm. If pos-
sible, the roads to-day were more congested than ever
with every sort of vehicle from bicycle to steam tractor.
It's now nine o'clock, though owing to change of time
not nearly dark. Am a bit tired to-night, but have small
idea of getting much rest."
Nor was I disappointed, for throughout the night the
wounded came in and we drove almost without pause.
From my last evacuation I got back to Cappy about six
in the morning, and as our relief was due at eight I did
not consider it worth while to turn in. The day promised
to be hot and clear. Already the shelling had started. It
was a point of honor among the Squad to be prompt in
our relief, and Gile and I were therefore surprised when
no cars had appeared by 8.30. It was about ten o'clock
and we had exhausted our conjectures when two cars of
a French Section rolled up. We sensed at once that some-
thing had happened. One of the drivers climbed down
from his car and came over to where we were standing.
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TKE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
We exchanged salutes. ''Messieurs,'' he said, "your Sec-
tion has been replaced by ours. I am directed to instruct
you to report at once at your quarters," The concussion
from a "210" could scarcely have stunned us more than
the announcement, "Replaced." It was impossible; there
must be some mistake. After all our months of work,
which we knew had been efficient, after all our prepara-
tions for the attack. Replaced? No, it could not be. We
would find out there had been a misunderstanding. In a
daze we cranked our cars and drove slowly away from
the familiar old poste.
Several shells had passed us as we had stood talking,
and as I reached the canal bridge I found one had hit
there. Beside the road lay a dead man, and three wounded
were being dressed. I got out my stretchers and evacuated
them to the field hospital at Cerisy. It was my last evacu-
ation from Gappy. I reached quarters about noon, find-
ing the Squad at mess. One glance at the fellows con-
firmed the morning's news. I have seldom seen a more
thoroughly disgusted bunch of men. It was true; we had
been replaced and were leaving for parts unknown to-
morrow. Somewhere back in Automobile Headquarters
in Paris a wire had been pulled, and that wire attached
to us was to pull us away from the greatest offensive in
history. We felt rather bitter about it at first, for we felt
that in a way it reflected on our ability or even our nerve,
but when we learned that the Medecin Divisionnaire and
even the General of our Division had protested against
our removal, had spoken of our work in the highest
terms, our disappointment was softened, and so with
the philosophy which army life brings we said, " Cest la
guerre'' struck our tents and prepared for the morrow's
departure.
The Voie Sacree
Whatever may have been the aspect of Bar-le-Duc in
normal times, now it impressed me as a city utterly
weary, a city sapped of vitality. As a weary man, ex-
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SECTION ONE
hausted by constant strain and tension to a condition
of listless indifference — thus did Bar-le-Duc impress
me. And well might it be weary. For months troops had
poured through its streets, men of a score of races, men
from far countries and from the heart of France. Here
they had passed on their way to the Vortex, and through
these streets the bleeding wrecks of the same men had
been borne back. Day and night without ceasing the
munition camions had rumbled by. While winter ended,
spring came and passed, and summer blossomed, the
thundering guns had not ceased to sound. For five months
this unrelenting strain had endured and Bar-le-Duc was
like a weary soul.
It was close to midnight, and ''dark as the inside of a
cow," when the camp was startled into wakefulness by
the cry, "Show a leg! Everybody out, we're called!"
Outside the rain beat against the cars and a mournful
wind slapped the branches overhead. It was a painful
transition from the warm comfort of the blankets to the
raw chill of the night, but no one hesitated. Lanterns
began to flicker; figures struggling into tunic and knickers
tumbled out of cars; objects were pulled forth and piled
on the ground, bedding was thrown under ground-sheets;
stretchers shot into places; engines began to cough and
snort, and searchlights pierced the night. The CO., mov-
ing from car to car, issued the order, "In convoy order;
gas-masks and helmets; head-lights till further orders."
In twenty minutes after the first call, every car was
ready, every man in his place, and the convoy formed.
"Where are we going?" was the inquiry which shot from
car to car, and, though no one knew, the answer was in-
variably "Verdun."
Presently the whistle blew and we moved out. Down
through the sleeping city of Bar-le-Duc we went, and
there, where the transparency blazoned the legend, "Ver-
dun," we obeyed the silent injunction of the pointing
arrow and turned to the left. We passed through the out-
skirts of the city and presently entered upon a broad,
145
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
pitted road. Well might the road be pitted, for there was
the Vote Sacree — the Sacred Way — over which had
passed every division of the French Army, the way over
which thousands of the men of France had passed never
to return.
Beyond question one reason why Verdun was chosen
by the Germans as the point against which their great
offensive was launched was the weakness of the support-
ing railroad facilities. Normally the city is served by two
lines of railways, one running north from Saint-Mihiel,
the other coming in from the west by Sainte-Menehould.
Since Saint-Mihiel was in their hands, the first road was
eliminated, and though the second was not in the enemy's
hands, it was commanded by his batteries. This left the
position of Verdun without supporting railroads, hereto-
fore considered necessary for maintaining an army. But
the Hun had reckoned without two things, the wonderful
organization of the French motor transport, and the Vote
Sacree. Never had a road been called upon to bear the
burdens which now were thrown upon this way. An
armada of ten thousand motor camions was launched,
and day and night in two unbroken lines this fleet held
its course and served the defending armies of Verdun.
Now we, too, passed down the road, privileged to be-
come part of that support.
A half -moon, blood-red as though it, too, had taken on
the hue of war, appeared in the broken sky, described a
half arc and disappeared. Once a tremendous light illu-
minated the whole northern sky. Possibly it was the ex-
plosion of a mine. We never knew what. The noise of the
guns grew louder as we went on. The gray fore-tone of
dawn was streaking the east when we halted by a group
of tents at the roadside. We were beyond Lemmes, some
one said, but this meant nothing to us. It was a field hos-
pital and here we found our men, a hundred of them.
They were all gas victims as their wracking, painful
coughs Indicated.
The rain had ceased. The sun rose and warmed things
146
SECTION ONE
a bit. It was seven o'clock in the morning and Bar-Ie-Duc
was beginning to stir itself for another weary day as we
reached the evacuation hospital. Three quarters of an
hour later we straggled into Veel, having covered over a
hundred kilometres since midnight.
After the hard rolling of the last few days there was
much to be done about the cars. Bolts needed tightening,
grease-cups had to be filled, and many minor repairs were
to be made. This consumed most of the day and with only
a couple of hours' sleep to our credit from the night before
we were genuinely tired when we rolled into our blankets
that night and fervently hoped for an undisturbed rest.
But such was not to be our fortune. At 2.30 in the
morning it came — the call. In the gray of dawn we
wound through Bar-Ie-Duc. In the doorways and on
street benches we could just discern the motionless forms
of soldiers wrapped in chilly slumber. Once more we
turned out upon the Sacred Way. Our destination was
the village of Dugny, of which I shall have more to say
later, — perhaps seven kilometres from Verdun. A blow-
out just beyond Bar-le-Duc lost me the convoy, which in
turn lost me the road, and I wandered through a series
of half-demolished villages, not knowing how near I
might be to the line, before I finally again emerged on the
Vote SacrSe and reached Dugny. Here I was surprised to
see another section of the American Ambulance. It proved
to be Section Eight which we were shortly to replace.
We found the driving station at Dugny overflowing
with wounded and the men placed in rows on straw in a
stable. Again we filled our cars, this time mostly with
couches, as before gas victims. It was now broad daylight.
The roadway even at night was a mass of trafiic, mostly
convoys of heavy camions. These followed each other in
an endless belt, the loaded ones coming toward Verdun,
the unloaded going away. They proceeded at an average
speed of eighteen kilometres an hour at a distance of sixty
feet from each other. It became necessary for us, if we
were to make any progress at all, to squirm our way
147
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
through the maze, continually dodging in and out of the
convoys to avoid staff cars, yet always working by the
slower moving vehicles. It was the most trying kind of
driving and required extreme care lest our cars be crushed
beneath the giant munition trucks or lest the unforgiv-
able sin of causing a block be committed. It was dis-
heartening to work by a convoy of eighty camions, dodg-
ing in and out to avoid cars coming in the opposite direc-
tion, and then just as the head of the line was reached to
have a tire go bang. It is such happenings that try the
soul of the ambulancier.
Not till two o'clock in the afternoon did we reach Veel,
having completed the evacuation, and get our first meal
of the day. We were content to rest the remainder of the
day and the day following, doing only such work as the
cars required, and we were very glad that no demand
came for our services. On the third morning a number
of us secured permission to go into Bar-le-Duc in the
"chow" camion. We had just completed a hot bath and
were making for a pdtisserie when the Lieutenant's car
came up. "Get everybody together!" he shouted; "we're
leaving for Verdun at one o'clock."
At camp we found the tents already struck and a cold
singe lunch awaiting us. Promptly at one we formed in
convoy and again headed for the Sacred Way. At four
o'clock that afternoon we reached the village of Dugny.
This was the 28th of June. The trek from the Somme to
Verdun was finished.
Robert Whitney Imbrie ^
' Of Washington, D.C.; George Washington and Yale Universities; served
in Sections One and Three, 1915-17; subsequently with U.S. Army. The
above extracts are from his book, Behind the Wheel of a War Ambulance
(McBride, 191 8).
V
DuGNY — The Verdun Front
Ox June 21, 1 91 6, like a thunderbolt out of a clear sky,
came the order from General Headquarters, commanding
the Section to proceed immediately to \^erdun, where the
great battle had been raging constantly since February.
When Section One arrived on the Meuse the Boches were
making their final great attempt to capture Verdun and
the inner line of forts — Tavannes, Saint-Michel and
Souville — as well as the city itself. The roads in the
vicinity were under heavy bombardment and gas hung
for days in the low places, all of which added to the
strenuousness of our work.
By June 28 the Section was quartered at Dugny, a
tumble-down town a few miles south of Verdun, where we
relieved Section Eight on the right bank of the Meuse,
the postes being located at Fort de Tavannes, the Caba-
ret Rouge and the Mardi-Gras redoubt. The cantonment
at Dugny left much to be desired. The sleeping quarters
for the entire Section, including the French personnel,
were in a barn loft, beneath which horses were stabled.
What with the coming and going, the noise from the
"Atelier Club," as the poker players called themselves,
the coughing of gas victims, frequently placed in the
entrance of the barn, and many other disturbances, the
situation was not conducive to rest. Then, too, it rained
most of the time, except when it drizzled, and mud was
not among the things which the place lacked.
Nor at the poste of the Cabaret Rouge could conditions
be said to be cheery. The festive name which the place
bore was scarcely justified. It was a stone bam with a
straw-covered floor and a leaky roof, the walls pierced in
three places with shell holes, and mud ankle-deep all
around. Then there were the wounded who were stretched
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by the walls ; and the air was heavy with the smell of wet
clothing, disinfectants, and drying blood. In the only
other room of the barn were the dead awaiting burial, their
rigid mangled forms lying in rows on brancards. In addi-
tion the poste was entirely surrounded by batteries whose
din was unceasing, and furthermore there was hardly a
minute when German shells were not coming in.
Although there was not a man in the squad who was not
repeatedly under fire during the Section's stay at Dugny,
it remained for Brooke Edwards, of Philadelphia, to ex-
perience the most remarkably close call. While en route at
night to "Cabaret," a shell exploded by the side of his car,
blowing off two tires, the eclats passing entirely through
both sides and the roof of the car, and some of the frag-
ments lodging within six inches of Edwards, who never-
theless was unscratched. A day or so later, when Tingle
Culbertson was pushing along the Belleray Road in his
little car, he heard a crash, and a column of earth, not
twenty yards off the road, spouted into the air. Two
more shells came in quick succession, but they were, so
to speak, unneeded, for Culbertson was doing all that
essence and an intimate knowledge of a Ford could do to
make '^ numero douze'' exceed any previous records.
On the morning of July 12 the Section completed its
work at Verdun, every ambulance having served up to
the last moment to the limit of its capacity. Exceptional
luck had followed the Section. The French Section, with
which it shared the work, had lost two men, one by gas,
another by shell-fire; the American Section which pre-
ceded us had had one man wounded, and the English
Section, up to the time when we left, had been five days
in the field with the loss of one man.
An account of our stay at Dugny could not be perfect
without mention of the Section 's Chef, Herbert Townsend.
Instead of remaining out of the zone of fire, as he might
have done, he was probably under fire more than any
other member, remaining at "Cabaret" for hours at a
time, putting new spirit into his men by his presence and
150
SECTION ONE
giving them confidence and encouragement when they
most needed it. As though this were not enough, he in-
sisted on accompanying the ambulances on their most
dangerous run, the nightly trip to Fort de Tavannes.
Leaving Verdun — Chateau Billemont
The Section left the Verdun sector on July 13 and went
en repos, but returned there on August 15, taking up its
quarters in a handsome country house north of Dugny,
known as Chateau Billemont. The trip to the poste —
Caserne Marceau — though it could scarcely be de-
scribed as enjoyable, proved very interesting. Leaving
Billemont, the cars ran some two miles over excellent
roads, entering Verdun by the Porte Neuve. On the
right, and dominating the ruined city, lay the imposing
citadel, constructed by Vauban for Louis XIV. Farther
on, the cars passed the huge shell-wrecked market, the
slightly damaged theatre, then on through a blackened,
chaotic mass of stone, bricks, and twisted steel, past the
fine old gray stone tower of the Pont Chaussee. Leaving
the city by the Pont Chaussee, the ambulances followed
the Faubourg Pav6 to the Fort de Souville road, where
the poste was located, near the shattered buildings of the
Caserne Marceau and a wrecked cistern — a cement tank
mounted on a tower — on account of which the poste was
often called La Citerne and considered at this time the
most important one on the Verdun front.
Verdun again — Fleury
The German trenches were just across the ridge from La
Citerne, about half a kilometre distant, where the battle
of Fleury was in progress, the village changing hands
some ten times before it finally remained in possession of
the French. Here the entire Section worked almost day
and night for about three weeks, the hardest strain it had
yet been under.
On September 9 the Section was relieved, having
served at Caserne Marceau longer than any preceding
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THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
section. Two days later two French ambulances were de-
stroyed at this poste and several drivers and brancardiers
were killed, in consequence of which the poste was aban-
doned for a location farther back.
On account of the servace rendered at Caserne Marceau,
Herbert Townsend, Giles Francklyn, Robert Bowman,
Brooke Edwards, and James M. Sponagle, and the Sec-
tion as a whole, received citations.
Leaving the Verdun sector on September 1 1, three days
were spent en repos at Triaucourt, when we moved into
the Argonne, being quartered at La Grange-aux-Bois,
just east of Sainte-Menehould. The work was light
and without special incident during the four months
there, which, with the beautiful scenery, furnished a
very pleasing contrast to our experience at Verdun.
The Death of Howard B. Lines
The first death in the Section occurred during this period,
when, on December 23, 1916, Howard B. Lines, of Dart-
mouth, succumbed to pneumonia. The funeral took place
on Christmas morning. A Protestant chaplain of the divi-
sion read the burial service in the open entry way of the
house where Lines had died, and the body accompanied
by French soldiers and the members of the Section, and
Inspector-General Andrew, and Hon. Robert Bacon, who
had come from Paris, was carried to the snow-covered
military cemetery on a neighboring hill. Young Lines was
with the Section in Belgium from September, 191 5, to
January, 191 6, when he returned to America to complete
his work at Har\^ard Law School; he had rejoined the
Section in October, 191 6.
On January 19, the Section left La Grange-aux-Bois
for Triaucourt where we were quartered in a large room
on the lower floor of a hospital. The place was cheerless
and quite cold. Our meals were served in an old stable
several blocks distant. We soon discovered that the facil-
ities for recreation and amusement in Triaucourt in win-
ter were limited in the extreme. About the only relief
152
FUNERAL OF HOWARD LINES AT LA GRANGE-AUX-BOIS
CHRISTMAS MORNING, 1916
A FOREST IN CHAMPAGNE
I
SECTION ONE
from continual strolling about the village were the two or
three little cafes where a few of the hours might be whiled
away and the canteen conducted by some English women
where hot coffee, tea, and cocoa were serv^ed free and
where English papers might be read in comparative com-
fort. The many little courtesies shown us by these ladies
will be long remembered.
Hill 304 - Mort Homme
After three days were spent en repos at Triaucourt, we
went into the Hill 304 - Mort-Homme sector, with postes
at Esnes, Montzeville, the Bois de Recicourt and the Bois
d'Esnes. The combination of extremely cold weather and
very poor quarters at Ippecourt gave the section another
taste of the hardships of war, until, two weeks later,
better quarters were found at Dombasle.
Ippecourt, by the way, is a village situated twenty-one
kilometres southwest of Verdun, and our quarters were
located a kilometre east of it, on the road to Souilly.
They consisted of a long shed, set on a hillside, and con-
structed of rough boards and branches of trees. The ar-
chitect's predominating idea seems to have been to secure
ample ventilation, and in this he was highly successful.
The shed was divided by partitions, even more flimsily
constructed than the walls of the structure, into small
rooms with space — shelter is hardly the word — for from
three to five men each. A larger room at the north end
ser\-ed as a dining-room. Light was admitted through
windows which were covered with glazed cloth and
through numerous cracks as well. The heating apparatus
consisted of a number of home-made stoves left behind
by our predecessors in Section Four, but which they re-
claimed three or four days after our arrival, so that even
the modicum of comfort which these stoves afforded was
thereafter denied us. We did manage, however, by hook
or crook, to secure stoves for two or three rooms which
radiated, at times, enough heat to thaw out half-frozen
fingers or toes. Our fuel consisted of scraps of green tim-
153
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
bers secured from a near-by sawmill and whatever under-
brush we were able to find in the vicinity. One of the
vivid, if unpleasant, memories of these days is the sound
of the bell at 7 a.m., which called us from between
comparatively warm blankets to the dining-room which
was devoid of even the small amount of heat that a
bright sun contributed to the world outside. At breakfast
the bread was warm, that is, it had been placed in the
oven long enough to raise considerably the temperature
of the exterior, but the inside of the loaf was always
frozen. The coffee seldom was hot. After breakfast the
most effective means of becoming comfortably warm was
to attempt to crank one's Ford. Two hours was the
average length of time required to start a car. The water
in the radiators froze in an incredibly short time if the
motors were allowed to cool. On one occasion when
the radiator on the staff car had become overheated, the
boiling water which was thrown out turned to ice before
it struck the windshield. During the seventeen days we
were quartered at Ippecourt, the thermometer was al-
most constantly below zero (Fahrenheit).
The feature of the work at this time was the German
attack on Hill 304 which began on January 25, after a
violent bombardment. The attacks and counter-attacks
continued for about a week, during which time every
car that was not disabled by the miserable roads and the
even more miserable weather was running almost con-
stantly.
After these attacks had subsided, we had a moderate
amount of work, an average of six cars a day running.
But the sector was never entirely quiet, there being more
or less artillery activity at all times, considerable gas sent
over by the Boches and a coup de main occurring every
few days. Montz6ville, Esnes, and the road between
these two villages received shells quite often, and narrow
escapes were common enough to relieve the monotony of
camp life. This road, in fact, was exposed to the view of
the Germans whose trenches were barely two kilometres
154
SECTION ONE
distant on Mort Homme, and merely to go over it was
always something of an adventure.
The Section's "Blue Book"
The following description of this road from Jub^court to
Esnes, taken from the Section's "Blue Book," will give
the reader a good idea of the troubles and trials of our
rolling:
"Leaving the poste des hrancardiers at Jubecourt, turn
right on sharp grade. This is Ringwalt Corner; for it was
here that Ringw^alt went over the bank on the night
that we took over the sector, his car turning over twice.
How he managed to get over on the left-hand side of the
road and slip over the bank while going up hill on low
speed, nobody knows; but he did it. Continue north over
fairly level route, part of it very rough, to Brocourt
(3.5 km.) entering the village over miserable piece of
corduroy road after left turn at cemetery. Bear right,
passing to rear of church. Beware of other roads leading
to Auzeville, Brabant, and Jouy. Sentry at corner. Pass
sign, ' Eteignez vos lumieres,' descending steep hill, cross
small railroad, — munitions depot down gulch to the
left, large gun to the right. Ascend steep grade and con-
tinue along level road, cross old Roman road and pass on
the right a genie camp situated in a small wood — Bois de
Foucheres. Continue over very rough stretch of road to
sentry box (6.5 km.) turn sharp to right. Country imme-
diately surrounding the sentry box is quite bare. From
this point there is a very good view of Clermont-en-
Argonne, due west ; and the eastern slope of the Argonne
Forest, as far south as the Cote des Cerfs near Brizeaux,
is also visible. Continue along winding road — fine view
of Dombasle and country to the northeast, especially
the Boisde Bethelainville — downhill into Dombasle-en-
Argonne (11. i km.) cross Sainte-M6nehould -Verdun rail-
road, turn left over small bridge and cross Paris-Metz
Grande Route (elevation 235 m.) passing on the right a
picturesque ruin with tall chimneys and extensive garden;
155
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
bear left through the village and continue on gentle up-
grade. Barracks on hillside to left; Bethelainville poste de
secours in cave on hillside on right. Road from this point
is extremely rough. Pass source on right and enter Bois
de Bethelainville — ammunition depot resembling stone
quarry on right. Continue through wood — batteries on
both sides of the road. Emerging from the wood (eleva-
tion 328 m.), we have good outlook, including view of
hills near Chattancourt, le Mort Homme, Hill 310, Hill
304, and vicinity of Montfaucon and other points beyond
the German lines. Descending from this point by easy
grade along tree-lined road with shell-holes on either side,
enter Montzeville (17.8 km. elevation 240 m.). The poste
de secours is situated in a cave on the left. Along the left
or west side of the village lies Hill 310 on which many
batteries are planted. Pedestrians may take path across
Hill 310 to Esnes — 2 km. Leaving Montzeville, road
bears slightly left and enters the * Bad Lands' road —
extremely rough passage over slight rise and stretch of
uncrushed stone. In field to left are batteries of soixante-
quinzes disguised as pig-sties. Road is bordered by
stumps. Beware of extremely rocky place, which must be
crossed on low speed, and a short distance farther on,
another one even worse. Bear left at fork — road to right
goes to Chattancourt. Ascend easy grade; road very
rough, soixante-quinze batteries to left, camouflage rnade
of branches erected on right side of road. In this vicinity
drivers may expect to meet field kitchens and droves of
burros at any hour after dark, until 3 A.M. Pass in-
verted fork in road where highway from Marre joins at
acute angle. Now we are at Toy's corner. The road from
this corner to the next corner — about half a kilometre —
is within plain view of the German trenches on le Mort
Homme, two kilometres to the north. Begin gentle descent,
watch for new shell-holes, turn abrupt left (elevation
234 m.) probably the most dangerous point on the road,
the corner being subject to indiscriminate shelling at all
hours, and extremely skiddy in icy weather. We are now
156
SECTION ONE
overlooking the village of Esnes. Continue gentle de-
scent, pass wrecked ambulance on right, where is fine view
of Hill 304 about a kilometre to the right, ruins of houses
on either side, dead horse on the right, dead donkey
and pile of wire and other genie material on left. At this
point the road becomes a perfect morass of mud and ice,
which can be crossed only on low speed and by the exer-
cise of the utmost caution to avoid crevices, boulders,
and sink-holes. Pearl, Tyson, and Hibbard became fast
in this hole on the night of January 25-26, and Farlow,
Kurtz, Flynn, and Wood on the night of February 16-17.
Arriving at corner with tower of ruined church on right
(elevation 225 m.) cross bad ditch and turn into narrow
lane passing to left of church. Avoid large shell-holes on
left side of road and 15 metres farther on, another shell-
hole on left, opposite stone watering trough on right. Con-
tinue 10 metres over rocks to ruined chateau on right
(21.8 km.). Turn car in small yard covered with rubbish.
End of route."
Vadelaincourt — Champagne
On March 14, 191 7, the Section went en repos near by,
at Vadelaincourt. While there Benjamin R. Woodworth
became Chef of the Section, James M. Sponagle being
made Sous-Chef. The men were quartered in an aviation
field and became well acquainted with many of the avi-
ators, a pleasant feature of our sojourn there. We re-
mained at Vadelaincourt one month and then departed
for the Champagne front, stopping, however, for two
days at Dombasle, to renew acquaintance with familiar
scenes around Cote 304. Here General Herr, command-
ing the Sixteenth Army Corps, reviewed the Section,
shaking hands with each man and expressing his appre-
ciation of our work and his keen regret at our departure.
A short time later the Section was cited by order of the
Sixteenth Army Corps, and four of its members were
cited individually.
It was with the anticipation of great things that the
157
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
Section departed for the Champagne front where, it was
rumored, we were to take part in the great offensive just
beginning in the neighborhood of Reims. But instead,
we found ourselves once more en repos, this time in the
sector where every one had looked forward to the most
stirring times in the Section's history. The keen disap-
pointment of the men was hardly allayed by the fact
that they were quartered in a seventeenth-century cha-
teau and that they were able to make occasional visits
to Reims and the historic cathedral. Some of the men
witnessed the burning, on May 3, of the Hotel de Ville,
after a large number of incendiary shells had been thrown
in the vicinity.
The Legion of Honor for Mr. Andrew
On April 29, 191 7, Inspector-General Andrew received
the Cross of the Legion of Honor, the ceremony being held
in front of the chateau at Muizon. If the presentation had
taken place at the Invalides the setting could not have
been more impressive. There was a military band which
supplied music, punctuated by the thundering of some
big guns located near by. The presentation of the Cross
was made by General Ragueneau, of General Nivelle's
stafT. In front of an imposing group of French ofHcers
stood two standard bearers, one a French Lieutenant
carrying the tricolor and the other James M. Sponagle,
carrying our Section flag on which appeared the Croix
de Guerre and the names of the campaigns.
While we were at Dombasle, by the way, we enjoyed
several visits from Mr. Andrew. On March i, he and
Sponagle inspected the cars with a view to possible im-
provement in the construction of the bodies. Townsend
offered the suggestion that the side boxes should be en-
larged to provide ample space, not only for tools, but for
personal equipment which drivers require while on serv-
ice. Mr. Andrew argued that there was already plenty
of room; in fact if more space were provided it would
simply mean that many of the cars would be loaded down
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SECTION ONE
with souvenirs and junk. But Townsend insisted that
more space was necessary, whereupon i\Ir. Andrew said,
"Well, Ned, let 's see what you've got in your boxes, any-
way." So lifting up the lids they found several obus in
his side boxes and in an arm box a dead owl !
On May 6 the Section suffered one of the most severe
losses to its personnel that had occurred since its organi-
zation, when Lieutenant de Kersauson, who for two years
had been its energetic and highly prized leader, was
ordered to take charge of the new training school for
American officers at JMeaux. A day or two later. Lieu-
tenant James F. Reymond arrived and assumed charge
of the Section.
During the latter part of IMay the Section began work-
ing in connection with a division of dismounted cavalry
attached to the Fifth Army. The line extended from
Cauroy to Brimont, the poste de secours being located
on the Reims-Laon highway, in sight of the German
trenches. The work was very light and two cars, stationed
at Villers-Franqueux, went down at night only. One of the
interesting sights from this village was the occasional
shelling of Brimont, about three kilometres away, by the
French guns, which from various points on the road be-
tween Muizon and Villers-Franqueux, the German shells
could be seen falling on Reims.
WOODWORTH KILLED
On June 15 Benjamin R. Woodworth, the Section's Chef,
was instantly killed while riding as a passenger in a
French aeroplane. The accident occurred as Woodworth
and Chatkoff, the pilot, a member of an escadrille near
Muizon, were leaving the grounds of the Lafayette Es-
cadrille near Soissons. The interment took place at
Chalons-sur-Vesle with military honors. "Woody" was
a member of the Section from June, 191 5, to July, 191 6.
He reentered the service in November, 1916, and had
been Chef of the Section since April, 1917. W. Yorke
Stevenson succeeded him as Chej, and the latter part of
159
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
June, James M. Sponagle resigned as Sous-Chef to be-
come Chef of Section Sixty-Five, being succeeded by
James M. White.
On June 21, the Section moved to Louvois, an attrac-
tive village in the midst of the Champagne district some
fifteen kilometres southeast of Reims where were two
pastes — one in the almost demolished village of Sillery
and the other at a point on the Aisne-Marne canal, known
as I'Esperance. One car was kept constantly at the latter
poste and another was held at the Chateau Romont, a
beautiful place, while four cars remained at the near-by
village of Ludes to relieve these two.
The sector was comparatively quiet. The lines had re-
mained practically stationary for more than two years
and the peasants could be seen working daily in the fields
within plain view of and almost up to the trenches. From
Ludes and Chateau Romont the German positions were
visible from Reims to Mont Cornillet. At this time there
was considerable activity around Mont Cornillet and
Mont Haut, a little farther east, and there was an occa-
sional bombardment or a coup de main in front of Sillery
or I'Esperance, because of the proximity to the more
active sector. Evacuations were to Ludes, Chenay, Lou-
vois, and Epernay.
Norton killed
On the evening of July 12 George Frederick Norton was
killed by an air bomb while on duty at Ludes. Norton
and the other men on duty there at that time — Robert H.
Gamble, Hugh Elliott, and Richard Oiler — had turned
in for the night, when at about ten-thirty a German plane
was heard in the vicinity and two bombs exploded on the
other side of the village. Norton arose, and was looking
out of the window of the chalet, when a third bomb ex-
ploded just across the road about twenty yards away, at
least three eclats striking him, killing him instantly and
piercing the wall of the chalet in many places. The other
men had very narrow escapes; indeed Gamble received
160
SECTION ONE
a slight wound in the shoulder, though he was able to
continue on duty for forty-eight hours.
The funeral service over the body of Norton was held
the following evening at dusk. As the village was within
plain view of the German lines, it was not possible to
hold it during the day. The French chaplain who con-
ducted the service spoke simply but eloquently of the
beautiful spirit of sacrifice which led Norton to offer his
services to France. The body was interred with full mili-
tary honors in a new cemetery on the edge of the village.
Norton was cited to the order of the Army and was
awarded the Croix de Guerre with palm. Three other
members of the Section were also cited on the same
occasion.
Verdun again
On July 23 the Section left this beautiful region of the
Champagne and went via Bar-le-Duc to Evres where one
week was spent en repos. Everywhere were rumors of the
great offensive about to be started on the Meuse, and in
August the Section moved on to Verdun and began work
on the right bank. How many had been the changes on
the historic battlefield within the past year ! The village
of Fleury, the centre of such terrific attacks and coun-
ter-attacks a year before, was now so utterly razed that
some of the men passed it several times before they could
believe that the maps had it correctly located, while
the Caserne Marceau, near Fort Saint-Michel, which in
August, 1 91 6, was an advanced poste with the German
trenches less that a kilometre distant across the ridge,
was now well to the rear.
Four cars stationed here went on call to pastes at Saint-
Fine, near Fort Souville, La Source near Vaux, and Cham-
bouillat and Carriere Sud near Douaumont. Other cars
served postes near Fort Tavannes and at Carriere d'Hau-
dromont near Louvemont, all of which points were held
by the Germans when the Section worked there the year
before and some of which were then well behind the battle
161
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
lines. The conditions under which we labored were try-
ing from the very first, for the roads were congested with
traffic, were frequently shelled, and gas was encountered
almost every night.
The men were quartered at first at Haudainville; but
after a few days we secured a site for our tents just out-
side the hospital grounds at the Caserne Beveaux, on the
south side of Verdun. All cars evacuated to this hospital,
except during the first few days when the Maison Nathan
in Verdun, near the Porte de Saint- Paul, was used.
The artillery bombardment, which was expected daily,
did not begin in earnest until about August 14. A day or
two later a Red Cross ambulance section — S.S.U. 61 —
began working with Section One at all the postes except
Carriere d'Haudromont, which we continued to care for
unaided until the infantry attack began, when we surren-
dered it to two French ambulance sections.
Pearl Wounded — The Verdun Attack, 191 7
On the evening of August 16 William A. Pearl, the
Section mechanic, was severely wounded while on the
way to Haudromont with Rice, to repair a disabled car.
A shell exploded a few yards from the car in which they
were riding and a large eclat passed through Pearl's fore-
arm, completely disabling his hand so that he had to be
evacuated to Paris.
The first infantry attack was launched early on the
morning of the 20th with magnificent success for the
French. Hill 304, the Mort Homme, the Bois des Cor-
beaux, the Bois de Cumieres, the Cote du Talon, Champ-
neuville. Hill 344, Mormont Farm, and Hill 240 were en-
tirely retaken. In the morning Lieutenant Reymond went
with the first cars to the Carriere Sud and rendered such
valuable aid in clearing the roads of wrecked wagons,
dead horses, and munition trucks that he was cited shortly
after by the Division. German counter-attacks followed,
but the French continued to attack with vigor, Beaumont
falling into their hands on the 26th.
162
SECTION ONE
The fighting on both sides, especially the artillery ac-
ti^'ity, continued heavy day and night and reacted on us.
Every car in the Section received its quota of shell-holes,
one car driven by Ryan being utterly demolished while
standing in front of the paste of Carriere Sud. A short
time before the sides of two cars — driven by Flynn and
Tapley — had been blown out by shells at Haudromont.
On several occasions shells exploded near ambulances on
the road, when the couches inside the car became so fright-
ened that they jumped off their stretchers and took re-
fuge in near-by ahris. At times it was impossible to go
through and we had first of all to repair the road our-
selves by filling the holes with loose rocks and earth. Holt
was badly gassed near Haudromont, a shell exploding
near him while he was standing beside his car waiting for
a congestion of artillery caissons and guns to let him
through. He was knocked down, his mask fell ofT, and he
was rendered practically unconscious. After being dragged
to a poste de secours and given the anti-gas treatment, he
insisted upon resuming work, for which he received a fine
citation.
Closing Days at Verdun
During the last week of the Section's stay at Verdun,
there were many entries under the heading "collisions and
derailments," for every man was pretty well tired out and
most of the men were running on their nerves, with the
result that accidents were of frequent occurrence. At times
the rush was so great that in order to relieve the conges-
tion, Chief Stevenson drove ambulances himself. There
was rejoicing in camp, therefore, when at last the news
came that the Section w^as to be relieved; and when,
on September 14, we departed for a period of repos, the
drivers no less than the soldiers of the division felt it was
richly deserved. So we proceeded south to a peaceful little
village in Jeanne d 'Arc's country.
For their work at Verdun the following men received
the Croix de Guerre: Robert J. Flynn, J. Clifford Hanna,
163
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
Edward P. Townsend (second citation), R. H. Plow,
Roy Stockw^ell, William A. Pearl, James M. White,
Arthur M. Dallin, Richard H. Stout, William S. Holt,
Harold E. Purdy, H. B. Day, Frank A. Farnham, R. W.
Tapley, John Kreutzberg, and Philip S. Rice. A few days
later the Section was cited by order of the Second Army
for the work before Verdun during August and Septem-
ber, receiving the Croix de Guerre with the palm, this
being the Section's fourth citation.
The American recruiting officers arrived at the Sec-
tion September 13, 191 7, on which date it ceased to be a
volunteer organization and became a part of the United
States Army.
Roy H. Stockwell ^
^ Of New Bedford, Massachusetts; University of Kansas, 'n, and the
Harvard Law School; with Section One from November, 19 16, to Novem-
ber, 19 17; subsequently First Lieutenant in the U.S. Field Artillery in
France.
VI
, The Work at Verdun
Paris, September 9, 1916
I HAVE just returned from a visit to Section One. After
seeing the extraordinary work that those boys are doing
up there, I felt that I ought to write and tell you about it.
A good many of the Sections are now living under can-
vas and have often had difficulty in finding a suitable
place to cook. So we have had built a kitchen on two
wheels which is pulled along by a big two-ton WTiite
truck used for sitting cases, and the real reason of my
visit was to leave one with Section One.
As it happens, they are situated at the present moment
in the splendid Chateau de Billemont about four kilo-
metres outside of Verdun, which up to a few weeks ago
was the headquarters of some French officers. But the
Germans, having got hold of the fact, shelled them out.
It is an ideal place for our men.
The poste de secours to which they are attached is six
kilometres the other side of Verdun; and since ten days
before my arrival, and during my stay, the French have
been doing incessant attacking and counter-attacking,
the work of carrying the wounded has been practically
continuous night and day.
Going to the poste de secours from the chateau, you pass
through Verdun, and continue on a wide, level road for
about one kilometre, and then you start up a very steep
hill which continues, for five kilometres, right to the poste
de secours. This road is very narrow and sufficiently dan-
gerous from a driving point of view apart from the fact
that it is shelled continuously day and night. Indeed, one
of the duties of Townsend, Section Director, is to go up
every morning at daybreak with a couple of men and fill
up the holes which have been made during the hours of
darkness, so that our cars will not fall into them.
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THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
The paste itself is only one hundred and fifty yards
from Fort Saint-Michel, which, of course, accounts for the
attention which that part of the country gets from the
German artillery. Besides this, the whole valley and hill-
sides are covered with French batteries, and the din at the
top of the hill makes it impossible to talk in anything
like an ordinary tone of voice.
The day driving is comparatively nothing. The part,
however, for which they deserve all the praise that we
can give them, is their work at night. Naturally no lights
are allowed, and I have never seen a country that can
produce darker nights than that district. Therefore let
one try and imagine the difftculties of starting from the
top of that hill with a car full of wounded and driv-
ing down a narrow hillside road in a blackness impene-
trable for more than a yard. In fact if it were not
for the light given by the firing of the guns and hand-
grenades, the w^ork would be well-nigh impossible; and
what makes it more difificult still is that all the traffic
starts at night when the ammunition is brought up to the
various batteries and you are continually finding teams
of horses almost on the top of the car before you have
any idea of their presence. The round trip from the poste
de secours to the hospital takes from two hours and a half
to three hours, which averages a speed of about ten kilo-
metres an hour. This will give an idea of how slowly one
has to go.
When I visited the Section, it had been doing this work
for ten days before I got there, and yet there was not the
slightest sign of fatigue or impatience among the men.
I doubt, however, if any man in the Section had had,
during that time, five hours' consecutive sleep. But far
from shirking what they had to do, they were each and
every one of them attempting more than their share.
One night, for example, the Medecin Chef, who had charge
of the poste, received word to prepare, on account of an
unexpected attack, for an unusual number of wounded,
and fearing that Section One might not be able to handle
1 66
THE GENTLE HAND OF THE SHELL!
WHAT WAS LEFT OF RYAN'S CAK AT CARRIERE SUD (VERDUN)
SECTION ONE
the situation alone, he called out as reserv^e a French
Section which was in Verdun. No deeper offence than this
could haxe been offered to poor Townsend, and every
man in the American Section worked double that night.
Needless to say that the French Section stayed where
it was — in reserve. The idea that any situation was
too big for our boys to handle was something not to
be considered.
No matter how carefully a man drives at night, a num-
ber of accidents are bound to occur. In one night there
were six. Of course these were minor accidents which
could be repaired in a fairly short time. For instance, the
White camion one night went into a ditch; two cars went
head on into each other in the darkness; two more cars
went into ditches and another fell into a shell-hole. Oc-
casionally, of course, som.ething occurred which would
put a car out of commission three or four days, which
means that the Section is that much short. If this sort
of thing happens too often the authorities get impatient
and threaten to replace the incomplete Section by a com-
plete one, which, of course, about breaks the hearts of
our fellows. So in the end we had cars in reserv'e for each
Section to prevent this contingency ever happening.
The fact that every car has been hit makes no impres-
sion w^hatever on the men. I do not mean to say by this
that they are reckless or foolhardy; on the contrary, they
take all possible precautions. But when there is anything
to be done, it is carried through without question or hesi-
tation. Without exaggeration and without indulging in
any blood-curdling stories, their work really impressed
me as tremendously fine. Nothing that I can say can
give an idea of how splendid these boys are.
John H. McFadden, Jr.^
1 Of Philadelphia; University of Pennsylvania, '13; entered the Field
Service in October, 1914; became treasurer of the organization in France;
left the Service in 1917 to accept the post of Assistant Military Attache
at the American Embassy in Paris.
VII
Notes from a Diary
Cappy, Somme, April 3, 1916
I SPENT the night here at our advanced poste. The town
is in ruins. There was no call for the trenches. The night
was too clear. I woke about 4 a.m., thinking it was late
because I heard the birds chirping, but found it was only
the rats squeaking. The place is full of them ; they walk
over you at night. But nobody cares. The country is full
of quail and hares, but no one bothers them and they are
very tame.
April 5
This morning I watched the twenty-first "Suicide Club"
practising hand-grenade throwing. Magoun and I noted
where the things were thrown, with the idea of picking
up a few f usees afterwards. Now and then they don't
land right; so Magoun later picked up a couple of unex-
ploded ones and offered me one. I declined and told him
he had better let them alone. Just as we were arguing up
came a file of men with shovels to bury the unfired gre-
nades. When they saw Magoun with two in his hands
they nearly had a fit; said he was crazy, and to prove it
they told us to get in a near-by trench and they 'd show
us. So we all crawled in and an expert then recocked
the little spring and threw the grenade, which went off
with a bang that shook the trench ! That evening we got a
call to carry two blesses — one man with his face muti-
lated and another one with his feet blown off, who, oddly
enough, had been "fishing" in the canal, by throwing
hand-grenades in and then collecting the dead fish which
floated up to the surface — a nice sporting thing to do !
I must say I could n't feel very sorry for them. The
same night we heard a heavy explosion close to our
168
SECTION ONE
farm and at first supposed that it was an incoming
ohus. But it really occurred in the back room of a cafe
in which we eat, and a call came shortly after when we
collected three more poor fellows hurt, and three dead,
from fiddling with hand-grenades. I made a point to rub
it into Magoun, calling his attention to the fact that that
day, in our Sector, the French lost more men through
their own carelessness than from Boche activity.
Roche, Magoun, Francklyn, and I now occupy the
palatial apartment known as the "rat incubator."
Some of the boys — Underhill, Baylies, and Paul — have
erected a tent; as they were above us in the "Rat
Hole," and their feet kept continually coming through
the ceiling carrying plaster and splinters on to us, we are
now more comfortable and clean, although Lewis, Lath-
rop, and Edwards are still up there. Townsend, White,
and Woodworth have the best rooms in a really well-kept
house, while Sponagle, Cunningham, and Winsor sleep
next to the repair shop. The Lieutenant and the other
Frenchmen attached to the Section sleep in the bureau,
a nice little well-kept cottage also. The washing is done
by a dear old woman who hates to leave and hopes, de-
spite orders, to stay.
April 9
Yesterday I was " Chow%" that is, the man who sets the
table and waits on it. Each takes this duty by turns. But
as we eat everything off the same plate, that is each one
of us has but one plate, with the same fork and knife,
there is no great strain upon the Admirable Crichton on
duty. Although I got to bed at 3 a.m. I had to be up at
6.30 to set the table, being "Chow." It's a great life,
though, which I would n't miss for worlds. We have a lot
of fun on the side; play base-ball and a funny sort of
adaptation of tennis with a hoop. At night we play rou-
lette for centime stakes, occasionally fish for pike with a
sort of trident made out of old Ford brake rods, and swim
now and then when it is warm.
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May 22
White and Campbell finally received their decorations
to-day. An amusing incident occurred when the General
took White, who had been told to stand out in front of the
line, to be a mere onlooker and ordered him back. It had
to be explained to him that this was the hero who was to
be decorated! The General apologized, of course, but it
got every one giggling and somewhat marred the solem-
nity of the occasion.
Cappy, June i
Big mortar batteries are arriving along the front. I saw
several here, at Cappy, this afternoon, hidden near the
cemetery. Nowadays even when a man gets killed he is
not permitted to rest in peace. The Germans, trying to
reach these new mortars, are bound to blow hell out of
the cemetery.
Open-Air Sleeping
Bayonvillers, June 2
I HAD fun with Francklyn this morning. It appears that
he used Imbrie's paillasse last night, so that when Imbrie
and I returned from Cappy, it was nowhere to be found.
Francklyn was still asleep; so we carried him, bunk and
all, out into the main street and placed him on the side-
walk. A large crowd immediately gathered, thinking he
was a hlesse, as he had nothing on but a blanket. He woke
up just as a division staff was passing, and he certainly
did make a quick jump for the yard with the blanket
flapping like the tail of a kite behind his long, bare legs
as he beat it.
Echisier, June 13
The other day a trooper fell off his horse and hit his head
and they ordered me to carry the unconscious man to
Villers-Bretonneux. The car was already full, but I piled
him in and took him along to save argument. Of course
I had a hideous time at the hospital at Villers, not having
170
SECTION ONE
a ticket for him. For an hour or so nobody could take
him in — the usual red tape.
June 14
To-day I had an interesting talk with a French Lieuten-
ant. He says the Senegalese are awfully hard to handle.
They won't stand shell-fire, but don't mind machine
guns, so Frenchmen are put on either side of them —
fifteen hundred Senegalese in each division. They have
strings of Boche ears which they keep as trophies. On the
other hand, the "Germs" always kill the black wounded
and prisoners; so it is about fifty-fifty.
June 20
To-day we saw the funeral of two aviators. It was quite
impressive. One plane made the sign of the cross in the
heavens above the grave.
Chalons, June 23
The French kids are good little fellows. To-day one in-
sisted I should have a rose in my buttonhole. Ever>'-
where they give us flowers or candy. Another led me by
the hand all around the village of Pont-Sainte-IMaxence.
Along the roads they always, girls and boys, click their
heels together and give the military salute when we pass.
Bar-le-Duc, June 25
We all went to bed at 7 a.m. and slept until Roche was
awakened by something licking his face. Thinking it was
one of the dogs, he just gave it a slap, and then the whole
tent nearly collapsed ! A stray cow had drifted in and tried
to get acquainted ! The riot that followed set all thought
of further sleep at an end.
Dugny, June 29
One gets some astonishing directions when one is work-
ing at night in a new country. For instance, in going to
Fort Tavannes, I was told to go along a certain road,
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THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
until I passed two smells and then turn to the left. This
referred to two piles of dead horses !
Verdun itself is pretty well shot to pieces. To-day I
noticed a marble statue of Napoleon standing up in a
hole above the street, which hole used to be a window in
a house. The statue creates a rather impressive effect, as
it looks out over the ruins and desolation toward the
smoking, rocking hills.
Verdun, June 30
The other day Bowman carried a Division Commander
whose leg was cut off by a " 77." He died in the car in the
arms of his orderly, whose only words were, "It's too
bad, too bad, to be killed by a mere 'jj' after all he had
been through." Around here nothing under a "130" is
regarded as amounting to much.
Dugny, July i
We have now three dogs attached to the Section. Besides
"Vic," Magoun has picked up a little woolly one at
Bayonvillers, while Bowman got a sad sort of mongrel
pointer along the road to Bar-le-Duc. They are really
more trouble than they are worth, as they continually
get lost, while at night they come nosing into the men's
blankets and' get kicked out to the accompaniment of the
usual yelping. Fleas, of course, also help. There are signs,
I see, of another dog joining the squad here. It looks
somewhat like a young hyena and is hanging around the
cantonment. The tame crows and fox of the camion driv-
ers at Bayonvillers were amusing and could be caged,
but these pups are continually escaping. What with our
three tents, the zouave, "Lizzie," and the varied men-
agerie, we certainly are assuming the aspect of a traveling
circus.
Jjily 3
On the road into Verdun this morning, George End saw
a man killed by the shock of a " 2 1 o. " The * ' Germs ' ' were
attacking Thiaumont again when a shell exploded just
172
SECTION ONE
beside the road, but without touching the man, who was
killed simply by the shock.
Jtdy 4
Imbrie is certainly a "scream." He remarked to-day that
on going out on his run to the poste the road was O.K.,
but coming back he saw a fresh-killed horse. He said:
"Now that's the sort of a thing that causes one to stop
and reflect, but I didn't. I jammed down both the levers
and did my reflecting at forty miles an hour." When
Francklyn came in and said "to be careful" on a certain
road, Imbrie, with his usual cheerfulness, remarked:
"Careful ! careful ! Good Lord, how 's anybody going to be
careful? If we wanted to be careful, we should have been
careful not to leave America."
A Gas Barrage
July II
Many new dead horses along the road. The gas gets
them, even the smallest whiff, and of course they have no
masks. Speaking of gas reminds me that the Germans
have been trying a new dodge — a sort of tir de barrage
of ''77'' gas shells. These shells do not make much noise,
but the gas spreads fast. The men who were caught by
it all admit that they had taken off their masks for one
reason or another. Some get sick at their stomachs and
that forces them to take off their masks. It is not amusing
to talk to men who don't know they are as good as dead!
One really should have two masks, switch from one to the
other in such a case, not breathing meantime. We all
have had another one issued to us to-day.
Triaucourt, July 30
I HAVE been struck forcibly with the quiet, restrained
and generally dignified behavior of the thousands of
French soldiers camped about here. They wander through
the handsome Poincare chateau grounds and never dis-
turb or injure anything. Bottles of wine left to cool in
the spring are not touched.
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Billemont, near Verdun, August 21
We have worked three days and three nights without any
sleep except naps snatched in the cars. There was the
usual comic scene with Baylies. Bowman was coming
down the road when he found it blocked by a mass of
dead and wounded horses, and men all tangled up with
harness and wagons, and beside them one of our cars. It
turned out to be Baylies who came running up to Bow-
man, exclaiming: "There's been an awful mess, Bob,"
and Bowman, perfectly unthinkingly, ejaculated, "Good
Lord, what have you done now, Baylies?" Baylies was
as sore as two sticks and growled, "Ah, where d' you get
that stuff?" — his conventional answer to all gibes. The
word "to Baylies" (French ''Bayliser") has been stand-
ardized in Section One and is even spreading to the other
Sections.
August 22
Our greatest difficulty is to snatch a chance to sleep. So
far, I have run every night since we've been here and I
take naps at the poste. Five men get one night's sleep in
three. I take off my hat to Roche, who can curl up any-
where and sleep peacefully. Last night, for example, he
got a very bloody brancard, laid it under the bench where
the blesses sit awaiting their turn to be patched up, and
was sound asleep for four hours, while the Boches dropped
"220" marmites around the poste and the groans of the
wounded and chatter of the doctors and brancardiers kept
up a continual disturbance. I 've given up trying to sleep
in the abris and so take a chance in the car outside. At
least it is cool, though the air is foul with the odor of
burned wood and rotting flesh.
A Close One — A Crazy Man
August 24
Francklyn and Walker had a close call to-day. They
were sitting in the front of the dugout reading a paper,
when a "105" high explosive hit a tree not five yards
174
SECTION ONE
from them. Pieces of the shell smashed into Francklyn's
car and a shower of stones knocked the paper out of
Walker's hand, while both men were thrown to the
ground. Walker says all that he remembers was that some
one seemed to snatch his paper away and knock him
down at the same time, and he found himself crawling
under his car, while Gyles made one long slide for the
dugout entrance.
Verdim, August 25
I CARRIED a crazy man this morning. I found him wander-
ing aimlessly around Verdun with a nasty hole in his
head and tried to get him into the car; but he kept in-
sisting he was too heavy. Finally, with the aid of a couple
of soldiers we made him get aboard, though he murmured
all the time, ''Je suis trop lourd, je suis trop lourd."
August 27
On our last round to-day I carried a w^ell-educated poilu
about forty years of age who paid the American Ambu-
lance many compliments. He said the soldiers of France
would not forget the debt they owed us. This man
had rifle bullets through both hands. He said he and
another soldier "got the drop" on four Boches, who put
up their rifles and yelled " Kamerad'' in token of sur-
render. Then w^hen the Frenchmen let down their sighted
guns and beckoned them to come in, the Boches suddenly
opened fire, wounding my man. But his partner and a
machine-gun squad wiped out the four dirty curs before
they could play any more of their foul tricks.
Vic White says the attack was only partially successful.
He tells how one Boche was blown in three pieces high
above the tree tops, when two of the pieces fell rapidly,
but the third came drifting down slowly. It turned out
to be the Boche's overcoat which had been ripped right
off him by the explosion.
September 5
We have now a big White truck which carries eighteen
assis at a time — a great help, as it takes the place of
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THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
more than three cars. When it toppled over the bank re-
cently, there were seven French wounded sitting on one
side and eight Boches on the other side. As the French
were on the up side, they fell on the Boches who thought
they were being attacked again! It was quite a job to get
them all extricated., But apparently the mix-up did little
harm to any one.
I carried a regular pousse cafe of a load this afternoon,
— a Boche, an Englishman, a Senegalese, a Martiniquais,
and a Frenchman, with an American driving.
Verdun, September 7
It certainly is a satisfaction to note the contrast in the
comments at the front concerning the American Ambu-
lance from those to which one is forced to listen in Paris
and other cities far from the lines. Here the soldiers can't
praise us enough and the same is true of the officers and
even of the priests. Many soldiers make it a point to salute
the ambulances when they catch sight of the now familiar
cars and uniform, because they have heard of the quick-
ness and of the comfortable springs, — so different from
the ordinary type of camion ambulance. ^^ Ah, c'est les
volontaires ! Bon!'' is a common phrase from a wounded
man.
September 9
Last night the commander of the 214th arrived with his
regiment to relieve the 67th. We carried his body down
this morning. He had n't been at the front three hours
before a shell got him.
September 11
Section One cited by order of the Army Corps. This puts
us "top dog" of all the foreign Sections.
La-Grange-aux-Bois, September 15
To-day the Section moved to the so-called front again,
but in the Argonne this time — to this little place named
Sainte-Menehould, where Louis XVI was kept by the
176
SECTION ONE
revolutionists when he was caught. I saw the room in the
town hall where he was prisoner.
September i8
To-day I took three joy-riding officers into Sainte-Mene-
hould, where they stayed for a couple of hours and came
back with two live chickens, which I was told to carry
over to the car, just like "Jimes in the ply," because it
looked "odd" for them to do it. However, it's amusing
and I don't give a hang anyway, as we are here to help
the French.
September 27
TisoN is a great fellow, — only about six feet four inches
high! When he, Culby, and Roche come into a cafe the
whole conversation stops — everybody turns to see the
giants. Pity we have n't still got Lathrop, for then there
would be twenty-five feet of America represented by
four men.
September 30
The Salonikans left to-day and Francklyn took little
"Vic" with him, which I think peeved Section One
almost as much as the loss of the men. "Vic" had come
to be considered our mascot and knew us all well. He
would associate with no one else. Peter Avard picked him
up at Vic-sur-Aisne about a year ago when he was only
a few weeks old. The pup always enjoyed going up to the
firing-line, riding cheerfully on the front seat or on the
hood. The poilus and brancardiers all knew him, and
petted and fed him. I believe "Vic" has been under fire
more often than any one of us.
November 27
It's astonishing how everybody trusts everybody else
out here. The Frenchmen give us money to buy them
wine, tobacco, send telegrams and so on; and we leave
all our belongings lying around loose and they never
touch them. Of course it would n't be safe to do this with
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THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
Senegalese, and on a highway where the troops are pass-
ing; but in the lines nobody touches any one else's things.
Dombasle, April 13, 191 7
This afternoon General Herr, the commander of the
Sixteenth Army Corps, inspected us. We were introduced
to him individually and he said some very complimentary
things, remarking that with the entry of America into
the war "the combat would be shortened." Amen, I say.
April 14
Flynn took Lidden to the Esnes paste. On their way, at
"the bad corner," two shells dropped right close to them
on the road, leaving several big holes in the car, and
ripping the whole back out of Lidden's coat! Surely a
remarkable escape, and "some" experience for a brand-
new man on his first appearance on the firing-line. He
had to remain at the paste for twenty-four hours, too !
Berry- au-Bac — Craonne
Muizon, April 17
Our orders came to roll at 7 p.m. and the whole Section
went out. We handled the wounded from Berry-au-Bac
and Craonne. There were heavy fighting and heavy losses.
The receiving hospital, which is far to the rear, was so
full that we had to wait four and five hours before the
cars could be unloaded, and the wounded, naturally,
suffered terribly.
April 29
This has been an interesting day. Word came that A.
Piatt Andrew was to be decorated with the Legion of
Honor. General Rageneau, General Nivelle's second, the
head of the entire Automobile Service, and so many other
"stripers" that it reminded one of Sing-Sing, turned up.
The cars were formed in a hollow square in the chateau
courtyard, and some two hundred troops, beside "us vol-
unteers," fell in before them. Section One had been se-
178
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SECTION ONE
lected as the oldest Section in the Field Service, and
Andrew's Section as well. The day was perfect. J\Ir.
Andrew arrived and presented us with our new Section
Flag, with the croix twice starred on it, and the names of
the battles in which we had served: Dunkirk, Ypres,
Verdun, Somme, Argonne, Aisne, Champagne — some
eight or ten names. We were introduced to the General
individually; and, after his speech, some of the older men
were invited into the chateau to drink the health of
France and the United States; Sponagle, Wood worth,
Kurtz, Stockwell, and I were chosen. As it happened,
the big guns were roaring straight ahead, behind, and all
around us. In addition Boche aviators chose the moment
to drop bombs on Muizon (our town) and the anti-air-
craft batteries were going full tilt. One bomb fell into the
Vesle right near our tent. We had been swimming in the
stream but a short time before. It was a splendid mise-en-
scene for such a military ceremony.
May 15
We have organized two baseball teams, — the "Back
and Forths" and the "Here and Theres." We have games
every day, some of them most exciting. We have quite an
audience of poilus, too. Of course, the playing is rather
weird, but we get a lot of fun out of it.
May 23
While we were playing baseball to-day, the Boches
jumped on two saucisses. One of the observers came down
in his parachute all right.
May 25
Disaster! All are plunged In woe! They have spread
manure over our baseball field ! 1
Villers-Franqtieux, May 29
Our abris here are amusingly named. One is "/e Metro" ;
another is " Ca me suffit," which the men pronounce "Sam
Suphy"; still another, "Grotte des Coryphees," etc.
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THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
Promotion and Duties
Louvois, June 25
Our new cantonment is at this place, about fifteen kilo-
metres southeast of Reims. Word has just come that I
have been made Chef, which carries with it the equivalent
of a First Lieutenancy in the French Army. I do hope I
can hold down this job properly. It is a difficult one, as
the men are so hard to keep disciplined when they are
not getting much work. In a way, I am sorry to be taken
off my car, and the life of a Section Chief is rather lonely, as
one cannot play around with the men as much as before.
On the other hand, one has a staff car of one's own, and a
private officer's room with an orderly, and all that, so
that one's creature comforts are fine.
June 28
I FIRED a man to-day. I hate this sort of thing, but it has
to be done. I told him that we want up here only men who
are both able and willing to work and that he seemed to
be neither. "What have I done?" he asked. "It's what
you have n't done," I replied — car never clean, breaking
minor rules, shamming sickness when it is his turn to
work, and so on. Everybody says I was perfectly right,
and the boys all seem to approve the step.
July 2
This certainly is no soft job. I spend most of my time
acting as a bumper between the Frenchmen in the Sec-
tion and the boys who insist on "kidding" them. A
Frenchman does not understand the American method of
teasing and jollying, and gets raving mad, feeling in-
sulted. And so I spend my time smoothing over alleged
insults which were never meant.
July 28
I HAVE had an Interesting talk with a French officer to
whom I said something about not understanding why
180
SECTION ONE
they were so generous in conferring Croix de Guerre on
Americans, when lots of Frenchmen, who had actually
been in the trenches, had not got the decoration. He re-
plied that that had nothing to do with it; that these
Frenchmen were forced to go into the war, some of them
very much against their will, whereas the American
Ambulance men, who had volunteered long before the
United States entered the conflict, were each and every
one a small but vital factor in bringing America into the
struggle. Every time a man volunteered, he carried with
him the hopes and sympathies of all his relatives and
friends ; and as the Ambulance grew, so did the pro- Ally
sentiment grow, by leaps and bounds, in the United
States.
Haudainville, August i
Reymond, our French Lieutenant, has had a funny argu-
ment with the Medecin Chef at Vaux, who insisted upon
our carrying corpses of men killed right around the posts.
We demurred, saying that it was the job of the mortuary
wagons. Finally we compromised, the Lieutenant agree-
ing that if the corpses were still warm ( !) we would carry
them ; but not any that had been dead a length of time.
Rather gruesome, that.
August 8
Passing along the Douaumont road the other day to get
one of our men out of a ditch, I saw a boot lying on the
way. I picked it up to throw it out of the road, and found
a rotten leg still in it!
August 9
We are in the midst of the heaviest work the Section ever
had. The men and the cars are sights — plastered with
mud from top to bottom. No fenders or side boxes left,
nearly every car full of holes from eclats, and two of them
with their entire sides blown out.
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THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
An Unexpected Atrocity
Augiist 1 6
Flynn, who is driving No. 17, a car "presented by the
Young Girls of San Francisco," — this is the name plate
attached to it, — came back to-day announcing "another
German atrocity!" "They've been knocking out 'the
Young Girls of San Francisco,' " he said. And indeed, the
whole side of his car was blown out.
Dallin is a funny chap. He likes to go up to the pastes,
even when off duty, and always asks to accompany the
dri\'ers. Just now he asked to go with Plow in the camion-
nette, although the road is being heavily bombarded.
They certainly are a great bunch of boys! One could n't
ask for a better crowd to lead.
The cars are all "marching." That is due to Pearl, who
is working his head off. He keeps them going in spite of
everything and has grown a scraggy beard and worn out
his clothes in the doing. But they go. The boys, too, are
fine. Hardly any sleep, food grabbed when they can get
it, but they make good every time. They are a splendid
bunch.
August 17
This morning Rice came in plastered with mud. It rains
every day and the roads are quagmires. Rice, who has a
well-developed sense of humor, remarked, "If I were the
French, I 'd give the Boches the damned country and then
laugh at them!"
August 18
Every hour, as the men return from the pastes, some
story of lucky escapes and weird experiences is brought
in. It is the biggest work the Section has ever done.
August 19
We are to be relieved of the Haudromont paste by two
French Sections! Some compliment, considering that only
one half of Section One was working the paste!
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SECTION ONE
August 22
The attack has been an unexpectedly big success. The
Sanitary Servdce worked finely. Everybody is praising
the Americans.
August 24
This job certainly is instructive, if nothing else. I am
becoming quite a doctor. I treat all my children with the
medicine chest furnished by the Field Service. All the
various dopes are described and numbered in a little cata-
logue. I catechize the patient, look wise, scratch my chin,
and then, after a quick "once over" of the catalogue,
hand him out the pills.
Warm Times
Haudainville, August 31
Red Day and I have had a tight squeeze in the staff car
here at this place. The Germans were shelling the road
w^th "220's" at half-a-minute interv^als. So we got up as
close as we dared, and then made a dash for it with the
throttle wide open just after a shell had landed. We made
it by the skin of our teeth, the next shell falling within
thirty feet behind us, exactly on the road. The shock was
terrific and our ears were dulled for an hour or more.
September 2
The Boches shelled around the hospital all day to-day,
and the smell is fierce, as they landed several of their
shells in the graveyard. We, too, get shelled all day, and
the avians drop bombs on us every clear night. For the
first time I hear the men hoping for rain! Those boys, by
the way have been wonderful. I never saw such work as
they have been doing. It far exceeds anything the Section
has done before, and I really don't see how they keep it
up. Of course, I give them every bit of rest I can, and
insist upon their being fed at all hours, both day and
night. It is putting a crimp in the Section's books, but
it's keeping them physically fit, anyway.
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September 6
Little Tapley has an abcess ; so, as he is pretty well done
up, I sent him down to Paris for his Croix and gave him
two days' permission to get his teeth fixed. An amusing
thing occurred to him at Bar-le-Duc, where he was buy-
ing a little Croix ribbon, when an old poilu, noticing his
extreme youth, came up and kissed him! You may im-
agine Tapley 's feelings!
We are still hard at work, and the men are still doing
wonderfully, considering the strain under which they
have been for five weeks. Two of the cars have been com-
pletely destroyed by shells, and several others have been
badly hit. But we have managed to patch them up with
bits of board and odds and ends. They don't look like
ambulances, but they run. The sides of one have simply
been remade out of two canvas sleeping bags. Only two
of the men have broken down under the nerve strain, but
the others are getting pretty jumpy.
Fords and Pigeons
September 7
The French Army now apparently classes Fords with
carrier pigeons! At least I received this morning a letter
from Captain Foix, Intelligence OfHcer of the 32d Army
Corps, which reads as follows:
" I herewith send you two crates of pigeons for General
Riberpray's Division, whose headquarters are in the
Carriere Sud. It would be very kind of you to deliver
them to him, on behalf of the 326. Army Corps, and thus
do me a great service, for our cars cannot go so far."
I gave them to Ned Townsend, and told him to "fly"
with them!
Regan pulled "a funny one" up at the poste. He had
some pretty close calls getting there; so, as he had not
confessed for some time, he asked the Lieutenant to let
him see the Catholic priest. The Lieutenant found the
priest; but the latter couldn't understand English and
Regan knew no French. Regan then asked the Lieutenant
184
SECTION ONE
to translate his confession. But the Lieutenant, being a
Catholic himself, refused, because, he said, it was n't the
proper thing for a third party to hear a confession. Then
the priest had a happy thought, and said he could absoh-e,
or do whatever Regan's sins required, without under-
standing them. So Regan confessed in English, and got
next to Heaven in good shape, although the priest did n't
comprehend a word Regan said ; and everybody seems to
have been satisfied.
September ii
The latest method to rehabilitate blesses, particularly
couches, is to be stopped by a cut road or a smashed-up
ravitaillement train, while shells are coming in. Several
of our men report remarkable resurrections of this kind.
Couches get out and run like deer, while assis make regu-
lar Annette Kellerman dives into ahris. The other night
Dix had to go up and down a line of dugouts shouting
"Oosong mes blesses? Oosong mes blesses?'' for half an
hour, before he finally corralled his wounded and could
proceed on his way. He relates that one of his couches
actually climbed off the top stretcher, all by himself, and
succeeded in unfastening the back.
An amusing incident occurred while I was fixing things
so that our cars could pass up to the door of the abris.
A tall man in a blue cap called to me, "Why have n't
you got on your helmet? " Thinking he was just a lieuten-
ant like the rest of us, I shouted back, "How about your-
self?" There was a laugh from one or two of the other
"stripers" who were in the group with the tall man, and
when I looked up to see what they were laughing at, I
saw it was General Riberpray himself ! — the Commander
of the 128th Division, who only grinned and said nothing.
The Death of General Riberpray
September 12
General Riberpray was killed yesterday morning. It
could n't have been more than two hours after we met.
It appears that he went down the line and a shell got him.
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THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
At last, orders have come for us to move. We leave to-
morrow for Vaucouleurs.
September 14
Last night, the English Section invited the Lieutenant
and me to dinner and were mighty nice to us. They said
we "had set them a pace that they found it damned hard
to follow." Pretty good for the usually undemonstrative
Englishman.
Resting after the Battle
Vaucouleurs, September 18
We are slowly getting over the recent work. Personally, I
slept straight through for twenty-four hours. We have
had wonderful luck in coming out of the offensive virtu-
ally intact, at least as far as men go, for not a single car
in the whole outfit escaped without a hole. At all events,
we seem to have made quite an impression, as the English
Section working with us could not make the front pastes,
excepting in the daytime, whereas we made them day
and night, on account of the lightness of the Fords, and
the quick-wittedness of our drivers, who filled up shell-
holes, with anything handy, as fast as they were made.
Often, three or four times in one night, we would remake
the road sufficiently for a Ford to pass over.
On our way here we passed many American troops in
training, and one of the officers remarked that he "never
had seen such a looking crew" — referring to us. To be
sure, one half of the boys were wearing trousers and poilu
shoes ; some had on helmets, and all had a week or two's
growth of beard. Every one was covered with mud, and
the cars were all smashed up as to headlights, fenders,
radiators, and also covered with mud and dozens of eclat
holes. Altogether, it was a scaly-looking bunch of heroes.
Allainville, September 28
The boys have lots of fun with the peasants. They dance
with the girls, and jolly them in great style. We had a
186
SECTION ONE
regular party last night. Several of the boys whistled on
pieces of cardboard ; others sang, and all had a fine time.
October 4
Section One has been cited "by order of the Army,"
and gets the Palm, "for its valiant conduct at Verdun in
August, 1917, when everybody admired its audacity and
zeal notwithstanding the continual bombardment of the
roads by large asphyxiating shells; nor was there any
interruption of its service, though suffering severe losses."
The citation is signed by General Guillaumat.
October 6
Dr. W. p. Gary, Medecin Principal, of the 96th Division,
sends an official letter to our Lieutenant Reymond, in
which he refers to our "brilliant personnel" and to our
"magnificent go, endurance, courage, and devotion."
We feel that we are going out of the old regime into the
new with every reason to be proud of One's record. Per-
sonally, I cannot find words to express what I think of
those wonderful boys. May the new Ser\ ice live up to
the old!
William Yorke Stevenson ^
1 Of Philadelphia; University of Pennsylvania; served in Field Service
from March, 1916, to December, 1916, and April, 1917, to the end of the
Field Service, when he was commissioned First Lieutenant, U.S.A. Ambu-
lance Service, and continued work with Section One; author of At the Front
in a Flivver and From Poilu to Yank. (See Bibliography in the Appendices.)
VIII
Summary of the Section's History under the
United States Army
It was with a glorious past that Section One of the American
Field Service was taken over by the United States Army as
Section 625 on the 30th of September, 191 7, among the rolling
fields and heavy woods of the Vosges at Aillianville, not so far
from the home of Jeanne d'Arc.
Further, the Section was serving with the famous 69th Di-
vision composed of the i62d, 151st, and 129th regiments of In-
fantry and the 268th Artillery. The first two regiments as
members of the 42d Division had been in the First Battle of
the Marne at La Fere Champenoise.
The months of October, November, and December, I9I7»
the Section was to all purposes en repos, cantoned at Aillian-
ville and Beaufremont, the Division being engaged in teaching
and training, around Neufch^teau, the 26th Division of the
U.S. Army, the Yankee or New England Division, which dur-
ing the ensuing year so magnificently earned its reputation of
being among the very finest American troops.
On January 11, orders came to proceed to the sector of the
lines in front of Toul, the Woevre, and the Section moved with
the troops which marched through the heavy snow. On suc-
cessive nights the cantonments were Fruze, Saulxures, and
Charmes la Cote, and on January 17, Andilly, its permanent
cantonment, was reached. That night the Division went into
the sector of trenches between Seicheprey and Limey, west of
Pont-a-Mousson. On the i8th of January the First Moroccan
Division, which had occupied this sector, and more to the left,
was withdrawn and their place to the left of Seicheprey and
Flirey was filled by the United States First Division. This date
is notable in that it marks the occasion when American troops
first took over what might be called their own sector of
trenches.
During the next five months — for the 69th Division was m
the lines here without a break for that period — Section 625
served the following pastes: Xivray, Beaumont, Seicheprey,
Poste Saint-Victor, Flirey, Bois de la Voisogne, Lironville,
Limey, Saint-Jacques, Pont-de-Metz, Mamey, Poste Pouillot,
Jonc Fontaine, and Poste Petain in the Bois le Pretre. During
188
SECTION ONE
this period the evacuations were made to Minorville, Manon-
court, Rogeville, and Toul. As the U.S. First Division, and
later the 26th Division which reHeved it, took over more of the
lines, the 69th slipped farther and farther to the right, until
eventually its flank lay in the famous Bois le Pretre in front of
Pont-^-Mousson. On April 13, the Section cantonment was
moved to Manonville.
It is true that this sector of the front had the reputation of
being "quiet," and for the most part it upheld its character as
such, but with the advent of the United States troops the
whole neighboring line took on a more tense tone and coups-de-
main for the purpose of taking prisoners, destroying positions,
and to test opponents were more frequently indulged in. The
whole sector had hibernated peacefully under the snows of
winter until the first week in January, but it was then rudely
aroused to the serious business of the New Year by an exten-
sive and successful raid conducted by the Foreign Legion in
front of Flirey, Seicheprey, and beyond the war-worn Bois de
Remieres. From the results of this raid it became apparent
that the front lines on both sides were so lightly held that a
coup-de-main, to become effective, must be conducted on a
large scale and penetrate a considerable distance.
The work the Section was called on to do for the most part
was not difficult, but when, as here, the trenches had been fixed
for over three years, the shelling of roads, cross-roads, and
pastes de secoiirs, especially those near a Poste de Commande-
ment, was extremely accurate, and during a coup-de-main the
evacuation of wounded was often conducted under heavy fire.
More than passing comment must be given the Boche attack
of April 19 against the I02d Regiment of the U.S. 26th Divi-
sion at Seicheprey, not only because this was the first engage-
ment of any size participated in by United States troops, but
because of the part Section 625 was called on to play. The at-
tack was made at dawn, after a severe, but short preliminary
bombardment by over 1000 picked Prussian Skirmtruppen, to
the right of Seicheprey and near the place in the Bois de Jury
where the United States and French troops joined. The line
was pierced and the village entered from the side and rear.
Very fierce hand-to-hand fighting took place during the ensu-
ing day, and the enemy eventually retired toward their own
lines occupying trenches in and near the Bois de Remieres.
Here they were pinned down by an enfilading cross-fire, but
because of some misunderstanding or neglect, the four com-
panies of the I02d Regiment designated for the counter-attack
failed to take part with two companies of the French i62d In-
fantry who went over the top, and the enemy were allowed to
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THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
regain their lines during the night without suffering further
losses. Despite the unfaltering gallantry of the I02d Infantry,
this engagement must be regarded as a Boche success, for al-
though the casualties perhaps about balanced, the raiders gath-
ered approximately 150 prisoners.
On June 4 the Section moved to Pagney-derriere-Barine near
Toul. The morning of June 6 the Section started en convoi for
Vitry-le-Frangois, but received orders there to continue. At
Esternay and Coulommiers further orders kept the Section en
route, and three o'clock the following morning found it biv-
ouacked in the market-place of Meaux, three hundred kilome-
tres from its starting-point, with every car in good shape.
The civilians were rapidly evacuating Meaux, but the town
was busy with the handling of American Marine wounded who
were being brought in from the neighborhood of Bouresches
and the Bois de Belleau. That day, by the way of Senlis, Creil,
and Clermont, the Ferme la Quadre, near Nointel, was reached,
where the Section rested and prepared itself, on June 8. It was
apparent that a great Boche drive was pending, but the Sec-
tion, though prepared, hardly expected to be ordered to the
alerte at dawn on June 9 with the rumble of a tremendous bar-
rage in its ears. It later proved to be a terrific attack extending
bet^veen Montdidier and Noyon. Toward noon orders were re-
ceived to proceed to Monchy-Humieres behind Lassigny by
the way of Arsy and Remy. The roads were jammed with the
69th Division going up in camions and refugees and wounded
streaming back, and as the Section convoy neared Monchy
about four o'clock, heavy and light artillery and fragments of
infantrv passed it, hastening to take up positions in the rear.
It was by no means a rout, but even the most inexperienced
eye could see that the enemy was coming very fast and that the
situation was uncertain at best. The cloud of battle smoke ap-
proached rapidly and the line of enemy saucisses advanced
steadily, while those of the French, still in the air attached to
their rnotor trucks, passed the convoy bound rearwards. As
Monchy was reached, orders were given for the Section to turn
in its tracks and go to Remy, there to await further instruc-
tions. Along the return route elements of the 69th Division
were going up across the fields in skirmish order. Darkness
came, and still no orders had been received concerning the es-
tablishing of postes de secours, or as to the location of any units
to be served. Because of the unsettled situation, Lieutenant
Stevenson determined to separate the Section. About half the
cars were left at Remy to await further orders, and the re-
mainder, under the direct super\'ision of Lieutenant Steven-
son, went to the Sucrerie d'Apremont, a kilometre behind
190
SECTION ONE
Gournay, where the Lieutenant, in Huston's car, went out to
establish connection with the French infantry in front. By this
distribution the instant availability of a part of the cars was
assured. During the latter part of the night there was a
pause in the attack, probably due to the bringing up of fresh
enemy divisions, but before dawn it was renewed violently.
At that time the lines ran through Gournay-sur-Aronde, which
was held by a mere skirmish line of infantry, alone. During
the next four da^'s the struggle surged back and forth through
Gournay, Ferme la Porte, Ferme de Loge, and Antheuil, the
fortunes of battle changing so rapidly that it was impossible
to be sure where the lines or pastes de secours would be the
next hour. Because of the continuous succession of attacks
and counter-attacks, the cars served battalion and regimental
pastes in extremely advanced positions subjected to machine-
gun and rifle fire. On the fourth day, after having been forced
back approximately three kilometres since the morning of June
lO, the Division counter-attacked heavily, driving the enemy
back two kilometres and establishing the line more firmly. But
for a week the fighting was over a ver>' irregular front, entirely
in the open wheat-fields without trenches, or even camouflage
or concealment for the "75's"; the pastes served by the Section
were often unexpectedly retired or advanced and the difficul-
ties and the anxieties of the work were doubled. It is difficult to
designate the pastes worked by the Section during this period,
June 9 to 18, for temporary pastes were several times estab-
lished.in open fields or roadside ditches, but the main ones are
as follows: Montmartin, Le Moulin, two kilometres in advance,
Sucrerie d'Apremont, the roadside behind Gourna}^ Le Ferme
de Monchy, Le Ferme Beaumanoir, Monchy village. Chateau
de Monchy, Baugy Chateau, Baugy village, and a roadside
conduit in front of Baugy near the Compiegne-Montdidier
highway. Evacuations were made to Le Fayel, Canly, Cate-
nois, and Estrees-Saint-Denis. The Section cantonment was
behind the church at Remy, the town being shelled frequently,
and bombed severely every night by avians. On the i6th the
Division started to withdraw from the lines, moving to the
right as it did so, the Section being shifted to Venette on the
edge of Compiegne, and pastes established at Braisnes, Anelle,
and Coudun. On June 20, the whole Division was out of the
line, one regiment alone being held in active reserve, and the
Section moved back to Jonquieres, serving only one paste, at
Lachelle.
The following twenty-four days of light work was welcome,
not so much because of the rest it afforded the men, but be-
cause the Section felt what was still ahead of them and desired
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THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
to be ready and prepared in every conceivable way. The 69th
Division had played the main part in stopping what proved to
be the last Boche drive which met with any measure of success
or perceptible advance. The Division had met the very middle
of the drive, borne its full force, stopped it, and then hurled it
back almost to the same position where it had first come to
grips, inflicting almost unprecedented losses on the three divi-
sions which opposed it. Of course its own losses were heavy,
the Section on three successive days evacuating over 1500 nien,
together with another 150 from the divisions on either side.
During the next three weeks the regiments were rested and re-
cruited up, and were trained for attack with tanks, the nature
of their work in the future becoming apparent.
The night of July 4, orders arrived, and the following after-
noon the Section moved to the centre of the great forest just
east of Compiegne, traversing the desolate streets of that city in
the gathering dusk. Here a stop was made for two days near
the Chateau de Franc Port, where the Section was quartered a
week in 191 6 on the way to the Aisne front. (Later the enerny
armistice delegates were here to spend their first night within
the allied lines.) Two days of solitude followed, unbroken ex-
cept by avion bombing, but noon of the second day, July 17,
brought directions, and at sundown the convoy took up its
way through the aisles of the forest, reaching Pierrefonds be-
fore night. All extra equipment, a large part of the atelier, and
the bureau were left in a house at the foot of that marvellous
castle, and the first darkness saw the Section with faces turned
toward the lines. Early dawn had been set with Mortefontaine,
twelve kilometres away, as the rendezvous, but it was with
the greatest difftculty that the order was carried out, for that
night was filled with more mufifled activity and strained anxiety
than the world will ever see again. The road was jammed with
every factor of a vast army, sensed around rather than seen,
but revealed momentarily in the flashes; camions, wagons,
caissons, machine-gun carts, staff cars, motor-cycles, artillery,
little and big tanks, armored cars, cavalry with their towering
lances, bicycle detachments, and always the plodding infantry
in two endless columns following the ditches on either side.
Steadily and ceaselessly this stream poured forward through
the black, no singing, little talking, few orders; the tramp of
feet in the mud, the rattle of wheels, the throbbing of motors,
the staccato explosions of the motor-cycles, and the ponderous
clanking of tanks; an irresistible tide of manhood, poilus and
doughboys, shoulder to shoulder straining toward the future.
Surely the night of July 17-18 should be as memorable and
glorious forever as the dawn of July 18, the hour when the
192
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SECTION ONE
forces of liberty commenced their overwhelming attacks, never
ceasing till the final victorious peace was attained.
At the first break of day the Section was all assembled at
Mortefontaine in time to see the attack beyond. Again the
Section was serving in the famous 20^ Corps d'Armee, the first
it had ever been attached to, and this time it was in Mangin's
magnificent Tenth Army. As the battle progressed it turned as
a pivot till, instead of facing east, as on the first day, on August
2, when Soissons fell before it, it faced north on its whole front.
This manoeuvre required great skill of generalship and all the
brains and force in personnel of a truly veteran organization.
July 19 again only a few cars were used, and these carried
Americans, Moroccans, and soldiers of the Legion as well as
their own Division's wounded. No definite pastes were es-
tablished, the wounded being picked up at widely scattered
places.
The first pastes de secours were established on July 20, in a
roadside ditch near the ruins of the Raperie at a cross-road on
the route from Cutry to Saconin, and on the 21st, in the village
of Missy-aux-Bois. Then the Section commenced real work,
for the runs from these places were constant, the evacuations
all being made to Pierrefonds, twenty-five-odd kilometres to
the rear, over rough, narrow roads at all hours solid with
traffic. The Missy paste was in the cellar of the chateau on the
northern edge of the town and adequately answered the pur-
pose, being maintained until August 2. But the Raperie paste,
which lay in the middle of some threescore "75's" in the open
field, and within a stone's throw of an important cross-road,
was different. It' almost immediately became untenable as a
place to retain wounded for more than a moment. On July 21,
it was moved over a kilometre forward to a quarry-hole in the
hillside above the village of Saconin, from which the enemy
had just been driven. The mouth of the cave, labelled "Minen-
werfer Hohle," faced toward the lines across the narrow valley,
and was subject to a constant and severe fire, directed not only
at the mouth of the paste, but the road in front, and the loop
of the road behind and above. All pastes, with the exception
of the one at Missy-aux-Bois, were reached by one road which
ran down the hill past the Minenwerfer Hohle, wound down
through the little valley, through the village of Saconin, curled
up the opposite side through the hamlet of Breuil, and up over
the crest to the great covered quarry beyond. The evacuations
which were made over this route were very numerous, as may
be assumed from the fact that all the cars, including the
camiannette and often the White truck, were working night and
day steadily until the fall of Soissons on August 2, the men
193
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
snatching minutes of sleep rather than hours. Missy was
reached by the route through Saint-Pierre-Aigle and Dommiers
to the Croix de Per on the Paris-Soissons highway, from which
a small road led diagonally back to Missy.
On July 20, the Section cantonment moved into the town of
Coeuvres, from which on July 21 it was shifted to an open field
behind Dommiers, where the kitchen was placed in the lee of
a destroyed tank and the men slept under the cars or in shell-
craters, when they were fortunate enough to have an oppor-
tunity. Before this site could be made available, a number of
bodies had to be removed and buried.
The night of the 22d a remarkable array of Scotch regi-
ments, composing the 15th Division, entered the lines on the
right; among them were some of the recognized elite of the
British Army — the Black Watch, the Gordons, the Seaforths,
the Camerons, and the Argyle and Sutherland Highlanders.
These troops went up to the skirling of the pipes, every man
immaculate and the acme of military precision and orderliness;
and after a week of terrific attacking, which terminated in the
triumphant storming of Buzancy, came out the same way, un-
ruffled and undisturbed, notwithstanding extreme losses, every
man shaved and perfect in attire and equipment. The Section
was privileged in evacuating many — too many — of_ them
from Missy and temporary postes beyond Chaudun in the
neighborhood of Ploisy and Berzy-le-Sec.
A poste in the village of Ploisy was established July 23. This
was veritably among the French machine guns, for the lines -—
if such they could be termed, being merely an irregular chain
of isolated and almost unrelated positions and nests — ran
barely beyond the end of the village. The cars were allowed
to arrive only after dark and were ordered to depart before
dawn ; but often dire necessity ruled and the runs were made
by day as well. So insecure and vague were the lines here that
the Division aumonier going up by day in one of the cars and
alighting at Ploisy, walked unwarned into the enemies' posi-
tions a few hundred feet beyond and was made a prisoner.
Soissons fell on August 2, and the city was completely cleared
to the river-bank in short order, with the exception of one
tremendously strong outpost at the "hydraulic pump," where
the Aisne loops in passing through. This was attacked and
wiped out the afternoon of August 9 after severe concentrated
artillery preparation, the cars being taken to within almost a
stone's throw of the scene in the city streets before the barrage
started, in order to be instantly available for the wounded.
On August 3 new postes were established at Billy-sur-Aisne,
Carriere I'fiveque, the chateaux at Belleu and Septmonts,
194
SECTION ONE
Noyant, Vignolles, and on August 7 one at the enormous hos-
pital near the railroad station in Soissons. There were other
temporary battalion and advanced pastes aX various places, a
cave on the plateau beyond Carriere I'Eveque and two in
Soissons, one near the Place de la Republique and one in a
house on the east edge of the city.
The Section at dawn of July 30 had been shelled out of its
cantonment in the field behind Dommiers and was fortunate
in being able to move back to the vicinity of the chateau in
Cceuvres without damage. On August 5, with the advance of
the troops, it took up quarters in the village of Ploisy, the
kitchen and atelier being set up next to the chateau and the
men and cars being scattered in various places, a precaution
made necessary by the continual shelling of the town itself
and the numerous batteries surrounding it. The work of evacu-
ation had been especially arduous because of the length of the
runs necessary to reach the hospitals. From July 18 to 25, all
evacuations were made to Pierrefonds over twenty kilometres
by road from Cceuvres alone; on that day a small ambulance
was opened at the chateau in Cceuvres, where gassed men,
assis, and all slightly wounded could be left. About August 5
the evacuations of couches and seriously wounded were changed
to the hospital at Villers-Cotterets, more than twenty-five
kilometres from Ploisy; but on August 14, the Section labors
were greatly lessened by orders to evacuate all to a triage
hospital situated in a great cave in Vierzy, barely ten kilo-
metres from Soissons itself.
About this time one of the cars was detached to accompany
the i62d Regiment, which was withdrawn from the lines and
moved over to the left, crossing the Aisne at Vic-sur-Aisne and
advancing into an attack as support to another division. It
returned to its former place in less than a week.
Source of indignation was the lax and inexcusable manner
in which the burying of the American dead was conducted.
Despite the fact that the 1st Division had been withdrawn from
the lines on July 23, a great many of their dead lay unburied,
kilometres behind the lines, for a full month. The French
burying-parties, made up of territorials, were instructed that
the Americans desired to bury their own dead, but despite this,
for sanitary reasons, were forced hastily to cover many bodies.
They could not have fallen later than July 22, for the 1st
Division had been relieved then and no United States troops
remained in this part of the line. The Section was working des-
perately at the time, and the men and time were not available
to give these unfortunates a decent burial. The detachment of
the 1st Division, stationed at Mortefontaine, for the purpose
195
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
of properly marking and of mapping the locality of graves, was
immediately notified. The reply Sergeant Day received when
letting them know of these conditions was, "Well, that's a
pretty hot place yet, and what's the use of risking your life for
a dead man?" These bodies remained untouched till finally
necessity demanded action, so on the 20th of August they were
decently buried by friendly hands where they fell fighting
fiercely in the Greatest Cause. The French had more than they
could do to take care of their own victims, and to put away the
Boches, and the Section to a man writhed in unavailing indig-
nation that their own country's dead should be left to the care
of hurried foreign hands without cause or even excuse. A con-
trast to this was the Scotch. Future generations will see orderly,
neat, clean little cemeteries, which were erected and com-
pleted to their last tenant twenty-four hours after the Scotch
were withdrawn from the lines.
The morning of August 28, the attack to cross the river was
commenced and a few hours later the immediate suburbs of
the city beyond, including strongholds at the distillerie, the
briqueterie, and the abattoir were cleared and a tiny pontoon
bridge laid. The first vehicle of any kind to cross the Aisne
at Soissons or to the right was one of the Section cars driven
by Irving Moses. The new pastes de secoiirs were all on the far
bank along the fringe of the city, the briqueterie, almost imme-
diately made utterly untenable, the abattoir, and the Abbey
Saint-Medard, the last being the resting-place of ancient kings
of France. Attack followed attack, the flats beyond the river
were cleared foot by foot, but the Boches still retained the
dominating heights along the edge of the plateau, and every
inch of every road was open to machine-gun-fire. Toward the
last days of August, the Division resumed its heavy attacks,
crossed the Aisne, cleared the suburbs of the city on the other
side and numerous positions in the valley, stormed up the
heights to the plateau, captured Crouy, and put the enemy to
open flight across the plateau top, pursuing them beyond Bucy-
le-Long, Vregny, and Pont Rouge toward Vauxaillon, being
relieved on September 7 at Moulin de Laffaux. The achieve-
ments of the 69th Division during these fifty-one successive
days of terrible struggle have been recognized as one of the
most heroic annals of the French Army.
The order for convoy to Nancy came September 15 and the
Section proceeded to its destination by easy stages, stopping
the first night at Chalons-sur-Marne in the market-place, and
the second at Vaucouleurs, reaching Vandoeuvre, its billet on
the edge of Nancy, the afternoon of September 17. En route the
men had been given an opportunity for a hurried glance at the
196
SECTION ONE
Bois de Belleau, where in those dark days of early June the
Marines had thrilled the world ; and a stop for lunch had been
made in Chateau-Thierry, a name which will roll down the
centuries as more American than French.
The three days at Vandoeuvre were spent in overhauling
the cars and re-equipping, and September 22 found the Section
quartered in the grounds of the field hospital at Millery on the
right bank of the Moselle, having stopped for two days at
Frouard while the Division slowly took over the lines to the
right of Pont-a-Mousson, part of which was occupied by the
82d U.S. Division. On the 25th, a company of the i62d Regi-
ment, and a company of the 29th Battalion of Senegalese,
joined with the 60th U.S. Infantry Regiment in an unsuccessful
attack along the right bank of the Moselle, in front of Pont-
a-Mousson. The objectives were reached first by the United
States troops, but they were forced to fall back sooner than
were the French, who held on until it was obvious that their
position could not be retained without entailing too expensive
losses. During the attack the Section served a poste in the de-
molished site of a hospital beyond Pont-a-Mousson, and during
the next few weeks had cars stationed at Sainte-Genevieve,
Loisy, and Landremont, from which various advanced pastes
were worked. On October 10 the 92d Division of United States
negro troops relieved the 69th Division, which nevertheless left
its artillery for additional support until further protection could
be afforded. The Section during the relief had the additional
work of evacuating many footsore and sick soldiers of the 92d
Division.
Again the Section spent a few days in Vandoeuvre and on
October 14, moved to Eulmont, the Division shifting along
the lines to the right. The sector here was very quiet, and the
Section for some three weeks, as well as serving the 69th
Division, took care of the 165th Division, which also belongs
to the 32d Corps. Two more battalions of Senegalese were
added to the Division. Again the Section prepared itself to take
part in a tremendous attack. This time it was apparent, from
military preparations, that the attack was to be upon a gigantic
scale, dwarfing everything that the war had hitherto known;
but the glorious news of the signing of the Armistice intervened
at the last minute, and the old Section flag was cheated of
another name to add to the immortal ones it already bore!
Dunkirk, Ypres, Nieuport, Vic-sur-Aisne, Cappy-sur-Somme,
Verdun, Cote 304, Reims, Route 44, Houdromont, Douaumont,
Seicheprey, Monchy, Soissons, Crouy, and Pont-^-Mousson.
Here starts another phase in the history of Section Six-
Twenty-Five. As an American unit in the war, dating as a
197
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
Section from the first days of 1915, and with an origin from
almost the first hours of the war, it rightfully claims the
distinction of being the oldest, the veteran organization, of
America in the World War. The records show that from Janu-
ary, 1915, to the signing of the Armistice, it had evacuated
well over 56,000 men. But now it turned willing hands to aid
in the French Army of Occupation, the Tenth Army com-
manded by General Mangin.
On the 17th day of November the Section crossed the lines
between Abaucourt and Jallaucourt and slowly travelled with
the Division through Lorraine into Germany. Stops of sev-
eral days were made at Tincy, Suisse, Gesslingen, Helleringen,
and Sulzbach, and finally on December 9, Neunkirchen was
reached, where the Section remained comfortably quartered
for several weeks. About the only incident worthy of comment
during this period was the attempt by hidden snipers to shoot
Orrie Lovell and Weld while transporting sick to the hospital.
In the early part of January, the 69th Division was split up,
the various regiments returning to their old Corps, which fact
left the Section unattached and with no services to render.
On January 20, orders came to report to the pare at Mayence
and the 130-kilometre convoy was made in good shape. Bil-
leted on the edge of Mayence in the town of Bretzenheim, the
Section waited for orders to report to the U.S. Army Ambu-
lance Service Base Camp for demobilization and return to the
United States. A fitting climax to the four years' service came
on the receipt of the 5th Citation a Vordre de Varniee, which
carried with it the privilege of wearing the Croix de Guerre
Fourragere, for the splendid work of the past summer near
Compiegne and around Soissons.
Edward A. G. Wylie^
^ Of New York City; Yale; in S.S.U. i, and Six-Twenty-Five during
1917-19. The above is from a privately printed History of Section 62^.
^ .;:.=i3a5Sr'fe3i^^g^™
££U« ^''•^ &*•> * i*«i*.»^
< /</3| n » Ai .~ *fi (if^
Section Two
THE STORY TOLD BY
I. James R. McConnell
II. Leslie Buswell
III. Carlyle H. Holt
IV. Henry Sheahan
V. Frank Hoyt Gailor
VI. Edward Nicholas Seccombe
VII. Charles Baird, Jr.
VIII. John R. Fisher
IX. William H. C. Walker
X. John E. Boit
XI. Henry D. M. Sherrerd
XII. Harmon ^B. Craig
XIII. Ewen MacIntyre, Jr.
XIV. Edward Nicholas Seccombe
SUMMARY
Section Two left Paris for Vittel, the headquarters of the
French Army of the East, in the middle of April, 1915. It was
almost immediately assigned to service in the region of Bois
le Pretre, being quartered first at Dieulouard, then at Pont-a-
Mousson. It remained in this sector, which at that time was
fairly active, for nearly ten months. In February of 1916, when
the great battle of Verdun was imminent, it was moved to that
sector, where it remained for more than a year and a half. It
was first stationed in the hospital grounds at Le Petit Mont-
hairon. In March the Section was attachedto the rapidly
growing hospital at Vadelaincourt ; in June it moved for a
month to Bar-le-Duc; on June 27th it returned to Le Petit
Monthairon ; on September 2 to Rampont, where it remained
until November 8, leaving on that date for Ville-sur-Cou-
sances ; after two months of activity at this point, the Section
was sent for"^ repos to Glorieux near Verdun on January 10,
191 7. On the 19th of the month the entire Section started for
La Grange-aux-Bois; thence to Dombasle-en-Argonne on the
25th of June, and on July 30 for repos to Nangois-le-Grand. On
August 16 the Section went on a three days' repos to Som-
maisne. This was followed by a brief stay at Souhesme. It was
on September 26 at Sivry-la-Perche that the Section enlisted
in the American Army as Section Six-Twenty-Six.
Section Two
Yet sought they neither recompense nor praise,
Nor to be mentioned in another breath
Than their blue-coated comrades whose great days
It was their pride to share, ay! share even to death.
Nay, rather, France, to you they rendered thanks
(Seeing they came for honor, not for gain).
Who, opening to them your glorious ranks,
Gave them that grand occasion to excel,
That chance to live the life most free from stain
And that rare privilege of dying well.
Alan Seeger
(From a poem written by him in memory of American Volunteers
fallen for France, upon the occasion of a memorial service held
before the Lafayette-Washington statue in Paris, May 30, 1916)
I
PONT-A-MOUSSON — I915
Ponl-a-Mousson, August 1915
In August, 191 5, we were quartered in a building which
had not been occupied since August, 19 14. There were
countless rooms already furnished, while those on the
first floor had been so cleaned up that the Section, which
consisted of twenty-four men, had "all the comforts of
home." There was a large mess-hall, kitchen, writing-
room, library, general office, dormitory, and a good gener-
ous vaulted cellar of easy access. This last adjunct was
important, for the town was one of the most frequently
bombarded places in the line, and very often big shells
that wreck a house at one shot made it advisable to take
to the cave. The atelier of the armurier with its collection
of tools and fixtures, now served as a perfect automobile
repair shop. We had also running water, and, at first, en-
203
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
joyed both gas and electric lights; but shells eventually
put both systems out of commission. Naturally the tele-
phone line got clipped every few days, but was quickly
repaired. Behind the headquarters was a gem of a garden
containing several species of roses, and, as fortune would
have it, new wicker chairs. At first all this seemed too
good to be true ; we could not realize that such an amaz-
ing combination of comforts could exist in the war zone,
and still less could we realize it when we looked down
the street and saw the German trenches in full view on
the crest of a hill fourteen hundred yards distant, where
at night rifle flashes were seen. To the volunteers who had
hibernated and drudged along at Beauvais some thirty-
five kilometres behind the line until April, 191 5, it was a
realization of hopes beyond belief.
The men in the Section had been billeted in Dieulouard,
eight kilometres below, at houses where they slept when
not on night duty; but when the French Section was or-
dered away, a number of the men elected to move up to
Pont-a-Mousson and were given excellent quarters in the
various vacated residences of the town. Why, instead of
just rooms they had suites, and the commander had an
apartment in the show place of the town!
The Daily Service
The regular daily service was arduous enough In itself,
for one was either on duty or on call all of the time. Then
there were periods following an attack when the men
rested neither day nor night, when one got food only in
snatches, and frequently days at a time would pass when
one was on such continuous service that there was never
a chance to undress. Then there was the other aspect, the
ever-present danger of being killed or wounded that one
is under at the front, for Section Two worked and lived
in a heavily shelled area.
In spite of the danger, the American ambidanciers ren-
dered their service with fidelity at any and all times. A
French captain once remarked that, no matter how much
204
SHELLS BREAKING ON THE COTE DE MOUSSON
WATCHING AN AEROPLANE DUEL IN PONT-A-MOUSSON
SECTION TWO
the town was being shelled, our little field ambulances
could be seen slipping down the streets, past corners, or
across the square on their way to and from the pastes de
secoiirs back of the trenches. I remember one day that
was especially a test of the men. The town was being
shelled, and it happened that at the same time there were
many calls for cars. The Germans were paying particular
attention to the immediate surroundings of our head-
quarters, and the shells were not falling according to any
time-table known to us. A call came in, and the "next
man" was handed his orders. He waited until a shell
burst and then made a run for it. Several cars had been
out on calls and were due to return. There was no way
of giving them a warning. We heard the purr of a motor,
and almost immediately the sing of a shell very close to
us. There was an instant of anxiety, an explosion, and
then we were relieved to see the car draw up in line, the
driver switch off his motor and run for our entrance,
holding his order card in front of him as he ran, and just
as he entered another shell hit near by. It reminded me
strongly of a scene in a " ten- twenty- thirty " martial play.
All the hero needed was some fuller's earth to pat off his
shoulders when he came inside.
The Routine
It is difficult to take any one day's work and describe it
in the attempt to give an adequate picture of the routine
of the Section, for with us all days were so different.
Six-thirty is the time for bread and coffee, and the long
table in the flag-decorated mess-room begins to fill.
Mignot, our comrade orderly, is rushing to and fro plac-
ing bowls in front of those arriving, and practising on
each the few English expressions he has picked up by
association with us. Two men of the Section enter who
look very tired. They throw their caps or fatigue hats on
to a side table and call for Mignot. They have been on
all-night service at a hamlet where the most active posies
de secours are located.
205
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
"Much doing last night? " asks one of the crowd at the
table.
"Not much. Had only sixteen altogether."
"Anything stirring?"
"Yes; Fritz eased in a few shrapnels about 5.30, but
did n't hurt any one. You know the last house down on
the right-hand side? Well, they smeared that with a shell
during the night."
"By the way," continues the man in from night serv-
ice, addressing himself to one across the table, "Canot,
the artilleryman, was looking for you. Says he's got a
ring for you made out of a Boche fuse-cap, and wants to
know if you want a Geneva or Lorraine cross engraved
on it."
The men in the Section leave the room one by one to
take up their various duties. There are some whose duty
it is to stay in reserve, and these go out to work on their
cars. Others fare on bureau service, and they remain
within call of the telephone. Two leave for the town eight
kilometres below, where their job is to evacuate from the
two hospitals where the wounded have been carried down
the day and night before.
Friends among the Frenchmen
In front of four or five of the low masonry houses a
Red Cross flag is hung, designating the pastes de secours
where the wounded are bandaged and given to the ambu-
lances. An American car is backed up in front of one, and
the khaki-clad driver is the centre of interest for a group
of soldiers. Some he knows well, and he is carrying on a
cheerful conversation with them. It is surprising what
a number of French soldiers speak English; and there
are hundreds who have lived in England and in the
States. Some are even American citizens who have re-
turned to fight for la belle France, their mother-country.
I have met waiters from the Cafe Lafayette, chefs from
Fifth Avenue hotels, men who worked in New York and
Chicago banks, in commission houses, who own fanns in
206
SECTION TWO
the West, and some who had taken up their residence
in American cities to Hve on their incomes. It seems very
funny to be greeted with a "Hello there, old scout!" by
French soldiers.
"Well, when did you come over?" asks the driver.
"In August. Been through the whole thing."
"Where were you in the States?"
" New York; and I am going back there when it is over.
Got to beat it now. So long. See you later."
A few companies of soldiers go leisurely past on their
way up to the trenches, and nearly every man has some-
thing to say to the American driver. Five out of ten will
point to the ambulance and cry out with questionable
but certainly cheerful enough humor, "Save a place for
me to-morrow," or, " Be sure and give me a quick ride!"
Others yell our greetings, or air their knowledge of Eng-
lish. '' Camarade americain,'' said in a very sincere tone
and followed by a grip of the hand, has a very warm
friendship about it. Yes, you make good friends that way.
Working along together in this war brought men very
close. You found some delightful chaps, and then . . .
well, sometimes you realized you had not seen a certain
one for a week or so, and you inquire after him from a
man in his company.
"Where is Bosker, or Busker? — I don't know how
you pronounce it. You know, tall fellow with corporal's
galons who was always talking about what a good time
he was going to have when he got back to Paris."
"He got killed in the attack two nights ago — pauvre
gars," is the answer. . . .
Night Duty and an Added Sector
A KILOMETRE up the climbing winding road was a lone
poste de secours in the woods just off the highway. The
approach and the place itself were often shelled. There
were times when the drivers were under a seriously heavy
fire on night duty ; times when trees were shattered and
fallen across the road and huge craters made in the soft
207
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
earth of the adjacent fields. A kilometre beyond was another
point of call, and from there one could look directly into
one of the most fought-over sections of ground in the long
line from the sea to Belfort. It is a bit of land that before
the war was covered with a magnificent forest. Now it is a
wilderness whose desolation is be^iond description.
Section Two performed its duties so well that the work
of an adjacent division was given to it, and the little
cars began rolling past the last-mentioned poste de secours
over to the exposed plain beyond and into the zone of its
newly-acquired activities. The American cars literally
infested the roads in the day. They buzzed along on calls
to the postes, returned from evacuations, and kept so
busy trying to accelerate the work that a casual observer
might have imagined that a whole division had been
annihilated overnight. There are times when men die in
the ambulances before they reach the hospitals, and I
believe nearly every driver in the Section has had at
least one distressing experience of that sort. Early one
morning there was an urgent call for a single wounded.
The man's comrades gathered around the little car to
bid their friend good-bye. He was terribly wounded and
going fast. "See," said one of them to the man on the
stretcher, "you are going in an American car. You will
have a good trip, old fellow, and get well soon. Good-bye
and good luck!" They forced a certain cheerfulness, but
their voices were low and dry, for they saw death creep-
ing into the face of their comrade. The driver took his
seat and was starting when he was asked to wait. ' ' Some-
thing for him," they said. When the car arrived at the
hospital, the man was dead. He was cold and must have
died at the start of the trip. The driver regretted the
delay in leaving. Why had they asked him to wait? Then
he saw that the ambulance was covered with sprigs of
lilac and little yellow field flowers. The men knew that
the car would serve as a hearse.
Americans have a faculty of adapting themselves to
any service they may be called upon to perform, and
208
SECTION TWO
many times we undertook on our own initiative various
missions that were not in strict accord with our mihtary
duties. For instance, after a bombardment, we very often
transported dead civiHans. During one bombardment a
considerable number of women and children were killed.
A couple of the American ambulances were on the spot
immediately after, and the men were silently going about
their sad work. The little children who were accustomed
to cry out to us as we passed, gathered around holding
to their mothers' trembling hands. They said, ^^ Ameri-
cains,'^ when they saw the khaki uniforms; but on this
occasion their tone was hushed and sad instead of loud
and joyous, and had a surprised note, as if they had not
expected to see the Americans at such a task.
Curiosity and Prudence
It took us a long time to learn the value of prudence. At
first during the bombardments we would rush to the
street as soon as a shell landed and look to see what
damage had been done. Then, when some eclats had
sizzed uncomfortably close to our persons, we became a
little more^ discreet and waited awhile before venturing
out. But experience finally discounted the popularity of
orchestra seats during an exhibition in which shells larger
than '*77's" appear.
The men did what was asked and gladly, for there was
no work more worth while than helping in some way, no
matter what, this noblest of all causes. One did not look
for thanks, — there was reward enough in the satisfac-
tion the work gave ; but the French did not let it stop at
that. The men from the trenches were surprised that we
had voluntarily undertaken such a hazardous occupa-
tion, and expressed their appreciation and gratitude with
almost embarrassing frequency. "You render a great
service," said the officers, and those of highest rank called
to offer thanks in the name of France. It is good to feel
that one's endeavors are appreciated, and encouraging to
hear the words of praise; but when, at the end of an
209
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
evacuation, one drew a stretcher from the car, and the
poor wounded man lying upon it, who had never allowed
a groan to escape during a ride that must have been pain-
ful, with an effort holds out his hand, grasps yours, and,
forcing a smile, murmurs, "Mem," — that is what urged
you to hurry back for other wounded, to be glad that
there was a risk to one's self in helping them, and to feel
grateful that you have had the opportunity to serve the
brave French people in their sublime struggle.
Extracts from McConnell's Journal
October 26, 1915
The head of the Sanitary Service of the French Govern-
ment, accompanied by three generals, made a tour of
inspection of all the units in this sector to-day.
November 14
We had the first snow of the season to-day. All the
morning it snowed and covered the fields and trees with
a thick coating of white. In the roads it melted and they
became stretches of yellow slush.
November 16
We received a telephone message in the morning asking
us to go to the mairie to meet a high official. Four of us
went over. A number of large cars were drawn up in the
Place. One bore the flag of the President of France. We
were to meet Poincar6. We formed a line inside the sand-
bag barricaded arcade. The President and his entourage
passed. He stopped in front of us. "One finds you every-
where," he said; "you are indeed devoted." Then he
shook hands with each of us and passed on. We wandered
on down the arcade to watch the party go down into the
shelled area of the town. A sentry standing near us en-
tered into conversation. He addressed himself to Pottle.
"Did he shake hands with you?" he asked. "Oh, yes,"
replied Pottle, who had taken the whole thing as a matter
of course. ''Bon DieuT' said the sentry, "he is n't a bit
proud, is he?"
210
SECTION TWO
November 25
Thanksgiving — and we celebrated it in the American
style. We had purchased and guarded the turkeys, and
they were prime. One of our men did wonders with the
army food, and it is doubtful if any finer Thanksgiving
dinner was eaten any place in the world than the one we
enjoyed to-day, only two thousand yards from the Huns.
November 30
The writer, with two others of the Section, was crossing
the Place after dark. As we passed the breach in the sand-
bag barricaded roads we were lighted up by the yellow
glare coming from the shops next to the mairie. The
sentry there on duty saw us. "Pass along, my children,
and good luck to you; you are more devoted than we
are," he cried out to us. I was startled by the voice out of
the darkness and the surprising remarks. I glanced to-
wards the sentry's post, but the light blinded me and I
could not see him. From his voice, however, I knew he was
old — one of the aged territorials.
"Oh, no," I answered, for lack of anything better to
say.
"Yes, you are. We all thank you. You are very de-
voted," he replied.
"No, not that, but I thank you," I said, and we were
swallowed up in the darkness. Then I was sorry one of us
hadn't gone back to shake hands with the kind-hearted
old fellow. It seemed to me that it was the spirit of France
speaking through him, voicing, as usual, her appreciation
for any well-intentioned aid, and that we should have
replied a little more formally.
James R. McConnell ^
1 Of Carthage, North Carolina; University of Virginia; was in the Field
Service during 1915; subsequently went into the Lafayette Flying Corps
and was shot down near Ham, while on a reconnaissance during the Somme
advance in July, 1916. The advancing troops found his body several days
later.
II
PONT-A-MOUSSON BoiS LE PrETRE
Pont-d,-Mousson, June 17, 1915
This is a dear little town with about eight thousand
inhabitants. After breakfast I was asked by one of the
men if I would like to look about. We turned to the left
and entered the famous Bois le Pretre where the artillery
had not been. Here was an officers' cemetery, a terrible,
sad sight, — six hundred officers' graves. Close by were
also the graves of eighteen hundred soldiers. The little
cemetery was quite impressive on the side of this lovely
green hill with the great trees all around and the little
plain wood crosses at each grave. As we waited, a broken-
down horse appeared with a cart-load of what looked
like old clothes, but which was really des morts. I had
never seen a dead body until that moment. It was a
horrible awakening — eight stiff, mangled, armless bodies
— all men like ourselves with people loving them some-
where, all gone this way. A grave had been dug two
metres deep, large enough to hold sixteen. One by one
they were lowered into the grave.
Pont-d-Mousson, Monday, June 28
I HAD to go to Auberge Saint- Pierre at about two o'clock
this morning. It was a sad trip for me. A boy about nine-
teen had been hit in the chest and half his side had gone.
" Tres presse,*^ they told me. And as we lifted him into the
car, by a little brick house which was a mass of shell-holes,
he raised his sad, tired eyes to mine and tried a brave
smile. I went down the hill as carefully as I could and very
slowly, but when I arrived at the hospital, I found I had
been driving a hearse and not an ambulance. It made me
feel very badly — the memory of that faint smile which
was to prove the last effort of some dearly loved youth.
212
'■mi^J^^^-T 'i?'^'r"r;r^5tei2!«^
ON THE ROAD TO BOIS LE PRETRE
FONTAINE DU PERE HILARION, A SPRING IN BOIS LE PRETRE WHERE
FRENCH AND GERMAN SOLDIERS FRATERNIZED IN
THE EARLY DAYS OF THE WAR
SECTION TWO
All the poor fellows look at us with the same expression
of appreciation and thanks ; and when they are unloaded
it is a common thing to see a soldier, probably suffering
the pain of the damned, make an effort to take the hand
of the American helper. I tell you tears are pretty near
sometimes.
Tuesday, 5 p.m., July 6
I CARRIED over forty wounded yesterday a distance of a
hundred and sixty kilometres and at nine o'clock turned
in ; to be waked up at two o'clock to go to Auberge Saint-
Pierre. The Major was there to receive us, and so inter-
ested and appreciative is he that any one of us would do
anything for him. Just as I was starting down with a
full load I found I had picked up a nail, and a puncture
w^as the order of the day. Two fellows ran forw^ard; ex-
plained that in peace time they were chauffeurs, and re-
fused to let me work on it; while the Major made me sit
on a fallen tree by the roadside, smoke a cigarette, and
talk to him. We are, of course, mere soldiers, but to be
treated so kindly and so thoughtfully makes us feel that
we must go on forever!
Later I had a German wounded couche given me and I
probed out the fact that there were some six or eight
French waiting to be taken. "Oh, but he is severely
wounded — take him first!" I shall always remember
that in France the German went before the less wounded
Frenchmen !
A Tribute
Monday
The Governor, or Prefect, of the Department of Lorraine,
sent us from Nancy, for July Fourth, the following
tribute :
"On this day, when you celebrate your national inde-
pendence, at the same hour that France in violent combat
defends her independence against an enemy whose mad-
ness for domination threatens the liberty of all nations,
213
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
and whose barbarous methods menace civilization, I
send you the expression of the profound friendship of the
French for your great and generous nation ; and seize this
occasion to assure you once more of the deep gratitude
of the people of Lorraine for the admirable devotion of
all the members of the American Ambulance of Pont-a-
]\Iousson."
Pont-a-AIousson, July 26
Our whole Section has been cited by order of the Divi-
sion. Here is the translation:
"The American Ambulance, composed of volunteers,
friends of our country, has been continually conspicuous
for the enthusiasm, courage, and zeal of all its members;
who, regardless of danger, ha^■e worked without rest to
save our wounded, whose affection and gratitude they
have gained."
Two Tales
Pont-d-Mousson, August 15
Yesterday was a red-letter day for me. The American
mail arri^'ed! I was brought back to actualities by the
voice of a young French soldier of about twenty-one w^ho
stood beside me :
"You have just got some letters?"
"Yes, not even opened them yet."
"All those! You are to be married, perhaps?"
"No, mon ami.'*
"Surely it is 3'our mother, then, who has written you so
often."
"Only this one is from her," I answered. And then a
strange silence fell. I did not feel like speaking, for,
glancing up, I noticed that he was still looking at that
one letter in my hand. Then, after fumbling for a few
minutes in his uniform, he pulled out a packet of earth-
stained letters, and said:
"These were from my mother; but I can't look for any
more. She died last month."
214
SECTION TWO
September 4
A SAD thing happened the other day to a friend of mine,
a poilu who has been helping me to get specimens of per-
fect, empty shells. I had many a long talk with him. He
used to like to tell me about his girl and how happy they
were together before the war, and how the day peace
was declared, he was going to marry her. Lately I had
noticed he looked depressed, and one day I found out the
reason. The postman came to the door. He looked at my
friend, who had become silent, and shaking his head,
said, "Pas encored My friend became very white, and
presently confessed to me that he had had no letters for
six weeks. A few days after, I saw him again and asked if
he had heard from her. He said "No," very sullenly, and
later, over a glass of beer, mentioned that his father had
written him that she had been misbehaving herself. The
poor fellow seemed stunned with the news. After vainly
trying to cheer him up, I went back to dinner. The next
morning I did not see him, but the following morning I
was at headquarters when an urgent call came for an
ambulance. My car happened to be just going, so I took
the trip. "Where is the house?" I asked. "Just over there
where the man is waving." It w^as the house of my friend.
Need I end the story? A broken man, who had worked
valiantly for twelve months under hellish conditions, to
defend his country, had shot himself ! We lifted him on to
a stretcher and I sped away. Life was nearly extinct. I
followed him into the operating-room, w^here he opened
his eyes, and I think he recognized me. His lips moved —
but I don't know.
The Spirit of the French
September 8
Yesterday I had a sudden call to fetch three badly
wounded, one of whom was in great pain from a wound
in the back, and the slightest jostle or bump I knew
would cause him great agony. The doctor, pointing to
one of the other two, said, "You must get him to the
215
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
operating-room as quickly as you can." "But," I an-
swered, "I dare not go fast, this poor chap is in such a
bad condition." The doctor shrugged his shoulders. But
the man who was suffering had heard. "Go as fast as you
can, my friend; it won't kill me!" I did so, and the bumps
were bad. The poor fellow could not help uttering cries
from time to time. But before I arrived at Belleville, the
cries had ceased, as the great pain had made him uncon-
scious, while the badly wounded man had died. " Cest la
guerre'' said the doctor to whom I told the story, as he
washed his hands for the operations.
The other day I paid a visit to a neighboring hospital,
where one young fellow about my own age had had his
left leg amputated. I sat by his bed and chatted with him.
He told me of his wife — they had been a year and a half
married — and of his child whom he had not yet seen.
He was so very eager that somehow the pity of it made
me turn aside for a second, and look out of the window.
Quick of perception, out went his hand to mine, "Oh,
she will understand, camarade," he said, smiling; "she
will love me just the same — she is a Frenchwoman."
How can one help caring for France and French people,
they have such a keen appreciation of the value of sym-
pathy and gratitude? Here in the midst of torturing death,
they at least are cheerful, and having put aside the bar-
rier of selfishness are wholly simple and direct in their
human relations. The fact that on every side there is daily
evidence of this attitude, in spite of so bitter and costly
a struggle, is high proof of the fineness of their civilization.
Leslie Buswell ^
^ A young Englishman, who was in the service during several months of
1915. Author of Ambulance No. 10. (See the Bibliography at the end of
Vol. in.)
Ill
A Night of Shelling
Pont-d.-Mousson, May 20, 1915
One evening, about 7.30, after the Germans had been
firing on this place and the neighboring villages for some
hours, I was called to Bozeville, a village on the road to
Montauville consisting of a small cluster of one-story
brick and frame buildings constructed in 1870 by the
Germans for their soldiers. When I reached this place
it was on fire, and the Germans, by a constant fusillade
of shrapnel shells in and around the buildings and on the
roads near them, were preventing any attempt being
made to extinguish the fire. To drive up the narrow road,
with the burning houses on one side and high garden wall,
thank Heaven, on the other, hearing every few seconds
the swish-bang of the shells, was decidedly nervous work
and anything but peaceful. But after picking up the
wounded, I returned here where conditions were much
worse. At this time the Germans were throwing shells of
large calibre at the bridge over the Moselle, and to reach
the hospital to which I was bound, it was necessary to
take the road which led to this bridge and turn to the
left about a hundred yards before coming to it. Just as I
w^as about to make this turn, two shells struck and ex-
ploded in the river under the bridge. There was a terrific
roar and two huge columns of water rose into the air,
seemed to stand there for some seconds and the next
instant spray and bits of wood and shell fell on and
around us. A minute later I turned into the hospital yard,
where the effect, in the uncertain and fast-fading light,
was ghostly, as earlier in the evening a shell had exploded
in the yard and thrown an even layer of fine, power-like
dust over everything. It resembled a shroud in effect, for
nothing disturbed its even surface except the crater-like
217
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
hole made by the shell. On one side of the yard was the
hospital, every window broken and its walls scarred by
the pieces of shells ; in the middle was the shell-hole, and
on the other side was the body of a dead bravcardier,
lying on his back with a blanket thrown over him, which
gave a particularly ghastly effect to the scene, for what
was left of the daylight was just sufficient to gleam upon
his bald forehead and throw into relief a thin streak of
blood which ran across his head to the ground. Needless
to say I left the place as quickly as possible.
To THE Victor belong the Spoils
Another scene which I do not think I will soon forget
happened just after a successful French attack and shows
war in a little different light, with more of the excitement
and glory which are supposed to be attached to battle.
It occurred at Montauville, a straggly little village of one
and two-story stone and plaster houses built on the two
sides of the road, situated on a saddle which connects one
large hill on one side of it with another large hill on the
other side of it. The village is used as a depot and resting-
place for the troops near it. On this particular day the
French had attacked and finally taken a position which
they wanted badly, and at this time, just after sunset,
the battle had ceased and the wounded were being brought
into the poste de secours. The tints of the western sky
faded away to a cloudless blue heaven, marked here and
there by a tiny star. To the south an aeroplane was cir-
cling like a huge hawk with puffs of orange-tinted shrap-
nel smoke on all sides of it. In the village the soldiers were
all in the streets or hanging out of the windows shouting
to one another. The spirits of every one were high, and
they well might be, for the French had obtained an advan-
tage over the Germans and had succeeded in holding it.
At this moment a French sergeant entered the town at
the lower end and w^alked up the street. At first no one
noticed him; then a slight cheer began, and before the
man had advanced a hundred yards the soldiers had
218
SECTION TWO
formed a lane through which he strode. He was a big
fellow, his face smeared with blood and dirt and his left
arm held In a bloody sling, while on his head was a Ger-
man helmet with Its glinting brass point and eagle. He
swaggered nearly the entire length of the village through
the shouting line of soldiers, gesticulating with his one
well arm and giving as he went a lively account of what
had happened. Thereupon some one started the Marseil-
laise and in a few minutes all were singing. I have heard
football crowds sing after a victory and other crowds
indulge in song, but I have never listened to such wild
exultation as on this occasion. It was tremendous. I wish
the Germans could have heard It. Perhaps they did, for
they were not so far away and the sound seemed to linger
and echo among the hills for some minutes after the last
note had been struck.
Carlyle H. Holt ^
1 Of Hingham, Massachusetts; Harvard, *I2. Served in Section Two from
February to August of 19 15. The above are extracts from two letters writ-
ten to Field Service Headquarters.
IV
Leaving Pont-a-Mousson
It gave us rather a wrench to leave Pont-a-Mousson.
The Section had been quartered there since April. 1915,
and we were attached to the quaint town and to the
friends we had made there. The morning of our departure
was warm and clear. Walking along the convo\- which
had been formed in the road before our villa, came the
poilus who shook hands with each condiicteur. ''An revoir,
Monsieur.'' ''An revoir, Paul." ''Bonne chance, Pierre.''
We took a last look at the town which had sheltered us
during the most dramatic moments of our lives. Above
the tragic silhouette of a huddle of ruined houses rose the
grassy slopes of the great ridge crowned b\- the Bois le
Pretre, the rosy morning mists were lifting from the shell-
shattered trees, and a golden sun poured down a spring-
like radiance. Suddenly a great cloud of grayish white
smoke rose over the haggard wood and melted slowly
away in the northeast wind; an instant later, a rever-
berating boom signalled the explosion of a mine in the
trenches. There was a shrill whistle, our lieutenant raised
his hand, and the convoy swung down the road to Dieu-
louard. ''An revoir, les Americains!" cried our friends —
a little mud-slopped, blue-helmeted handful, that waved
to us till we turned the corner. '' Au revoir, les Ameri-
cains!"
Late in the afternoon we were assigned quarters in the
barracks of Bar-le-Duc, where we found an English
Section that had been as suddenly displaced as our own.
Ever>' minute loaded camions ground into town and dis-
appeared towards the east, troops of all kinds came in,
flick, flack, the sun shining on the barrels of the lebels, a
train of giant mortars, mounted on titanic trucks and
drawn by big motor lorries, crashed over the pa\"ements
220
c!^i•:^l>ii^^^^^l:
CAMOUFLAGE OX A ROAD GIVES AT BEST AN UNCERTAIN
SENSE or SECURITY"
1111: KE^lAINS i)V A RAILROAD STATluN \\ HIGH SER\T:D
AS A "POSTE" NEAR VERDUTN'
SECTION TWO
and vanished somewhere. Some of our conducteurs made
friends with the English drivers, and swapped opinions
as to what was in the wind. One heard, "Well, those
Frenchies have got something up their sleeve. We were
in the battle of Champarng, and it began just like this."
Round us, rising to the full sea of the battle, the tide
of war surged and disappeared. At dusk a company of
dragoons, big helmeted men on big horses, trotted by,
their blue mantles and mediaeval casques giving them
the air of crusaders. At night the important corners of
the streets were lit with cloth transparencies, with "Ver-
dun" and a great black arrow painted on them. Night
and day, going as smoothly as if they were linked by
an invisible chain, went the hundred convoys of motor
lorries. There was a sense of something great in the air
— a sense of apprehension. '' Les Boches vont attaguer
Verdun y
To Petit-Monthairon — Near Verdun
On the 21st the order came for us to go to Petit-Mont-
hairon (the Boches had made their first attack that
morning, though this we did not then know), and near by
we found a rather unlovely eighteenth-century chateau
standing in a park built out on the meadows of the Meuse.
The flooded river flowed round the dark pines, and at
night one could hear the water roaring under the bridges.
The chateau, which had been a hospital since the begin-
ning of the war, reeked with ether and iodoform ; pasty-
faced, tired attendants unloaded mud, cloth, bandages,
and blood that turned out to be human beings; an over-
wrought Medecin Chef screamed contradictory orders at
everybody and flared into crises of hysterical rage.
Ambulance after ambulance came from the lines full
of clients; kindly hands pulled out the stretchers and
bore them to the wash-room, which was in the cellar of
the dove-cote, in a kind of salt-shaker turret. Snip, snap
went the scissors of the brancardiers who looked after the
bath, — good souls these two — who slit the uniforms
221
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
from mangled limbs. The wounded lay naked in their
stretchers while the attendant daubed them with a hot
soapy sponge and the blood ran from their wounds
through the stretcher to the floor and seeped into the
cracks of the stones. A lean, bearded man closed his eyes
over the agony of his opened entrails and died there.
Somebody casually tossed a blanket over the body.
Outside, mingling with the roaring of the river, came
the great, terrible drumming of the bombardment. An
endless file of troops were passing down the great road.
Night came on. Our ambulances were in a little side
street at right angles to the great road, their lamp flares
beating fiercely on a little section of the great highway.
Suddenly, plunging out of the darkness into the intense
radiance of the acetylene beams, came a battery of
"75's," the helmeted men leaning over on the horses, the
guns rattling and the harness clanking, a swift picture of
movement that plunged again into darkness. And with
darkness, the whole horizon became brilliant with can-
non fire.
"The Horseshoe of Fire"
We were well within the horseshoe of German fire that
surrounded the French lines. It was between midnight
and one o'clock, the sky deep and clear, with big ice-blue
winter stars. We halted at a certain road to wait our
chance to deliver our wounded. It was a melee of beams
of light, of voices, of obscure motions, sounds. Refugees
went by, decent people in black, the women being escorted
by a soldier. One saw sad, harassed faces. A woman came
out of the turmoil carrying a cat in a canary cage; the
animal swept the gilded bars with curved claws, and its
eyes shone black and crazily. Others went by pushing
baby carriages full to the brim with knickknacks and
packages. Some trundled a kind of barrow. At the very
edge of earth and sky was a sort of violet-white Inferno,
while the thousand finger-like jabs of the artillery shot
unceasing to the stars, and the great semi-circular aureole
222
SECTION TWO
flares of the shorter pieces were seen a hundred times a
minute. Over the moorland came a terrible roaring such
as a river might make tumbling through some subter-
ranean abyss. A few miles below, a dull ruddy smoul-
dering in the sky told of fires in Verdun. The morning
clouded over, the dawn brought snow. Even in the day-
time the great cannon flashes could be seen in the low,
brownish snow-clouds.
On the way to Monthairon, two horses that had died
of exhaustion lay in a frozen ditch. Ravens, driven from
their repast by the storm, caw^ed hungrily in the trees.
We slept in the loft of one of the buildings that formed
the left wing of the courtyard of the castle. To enter it,
we had to pass through a kind of lumber-room on the
ground floor in which the hospital cofflns were kept.
Above was a great dim loft, rich in a greasy, stably
smell, a smell of horses and sweaty leather, the odor of
a dirty harness room. At the end of the room, on a kind
of raised platform, which ran along the wall over our
heads, was the straw in which we lay — a cra^y, sagging
shelf, covered with oily dust, bundles of clothes, knap-
sacks, books, candle-ends, and steel helmets. All night
long the horses underneath us squealed, pounded, and
kicked.
I see in the lilac dawn of a winter morning the yellow
light of an officer's lantern, and hear the call, "Up, boys,
there's a call to Bar-le-Duc." The bundles in the dirty
blankets groan; unshaven, unwashed faces turn tired
eyes to the lantern; some, completely worn out, lie in a
kind of sleepy stupor, while a wicked screaming whistle
passes over our heads, and the shell, bursting on a near-by
location, startles the dawn.
Later, the back of the attack was broken, and we began
to get a little rest. But during the first week our cars
averaged runs of two hundred miles a day, over roads
chewed to pieces, and through very difficult traffic. In
several of the villages there w^ere unusually formidable
shell gauntlets to be run.
223
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
Loneliness — The Voice of the Shell
It is night. You can imagine how lonely it is here under
the black, star-swept sky, the houses only masses of regu-
lar blackness in the darkness, the street silent as a dune
in the desert and devoid of any sign of human life. Muffled
and heavy, the explosion of a torpedo inscribes its solitary
half-note on the blank lines of the night's stillness. I go
up to my room, and sigh with relief as my sulphur match
boils blue and breaks into a short-lived yellow flame.
Shadows are born, leaping and rising, and I move swiftly
towards my candle-end, the flame catches and burns
straight and still in the cold, silent room. The people who
lived here were very religious; an ivory Christ on an
ebony crucifix hangs over the door, and solemn-eyed, the
pure and lovely head of Jeanne d'Arc stands on my
mantel. What a marvellous history, hers! I think it the
most beautiful mystic tale in our human annals.
Silence, sleep, the crowning mercy. A few hours go by
and morning comes. There is a call, ^^ Monsieur Shin, — •
un couche d " I wake. The night clerk of the bureau
is standing in the doorway. An electric flashlight in his
hand sets me a-blinking. I dress, shivering a bit, and am
soon on my way. The little gray machine goes cautiously
on in the darkness, bumping over shell-holes, guided by
the iridescent mud of the last day's rain. A bright flash
illuminates the road. A shell sizzles overhead. I reach the
posie de secours and find a soldier in the roadway. More
electric hand-lamps. Down a path comes a stretcher and
a man wounded in arm and thigh. We put him into the
voitiire, cover him up, and away I start on my long, dark
ride to the hospital, a lonely nerve-tightening ride.
The voice of war is the voice of the shell. You hear a
perfectly horrible sound as if the sky were made of cloth
and the Devil were tearing it apart, a screaming undu-
lating sound followed by an explosion of fearful violence,
bang! The violence of the affair is what impresses you,
the suddenly released energy of that murderous burst.
224
SECTION TWO
When I was a child I used to wander around the shore
and pick up hermit crabs and put them on a plate. After
a little while you would see a very prudent claw come out
of the shell, then two beady eyes, finally the crab in
propria persona. I was reminded of that scene on seeing
people come cautiously out of their houses after a shell
had fallen, peeping carefully out of doorways, and only
venturing to emerge after a long reconnoitring.
The Religion of the Trenches
A NEW religion has arisen in the trenches, a faith much
more akin to Mahomet than to Christ. It is a fatalism of
action. The soldier finds his salvation in the belief that
nothing will happen to him until his hour comes, and the
logical corollary of this belief — that it does no good to
worry — is his rock of ages. It is a curious thing to see
poilus — peasants, artisans, scholars — completely in the
grip of this philosophy. The real religion of the front is the
philosophy of Mahomet. Death has been decided by Fate,
and the Boches are the unbelievers. After all, Islam in its
great days was a virile faith, the faith of a race of soldiers.
A Letter from Verdun
The other day I climbed to the top of Vauban's citadel,
and looked out over the forts, the buff-brown moorlands
and the crumbling villages. To the west, a battle was
taking place, dull-colored smoke lay close to the ground,
and now and then a shell would break, a pin point of
light, in the upper fringes of the haze. What in Heaven's
name is to be the end of all this? What is the world to be
like which will some day follow this cruel welter of sav-
agery and pain? You know that I reject the pacifist case
because I see war as part of the web of life ; it is competi-
tion distilled to its ultimate essence, and will not be done
away with until international competition is under some
rigorous and centralized control. Yet how can such a
despotism of power be established, and by whom? Cer-
tainly war cannot be eliminated from the mechanism of
225
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
civilization by a folding of hands and a general promise
to be good. Yet this sort of thing is civilization commit-
ting suicide. Is n't it appalling to think of France, "the
land of the idea," being thus compelled to abandon her
science and art and to waste her blood and treasure in
this unspeakable massacre? We ought all of us, young
Boches, too, to be fighting side by side in the endless war
men must wage on the various cussednesses of nature.
This cheerless life is acid to any one with memories of an
old, beloved New England hearth and close family ties
and friendships. To half jest, I am enduring war for
peace of mind.
How lonely my old house must be when the winter
storms surge round it at midnight. How the great flakes
must swirl about its ancient chimney, and fall softly
down the black throat of the fireplace to the dark, un-
garnished hearth. The goblin who polished the pewter
plates in the light of the crumbling fire-brands has gone
to live with his brother in a hollow tree on the hill. But
when you come to Topsfield, the goblin himself, red flan-
nel cap and all, will open the door to you as the house's
most honored and welcome guest.
K fusee eclairante has just run over the wood, the ''Bois
de la mort," the wood of the hundred thousand dead;
and side by side with the dead are the living, the soldiers
of the army of France, holding through bitter cold and a
ceaseless shower of iron and hell, the far-stretching lines.
If there is anything I am proud of, it is of having been
with the French Army, the most devoted and heroic of
the war.
Henry Sheahan ^
1 Of Topsfield, Massachusetts; Harvard, '09; served from August, 1915,
to April, 1916; author of A Volunteer Poilu. (See Bibliography in the
Appendix to Vol. iii.)
V
En Route — 1916
Section Two left Pont-a-Mousson about February 21,
1916, and on Washington's Birthday our French Lieuten-
ant gave us our "order to move" ; but all he could tell us
about our destination was that we were going north. We
started from Bar-le-Duc, where we had spent a few days
overhauling and painting the cars, about noon, and it
took six hours to make forty miles through roads covered
with snow, swarming w4th troops, and all but blocked by
convoys of food carts and sections of trucks. Of course we
knew that there was an attack in the neighborhood of
Verdun, but we did not know who was making it or how
it was going. Then about four o'clock in the short winter
twilight we passed two or three regiments of French
colonial troops on the march with all their field equip-
ment. They were lined up on each side of the road around
their soup kitchens, which were smoking busily, and I
had a good look at them as we drove along. It was the
first time that I had seen an African Army in the field,
and though they had a long march, they were cheerful
and in high spirits at the prospect of battle. They were
all young, active men, of all colors and complexions, from
blue-eyed blonds to shiny blacks, and wore khaki, and
brown shrapnel casques.
After that we rode north along the Meuse, through a
beautiful country where the snow-covered hills, with
their sky-lines of carefully pruned French trees, made
me think of masterpieces of Japanese art. In the many
little villages there was much excitement and activity —
troops, artillery, and munitions being rushed through to
the front, and there were also the consequent wild rumors
of great attacks and victories. Curiously enough, there
were few who thought of defeat, all sure, even when a
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retreat was reported that the French were winning; and
that spirit of confidence had much to do with stopping
the German advance.
At about six in the evening we reached our destination,
some forty miles northeast of Bar-le-Duc. The Httle vil-
lage, Petit-Monthairon, where we stopped had been a
railroad centre until the day before, when the Germans
started bombarding it. Now the town was evacuated,
and the smoking station deserted. The place had ceased
to exist, except for a hospital which was established on
the southern edge of the town in a lovely old chateau,
overlooking the Meuse, whither we were called as soon
as we arrived to take such wounded as could be moved
to the nearest available railhead, ten miles away, on the
main road, and four miles south of Verdun. We started
out in convoy; but with the conditions of traffic, it was
impossible to stick together, and it took some of us till
five o'clock the next morning to make the trip. That
was the beginning of the attack for us, and the work
of evacuating the wounded to the railway stations went
steadily on until March 15, during which period it was
left to the driver to decide how many trips it was physi-
cally possible for him to make in each twenty-four hours,
for there were more wounded than could be carried, and
no one could be certain of keeping any kind of schedule
with the roads as they were then.
The Roads about Verdun
Sometimes we spent five or six hours waiting at a cross-
road, while columns of troops and their equipment filed
steadily by. Sometimes at night we could make a trip in
two hours that had taken us ten in daylight. Sometimes,
too, we crawled slowly to a station only to find it deserted,
shells falling, and the hospital removed to some still more
distant point of the line. Situations and conditions
changed from day to day, — almost from hour to hour.
One day it was sunshine and spring, with roads six inches
deep in mud, no traffic and nothing to remind one of war,
228
O
Q
H
n
ft
«
O
3h
O
SECTION TWO
except the wounded in the car and the distant roar of the
guns, which sounded Hke a giant beating a carpet. The
next day, it was winter again, with mud changed to ice,
the roads blocked with troops, and the Germans turning
hell loose with their heavy guns.
In such a crisis as those first days around Verdun,
ammunition and fresh men are the all-essential things.
The wounded are the dechets, the "has-beens," and so
must take the second place. But the French are too
gallant and tender-hearted not to make sacrifices. For
instance, I remember one morning I was slapped off the
road into the ditch, with a broken axle, while passing
a solitary camion, whereupon the driver got down, came
over and apologized for the accident which was easily
half my fault. Then we unloaded four cases of "seventy-
five" shells that he was carrying, put my three wounded
on the floor of his car, and he set out slowly and carefully
up the ice-covered road, saying to me with a smile as he
left, "Don't let the Boches get my marmites while I'm
gone." For some time I sat there alone on the road,
watching the shells break on a hill some miles away to
the north, and wondering when I could get word of my
mishap back to the base. Then a staff car appeared down
the highway, making its way along slowly and with diffi-
culty, because, being without chains, it skidded humor-
ously, with engine racing and the chauffeur trying vainly
to steer. There was a Captain of the Service des Autos
sitting on the front seat, who was so immaculately clean
and well-groomed that he. seemed far away from work
of any kind. But when the car stopped completely about
halfway up the little hill on which I was broken down, he
jumped out, took off his fur coat, and using it to give the
rear wheels a grip on the ice, he swung it under the car.
As the wheels passed over it, he picked it up and swung
it under again. So the car climbed the hill and slid down
the other slope round the curve and out of sight. It was
just another incident that made me realize the spirit and
energy of the French Automobile Service.
229
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
But the Captain had not solved any of my difficulties.
He had been too busy with his own to notice me or won-
der why an American ambulance was sprawled in a ditch
with four cases of shells alongside. So I waited there
about two hours until an American came by and took
back word of my accident and of the parts necessary to
set it right. In the meantime, about noon, my friend
came back in his camion to take up his cases of shells and
reported my wounded safe at the railway station. We
lunched together on the front seat of the camion, bread,
tinned "monkey meat," and red wine, while he told me
stories about his life as a driver.
As soon as we had finished lunch he left me, and I
waited for another two hours until the American staff
car (in other surroundings I should call it an ordinary
Ford touring-car with a red cross or so added) came along
loaded with an extra "rear construction," and driven by
the Chief himself. It took us another four hours to remove
my battered rear axle and put in the new parts; but my
car was back in service by midnight.
This was a typical instance of the kind of accident that
was happening, and there were about three " Ford casual-
ities" every day. But thanks to the simplicity of the
mechanism, and to the fact that, with the necessary
spare parts, the most serious indisposition can be reme-
died in a few hours, our Section was at the front for a
year — ten months in the Bois le Pr6tre, and two months
at Verdun — without being sent back out of service for
general repairs. In the Bois le Pretre we had carried the
wounded from the dressing-stations to the first hospital,
while at Verdun we were on service from the hospital to
the railheads. In this latter work of evacuation the trips
were much longer, thirty to ninety miles ; so the strain on
the cars was correspondingly greater. As our cars, being
small and fast, carried only three wounded on stretchers
or five seated, our relative efficiency was low in compari-
son with the wear and tear of the "running gear" and
the amount of oil and petrol used. But in the period from
230
SECTION TWO
February 22 to March 13, twenty days, with an aver-
age of eighteen cars working, we carried 2046 wounded
18,915 miles. This would be no record on good open
roads, but with the conditions I have described I think it
justified the existence of our volunteer organization, —
if it needed justification. Certainly the French thought
so ; but they are too generous to be good judges.
Except for our experiences on the road, there was little
romance in the daily routine. True, we were under shell-
fire, and had to sleep in our cars or in a much-inhabited
hayloft, and eat in a little inn, half farmhouse and half
stable, where the food was none too good and the cooking
none too clean. But we all realized that the men in the
trenches would have made of such conditions a luxurious
paradise ; so that kept us from thinking of it as anything
more than a rather strenouus "camping out."
Frank Hoyt Gailor ^
* Of Memphis, Tennessee; Sewanee and Columbia Universities; spent
parts of 1915 and 1916 in the Service. Later served as First Lieutenant in
the American Field Artillery.
VI
In the Midst of the Battle of Verdun
Verdim, May, 1916
For two weeks the Section worked night and day with
scarcely time for sleeping and eating, but when our labor
slowed up, the men had time to catch up lost sleep. Sleep-
ing quarters were in the loft of a barn between the lane,
which was the entrance to the estate, and the chateau.
Due partly to the rainy and damp weather, and the hard
work, many of the fellows were on the verge of illness,
and at night the loft sounded very much like a consump-
tive retreat. Every available space was occupied by the
sleepers, and a few of the Section found accommodations
in a couple of small buildings in the rear of the chateau,
on the edge of the park, a small shack used for storing
fishing paraphernalia, and another near by which gave
shelter from nothing but the rain and snow. One of the
strangest things in that part of the estate was an "Old
Town" canoe with a paddle made from a broken air-
plane propeller which belonged to an aviator from the
flying field on the top of the hill. From time to time sev-
eral of our fellows went canoeing in it on the Meuse
which flowed close by.
The meals were served in a farmhouse on the main
road, at the head of the lane, these eating quarters being
the worst part of our life there. The owners still hung on,
though they had been ordered to leave long before, and
their presence did not add to the pleasures of the spot.
The dining-room was the kitchen and living-room, and
at eating times was jammed full of hungry Americans,
Frenchmen who were trying to buy wine of the Madame,
and the Madame's family of eight very dirty children.
A table in the centre of the room was resen-ed for the
Section, though there was scarcely place for half the men.
232
SECTION TWO
Plates and table hardware were seldom washed, and it
often happened that nothing was cleaned for several
meals, while to add to the unpleasantness of the situa-
tion, hostlers kept opening and closing a door which was
the entrance to the foulest stable imaginable. Possibly
there would have been a general "kick" on the part of
the Section if it had not been for the fact that we were
worn out from the hard work and long hours of driving,
which sometimes amounted to over 200 kilometres per
day per car.
The cars too were in a sad state and most of them fit
for the "graveyard" in Paris. On March 4, one new car
and two overhauled ones came out from Paris, and two
days later, two more arrived. That night orders were
received at eight o'clock to move to Vadelaincourt at
once.
Heavy fighting was going on then between Hill 304 and
the Meuse and there was such a stream of wounded pour-
ing into Vadelaincourt that the hospital was swamped.
There was no room at the chateau for the freshly operated-
upon men, so they were taken at once to other hospitals
in the direction of Bar-le-Duc and Revigny. One French
sanitary Section and two British Sections had been doing
the work, but there were too many wounded for these
outfits and Section Two was called upon to help.
The majority of our cars arrived at the chateau by
10 o'clock, and after throwing dufifle-bags and blanket
rolls into a barn, the men set to work evacuating and
worked steadily at their task for nearly three days with
no sleep. The first night every car evacuated to R6vigny
over the main Bar-le-Duc- Verdun road, which was a
continual stretch of holes and ruts, so that no car could
go more than fifteen miles an hour, due to the roughness
of the road and the dense traffic. After the first four days
the French Section and one of the British Sections left,
the whole work now falling to our Section Two and to
English Section Two. There was still plenty of it, but it
could be run more systematically.
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At Camp
The Section slept In its cars, which were parked on the
side of the road near the hospital, and our kitchen was
established in one of the rooms of a farmhouse, very close
to a barn and a huge heap of manure. The dining-room,
which was a sort of "lean-to" against the side of the
house, was made of blankets and canvas and not very
watertight. For three weeks we lived this way, and then,
during a spell of good weather, erected a tent (borrowed
from the head French military doctor, who was a very
good sort) in a lot across the road from the aviation field.
However, most of the Section by that time had found
sleeping-quarters in two rat-infested barns, everybody
however, taking the unpleasant life philosophically. One
of the barns was also occupied by the English Section, and
when one night it caught fire near the essence tanks, and
burned to the ground, several of the men had very narrow
escapes and five of the Americans lost all their blankets.
Night work at a triage on the main Verdun road was
now being taken up every other night, in addition to the
labor of evacuating from Vadelaincourt, which meant
long runs to Froidos, Chaumont, and sometimes Revigny,
all, however, interesting in their way.
On April 8th, Frank Gailor ("Bishop") left us to the
regret of everybody. "Bish" was one of the most popular
men of the Section and told most interesting stories of
his work in Belgium at the beginning of the war, when
he was a member of the Relief Committee. WTiat his
"farewell party" lacked in elaborateness was made up
for in the sincere feelings of regret which each man felt.
After eating in our "lean-to" by the manure heap for
three weeks, the same French doctor, already mentioned,
offered us, as our dining-room, the use of a spare tent
which was erected in the field opposite the aviation field.
The kitchen, too, was moved into a small tent which was
rigged up between two pine trees a few feet from the
dining-tent. A table in the form of a "T" was built, and
234
SECTION TWO
with the addition of a set of shelves, known as the
"American Bar," built in one corner, everybody was
satisfied with our prandial arrangements. "Bishop"
Gailor's farewell party, by the way, occurred in these
new quarters, and also took the form of a "house-
warming," with speeches by Emery Pottle, Graham,
Harold Willis and one or two others. A quintet formed
with Pottle, Nolan, Graham, Willis, and Seccombe made
its initial appearance on this occasion, and the party
broke up at a late hour with everybody more or less con-
vinced that he was the next thing to a Caruso.
For a few days thereafter the weather had been ideal,
but a change for the worse took place and the old tents
had a hard time. There was no work to speak of and every-
body spent the day "under canvas" around a small stove
indulging in arguments on any sort of subject, while
music by Nolan and Graham, on mandolin and guitar,
caused the time to pass away agreeably. For three weeks
we had nothing but rain, hail, and snow, and as the tent
was pretty old, it leaked in many places. The field and
side hill was a mass of slimy mud six inches deep, and ten
or twelve men were required to push every car into the
road.
The weather became better about the first of May,
and as the aviators became more active, we got better
acquainted with Navarre, Boillot, and Guynemer. This
aviation field, by the way, was one of the largest on the
whole front and had every type of plane then used by
the French. Navarre was then flying a bright red Nieu-
port and never failed to give a thrilling exhibition when-
ever he took the air.
On Sunday, May 21, everybody attended an open-air
funeral service for the burial of three aviators, one of
whom was Boillot. An altar was erected between two
trees and the service, which was very impressive, was
largely attended by artillery and aviation officers, some
three hundred of whom followed the bodies to the ceme-
tery.
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The last of the month the fighting grew worse about
Fort de Vaux and Fort Douaumont and the Section
worked every night and most of the days at the triage.
To Bar-le-Duc for Repos — Air Raids
The 31st found the Section moving to Bar-le-Duc, where
it was to be outfitted with new cars and where it was also
supposed to be en repos. But as we took the place of and
did the work which an English section had been doing,
this was far from being a rest, for during the twenty-
seven days there, an actual record of 10,500 men carried
was one of the things the men pointed to w^th pride. It
meant that a man was on duty fifty-three hours at a
stretch, sleeping at one of three places — wherever he
was working — and then going off duty from i p.m. until
8.30 the next A.M.
June 10
The second day in town, the Boche planes raided Bar-
le -Due at i p.m. and the Section saw some exciting
work. There were many narrow escapes in driving round
picking up the dead and wounded, Barclay ^ having the
closest call when a bomb exploded back of his car and
a huge piece went through the body close to his head.
Twenty-four planes were counted in all, and 36 dead and
132 wounded were the results. On June 16 and 17, there
were two more raids, but they were not so severe as the
first one.
Our living quarters at Bar-le-Duc were in an old build-
ing built in 1575 and once a monastery, but now used to
quarter troops in. The whole edifice was in the form of a
square with a large courtyard inside, where were alwa}-s
every night a hundred or more poilus on their way to and
from the front. Towards the end of June was a change
of French ofhcers, Lieutenant Maas being replaced by
Lieutenant Rodocanachi, who became the most popular
commander the Section ever had.
' Leif Norman Barclay of New York City; killed in French Aviation, 19 17.
236
SECTION TWO
At this period, many men used to have lunch with the
Lafayette Escadrille, which was stationed just outside of
town, where Victor Chapman was killed on the 23d, and
Balsley badly hurt a few days before. Walter Lovell left
on June 19 to enter the training school of aviation. He
had made a fine Chef de Section and everybody hated to
see him go. Oliver Wolcott was made Chef, but was re-
called to the States when the Mexican trouble started,
and so filled the post only a week.
Back to Petit-Monthairon
June 27 the Section moved back to Petit-Monthairon,
where it did evacuation work until September 2, and
where we had a small house with sleeping-quarters,
dining-room and kitchen, officers' rooms and bureau
which were fairly comfortable. There was not much work
to do at this moment so several ball games were played
with Section Eight and a Norton Section, all of which we
lost, with one exception, but which furnished good fun and
exercise. Several more new cars and men joined the Sec-
tion there, J. M. Walker, our new Chef, being among them.
Sections One and Eight were in Dugny part of this
time and a certain amount of visiting was done by all the
Sections, Section Four, stationed at Ippecourt, sending a
few men over to us from time to time. There were big
parties on the night of July 4th and again on July 14.
Then, too, Powel received a cardboard Victrola with
records and gave evening concerts in the "loft," while
we had good swimming in the Meuse along with plenty
of mosquitoes. On July 29 we received a Hotchkiss work-
shop car and a new staff car.
On August 6, Mrs. Vanderbilt, who presented each of
us with a box of cigarettes, visited the Section for lunch
along with Mr. Andrew: everybody was "all dolled up"
after spending the whole morning in brushing, polishing,
and prinking in general. On September 2, the Section
moved to Rampont and took over the pastes at Esnes, and
Hills 232 and 272, which Section Four had been working,
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
Section Four taking over the posies between 272 and the
Meuse. Five cars were on duty every night, receiving
orders at the telephone station at Jouy, three of the cars
going to Hill 2'j2 and the others to Esnes or Hill 232. For
about ten days the poste in Esnes was the same old ruined
chateau which Section Four had used, when a new poste
was established on the outskirts of the town on the road
to Bethincourt, where the cars had to run quite a bit
farther through the centre of the town over a road full of
shell-holes and wreckage ofT the buildings.
In September the French, in an effort to straighten
their line made an attack on the Mort Homme. The
artillery barrage started at 5 p.m., and an hour later the
infantry "went over." The whole Section had been
ordered to Jouy at 6 p.m. and at 7 p.m. the first call came
for cars at Hill 272. Shortly after, the rest of the cars were
called and we all worked until daybreak carrying in over
250 wounded.
Edward Nicholas Seccombe^
^ Of Derby, Connecticut; served six months in S.S.U. Two in 1916; re-
joined the Service in November, 191 7, and remained in the U.S.A. Am-
bulance Service during the war.
:At
VERDUN!
THE COURTYARD OF THE ESXES CHATEAU
VII
At a Hospital
Petit-MoyitJiairon, August 9, 1916
We are quartered in one of the farmhouses belonging to
a chateau, which is now a hospital. You remember, no
doubt, the French farmhouses — a blank wall on the
roadside with only an entrance to the courtyard ; a dark
kitchen, a few bedrooms and a loft, with a few sheds out
back. The loft is divided into two parts. We sleep in
one of them on stretchers propped up from the floor by
boxes or our little army trunks. Some of the boys don't
prop up their stretchers, but I find it better to elevate
mine, as the rats run all over the floor and incidentally
over you if your stretcher rests on the floor. The fleas
seem more numerous near the floor, and there are spiders,
too. I've been pretty well "bit up." But yesterday I
soaked my blankets in petrol and hung them on the line
in the courtyard for an airing, so I think I've left the
vermin behind. I also sprayed my clothes, especially my
underwear, with petrol, which does n't make much for
comfort, except in so far as the animals are baffled. Flies
and mosquitoes are abundant, too. We all have mosquito
nets which we put over our heads in the evening, mak-
ing us all look like the proverbial huckleberry pie on the
railroad restaurant counter. The poilus around us have
adopted our methods, and you see them sitting about
looking in the distance for all the world like Arabs. We
are better off than the other Sections, though, for our
house is very commodious, and near by we have a river
to swim in every day. So it is no effort to bathe.
We carry the wounded from the chateau to the trains.
Some trips are about seventeen kilometres one way, and
others are more. As the roads are well used, they are
rather bumpy; so you have to go very slowly. You can't
239
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
dash at full speed with wounded. It is slow work, for, in
addition to the necessity of making the trip as easy as
possible for the blesses, you have to dodge in and out
among the transports, which usually fill up the roads.
There is a steady stream going and coming — horses,
mules, and auto- trucks.
I never saw so many — thousands of each kind. Then
there is no lagging or loafing ; you blow your whistle and
the driver of what is ahead of you gives you six inches of
road, you squeeze through and take a chance that the
nigh mule on the team coming the other way does n't
kick. You well know how dusty the roads are. But we
have to drive right ahead regardless of it; so you can
imagine what sights we are when we get back to our
farmhouse — scarecrows, each one. The dust is powdery
and comes off easily, however, so one can get comfortable
in a short time.
The blesses are a quiet lot, especially after you give
them cigarettes. I always pass around the cigarettes
before starting, for then I 'm sure those en arriere will be
still. Every now and then you have a "humming-bird,"
that is, a blesse who is so hurt that the least jar pains him
and he moans or yells. You can't help him any, so you
just have to put up with it. However, I don't like "hum-
ming-birds," for you feel, when you are carrying them,
that you hit more bumps than you really do.
The Poilu's Amateur Theatricals
I WENT the other day to a show in Trayon where some of
the troops are en repos. It was wonderful, for there, right
within range of the Boche guns, the French soldiers were
giving one of the best musical performances I have ever
seen. Among the performers — men who only a little
while before had been in the trenches — were professional
musicians, singers, and actors. It was not amateurish at
all; in fact, it was highly professional. The theatre was
fitted up more or less like the stage at the Hasty Pudding
Club of Harv^ard. There was an amateurish back-drop,
240
SECTION TWO
however ; but everything else savored of the real Parisian
touch. Among the audience were generals, colonels, under-
officers, poiliis, and five of us. We were invited, inasmuch
as we had lent some of our uniforms for the actors. I saw
my cap walk out on the stage on a fellow with a little
head, so it did n't even rest on his ears, but rather on his
nose. The soldiers who could not get in thronged the
courtyard and cheered after every song or orchestra piece.
The orchestra was made up of everything in a city orches-
tra, including a leader with a baton. You see each regi-
ment is bound to have professional men in it and they
get up these shows. On the whole, it was one of the most
impressive sights I've seen, and on top of it all, there
was a continuous firing in the near distance. Imagine it,
if you can!
We ha\'e a cook and a servant, — one of the poilus who
is quartered here, too, and who earns a few sous on the
side by serv^ing us, — also a French lieutenant who is
really the head of the Section, a marechal des logis, and a
few other French retainers. They sleep in the same loft
with us, and every night they chatter very late, kid each
other about the fish they caught or did not catch in the
river during the day, laugh and giggle at each other just
like children. They are awfully amusing. By the way, all
the poilus who are en repos fish, although there are only
minnows in the streams about here. To-day I asked se\'-
eral how many they caught, and they said they were only
fishing to pass the time. It seems to be a great diversion,
for they all do it. Besides fishing the poilus en repos trap
foxes, hedgehogs, rabbits, and other animals and then
train them. Over across the road in one of the courtyards
are two of the cutest little foxes I have ever seen, which
play around and are just like little collies until we show
up, when they scamper off and get behind a box or a
stove and blink at us. We tried to buy one of them, but
the owners are too fond of them to let them go.
They all bathe, too, every day — the poilus. We go in
with them, the mules, and the horses. Probably some-
241
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
where else in the same river the Boches are bathing. Such
is Hfe. We are extremely lucky to get a chance to wash at
all and I'm afraid when we move from here — for we
shall soon be moved to poste duty — we shan't have the
comforts we are now enjoying.
I '11 write again soon, but now I *m going to bed, —
that is, roll up in my blankets on my stretcher, for there
is an early call for to-morrow morning, which means get-
ting your machines over to the chateau at six o'clock, all
ready for the day's work. It's great fun and I am awfully
glad to be here. Moreover, there is a satisfaction in know-
ing that you are helping and that the French are very
appreciative, from the poilu up to the highest officers.
Charles Baird, Jr.^
1 Of New York; Harvard, 'ii; served in both Sections Two and Three;
the above extracts are from letters.
'Cm hv*!^
VIII
In and Around Verdun
Petit-Monthairon, July 23, 1916
Here we are in this quiet little French village. We move
something over a hundred sick and wounded men a day
from one hospital to another, or to the hospital trains
that take them out of the military zone. I don't find the
occupation trying. The men we carry have had hospital
treatment and most of them are not in extreme pain; a
fact that makes it easier for the drivers when the road
is rough, as it generally is. The road service, however, is
really excellent. Gangs of men are breaking stones all the
time and steam-rollers crushing the stones into smooth
hard highways. But the traffic is so enormous that it's
only a week or two before the road is worn into little
ridges, much like the waves in Florentine paintings.
The dust makes an added complication in driving. A
convoy of camions raises a cloud of dust through which you
can't see for five minutes after they have passed. This
slows us up, for it makes it dangerous to cut around slow-
moving vehicles. Even on your own side of the road you
are n't entirely safe. To-day I was running along when
out of the dust, perhaps twenty feet in front of me, I saw
the radiator of a truck. Legally, I would have been justified
in keeping on; but he was shut in by a forage convoy; so
I did n't stay to argue the matter, but took to the fields,
blessing the lightness of my car which made it possible
for me to negotiate a pile of road material and a culti-
vated field.
I am getting quite blase to the sights of the road, —
paying little attention to ammunition trains or soldiers
on the march ; but I still slow down when an aeroplane
rises near me or when a fair-sized bunch of German
prisoners go by.
243
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
September, 191 6
Went up to my poste de secours with my orderly. It was
a mean night, gray and dark. We started early so as to
get a little twilight and ran about a mile. Then I heard
the whistle of a punctured tire. By the time we had that
fixed it was really dark. Nevertheless we went the next
mile to the central poste (Jouy) without trouble. Here we
waited.
It is a dull place — a little tiny village, headquarters
for our division; after eight- thirty, no lights allowed in
the streets or showing from the windows. One of our cars
is always there on piquet duty. The two drivers of this car
were playing checkers inside their ambulance by candle
light. We watched them for awhile, then we went into
the poste, which is merely a recording and telephone
centre. The sergeant on duty sat at a desk reading a
French novel. Another man was at one end of a bench
with "Alice in Wonderland." He did n't do it from choice,
he explained, but because he could n't find any other book
in camp which he did n't know through and through.
I sat on the other end of the bench and did exercises in
French subjunctives.
A little after midnight a 'phone call for a car at Esnes
came in. We were rather hoping it would n't, for it had
begun to rain very hard outside, and it was impossible
to see your hand before your face. However, we went
out and got started. It wasn't so terribly hard, though
our eyes ached from the strain of constantly trying to
see what we could n't possibly see. But we got along
up the hill and along the level, passing innumerable ar-
tillery teams. It was hard to make out the road here
and I was glad when I saw a gleam of light ahead and
heard the clink of harness. I thought it was a driver
lighting his pipe and steered for the light. In a minute my
companion yelled and jumped; and my right wheel
dropped down. I had run over a wall at the side of the
road and my front axle was resting on the ground and
the whole car was so canted that there seemed every
244
SECTION TWO
chance of its toppling over at any moment. On investi-
gation I found that the Hght I had seen was by the edge
of an artillery caisson which had gone all the way down
the bank!
We could n't do much by ourseh^es, but some teamsters
came along and joined us heartily as French soldiers
always do. We were really too few for the job, but we
lifted with all our might and actually did get the car back
in the road again. So we once more drove on in the rain,
creeping ahead at low speed, however. I remembered the
road pretty well from the night before, and finally pulled
into our paste (Esnes). Luckily our wounded weren't so
badly ofT and were able to sit up. We started back, passing
long lines of soldiers returning from the trenches, who
were very spooky in the black. But a minute or so later
my right wheel dropped into a shell-hole where a big ohus
had just exploded. I was glad there were plenty of soldiers
at hand. All of these who could find fingerhold lifted and
the car pulled out. It seemed incredible but nothing was
broken.
We got along slowly after that without accident.
About two miles from the Poste Ce^itral it began to rain
torrents and we could see nothing. It took real resolution
to push on. I 've seldom been so relieved over anything as
when we made out dimly the houses of the village. From
there on to the sorting hospital (Claires Chesnes) we could
use lights and my one flickering gas burner seemed fairly
to blaze. It had taken us three hours to do twenty miles.
Fromereville, October
I WENT Up and got three men with no more trouble than
dropping both rear wheels in a shell-hole as I turned
around; but I got some poilus to push me out and re-
turned to headquarters about 2 a.m. However, I had n't
much more than gone to sleep before there was a 'phone
call for Marre, which is a long way over dark and lonely
roads. I wallowed through a number of shallow shell-
holes, turning over one spring-hanger thus pushing the
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body against one wheel and creating a contact brake,
bad for the tire. Leaving the poste I dropped two wheels
into a shell-hole and had to get my blesses out and have
them help push. About halfway to the poste I ran out of
gas. I put in a gallon from my reserve, and when I had
got it in, found from the smell that it was kerosene. We
were not far from a French battery and the road was
fairly pock-marked with shell-holes; so, although there
were no shells coming in at the time, I thought it better
not to stay there, and ran on on the kerosene. You can
do it on low speed, apparently. I got down to head-
quarters absolutely dead tired. Now I am home again
also dead tired.
Later
I've seen any number of regiments on the march and
never yet heard the men singing or the bands playing.
In Paris this may seem a little cold and uninterested, but
here where the real work is done it is wonderfully impres-
sive — suggestive of endless determination and reserve
strength. Now, determination and reserve strength with-
out hysteria is just what France is showing. I am the
more sti-uck with this because severe fighting is going on
close to us and I have been in the midst of the wounded
coming into the big evacuation hospital. There were n't
enough ambulances to go around and great crowds, with
bloody bandaged heads and arms, came in the big motor
trucks that carry the soldiers up to the line. All last night
I saw them coming in, grim and suffering and uncom-
plaining. It was one of the great uplifting experiences of
my life. I have seen nothing to match it for sheer courage,
moral as well as physical. There is n't the rawest, most
provincial driver in our work who has n't expressed the
most unqualified admiration for the French poilus. Cer-
tainly, as I looked at them last night, they seemed
to me sane, entirely sane men, terribly brave and un-
beatable.
The rumors are that the victory was impressive and
246
SECTION TWO
that Fort Douaumont is ours again. It's a fine achieve-
ment if true; but that seems less important to me now
than the spirit I've seen. Out here at the front one
does n't worry about the French Army.
John R. Fisher*
* Of Arlington, Vermont; Columbia; entered the Service in May, 1916,
and a year later was put in charge of the organizing of the Field Service
Training Camp at May-en-Multien. Later Mr. Fisher became Captain in
the U.S.A. Ambulance Service.
IX
The Last Days of the Battle of Verdun
Rampont {near Verdun), October 6, 1916
We are located here in the woods, overlooking Rampont,
between Sainte-Menehould and Verdun, near Nixeville,
and about twelve miles from Le Mort Homme, Hill 304
and Hill 2^2. Already I have had some wonderful experi-
ences during these three weeks at Verdun. During the
attack a fortnight ago, we certainly had a time of it. In
addition, the loss of Kelley and the injuries to Sanders, of
Section Four, over at their poste at Marre, was a terrible
tragedy to us. Both boys I knew and talked with only a
few days before the affair happened.
The attack lasted three nights, and we had many
interesting adventures. The main stunt is to keep on the
road. Out of eighteen cars, four were "in bad" ; either their
drivers tried to climb trees or walls, or else supply wagons
with excited drivers kept to the middle of the road, and,
of course, side-swiped the little Ford into a ditch. Sec-
combe and Struby managed to ditch their cars nicely.
Iselin had a most wonderful "stunt" with his. After
climbing an embankment, it fell over on its side, all four
wheels in the air; but to our amazement, it "chugged"
off nicely when righted by a dozen husky poilus, always
ready to help Americans. Well, I had a little difficulty
myself finding the road, as I had made previously only
one trip up to 272, which is about twelve miles; and with-
out lights on the dark highways, with much traffic going
up and returning, it is sometimes by pure luck that a
fellow gets by.
Many drivers as well as their horses get excited, and
when passing "Dead-Man's Turn" and "Shell-Hole-
Hollow" everybody has steam up. In addition, when
half the route has been gone over, the batteries are at our
rear, so that, with the racket from the trucks, the roar of
248
MARRE — THE CORNER AVHERE KELLEY WAS KILLED AND SANDERS
WOUNDED IN SEPTEMBER OF 1916
THE STONE ABRI AT MARRE, 1917
SECTION TWO
the guns, and the whistling of the shells through the
heavens, it certainly does seem as though hell were let
loose. Then, too, the landscape all about us is so desolate!
Montzeville and Esnes are terribly shot up — trees cut
down, not a house standing complete, and debris filling
the streets; so that in a general state of depression our
thoughts continually rest on our tires, expecting at any
moment a blow-out, which means a half-hour's job in the
"God-forsaken burg," as we call it.
I have had an interesting "twenty-four hours'" serv-
ice, which proved to be thirty-six hours, during these
few days that our division has been en repos. We were
kept on the go, each making 300 kilometres. Our two cars
made several trips to the many surrounding towns be-
tween here and Vaubecourt, Revigny, and Bar-le-Duc.
Back here far behind the lines, it is quite a pleasure to be
able to drive at night with lights. Revigny, by the way,
is approached via the Argonne — a picturesque country
it is still, though there are the many destroyed villages
and towns, and farms dotted with graves of the fallen
heroes of the Marne.
The other night it was raining in torrents when I
struck Bar at i a.m., with one malade, a victim of a mad
dog's bite. Much to my surprise the entree pour malades
was apparently closed , so there was nothing for me to do
but climb up over the parapet, Jean Valjean style, and
rouse the sleepy brancardier, who hastily opened the
parte, and then I made my get-away in the long trip back
to Rampont, some fifty-five kilometres.
It is a great life, full of interesting happenings here
with the soldiers; long trips, including many irregular
and unexpected daily episodes; sometimes eating at camp,
often at a field hospital kitchen ; always finding a way out
of a tight fix, even though for a moment all looks black ;
while things are made all the better by the fact that we
have some bully good fellows here, the spirit and the
work of the squad being such that it is a great satisfaction
to be a member thereof.
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Neuilly, December 13, 1916
On October 23 last, during a bombardment in a French
village, Fromereville, I was hit in the leg by a fragment of
a shell which exploded a few feet in front of my car.
Fortunately the car was empty, as L had just returned
from a trip to the field hospital, and was turning about
to load up again at the poste de secours. Fortunately, too,
the eclat did not fracture the bone. Quickly stopping the
car, which was but a few minutes away from an ahri
whither I managed to crawl, the doctors applied a band-
age, and a few minutes later I was on a stretcher. After-
wards I was informed that two hrancardiers were killed
and eight of us in the town wounded. Mine was the only
car on duty at the moment of the bombardment as my
comrade had left some time before on a call to a village
ten kilometres back. After three weeks at the small field
hospital, during which time the piece of shell was ex-
tracted, I was brought to our hospital, the American
Ambulance here at Neuilly, where I am making such
progress that I am trusting to resume active service
with my Section at Verdun very soon, if by the will of
God I am able. William H. C. Walker^
1 Of Hingham, Massachusetts; enlisted in the Field Service, December,
1915; became a member of Section Two, at Pont-a-Mousson; wounded at
Verdun, October, 1916; left the Field Service, August, 1917, and enlisted
in the Canadian Field Artillery; honorably discharged from the Canadian
Forces, December, 1917, in consequence of physical disability.
X
Mud and Rats at Rampont
Until November 8, the Section continued to wallow in
the mud of Rampont, and it was "some mud." It clung
in great clots to our shoes, thence to our puttees, our
overcoats and to everything we possessed, including our-
selves. It was on this date that we packed up and moved
to Ville-sur-Cousances, where, for living quarters, we had
barracks, large and airy; so airy in fact that we soon
found that our beds were the only warm places. The
"General" clung to his tent which he pitched off to the
east in the windiest place he could find, and yet managed
to keep himself warmer than any one else in the outfit;
and five o'clock always brought a hungry crowd to his
tent-flap clamoring to be admitted for tea. These barracks
would have been passable enough had we been the only
creatures present, but we were far from being alone in
our glory. Rats were our rivals; rats of all sizes, small,
large, fat and thin. They were present in ever-increasing
numbers, making our days doleful with discoveries of
half-eaten cakes of chocolate, biscuits, and cheeses, and
our nights hideous with an uproar that sounded like
Charlie Chaplin in a tin-can factory. Olympic games were
their specialty, followed by social dinners at the Ritz,
as Maclntyre's store of supplies might have been aptly
termed.
Our pastes remained the same, Marre and Hill 2^2. The
weather also remained the same, — rain, sleet, snow and
high winds. Roads were about the only thing that changed
and they grew worse and worse. Because of the bad
weather we had plenty of work to do, — ten cars on duty
regularly with extra cars on call and frequently the White
truck. Under the circumstances, Diemer, the American
mechanic, and Saintot, the French mechanic, were kept
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THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
busy changing broken rear axles, broken rear springs,
broken front springs, broken radiators, bent mud-guards,
and all other parts that came in contact with foreign
bodies on dark, rainy nights. The crowning achievement
of these mechanics was the changing of an entire rear
axle at Marre, in the pitch darkness of a rainy night,
without a single light to help them, as Marre was exactly
six hundred yards from the Boche lines and of course no
lights could be used.
MoRT Homme — Glorieux — La Grange- aux-Bois
On December 28, the Boches "pulled off" an attack
on the Mort Homme which kept us fairly busy for one
night; but outside of that there was little to note other
than the routine work, during which we were looked after
with infinite kindness by the non-commissioned officers
of the G.B.D., who, every morning at 3 A.M., at Marre,
shared with us drivers a five-course dinner, — and a very
welcome meal it was, after a long night's work. At Fro-
mereville, whatever they had was ours and we were as
members of a large family. These are things which none
of us will ever forget.
On January 10 the Section moved for a short repos to
barracks at Glorieux, and had perhaps two or three calls
a day to camps where the different regiments of the divi-
sion were located; but the greater part of our time was
spent in Verdun walking about the city.
On January 19, 19 17, we again packed up our ever-
increasing and never-decreasing baggage and fled over
icy roads to La Grange-aux-Bois in the Argonne, where
we were allotted two large rooms, one good, the other
bad.
The Section being divided at this time into two squads,
it was quite obvious that one squad would inevitably
draw the poor room, and as violent argument seemed
imminent, the "General" and Harry Iselin decided to
flip a coin for it. Much to our disgust, the "General,"
with true British nonchalance, lost the toss, and those of
252
SECTION TWO
us who were in his squad started out immediately to
locate other and better quarters. Most of us were success-
ful — Conquest, Struby, Heilbuth, and I getting palatial
chambers with electric lights and a southern exposure.
Without boasting I should say that we had discovered
the Fifth Avenue of La Grange-aux-Bois. Maclntyre and
Wheeler contented themselves with what might possibly
be called Madison Avenue, while the "General," Bigelow
and MacLaughlan — and I make this statement with no
reservations of any kind whatsoever — lived in a snug
little rat-infested attic on the Bowery.
Work in the Argonne
From this time on our life was an easy one. We had only
two main pastes, one up in the woods, Sept Fontaines —
later changed to Chardon, the other in a beautiful valley
at the Abbaye de Chalade. For the first few days we
worked another poste, Le Chalet, nearer the lines, but the
Germans as usual became most unpleasant and nearly
"finished off" several of our cars as well as several of
our drivers.
As there was practically no work here, it was decided
to send cars there only on call from La Chalade, with
the immediate result that there were no more close
"squeaks," — at least not for some time. The Boches
picked a quarrel with La Chalade and shelled the district
intermittently, but beyond planting a few shells in the
buildings and peppering one car with eclats, succeeded in
doing no damage. During our five months' rest cure in
the Argonne, the only casualty suffered by the Section
occurred in the afternoon of April 25, when Raymond
Whitney was bitten in an unmentionable part of his
anatomy by a large black dog. This severe wound was
cauterized at the hospital amidst the cheers of the assem-
bled drivers.
As the spring advanced, rumor as to our leaving the
Argonne followed rumor. First we were to go to Saint-
Mihiel, then to the Champagne, and finally we were
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relieved by Section Nineteen, which arrived on May 25th
when we were put en repos to await further orders.
John E. Boit*
* Of Brookline, Massachusetts; Harvard, '12; joined Section Two in
May, 1 91 6; became ^owi-CAe/; subsequently was a First Lieutenant, U.S.A.
Ambulance Service.
XI
The Summer of 191 7
From La Grange-aux-Bois we were ordered to Dombasle-
en-Argonne; and great was the rejoicing; for after five
months of inactivity and monotony, the prospect of active
service was a pleasant one. We reached Dombasle on June
25 without incident, and after turning out Section Fif-
teen, took up their quarters in a large building at the
edge of the town. They had fixed up the place to the nth
degree of comfort, with a shower-bath, garden, pavilion,
and in fact all the modern conveniences. Hence it was
with a well-satisfied air and an anticipatory smile that
we settled down in what seemed the best quarters we
had ever had. Before Section Fifteen left, the members
assured us of "easy work" and a "quiet time enjoyed by
all," and left us to the working out of our own damnation.
The ex- Village of Esnes
There is no use describing the ex-village of Esnes to
those members of the Field Service who have seen it;
and as a corollary, there is no use in describing it to
those members of the Service who have not seen it, for
they have had it described to them ad infinitum and ad
nauseam. Suffice it to say that Esnes was our paste and it
lay under the Cote 304 and in full view of the Mort
Homme — and the seeing was fairly good in those days.
We have never yet found out whether our friends of
Section Fifteen were amusing themselves at our expense
or not, about the prophesied "quiet time" which we were
to have there. Anyway, shortly after our arrival we found
ourselves in the midst of one of the nicest little parties
ever given on the Verdun front, and there are those who
claim that they have seen "some parties" on said front.
It seems that the Boches had been meditating the pro-
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THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
spectlve taking-back of various portions of Cote 304
which they had lost previously and elected June 29 as
the most propitious time to try to do so. Whatever faults
the Boche may or may not have, and we do not claim
that he is without them, one of them was not to let things
stagnate on the Verdun front. So for the next three days
we had ten cars continuously on duty, and what is more,
they were running continuously.
This at the front. Meanwhile, events at the rear were
not entirely devoid of interest. The Section, or rather the
part of it which was not up at the poste was at supper
when something suspiciously like an arrivee was heard
in the immediate vicinity. The "older" men looked at
one another, the rookies looked at the "General,"^ who
went on with his soup. A second came in, still closer;
then a third which knocked the plaster from the ceiling,
a generous piece of which fell in the "General's" soup.
He rose, calmly looked round and muttered, "Well, I'll
be damned," — and left those parts. He did n't run, for
that would have been undignified, but he simply left —
and he was n't the last to reach the shelter of a neighbor-
ing and friendly haystack some hundred yards off out
in the open.
We moved camp that night with never a sigh for our
late palatial and very unhealthy quarters. What with
Boche attacks and French counter-attacks, we found
little time to do anything but eat, sleep, and work, and
for the entire period from June 29 until July 18, when our
Division, the 73d, finally ended that particular chap-
ter of Verdun history by making one big and very
successful attack, retaking all the ground which had
been lost and taking many prisoners, the Section did
all the evacuations for these several attacks and won
for itself a Divisional Citation — the second from this
Division.
1 Francis D. Ogilvie, a Britisher, of Lindfield, Sussex, who was Sous-
Chef and later Chef of the Section, and who, when the United States
entered the war, transferred to the British Ambulance Service.
256
SECTION TWO
The Death of Harmon Craig
For us, the most tragic part of the whole summer came
on July 15, when Harmon Craig was killed at Dombasle.
After having gone over some of the worst stretches of
road in the whole sector for three weeks with a smile on
his face and a jest on his lips, he was wounded at his poste,
by the side of his car while it was being loaded, and died
six hours later as bravely as he had lived. He was buried
in the cemetery back of Ville-sur-Cousances, and as he
was laid to rest, the guns behind Montzeville, roaring out
a last farewell, sped the 73d over the top to avenge him.
A Peaceful Repos at Ligny-en-Barrois
On July 23 we received our orders to leave, and with as
much joy as we had arrived a month before, we packed
up, and after a last visit to Craig's grave, set out for
Nangois-le-Grand, a village of several hundred inhabi-
tants seven kilometres from Ligny-en-Barrois, where we
arrived, after a dusty run of several hours.
The quiet of the little town was as grateful to our
nerves as the beauty of the surrounding country to our
eyes, accustomed to desolation. After a month of hard
work, it was good to lie in our cars, for we lived in our
cars, which were drawn up in a field, happy in the assur-
ance that five or ten of us would n't have to hurry up to
the front and after thinking great calm thoughts, serve
the best interests of the country by drifting off to sleep,
not to awaken until 10.30 the next morning. It was good
to lie under the trees and meditate, or simply to lie under
the trees. It was good to stroll in the dusk and finally
wind up a perfect day with a perfect omelette. In short,
it was Paradise!
Then after a week of this pastoral life, as the charms
of the succulent omelette gave way to those of the fra-
grant grape, wine and wassail became the order of the
day. Who can adequately describe the farewell parties of
Walker, or do justice to the entertaining which Whitney
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THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
furnished on that occasion? Who can describe the fare-
well parties of Whitney and Whytlaw and the eloquent
farewell speeches, made on these occasions, or the still
more eloquent responses by Maclntyre, that "prince
of bon vivants" ? What pen could picture the joys of
whympus hunts, commenced precisely at 12.01 p.m.; of
crap games commencing at reveille (10.30 a.m.) and lasting
until taps (12,30 a.m.) ; of swimming parties in the canal,
which invariably ended at the Cafe de la Meuse at Tron-
ville? Who can declare our elation at the decoration of
Whitney, Ames, and the "Mec," a condition of affairs
which naturally called for another party? And finally,
how can we relate how deeply our hearts were touched
when w^e found that our cars had been decorated by the
girls of the village as the short weeks of repos came to a
close on August 16?
We left for Sommaisne that day, and I think we may
say with truth that our departure was regretted by the
entire village ; certainly we regretted departing, and look
back on those five short weeks as on a pleasant dream of
golden sunshine, green hills, and France in summertime.
We remained at Sommaisne three days, after which we
followed our new Division, the 48th, to Souhesme.
Henry D. M. Sherrerdi
^ Of Haddonfield, New Jersey; Princeton, '17; enlisted in the Field Service
in May, 1917; served in the U.S.A. Ambulance Service until the end of
the war.
XII
In Line at Verdun
Ville-sur-Cousances, Thursday, June 28, 1917
We were now brought face to face with the reahty of the
coming offensive, and began to appreciate on what an
enormous and terrifying scale a modern attack is carried
out. As soon as we reached the main road we came upon
an endless line of camions all rumbling along in the dark-
ness, each filled with infantry to its uttermost capacity,
the men being jammed in like cattle. There were also
guns, huge guns such as I have never seen in the Argonne.
For three hours we kept passing this solemn parade of
men and cannon. At each cross-road were stationed offi-
cers and sentinels with shrouded lanterns who directed
and urged on the procession. Most of the men were riding
in silence, many even managing to sleep in their awkward
positions; but occasionally we passed a camion whose
crew was chanting some weird song of war or love. I am
told that this concentration of men has been going on for
many days. Here at Cousances the whole atmosphere is
impregnated with the vague imminence of an approach-
ing offensive.
This region is totally different from the Argonne where
we were before. The country is barren and deserted and
the fields of stubble stretch for miles along the white and
dusty roads. The sun is burning everything and the thick
white alkali dust gives all objects a gray and withered
appearance. We no longer see the beautiful rich green
of the Argonne vegetation. Everything seems baked and
dead. Every three or four miles one comes upon a small
ruined village, now deserted. The whole region has been
blasted by shells; nowhere does the country fail to re-
mind one of the terrible struggle that has been going on
for so long in this sector. Cousances, itself nothing but a
259
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
group of wrecked houses, Is quite close to the front, and
there is certainly much more activity here than in our
former sector.
Putting it literally, this Section was baptized in fire as
soon as it reached here, for to-night about eight-thirty
a despatch-rider came tearing up to the bureau on his
motor-cycle and said that the Boches were attacking at
Hill 304. So instantly we began to hustle around and
prepare for heavy work.
Harper and I were the first to leave, he being the
driver and myself orderly. As we passed out of Cousances
we saw several artillery field pieces hurrying up the road
toward the first lines, and later passed two battalions of
the 346th drawn up by the roadside and ready to be sent
ahead. A heavy rain was falling and frequent flashes of
lightning lit up the country; but the night was not very
dark and we had little difficulty in keeping on the road,
which is well screened all the way. But of course we could
not use any lights. French batteries on both sides of us
were firing steadily, and the whistle of the departing
shells was incessant ; but we heard no Boche shells coming
in. At the paste we found the Lieutenant hurriedly giving
directions to the fellows, and heard that the French were
to counter-attack at daybreak.
Hell's Corner
No blesses had come in as yet but many were expected.
Before long Whytlaw came down with a load and
Harper and I started up to relieve him. I had heard a lot
about the danger of this poste, and in no detail was it
exaggerated. The road is covered with stones which have
been hurriedly thrown into shell-holes, and there were
also many new holes which had not been filled in. For
over a mile after making "Hell's Corner" we are in plain
sight of the Boche trenches. We can see their star shells
start from the ground, and it seems as if they exploded
directly over our heads. The road is being shelled all the
time but one can never go fast on account of the danger
260
FANEL I'RO.M AN AMIUXANCE SHOWlMi THE FAMOUS
CRESCENT OF THE MOROCCAN DIVISION
WHICH SECTION TWO SERVED
SECTION TWO
of these shell-holes. We passed trucks, and some squads
of infantry which were difficult to see in the darkness. By
this time the din of the cannonading was terrific and the
bursting of the Boche shells occurred at no very comfort-
able distance.
The road grew worse and worse, and finally it became
almost impassable. I doubt if any car but a Ford could
ever make that trip at night. I did n't go sightseeing at
all, but having reached our destination, made a fairly
straight line toward the ahri, where we learned that
Bixby's car had just been smashed by a shell while stand-
ing in the yard and would be useless for the rest of the
night. We were also told that the Boches had just
dropped in some gas bombs, and we were ordered to be
sure that our masks were in readiness. Ray and I, the
first to go back after having a brief smoke in the shelter
of the abri, carried an assis and two couches. We breathed
a lot more easily after once gaining "Hell's Corner," and
accomplished the rest of the trip without mishap. It was
after two when we got back here. But as a counter-attack
was expected we had to await word and be ready to start
out again any minute. So both of us simply crawled into
our car and managed to fall asleep very easily. V\!e slept
soundly until the Lieutenant woke us and told us to go
to bed as we probably should n't be needed.
Heavy Work during an Attack
Sunday, July i
It is now three days since the attack commenced and it
appears to be still going on. There are Boche attacks and
then French counter-attacks, then artillery duels, and
then more attacks. As close as we are to the lines, we
know very little of what happens, or who is winning. The
losses have been terrible on both sides, but this does not
mean that the attacks have failed. Our Section has been
working at a terrific pace. I am so tired that the events
of the past few days seem all confused and even unreal.
It is such a wonderful relief to be sitting way back here
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in perfect safety and with no responsibilities that I feel
as if I had just recovered from a long sickness. I slept
quite late Friday after the hard work of the night before,
and after rising had little to do for the rest of the day;
both sides had ceased activities for the time, and we
heard but little firing until evening. But we were warned
to be prepared for a large dose at night, as the French
were scheduled to attempt a rush on their lost posi-
tions.
About 6.30, just after the dinner gong had rung and as I
was leaving my room, there was suddenly a "swish-bang'*
and a big shell exploded on the opposite side of the road,
about fifty yards from our headquarters. Of course I
flopped on the ground as soon as I heard the warning
whistle, and then rising, proceeded with more or less un-
dignified hustle for the ahri under our main building.
Everybody else thought of the very same place and joined
in the general stampede. In about three minutes another
came in and we could hear the eclats flying about outside
and clipping pieces of stone off the houses. After a few
more shells the Boches let up on us for awhile and we
went upstairs and began dinner. But we had n't finished
our soup before they started dropping again, the first one
so startling us that we spilled more or less soup around
the room. VVe continued eating, however, until suddenly
there was a terrific explosion followed by a horrible
crunching sound of falling bricks and plaster. A shell
larger than the others had struck the house, or what
remained of the house, directly opposite our building. It
would have been foolish for us to remain where we were,
because our building, already tottering from the effects
of many shellings, might bury us alive if one of those big
marmites ever landed squarely on it. The abri was also
a dangerous place, being very poorly made and liable to
cave in upon us. The safest place, therefore, was out
doors; so we all streaked for a field which was well re-
moved from all the crumbling foundations which made
up this village and which are ready to fall almost from
262
SECTION TWO
the mere concussion of a large shell. We gathered behind
a large haystack where already several others had col-
lected, and waited. The shells came in regularly, every
once in a while striking some building and reducing it to
still further ruin. One landed about thirty yards from the
big tent where twenty of us sleep and we later found over
a dozen rips in the canvas, some big enough to admit one's
body. No shells came near enough, however, to do any
damage; but at every explosion one had to lie flat in
order to avoid the flying eclats.
At seven-fifteen, the time set for those on duty to
start for the paste, the shells were coming in about every
minute. So there was nothing to do but to streak for
our cars which were in front of the main building, near
which the majority of the shells were landing, and to
make as quick a get-away as possible. The "General"
and Reed left first and the last we saw of them they
were hurrying very ungracefully over the rough field to
where the cars were, about 250 yards away. The Lieuten-
ant then told Newcomb and myself to get ready and to
leave as soon as the next shell landed. So we lined up as
if we were runners waiting for the sound of the starting
pistol, and, as soon as the "R-R-ang" came, in we legged
it. One shell came in while we were running and we both
went down on our bellies. We gained the house before
the next one landed and then waited for it. It came in
too close for comfort and then I went out and cranked
my car while Newcomb ran back to his shack for his
coat.
Just as I got the motor started I received one of the
biggest scares of my life. A shell came in and burst so
close that I thought surely it had me. I w^as just getting
into the car and so could not flop. I was hit by the flying
earth and falling stones thrown up by the shell, which
struck the car in several places, one piece even strik-
ing and glancing off my helmet. Newcomb, who then
appeared, looked surprised to see me still alive; and be-
fore the next shell landed, we were well down the road
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and both joined in a long-drawn-out sigh of genuine
relief.
The French attack had now fairly commenced and on
all sides of us the batteries were pounding away. Not for
a moment did the screeching of shells and the roaring of
guns cease. At one point John Ames and I clambered up
on a ruined house and took a look over the country. It
was a view I shall never forget. Our task is comparatively
small, and we are prepared to do it faithfully. Nine cars
are lined up ready to cover the attack, and the drivers
and their orderlies stand waiting orders. The Lieuten-
ant is here directing us and planning the shifts and
reliefs.
The road which we have to go over is the most damnable
stretch I have ever known. As fast as the old shell-holes
are filled in with stones, new ones are made. As we drive
along in the darkness, straining our eyes to keep the car
out of holes and ditches, the noise of the French batteries
and German shells is deafening. Far down the road we see
a flash followed by a roar. It is German shrapnel and we
crouch instinctively in our seats as we realize that in
another minute we shall be passing over that spot. In
back of us is an explosion and flying rocks and earth are
scattered about the slowly moving car. We can't go
faster because of the condition of the road, although
instinct cries out to us to open the throttle and streak
for our destination. We plod slowly along, trying to
talk unconcernedly and longing for the termination
of the ride.
We pass through the town and enter the driveway of a
fallen chateau, the cellar of which is now used for a poste
de secours. This driveway is about fifty yards long. To
look at it one w^ould say it was impassable, but over those
rocks and stones and through the shell-holes we go. This
is the most dangerous place of all, and so often do the
shells fall that no one ever ventures out to repair the road.
We have to slow down practically to a standstill, and crawl
and bump our way along. How I hate the sight of this
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SECTION TWO
place. It is all so cruel and relentless — the wrecked
houses, the torn-up roads, and the huge shell-holes, some
of the older ones half filled with stagnant water. Here
and there a wagon which has been struck sprawled by
the roadside. It is a scene of sickening desolation.
I made the first trip to Esnes with Newcomb as
orderly. It had not yet grown dark, so we easily passed
by the shell-holes. When we reached Esnes we had to
take our gas-masks from their cases and wear them about
our necks, ready to put them on when passing through
the gassed area. They served us well, and in less than two
minutes we could remove them and breathe fresh air
again, but our eyes burned from the poisonous fumes. The
odor of the stuff left us horribly depressed. It has a sickenr
ingly sweet smell like that of over-ripe fruit and makes
one's lungs feel as if some heavy weight had been imposed
on them.
The Day after the Attack
It is the day after an attack that our hardest work takes
place. The wounded men are brought in continuously and
we have more than we can handle. In this instance, I had
to stay on all day. I grew dizzy with the monotony of the
work. Several of my wounded were Boches and I found a
little comfort in managing to get from them a steel hel-
met and a couple of buttons as souvenirs. The attack was
something of a failure and every one was horribly low-
spirited. Some of our blesses were frightfully mangled.
The dead at the poste were so numerous that many were
lying around the yard uncovered and uncared-for. It is
sights such as this that have a terribly depressing effect
upon one's morale.
I thought I could go back and rest at seven o'clock
after having worked twenty-four hours without any
sleep, with only a little cold canned meat to eat. I was
tired, and, moreover, felt very low-spirited. But word
came that another big attack was to be made that even-
ing, so I had to stay on and work. Some of the other
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fellows who had been on duty much longer than myself
simply had to leave and return for rest. At nine the
artillery duel commenced and it was worse even than the
firing of the previous evening. Some large naval guns
opened up on the German positions and it seemed as if
the earth must split open so great was the shock of the
explosion. At eleven the Boches started shelling and we
all retired to the abris. The shells were big ones and the
eclats from them flew for almost a quarter of a mile.
Going up to the lines under that bombardment was no
simple task. I managed to get an hour's sleep about four
in the morning, dozing off as I sat in the ahri waiting for
my turn.
About five I went up and upon returning saw a ter-
rible sight. A caisson or artillery truck had been hit by
a shell about four o'clock and three men had been killed
and one wounded. Of the six horses, four were killed,
and the other two untouched. This happened right on
our road over which we had been going back and forth
all night. The dead men were terribly disfigured and pre-
sented a horrible sight. When I reached my destination
with my load I found Whitney there asleep. He had
brought down a load and was so fatigued that he had
to have a short nap before returning to work. We both
decided that we could not go on and so asked for men
to relieve us. There were several fresh men just starting,
so we drove to the camp and both rolled in for a long
sleep. I had driven thirty-five hours with three very
scanty meals of cold canned meat and bread and less
than two hours' sleep. When I got back, my brother
Jack reminded me that it was my birthday.
Monday, July 2
Slept most of yesterday and feel greatly rested. Am
scheduled to work to-night. At noon to-day Whytlaw
came in. He says that the Boches are shelling every car
that goes by "Hell's Comer." Dresser's car was pierced,
just over his head, several times by eclats, but he was not
266
SECTION TWO
touched. This morning when about eight shells dropped
in at once the aumonier was badly wounded, and my
brother took him to the hospital in a critical condition.
All the cars have had narrow escapes and have been hit
by flying earth and stone.
A Short Rest
ViUe-sur-Cousances, Wednesday, July 4
It certainly is a relief to be back here again after twenty-
four hours in that hole. It is great to feel perfectly safe
all day long and never to hear an obiis or smell any gas.
I was orderly this time and it was a terrible job. It is no
joke spending twenty-four hours in sight of Mort Homme.
Monday night the Boches shelled us, dropping in "210's"
every minute. A poilu was wounded in front of our abri.
I was in the room when his wound was dressed. The air
outside was so thick with dust that had been kicked up
that we could n't see the cars. I don't mind admitting
that my knees were shaking when we got a call to go up.
I rode up with Reed and though only one shell came in on
the trip, it was a big one and not too far away. I managed
to get three hours' sleep although they were shelling all
around us. Four of us were cooped, two in a bed, in a little
black, stuffy room in the cellar of the chateau.
As you come around "Hell's Bend," you get an excel-
lent view of Mort Homme. It is a fearful place and one
can always see there the smoke from shells rising and
floating slow^ly away. There are no trees, no houses, no
sign of any living thing on that bare shell-racked stretch
of land. Several new holes were put in our road to-day,
but we had no really narrow escapes. The chateau where
the poste is located has been hammered again and again
by shells. Most of its western wall is still standing, and
it is behind this meagre protection that w^e pull up and
leave our cars. Only the cellar of the house can be used
and very few ever venture out of the court, where our
cars are, for more than a minute. Not fifty yards from
where we sleep is the morgue, a room where the dead are
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placed when brought in from the trenches. Sometimes
when the losses have been great, the corpses are piled
one upon the other until the room is so full that many-
dead are ieft on stretchers in the court. We certainly are
being continually impressed with the most horrible side
of war.
Monday, July
We are expecting a French attack within a few days; so
huge guns go rumbling toward the front. The attack
when it comes will be enormous.
Resting again, and getting my car in good condition.
My last period of work was very easy. I had only one trip,
which came about 3.30 a.m. On my last drive up, with
Ames as orderly, we played tag with a half-dozen shells,
one digging a big hole in the road five seconds after we
passed over the place. There is a great deal of activity on
Mort Homme and we could see shells landing continu-
ally, the black smoke rising slowly from the scarred hill-
side. Arrived at our destination, we ate beside the morgue,
and the odor was sickening. Moreover, the room is very-
unprotected and often we are forced to interrupt our
eating long enough to drop when a shell lands somewhere
near. But the bedroom is worse. In a little dark hole
where the sun and fresh air never penetrate, we are two
in a bed, one above the other, with loose straw for mat-
tresses. The straw is damp and "earthy" and is alive
with fleas. Everybody is beginning to be troubled by
fleas, even those who have been insisting that they were
never bothered by these pests now scratching and scratch-
ing wdth the best of us. This is where we sleep when a lull
gives us a short repos; but one can't sleep there, one
merely drops, if fortunate, into a spasmodic and feverish
sub-consciousness. The inconvenience of resting two in
a bed combined with the noise of the shells outside, make
complete rest an impossible luxury. I shall never forget
those moments as we lay there waiting for our next call.
Nor shall I forget some of the conversations we had,
268
SECTION TWO
embracing all possible topics, but usually falling some-
where between the horrors of war and the pleasures that
we promised ourselves when it should be over.
On the road last night three more men were killed and
eight wounded. Between ten o'clock and one the road was
shelled heavily because of the ravitaillement which goes
up to the lines at that time. Naturally this is the moment
when we least enjoy trips. Two more cars, my brother's
and Freer's, were hit by eclats last night when a shell
burst in the courtyard.
The Impedimenta of Attack
Tuesday, July lo
Just as I got Into bed last night I was called out to go
for two blesses at a distant town. It was pouring and
there was no moon ; so the trip was not too pleasant, espe-
cially since the road was new to me. Bolt had a narrow
escape at the cross-road to-day. Everything is in a fever
of excitement here, for the attack is due to start to-night
or to-morrow morning. Over 4000 big guns are clustered
on this bank of the Meuse ready to drench the German
lines when the word comes. The bombardment will prob-
ably start to-morrow and as I am going up to the poste
to-night I will be present at a wonderful and mighty spec-
tacle. The roads will be riddled by German shells. They
have been shelling all around here to-day and shells
landed In the road this side of the place. Section Sixty-
Seven with the big Fiat trucks will carry the wounded on
portions of the way, thereby helping a great deal.
Thursday, July 12
The attack has not yet begun, although the Lieutenant
said to-day that everything was in readiness. The recent
rain has caused so much mud that assaulting the hill
would be a difficult job. I have been at the poste for twenty-
four hours, but there was very little work. I had two trips
during the night which kept me from sleeping, but then
I had a good long rest, not stirring from eight in the
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morning until eight at night. There were many French
aeroplanes up directing the fire. A German spy was caught
in the lines this morning. He had a uniform of the 346th
Regiment which had been replaced by the present regi-
ment; so that he was quickly spotted. He will be shot
to-morrow. Did not get chummy with any shells except
once during lunch, when five landed just outside our
eating-room. One was very close, exploding right in the
courtyard. But the earth was soft after all the rain and
the eclats did not spread. However, we all did the
"Kelleys" and finished our meal in the cellar. Last night
the Boches shelled our front line trenches. With "210's"
they pulverized the place. Fifty men and an officer were
buried when a shell closed up an abri, and as yet they
have not been rescued. No one can find where the ahri
was located, the place is so changed. The French posi-
tions on Mort Homme and on 304 are now absolutely
untenable. From their higher positions the Boches can
sweep our trenches at will with their big guns, those on
Mort Homme having a side range on the French trenches
in front of the Hill. The sun has been out all day and the
country is getting a good drying; so the artillery may
open up at any time. Fifteen new batteries were set
up just outside of here last night. Freeborn, our Chef,
who has been away for a month, returned to us yes-
terday. He is very popular and we were all glad to see
him again.
July 14
We are the third section to have covered this poste since
Christmas and as yet not a man has been hurt, so that,
considering our country is at war, we get off pretty
easily. It is fascinating work especially during an attack
when all the batteries are blasting away in one prolonged
roar. When I stand at our poste and hear that terrible din,
I take my hat off to the line of men at the very front who
are charging bravely across "No Man's Land" in dis-
regard of those murderous shells. The men in the infantry
270
DOMBASLE-EN-ARGOXNE, JUNE, 1917. THE VILLAGE WHERE
HARMON CRAIG WAS KILLED
THE STREET -CORVEE- IN A WAR-ZONE VILLAGE, !• RO.MEREVILLE, 1917
SECTION TWO
are the bravest in the war and I think that this war calls
for more real bravery and endurance than any that has
ever been fought.
Harmon B. Craig ^
* Of Boston; Class of 1919 at Harvard; was killed on July 15, 1917, the
day following the last entry from his diary given above. Engaged in load-
ing an ambulance with wounded, at Dombasle, an eight-inch German shell
fell close to the spot where his car was standing, killing three men outright and
wounding two others. Craig, who received a very severe wound in the right
thigh and three or four smaller ones in other parts of the body, was dis-
covered lying in an abri — how he reached it is not known — and was
directing the attendance of the other wounded whom he considered more
vitally hurt. When finally taken to the hospital, it was found necessary to
amputate his right leg. But he was too weak to recover from the shock.
General Corvisart, who commanded the Sixteenth French Army Corps
where Craig was serving, thus refers to him in an official citation: "This
American volunteer was a very conscientious and cool driver, who, on every
occasion when under the fire of the enemy's artillery, showed devotion to
the wounded and disdain of danger, while displaying the greatest energy in
accomplishing his duty on June 28 and 29, on a highway which was being
bombarded." Craig's brother, John, also served with distinction in the
Field Service and later became an artillery officer in the French Army.
XIII
After the French Attack at Verdun
August, 191 7
During the third week in August the long-expected
French effort to regain Hill 304 and Mort Homme took
place, and our Section was moved up for the attack. It
was a dusty ride we had from Sommaisne to Souhesme
where our proposed cantonment was — a field behind
some barracks housing a few troops of our new Division.
It was an interesting sight to see the different soldiers
prepare to leave for the trenches. They did not seem at
all dispirited; indeed one swarthy Arab with ribbons
denoting the several decorations on his breast grinned
broadly and caressed his gun-butt with a lean brown
hand. Then tents were dug out from the recesses of the
Renault and we set them up. Supper came next and after
that the first ten cars were called out to take their stand
at Sivry-la-Perche, the camp of a French sanitary section
with whom we were to work. Boit, Sous-Chef, was in charge
of the party. I managed to squeeze in through the kind-
ness of the Lieutenant and rode with him in his staff car.
The night passed without any untoward event obtaining.
In the morning all guns seemed to cease and we were
ordered to the pastes, and glad we were to go. The ground
being familiar to many of us, we helter-skeltered to the
pastes, but found to our surprise that what we had known
as front line pastes were no longer such. The French storm-
ing troops had been so successful that we evacuated the
wounded from what is known as Chattancourt Ravine,
a devilishly difficult bit of manoeuvring even for Fords;
but we managed as usual to go through with whatever
was asked of us. Boit and I stayed up at this place and
assisted the stretcher-bearers. So engrossed were we in
the task of loading and getting off the various cars that
272
SECTION TWO
we noticed with surprise, when a lull in the coming in of
wounded gave us time to look round, that there was no
one there but we two and some two hundred Boches, —
prisoners who had been doing brancardier work. I remem-
ber Boit glancing at me in a funny way and I 'm sure I
appeared scared when I whispered, "Good Lord, Winnie,
what '11 we do if they start for us?" "Run," he replied,
and at that we both laughed and spent the rest of the
morning ordering the Boches hither and thither to our
vast satisfaction. It was an amusing situation.
For two days we worked this ravine and then, the
French positions having been consolidated, we had regu-
lar pastes. One was at Ferme-la-Claire, and the other at
Chattancourt Station, or what was left of it. In the near
distance could be seen Cumieres, which the French had
taken, and which looked like anything but a town, hardly
a stone left standing upright, and near the entrance of
the village several great holes made by the French "400's."
Shelling was intermittent here and, at first, gas attacks
not infrequent. The La Claire poste was given up after a
few days and all the wounded were handled from the
Chattancourt poste.
We kept four cars on duty, three at Marre and one at
the station, the others relieving successively as trips be-
came more frequent. During the first few weeks of Sep-
tember, the Boches showed an extreme antipathy to
Marre. At all hours of the day or night they bombarded
the town. During the first real bombardment, our fellows
had to roam the streets, having no abri to take shelter in.
Many cars received eclats and two were quite demolished.
It was an exciting period. The Boches seemed to delight
in shelling the place just as reliefs arrived and many a
wild dash was made through the "Place de I'Opera," as
we called the main square of the town.
About this time rumors became current of the "taking
over" by the U.S. Army of the Field Service and many
of the arguments, pro and con, anent the proposition
awoke echoes. It seemed to be the consensus of opinion
273
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
that we had earned the right to be a free body and not
to lose our identity in the vastness of enlistment. How-
ever, came to pass the inevitable, and on September 26,
191 7, at Sivry-la-Perche, old S.S.U.Two became a U.S.A.
Ambulance Service Section and thirteen members signed
up as enlisted men in the U.S. Army. It was a sad affair
and we did n't relish it a bit; but we knew that our
Section whatever they might make it, would do busi-
ness as S.S.U. Two and try to continue in the confidence
of our kindest Allies, the French.
EwEN MacIntyre, Jr.^
1 Of Boston, Massachusetts; joined Section Two of the Service Septem-
ber 30, 1 91 6; later First Lieutenant, U.S.A. Ambulance Service.
XIV
Summary of the Section's History under the
United States Army
Section Two, now Six-Twenty-Six, was attached to the 48th
Division, made up of zouaves and Algerians on August 17,
1917, and stayed with the same Division right up to the time
of going home. From the above date we worked for three
months on the left bank of the Meuse above Verdun, and then
changed over to the right bank, with pastes at Vacherauville,
Bras, and two pastes nearer the lines which were only ahris.
While we worked on the left bank, our cantonment was a barn
near Sivry-la-Perche. On December i, it was changed to a
school building at Glorieux. We stayed on the right bank for
a month, and then the Division went en repos near Wassy,
which town was the cantonment for the Section. After three
weeks the Division was ordered south, and eventually reached
a point south of the Toul sector and was placed in reserve.
We were cantoned in the village of Bettoncourt from January
26 to February 8. Then we moved to Nancy, where we were
cantoned in the hospital barracks at Essey from February 8
until March 15.
After making a number of moves in a general northerly
direction, we finally reached the front at Soissons, and took
over the lines in front of Coucy-le-Chateau on April 11, 1918.
We were cantoned in ahris on the hillside above the village
of Fontenoy. Pastes were established in Pont Saint-Mard,
Mont Givry, Trosly, and the Ferme Bonne Maison. The Divi-
sion was drawn from the lines on May 8, as Algerian fever was
spreading so rapidly that there were scarcely enough officers
to carry on the work. The Section was cantoned at Pernant,
near Soissons, from May 8 to 15, and then moved north, as the
Division was ordered into reserve back of Arras. We were can-
toned at Saint-Pol, where the nights were made unpleasant by
the many air raids. After the one which took place on the
night of May 29, in which the Section was in the centre of the
bombarded zone, we moved into a near-by wood.
On June 3 the Division was ordered en reserve north of
Meaux, at Acy-en-Multien, where the Section was cantoned
until the ilth. The Division then took part in the counter-
offensive which started on the morning of June 11 in the
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THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
Montdidier sector. The cantonment for the Section during the
attack was Grandvillers, and postes, as the Hne advanced,
were established at Wacquemoulin, Neufvy, and the evacua-
tions were to Saint-Remy and the chateau at Ravenel. During
the attack the top was blown off one car, and two men, New-
comb and MacKenzie, were wounded. MacKenzie died two
days later at the hospital in Beauvais. The Section went
en repos on June 13, spending its time in the woods near
Crepy-en-Valois.
On July 10, the Division took over the line in the woods,
relieving old Section Four's Division. We worked the line just
in front of Longpont. We took part in the Foch counter-attack
of July 18. The Division stayed in until the morning of July 20,
but the Section worked several days after that, helping old
Section Four, and doing some evacuation work to Crepy-en-
Valois. The Division was en repos until August 18, the Section
being cantoned during that time in Chavres, Vivieres, Chavres
again, Grand Champ, Emeville, Chelles, and Pont Chevalier.
The Division attacked again on the morning of August 20 in
the Aisne and Oise offensive, being in line at Moulin-sous-
Touvent. It stayed in line until September i, when the lines
were established in front of Coucy-le-Chateau. As the lines
advanced, we had postes in Nampcel, Blerancourdelle, Ble-
rancourt, Saint-Paul-aux-Bois, Trosly, and numerous abris in
the hillsides between these two places. Shaw, Kendall, and
McCreedy were wounded during this attack, and Iselin,
Bender, and Russell.
On September 2, the Division went en repos near Coulom-
miers, the Section being cantoned at Chauffry. We left Sep-
tember 21 for a sector in the Champagne. We followed the
attack of the 26th, and went into line on the 29th, where we
stayed until October 16. As the line advanced, postes were
established at Perthes, Tahure, Aure, Mars-sous-Bourcq,
Semide, Contreuve, Grivy, and Loisy. The Section was can-
toned along the road until October 12, when it took a canton-
ment near Semide, where it stayed until October 18. All evacu-
ations were made to Bussy-le-Chateau. The division was en
repos from October 16 until November i, near Chalons-sur-
Marne. We were cantoned at Saint-Germain la Ville. In
November the Division went en reserve back of the lines near
Vouziers. We were cantoned at Semide until the 7th, and then
moved up, staying at Le Chesne, Grandes Armoises, and
Chemery. It was while we were in Le Chesne that the Armis-
tice was signed. The Division was just about to take over the
line north of Chemery.
After the Armistice we followed the Germans through Bel-
276
SECTION TWO
gium and^ Luxembourg, stopping at Pouru-Saint-Remy, Flo-
renville, Etalle, Belgium; Hermiskiel, Boppard, and Nassau,
Germany. We crossed the Rhine during the afternoon of De-
cember 14 and were cantoned in Bad Nassau, where the Sec-
tion appropriated a hotel. We stayed here until ordered in to
Base Camp on March 5, 1919. We took our cars to a town
near Mainz and turned them over to a new Section. Our
Division was disbanded on the day we left for Base Camp,
March 5.
Edward N. Seccombe ^
1 Of Derby, Connecticut; served with the Field Service in Section Two,
1916, and in the U.S.A. Ambulance Service during the remainder of the war.
^5Aij^
Section Three
I. On the Western Front
THE STORY TOLD BY
I. Preston Lockwood
II. Tracy J. Putnam
III. Waldo Peirce
IV. Luke C. Doyle
Stephen Galatti
V. Walter Kerr Rainsford
VI. Alwyn Inness-Brown
VII. William M. Barber
VI 1 1. Walter Kerr Rainsford
Charles R. Codman, Jr.
IX. Edward I. Tinkham
II. In the Orient
THE STORY TOLD BY
I. Charles Baird, Jr.
II. LovERiNG Hill
HI. Robert Whitney Imbrie
IV. Lovering Hill
Donald C. Armour
J. Marquand Walker
John Munroe
V. Lovering Hill
J. Marquand Walker
Robert Whitney Imbrie
VI. Charles Baird, Jr.
VII. Charles Amsden
VIII. John N. d'Este
SUMMARY
Section Three was organized in Paris in April, 1915, and sent
to the French Seventh Army for trial. Within a fortnight it was
assigned to duty in reconquered Alsace. The Section was quar-
tered successively at Saint-Maurice-sur-Moselle, Mollau, and
Moosch, and served twenty-five kilometres of front in the moun-
tainous region between the valley of Metzeral and Thann. The
sector included Hartmannsweilerkopf, for possession of which
so many battles were fought in 1915. In February, 1916, the
Section moved to Lorraine, where, although en repos, it per-
formed evacuation work around Baccarat and Saint-Die. In
the middle of June it was moved to the great battle front of
Verdun, where it did its part over the dangerous run to the
poste at Bras. Early in July the Section, with its Division, went
to Pont-a-Mousson, where it worked for three months in the
woods of Bois le Pretre.
With the beginning of the autumn of 1916, it was decided,
owing to the request of the French Government for a section
such as had been able to work in the mountains of Alsace, to
send Section Three to the Balkans with the French Army of the
Orient. Consequently it was ordered to Marseilles, sailing for
Salonica October 20, and arriving in that city the 28th. In No-
vember the Section was assigned to the Monastir sector. Several
times cars were detached and sent over into the wild, moun-
tainous country of Albania to serve French troops there, and
on one occasion the whole Section was sent to Greece with the
French force ordered there to maintain Greece's neutrality.
The Section remained in the Balkans until October, 191 7, when
the United States Army took over the Field Service work. The
United States, not being at war at that time with Austria, Bul-
garia, or Turkey, the War Department was unwilling to take
over the Field Service work in this region. The personnel of the
Section was obliged to return to France, but the material was
turned over to the French Army of the Orient in order that this
much-needed work might continue. It is interesting to note
that the cars of the two Balkan sections were still in service dur-
ing the last great advance which ended the Balkan campaign.
Section Three
I. On the Western Fro?it
En avant! Tant pis pour qui tombe;
La Mort n'est rien. Vive la tombe
Quand le pays en sort vivant.
En avant!
Paul Deroulede
I
Alsace and the Vosges
December, 19 15
The trenches In this part of the Vosges— "Alsace Re-
conqidse'' — are cut along the brows of heights which
directly overlook the Rhine Valley. From these summits
can be seen, beyond the smoke which deepens the mist
above the famous cities of Mulhouse and Colmar, the
shadowy boundary of the Black Forest and the snow-
topped mountains of Switzerland. A few yards behind
the mouths of the communication trenches are the first
dressing-stations, everywhere and always one of war's
most ghastly spots. Paths make their way from these
dressing-stations down the mountain-sides until they
become roads, and, once they become roads, our work
begins.
Nowhere else are foreign soldiers upon German soil.
Nowhere else, from Ypres to Belfort, do the lines face
each other in a mountain range of commanding summits
and ever-visible, village-dotted valleys. Nowhere else can
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THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
one study, in history's most famous borderland, both
war and one of those problems in nationality which bring
about wars. And surely nowhere else are Detroit-man-
ufactured automobiles competing with Missouri-raised
mules in the business of carrying wounded men over
dizzy heights.
Until our light, cheap cars were risked on these roads, a
wounded man faced a ten-mile journey with his stretcher
strapped to the back of a mule or put on the floor of a
hard, springless wagon. Now he is carried by hand or in
wheel-carts from one-half to two miles. Then in one of our
cars there is a long climb followed by a long descent. And
over such roads ! Roads blocked by artillery convoys and
swarming with mules staggering, likely as not, beneath a
load of high-explosive shells; roads so narrow that two
vehicles cannot pass each other when both are in motion ;
roads with a steep bank on the one side and a sheer drop
on the other; roads where lights would draw German
shells; roads even where horns must not be blown!
Our base was the village of Saint-Maurice, twenty-five
miles to the rear on the French side of the mountains,
but strategically located in relation to the various dress-
ing-stations, sorting-points, base hospitals, and railheads
which we served, and, in this war of shipping-clerks and
petrol, one of those villages which is as much a part of
the front as even the trenches themselves. It was a "lit-
tle, one-eyed, blinking sort of place." It was not as near
to the fighting as some of us, particularly adventurous
humanitarians fresh from New York and Paris, desired.
But, picturesquely placed on the banks of the Moselle
and smiling up at the patches of hollow-streaked snow
that, even in late July and August, stand out on the tops
of the Ballon d'Alsace and the Ballon de Servance, it is a
lovely, long-to-be-remembered spot, and every one in the
Section quite naturally still speaks of it as "home."
We were billeted in some twenty-five households as if
we were officers, although our rations were the rations
of common soldiers. Our lodgings ranged from hayloft
282
WHAT XIGHT TRIPS WITHOUT LIGHTS SOMETIMES MEAN
THE DANGERS OF THE ROAD
SECTION THREE
to electrically lighted rooms; but the character of our
welcome was always the same — pleasant, cordial, to be
counted upon — "You are doing something for France
and I will do what I can for you."
The Base at Saint-Maurice
We parked our cars in the public square, on a hillside,
along the fence of the cures yard and against the walls of
an old church, where their bright-red crosses flamed out
against the gray flaking stone. And, on a cold morning,
it w^as always possible to save a lot of cranking by pushing
them down the hill. About half the Section on any given
day was to be found at the base and "in bounds," which
meant the square, the hotel where we had our mess, or
the room where one was billeted. These men composed
the reserve list and were liable to be called at any minute,
when they must "roll," as we say, instantly. The rest of
the Section w^as on duty in detachments of from one to
eight cars and for periods of from tw^enty-four hours to
a week at various dressing-stations, sorting-points, field
hospitals, and so forth. The men on reserve were used to
reinforce these places, to fill u'p quickly trains sanitaires,
and to rush to any one of a half-dozen villages which were
sometimes shelled.
Often, when the fighting was heavy, not a man or a
car of Section Three was to be found at Saint- Mau-
rice. The repair car even would be driven to some cross-
roads or sorting-point where our ambulances brought the
wounded from several dressing-stations.
Our Chef was Lovering Hill, succeeding Richard Law-
rence, who, after a short time, had been compelled to
return to the United States. A French lieutenant and an
ofiicial interpreter were attached to the Section. This
French personnel was a link between the French Auto-
mobile Service and our American organization, and they
w^ere busy from morning until night keeping abreast of
the required reports, for five-day reports had to be made
on the consumption of gasoline, the number of miles
283
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
run, the number of wounded carried, the oil, carbide, and
spare parts needed, the rations drawn, and, in great
detail, any change in personnel.
There were no orderlies or mechanics attached to our
Section, and each driver was responsible for the upkeep
and repair of his own car. We did as much of this work as
possible in the square where we parked our cars. So we
patched tires, scraped carbon, and changed springs while
the church bell rang persistently and mournfully for masses
and funerals and while people came and went about their
daily tasks and laughed at our strange language.
Around the railway station is a group of temporary
tents, where the wounded are given, by the ladies of the
Croix Rouge, a cup of coffee or a glass of lemonade before
being packed into the train sanitaire to begin their long
journey to the centre or south of France. The ambulances
evacuating the hospitals draw up among these tents under
the orders of the sergeant in charge. Four or five French
ambulances arrive and are unloaded. Then a smaller car
takes its place in the line — a "Flivver."
The driver, after clearly doing his best to make a
smooth stop, gets down and helps in lifting out the
stretchers. One of the wounded, as his stretcher is slid
along the floor of the car and lowered to the ground,
groans pitifully. He has groaned this way and sometimes
even screamed at the rough places on the road. So the
driver's conscience hurts him as he pulls some tacks out
of his tires and waits for the sergeant's signal to start.
It is his first day's work as an ambulancier. He can
still see every rock and every rut in the last mile of the
road he has just driven over, and he wonders if he really
has been as careful as possible. . . .
One wet night the writer was stopped en route by
a single, middle-aged soldier trudging his way along a
steep road running from a cantonment behind the lines
to the trenches. Embarrassed a little at first, and pulling
at his cap, this man said that he had heard in the trenches
of the American ambulances; that a friend had written
284
SECTION THREE
back that he had been carried in one of them; that this
was the first time he had had an opportunity of shaking
hands with one of the volontaires americains. Then, as I
leaned over to say good-bye, he shook both my hands,
ofTered me a cigarette, shook both my hands again, say-
ing, as he pointed towards where, in the black distance,
sounded the rumble of guns, "Perhaps you will bring me
back to-morrow."
The Beauties of Alsace
Away from our base, in our nomadic dressing-station-to-
hospital existence, we were pretty much "on our own."
This part of our life began in a valley reached through
the famous pass of Bussang. Starting from the valley of
the Moselle, easy grades along a splendid highway
crowded with trucks, staff cars, wine-carts, and long lines
of yellow hay-wagons, bring one to a tunnel about three
hundred yards in length. In the middle of this tunnel is
a low white marble stone with a rounded top that un-
til August, 1 914, marked the boundary between France
and Germany. To an American driving an automobile
in the dim tunnel light, this stone is simply something
not to be hit. To the French, who have fought so bravely
that it may no longer stand for a boundary, it is a sacred
symbol. I have seen the eyes of returning wounded glisten
at the sight of it. I have heard companies of chasseurs,
as they passed it going to the trenches, break into singing
or whistling their famous Sidi-Brahm march.
Beyond this tunnel the road, wrapping itself around
the mountain like a broad, shining ribbon, descends in
sweeping curves sometimes a kilometre long into the fer-
tile commercial valley of the Thur, which flows into the
Rhine. On one side are high gray rocks where reservist
road-menders seem to hang by their teeth and break
stones ; on the other, a sheer drop into green fields ; behind,
the tunnel-pierced summit; and in front, the red-roofed
houses of several Alsatian villages nestling against yet
another line of mountain-tops. And along this road we
285
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
have made our way at midnight, at daybreak, in the late
afternoon, running cautiously with wounded and running
carelessly empty. We were at home, too, in the villages
to which it leads ; at home with the life-size portrayals of
the Crucifixion that are everywhere, even in fields and
nailed to trees in the mountains, and at home with the
gray stone churches and their curious bulb-shaped towers
and clamorous bells.
The appearance of an American ambulance in the vil-
lages was no longer a novelty. Sentries let us pass without
a challenge, school-children did not any more rush over
to us at recess time, or soldiers crowd around us and say
to one another, " Viold une voiture americaine!'* We had
friends everywhere — the ofhcer who wanted to speak
English and- invited us so often to lunch with him; the
corporal of engineers who was a well-known professor ; the
receiving sergeant who was a waiter at the Savoy Hotel
in London ; the infirmier who was in charge of the French
department of one of the largest of New York's publish-
ing houses.
The "Cuistot" — A Popular Man
But cooks were the people we cultivated the most assid-
uously. We were forbidden to leave our cars and eat in
a cafe. Besides, the time of day when we were hungriest
was the time — maybe midnight or early morning —
when no cafes were open or when we were marooned on
some mountain-top. For single cars and small wandering
detachments there were only informal arrangements for
"touching" rations. So we depended upon the good-will
of the chief cooks and we seldom went hungry. But
the staunchest sustainer of every American ambulance
driver presided over the kitchen of the largest sorting-
point in the valley. We called this cheery- voiced, big-
hearted son of the Savoy Mountains, who before the war
washed automobiles in Montmartre, "Le Capitaine,"
"Joe Cawthorne," or "Gunga Din." He was never tired
or out of spirits : he never needed to sleep.
286
SECTION THREE
It will be a rush period. We leave our ambulances only
to get gasoline, oil, and water while the wounded are be-
ing discharged. " Le Capitaine," too, is up to his neck in
work, cooking a meal for a hundred people, hurrying out,
at the Medecin Chef's order, soup for thirty and tea for
twenty more, and still he will find time to run out to our
cars with a cup of coffee and a slice of cheese. There is
but a single occasion on record when "Joe Cawthorne's"
word and smile were not those of cheer, and this was
when one of the fellows was on the point of leaving for
America. Recalling that his escapes from sleeping at the
wheel and running off the bank, thereby endangering his
life, were due to "Le Capitaine's" coffee, he offered him
an envelope with some money in it. ''Jamais ! jamais !''
said the chef, returning the envelope, very indignant and
hurt as he turned back to his work.
At the Mountain Postes
We were housed at one of the postes in a long, low
shack built against the side of the crest. Violent storms
sometimes took the roof off this shack, with the conse-
quent drenching of the surgeon in charge, ourselves, a
half-dozen stretcher-bearers, and as many mule-drivers.
Bunks were built crosswise against the side of the walls,
and over some of these bunks the words ''Pour intrans-
portables" were written. The rest, however, were occupied
by people on duty there, for it was merely a relay-point,
and the wounded, unless unable to stand a further journey
or arriving by mules in numbers greater than we could
handle, were merely changed from one mode of convey-
ance to another and given such attention in passing as
they might need.
When one of the beds for intransportables was occupied,
it generally meant that the man died in a few days and
was buried close by, a corporal of stretcher-bearers, who
was before the war a Roman Catholic missionary in
Ceylon, borrowing from one of us a camera to take for
the dead man's family a photograph of the isolated grave
287
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
marked with one of those simple wooden crosses from
which no mile of northern France is free.
These mountain-tops were often for weeks on end
bathed in a heavy mist varied only by rainstorms. At
such times, when there was no work to do — and very
frequently there were no wounded to carry for twenty-
four hours or more — the surgeon, ourselves, the brancar-
diers, and the mule-drivers, would close in around the
stove. One of these stretcher-bearers was transferred after
being wounded at the battle of the Marne from the front-
line troops to the Service Sanitaire, and before the war he
had serv^ed five years in the Foreign Legion in Africa.
His stories of this period were endless and interesting,
and, after listening to them for a week, we would all go
back to our base calling soldiers nothing but poilus;
coffee, jus; wine, pinard; canned beef, singe; and military
irregularities, Systeme D. There was also a good deal of
reading done by many of the Section on the rainy days
of no work. It was part of the daily relieving-man's un-
ofificial but well-understood duties to bring along any
magazines and newspapers that he could get hold of, and
generally, too, books gradually accumulated and grew to
be considered as a sort of library that must not be taken
away. Indeed, at one poste de secours our library consisted
of two or three French novels and plays, "The New-
comes," a two-volume "Life of Ruskin," "Tess of the
d'Urbervilles," and "Les Miserables."
When a group of men are on duty at an isolated poste
de secours like the one I am describing, they take turns in
carrying the wounded who may arrive, the man who has
made the last trip going to the bottom of the list. And
there is something comfortable about feeling that you
are the last to "roll " on a stormy night when every plank
in the little hut rattles and groans, when the wind shrieks
in the desolate outside, when the sinister glare of the
trench rockets gleams through the heavy blackness like
a flash of lightning, and the wet mule-drivers, who borrow
a little of your fire, shake their heads and, pointing to-
288
SECTION THREE
wards the road, say, '^un maiivais chemin.'' And then, as
you settle a Httle deeper in your blankets and blow out
your lantern and assure yourself for the last time as to
where your matches are and how much gasoline you have
in your tank, you are pretty apt to think, before you go
to sleep, of the men a little way off in the rain-soaked
trenches.
They are certainly not very far away — only over there
on the next ridge where the shells are exploding. They
have been there, you know, without relief for ten days.
You remember when they marched up the mountain to
take their turn. How cheerful they seemed! Not one of
them is sleeping, like you, in blankets. They won't go back
to-morrow, like you, to a pleasant dinner, with good
friends — outside of the danger zone. Some will come
back, and you will carry them in your ambulance. And
some will never come back at all. Well . . .
"Did I leave that spark-plug wrench under the car?
God knows I can never find it on a night like this and I
change a plug every trip."
"Wake up! Don't talk in your sleep!"
"What, is it my turn to roll? Wounded?"
"No; Steve is en panne halfway down the mountain."
And you begin to take things in, with one of the Sec-
tion's sous-chefs leaning over your cot explaining that the
first man on the list with a load of wounded has had
an accident. The others are waked up too. Some are left
to take care of such other wounded as may arrive and the
rest form a rescue party. Two ride in the rescue ambu-
lance; two more probably walk. The wounded are moved
from the broken-down car to the other ambulance, and
then daylight finds three or four of us, rain-drenched and
mud-smeared, changing a brake-band or digging into a
carburetor.
On clear days during summer and early autumn
weather, we stayed indoors very little, for the air was
champagne-like and the view on all sides magnificent.
It is possible, also, from a number of these eminences to
289
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
follow in a fascinating fashion the progress of artillery
duels, and, with a good pair of glasses, even to see infan-
try advancing to the attack. When the cannonading is
heavy, the whole horizon pops and rumbles and from the
sea of green mountains spread out before you rise puffs
of shrapnel smoke, flaky little clouds about the size of a
man's hand and pale against the tree-tops, as one thinks
of death as pale. They hover, sometimes too many at a
time to count, above the mountains and then sink down
again into general greenness.
Soldiers march by these pastes on their way to and from
the trenches. Whenever they were allowed to break ranks
near our cars, they would crowd around us with little
bottles in their hands asking for gasoline to put in briquets
which they make out of German bullets. Most of these
men belonged to battalions of Chasseurs alpins, and I do
not believe there are any finer soldiers in the world than
those stocky, merry-eyed men from the mountain prov-
inces of France, with their picturesque herets and their
dark-blue coats set off by their horizon-blue trousers.
They are called, indeed, the "blue devils," and when the
communiques say, "After a heavy shelling of some of the
enemy heights in the Vosges, our infantry advanced to
the attack and succeeded in taking so many of the enemy
trenches," it is probably the Chasseurs alpins who have
led the way in the face of the hand-grenades and machine-
gun fire and the streams of burning oil that, in this coun-
try especially, make the "meaning of a mile" so terrible.
Preston Lockwood ^
1 Of St. Louis; Washington University; who was in the Service during
most of the years 1915 and 1916. Subsequently was a First Lieutenant in
the U.S. Field Artillery. This article was written in December, 1915.
II
Notes from a Diary
Saint-Maurice-sur-Moselle
September 5, 191 5
I WAS invalided down from Dunkirk to Paris on August
20, assigned to our American hospital at Neuilly, and
discharged ten days later. I started on September 4 for
the Vosges and arrived here at noon to-day. It is wonder-
ful to see the hills and smell wood smoke once more. There
is a pleasant set of men here, rather less boisterous than
at Dunkirk. Lovering Hill, the leader, is quiet, almost
taciturn, but apparently well liked. There are about
twenty-six cars in the Section, a third of which are over
the ridge in the next valley and the lines are on the
second ridge beyond.
Friday, September 10
Strolled up toward the Ballon d'Alsace. In a hundred
ways this region reminds me of our own beautiful moun-
tains at home. The contours and colors of the hills; the
trees and grass ; the rock and soil ; especially the little wild
flowers and odors of pine, burning wood, and damp earth
— these are all familiar. The inhabitants, too, seem to be
shaped by their environment to a manner different from
that of the other peasants of France.
Thursday, September 16
I ROLLED to Trehkopf to-day. The hospital is behind a lit-
tle knoll, just where the line of woods stops, and the view
is wonderful, especially toward evening. Just the other
side of the crest are a few shepherds' houses and some
" 105's " are hidden there which were firing off and on all
day. Kingsland was there holding down his ambulance
when I arrived and we took dejeuner with the cook at
10.30; dined with the cook about 5, after having chopped
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THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
him some wood with a cross-eyed French axe ; and then sat
and watched the sunset. The first load of men came about
8.30 and I took them down to Kriith. On returning, found
another load waiting for me and returned at once.
Sunday, September 19
M ELLEN came In on his way from Treh just as they were
testing some gas-masks. We each tried one on and went
into a chamber full of gas. Breathing was rather difficult
through the heavy pad over the mouth; but otherwise
there was no discomfort. Later they showed us various
forms of apparatus — the French bombs, glass spheres
full of acetone bromide enclosed in a broken iron shell;
flame bombs; sprinklers for hyposulphite against chlo-
rine; oxygen and hypo-respirators for thick clouds; and
masks of all sorts.
Waited until almost midnight for some men whom I
took to Saint-Amarin. Slept in the large salle without
blankets.
A PosTE ON Hartmannsweilerkopf
October 1
In a checkered automobiling experience, the most anxious
drive I ever had occurred last evening. It was at a new
poste in the mountains, not far from Hartmannsweiler-
kopf. I was there for the first time when a call came from
a station just behind the lines. It was dusk already, but I
knew no better than to start. The road is new since the
beginning of the war; it follows the steep route up an old
path and no lights are allowed on it lest the Germans
might locate and shell it. This road Is narrow, winding,
and very steep, so steep that at places at the top of a
descent It looks as if it ended suddenly. There was barely
enough twilight through the mass of trees to allow me
to see the pack-mules returning from the day's ravitaille-
ment ; but I finally made my way to the poste, where I
was given a poor, blind soldier to carry back. \A'hat a trip
he must have had. If it was trying for me, it was worse
292
6^
Ph
O
M
i-H
CO
;?;
-J)
H
«
O
H
O
a
-mia^
iiWP'
SECTION THREE
for him. It was now dark — a moonless, starless night in
the woods. When I started back, I could seldom see the
road itself. I had to steer by the bank or by the gaps in
the trees ahead. Occasionally I would feel one of the front
wheels leave the crown of the road, and would quickly
turn to avoid going over the precipice; but with all this
I had to rush the grades which I could not see, but could
only feel. At last the machine refused a hill and stalled.
I knew that there were steeper hills ahead, worse roads
and thicker woods. I deciaed that a German bullet would
be better than a fall aown the mountain-side, and so I
lit one of my oil lamps. Some passing soldiers gave me a
push and by the flickering light of the lantern I felt my
way more easily back to the poste. I was glad to arrive.
Thursday, October 7
I STARTED down with four malades assis. About two kilo-
metres down the road I suddenly noticed that the engine
had stopped firing. Meanwhile it had grown dark. My
malades — especially one — were getting anxious. I sent
word to Kruth by an automobile that was passing and
then sat down to wait. About nine o'clock Douglass ap-
peared and took my men. I told him what parts I wanted,
and we pushed the car to a better place in the road. Then
he gave me a piece of bread and left me. I made a chilly
meal of the bread and some sardines, lighted my lights
and went to bed on a rickety old stretcher, with my three
blesse blankets and my overcoat. It was more comfortable
than I expected.
Mist and Rain on the Mountain
Friday, October 8
A little passing sun. A shivering, white, misty dawn
woke me about five o'clock. I decided, on reflection, that
I should be warmer walking around than under my blesse
blankets, and so I screwed up my courage to rise. Warmed
my socks on my lanterns before putting them on. Once
up, I felt better. I found in the woods the coals of a fire
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built by the road-menders and then I toasted the remains
of the bread and stood in the ashes to warm my feet.
About seven I began to hear the rattHngs of wagons and
the swearing of mule-drivers across the ravine, about
a kilometre away by the road. Half an hour later the
wagons themselves began to come into view — the long
pack-train of the day's ravitaillement. A man in a chauf-
feur's coat greeted me. He had spent the night out also.
He was very pleasant — a wholesale dealer in pearls in
Paris — and gave me some pdte and wine as breakfast.
We chatted for about an hour. A little later, some men
from the French Section brought up the new parts. One
of them was a Ford dealer — also very pleasant, as they
all were. They pushed me to a steeper part of the road
and left me. Then I coasted down, partly in gear, as far
as the artillery barracks at Kriith, walked down to the
hospital in order to telegraph, and ate an enormous lunch
at "The Joffre." At night slept long and deeply.
Mo7iday, October ii
There had been a bomb-attack at Hartmanns during
the night and I had a trip almost at once. Returned lei-
surely to lunch and tried to take a nap before going on
another trip. But about 3.30 I was awakened to go to a
farm called Hay, way up in the mountains, to get an
artillerist who was wounded in the abdomen. The trip
took about an hour and a half. The road was narrow and
rough and the steepest I have ever seen. The last kilo-
metre but one was so steep and gravelly that the bran-
cardier who was with me had to call in a score or so of
artillerists to push us over the rougher spots. At last in
the dusk I arrived at the communication trench, where
the hlesse was waiting, unconscious and white, on a
stretcher, while the doctor was impatient. They put the
former in the machine and we started back over that
steep, rough road. At every little jar he would groan and
cry out. I was going as slowly as possible at the roughest
place ; but the stones in the road were very large, and the
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SECTION THREE
infirmier went round and spoke to him. He was breathing
faintly, but unable to reply. A man at the roadside came
and peered inside, too. "// est mort,'' he said, whereupon
the infirmier almost struck the intruder. A little way
farther on, still going as gently as possible, we again
stopped to look at the patient and found he was dead.
We noted the hour and went on, though no faster than
before, for we might have been mistaken. It took us longer
to return than to climb up. When we reached the hospital
and took the body in, it seemed to me once that he moved.
But no; my eyes were strained and he was really dead.
Then I went over to the Restaurant ziir Paste, where pretty
Fraulein Anna served me the quickest meal I have had
in Alsace. Bed about midnight.
Flivver vs. Motor Truck
Thursday, October 28
Moore appeared in the evening much excited. He had
knocked a camion from Hill 408 into the river at Urbes!
He had followed it some way, trying to pass, but it would
not move over. At that, he attempted to squeeze past.
The hub of his front wheel wedged in under the hub of
the truck's wheel, and upset its steering so that its mo-
mentum carried it off the road. Moore felt no shock, and
except for a dent in the hub-cap, old 58 is undamaged.
But the camion, with three cannon-barrels on board, is
in the river!
Monday, November I
There is a new medecin auxiliaire here — a tall, quiet
medical student. He had just returned from being a pris-
oner in Germany, having been captured thirteen months
ago. The German military authorities found a revolver
on him and were about to shoot him on this account,
when an officer intervened, saying that their doctors also
carried revolvers. They should have returned him at
once; but, instead, they kept him and almost starv^ed
him. He lived mostly on food sent him from home. He
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was owed a salary, but it was not given him until he left,
as his captors were afraid he would buy food with it.
Tuesday, November 2
One of the evacues from the hospital at La Source was
the German I took there during the attack. The bran-
cardiers were not very careful of him then. They jerked
him out and slammed him down muttering, " salaud,"
and ''cochon." But during the two weeks he was there,
they had come to know him better, and he, instead of
being afraid he was to be shot, as he had been at first,
was now laughing and joking in broken French with his
infirmiers. As he left, they all shook him by the hand and
one called after him ''Bonne chance, camarader*
Late Autumn in the Vosges
Wednesday, November lo
It both rained and snowed! A white day — misty and
snowy. The sleety snow in the mountains was heavy rain
in the valley.
The Section moved to-day from Saint-Maurice to
Mollau near Wesserling, a tiny little village smaller than
Saint- Maurice and built along a brook on the side of
the mountains. I had not known that there was a town
there, it is so shut in by hills. A very pretty spot; the
slopes partly smooth and grassy, partly rocky, partly
woods. We all sleep together — except the officers and
Curley — in the schoolroom on stretchers placed on top
of plank beds. There is a splendid tall porcelain stove in
the room ; but the only wood that is provided for us is to
be found in a tract of forest on the Ballon d'Alsace, which
we cannot possibly get at. However, we procured some.
In the middle of the room is a table and a good enough
light in the ceiling. The two disadvantages are that the
place is noisy until eleven o'clock at night so that it is
difficult to write or sleep, and that we have not even
hooks to hang our things on. We eat army rations, cooked
at the hotel. For the moment the cooking is superb ; but
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SECTION THREE
we are soon to get an army cook, who will probably
change all that. The chefs landlady is from Atlanta,
Georgia, and her children speak some English. We get
cream instead of hot milk for our coffee in the morning,
and we are soon to have butter. The inhabitants here are
less German than most of the Alsatians and speak French
as well as patois.
Tuesday, November i6
Fair and cold. A call to Kruth — fifty frozen feet from
Adsinfirst — came in the middle of the morning. Did vari-
ous odd jobs in the afternoon, brushed out car, made a hood
of green burlap, chopped wood, and wrote a little; went
out walking with Fenton and otherwise amused myself.
In the evening a contagious call came in. I took it and in
the moonlight, carried the man from Kriith to Le Thillot.
Wedjiesday, November 17
A DARK morning. There was a Bussang evacuation. Hill
sent me over. Col de Bussang very slippery. Wagons
and camions en panne all the way along. Evacuated for
about an hour. Fenton tried to avoid a woman, skidded,
and smashed a rear wheel. Returning found even more
camions en panne on the Col. Our cars were skidding
badly also. Luckily I had a pair of chains and got along
fairly well. There was a convoy of iourfourgotis, however,
which was having a hard time of it. One had gone over
the edge, spilling its load of shells all over the road. An-
other had gone into the ditch. Still another was stuck
crosswise on a steep part of the highway so that I could
not pass. In one place, I was kept waiting an hour before
the vehicles moved up. Next we met a convey of wagons
climbing the hill, or rather failing to climb it, and again
had to stop. Farther on a team of six horses ran away on
an icy slope and rushed into my car, but, luckily did no
damage to anybody. So, altogether, it was night when
I reached Herrenfluh ; and I had to return by moonlight
— not at all difficult and most beautiful. On returning
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to Tomansplatz, I had to take another trip — a man
there had had a grenade explode in his hand. A cold night.
Saturday, November 20
Yesterday, on the eve of the Harvard- Yale football
game, we sent the following cable to Percy Haughton,
coach of the Harvard football team:
A la veille de votre combat, salut! Serrez vos
ceintures, fixez vos baionnettes, chargez vos
fusils, grenades k main, et en avant les gars!
On vous regards meme des sommets des Vosges.
Le Harvard Club d' Alsace Reconguise
Monday, November 22
The Harvard- Yale score was announced, 41-0, The
Harvard Club of Alsace Reconquise celebrated suitably,
for Doyle, our only Yale man, was aw^ay.
Thursday, November 25
Light snow. Carey and Waldo Peirce are making a pack
of caricature playing-cards. I sat for the queen of hearts.
Our Thanksgiving dinner was a great event. Our new
French officer was our guest. We had a delicious turkey,
two geese, cranberries, chestnuts, apple pie, plum pud-
ding — a wonderful gorge. Late to bed.
Saturday, November 27
Fair. Very cold. This morning it took me three quarters
of an hour to start the car. Had to lay a red-hot poker on
the carburetor.
Sunday, November 28
Cold. Every one had frightful struggles getting off. Hot
water on the carburetors would freeze before the motor
would catch. Was orderly. After clearing up the barracks,
I took a call to Thillot with Fenton. We stopped at Saint-
Maurice to pay our respects to all the pretty girls. Bought
a goose. Arrived at Mollau about dark.
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SECTION THREE
Monday, December 6
The Captain of the English Section which is to replace
us rolled up from Rupt yesterday in an enormous car.
Rice took him up to Tomans. He was much disgusted
with the road and thinks it will be impossible to continue
the service there. He w^as also horrified, and not without
reason, at our quarters.
Friday, December lo
The road, wherever it is not a morass, is ridged and gul-
lied by the rains and the fields near Urbes are flooded.
Both the Moselle and the Thur are out of their banks.
Hall declares he saw some "504" shells; probably wine-
barrels !
Tuesday, December 15
An English "chauffeur" (to be distinguished from "vol-
unteer") brought over his Ford for Fenton to repair to-
day, and spent the night. Matter committed a social sole-
cism at Kruth by inviting both volunteer and chauffeur
to lunch together with him.
Friday, December 17
The boys have sometimes complained, not without rea-
son, of the hardships and fatigues of the work. But now
that there is no work, they complain still more, and I not
least of them. They are peevish ; I also. They will not go
to bed at night or get up in the morning. They are rest-
less, and yet the smallest tasks are done unwillingly. I am
tempted to write as a general proposition that men are
happiest when working hardest. But it must not be for-
gotten that I am writing in a time of idleness.
The Attack on Hartmannsweilerkopf
Tuesday, December 21
The attack is on! Terrific bombardment. An atmosphere
of ill-suppressed excitement. No work in the morning or
early afternoon, as the attack did not begin until noon.
Walked up to the boyau leading to the trenches on the
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Sudelkop and cautiously peered over the ridge at Hart-
manns. A terrible sight. There was a band of trees,
stripped bare by shell-fire, from the valley to the crest.
A company of soldiers passed up, going to the trenches.
At the entrance to the boyau, they stopped to load and
then went on, stopping behind the parapet. It did not
seem possible that any of them could go down to that
shell-clotted hillside and return alive. I wonder if any of
them did?
We crawled down the ridge again, mostly on our bellies,
through the light, wet snow, and so back to the poste,
where we at last found a cabin which at least kept the
wind off, and I went to sleep, waking up hungry and cold.
In the meanwhile, the others had found a travelling
kitchen and we got something to eat. Just before dusk,
the prisoners and wounded began to come in. The road
from Tomans down is icy and slippery; Mellen was unable
to descend with only one chain, wagons everywhere in
trouble. I reached Moosch in safety, however. Luckily
there is a moon. Mounting to Tomans again, took two
trips down, and stayed for an hour's sleep. Gailliard, the
cook, is established, with food and the means of cooking
it, in a little house opposite the hospital. There is also
room for about six to sleep comfortably, and there I slept
with the others.
Wednesday, December 22
Blesses coming in rather slowly, but still fast enough to
keep us busy. Last night Hill and the Divisionnaire were
down near Bains- Douches when they came across a body
of Germans, unarmed but unguarded. So they had to act
guard; marshalled them and marched them to the fort,
Hill giving the commands in German. On one of my trips
to Moosch, was able to pick up a peau de mouton and some
Boche boots. The latter were much needed, for both my
pairs are soaked through. The hospital is getting more
and more crowded. The corridors are so full of stretchers
that it is almost impossible to move along them.
300
SECTION THREE
There is room in the salle de triage for six stretcher
cases, and there is a rule against removing any of them
into the wards until all have been entered on the books.
So to-day six cars waited two hours to be unloaded, the
poor wretches inside crying to be taken out. Slept three
hours at Tomans.
Thursday, December 23
Bombardments by the Germans. After a slight lull in the
morning, work began again. Rolled pretty steadily. But
the shortage of men in the Section is serious. Three are
laid up with illnesses, and the strain is telling a little on
all of us. Only Curley is a man of iron. But he is so un-
comfortable at Moosch that he rolls up to Tomans, and
is so disgusted with Tomans that he at once rolls down
again to Moosch. The cars, too, are giving way. The
Bitschweiler road is wearing out brake-bands faster than
they can be put on. Several axle-shafts have broken,
among others that on the supply car which is now repos-
ing among 'the corpses in the garage at Tomans.
Friday, December 24
Hea\^' showers. Mist. Fitful bombardment, evidently
much hampered by the fog. Made one trip in the morning
and one in the early afternoon. Returning from the lat-
ter was impressed into service by Dick Hall,^ who rolled
back to Moosch while I rolled up the mountain. Poor
Dick! Poor charming, whimsical Dick! I never saw him
again. Had a trip down in time for supper at Moosch. On
my way up, found Gate in trouble with a tire — his sixth
since the beginning of the attack — and stopped to help
him. When we were finished, we went on, but found
Douglass, Peirce, and Jennings all waiting at the watering-
trough for some trucks to reach the top of the hill, as it
was impossible to pass by them. Finally we started off
' Richard Nelville Hall, of Ann Arbor, Michigan; Dartmouth, '15; joined
Section Three of the Field Service in May of 1915; killed by a shell on
Christmas Eve, 1915.
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again, a munitions convoy stopping to heave Peirce's old
'bus up every little grade. A cart stuck in the middle of
the steep corner complicated matters. But we finally
reached Tomans.
Thursday, December 30
The French attack has been more or less a failure.
General Serret was wounded the night before last. About
one in the morning Curley went down to Bains- Douches
to get him. It was a very dark night, and he was, of course,
unable to use any lights. The "Wilier" road was kept
clear of traffic and the general was rushed down to
Moosch.
They have found it necessary to amputate the General's
leg.^
Tracy J. Putnam
* General Serret died on January 6, 191 6.
Ill
Christmas Eve, 191 5
In one of the most beautiful countries in the world, the
Alsatian Valley of the Thur runs to where the Vosges
abruptly end in the great flat plain of the Rhine. In turn
a small valley descends into that of the Thur, At the head
of this valley lies the small village of Mollau where was
billeted the Section. At the end of 1915 it had been
through months of laborious, patient, never-ceasing trips
from the valley to the mountain-tops and back, up the
broadened mule-paths, rutted and worn by a thousand
wheels and the hoofs of mules, horses, and oxen, by hob-
nailed boots and by the American ambulance cars (for
no other Section is equipped with cars and men for
such service), up from the small Alsatian towns, leaving
the main valley road to grind through a few fields of ever-
increasing grade on into the forest, sometimes pushed,
sometimes pulled, always blocked on the steepest slopes
by huge army wagons deserted where they stuck, rasping
cartloads of trench torpedoes on one side, crumbling the
edge of the ravine on the other — day and night — night
and day — in snow and rain — and, far worse, fog —
months of foul and days of fair — up with the intermin-
able caravans of ravitaillement supplies with which to
sustain or blast the human body (we go down with the
human body once blasted), up past small armies of Alsa-
tian peasants of three generations (rather two — octo-
genarians and children) forever repairing, forever fight-
ing the wear and tear of all that passes, — up at last to
the little log huts and rudely made pastes de secours at the
mouth of the trench "bowels" — a silent little world of
tethered mules, shrouded carts, and hooded figures; light-
less by night, under the great pines where is a crude ga-
rage usually filled with grenades into which one may back
at one's own discretion.
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Day after day, night after night, wounded or no
wounded, the Httle ambulances ply with their solitary
drivers. Few men in ordinary autos or in ordinary senses
travel such roads by choice, but all that is impossible is
explained by a simple "C'est la guerre.'" Why else blindly
force and scrape one's way past a creaking truck of shells
testing twenty horses, two abreast, steaming in their
own cloud of sweaty vapor, thick as a Fundy fog? Tak-
ing perforce the outside, the ravine side, the ambulance
passes. More horses and wagons ahead in the dark, an-
other blinding moment or two, harnesses clash and rat-
tle, side bolts and lanterns are wiped from the car. It
passes again. Cest la guerre. Why else descend endless
slopes with every brake afire, with three or four human
bodies, as they should not be, for cargo, where a broken
drive-shaft leaves but one instantaneous twist of the
wheel for salvation, a thrust straight into the bank,
smashing the car, but saving its precious load? Cest la
guerre.
The men in time grow tired as do the machines. A week
before Christmas they rested quietly in their villages —
a week of sun and splendid moon, spent tuning up their
motors and gears and jogging about afoot after all their
"rolling." A lull in the fighting, and, after three weeks of
solid rain, nature smiles. The Section had been ordered
to leave shortly, and it was only held for a long-expected
attack which would bring them all together for once on
the mountain in a last great effort with the Chasseurs
alpins and the mountains they both loved.
On December 21 the mountains spoke, and all the cars
rolled upwards to the poste of Hartmannsweilerkopf —
taken and retaken a score of times — a bare, brown,
blunt, shell-ploughed top where before the forest stood —
up elbowing, buffeting, and tacking their way through
battalions of men and beasts, up by one pass and down
by another unmountable (for there was no going back
against the tide of what was battle-bound). From one
mountain-slope to another roared all the lungs of war.
304
SECTION THREE
For five days and five nights — scraps of days, the short-
est of the year, nights interminable — the air was
shredded with shrieking shells — intermittent lulls for
slaughter in attack after the bombardment, then again
the roar of the counter-attack.
All this time, as in all the past months, Richard
Nelville Hall drove his car up the winding, shell-swept
artery of the mountain at war — past crazed mules,
broken-down artillery carts, swearing drivers, stricken
horses, wounded stragglers still able to hobble — past
long convoys of Boche prisoners, silent, descending in
twos, guarded by a handful of men — past all the per-
sonnel of war, great and small (for there is but one road,
one road on which to travel, one road for the enemy
to shell), past ahris, bomb-proofs, subterranean huts, to
arrive at the poste de secours, where silent men moved
mysteriously in the mist under the great trees, where the
cars were loaded with an ever-ready supply of still more
quiet figures (though some made sounds), mere bundles
in blankets. Hall saw to it that those quiet bundles were
carefully and rapidly installed — right side up, for in-
stance — for it is dark and the brancardiers are dulled,
deadened by the dead they carry; then rolled down into
the valley below, where little towns bear stolidly their
daily burden of shells wantonly thrown from somewhere
in Bocheland over the mountain to anywhere in France
— the bleeding bodies in the car a mere corpuscle in
the full crimson stream, the ever-rolling tide from the
trenches to the hospitals of the blood of life and the
blood of death. Once there, his wounded unloaded, Dick
Hall filled his gasoline tank and rolled again on his way.
Two of his comrades had been wounded the day before,
but Dick Hall never faltered. He slept where and when
he could, in his car, at the poste, on the floor of our tempo-
rary kitchen at Moosch — dry blankets — wet blankets
— blankets of mud — blankets of blood ; contagion was
pedantry — microbes a myth.
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THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
At midnight Christmas Eve, 191 5, he left the valley
to get his load of wounded for the last time. Alone, ahead
of him two hours of lonely driving up the mountain. Per-
haps he was thinking of other Christmas Eves, perhaps
of his distant home, and of those who were thinking of
him. . . . The next American to pass, found him by the
roadside halfway up the mountain. His face was calm and
his hands still in position to grasp the wheel. A shell had
struck his car and killed him instantly, painlessly. A
chance shell in a thousand had struck him at his post, in
the morning of his youth.
Up on the mountain fog was hanging over Hartmanns
Christmas morning, as if Heaven wished certain things
obscured. The trees were sodden with dripping rain.
Weather, sight, sound, and smell did their all to sicken
mankind, when news was brought to us that Dick Hail
had fallen on the Field of Honor. No man said, "Merry
Christmas," that day. No man could have mouthed it.
With the fog forever closing in, with the mountain shaken
by a double bombardment as never before, we sat all day
in the little log hut by the stove, thinking first of Dick
Hall, then of Louis Hall, his brother, down in the valley.
Dick Hall, we who knew you, worked with you, played
with you, ate with you, slept with you, we who took
pleasure in your company, in your modesty, in your
gentle manners, in your devotion and in your youth —
we still pass that spot, and we salute. Our breath comes
quicker, our eyes grow dimmer, we grip the wheel a little
tighter — we pass — better and stronger men.
Waldo Peirce ^
1 The artist; of Bangor, Maine; Harvard '07. In France when the war
broke out; joined Section Three, in which he served until this Section was
transferred to the Balkans. A number of the paintings and sketches repro-
duced in these volumes are the work of Mr. Peirce.
306
SECTION THREE
Editor's Note: Richard Hall was buried with honors of war
in the valley of Saint-Amarin, in Alsace, which once more be-
longs to France. His grave, in a crowded military cemetery,
is next that of a French officer who fell the same morning. It
bears the brief inscription, "Richard Hall, an American who
died for France." Simple mountain people, in the then only part
of Germany where foreign soldiers were, brought to the grave
many wreaths of native flowers and Christmas greens. The fu-
neral service was held in a little Protestant chapel, five miles
down the valley. At the conclusion of the service, Hall's cita-
tion was read and the Cross of War pinned on the coffin. On
the way to the cemetery sixteen soldiers, belonging to a bat-
talion on leave from the trenches, marched in file on each
side with arms reversed. The Medecin Chef spoke as follows
at the grave:
Messieurs — Camarades —
Cest tin supreme hommage de recomiaissa7tce et d'affectioji
que nous rendons, devant cette fosse fratchement creusee, a ce
jeune homme — je dirais volontiers — cet enfant — tombe hier
pour la France sur les pentes de V Hartmannsweilerkopf . . . .
Ai-je hesoin de vous rappeler la douloureuse emotion que nous
avons tons ressentis en apprenant hier matin que le conducteiir
Richard Hall, de la Section Sanitaire Americaine N^ j, venait
d'etre mortellement frappe par un eclat d'obus, pres du poste de
secqurs de Thomannsplatz oil il montait chercher des blesses?
A V Ambulance 3/58, oH nous eprouvons pour nos camarades
americains une sincere amitie basee sur des mois de vie commune
pendant laquelle il nous fut permis d'apprecier leur endurance,
leur courage, et leur devouement, le conducteur Richard Hall
etmt estime entre tons pour sa modestie, sa douceur, sa complai-
sance.
A peine sorti de Vuniversite de Dartmouth, dans la genero-
site de son cceur d' adolescent, il apporta a la France le precieux
concours de sa charite en venant relever, sur les champs de bataille
d' Alsace, ceux de nos vaillants soldats blesses en combattant pour
la patrie bien-aimee.
II est mort en "Chevalier de la Bienfaisance" — en "Ameri-
cain" — pour V accomplissement d'une ceuvre de bonte et de charite
chretienne.
Aux etres chers quHl a laisses dans sa patrie, au Michigan,
cL ses parents desoles, d son frere aine, qui, au milieu de nous,
montre une si stoique douleur, nos hommages et V expression de
notre tristesse sont bien sinceres et bien vifs!
Conducteur Richard Hall, vous allez reposer ici a V ombre du
drapeau tricolore, aupres de tous ces vaillants dont vous etes
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THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
Vemule. . . . Vous faites d juste litre partie de leiir hataillon
sacre! . . . Seiil, votre corps, glorieusement mutile, disparait —
votre dme est remonte trouver Dieii — votre souvenir, lui, reste
dans nos cceurs, imperissable! . . . Les Franqais n'oublient pas!
Conducteur Richard Hall — Adieu !
IV
From Two Diaries
Mittlach, December i, 19 15
The other night, just as I was going to crawl in, three
blesses arrived from the trenches, and another was down
the road in a farmhouse waiting for the Medecin Chef; he
was too badly wounded to go farther. They asked me to
take the men to the hospital at Kruth, which is back over
the mountains twenty miles. I dressed again — I hated
to because it was warm in the little log shack and it had
begun to rain outside. I lit my lantern, and went out
to the shelter where the cars were, got my tank filled
with gas, and my lights ready to burn when I could use
them. It was so black one could see nothing. We put two
of the blesses on stretchers and pushed them slowly into
the back of the car; the other sat in front with me. This
we did under the protection of the hill w^here the poste de
secours is located. When one goes fifty yards on the road
beyond the station, there is a valley, narrow but clear,
which is in full view of the trenches, and going and comr
ing, it is necessary to pass over this road. In the daytime
one cannot be seen, because the French have put up a
row of evergreens along it which hides the road. I started
and proceeded very carefully, keeping my lantern under
a blanket, and we soon arrived at the house where the
other blesse was waiting for the doctor. It was a little old
Alsatian farmhouse. I pushed in the door and stepped
down into the flagstone kitchen. On the floor lay the
chasseur on a stretcher, his face pale under the lamplight
from the table. The Medecin Chef was bending over
him injecting tetanus anti-toxin into his side, and with
each punch of the needle the poor fellow, already suf-
fering from terrible wounds, would squirm, but not utter
a word. The soldiers stood around the tiny room, their
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THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
heads almost touching the brown rafters above. We
took the man out to my car on the stretcher, carrying
the Hght under the coat of one of the stretcher-bearers;
for if the Germans see a Hght moving anywhere in French
territory, they will fire on it if they think it near enough.
I started up the mountain with my load of wounded.
On either side of the road the French guns at certain
places pounded out their greetings to the Boches; the
concussion shook the road so that I could feel it in my car.
I could light my lights after about a mile ; so I proceeded
slowly up the mountain in low speed while the heat from
my motor kept the blesses and myself warm. About half-
way up, we ran into the clouds, and it became so foggy
one could scarcely see; farther up it became colder and
began to snow. I had no chains on my car, and it worried
me to be without them, especially with three helpless
men inside and one out. However, I kept climbing up,
and the higher I went the more it snowed and the harder
it blew. Near the top it became veritably blinding —
snow, sleet, and wind — a typical northeasterly American
blizzard. The little car ploughed on bravely; it stuck only
once on a sharp turn, and after backing I was able to get
on by rushing it. But I could not see the road, the sleet
was blowing so into my face and the snow was so thick.
At last, however, I reached the summit where the wind
was strong enough at one time actually to lift my car a
little. On one side of the road was a high embankment
and on the other a ravine sloping down at least a thou-
sand feet. I was scared to death, for without chains we
were liable to skid and plunge down this depth. The snow
had been falling all day, and in places had drifted over a
yard deep. Twice I took a level stretch to be the road, but
discovered my mistake in time to back up. The third
time was more serious — I plunged ahead through a drift
which I thought was the road, and finally I stuck and
could move neither way. I could not leave these men
there all night wounded, and the blizzard did not stop,
so the only thing to do was to find help. I walked back
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LA NEIGE
AVIXTEU DAYS IX ALSACE
SECTION THREE
to what I thought was the road and kept on towards a
slight, gUmmerlng light I could see at a distance. It turned
out to be an enclosure for the mules which haul ammuni-
tion over the mountains; and I felt better again, for I
knew there were a lot of territorial soldiers with them.
I pulled them out of bed; it was then 10.30. They came
with me and pushed me back on the road, also pushed me
along — ten of them — until they got me on the descent,
and from there on the weight of my car carried me down
through the drifts. I arrived at the hospital at 12.30, the
happiest man one ever saw to get those poor fellows there
safely.
December 2
I WAS sent back to Mittlach the next day to get four more
wounded. They were assis, not couches, fortunately, for
the snow on top of Trehkopf had been falling and drifting
all day and night and rolling was not easy. When I got
to the top of the mountain and started down, I found the
roads had been broken and beaten down by munition
wagons and were like a sheet of ice. I started down with-
out chains, when the car, though all my brakes were on,
began to slide slowly down the road. It even slid toward
the edge of the ravine until the two front wheels went
over; but there, fortunately, it stopped, and I got it back
on the road again. I then turned the radiator into the
bank on the other side and tried tying rags on the rear
wheels to keep the car from sliding. Then a big wagon
with four horses came behind me down the hill, which
was so slippery at this spot that the horses began to slide
down on their haunches, and the driver, even with brakes
on, could not stop them. The horses came on faster, and
faster, slid into the rear of my car, pushed it along for
about six feet, and then nothing could stop it. It, too,
started down the road going faster and faster. I yelled
to the wounded to jump. They understood my poor
French and piled out just in time, for the car ran across
the road and plunged down into the ravine. There was a
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THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
lot of snow on the side of the ravine, which had piled up
in such a way that the car was stopped part-way down
so that it was not injured very much, though it took nine
men and as many mules to pull it out.
Luke C. Doyle ^
December 31, 191 5
Some little time ago we received our first taste of winter,
and my first experience made me put more faith in the
rumors of larger falls of snow here than an American
likes to concede to any country but his own.
The car I was to relieve got a trip late one night in
what was, even at Mittlach, a terrific rainstorm. The next
morning it continued raining, but I could see the peaks
of the mountains covered with snow. Late in the after-
noon, just after dark, the familiar sound of a Ford brought
me out of the poste de secours, and I found Rice, with his
car covered with snow which even the rain had n't yet
melted. His story was of helping the car I had relieved,
and of having worked all morning, in their efforts to pull
it back on the road from which a heavy ammunition
wagon had pushed it, neither vehicle being able to stick
to the icy road. Farther on, he had met continual snow-
drifts. His eagerness to bring me chains, my only chance
of getting up, persuaded him to keep on, and he eventu-
ally got through with everybody's help on the road. We
decided to wait until the storm was over — our only
alternative — and proceeded to make ourselves as com-
fortable as we could, which means a stove, somewhere to
sleep, and plenty of books to read and tobacco to smoke.
It was four days before the snow let up and we had visions
of a long and lonely winter; but as soon as the storm
broke we started up, and, as it proved, in the nick of time,
as the five kilometres along the crest were again swept
by snow and sleet and drifts were beginning to form. The
Mittlach service had to be abandoned after this, although
» Of Worcester, Massachusetts; Yale, '09; in the Service during part of
X915 and 1916; Captain and later Major in U.S.A. Sanitary Corps.
312
SECTION THREE
in late November and early December a car could go
through, but it was impossible to assure the service and
it was found better to have sleighs and wagons do the
work.
Stephen Galatti^
1 Of New York City; Harvard, 'lo; joined Section Three in 1915 in Alsace;
later adjoint at Headquarters to Mr. Andrew, and second in command of
Service; first a Captain, then a Major in the U.S.A. Ambulance Service,
when the United States took over and continued the Service.
V
In Lorraine
March, 19 16
We left Alsace one morning early in February, 191 6,
when the valleys were filled with tinted mist and the
snowy hill slopes were glowing pink with sunrise, and
we hated to leave. We still look back upon it as the Prom-
ised Land. We formed a convoy of twenty- three cars, in
which 170 was placed immediately behind the leader,
an arrangement to which twenty-one persons objected.
Every time the side-boxes came open and the extra tins
of gasoline scattered over the landscape, or when the
engine stopped through lack of sympathy with the
engineer, three or four cars would manage to slip by. It
was a sort of progressive-euchre party in which 170 never
held a winning hand.
No one concerned had the least idea whither we were
headed. The first night we spent at Rupt, where there is
an automobile park. We took it on hearsay that there
was an automobile park, for we left the next morning
without having seen it; but when two days later we joined
the Twentieth Army Corps — "the Fighting Twentieth"
— at Moyen, we were reported as coming straight from
the automobile park at Rupt. Consequently we were
assumed to be ready for indefinite service "to the last
button of the last uniform," but when we had explained
that mechanically speaking our last uniform was on its
last button the Fighting Twentieth shook us off.
We spent a week at Moyen however — in it up to our
knees. The surrounding country was dry and almost
dusty; but Moyen has an atmosphere of its own and local
color — and the streets are not clean. Yet to most of us
the stay was intensely interesting. At that time it lay
just back of the high-water mark of German invasion,
and the little villages and towns roundabout looked like
314
SECTION THREE
the broken wreckage tossed up by the tide — long streets
of roofless, blackened ruins, and in the midst the empty
skeleton of a church, whose tower had been pierced by
shells, and with the broken chimes blocking the entrance.
Nothing had been done to alter or disguise the marks of
invasion. The fields surrounding Moyen were pitted with
shell-craters, which had a suggestive way of lining the
open roads, along whose edges were rifle-pits and shallow
trenches filled with a litter of cartridge-boxes and bits of
trampled unifcrm and accoutrements, blue and red, or
greenish-gray, mixed together; and always and every-
where the long grave-mounds with the little wooden
crosses which are a sadly familiar feature of every land-
scape on the Western Front. The Moyen region lacked,
perhaps, the bald, grim cruelty of Hartmannsweilerkopf,
but it is a place not to be forgotten.
From Moyen we moved on to Tantonville, a place not
lacking in material comforts, but totally devoid of soul;
and from there we made our round of pastes — of one,
two, or four cars, and for two, four, or eight days. At
some pastes, the work was fairly constant, carrying the
sick and second-hand wounded from paste to hospital and
from hospital to railroad ; in others, one struggled against
mental and physical decay.
At Oeleville, we saw the class of 1916 called out —
brave, cheerful-looking boys, standing very straight at
attention as their officers passed down the line, and later,
as we passed them on the march, cheering loudly for ''Us
americains'' — and so marching on to the open lid of
hell at Verdun. The roads were filled with soldiers, and
every day and all day the troop-trains were rumbling by
to the north ; and day after day and week after week the
northern horizon echoed with the steady thunder of artil-
lery. Sometimes, lying awake in the stillness of dawn to
listen, one could not count the separate explosions, so
closely did they follow each other. The old man who used
to open the railway gate for me at Dombasle would shake
his head and say that we ought to be up at Verdun, and
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THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
once a soldier beside him told him that we were neutrals
and not supposed to be sent under fire. I heard that sug-
gestion several times made, and one of our men used to
carry in his pocket a photograph of poor Hall's car to
refute it.
A Call for Baccarat
There was a m.omentary thrill of interest when a call
came for four cars to Baccarat — a new poste and almost
on the front, where was an English section in need of
assistance; and we four who went intended to "show
them how." But it seemed that the call had come too late
and the pressing need was over — the last batch of Ger-
man prisoners had been brought in the day before and
the active fighting had ceased. We stepped into the long
wooden cabin where they waited — the German wounded
— and they struggled up to salute — a more pitiful, un-
dersized, weak-chested, and woe-begone set of human
derelicts I hope never to see again in uniform ; and as we
stood among them in our strong, warm clothes, for it was
snowing outside, all of us over six feet tall, I felt suddenly
uncomfortable and ashamed.
Once we were startled at lunch-time, while we were
eating the rarity of blood sausage, by an explosion near
the edge of town, when three of us stepped to the door,
but the fourth man kept his seat to help himself from
the next man's plate, a striking example of coolness under
fire. As we looked out there came a second explosion a
little farther off, and then in a few moments a telephone
call for an ambulance, with the news that a Taube had
struck a train. When I reached the place, the train had
gone on, carrying ten slightly wounded to Luneville,
while I brought back the other two on stretchers — one a
civilian struck in a dozen places, but otherwise appar-
ently in excellent health and spirits; the other, a soldier
in pretty bad shape. It must have been excellent marks-
manship for the Taube, since we had seen nothing in the
clear blue sky overhead nor heard the characteristic
316
SECTION THREE
whirr of the motor, and yet both shell-craters were very
close to the tracks.
In Alsace these Taubes were constantly in sight, but
seldom attacked and almost never scored a hit, while the
French gunners seemed perfectly happy to fire shrapnel
at them all the afternoon with the same indecisive result.
One could not even take the white shrapnel clouds as a
point of departure in looking for the aeroplane, though
the French artillery is very justly famous for its accuracy
of fire. In this instance, as in all air raids, the success
scored seemed pitifully futile, for it was not a military
train, and most of the wounded were non-combatants,
while it added its little unnecessary mite of suffering, and
of hatred to the vast monument which Germany has
reared to herself and by which she will always be remem-
bered.
Walter Kerr Rainsford ^
1 Of Ridgefield, Connecticut; Harvard, '04; in the Field Service during
the greater part of 1916; subsequently Captain in Infantry, U.S.A.
VI
"On to Verdun"
July, 1916
Our journey from the Lorraine front carried us to a small
village where was quartered the Etat-Major and which
was situated directly on the main Verdun road. There
was no mistaking our destination now. The first impres-
sions in that village will always be clear and distinct.
Here was the first evidence of the immensity and awful-
ness of a modern battle — the Verdun road. The village
itself was nothing; simply a spot through which passed
the Verdun road. This was a broad street, and it well
needed to be. It was rough, too, for the constant churning
of the thousands of wheels that passed upon it destroyed
any surface as fast as it could be made. Where were all
these trucks with their loads of men and material going?
To Verdun!
There they come now. First appears a squad of twenty,
thirty, or fifty French trucks, loaded down with men;
close upon them is another squad, larger even, of American
Whites, said to have been captured by the British fleet on
their way to Germany; then another squad of an Italian
make; then a French make; then the Americans again;
and so the never-ending line moves on. An ambulance
slips by; the men are beginning to return already. Were
we to be doing that soon? Now a stafT car rushes on and
another passes returning. A truck comes by bearing the
compressed hydrogen for the many artillery observ^ation
balloons. And so this terrible traffic of the awful business
of war pressed back and forth — an almost unending
stream. Such was the first impression of the Verdun road.
Our stay in the village was short. Two or three days
passed and we were again on the move, stopping this time
at a little town called Sousbrienne, well off from the main
Verdun road. Here we waited five or six days to be sent
318
SECTION THREE
up finally to near Nix6ville, whence we did the work of
removing the blesses back from the fight around \^erdun.
Our cars were parked on the slope of a small hill rising to
the north of the village. A short walk brought one to the
top of it, where could be distinctly heard the tremendous
battle tune of the cannon, and at night the bright flashes
of the larger guns would appear.
Across the hollow in which was built the town and on
a level plateau was situated the aerial station, whence
flew the battle planes to do the service about Verdun.
This was real flying and made what we saw near Nancy
seem nothing. All the m.achines here w^ere of the fastest
type and the pilots were in a class with Navarre. It was
a wonderful sight to see three or four Nieuports swoop-
ing about in the air, looping the loop, or doing the leaf-
drop or the war-hawk swoop. Like swallows they seemed,
not only in numbers, but in dexterity. On one side we
had these birds of war and their nest — the aerodrome
— rising from just beyond the top of the hill ; below
us was the village full of soldiers; and beyond it the
fields filled with wagons and horses, and to the right the
same.
In front of us, up the hill, and to our right, lay Verdun
and the immense area of fighting that was involved in the
defence of it. Here was that steady sound of guns which,
like the pounding of the sea, made one stop in awe to
wonder why it is and whence come the great forces that
drive it on. At times, as one questions how best to describe
the one small chapter of the story of Verdun with which
one is familiar, there comes a terrible feeling of disgust
that any attempt should be made to put into words things
that have been recorded already in the blood of some
members of practically every family in France. It is a
sacrilege to make the attempt, and any one who reads
such efforts to describe this terrific struggle must remem-
ber that words do not count, but that the real story, the
real evidence, is found only in the pain and suffering and
loss of life of a nation's great.
319
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
Service at Verdun
The first night of our service at Verdun began. Fifteen
of our twenty cars "rolled " along the main Verdun road
past the long line of camions, ammunition wagons, and
soup kitchens ; then into the city itself, through the ruins
of the heavily shelled district and across the river to a
small poste just in the outskirts of the town. All about
us in this suburb of Verdun were batteries of "75" or
"105" or "220" guns, all firing at regular intervals up
over the projecting cliff and upon the German positions
beyond.
Occasionally the Germans sent an answering shell, and
the men in the neighborhood would seek safety in the
many abris close by. That night the Germans were mak-
ing a gas attack, and they threw thousands of gas-shells
upon the French trenches and beyond, to interfere with
the ravitaillement. The gas reached us, and men not
equipped with proper masks began to cough and choke
and gag, and were sent deep into a cellar where the air
was still fresh. The time for us to go to the advance poste
and start bringing in the wounded arrived ; but the road
had been blocked by incendiary bombs which had set a
house on fire. About an hour later this was cleared and we
could begin our work. Happily also at about that time
there was a severe thunderstorm, the breeze and rain of
which cleared away the gas.
This road to the advance poste, Bras, ran along the side
of the river a short distance, when it turned to the right
off over the field, passing between a row of trees, then
through a wood, and finally over the fields again until it
reached Bras. Due to the blockade earlier in the evening,
this road was covered with trafhc of one sort and another,
and it was difficult, terribly difficult sometimes, to get
through, the darkness of the night and the need for haste
making the danger of a smash-up exceedingly great. One
French phrase will always remain in the vocabulary of
the American ambulance drivers even if every other
320
SECTION THREE
word of the language be forgotten. It is ''d, droite, d
droite,'' which has saved men and machines many times.
Bras
On arriving at Bras, a town of mines, we found a great
number of wounded and men suffering from gas poison-
ing. It was terrible to see their eagerness to get back and
farther back from the horrors they had left. Our work
lasted till daylight, when it was impossible to pass over
the road as it was in plain view of the Germans. Once
daylight came, however, there yet remained the task of
carrying to Verdun those wounded we had brought down
from Bras, and from Verdun back inland again to the
first stationary hospital. This work kept us "rolling" on
till nine o'clock in the morning when other men took it
up and completed it later in the day.
The next night there was no gas attack and we could
begin our work promptly just after dark. But while we
did n't have the terror of the gas, we were made to realize
the terror of the shrapnel shells and high-explosives. One
of our drivers had the front of his car broken open and
two men were killed beside it, while he just saved himself
by sliding under the car when he heard the whistle. An-
other man had a shrapnel bullet pierce his purse and stop ;
and another was bruised in the ankle by a stone driven
by the near-by explosion of a shell. The cars, with the
one exception just mentioned, were untouched, and the
work went on till daybreak made it too dangerous to stay,
when began the work of carrying the wounded, gas-
poisoned, and burnt, back from Verdun.
The next night was much the same thing as the previ-
ous one ; but as it is fairly representative, it is well to con-
sider it in detail. The first man goes at about 9.30; then
another, followed by two more. The first man returns
and reports lots of wounded, shelling of the road, and
much traffic passing out. Five other men go. They meet
first some loose horses and then a man riding a horse at a
gallop back toward us. A shriek, d droite, just keeps him
321
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
from running into the cars, and as he passes he cries out
in turn, ^^Tir de barrage.'' We soon come to a block of
long lines of traffic, and are told we can't go farther. But
by dint of much urging and squeezing, we finally reach
the head of the line, where we find a terrible mix-up of
dead and dying horses and men. Then begins the tir de
barrage again, and the shrill whistle of an approaching
shell gives warning that it is coming to kill. We crouch
low, hoping nothing may happen. Then comes another
and another, and one close enough to cause the rattle of
pebbles about us ; but the others are wild shots. Now they
cease and for the moment we thank God for the darkness
that hides us and the immense crowd of wagons about us
from the eyes of the Germans.
Then some one takes a chance, finds there is room to
pass in the ditch at the side of the road, and the block
gradually clears. We are able now to move on, after
removing the body of the man just ahead of us, and at
last succeed in arriving at Bras. One of the five, however,
remains behind to pick up the wounded from about the
road. If luck had been with us we could have got a load
and returned; but we are compelled to wait, and while
we wait some German shells begin to find the town and
we go to the cellar. A rattle of eclats and stones tells of
one near shot. But now we can get our wounded and we
start back, picking our way carefully about some of the
large shell-holes that fill the roads in the town.
We roll on, but only to be stopped farther down by
another block. This time we stay where we are, waiting
for the block to be cleared, while the air is alive above us
with the passing shells, both French and German. Beside
us in the fields near the roads, batteries are going off at
regular intervals. Far off to the right in the direction of
Mort Homme, a terrific bombardment is on and the
whole horizon is a line of flashing lights. Back of us are
rising and falling German and French star-bombs which
throw a light that to us seems enough to disclose our
whereabouts.
322
AN UNDERGROUND "POSTE'
ONCE A\ AVENUE OF STATELY TREES
SECTION THREE
The block clears, and we pass on and come without
hindrance to the top of a long hill that leads down into
the valley where lies \^erdun. Below us is booming forth
a series of sounds from the " 105 " French battery, and it
seems as if the shells must graze us as they pass on to-
ward their goal among the Germans. It is but a short
distance then to the poste in \'erdun, and we discharge
our wounded to start on a second trip which repeats
with little variation the experiences of the first. Then
comes a third, and for one or two men, a fourth.
The next night the same things were repeated in vary-
ing degrees. Perhaps that night you did n't have the fright-
ful tir de barrage, but you had a narrow escape from being
smashed by an artillery wagon coming full tilt past the
quarry which was often a mark for the German shells.
Perhaps you had some frightful moments when, listening
to the pleas of the wounded and ner\'e-shattered men
along the road, you took a heavier load than a Ford could
stand and then found yourself rocking and rolling and
smashing through some deep shell-holes you had forgot-
ten, amid the cries of the frightened wounded. Perhaps
that night your machine was caught and held by tangled
barbed wire and you had to be cut free. These vrere all
part of some man's experiences if not the experiences of
all of us.
Such in brief and very imperfect outline were some of
the things we did and felt and saw during the eight ter-
rible davs of strain at \^erdun; and when the moment
came for our release, it was like casting off great weights
of lead. But if the strain upon us, who really could not
have seen more than a small part of the horror of this
struggle, was so great, what must be said of the endurance
and suffering of the soldiers who saw it all and endured
it all?
Alwyn Inness-Browni
' Of Charle?ton, South Carolina; University of Virginia; entered the
Field Service in April, 1916, and served for nine months; later Captain,
U.S.A. Sanitar>' Corps.
VII
The Glory of the French
I have noticed that French soldiers everywhere are most
eager to talk and make friends with us Americans, and
they are the most sympathetic, appreciative, and gener-
ous people I have ever known. They often run across the
street just to shake hands with us or say a w^ord or two,
and invite us to have a glass of wine with them which
they in their unbounded generosity always want to pay
for. It hurts me to see them reach down into their jeans
for their meagre change, and I can never allow them to
treat me out of their small and hard-earned savings.
Whatever they have, however, is yours if you want it.
Ligny, June lo, 1916
As I was walking through the town to-day a French
soldier called to me from across the street and said he had
a present he wished to give me. He then produced from
his pocket an English copy of "Robinson Crusoe," which
in his simple and unconventional way he presented to me,
after writing his name and a few words in the front of it
— a perfect example of the genuineness of the French
spirit.
Conde, Monday, June 12
Yesterday dawned with heavy rain. I packed up my
regular load of section material, which is allotted to me
to carry from place to place as we travel, and we pro-
ceeded to Bar-le-Duc once more on our way to Verdun.
We stopped there to eat, and after lunch we went on
farther to the little town of Conde, recalling the Duke of
Conde, and drew up our machines in a barnyard. I no-
ticed that the lady at the farmhouse by which we had
stopped was crying. At first we thought it was because
324
SECTION THREE
she did not like us to stop on her premises; but we soon
learned that she had more reason than that for her grief,
for she had just received a letter saying that her only son
had been killed on the battle-field. She recovered her com-
posure soon, however, and extended rare hospitality to
us. Wonderful people are the French!
It has rained here for more than a week, and the old
story is certainly an apt one — when a soldier walks in
French mud and lifts up one foot, he is sure all of France
is clinging to it, but finds he is mistaken, for when he
lifts the other, he discovers that half of France is there !
Here we see long files of troops going to and returning
from the front.
June 22
Late this afternoon Mr. Hill asked a few of us if "we
wanted to accompany him and the French Lieutenant on
a trip to our future working-ground. We were eager to go,
and taking our gas-masks with us and putting on our
iron derbies, we set off, I was in the French Lieutenant's
car — a Berliet — and here began what proved to be the
most interesting four hours that I have had since I joined
the American Field Service. /We took a "switch road"
to Verdun, getting onto the main road when we were
halfway there. It was twilight and the countryside with
the setting sun glow on it was beautiful. On the hillsides
could be seen the French encampments and hospitals,
and over the roads — we were continually in sight of
two besides the one we were on — were passing constant
streams of trafiftc to and from Verdun. Ahead of us and
at the right could be seen continual flashes of light which
grew brighter and brighter, and the cannonading grew
louder and louder as we neared the trenches.
Passing through the outskirts of the city we came to
the ancient walls, gateways, and moat of Verdun, and
once in Verdun the sight was like a three-ringed circus,
so many things claiming one's notice at a time that it was
hard to determine just where to fix one's attention.
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THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
Verdun was absolutely deserted and in complete ruin; I
saw no stores and but a few walls were left standing.
Debris was piled so high on both sides of the road and
took up so much space that there was only enough room
left for one machine to pass at a time. There was not a
light to be seen in the town, and no horns or klaxons were
supposed to be used. Shells shot by us over our heads, but
so near that the noise was deafening.
We finally drew up at an American Field Service poste
in Verdun, where I saw the first signs of life any^vhere.
Here we met the American boys who had been doing the
work we were about to begin. There were twelve of them
who had had five days of it and were to leave in the
morning. Each ambulance section is assigned to an army
division, follows it to the front, and when it leaves, the
ambulance section leaves also. The division sometimes
stays until about forty per cent have been killed or
wounded. During the past five days fourteen of their
ambulance cars have been hit by shells or scattering
fragments; two of the twelve men have been wounded,
and I was not surprised to find them rather glad to get
away from the lines.
Verdun to Bras
The road from Verdun to Bras is dangerous, filled as it
is with deep shell-holes, and it leads along a very difficult
way. There is a choice of two roads to Bras; but one was
under constant fire, so we were forced to take the other,
proceeding along this road up to the very top of a steep
cliff, below which are the French guns and beyond which
are the trenches. It was at this point that we heard explo-
sions the din of which more than doubly eclipsed any-
thing we had previously heard. They were simply tre-
mendous. We were at that point which is the very muzzle
of some big French guns, and because the Germans are
most anxious to get the "battery," they direct their
heaviest firing against it. We had to go as fast as we could
in order to escape the shells, and yet we had to go cau-
326
SECTION THREE
tiously enough to avoid the terrible holes in the road,
some of which were five or six feet deep and as big as the
machine itself. I was almost hurled from the back to the
front seat of the machine when Mr. Hill, going twelve
miles an hour, hit one of these holes. We got out of it
soon, however, and approached a bridge, about the only
bridge that the Germans have not taken in that local-
ity, and they want that badly. It was under Intermittent
fire all the time, and we were supposed to stop if shelling
were going on and wait for it to cease. All along the road-
side was a deep trench into which we could go if the shell-
ing became too severe. We soon approached Bras, where
great rockets kept flashing out green, yellow, and red
star-bombs, lighting up the sky and exposing the enemy's
trenches.
Bras is simply a ruined village. At one spot just off the
field of battle is a sort of first-aid station to which the
stretcher-bearers carry the wounded from the field. If
anything can be done to ease temporarily their suffering,
they are taken at once down into the cellar and treated.
It is there that we are to get our blesses, and from there
we are to take them back to the poste at Verdun. Every
trip from Bras to Verdun has to be made between the
hours of 9 P.M. and 2 a.m. No traffic goes over that road
in daylight. The week before our arrival, an ambulance
had been sent out during the daytime and as a result was
shelled and hit twice. After treatment at the Verdun poste,
the wounded are taken in daylight to Baleycourt beyond
Verdun and put in the rear hospitals. It Is at Baleycourt
that our encampment is to be. There is a cellar at the
Verdun poste where the boys can catch a wink of sleep, if
possible, between trips.
Baleycourt, June 24
As per order we left promptly at 8.30 yesterday for Ver-
dun. The camp which is to be our eating and sleeping
place is in this little town of Baleycourt, about seven
miles from Verdun. We pulled up here in the usual
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fashion, our ambulances lined up straight before the
camp, and pitched our tent, in which we set the beds
which we have carried all the way from Nancy. It was
very hot, and being one of the first to arrive I pushed my
cot up into the corner by the door so as to get plenty of
air. Whenever we pitch camp, it always reminds me of
a Western land-lottery in our own country. Every one
rushes into the tent with some of his possessions — suit-
case, bag, or bed — and flings them down in a desirable
place, so that, later, his chosen spot is claimed by prior
right of possession.
Lost in Verdun
June 25
Before going to bed last night I learned that I was to be
on duty for the twenty-four-hour stretch to-day, and I
went to sleep anticipating some new experiences, espe-
cially as the men sent out the night before had run into a
heavy gas attack and had come back with their eyes
inflamed, paining terribly, and their lungs choked up.
I was called to work at seven this morning, and made the
trip to the hospital at Baleycourt for a load of wounded
whom I evacuated to Queue-de-Mala farther back. I had
no sooner returned to camp than Clark suggested that
I had better help him evacuate the wounded from Ver-
dun, as that job was getting ahead of him. I accord-
ingly started for Verdun, entered by the wrong gate, and
was completely lost for some time. This is no fun, getting
lost in Verdun, for there is scarcely a man to be seen on
the streets, and if by chance you do see one, he is sure to
be on the run to the nearest cellar. People know better
than to promenade in Verdun! I finally got my bearings,
and after getting some horribly wounded men, I returned
to our poste, after which I made several of these trips.
Often I would notice fresh shell-holes in the road, which
had to be filled in, and quantities of debris, which had to
be cleared away, before I could proceed, so narrow was
the way. Occasionally a dead horse had to be put aside
328
SECTION THREE
from the road. During one trip two of the poor fellows I
had in my ambulance died before arriving at the hospital,
and as the attendants took another out of the car they
noticed that he looked deathly white and lifeless, when
one of them said, "He is dead, isn't he?" "Yes, he is
dead," replied the other as they proceeded to leave him;
but the wretched soldier spoke up for himself at this
point, and said feebly, "No, I am not dead," and so they
carried him in with the others.
June 26
It was six o'clock yesterday before I lay off for supper
and a general fixing-up of my car for the evening work.
When the time came for us to set out, we left in pairs at
intervals of five minutes. Munroe and I started out to-
gether, and here began for me one of the worst nights I
have ever experienced. We arrived at our poste at Verdun
all right, and in half an hour we went on toward the
Croix-de-Fer, which is two thirds of the way to Bras, to
get the w^ounded there. I started back before Munroe
was ready, with five wounded in my machine. Driving on
a dark night over a narrow road full of shell-holes with
five wounded mortals is bad enough, but when in ad-
dition to this it rains pitchforks and lightning flashes
continually, it is much worse. The lightning absolutely
blinded me so that I could not see an inch of the road,
while all the time passing on both sides of me were great
streams of infantry, cavalry, carts, and trucks; conse-
quently many were the collisions and scrapings that
night. We were never allowed to use our horns, and would
press on desperately until, hitting some one, we would
back up, get out of the mess, and start on again.
Finally, I reached my destination, filled my car with
injured soldiers, and started back. Nearing Verdun I
missed the road I was supposed to turn in on and lost my
way entirely. Lost in the dead of night between Verdun
and the trenches, my ambulance full of wounded men ! I
was desperate. I drove my car back and forth, in and out,
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THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
in great confusion of mind, into all sorts of places. Fail-
ing to find the right way, I at last gave up in despair and
decided to wait until it began to grow a little lighter, al-
though I knew that this would be a dangerous thing to do.
Then I thought of the poor fellows in my car and decided
I must devise some way of getting them back. It at last
occurred to me, if I could discover the railroad station in
Verdun, I could, since I knew the location of that place,
find my way onto the road I usually took. This I decided
to do even though it was quite a distance out of the
way; and after inquiring of several men who did n't seem
to understand what I was trying to get at, I got one of
the less injured soldiers in my ambulance to get informa-
tion in French from one of them and in turn direct me
how to go. In this way, although I was side-tracked sev-
eral times, I made my way towards the railroad station.
Before reaching it, however, I came, by accident, upon
the old familiar road and made my way straight to our
poste. When I arrived there I was in a state of nervous
exhaustion.
Wounded
In the French Military Hospital, Vadelaincourt
About four o'clock on the afternoon of June 30, we were
all seated around our camp when we heard shells dropping
within a mile of us and learned that our large front hos-
pital was being shelled. Our work was to carry wounded
from this hospital to one farther back, which was not so
likely to be shelled. After leaving Vadelaincourt, I started
out for Verdun at 8.45, and at 10 o'clock Dawson and I
got orders to go to Bras. Before we started, Dawson said,
"Barber, if we get into very thick fire, just stop and we
will get under our cars and wait until it is over." I agreed
and we started off. The night was very cloudy and the
darkness was intensified by the heavy overhanging foli-
age of the trees. Everything went as well as ever at first,
and I arrived at Bras before Dawson. I loaded three
blesses into my ambulance and started back to Verdun.
330
SECTION THREE
I passed Dawson's car not far out, grimly standing by
the roadside en panne. I had not gone far from Bras when
the sheUing became very heavy. I cHmbed out of my car,
and after instructing the wounded soldier with ^^-hom I
was sharing my seat to get under the car, I did so myself.
We stayed there ten or fifteen minutes until shells began
to explode back of us, and I thought it would be better for
us to jump into the machine and make a dash for Verdun
before another volley of shells was sent ahead of us.
I got out from under the car and walked around to the
front of it. This, however, is where I made my fatal mis-
take, for no sooner had I left the protection of the machine
than I recognized the shrill whistle and swish of what
seemed to me to be the largest obus that I had ever heard.
The loudness of the noise was probably caused by the
nearness of the shell. I had stooped in front of the car's
radiator to gain its protection and when the shell exploded,
I saw for an instant a great band of flame around my
stomach and for the moment I thought surely the end
had come. I noticed that my car was ruined. The rear
w^as completely demolished and every one of my three
wounded men killed. Recovering a little from my dazed
condition, I distinctly remember trying out my various
faculties. I found out that I could still breathe, with
difficulty, however, for every respiration hurt my lungs;
I tried to walk and succeeded, with pain, however; I could
see with both eyes and could swallow, and I still had my
two arms.
At this point I began to feel a sharp, stinging sensation
all over my body, became very weak and could only
stagger along. I was in great pain. It was agony to breathe.
My legs and back hurt, and I reasoned out that I must
have been struck by pieces of shell in numerous parts of
my body. I struggled along a few yards on the road and
then fell prostrate. I thought if I could only get back to
Verdun some way, I could be fixed up. As I lay there on
the road helpless, it occurred to me that when the next
ambulance came along I could call out the name of one
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THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
of the drivers, get in an English word or two, and perhaps
thus attract his attention. In about fifteen minutes one
loomed in sight, coming down the road with great speed,
whereupon I yelled out the first name I thought of, that
of a boy in our Section, "Tison, Tison!" The scheme
worked, and although Wheeler was driving he pulled up
with "What's the matter here?" A soldier whom I had
spoken to explained to Wheeler the situation, and I called
to him from the other side of the road where I lay under
a soup cart. W'hen he found out that I was hurt, he
jumped out of his car and helped me over to it. The
shelling was continuing very heavily, and I thought we
had better get under his car until it subsided a bit. We
stayed under the car for a few minutes, but Wheeler
finally dragged me out and placed me on the floor of the
front seat of his ambulance. He was already sharing his
seat with one wounded soldier, and another fellow, who
was eager to be taken back to Verdun, climbed onto the
car, too. Wheeler told him to get off, but he insisted that
he would be needed to hold me on, which he did all the
way back. This made seven in the car already, and in the
excitement of the moment another had jumped onto the
other side of the machine. In a hurry to get me to Verdun,
Wheeler with his load went at top speed over a dark,
muddy, thickly travelled road. It was a masterpiece of
driving. I was by this time very weak; but we had come
upon Bluethenthal,^ who gave me water from his canteen,
which revived me somewhat. Wheeler, intent upon get-
ting me to Verdun as quickly as possible, got out of his
car at the bridge over the canal, ran across, and succeeded
in getting some passing troops to stop long enough for
us to go over, so that we finally got through the gates
of Verdun and drew up at our poste. There I was taken
in, injected for lockjaw and my wounds bound up a bit,
1 Arthur Bluethenthal, of Wilmington, North Carolina; Princeton, '13;
joined the Field Service in May, 1916, serving with Section Three in
France and Salonica until May, 1917, when he entered the French Aviation
Service; he was killed in July, 1918, at the front, when his machine was
shot down in flames.
&
Q
>
>^
o
I— (
H
H
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SECTION THREE
when it was found that I was hurt in over twenty-five
places. Later at the Vadelaincourt Hospital I was laid
on the operating-table and chloroformed, which was all I
knew until I awoke the next morning, bound up in band-
ages, in a long room with a row of cots on each side.
In the Hospital
Then followed three or four of the most uncomfortable
days I have ever spent. I was comfortable in no position,
my body paining me on all sides, and the ringing in my ears
continuing. For three days I was not allowed to eat or
drink. Some French officers came into the hospital a few
days later, inquired for me, came up to my bed, said a
lot in French which I did not understand; this much,
however, I did get: " In the name of the French Republic,
we have the honor to confer upon you, as a reward for
your services, the Medaille Militaire" — which they then
and there pinned on my nightshirt, shook hands with me,
and departed. This was quite a compliment, although I
could not feel that I deserved such a distinction, since I
had done no more than the other boys. Some of them
came in to see me every day, and General Petain, com-
mander of the army of Verdun, visited the ward and
shook hands with me.
At my second operation the surgeon took out of me a
piece of my Ford radiator as big as the end of my middle
finger. My radiator always had given me trouble ! Some
of the boys who came to see me brought with them a
handful of shots which they had taken out of my car the
day after I was wounded, and said they could have
brought me a basketful. Every once in a while, little
pieces of shell would be removed from my body, but I
had no more serious operations.
The ambulance I had been driving was given by Mr.
and Mrs. Allston Burr, of Chestnut Hill, Massachusetts,
in memory of their nephew, Francis Hardon Burr, and as
soon as they learned that it had been demolished, they
immediately replaced it by a new one.
333
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
When I began looking around me in the hospital, I
recognized several blesses whom I had carried in my
ambulance on previous days. I spent a peculiar Fourth of
July, the only feature of it for me being a small American
flag which my nurse gave me and which I stuck on the
wall by my bed. In the evening, an American from Sec-
tion Four came in to see me and brought me a bottle of
champagne and a sack of apricots. He was the cheeriest
fellow I ever met, and though he stayed but five minutes
with me, the spirit he put into me remained with me for
the rest of the night. Balsley, the American aviator who
was seriously injured in his encounter with three German
airplanes at once, was in the same hospital. He wrote me
a very friendly note and sent me some of his magazines
to read, and I sent him in return a London newspaper
giving details of his own experiences and those of Chap-
man, who was on his way to get oranges for Balsley when
he was killed by a German shell. I had not been long in
the hospital at Vadelaincourt before the Section, in which
I had been, moved back to Ligny, and though I missed
their coming in to see me, I was glad for their sakes that the
dangerous part of their work was over for a while at least.
William M. Barber^
' Of Toledo, Ohio; Oberlin, '19; left college May, 1916, for ambulance
work in France; was severely wounded during his first month at the front
and invalided home; received the Medaille Militaire. In 191 8 became an
aspirant in French artillery.
<f(rKz' Ipn. a.
VIII
Verdun Days and Nights
June 22, 1916
Twelve of our men were out last night on the Bras serv-
ice and struck the edge of a gas attack. One of them
gave me a cigarette this morning from the case he had
carried, but it reeked so of gas that I could n't smoke it.
The air here was tainted with gas all the morning, but
whether from the patients or from the occasional shell
that struck in the woods above, I could not tell. The gas
patients are in a terrible state, those less affected cough-
ing and choking continually; but the others are far be-
yond that. Two of us took the less desperate cases on to
the evacuation camp at Queue-de-Mala; the others went
down the hill on stretchers — uncovered, for treatment
— with blanketed face, for burial. After twelve hours'
work and about ten trips apiece, we came in for supper,
utterly unrecognizable in our masks of dust.
Bras, June 30
During the shelling of the road last night, I found my-
self repeating the chorus we had sung those long months
ago in Mirecourt:
"Hardis, mes gars! Cest pour la France."
We shall have only one night more here. As I waited
for my last load, sitting on the end of the sandbag wall,
I looked about me. A pace inside the doorway rose the
piled debris and wreckage of the house, and above it a
weird perspective of broken beams and masonry against
the morning stars. I wondered if I should ever return to
walk in safety up these dark hills of fear. We are leaving
to-morrow, and very soon I am leaving France — leaving
it with a fading memory of things unreal, and with a great
gladness that in some slight way I have been able to
335
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
bring a message of sympathy to her in her time of agony
and travail.
"Hardis, mes gars I C'est pour la France.'"
Walter Kerr Rainsford ^
Verdun, June, 1916
It Is an extraordinary and exhilarating feeling to be
actually taking part in the greatest battle of history, in
a front-row seat, so to speak. Those who declare that
there is nothing picturesque about modern warfare are
all off. It is gorgeous.
July 10
Our run from Verdun to Bras was over a road which was
shelled intermittently every night. Looking back on those
ten days (we are now en repos), I feel that it was perfectly
miraculous our getting away with only one man badly
wounded. Half the cars have holes in them from eclats,
two or three men were grazed by shrapnel, and one bullet
actually lodged in Waldo Peirce's pocket-book in the
most approved melodramatic manner.
The night after our arrival, the Germans launched a
gas attack, which is about the most unpleasant thing
imaginable. Fortunately, we had been equipped with gas-
masks that really fitted and which were entirely effective;
but it was impossible to see through them clearly enough
to drive a car, so that when actually on the road we had
to go without them. Most of the gas was of the ''lacrimo-
gene" variety, which merely makes your eyes run and
your throat sting ; but out toward Bras one got a whiff
of the chlorine, which is fearful. Many of those whom we
brought in overcome died soon after in horrible agony.
We all noticed, as a curious after-effect of the gas, that
for days afterwards cigarettes tasted like the most hor-
rible sulphur fumes, and all liquor like powerful acid.
It is really an extraordinary experience to be right in
^ The above is from Mr. Rainsford's diary.
SECTION THREE
the thick of the most acute stage of this terrific battle,
where, second only to the wonderful fortitude of the
French wounded, who are always magnificent, is the
really heroic behavior of the brancardters, who crawl out
between the lines and carry in wounded on their backs.
To me it seems that their work requires more real courage
than any other branch of the service.
Charles R. Codman, Jr.i
^ Of Boston; Harvard, '15; member of the Field Service from March,
19 15; subsequently entered the U.S. Aviation Service and was taken pris-
oner. These extracts are from home letters.
<>•
i\V^gC^ —
IX
En Repos after Verdun
July 3, 1916
We are back, far back of the lines, en repos, with the tat-
tered remains of our French division. We have just come
back from two weeks at Verdun and our cars are battered
and broken beyond a year's ordinary service. It began
strong. The first night I was off duty and missed out on
one disagreeable experience — a gas attack. One has to
breathe through a little bag affair packed with layers of
cloth and chemicals! The eyes are also protected with
tight-fitting isinglass, which mists over and makes driv-
ing difficult. The road was not shelled that night, so
things might have been worse.
The second night was my go. We rolled all night from
the poste de secours back to the first sorting-station. The
poste was in a little town with the Germans on three sides
of the road and all in full view of them, which made day-
light going impossible. The day work was evacuating
from sorting-stations to field hospitals. There our work
stopped. English and French sections worked from there
back to the base hospitals. The road ran out through
fields and a little stretch of woods, with French batteries
situated on both sides the entire way, which drew the fire.
Four trips between dusk and dawn were the most pos-
sible. The noise of French fire was terrifying until we
learned to distinguish it from the German arrivees. It is
important to know the difference, and one soon learns.
The depart is a sharp bark and then the whistle diminish-
ing. The arrivees come in with a slower, increasing whistle
and ripping crash. In noise alone it is more than disagree-
able. The poste de secours was an ahri in a cellar.
Of the town there was scarcely a wall standing — mar-
mites had done their work well. The road was an open
338
SECTION THREE
space between, scalloped and scooped like the moon in
miniature. We would drive up, crawling in and out of
these holes, turn around, get our load, and go. When the
place was shelled, we had time to hear the obus coming
and dive under our cars. The drive back was harrowing.
One was sure to go a little too fast on a stretch of road
that felt smooth and then pitch into a hole, all but break-
ing every spring on the body. I '11 never forget the screams
of the wounded as they got rocked about inside. At times
a stretcher would break and we would have to go on as it
was. Of course we had to drive in utter darkness, with
passing convois of artillery at a full gallop going in oppo-
site directions on either side. Each night a bit more of
tool box or mud-guard would be taken off. Often I found
myself in a wedge where I had to back and go fonvard
until a little hole was found to skip through, and then
make a dash for it and take a chance. One night there w^as
a thunderstorm with vivid lightning and pitch darkness.
The flashes of guns and of lightning were as one, and the
noise terrific. That night, too, the road was crowded with
ammunition wagons. But worst of all, it was under shell-
fire in three places so that trafiftc became demoralized
because of the dead horses and wrecked wagons smashed
up by shrapnel. All our cars were held up in parts of this
road. There is no feeling of more utter helplessness than
being jammed in between cannon and caissons in a road
under shell-fire. In order to get through, two of the men
had to run ahead and cut loose dead horses ; but no one
was hit that night.
The next night was the climax of danger, as things
eased off a bit after; but the strain was telling and our
driving was not so skilful. For instance, next to the last
night I collided with a huge ravitaillement wagon coming
at full gallop on the wrong side of the road, with the result
that the entire front of my car went into bow knots. But
I landed clear in safety. This occurred under the lee of a
cliff, so we went in search with a wrecking-car the next
day. After twenty hours my car was running again, shaky
339
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
on her wheels, but strong in engine. She goes to Paris soon
for shop repairs. Poor old Alice ! A wrecked car in so short
a time ! Patched with string and wire and straps, she looks
battle-scarred to a degree. Her real battle souvenirs are
five shrapnel balls embedded in the roof and sides. I don't
believe in collecting souvenirs, but these I could not help
preserving !
There were humorous incidents; that is, humorous
when we look back on them safely in camp. One goes as
follows : Three cars running out to the poste about thirty
yards apart. The whistle of shells and a great increase in
speed in the cars. (Somehow speed seems to give the feel-
ing of more security.) Road getting too hot — shells
falling between the cars as they run. First car stopped
short and driver jumped about thirty feet into a trench
by the roadside. Landed in six inches of water and stayed.
Car No. 2 stopped, but not short enough to prevent
smashing into tail-board of No. i. Driver made jump and
splash No. 2 into trench. Ditto for car No. 3 (me). Whistle
and bang of shells, crash of hitting cars, and splash of
falling men in water. Here we remained until the "storm
blew over."
I am mighty glad we are through and out of it all.
Whatever action we go into again, it cannot be harder
or more dangerous than what we have been through. That
will be impossible. I don't yet know whether I am glad or
not to have had such an experience. It was all so gigantic
and terrifying. It was war in its worst butchery. We all
of us lost weight, but health and morale are O.K., and we
are ready for more work after a rest.
Edward I. Tinkham^
' Of Montclair, New Jersey; Cornell, '17; served in Sections Three and
Four, and commanded in 1917 the first Motor Transport Section sent out by
the Field Service; subsequently entered naval aviation, in which service he
died in Ravenna, Italy, March 30, 1919.
II. In the Orient
Tout vient vers elle et tout en part;
Elle est le progres, elle est I'art,
Sol qui produit, peuple qui pense.
Gloire ^ la France!
Paul DEROULfeoE
I
En Route to the Orient
October 25, 1916
To-day will be our fifth day at sea. We left Marseilles on
Saturday in a strong mistral, and packed our bags and
blanket-rolls in our bunks down in the hold along with a
great number of Indo-Chinamen. We were on the lowest
deck. The bunks were in tiers of two and squares of eight,
merely steel or tin braces like those of a strawberry crate.
We stayed there till five o'clock when Lovering Hill made
arrangements to move us up a deck nearer the open air.
We moved. The Chinamen moved down at the same time.
Such confusion! These Chinese are so small and yellow
that you cannot tell them from their khaki packs. They
bumped us and jabbered like monkeys. We bumped them
and cursed. They continued jabbering. Their talk is a
funny, monkeyish twang. At about 6.30 that night we
were fed on the deck, although we looked longingly at
the officers' mess-room. It got dark early, and we retired
early. Luckily Hill gave me a chance to sleep on the floor
of his cabin, so I did n't have to go below. Some of the
fellows slept on the floor of what was once the smoking-
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THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
room on this ship. I saw George HolHster ^ that night tuck
himself away in an upper bunk way back in the dark
against the side of the boat. Hill made arrangements to
have us eat in the oflftcers' mess twice a day, which is
enough. Then he arranged to have us all sleep in the
smoking-room. Since then we have been comfortable.
If you never have travelled on a real transport, I may
tell you in passing that you are better off where you are.
First of all, every one is packed in as we were the first
night; the deck space is filled with cargo, and men occupy
the upper deck in great numbers. Rancid smells come
up from below, for the sewerage system is not working.
The sanitary arrangements aft, where most of the Indo-
Chinks are, were put out of commission the first night;
so nobody with a keen sense of smell can go near there.
Food is being cooked all the time; and a stuffy breeze
comes up from the kitchen, which is on the main deck
amidships. The calf and the pig aboard are dirty, and
their companions, some horses and cows, are not things
of beauty either.
October 27
Yesterday we were developed into mariners. The com-
mander of the ship got us all to stand watch, as we were
in dangerous waters all day and night. We had posts
during the day at the bow, on deck below the bridge,
amidships on the same deck, on the bridge, and at the
stern. From 1.40 until 5.40 Fenton and I were on duty
up at the bow, when I looked so hard for periscopes or
mines that I saw all sorts of things. Finally at four o'clock
we saw land way off in the distance. Due to our zigzag-
ging, it was on the port side one minute, straight ahead
the next, and on the starboard side the next. Then we
saw islands across our bow — low-lying objects hardly
* George Merrick HolHster, of Grand Rapids, Michigan; Harvard, '18;
served with Section Three from February', 19 16, to Maj', 191 7; he later
became a Second Lieutenant in the United States Infantry; killed in action
October, 191 8.
SECTION THREE
distinguishable from clouds. We were finally relieved by
some Frenchmen.
At eight o'clock I went on watch at the stern till 1 1 p.m.,
when George HoUister replaced me, and he stayed on
till 2 A.M., when he was relieved. All this time, up to eight
this morning, our Section was on watch along with the
regular crew. It was strange, to say the least, to see an
amhulancier pacing the bridge along with the captain.
At night we passed many lights, on shore no doubt.
There was a boat, however, which passed, that flashed
"phoney" signals, which we did n't answer. The captain
was excited and did not breathe easy for a long time.
During my watch from eight to eleven a dead "Chink"
was heaved overboard in a box. That makes two.
October 28
I WENT on watch at two last night on the bridge with
George HoUister. We were relieved at five o'clock. We
followed along a mountainous shore all night. Warships
signalled us at times, and a torpedo boat came up behind
us. It looked for all the world like a submarine, but no one
on the bridge got excited about it. The morning star came
up about 3.30. It looked like a jusee edairante at the
front. I never saw a bigger or more beautiful star. It was
still dark when we were relieved. George went to bed,
but I stayed up on the bridge to watch the dawn come.
Off to the right the sky brightened and turned a very
brilliant red. Low land was silhouetted against it. On our
left two snow-tipped mountain-peaks glistened in the
light. The lower sides of the mountains were purplish and
brown. A few white houses showed themselves.
Charles Baird, Jr.^
1 Of New York City; Harvard, '11 ; entered the Service in July, 1916, and
served in Sections Two and Three ; subsequently became a First Lieuten-
ant and later a Captain in the United States Field Artillery. The above
are extracts from Mr. Baird's home letters.
II
Salonica
En route to the Balkans, we arrived in the harbor of
Salonica on the morning of October 28, 1916, and dis-
embarked on the evening of the following day. The port
and town were the scene of great activity, and were very
picturesque with the presence of natives from almost
every country under the sun, and the streets packed with
strange costumes. The town, I noted, has its walls still
standing, with a sort of fortress above it; a Turkish
quarter, which looks very pretty from the sea, with its
heaps of little wooden houses painted blue, rising one
above the other; and plenty of minarets, very white in
the early sunshine, and very lovely to our ocean- weary
eyes.
There were a few cases of spinal meningitis among the
native troops on board our ship, and at first it was a
question of being quarantined with said fellow travellers.
So the Lieutenant in command of the troops and I imme-
diately began trying to arrange our cantonment in the
Camp des Orientaux, where the proposed internment was
to take place. Fortunately, however, at lunch-time the
decree was revoked, and we were ordered to join our serv-
ice at the Pare de Reserve, where we would be quartered.
Arrived there, we found that no one had ever heard of
us, that there was no place to lodge us, and that it was
impossible to feed us. So I let every one shift for himself
for dinner, and those of us who could n't find room, slept
out in an open lot. Fortunately the weather continued
fine, and the next morning we got three Marabout tents
v/hich we pitched at once; just in time, in fact, for it
started to pour as the last one went up. In this matter of
weather, by the way, we had the most astounding good
luck. Even the sea was as smooth as a pond during the
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whole voyage. I don't know what we should have done on
board if it had been otherwise, for living between decks
was out of the question on account of the native troops.
LovERiNG Hill ^
1 Of New York City; Harvard, 'lo; entered the Field Service in Novem-
ber, 1914, where he became Section Commander, and in 1917 a Captain
in the United States Field Artillery.
Ill
Into the Balkans
The first flicker of dawn was showing as we wound our
way down through the outlying parts of Salonica. a sin-
uous line of ambulances and auxilian,* cars. On the water
front the convoy halted for final adjustment. The fore-
glow, coming across the harbor, filtered through the spars
of the shipping and gave promise of a clear day. A few
early porters and rugged stevedores paused to gaze won-
deringly upon us. The CO. passed down the line to see if
all were read3-; the whistle sounded and we were off.
Passing through the already Hvening streets we paral-
leled the quay, turned toward the northwest and then,
as the muezzins in the minarets were calling upon the
faithful to greet the rising sun, entered upon the great
caravan trail which runs back into the mountains, and
Allah knows where. Past trains of little mountain ponies,
laden with hides; past lumbering, solid-wheeled wagons,
dra^Ti by water buffaloes and piled high with roughly
baled tobacco, tobacco from which are made some of the
choicest Turkish cigarettes in the world ; past other wag-
ons vdth towering piles of coarse native matting; past
the herdsman and his flock, his ballet skirt blowing in the
morning breeze ; past the solemn Turk, mounted athwart
his drooping burro, his veiled woman trudging behind.
The cit\- lay behind us now; the passers-by became fewer,
until only an occasional wa\-farer and his burro were
sighted. The road, pitted and gutted, stretched away
through a barren. drear>- country. The sun's early promise
had not been fulfilled and a gray, slaty day emphasized
the dreariness of the landscape. To our right bleak moun-
tains rose to meet a slaty sky — nowhere appeared tree
or shrub, not even a fence broke the monotony of the
landscape, never a house, not even a road, though occa-
346
SECTION THREE
sionally a muddy track wandered aimlessly through the
waste. We rounded the mountains and crossed a sluggish
stream, the Galiko. Once we saw a village far away, its
white minarets rising above the dull gray of the ensemble.
Then the desolation closed down. Farther on, over a
shaky wooden bridge, we crossed the Vardar, the Axius
of Virgil. Hereabouts the country was flat and swampy,
but suddenly it changed ; scattered trees began to appear,
here and there rocks jutted out. The trail began to mount
and presently as we twisted our way through the first
settlement, the village of Yenidze, mountains came into
view to the northeast and then mo\'ed toward the south
and west. About eleven we sighted some whitewashed
houses clinging to the side of a cliff, the overflow of the
town of Vodena through which we presently passed over
a winding road of mountainous steepness; up we went,
three hundred, four hundred metres, finally stopping
where a fountain gushed from the roadside, a kilometre
or so beyond the town.
We were in the heart of the hills now. On three sides of
us the mountains rose to a height of six thousand feet or
more. Their tops were covered with snow, and from this
time on we were never to lose sight of it.
Some biscuits, ham, and chocolate found a -good home
and there was time for a couple of pipes before the whistle
blew and we again cast off. And now our troubles began.
Up to this time our way could at least lay claim to the
name "road," but now even an attorney, working on a
percentage basis, could establish no such identity for
the straggling gully through which we struggled — some-
times a heap of boulders, sometimes a mire, but always
it climbed. The cars coughed and grunted and often we
were forced to halt while the motors cooled. In mid-after-
noon the rain, which had been threatening for some hours,
set in and the ground quickly assumed the consistency of
sticky paste, through which we sloughed our way. About
four we spoke the Lake of Ostrovo and shortly afterwards
passed through the straggling village of the same name.
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Deep sand here made the going hard, but we soon left
the shores of the lake and again headed straight into the
mountains. So far as possible the trail held to the passes,
but even so, the ascent was very great. As night fell we
came to an especially steep stretch slanting up between
snow-covered mountains. From a little distance it looked
as though some one, tiring of road-building, had leaned
the unfinished product up against a mountain-side. Time
and again we charged, but without avail; no engine built
could take that grade. Physics books tell us, "that which
causes or tends to cause a body to pass from a state of
rest to one of motion is known as Force." With twenty
men to a car, pulling, pushing and dragging, we assumed
the function of "force" and "caused a body" — the cars
— to "pass from a state of rest to one of motion," hoist-
ing them by main strength over the crest.
Night had shut down for some hours when the last car
had topped the rise. A bone-chilling wind had swept down
from the snow, the rain still fell. The lights were switched
on, and over a trail, flanked on one side by a towering
cliff and on the other by a black chasm of nothingness,
we kept on. Once we rounded a sharp curve, there was a
sudden dip in the trail and in the darkness we almost
shot off into the space below.
It still lacked some two hours of midnight when ahead
we discerned a few flickering lights. The Lieutenant gave
the signal and we came to a stop at the fringe of a miser-
able village. We had been sixteen hours at the wheel but
had covered no more than one hundred and fifty kilo-
metres. We were all cold and hungry, but the soup bat-
tery was mired somewhere miles in the rear. Our lanterns
showed us but a few stone hovels. Had we known more
of the Balkans, we should not even have thought of find-
ing a shop. We gave up thoughts of dinner, crawled within
our cars, and, wrapping our great coats about us, sought
to dream of "a cleaner, greener land."
The tramping of many feet and the sobbing of a man
woke me next morning. I looked out to see a column of
348
SECTION THREE
Russian infantry passing. One big fellow was crying as
though his heart would break. Banica or Banitza, the
village at which we had halted, proved to be a miserable
collection of huts, constructed of rounded stones, with
which the surrounding hills were covered. Like most
Turkish villages, it clung to the side of a hill, sprawling
there with no attempt at system or a view to streets. The
buildings were of one story; a few had glass, but in by
far the most part straw was employed to block the win-
dows. The twisting paths which wandered about between
the houses were knee-deep in black mud. There were no
shops, not even a cafe.
Other and higher hills rose above the one on which the
village was situated. These hills were barren and covered
with loose stones, their tops were crested with rough
breastworks behind which were empty cartridge cases,
torn clothing, ponchos, and scattered bodies in faded uni-
forms, for here the Bulgar and Serb had opposed each
other. To the north of the village stood a few trees, and
here within a barbed-wire corral a few armed Serbs
guarded several hundred Bulgar prisoners. The villagers
were as unattractive as their surroundings, the men dull,
dirty-looking specimens, the women cleaner, but far from
comely. The latter were dressed in skirts and blouses of
many colors. Their heads were covered with shawls,
the ends of which were wound about their necks. From
beneath these straggled their hair, invariably woven into
two plaits into which was interwoven hair from cow's
tails dyed a bright orange. Upon their feet they wore
wooden, heelless sandals which, when they walked,
flapped about like shutters in a gale of wind. The little
girls were miniature replicas of their mothers, save their
faces were brighter — some almost pretty. They wore
their many petticoats like their mothers, at mid-leg
length, tiny head-shawls and striped wool stockings. The
endless occupation, both of the women and children, was
the- carrying of water in clay jars. They must have been
building a river somewhere and judging from the amount
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of water they were transporting, it was to be no small-
sized stream either.
Not all of the cars had come through to Banitza and
so we awaited their arrival. Several had broken axles and
the big atelier car and the soup battery had mired in
crossing the Ostrovo flats. Meanwhile, perched on the
side of a hill with the snow above us and a falling tem-
perature, we, of the advance squad, were reminded that
winter was almost upon us. The days were gray, and as
there was nothing to do while awaiting the stragglers,
save gaze across the valley which stretched southward
below us, the time dragged. The boom of heavy guns
came to us from the northwest and occasionally, when
the wind was right, we could hear the crackle of infantry
fire. Some couriers riding back from the front brought
word that Monastir had fallen after fierce fighting and
the French were advancing northward.
By evening of the third day all the cars had come up,
and, with the kitchen wagons once more in our midst, we
were again able to have a hot meal. Our spirits rose, and
that night, clustered round a small fire, we sang some
mighty choruses. At nine on the morning of the 24th of
November — a cold, drizzly morning — we wormed our
way down through the village and out upon the transport
road northeast toward the Serbian frontier. Though hun-
dreds of German, Bulgar, and Turkish prisoners were at
work upon the road, it was scarcely passable. Everywhere
we passed mired couriers and camions; dead horses and
abandoned wagons were scattered about. The way led
across a level valley floor. On the flat, muddy plains bor-
dering the road were camps of French, English, Italians,
and Russians. Several aviator groups were squatted in
the miry desolation.
As we advanced, the road accomplished something we
had deemed impossible — it grew worse. The transport
of five armies struggled along, or rather through it, and
contributed everything from huge tractors to little spool-
wheeled, cow-drawn Serbian carts. We passed through
350
SECTION THREE
one squalid, war-festered village where the road reached
the sublimity of awfulness and then about midday spoke
the village of Sakulevo. Several demolished buildings,
pocked walls, and shelled houses showed the place had
been recently under fire. Passing through, we crossed a
sluggish stream, from which the village takes its name,
and on a shell-scarred flat on the north bank halted and
pitched our tents.
"Valleys Dreadly Desolate"
The road at this point bends to the east before again
turning northward, and enters the long valley at the
farther end of which lies the city of Monastir. About a
mile northward from our camp was a stone which marked
the border between Macedonia and Serbia. High ranges
of mountains stretched along the side of the lonesome
valley. No words of mine can describe the landscape as
do the words of Service :
"The lonely sunsets flare forlorn
Down valleys dreadly desolate,
The lordly mountains soar in scorn
As still as death, as stern as fate.
"The lonely sunsets flame and die,
The giant valleys gulp the night,
The monster mountains scrape the sky
Where eager stars are diamond bright."
"Where the Best is like the Worst"
We had reached Sakulevo on the afternoon of the 24th
of November. On the morning of the 25th we started to
work. On the other side of the river was a cluster of tents.
It was a field dressing-station and, appropriate to its
name, was located in a muddy field. Since Sakulevo was
at this time some thirty kilometres from the fighting, our
work consisted of evacuations; that is, back of the line
work, the most uninteresting an amhidancier is called
upon to do, since it wholly lacks excitement. Here it was
made more trying because of the fearful roads over which
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our route lay. At this time the village of Eksisu, some
forty kilometres southeast of Sakulevo was railhead, and
to this point we evacuated our wounded. It was a matter
of three and a half hours of the most trying sort of driv-
ing. Perhaps a better idea of our work at Sakulevo may
be had if we go together on a "run." It's seven-thirty in
the morning, a cold raw morning with ice on the pools
and a skim of ice on the inside of the tent. The sun has
not long appeared over the snow-clad mountains and
there is little warmth in its rays. We have just had break-
fast — Heaven save the name ! some black coffee and
army bread — so it's time to be off. We crank-up — a
none too easy performance, since the motors are as stiff
with cold as we are — and then toss and bump our way
across the little bridge disregarding a sign which, in five
languages, bids us "go slowly." A couple of hundred
metres farther on in a field at the left of the road is a
group of tents, before which whips a sheet of canvas dis-
playing a red cross. It is the field dressing-station. We
turn the car, put on all power and plough through a mire,
and then out upon more solid ground, stopping in front
of the tents.
The tent flap opens and two hrancardiers appear, bear-
ing between them a stretcher upon which lies a limp
figure covered with a dirty blanket. A gray-green sleeve
dangles from the stretcher and shows your first passenger
is a German. He is slid into place and by this time your
second passenger is ready. He is a giant Senegalese with
a punctured lung. Your third man is a sous-officier whose
right leg has just been amputated. He has been given a
shot of morphine and his eyes are glazed in stupor. The
third stretcher is shot home, the tail-board put up, and
the rear curtain clamped down. Over these roads we can
take no more, so we are ready for the start.
Through the slough and then out upon the road, which
is little more, we go. Through war's traffic we pick our
way, beside shell-laden camions, pack-trains, carts, past
stolid lines of Russians, dodging huge English lorries
352
SECTION THREE
whose crews of Tommies sing out a friendly "Are we
down-hearted?" Between rows of Bulgar and Boche
prisoners your way is made, the hooter sounding out its
demand for the rights of a loaded ambulance. Along the
roadside, out there in the fields, sprinkled everywhere,
we see the little wooden crosses, war's aftermath. Every-
where war's material wastage is apparent. Wrecked
wagons and motors, dead mules, hopelessly mired carts,
military equipment, smashed helmets, dented douilles.
Your way is lined with these. The road from there on
becomes freer, but is still too rough to permit much
quickening of speed. As we turn a bend, a frenzied Italian
comes charging across the fields. He seems greatly excited
about something and unwinds reels of vowels, not one
word of which we understand. We try him in English and
French, not one word of which he understands, so finally
we give it up and go on, leaving him to his "que dises."
Through two passes, in which the white, low-hanging
clouds close down, through several deserted villages over
a road which, save in the Balkans, would be considered
impassable, we carry our load. It is impossible to prevent
lurching, and the black within groans and cries aloud in
his pain. The Boche, too, when there is an exceptionally
bad bit, moans a little, but the sous-officier makes not a
sound throughout the voyage. At one point the road
passes near the railroad, and, dangling over a ravine, we
can see the remains of a fine iron bridge dynamited dur-
ing the great retreat. At last, rounding the jutting point
of a hill, we see far below us the blue waters and barren
shores of Lake Petersko. Squatted beside the lake is a
little village, Sorovicevo. Railhead and our destination,
the station of Eksisu, lies a mile or so to the west. Down
the hill we brake our way, then over a kilometre of wave-
like road into a slough, where for a time it seems we are
destined to stick, and at last the tossed and moaning load
is brought to a stop at the hopital d' evacuation, a large
cluster of tents. We assist in removing the wounded —
the Senegalese is gray now, with the shadow of death
353
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upon him, and his breath gushes with great sobs through
his torn lung. The Frenchman and Boche seem to have
come through all right.
It is now eleven-thirty o'clock, and we are probably
becoming conscious that we could use a little food, but
it will be at least two hours before we can reach camp, so
we get out a spark-plug wrench and break up several
army biscuits to munch on the way home. En route we
are hailed by three Tommies who have been left behind
and are seeking to join their detachment. They desire a
lift, so we take them aboard and are repaid by hearing
their whimsical comments on the "filthy country." It is
nearly two o'clock — a blowout has delayed us — when
we reach camp and the motor has barely stopped churn-
ing before we are in the mess-tent clamoring for our
"dum-dums" — beans — and singe, tinned beef. You
will find your appetite has not suffered because of the
"run."
Tenting in Serbia
The days were rapidly growing colder. Our tents were
sheathed with ice and the snow foot crept far down the
mountains each night. We got our sheepskin coats and
inserted an extra blanket in our sleeping-bags. Each night
we drained our radiators to prevent damage from freezing.
The few sweets we had brought with us had now given
out. In the French army, save for a little sugar — very lit-
tle — and occasionally — very occasionally — and a small
amount of apple preserve, no sweets are issued. It was
impossible to purchase any, so presently there set in that
craving for sugar which was to stay with us through the
long winter. The arrival of Thanksgiving, with its mem-
ories of the laden tables at home, did not help matters.
Dinner consisted of lentils — my own particular aversion
— boiled beef, bread, red wine, and black coffee. However,
the day was made happy by the arrival of our first mail
and we feasted on letters.
It 's wonderful what a cheering effect the arrival of the
354
TYPE OF SKETCH MAP USED BY DRIVERS
SECTION THREE
post had on us. Throughout the winter it was about our
only comfort. In France it had been welcome, but down
in the Orient we seemed so cut off from the world that
letters were a luxury, the link with the outside. When
they came, it did n't so much matter that a man was cold
or hungry and caked with mud, that the quarters leaked
and the snow drifted in on his blankets. The probability
of its arrival was an unfailing source of pleasurable con-
jecture; its arrival the signal for whoops and yowls; its
failure, the occasion for gloom and pessimism.
Some fifteen kilometres to the north and west of
Sakule\-o was the large town of Fiorina, the northern-
most town of Macedonia. Here was located a large field
hospital. At the hospital, for a time, we maintained a poste
of two cars on five-day shifts.
At Florina
\A^E found Fiorina one of the most interesting towns in
the Balkans. Long under the rule of the Turk, it possessed
a distinctly Oriental aspect which gave it charm. It nestled
at the foot of some high hills which had been the scene
of heaAy fighting in the dispute for its possession. The
town itself had suffered little, if any, in the fighting. Its
long main street followed a valley, turning and twisting.
Booths and bazaars lined the thoroughfare and in places
vines had been trained to cover it. There were innumer-
able tiny Turkish cafes, yogart shops, little shops where
beaten copperware was hammered out, other booths
where old men worked on wooden pack-saddles for burros.
There were artisans in silver and vendors of goat's-wool
rugs. The streets were always alive with "the passing
show," for the normal population of fifteen thousand
souls had been greatly augmented by the influx of refugees
from Monastir. There was an air of unreality about the
place, an indefinable theatricalism which gave one the
sense of being part of a play, a character, and of expecting,
on rounding a corner, to see an audience and then to hear
the playing of the orchestra.
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THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
It was while on duty at the hospital at Fiorina that I
made the first run into Monastir. My journal for Decem-
ber 2 reads:
"At one o'clock this afternoon received orders to pro-
ceed to Monastir en raison de service. My passengers were
two corporals. It has been a cold, overcast day, the clouds
hanging low over the snow-capped mountains. A cold,
penetrating wind hit us in the face as we drew away from
the hospital.
"Where the Fiorina road joins the main caravan road
to Monastir, we passed from Macedonia into Serbia.
Here we turned sharply toward the north. The flat fields
on either side were cut up with trenches, well made, deep
ones, from which the enemy was driven less than a fort-
night before, and shallow rifle pits which the French and
Serbs had used in the advance. Even now, so soon after
their evacuation, they were half filled with water. Every-
where there was evidence of big gun-fire and in one place
where we crossed a bridge the ground for yards about
was an uninterrupted series of craters. For the first time
in the war I saw piles of enemy shells and shell cases
showing that his retreat had been unpremeditated and
hasty. In one place stood a dismantled field piece.
Negocani — Monastir
"About a quarter of an hour after leaving Fiorina, we
reached the village of Negocani. There had been heavy
fighting here and many of the houses had been reduced
to piles of 'dobe bricks. Two miles away on the road, we
could discern the remains of another village, Kenali,
where the enemy made his last stand before falling back
upon Monastir the other day. The sound of the guns "had
all the while been growing louder, and not far beyond
Negocani I caught my first glimpse of the minarets of
Monastir. It had been two months since Iwas under fire
and I had some curiosity as to how it would affect me.
Before reaching the environs of the city, it became ap-
parent that this curiosity would not long remain unsatis-
SECTION THREE
fied, for ahead we could see the smoke and dust from
bursting shells. Approaching the city, the way becomes a
regular road, quite the best I have yet seen in the Balkans.
I was speculating on this marvel when, perhaps five hun-
dred yards ahead, a columnar mass of earth spouted into
the air. The whirring of speeding eclat had scarcely ceased
when another came in slightly nearer. The road was under
fire and that same old prickly feeling shot up my spine,
the same 'gone' sensation moved in and took possession
of my insides. Suddenly the familiar sound perv^aded the
air. There was the crash as though of colliding trains and
not forty metres away the earth by the roadside vomited
into the air. In another second the debris and eclat rained
all about us, showering the car. The shell was a good-
sized one — at least a * 150,' and we owed our lives to the
fact that, striking in soft ground, the eclat did not radi-
ate. Meanwhile, I had not waited for the freedom of the
city to be presented. The machine was doing all that was
in her, and in a few seconds more we shot by the outlying
buildings. The fire zone seemed to be restricted to the
entering road and the extreme fringe of the city, and
when we reached the main street, though we could hear
the shells passing over, none struck near. Within the city
our batteries, planted all about, were in action and the
whirring of our own shells was continuously sounding
overhead.
"We parked in a filth-strewn little square lined with
queer exotic buildings. While I waited for the corporals
to perform their mission, I talked with an Algerian
zouave who lounged in the doorway. He pointed out
where a shell had struck this morning, killing three men,
two civilians and a soldier. He further informed me that
the streets of the city were in full view of the enemy, who
occupied the hills just beyond its outskirts. This revela-
tion was most disconcerting to me, for I had no desire to
work up a 'firing acquaintance.' A number of officers of
high rank passed — among them a three-star general. A
colonel of infantry stopped, shook hands with me, and
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THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
spoke appreciatively of the work of the Corps in France,
saying he was glad to welcome a car in the Orient.
"By three o'clock we were ready. My passenger list
was augmented by a lieutenant, medecin, who wished to
reach Fiorina. He cautioned me with much earnestness
to allez vite when we should reach this shelled zone, a
caution wholly unnecessary, as I had every intention of
going as fast as Providence and gasoline would let me.
The firing now — praise to Allah — had slackened and
only an occasional shell was coming in. So, making sure
the engine was functioning properly, I tuned up, and a
second later we were going down the road as though ' all
hell and a policeman ' were after us.
"We reached Fiorina without mishaps. To-night there
is a full moon. Don and I strolled down into the town. It
was singularly beautiful, the white minarets standing out
against the sombre mountains, the silvery light flooding
the deserted streets. We strayed into one of the tiny little
cafes. It was a cosy place. Divans covered with rugs and
sheepskins lined the walls. A few befezzed old men sat
cross-legged on these — sat there silently smoking giant
hookahs and sipping their syrupy coffee. We, too, ordered
coffee, and then sat in the silence helping in the thinking.
After a while the door opened and a short, hairy man
entered. He was clad in long white wool drawers, around
which below the knee were wound black thongs. On his
feet were queer-shaped shoes which turned sharply up at
the end and w^re adorned with black pompoms. He wore
a short jacket embroidered with tape, and thrown back
from his shoulders was a rough wool cape. Around his
waist was wound a broad sash, into which was thrust
a revolver and a long-bladed dirk. About his neck and
across his breast were hung many silver chains, which
jingled when he moved. His head was surmounted by a
white brimless hat. He talked in an unknown tongue to
the patron, and then, bowing low to us, was gone amid a
clinking of metal. This strange-looking individual was —
so we learned from the cafe's proprietor — an Albanian,
358
SECTION THREE
a man learned in the ways of the mountains, a scout in
the employ of the French.
"We sipped another coffee, smoked a cigarette, and
then, bowing to the old men, went out into the moonlit
street, leaving them to their meditations. As I write this
from the tent, the sky is darkening, a chill wind sweeps
down from the snow and gutters the candle. I am glad
that our blankets are many."
As the days went by, our camp-site, where we were
the first comers, began to assume the aspect of a boom
mining town. Several camion sections appeared. Numer-
ous ravitaillement groups moved in. Tents and nondescript
structures of earth and ammunition boxes sprang up.
Across the river ten thousand Russians were encamped,
and all night their singing came to us beautifully across
the water. All day and all night, war's traffic ground and
creaked by us. The lines had shaken down ; the two forces
were now entrenched, facing each other just beyond
Monastir, and the transport was accumulating munitions
for an offensive. In the first camp opposite struggled long
lines of Serbian carts — carts such as Adam used to bring
the hay in. The sad-faced burros plodded by, loaded with
everything from bread to bodies. Soldiers — French,
Italian, Serb, and Russian— slogged by. But this activity
was confined to the narrow zone of the roads. Beyond,
the grim, desolate country preserved its lonesomeness
and impressed upon the soul of man the bleakness and
harshness of a land forlorn. For the most part the days
were gray and sombre, with low-hanging clouds which
frequently gave out rain and sleet and caused the river
to rise so that more than once we were in danger of being
flooded out. But occasionally there would be a clear
morning, when the clouds were driven back and the rising
sun would light the mountains, turning the snow to rose
and orange. We were growing very tired of the evacua-
tion work, of the long, weary runs. There was no excite-
ment to tinge the monotony. We were becoming "fed
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THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
up." The Squad, therefore, hailed with joy the news that
the Section was to move up to Monastir and there take
up the front-line work.
Though the exact date of our departure was not an-
nounced, we knew it would be soon and we commenced
at once to make ready. Helmets once more became items
of interest and motors were tested with an interest born
of empirical knowledge that the fire zone w^as no place to
make repairs. Everybody brightened up; interest and
optimism pervaded the camp. And then the word came
that we should leave on the 17th of December.
Monastir
Men stumbled about in the darkness falling over tent
pegs or pulling at icy ropes. Now and then a motor in
response to frantic cranking, coughed, sputtered and then
"died." Down near the cook- tent some one was swearing
earnestly and fervently at the mud. It was three o'clock
in the morning, and the only light was that given off by
the stars. The Squad was breaking camp, and we were to
be in Monastir, twenty-five kilometres distant, before
daybreak. Somehow, in spite of the darkness, the tents
were struck and packed, and the cars rolled out on the
bumpy roads.
With the assistance of our lights we were able to hold
a good pace until we reached the dip in the road which
had been designated as the point where the convoy should
halt. Here we extinguished all our lights and made sure
that everything was right. Ahead we could see flashes,
but whether from our own guns or bursting shells we
could not determine. The sound of firing came plainly to
our ears. The cars now got away at fifteen seconds' inter-
vals. A faint, gray light was showing in the east, just per-
mitting a dim vision of the car ahead. At the entrance to
the city, in a particularly exposed spot, there was some
confusion while the leading machine circled about in an
endeavor to pick the right street ; then we were off again,
360
SECTION THREE
heading for the northeast quarter of the city. Crossing a
small, wall-confined stream by a fragile wooden bridge,
we wound and twisted through a maze of crooked streets,
and finally, just as the first glow lightened the minarets,
came to a halt in a narrow street. Where my car stopped
was a shattered house and the street was carpeted with
debris, the freshness of which testified to the fact that the
shells causing the damage must have come in not long
before. Even as I clambered out of the machine, two
shells crashed in somewhere over in another street.
Our cantonment consisted of two five-roomed, two-
storied Turkish houses which stood within a small walled
compound. The top floors, or attics, of these houses were
free from partitions and gave just sufficient space for our
beds, ranged around the walls. The place was clean and
dry, and though, of course, there was no heat and no
glass in the windows, it was infinitely better than the
tents. The rooms below were used for the mess, the galley,
and for the French staff, and one room which had win-
dows and a stove was set aside for a lounge. The CO.
occupied a small stone building which formed part of the
compound wall, a sort of porter's lodge. Beneath the
houses were semi-cellars, and in one of these were stored
the spare gas and oil. The cars were at first parked along
a narrow, blind street which extended a short distance
directly in front of quarters. As it was ascertained, how-
ever, that here they were in plain view of the enemy, they
were moved back on another street and sheltered from
sight by intervening buildings. The atelier was established
in a half-demolished shed about two hundred yards up the
street from the compound.
A Bizarre Poste
Our quarters were situated about midway between two
mosques. In front of one of these mosques which faced on
a tiny square hung a tattered Red Cross flag, betokening
a field dressing-station. Here we got ®ur wounded. The
lines at this time were just beyond the outskirts of the
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THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
city, and the wounded were brought directly from the
trenches to this mosque, from whence it was our work to
carry them back to the field hospitals out of range of the
guns. I doubt if there ever was a more bizarre poste than
this of the mosque. The trappings and gear of Moham-
medanism remained intact. The muezzin's pulpit draped
w4th its chain of wooden beads looked down on the
wounded men lying on the straw-carpeted floor. On the
walls, strange Turkish characters proclaimed the truths
of the Koran. The little railed enclosure, wherein the
faithful were wont to remove their sandals before tread-
ing the sacred ground, now served as a bureau. All was
the same, save that now the walls echoed, not the muez-
zin's nasal chant, but the groans of wounded men who
called not on Allah, but on God.
At first we found the twisted streets very confusing.
They rarely held their direction for more than a hundred
yards and their narrowness prevented any "observation
for position." There seemed no names or identifications
either for streets or quarters, and did one inquire the way
of some befezzed old Turk, the reply would be '^ Kim bilir
Allah'' — Who knows? God. But gradually we grew to
know these ways until on the darkest of nights we could
make our way through the mazy blackness.
The city sprawled about on a more or less level plain
at one end of the long valley which extended southward
to the Macedonian frontier. Some of its houses straggled
up the hills which rose immediately back of the city
proper. Beyond these hills rose the mountains from which
at a distance of two kilometres the enemy hurled down
his hate. The normal population of Monastir was perhaps
fifty thousand souls, a population of that bastard com-
plexity found only in the Balkans. When we reached the
city, a month after its capture and occupation by the
French, something like forty thousand of this civilian
population yet remained, the others having fled to Fiorina
or gone even farther south. Conditions were still unset-
tled. Daily, spies were led out to be shot, and we were
362
A FEW >IOMENTS AFTER A SHELL HAD KILLED THE LITTLE GIRL
IN MONASTIR
Fiske Baird Magnin Anuoiir
ROAD-BUILDING BY MEMBERS OF SECTION THREE IN NEGOCANI
SECTION THREE
warned not to wander unarmed in the remote sections.
Snipers, from the protection of covered houses, shot at
passing soldiers and at night it was unsalubrious to go
about. Lines were drawn about the town and none but
mihtary transport permitted to pass. Famine prices pre-
vailed. In the bazaars, captured dogs were butchered and
offered for sale. A few stores remained open. Above their
doors were signs in the queer, jumpy characters of the
Serbian alphabet, signs which it would take a piccolo
artist to decipher. Within, matches were sold for half a
drachmi (lo cents) a box, eggs, 7 drachmi a dozen, and
sugar at 6 drachmi a kilo. All moneys, save Bulgar, were
accepted; the drachmi, the piastre, the franc, the lepta, the
para, but the exchange was as complicated as a machine
gun, and no man not of the Tribe of Shy lock could hope
to solve its mysteries.
The Guns that command Monastir
Though most of the houses were closed and shuttered
as protection against shell splinters, life seemed to go on
much as usual. There was no traffic in the streets, save
at night when the army transports came through, or when
our machines went by with their loads, but the populace
passed and repassed, bartered and ordered its life with
the phlegmatic fatalism of the Easterner. The enemy
from his point of vantage saw every move in the city.
His guns commanded its every corner. His surveys gave
him the range to an inch. Daily he raked it with shrapnel
and pounded it with high-explosive. No man in Monastir,
seeing the morning's sun, but knew that, ere it set, his
own might sink. At any time of the day or night the
screeching death might come, did come. Old men, old
women, little children, were blown to bits, houses were
demolished, and yet, because it was decreed by Allah,
it was inexorable. The civil population went its way. Of
course, when shells came in there was terror, panic, a
wailing and gnashing of teeth, for not even the fatalism
of Mohammed could be proof against such sights. And
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THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
horrible sights these were. It was nothing to go through
the streets after a bombardment and see mangled and
torn bodies; a man with his head blown off; a little girl
dead, her face staring upward, her body pierced by a
dozen wounds; a group in grotesque attitudes, with, per-
haps, an arm or a leg torn off and thrown fifty feet away.
These in Monastir were daily sights.
One afternoon I remember as typical. It was within a
few days of Christmas, though there was little of Yuletide
in the atmosphere. At home, the cars were bearing the
signs, "Do Your Christmas Shopping Early," but here
in Monastir, where, as "Doc" says, "a chap was liable
to start out full of peace and good will and come back
full of shrapnel and shell splinters," there was little in-
ducement to do Christmas shopping. Nevertheless, we
started on one of those prowling strolls in which we both
delighted. We rambled through the tangled streets, poked
into various odd little shops in quest of the curious,
dropped into a hot milk booth where we talked with some
English-speaking Montenegrins, and then finally crossed
one of the rickety wooden bridges which span the city's
bisecting stream. By easy stages, stopping often to probe
for curios, we reached the main street of the city. Here
at a queer little bakery, where the proprietor shoved his
products into a yawning stove-oven with a twelve-foot
wooden shovel, we got, for an outrageous price, some sad
little cakes. As we munched these, we stood on a corner
and watched the scene about us. It was a fine day, the
first sunny one we had experienced in a long time. Many
people were in the streets, a crowd such as only war and
the Orient could produce: a sprinkling of soldiers, mostly
French, although occasionally a Russian or an Italian was
noticed; a meditative old Turk, stolid Serbian women,
little children — a lively, varied picture. Our cakes con-
sumed, "Doc" and I crossed the street and, a short way
along a transverse street, stopped to watch the bread line.
There were possibly three hundred people, mostly women,
gathered here waiting for the distribution of the farina
364
SECTION THREE
issued by the military to the civil population. For a while
we watched them, and then, as the street ahead looked
as if it might yield something interesting in booths, we
continued along it. In another fifty yards, however, its
character changed ; it became residential, and so we turned
to retrace our steps. Fortunate for us it was that we made
the decision. We had gone back perhaps a dekametre,
when we heard the screech. We sprang to the left-hand
wall and flattened ourselves against it as the crash came.
It was a "155" H.E. Just beyond, at the point toward
which we had been making our w^ay, the whole street rose
into the air. We sped around the corner to the main
street. It was a mass of screaming, terror-stricken people.
In quick succession three more shells came in, one knock-
ing "Doc" off his feet with its concussion. The wall by
which we had stood and an iron shutter close by were rent
and torn with eclats. One of these shells had struck near
the bread line. How many were killed I never knew.
"Doc" for the moment had disappeared, and I was
greatly worried until I saw him emerge from an archway.
There was now a lull in the shelling. All our desire for
wandering about the city had ceased. We started back
toward quarters. Before we were halfway there, more
shells came in, scattered about the city, though the region
about the main street seemed to be suffering most. Cross-
ing the stream, we saw the body of a man hanging half
over the wall and near by, the shattered paving where the
shell had struck.
In such an atmosphere we lived. Each day brought
its messages of death. On December 19, I saw a spy taken
out to be shot. On the 20th, a house next our quarters was
hit. Two days later, when evacuating under shrapnel fire,
I saw two men killed. Constantly we had to change our
route through the city because of buildings blown into
the street.
Robert Whitney Imbrie^
* From Behind the Wheel of a War Ambulance. Courtesy of Robert M.
McBride & Company of New York.
Albanian Postes
Soon after our arrival at Monastir, the Albanian work
was also got under way and two cars were sent over there
— one to Koritza, the other to Sulim, on the west shore
of Lake Presba. They went over on December 30, crossing
the pass with great difficulty. In the middle of January I
got back from there with Fenton from a two-day rescue
trip, one of the cars having a broken wheel. The col is so
bad that we got over it in the supply car stripped of its
body for the trip. If dry, the road is just possible; other-
wise you are cut off. Hence the cars stayed over there.
Supplies for the men had to be sent by ox or mule, a two
days' journey ; oil and gas going also by mule. It was very
interesting over there, where nothing moved out of the
villages without a military escort, and the fellows were
all armed to the teeth.
Officers at Koritza did n't dare ride out of town except
on the road toward Fiorina and then only for the first
four or five kilometres, which were patrolled. No soldier
went out in the street without a gun. They all said they
were living, too, on a political volcano, and in fact, in the
midst of it all, along in December, a Republic of Albania
was founded! But to us it seemed all very quiet, with
excellent cake-shops open. We slept in a hotel with an
English-speaking proprietor where there were no fleas,
and were shaved in the latest "scream" in American
barber chairs, the barber having been ten years in New
Haven. He installed this splendor on the main corner and,
getting only three clients a day, declared the Albanians
to be "a lot of cheap guys."
LovERiNG Hill
366
SECTION THREE
The First Auto Trip into Albania
This is an account of the trip of the first auto into
Albania.
At Fiorina, we loaded up with food, gas, and oil, enough
for two days' continual travelling and started out with
an infirmier to help take care of the blesses on the way
back. We got over the Pisoderi grade this time with-
out pushing, for I knew the grade better. From there on
it was the most interesting trip I ever have made. For
twenty kilometres we went along a valley and had to
ford the river ten or eleven times. The people may have
seen autos before, but they had n't seen them enough to
satisfy their curiosity; so they would drop everything as
they worked in near-by fields and rush to the road to
watch us pass. When we got about twenty kilometres
from the second poste, both man and beast were afraid
of the machines. They would see us coming, and by the
time we got to them they were well across a ditch, where
I suppose they imagined they were safe. Even the old,
sleepy oxen showed a lot of "pep" when we came along,
and backed and twisted around so in their yokes that the
drivers had a hard time untangling them.
At one village we were stopped by a doctor who said
that a hlesse was en route in a wagon that had been sent
for him the night before. So we went on to meet him, but
found that the wagon did not have the wounded man
after all. We decided, therefore, to go on as long as the
Ford would run, and soon crossed the line into Albania,
passing through several towns that had been pretty well
shot up by both the Bulgars and the Allies as the former
retreated two months before.
The roads were almost impassable, as the old bran-
cardier had told us would be the case, and nothing but a
Ford could have got over them. At length we arrived at
Koritza, our destination, and waited for the doctor to
make inquiries. The surprise was on us when several
Albanians speaking English crowded around the ma-
367
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
chines. They had been in Worcester, Massachusetts, and
had accumulated a roll of bills large enough to retire on
over here. You find a lot like that. Finally we found the
poste de secours. Imagine our further surprise when the
blesse greeted us in perfect English, saying, "I am glad
you have come." When he heard we were Americans, he
added: "So am I — an American volunteer, born and
raised in New York City."
Eleven days before our arrival this poor devil had been
shot four times, and after lying out in front of the trenches
all day, he was picked 'up by brancardiers and brought
down from the mountains on a mule. The lines were only
fifteen kilometres away, but it took eleven hours to ac-
complish this. We carried him twenty-five kilometres that
afternoon, and stopped all night in a little town.
We left Albania the following morning and crept back
at a snail's pace — about ninety out of the hundred kilo-
metres in low. On the way we picked up other blesses, less
grave cases, and would take turns going ahead, with the
grave case in the second machine. If the front car got an
awful jolt, the second one would stop, while we took our
American blesse out and ran the machine over the ditch
or bump. Then we would put him back again, and go on.
We got to the second poste about noon, and had our
Thanksgiving dinner of the supplies we had brought
along. Probably it was the lightest turkey dinner either
of us ever had, for it consisted of singe, or canned beef,
biscuits, cooking-chocolate, and some wine. But it went
down with much satisfaction.
We arrived at the Fiorina Hospital about five o'clock,
and there received many congratulations from the Me-
decin Chef and several doctors, who thought we had
done something wonderful, for it took a wagon train four
days to make one way of this trip.
Donald C. Armour^
1 Of Evanston, Illinois; Yale, '17; entered the Field Service in April,
1916, and served in Sections Three and Eight; subsequently a Second Lieu-
tenant, U.S. Field Artillery.
368
SECTION THREE
Albanian Adventures
January i, 1917
It is now New Year's Day and I am more than a hundred
kilometres from where I was when I first started this
letter — away over two mountain ranges. I don't know
when I shall get back to the Section, as I am now attached
to a regiment of infantry. I have arranged to have oil,
gas, and carbide sent to me by pack-mules, and I shall
stay here probably until my car gives out. Then I shall
have to go back on horseback — a four or five days' trip.
Talk about Richard Harding Davis or Anthony Hope
adventure stories! If I were a writer I would beat any of
theirs. For instance, I am now armed with a carbine, a
revolver, and one hundred and twenty rounds of ammuni-
tion, to protect myself from brigands along the road. Can
you imagine anything more dime-novelly? The Colonel
of the regiment was quite upset when he found that I was
not armed and immediately gave orders to arm me to the
teeth.
Imbrie and Winant have gone off to find their Colonel
and I stay here for another day or two before we all go to
hunt up the regiment — over another mountain range.
I understand it is an almost impossible route, over which
no autos have ever gone before. In the meanwhile I am
comfortably billeted here at the house of a man who lived
for years in St. Louis and speaks English.
Later
I AM over another mountain range and "busted down."
I am living in a little mountain village with the Colonel,
who has just become a general, and his staff. Until I get
some spare parts, which will probably be a week at least,
I shall have to stay here, for I am about a hundred miles
from anywhere.
For the first day the General did n't have any food
with him, so I found a chicken and some beans and cooked
them, thus managing to provide a pretty good dinner.
369
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
The next day I walked over to my car and extricated the
canned goods which I had in it, and we ate with relish.
At last a limited amount of food arrived and we are fixed.
The whole situation is really most amusing.
I am at the farthermost part of the lines, way up in
the mountains between two lakes. The inhabitants of the
country are wilder than the ancient American Indians
and live in about the same way, although they have mud
houses instead of tents. They speak a mixture of Greek,
Albanian, and Serbian, which even the interpreter can't
understand. The country is full of wolves which come
down to the edge of town at night looking for stray dogs
or donkeys. I saw two yesterday, but was too far away
to get a shot.
J. Marquand Walker ^
On the Serbian Frontier
Negocani, January 3, 191 7
For over two weeks we have been up at the very front,
but have now been ordered back a few kilometres to a
village right on the frontier. We were very loath to go,
but now that we are settled here, I think every one realizes
that staying up there was an unnecessary risk to incur,
for the daily, even hourly, bombardments from the enemy
positions on the hills looking straight down into town had
been getting more and more frequent and the inhabitants
were either leaving or lying low in their cellars. Finally,
a shell landed in a little courtyard, perhaps seventy yards
away from us, and more or less damaged six of our cars.
I had thirteen pieces in mine, damage done to two tires,
a spoke and a radius rod, while a large hole was made in
the crank case which necessitated taking down the entire
motor. Roddy Montgomery, who was standing between
two machines, perhaps five yards ofif, was knocked over
1 Of New York City; Harvard, 'li; entered the Service in September,
1915, and later became a Section leader; received a commission in U.S. Ar-
tillery and was promoted to Captain. The above are extracts from home
letters and letters addressed to the Paris Headquarters of the Field Service.
H
Oh
O
Q
i-i
l-I
SECTION THREE
and his car battered up; but he escaped unhurt. The
worst feature was that a Httle girl of seven, who used to
play around and talk to us while we were oiling and
greasing, was literally blown to pieces and fragments of
her burned flesh were spattered all over. Half of her head
landed on the top of my car and had to be scraped off
with essence. It was pretty sickening. After this, the
Divisionnaire decided it was no use having the Section
"shot up" little by little; so we moved our quarters. The
work is still the same, however, as the cars go up from
here at 6 a.m., and evacuate back to Fiorina, seventy
kilometres in all, while some of us are even busier than
before.
We are installed in a large mud farmhouse with a huge
yard, a well, and half-dozen outbuildings, used as kitchen,
dining-room, and bureau. This yard, when we came here,
was two feet deep in straw, rubbish, and filth of all sorts,
and it took two days of shovelling, burning, disinfecting,
and whitewashing, to make it habitable ; but we are now
well installed. The village is deserted save for troops, so
any one wanting firewood calmly attacks a house with a
pick-axe, smashes the mud walls, and walks off with the
beams, rafters, or anything else he fancies. It is very con-
venient, and avoids paperasses. All around us are the
trenches and boyaux of the famous Kenali lines, from
which the Bulgars were driven just before the capture of
Monastir last month. Some of them are marvellously con-
structed, and collectors of ironware are revelling in souve-
nirs of all sorts — shells, fuses, grenades, bayonets, etc.,
most of which, however, I think will be found too heavy
to lug around and will be discarded long before our return.
A New Republic
Just before going up from our first camp, I had a most
interesting three days' trip into Albania, driving the
Medecin Chef oi the Q.G. and the Medecin Chef oi Fiorina
Hospital over to Koritza to see the Colonel in command
of the troops in that region. Two cars started with us;
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THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
but after all hands had pushed at them valiantly for hours,
they were obliged to turn back on the col of Pisoderi,
thirteen kilometres straight uphill from Fiorina to the
sumn^it, 1650 metres high, whence you get a magnificent
view over the entire valley of the Cerna. I had no partic-
ular trouble in Hill's little touring car, and we reached
our destination late that night, after sixteen hours' steady
driving over some of the worst roads possible to imagine.
At one time we followed the bed of a river, going through
it eleven times, and once just escaping trouble as the
water drowned the carburetor twice. At Koritza we were
royally welcomed, and, as my passengers treated me as a
friend instead of a chauffeur, I was the Colonel's guest,
dined and lunched with him and his Etat-Major, and was
entertained by the younger officers.
The political situation is extremely interesting here.
At the beginning of the war the Greeks overran this part
of Albania, but made themselves most unpopular through
unjust taxation. Last summer the Venizelos crowd ex-
pelled the royalist officials, but proved no better. As the
Powers in 1912 pronounced Albania independent, but as
the country has had no government since the Prince of
Wied was "fired," some prominent citizens of Koritza,
mostly retired comitajes, asked Colonel Ducoing's per-
mission to proclaim a republic. He assented, the Greeks
were driven out, and a new council was elected, or self-
appointed, just before we arrived. The flag of the new
republic, dark red with a strange-looking, black-winged
creature on it, and having a tricolor ribbon around the
staff, had just been hoisted on the town hall. The whole
thing is more or less comic-opera stuff, but the inhabit-
ants take themselves very seriously. Since then several
other towns have joined the movement. Every one is
armed and no one dares go more than a few kilometres
from town, as the country swarms with comitajes and
the Austrian posts are only a short distance away, ten
or twelve kilometres, on a mountain range.
Our arrival caused immense excitement, as ours was
372
SECTION THREE
the second motor car ever seen in those parts, the first
being Colonel Ducoing's, in which he arrived, but has not
used since. Just lately two of our cars have climbed the
pass and are now working over in Albania, one at Koritza,
the other farther north near Lake Presba. Hill, with a
mechanic, has just returned from a flying trip over there
in order to repair an axle, and says the Lord only knows
how they can ever get back, as the roads are getting worse
every day. In a word, it is all very interesting here and I
think we are being extremely useful.
John Munroe ^
' Of New York City; Harvard, '13; joined the Field Service on May 6,
1916, serving with Section Three; was Sous-Chef in Macedonia until May,
191 7; entered the School at Fontainebleau and became a Second Lieutenant
of Artillery in the French Army.
V
MONASTIR
The work at Monastir, where we were finally stationed,
went on all right. In this country you very rarely get
up to pastes de secours. We evacuated from a town two
or three kilometres back, along a flat and on the whole
a very good road, twenty-eight kilometres to a village
where there was a relay, and where another section took
the wounded farther to the rear. The work was very in-
teresting, for it was done mostly over the territory con-
quered the previous November.
At Monastir we were quartered very comfortably in
two good houses. But the resources of the town were
somewhat limited and food prices very high; two chick-
ens, for instance, costing 25 francs, and two eggs, 2 francs
20. Then, too, rifle bullets flew about certain of the out-
lying quarters, "210's" wandered in occasionally, and a
good deal of other Boche attention of less distressing
variety was often our lot. We had to sneak in at night, in
convoy, for the exit of the town was often pounded, and
it was, perhaps, the best gauntlet-running ever seen — on
a perfectly straight, open road with an excellent surface,
and in the daytime absolutely free of traffic. So, on the
whole, we were pretty well off at Monastir. But finally,
in January, 191 7, we were ordered to fall back, as the
place got too lively for the cantonment of the Section,
and we established ourselves fourteen kilometres in the
rear, at Negocani, a mud village, the houses being of
bricks, made of that material strengthened with manure
and straw — the origin of reinforced concrete, probably.
The customs at Negocani were very curious. Take this
one, for instance! If you were in need of firewood, you
would look about until you found a house unoccupied
by soldiers, which you then proceeded to demolish — a
very easy task, as it is made of mud — in order to get
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the beams; the floors and doors, in most cases, having all
disappeared long before our coming. The absence from
the village of all civilians rendered the proceeding all the
easier. The day before we entered upon our first wood
hunt, we found two houses which were still in fairly good
condition, set our seal on them, and arranged matters
with the commandant d'armes. But the next morning,
when we arrived on the spot at eight o'clock, we found
that all the doors and floors of one of them had been
carried off by a flock of Italians who had reached town
during the previous evening.
We were well off in our house, which was big enough
for the men to sleep in. It had, on the first floor upstairs,
two rooms which were separated by a hallway. I had a
room on the ground floor, which was literally right on the
ground. The French contingent of our party occupied the
other ground-floor room, while the downstairs hall, which
was provided with a fireplace, served at night as a sitting-
room. An outhouse, with smoky rafters, to which, in a
few minutes, with the aid of a pick, we added windows,
completed our quarters.
This place was not as interesting as Monastir, but much
safer, for at the latter town we were very much cooped
up, having to stay within the city limits all the time, as
everything outside of the walls was in plain sight of the
enemy and some of the outlets were within rifle range.
Moreover, there were quite frequent shellings of Monastir
so that staying indoors was much to be encouraged. For
instance, one shell landed in a little court where some
of our cars were parked, got four of them and a poor child
who was blown to atoms and parts of whose body were
found in and on half a dozen cars. On this occasion my
car, unfortunately, was about the heaviest sufferer — one
front wheel, radiator, and water-inlet connection being
shot through and through, while the headlight and quite
a lot of wiring were cut up. But worst of all, the wind-
shield and top were ruined and a horrible piece of the
little child wound round and round the steering-wheel.
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This affair was nothing but a coup court; but still the
Germans were shelling objectives that were close enough
for pieces of shell to fall about us very freely, and, though
we knew we were backing out, it was not till we got to
Negocani that we felt how glad we were to be out of
Monastir, especially as later the entrance to this last town
got shelled daily and on this account we had to change
the hours of evacuation.
LovERiNG Hill.
A Gas Attack on Monastir
Monastir, January 5
We have just had a gas attack here.
We sat there in my car after our lucky and narrow
squeak with exploding shells, conversing with each other
and with passing poilus. Everything was quiet, and we
started to fix ourselves for the night. The straw inside the
old Turkish mosque, as we learned from previous experi-
ence, was entirely too full of life for comfortable slumber;
so we fixed a couple of stretchers out in the front worship-
ping hall, where air was better, too.
The shelling had recommenced by the time we tried to
sleep. Suddenly the ohus began to come in faster and
faster, their whistles blending one into another until it
was all one solid roar and whiz. The explosions sounded
like shrapnel, and it was not until a shell broke our win-
dow that we learned it was gas. Our masks were out in
the cars, and as we ran out to get them we almost suffo-
cated, although we tried to hold our breath. Back in the
mosque it was better, as the air was nearly untainted,
the windows being air-tight. Fortunately the dozen
malades and stretcher-bearers in the mosque were all
provided with masks, so in less uncomfortable state of
mind, we sat down to wait. There was nothing else to do,
of course. All this time the shells were coming in at a
fearful rate, all of them landing right in our quarter.
Now and then a man would stumble in from the street,
choking from the gas and calling for a mask. Pretty soon
376
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the doctor appeared in his stocking feet, and he took care
as best he could of the asphyxiated.
In the meanwhile things were steadily becoming worse
and worse. The streets were a cloud of gas, and inside the
mosque it was getting more and more difficult to breathe,
when suddenly, as I was standing by the door talking
with Petitjean, there came a deafening explosion, which
blew down the door and a solid wave of gas caught us
in the face. For a moment there was complete confu-
sion, men running every which way and some lying down
gasping, coughing, and calling for masks. How they lost
them is incomprehensible, for almost every one had a
mask on when the shell came. The doctor, who was stand-
ing beside me, had his mask off for the moment and got it
tangled up in trying to put it on again; but fortunately
he was saved by the sergeant-major, who clapped it on
the doctor's face. But he was sick for several hours after-
wards. At the same time we picked up some masks and
put them on the choking men who were lying about. Then
the room was plunged in darkness. At this moment, I
heard Petitjean calling for another mfirmier to bandage
him up. The doctor was out of commission, the ijifirmier
unfindable, and I came to the rescue, finding Petitjean
in the little room in back. His hand was bleeding badly;
but I did my best to fix him up; rather a difficult job,
however, because, with the gas-mask on, I could hardly
see what I was doing. But I did the best I could under the
circumstances. First I poured some alcohol over the hand,
and found that the wound was not so serious as I at first
thought. But it was painful and bleeding enough. Then,
to make sure, I used peroxide which I sponged off with
cotton and put on some iodine, bandaging the hand up
as tightly as I could in order to stop the flow of blood —
an effective dressing, even if it was not very scientific.
But before I had finished with Petitjean, I was told
that another man had been completely knocked out by
the gas, and that the only way to save him was to rush
him over to the hospital in hope of finding some oxygen.
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This I immediately decided to do. There was still a lot
of gas on the street ; but I had to take my mask off to
drive. I finally got the asphyxie over to the hospital ; but
no doctor was to be found, there was no oxygen, and
everything seemed hopeless. So, as a last resort, I tried
artificial breathing ; but the poor fellow died while I was
working on him, and I had to take his body back to the
mosque, where, in the meanwhile, a gas shell had come
in through the outer door and exploded in the anteroom,
not ten feet from where John and I made our beds earlier
in the evening; and when we collected our bedclothes
next morning, they were covered with debris and satu-
rated with gas. At this point a slight breeze sprang up,
which made breathing possible again ; the doctor came to,
and though awfully sick, stuck to his job, thereby sav-
ing the lives of several men, while I spent most of the
time making coffee over an alcohol lamp, coffee being a
great relief to men who have been gassed. All this hap-
pened with bewildering rapidity in less time than one
takes to write about it.
John was great. While I was fixing up Petitjean, he got
his lantern and quieted the men, who were mostly intoxi-
cated by the gas, and did not know what they were doing.
His chief work was to make them keep their gas-masks
on, which saved more than one of them. Altogether the
shelling lasted about three hours, during which time
thousands of these gas obus came in, with the result that
two hundred civilians were killed and many left dying.
Few soldiers lost their lives, thanks to the gas-masks.
John and I did not begin to feel the effects of the gas
until the next day, and then were uncomfortably sick.
It takes a long while to get the gas out of one's system,
and the continual smell and taste of the stuff is sickening
for days. My clothes and blankets still smell of it, though
they have been out in the breeze for forty-eight hours.
After this I will take high-explosive shells with all their
eclats in preference to gas.
J. Marquand Walker
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SECTION THREE
Our Sector Extended
Toward the end of January we took over another seg-
ment of the line, a section southeast of Monastir, collect-
ing our blesses from a village called Skocivir, situated on
the banks of the Cerna, some twenty-five kilometres
from Negocani. Skocivir was the highest point reached
by wheeled transport, though some fifteen kilometres
back from the line. From here munitions and ravitaille-
ment were carried into the mountains on muleback, the
wounded coming out by the same torturing transport.
A few kilometres before reaching Skocivir we passed
through the town of Brod, the first Serbian town retaken
by the Allies after the great retreat of 191 5, the point at
which the Serbs first reentered their country. Here the
Cerna was crossed by two bridges. Through the pass
beyond poured French, Serbs, and Italians to reach their
allotted segment of line. The congestion and babble at
this point was terrific.
We saw much of the Italians. Long lines of their troops
were constantly marching forward, little men with ill-
formed packs. As soldiers they did not impress us, but
they had a splendid motor transport — big, powerful
cars well adapted to the Balkan mud and handled by the
most reckless and skilful drivers in the Allied armies.
The men were a vivacious lot and often sang as they
marched.
"An Army of Old Men"
In marked contrast were the Serbs, "the poor relations of
the Allies." For the most part they were middle-aged
men, clad in nondescript uniforms and with varied equip-
ment. They slogged by silently — almost mournfully. I
never saw one laugh, and they smiled but rarely. They
were unobtrusive, almost unnoticed; yet when a car
was mired, they were always the first to help, and withal
they were invested with a quiet dignity which seemed
to set them apart. I never talked with a soldier of any
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army who had seen them In action but who praised their
prowess.
The going, or rather ploughing, beyond Brod was
particularly atrocious, and it frequently took from two
and a half to three hours to cover the fifteen kilometres.
At one point the way was divided by two lonely graves
which lay squarely in the middle of the road, the traffic
of war passing and repassing on either side. Brod serv^ice
was particularly uninteresting, as the point at which we
collected our blesses was too far back of the line to offer
the excitement afforded by being under fire, save when
there was an air raid. Then, too, the roads were so con-
gested and in such terrible condition that the driving was
of the most trying sort, and it frequently meant all day
evacuation without one hot meal. Our work at this time
was particularly hea\y; we were ser\'ing three divisions,
the one back of Monastir, the Brod division, and the
division in Albania. In short, we were covering the work
of three motor Sections.
During all these days the enemy continued to rain his
fire upon Monastir. Gradually, but none the less surely,
the city was w^ithering away. Here a house, there a shop
or bazaar, became a mass of debris. Huge holes gaped in
the streets; tangled wire swung mournfully in the wind;
once I saw a minaret fairly struck, totter a second, and
then pitch into the street, transferred in a twinkling from
a graceful spire into a heap of brick and mortar, overhung
by a shroud of dust. Though perhaps half of the city's
forty thousand inhabitants had fled as best they might,
as many more remained. Generally they stayed indoors,
though the flimsy walls offered little protection and there
were no cellars. When they emerged, it was to slink along
in the shadows of the walls. Scuttling, rather than walk-
ing, they made their way, every sense tensed in anticipa-
tion of the coming of "the death that screams." If Verdun
had seemed the City of the Dead, Monastir was the Place
of Souls Condemned to Wander in the Twilight of Purga-
tory. The fate of the population civile was a pitiable one.
380
SECTION THREE
In a world of war, they had no status. Food, save the
farina issued by the military, was unobtainable, and fuel
equally wanting. Scores were killed. As for the wounded,
their situation was terrible. Drugs were too precious,
bandages too valuable, and surgeons' time too well occu-
pied for their treatment. Their case would have been
without hope had it not been for a neutral, non-military
organization of the Dutch which maintained in Monastir
a small hospital for the treatment of civilians. This hos-
pital, established in a school, did splendid work, and its
staff are entitled to high praise and credit.
For this hospital, one morning, I got the strangest
load my ambulance ever carried — four little girls. As
I lifted their stretchers into the car, their weights seemed
as nothing. Three were couches; the fourth, a bright little
thing, wounded in the head by H.E. eclaty sat by my side
on the driving seat and chatted with me in quaint French
all the way to the hospital.
Meanwhile the days grew perceptibly longer and the
sun, when it appeared, had a feeble warmth. A new Sec-
tion coming out from France relieved our cars in Albania,
and Giles and the others coming back from Koritza re-
ported that the city was under frequent plane bombard-
ment and the population demoralized.
For some time the talk of an attack on Hill 248 and
the line back of Monastir had been growing. There seemed
little doubt now that such an attack would shortly be
launched with the object of driving the enemy back and
freeing the city from artillery fire. Daily our fire grew
more intense. The roads were congested with upcoming
troops and new batteries going into position. Word came
in that the Section was to hold itself in readiness to shift
quarters to Monastir. Then, at last, one night came the
order to report for action in the city.
Robert Whitney Imbrie *
1 From Behind the Wheel of a War Ambulance. Courtesy of Robert M.
McBride & Company of New York.
VI
The Section goes to Greece
Section Three was relieved from the Monastir sector
May 26, 191 7, and moved to Fiorina about twenty kilo-
metres back. Here orders were received attaching the
Section to the French Provisional Division which was
moving into Greece to settle once and for all the ever-
present Greek threat at the Allied lines of communica-
tion in Macedonia.
We started to join the Division on May 31, going that
day as far as the English hospital for Serbs at Vertekop,
via the main road from Monastir to Salonica. The first
village passed through 'was the hillside town of Banica;
thence up over a pass by the battle-field of Gornitchevo,
where the Serbians and Bulgars fought in October, 191 6;
on to Ostrovo (at the northern end of the lake of the same
name) and Vodena. From there on to Vertekop it was easy
rolling, mostly downhill.
On June i we rolled to Topsin, passing through the
ancient town of Yenidze Vardar. At Topsin we went into
a cantonment near the training-camp of the recruits for
the new army of Venizelos. Our camp was the most
inhospitable-appearing affair, situated as it was in the
midst of a broad, barren, sandy stretch of homeless land
which offered neither shelter from the June sun nor any-
thing else. Here the rumor got out through the usual
medium that we would remain several weeks and then
be attached to the new Greek Army. But the rumor
proved baseless when Lieutenant Derode returned from
Salonica (which was only about seventeen miles away)
with orders to move "on to Athens" early the next
morning.
The next day we rolled by noon to a town called Gida,
and after a long halt on the hot, dusty road outside the
town, we headed for Katerini. Arriving there in the early
382
SECTION THREE
evening, after having skirted the seacoast for many kilo-
metres, we drew up in the yard of an old monastery.
Here we were billeted for over a week, during which
period and much to the regret of all, Charley Fiske^
and R. B. Montgomery, their time having long since
expired, returned to France. Their places were taken by
John d'Este (who later became Chief of Section after
the Section returned to Monastir) and James Keogh.
There were French troops in reserve at Katerini, the
temporary front line being out in the direction of Eiasson,
which was southeasterly beyond the wooded hills back
of Mount Olympus.
Our stay here was well taken up with washing voitures,
changing wooden bodies for lighter canvas ones, and
making other preparations for a campaign around the
interior of Greece. Frequent trips were made to the sea
at Scala Katerini, distant about seven kilometres. Here
the swimming was excellent, and the sea-food dinners
were "elegant."
The country between Katerini and Larissa, which is
the chief city of Thessaly, was reputed to be filled with
roving royalist comitajes who were the heroes of many a
rumored skirmish with French outposts. So the amhu-
la7iciers were armed — hardly to the teeth — with au-
tomatic .32 calibre pistols. To be sure that every one
got acquainted with this weapon of emergency, we had
target practice out in the field back of the monastery.
After twenty-five of us had fired one round per person,
one hole (maybe two) appeared on the target. Whatever
the number of hits, it was assured that every one knew
his weapon and an attack on an ambulance section
convoy (complete, with one White truck and a trailer-
kitchen which served as a kennel for "Salonique," the
cook's dog) was not to be feared (by the comitajes).
1 Charles Henry Fiske, 3d, of Boston, Massachusetts; Harvard, '19;
served in Section Three of the Field Service from August, 1916, to June,
191 7; became a Second Lieutenant in the United States Infantry and died
of wounds received in action August 24, 191 8.
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As a further assurance against a surprise attack, each
person was given seven rounds of ammunition, which
was to be strictly accounted for and returned to Hill on
making the next etape.
On or about June 12, 1917, we moved on to Larissa,
passing up the heavily wooded slopes back of Mount
Olympus, following the valley of the Mavroneri River.
Near the crest of the divide, the village of Petra was
passed, and from there on it was nice rolling down to the
town of Elasson.
After making Elasson, we caught up with the main
body of the Division which was strung all along the road,
winding up the Maluna Pass — the entrance to Thessaly.
We passed the little Indo-Chinamen who were struggling
up the steep mountain with their huge packs and little
peaked sun hats ; Senegalese, spahis, Chasseurs d 'afriqiie,
French Artillery, and lots of French infantry. The Eng-
lish troops involved in the affair went by sea, so we did
not come in contact with them. Russia also contributed
troops, but they came after things were settled.
Passing down the Thessalian slope from the Maluna
Pass, the holiday-bedecked town of Tirnavos was reached
during a heavy rain. Allied flags were flying, though
drenched; and bunting of all colors showed signs of not
being weather-proof. Hastily prepared pictures of Gen-
eral Sarrail, President Wilson, General Joffre, and others
of note were hung from wires stretched across the streets
and in the windows. The pictures looked as though sev-
eral days before they had been likenesses of other persons
and had been touched up in a hurry to show how loyal
Thessalians were to the Allied cause. These same unique
bits of portraiture appeared later at Larissa and Volo.
From Tirnavos it was a short run across the wheat-
fields which stretched for many kilometres each side of
the road to Larissa. We reached this town around five or
six o'clock in the evening. There were crowds of citizens
in the streets and all were looking in wonderment at the
composite make-up of the incoming troops. The spahis
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SECTION THREE
had not long since rounded up the treacherous evzones
(Greek infantry) who, after a formal surrender, offered
resistance to the advancing French troops and then fled
out across the wheatfields. The Spahis charged across
the country and after a brief skirmish brought in a goodly
number of prisoners, not, however, without losing twelve
killed, officers and men.
We occupied the recently evacuated Greek barracks,
and they were all too recently vacated, which we found
much to our discomfort. Our barrack was near the one in
which the captured Greeks were imprisoned.
Every now and then the Chinese guards would walk
out a group of prisoners, who, upon being addressed by
the French commander through an interpreter, would
give three cheers for Venizelos and the Allies, and at the
same time sign up in Venizelos's Army. Thereupon they
would be marched to the station by the ever-vigilant
Chinamen and shipped to Salonica and I hope to Topsin.
Thus we saw loyal royal Greek troops transformed by a
few well-chosen remarks into loyal Allied soldiers.
After the Greek King had acceded to the Allies' de-
mands, on or about June 13, it became a certainty that
there would be no active campaign in Greece, so it was
a question of time, as to how long it was necessary to keep
troops on the ground after the abdication. Several cars
rolled each day, carrying only a few sick soldiers, and it
is doubtful if we carried more than fifty during the ex-
pedition. Before we quitted Larissa, leaves were granted
to Volo, which had been a base of supply for German
submarines, where the most remarkable feature was the
abundance of outdoor moving-picture shows. These shows
were given on the qiiai from dark till dawn. Some of the
Section made excursions to the Vale of Tempe which is
not far from Larissa.
By the end of June most of the troops had evacuated
Thessaly and we started back to Macedonia July i. On
this return hike we went over the Sarantoporen Pass to
Kozano ; thence, after a night on a barren hillside where
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the tinkle of goat-bells assumed the sonority of fire
alarms, we proceeded through Eksisu and Sakulevo to
our new sector beyond Brod (which is east across the
valley from Monastir). The Section now became attached
to the Serbian Army and had for cantonment a clump
of tents on the hill above Skocivir looking down the
valley across the Cerna.
Charles Baird, Jr.^
* Reminiscences based on an unpublished diary.
VII
The Bombardment of Monastir, 19 17
Monastir, August 17, 1917
Along in the afternoon the intermittent bombardment
of Monastir, which had been going on all the morning,
suddenly increased in volume, until at four o'clock the
noise of the bursting shells became a continual rumble,
and tongues of flame mingled with the smoke and dust
clouds which continuously shot up over the house-tops
of the city.
The greater part of the Section was grouped on a hill-
side near camp, whence we could watch the bombardment.
Two of our cars were on duty in the city, but we had
no news of them. Immediately after dinner, Tracy and
I, having been assigned to twenty-four hours' duty in
Monastir, left camp. The bombardment seemed to in-
crease in violence as we approached the unfortunate city,
and fire was sweeping the eastern quarter. As we drove
up the Grande Rue, which practically puts the city in
half, we could see that the eastern part of the town had
sufl^ered most.
In the Grande Rue the confusion was indescribable.
Women with babies in their arms and with little chil-
dren clinging to their skirts, and men carrying grotesque
burdens of household possessions hastily salvaged, ran
hither and thither in an agony of terror. Others cowered
in their doorways, fearful of the open, while several knelt
directly in our path, beseeching us to take them to a
place of safety. Men even jumped upon the steps of the
ambulances from which we forcibly dislodged them.
Arriving at the hospital we found it undamaged, being
well to the north of the city, and nearer the Bulgar and
Boche positions. There we relieved Sinclair and Russell,
who then left for Fiorina with wounded, and being the
last to leave, were forced to quit the town by a circuitous
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route through the western section, as shells were again
falling in the Grande Rue.
Tracy and I were at once despatched to the offices of
the hospital, which were located a little to the east of the
Grande Rue. We found the building intact, though sur-
rounded by flames. Tracy took the books and records in
his car, while I went to the other end of the city to the
English hospital for civilian Serbs, accompanied by an
old Serbian woman, who had had her leg blown off. I
found the Grande Rue still passable, though some of the
buildings lining it were in flames. Shells were now falling
to the west of the street.
Having delivered my wounded, I returned to the
G.B.D. Hospital, where Tracy was preparing to make
another trip to the offices. He left a little later, brought
back the last of the salvage from that building, and re-
ported that the fire was gaining headway in the Grande
Rue, which he thought was impassable because of fallen
debris. This was not the case, however, as Grenville
Keogh, who had been sent for to help handle the emer-
gency calls, came through it soon afterward, though his
celluloid goggles were ignited by a burning fragment of
wood, and one of his eyebrows went with them as they
fizzled up in smoke.
As no more calls came, we remained at the hospital,
and at eight o'clock the firing dropped to an intermit-
tent cannonade. This continued until midnight, when we
found that east of the Grande Rue, the city was prac-
tically destroyed. Incendiary bombs as well as high-ex-
plosive had been used, and fire and shell had done their
work thoroughly. The French military authorities esti-
mated that two thousand shells had fallen between four
and eight o'clock that evening.
Charles Amsden *
1 Of Farmington, New Mexico; Harvard, '19; served with Section Three
from April to October, 1917; subsequently a Lieutenant in the U.S. Air
Service.
VIII
Last Days of Section Three in the Orient
On September 2 it was reported that the Italians, oper-
ating just across the valley on our right, had taken
Hill 1050 and that the Senegalese were attacking on
the plain at the foot of Rostanni. About noon we were
warned of a coming counter-attack and told to be ready
to evacuate from two new pastes. Accordingly, that eve-
ning, the two staff cars, each with four ambulance driv-
ers, made a tour of the pastes, so that at least some of the
boys might be familiar with all the roads.
At seven the following evening the repair car and ten
ambulances started for the G.B.D. in Monastir, Lieu-
tenant Derode and I immediately following with the staff
car. On arriving, we designated four men for the Ravine
d'ltalienne, a paste of the 76th Division; four for the
Roumanian paste of the 30th Division, and leaving two
at the G.B.D. to see to the unloading of the cars there,
and the evacuation back to Holeven and Fiorina if neces-
sary.
At eight o'clock it was sufficiently dark to start, and
the cars left for the pastes. At the Ravine d'ltalienne, we
parked the cars in the lee of a stone bridge and were
joined by three brancardiers.
Brush fires, started by exploding shells, blazed on the
mountains on either side, and farther up the valley the
fields were afire just behind the Bulgar front lines. All
the French artillery, from the little mountain batteries
up in the hills to the big "210's" in the outskirts of Mon-
astir were pounding away, and the Bulgars were reply-
ing, though to a less extent, and apparently directing their
fire down into the town. The heavens seemed a writhing,
shrieking waste of sound, but all of a sudden, about nine
o'clock, the firing ceased, emphasizing the deep stillness
of the night, broken only by occasional rifle-fire and the
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sharp rat-ta-tat-tat of the mitrailleuses out ahead. Then
the moon came up over the mountains, bathing every-
thing in a soft white light, and for the moment making
us and our cars seem frightfully conspicuous.
In a few moments Lieutenant Derode appeared for a
final inspection and to warn the boys under no circum-
stances to bring in cadavres. About quarter of ten the
cars began to roll steadily, and as they returned, after
evacuating their loads at the G.B.D., were directed, ac-
cording to the last reports of the number of blesses, to
one poste or another. Along toward 2.30 a.m. things com-
menced to slacken, and all cars but three, one at each
poste, and one at the road junction, ready to move up,
were sent in. All three came in before daybreak. At
the G.B.D. the Medecin Divisionnaire instructed us that
the hospital must be evacuated before evening, so we
telephoned to the cantonnement at Bistrica and got all
remaining cars rolling. By noon our work was pretty well
cleaned up.
This was the last real activity of Section Three. From
then on we kept our usual programme; two cars at the
G.B.D. in Monastir to answer calls from the pastes, and
each morning the required number of cars to evacuate
back to Holeven, Velusini, or Fiorina and occasional
calls from a radius of thirty kilometres. On September 6
and 28 we received two new batches of men as replace-
ments, a number of the old members returning to France.
We kept busy building mud and stone houses for winter
quarters, improving our road out as far as the main road,
and giving all the ambulances a thorough overhauling.
On October 8 we got news from the Pare d 'Autos at
Salonica that we were to be recalled, and on the 9th
came fifteen French drivers, whom wt were to break in
on our Fords and work. As soon as they took over the
service we prepared to leave.
At noon on the i6th. Lieutenant D6rode called the
whole Section together, and in a few words of heartfelt
thanks, and regret at parting, bade us good-bye; and
390
SECTION THREE
read the following order from the General Commanding
the 76th Division, to which the Section had been attached:
Au moment ou les conducteurs am6ricains de la Section Sani-
taire A.U. 3 vont quitter I'Orient pour aller continuer leurs ser-
vices sur le sol frangais, le General Commandant I'Armee Fran-
gaise d'Orient adresse ses felicitations au Chef et aux hommes
composant le personnel de cette Section, pour I'intrepidite,
I'entrain et le devouement dont chacun d'eux a donne le plus
beau temoignage au cours des operations de guerre qui se sont
succede depuis Decembre 1916 dans le secteur de Monastir.
Grace aux qualites d'endurance, de bravoure et de sang-froid
dont ce personnel a fait preuve dans maintes circonstances, de
nombreux soldats frangais, souvent grievement blesses, ont
pu recevoir rapidement les soins n^cessaires qui leur ont sauve
la vie.
En s'eloignant de la Macedoine, ou les volontaires americains
ont fait apprecier leur concours si precieux, ces vaillant aux-
iliaires emportent avec eux les regrets unanimes, la gratitude
de tous nos blesses et la reconnaissance de I'Armee Frangaise
d'Orient.
Signe: Regnault
John N. d'Este^
* Of Salem, Massachusetts; Harvard, '10; joined the Field Service in
September, 1916; served in Section Eight and as Chef of Section Three
until November, 1917; subsequently a Second Lieutenant in U.S. Artillery.
Section Four
THE STORY TOLD BY
I. George Rockwell, Jr.
II. Richard C. Ware
III. William de Ford Bigelow
IV. Leon H. Buckler
V. Charles H. Hunkins
VI. Hugh J. Kelleher
SUMMARY
Section Four left Paris for Lorraine in November, 1915, and
after a few weeks, at Vaucouleurs, spent the ensuing winter
and spring in the Toul-FHrey sector. In June, 1916, it moved
to Ippecourt for the great battle of Verdun, where it had the
distinction of being the first of the Field Service sections to
serve the famous pastes at Marre and Esnes. For nearly a year
the Section remained in the region of Ippecourt and Rarecourt
in the Verdun sector. In May, 1917, it moved on to Cham-
pagne, where it remained for two months; then it went back
again to Verdun, this time to the Bras-Vacherauville sector.
It was at this point that the Section enlisted with the United
States Army in the autumn of 1917, as Section Six-Twenty-
Seven.
Section Four
Broke to every known mischance, lifted over all
By the light sane joy of life, the buckler of the Gaul,
Furious in luxury, merciless in toil.
Terrible with strength that draws from her tireless soil,
Strictest judge of her own worth, gentlest of man's mind,
First to follow truth and last to leave old truths behind —
France beloved of every soul that loves its fellow-kind!
RuDYARD Kipling
I
Section Four's Beginning
The night before we were to leave Paris early in Novem-
ber, 191 5, we had a dinner with the officers of the Field
Service. There were not many speeches, but we were re-
minded that we were in charge of one of the best-equipped
Sections which had as yet taken the field, and that we
were going to the front in an auxiliary capacity to take
the place of Frenchmen needed for the sterner work of
the trenches. We might be sent immediately to the front
or kept for a while in the rear; but in any event there were
sick and wounded to be carried and our job was to help
by obeying orders.
Early the next morning we ran through the Bois-de-
Boulogne and over an historic route to Versailles, where,
at the Headquarters of the Army Automobile Service,
our cars were numbered with a military serial and the
driver of each was given a livret matricule, which is an
open sesame for gasoline and tires at every motor park in
France. Those details were completed about ten o'clock,
and we felt at last as if we were French soldiers driving
French automobiles on the way to our place at the French
front.
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THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
About thirty kilometres outside of Paris the staff car
and the camionnette with the cook on board dashed by us,
and upon our arrival at a quaint little village we found a
cafe requisitioned for our use and its stock of meat, bread,
and red wine in profusion at our disposal. In the evening
we reached the town of Estemay and there again all was
prepared for our reception. Rooms were requisitioned and
the good people took us in with open arms and the warm-
est of hospitality. But one or two of us had to spread our
blankets over the stretchers in the back of our cars, be-
cause there were not enough rooms and beds for all.
The next morning was much colder; there was some
snow and later a heavy fog. Our convoy got under way
shortly after breakfast, and ran in record-breaking time,
for we wanted to finish our trip that evening. We stopped
for lunch and for an inspection which consumed two
hours, and starting about ten o'clock on the last stretch
of our journey, drove all the afternoon through sleet, cold,
and snow.
In Lorraine
At seven o'clock that night we reached Vaucouleurs, had
our supper, secured sleeping accommodations, and re-
tired. Our running orders had been completed; we had
reached our destination in perfect form. Several days
passed. We were inspected by generals and other officers,
all of whom seemed pleased with the completeness of our
Section; yet improvements, they said, were still possible
and should be made while we were at the park. We were
told that we were to take care of a service of evacuation
of the sick in that district and at the same time try out a
"heating system" for our cars.
We were at Vaucouleurs in all six weeks, including
Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year's Day. Our
work consisted of evacuating malades, and at first it
offered the opportunity of teaching the green ones how
to care for their cars. But we were all soon put on our
mettle.
396
SECTION FOUR
The outlying country was full of lowlands and streams
which in many places during the hard rains covered the
roads to such a depth that the usual type of French car
could not operate. Our car suspension was high, and we
were thus able to perform a service the others could not.
We established, too, a standard for prompt service
and during the weeks we were at Vaucouleurs we never
delayed a call on account of "high water." In fact, we
left this district for other labor with a record of never
having missed a call, and the promptness of service, day
or night, was often a matter of comment by the French
officials connected with this work. During this flooded
period certain pastes accustomed to telephone for an am-
bulance would ask for an American ambulance "boat,"
and the story was soon about that we had water lines
painted on the cars as gauges for depths through which
we could pass. On one occasion I was in the middle of a
swirling rapid with the nearest " land " one hundred yards
away. But I had to get through, because I had on board
a pneumonia patient with a high fever, so I opened the
throttle and charged. When I got to the other side I was
hitting on only two cylinders, but as mine was the only
car that day to get through at all, I boasted long after-
wards of my ambulance's "fording" ability.
In the Toul Sector
We were always looking forward to being moved and
attached to some division within the First Army, and, as
promised, the order came. Our service in this district was
completed, and on the morning of January 5, 1916, our
convoy moved up to Lay-Saint-Remy. Our work here
included pastes de secaurs that were intermittently under
fire, and several of the places could be reached only at
night, being in daylight within plain view of the German
gunners.
Here again we remained only a short time. Without
any warning we received an order one evening to proceed
the next day to Toul. This meant 7 a.m., and so all night
397
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
we were busy filling our gasoline tanks, cleaning spark-
plugs, and getting a dismantled car in shape to "roll."
The trip to Toul was without incident, and when we
drew up at the caserne, which proved to be our quarters
for several months, we reported as ready for immediate
work. Five cars were regularly stationed at Grosrouvres,
a secondary poste de secours about ten kilometres from
the lines, and two cars farther forward at the Carriere de
Flirey, a first-line poste de secours. The rest of the ambu-
lances formed a reserve at our base to relieve daily those
cars and take care of such emergency calls as might come
in, day or night. Then, as soon as we proved our worth,
we were given other similar points on the lines, and grad-
ually took over the work of the French Section working
with the next Army division.
Seicheprey and the Bois de Jury were two of our
pastes the first being but four hundred yards from the
Boche trenches. All winter we kept up this and evacua-
tion work from the hospital at Menil-la-Tour and the
hospital at Toul. In the middle of February we had two
cars at Jouy, and there we served the pastes of Xivray,
Bouconville, Barriere d'Apremont, Rambucourt, and
Beaumont, while at the same time we took over the evac-
uation work at Aulnois, Void, and Pagny, which gave us
all the ambulance work between Apremont and Limey,
a front of twenty kilometres, and the work of two divi-
sions. The Section had its hands full, until June, when we
had a few days repas at Bayon. But by the 15th, we again
began work, this time in the great battle of Verdun.
George Rockwell, Jr.^
1 Of Waterbury, Connecticut; joined the Service in February, 1915, serv-
ing with Section One and, as Sous-Chef, with Section Four until August,
1916. Later obtained a commission in U.S. Aviation.
THE "CAT" OF "SECTION QUATRE"
Side-door of one of the cars, with the memorial plaque which
each ambulance in the Service bore
II
Calls at Nightfall
At TouI, we handled practically the entire first-line
Ambulance Service of two divisions, embracing the front
covered by the loist Division from Girauvolsin toXivray,
and that from Xivray to Novlant, the province of the
64th. In addition, we took care of the greater part of the
evacuation work between the various ambulances and
hospitals back of the lines.
Of the two sectors, that of the loist Division was the
least interesting and most confining; calls were not very
frequent — seldom as many as two a night — and usually
nothing to do all day, yet the men had to stay always
within reach, and any walking other than through the
little village of Jouy was out of the question. Quarters
were in an old wine-cellar — a long, stone-arched room
dug half into the hillside, with a single attic-story over
it — lighted dimly by a tiny window at either end, and
very inadequately heated by a small, wood-burning stove.
Along both sides were ranged wooden frames, knocked
together and filled with straw, the bunks of the unusually
noisy group of brancardiers, or stretcher-bearers, w^th
whom we were quartered. . . .
After supper the fire is filled up, the brancardiers
gather in chattering groups or slip into their bunks; the
overloaded flue is unequal to the volume of smoke,
which gathers in a blue cloud overhead, thicker and
thicker — lower and lower — will the fire give out be-
fore the smoke level reaches the sleepers?
The calls at Jouy usually come in about nightfall, just
as the long ravitaillement, or supply trains, are starting
for the front under cover of the darkness. This makes the
running unusually difficult: M. Merland, the genial
young medecin auxiliare, in private life a medical student,
takes his seat beside me and with a whirr of the motor
399
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
we are off through the darkness. Dark, indeed! for no
lights are allowed nor auto horn or Klaxon to clear the
track ahead. It is nervous work at best, for the roads are
narrow and running with mud, and while hard enough
in the middle, give way to veritable bogs on either side
where the "metalling" or stone surface ends, and beyond
this the inevitable deep ditch of this part of France.
Unlucky he who gives too generous a berth to the passing
wagon! But, in addition, we have to pass an almost end-
less stream of ravitaillement — f our goris, cdHssons, two-
wheel carts loaded with full-length young trees, a very
dangerous combination to pass, coming and going,
appear suddenly out of the darkness, and slide silently
by — great camions (auto-trucks) of some twelve tons
loom out of the nothingness ahead and thunder down
upon us — I have a fleeting vision of a little tin "flivver "
ground into a mass of junk and jelly in the mud, and only
a quick turn of the wheel averts a collision. Always there
is the shrill whistle or Merland's sharp "d droite" at the
critical moment — and always our luck is with us, for
we are near the head of the column when we halt outside
the town to wait till the Germans' evening bombardment
of Gironville is finished. We watch the shells bursting —
sharp flashes in the gloom; there is a pause of a couple
of minutes, and we move on again.
We reach Gironville and run down its narrow street,
hemmed in on the left by the whitewashed stucco backs
of the houses, on the right by the little extra-narrow-
gauge military railway — that elastic ribbon of ready-
made sections, like the children's toy, which follows hard
on the heels of the front-line army — horse-operated,
hand-operated, engine-operated indiscriminately, as oc-
casion serves — and which twists and winds up hill and
down dale, through field and wood, but by preference
using the road, where it is a constant menace to the little
ambulance, a-wayfaring on a dark night.
^' Arretez! Qui est la?'' — and the motor races a mo-
ment as we throw out the clutch at the sudden summons.
400
SECTION FOUR
''Ambulance Americaine, Thiaucourt,'" we reply, and
at the countersign the proffered bayonet is lowered, and
turning sharply to the right we slide down to the long,
level, really excellent road to Broussey. It seems clear
for the moment, and we open up, cautiously; the road
glimmers faintly before us, spectral figures appear sud-
denly ahead, and at the whistle melt into the darkness at
the roadside: the long, ghostly procession of bare trees,
just discernible against the sky, glides by — and again
we halt before the sentinel at Broussey.
A sharp turn to the left in the middle of the shot-torn
town — through the lattice screens placed across the
road to shield the passing on the main street from the
Boche observing stations in the trenches and on "/e vieux
Mont Sec'' which dominates the region — to the right
again, and we are on the winding road to Bouconville.
At Bouconville
Still more "shot up" is Bouconville, and as we run up
the long street we can dimly see the sky through shell-
holes in roof and gable, or catch a fleeting glimpse of
skeleton rafters, gaunt and blackened. We turn silently
up to the ruined church, and circling, stop the motor at
the poste de secours, underground in the corner of the
little churchyard. A few dim figures are visible — silent
save for occasional whispers.
" Vos blesses, sont-ils prets?'' — we whisper also.
" II y a un qui n'est pas encore arrive des tranchees.'*
"Et combien en tous ? — couches ou assis? "
" Trois, dont deux couches.''
We wait a few minutes, and presently our assis is
brought out, moving heavily and clumsily in his great
capote and broad, hobnailed shoes.
''Attention a votre tetef" — the roof is low — and he is
seated " bien en avant " — musettes and knapsack and rifle
packed in after him — "Rosalie — n'oubliez pas ma
Rosalie!" and the long, slender bayonet, with its heavy
cartridge belt, is given due place.
401
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
The supports for the third or upper stretcher are low-
ered and fastened, and one of the couches, not seriously
wounded, is lifted on his stretcher and slid into place.
The other is a grave blesse — both legs badly cut up by
an eclat — one will probably have to be amputated. Very
gently his stretcher is pushed into place, and very gently
we start on our return trip.
But soon there is a sharp tap on the little window be-
hind my head, and the assis calls out, as we open, that
there is trouble with the grave blesse. Sure enough there
is a tiny stream of blood dripping out from under the
tail-board, and Merland is galvanized into quick action.
Flashlight in hand — carefully shielded, however, lest
the Boches see us — he tightens the pansement, straining
on the bandage until the slow, full dripping ceases — and
once more we are en route, Merland now riding inside.
Again, after passing Broussey, we stop while the anxious
auxiliaire looks over his charge, still further tightening
the dressing; but strength is ebbing fast, and just outside
Jouy we halt for a third time, take out the assis and the
other couche, while Merland tries to give a hypodermic.
But the needle breaks, and loading up, we speed into the
town and draw up at the hospice just as the first shell of
the renewed bombardment screams in down the street.
Merland hurries in, attendants appear — we dismount
our patient to the ground, and the Medeciji Chef, who
comes out on the run, feels the flagging pulse, and quickly
gives the required injection.
"Allez! — allez vitel" — and we are ofif again. No
regard now to sparing pain — speed is the essential, and
the little motor hums busily to advanced spark and open
throttle. Just outside Jouy we round a corner and are
out of sight of Mont Sec, so stop a moment to light the
headlamps; and with their aid increased speed is attain-
able. At Aulnois the assis and the less seriously injured
couche are left; once more our "bad case" is given a
hypodermic, and again we are off.
The long run on to Void is uneventful — no further
402
SECTION FOUR
serious loss of blood, but a steady loss of strength. How-
ever, our patient still retains consciousness, and we start
on our homeward journey with the warming assurance
that he will pull through.
And as I put the car away, the last shell of the eve-
ning's bombardment snarls in and bursts a hundred yards
up the street.
The Carri^re de Flirey
The Carriere de Flirey! Always it appears to my inner
mind as I first saw, or rather sensed it, for it was well-
nigh pitch dark. It was my first tour on the Grosrouvres
service, and I had already had one call to battered, ex-
posed Seicheprey earlier in the evening, leaving my
blesses at Menil-la-Tour and returning about lo p.m. to
tumble into my sketchy bunk for what sleep might be
my fortune. But at two o'clock came the fateful steps
outside the door, and "Froggie," the telephonist, peered
in, ''Carriere! Cest vous qui parte?'' — for neither of
the other slumberers, having come in after me, had moved.
''Qui,'' and I tumbled out, and shortly, with a hrancardier
beside me, was spinning off toward Bern4court; spinning,
that is, as fast as the ferociously bad road and the still
thick traffic would allow. We rocked through the boulders
of Bernecourt, and bore away along a road new to me,
and for half a mile or so, pleasantly smooth. Then it got
suddenly and surprisingly rough — "Old shell-holes —
there is a battery right beside the road, and the Boches
try for it all the time," remarked my comrade. We passed
the repaired part and swung in through cloudy woods
that seemed at once to engulf us, the road, and what
little glimmer there had been, in one all-smothering
blackness.
More by touch and feel than by sight, we swung around
the corner and down the hill toward where a feeble point
of light serv^ed merely to dazzle and to render the sur-
rounding blackness still more impenetrable — and —
''Halte-ld,!'' — my guide being only less new to the place
403
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
than myself — brought up short almost against great
sandbag barriers, where an inquiring sentry held an
embarrassingly long bayonet just where it would most
interfere with my internal economy. We had overrun our
turning, so, backing carefully a hundred yards, we came
to a gently sloping branch leading down past the bother-
ing light to a road up the middle of a long trough of
blackness. Backing the car into a broad shed, I followed
my guide to a door a few yards away, which we entered,
to find, by the momentary flicker of a match, a rough,
board-lined room, with seven or eight bunks, and a small,
cold stove. One bunk was empty, and bidding my com-
rade good-night as he left for his own quarters, I turned
in, and in spite of entire absence of ventilation was soon
sleeping with the best of them to a lullaby of occasional
sharp rafales from one or two batteries of "75's" close at
hand.
The Carriere de Flirey shows by day a narrow ravine,
running east from the road to Flirey, and parallel to the
trenches: a gray road along the centre, between the slopes
on either side thickly covered with slim young growth —
a ribbon of the little, narrow-gauge hand-and-horse-
railway that the French use to such good advantage,
along its southern, wooded slope. And the northern slope,
all rich browns and reds; soft creams and yellows, from
the torn earth and rock, and honeycombed with a quad-
ruple row of shacks of all kinds, built back into the abris
or dugouts, in the solid hillside. And yet, such are the
exigencies of modern warfare, where the all-seeing eye
of the aeroplane is ever overhead, the necessity for con-
cealment, for protective coloring, has made what would
else be raw and tawdry a thing of real charm and interest.
Branches of evergreen hide fresh stonework; rough, gen-
erous blotches of brown, green, and black paint trans-
form staring wood surfaces to the quiet tones of field
and wood; and corrugated iron roofing is hidden under
great crossed beams, which are in turn covered with
generous layers of earth and rock. So that, save for the
404
SECTION FOUR
darkness of opened doors and windows, there is little
revealed to the scouting aeroplane of the busy life within
— the electric power station, the telephone exchange,
the operating-room, offices, supply chambers, what-
not.
Across the end of the Carriere, the road leads through
the barriers, around the shoulder of the hill, down through
desolate Flirey, and out through the German lines.
Across the road are trenches, boyaux, and yet more
trenches, in the straggling ranks of modern military
science — out and out to No Man's Land. And back of
the trenches, woods, and yet more woods; and here,
there, and everywhere, in all sorts of likely and unlikely
places, the big and little guns of France — never tiring,
never sleeping.
The Carriere de Flirey — a busy and a mauvais endroit.
Overhead tore the French shells, with the sound of rip-
ping cotton ; or the German shells sailed over, bound for
villages far back, with a sort of protesting whimper —
or swished in on us with a sudden, indescribably vicious
snarl. From around us came the booming roar of the big
guns, or the peculiarly sharp bark of the " 75's " ; and from
those located behind us there was an unusual echo effect
that I have heard nowhere else — "Oom pow I 00m —
pow ! 00m — pow !'' — would come the ear-splitting salvo,
and the little shells, in which the poilu rightly places so
much trust, would tear away overhead.
A mauvais endroit — here men were killed and wounded
almost at our sides — Adamson saw two killed within
five or six yards of him. Here the road winding down to
the valley was under direct observation from the German
drachen or observation balloon over behind Flirey — how
we did hate that balloon ! — and the enemy artillery had
accurately registered it, so that, day or night, those
traversing it had to take their medicine as it came.
And the Flirey front was bad, too — never a rest for
the troops, for they were always under fire; and ever the
freshly wounded were brought back to the little dressing-
405
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
station, whence we hurried them back to final treatment;
and ever the little wattled morgue received new inmates,
and silently, day by day, the long cemetery across the
road grew and spread along the curving valley.
The Carriere service being the most important, the
entire activities of the Grosrouvres Squad revolved about
it; one car was kept in the shed "garage" in the little
valley, the co?iducteur living with the brancardiers, and
eating, now in the little iron-roofed "kitchen" dug back
into the hillside above, or again with some of the friendly
officers, or with M. Harel, the genial aumonier of the
Division, black-bearded and efificient. Cases of minor
importance, sickness or slight wounds, were kept till
there were enough to make a load — but graves blesses or
seriously sick men were sent in to Toul at once. The
departure of the ambulance at any time, day or night, was
signal for a telephone message to Grosrouvres for another
car, which usually arrived a few minutes after the first
had left, so that the poste was always covered. Indeed,
the sending in of blesses from the trenches was always
telephoned from the trench station to the Carriere, so
that the operating-room might be in readiness, and on
such occasions the relief car was usually telephoned for
at once, and arrived often before the first ambulance
had started away.
At Seicheprey in 191 6
The cars not on duty at the Carriere — two or three,
depending on whether or not Flirey was busy requiring
a car en remplacement — the remaining cars of the Squad
took care of calls from the other pastes along the front,
and of the towns lying farther back. Seicheprey, down
in the valley, badly ruined, and fully exposed to gun- and
rifle-fire — as was also the white road pitching down into
it — we visited only at night. Even then there were
occasions when some of our drivers had their thrilling
moments, as when Dayton's heavily loaded wheels re-
fused to grip the mud, leaving his car for long minutes
406
SECTION FOUR
clearly outlined in the blaze of one of the rare moonlit
nights, apparently immovable and well in range of the
ever-nearing rifle bullets; a providential cloud, a blanket
under the wheel, and no damage done.
Daylight runs to the poste de secours of the Bois de
Jury had, as was pointed out in a special commendation
from the Division, never been undertaken prior to the
advent of the Section. The road led from Beaumont
along a crest fully exposed to observation from Mont
Sec — le vieux Mont Sec, as the poilus termed it, much as
we would say "the old Nick " — it being held and gunned
by the Germans. And as the road and its vicinity were not
infrequently thoroughly shelled by the Boches in their
search for French batteries, and as one felt that to a
part, at least, of the enemy forces the Red Cross meant
nothing, the daylight traverse was not without its thrill.
Making "The Route"
Beaumont and Mandres, Hamonville and Ansauville,
Bernecourt and Noviant, all had to be visited ; sickness,
accidents, wounds — the towns were full of soldiers in
reserve, and all had to be cared for. And even well back
of the lines there was often "excitement" for us. I well
remember the creepy-crawly feeling up and down my
spine as a shell snored and snarled along, following my
car in a direct line as I entered Ansauville, and the feeling
of relief as it passed close overhead, after all, to burst on
the far side of a row of houses just ahead. And there is
also Allen's vivid description of his passage through
Hamonville with a load of assis, to the alternate tune of
obus snarling in and earnest beseeching from his pas-
sengers to " ^ llez I — allez I — allez ! — "
And at Grosrouvres itself, well-placed shells threw mud
and stones over our already well-muddied cars; on an-
other occasion dropped a still hot fuse-head at Rantoul's
feet, and again was deposited, through the kitchen ceiling,
a fresh, hot piece of eclat in our salad. But the kitchen
was empty at the time, for on the occasions when these
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barracks towns were honored by bombardments, the open
fields took on a decidedly populous appearance.
That salad was not our only culinary experiment —
for there was the almost equally famous occasion when
the rat, trying to navigate the chimney above, missed his
hold and fell, like Milton's Satan — but minus his flames
— down the great fireplace, and square into our coffee.
Shelled salad was one thing, but cafe au rat — alas ! we
went coffeeless to bed. Rats! They were a pest in more
ways than one — they increased and multiplied without
stint; they ran riot through our Grosrouvres quarters;
they ran up and down the wall, shrieking anathema at
one another; they fell on us in bed, and tried to hide
crusts beneath our pillows. At the Carriere they pervaded
every corner, and like the ghosts in "Julius Caesar" "did
squeak and gibber" round the shacks. We looked in vain
for a Pied Piper ; frankly, I see no hope for the war zone
short of so serious a food shortage that M. Rat will find
a place on the menu.
The Grim Reality
These were the lighter sides of the service; but ever
there was the grim reality of the devil's work going on
ahead. At first the wounds were mostly from shell and
occasionally from shrapnel; then gradually the percent-
age of grenade wounds rose; and toward the end of our
stay, ugly things from trench torpedoes were much in
evidence. The poor, torn fellows were brought in at all
times of the day and night; but naturally the night runs
were hardest. The first fifteen kilometres had to be cov-
ered without lights of any kind, and this over the worst
possible of war-torn roads. It seemed inconceivable that
mere traffic could so completely wreck a really good
French road; great ruts, holes, deep gullies across the
highway, made the poor car pitch and toss and roll
drunkenly like a logy tramp steamer in a cross-chop sea.
Try as we might from Bernecourt to Menil-la-Tour, it
was impossible to prevent racking the poor blesses, even
408
MISFORTUNES OF WAR!
AMERICAN AMBULANCES IN A RUINED VILLAGE NEAR
VERDUN (SECTION FOUR AT IPPE'cOURT>
SECTION FOUR
in broad day; at night it was infinitely worse, and we
suffered, I believe, almost as much as the wounded men
themselves. A long, hard ride for a badly hurt man, a
bitterly cold ride, for all the blankets rolled around him,
for a man suffering from the dead chill that follows much
loss of blood — some thirty kilometres to the big hospital
— an hour's to three hours' running depending on the
gravity of the case and the amount of light available.
But it was always a comfort to reflect that the evils were
at any rate much less than earlier in the war, and that
the tortures and delays of the old-style horse-drawn
ambulances were, for such service, things of the
past.
Compared to the awful run in from the Carriere, all
our other service at Toul was sheer delight — the roads
good, for war-time roads, and the percentage of graves
blesses low; but no chronicle of our sojourn during this
time would be complete without mention of the weather
and mud of France at war. Out of our entire four months'
stay in the Toul sector, I doubt if there were ten pleasant
days. Mostly it blew — violently ; almost always it rained.
The yard was a great bowl of mud, with one or two great
water-filled depressions in which the camion drivers
washed their cars; the streets were seas of grayish, gritty
liquid that covered car and driver from top to bottom,
and, lashing out in horizontal sheets, drenched the un-
happy poilu who did not make for the open field when he
saw a fast staff car coming. As for the ploughed fields,
they were well-nigh impassable; the whole of France
showed a marked inclination to rise with each uplifted
foot, and Mother Earth firmly and instantly resented —
in great slabs — any attempt to stroll across lots.
Verdun at Last
Ippecourt lies some twenty miles back of the front-line
trenches of Verdun, but ever and anon, in the lulls of the
storm, came to our ears the interminable rumbling and
grumbling, the steady, pattering roar as of a distant cas-
409
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
cade of great boulders — but sinister and horrible in its
relentless busy-ness.
Late on the night of the 15th, came a call for the en-
tire Section; there had been an attack by the French
— a successful attack — on the Mort Homme, and we
were to evacuate the blesses as fast as they could be
rushed through the receiving hospitals.
This marked our entrance into the Battle of Verdun, for
the work was now too heavy for the French Sections in
the sector to handle alone, and the next night, that of the
1 6th, we were called on for front-line work once more.
Hansen, McCall, Allen, and I took the first run, and fol-
lowing Lieutenant de Turckheim, reached Fromereville
at dusk, and looked over our new advanced base. The
cars stood in the main street until sent for, and before
starting, and on arriving once more, we were to report
at the telephone station of the G.B.D. {Groupe Brancar-
dier Divisionnaire) in the abri that had been made in the
back of a little debita?U store. " Bourgeois" was the name
over the door, and " Bourgeois" grew to look almost like
home and mother after many a trying trip.
Our road, shimmering in the moonlight, ran up through
the French gun positions — hundreds of them ; every-
where, the fields were dotted with the little aiming-point
lights — and through the German artillery fire, some six
miles in all. The first three, to Bethelainville were easy
going, the road good, and little traffic. At Bethelainville
the fun began — bad shell-holes, water-filled, made the
going difficult, and there was a sharp turn through a
black, narrow alley, down which, without warning, the
ravUailleme7it trains charged at a swinging clip. It was a
bad corner, on which the Boches had "ranged" very
successfully, and one could never tell when a shell would
snarl in; so that the drivers were not to be blamed for
"hitting it up" a bit.
And now began the worst of the going. The farther we
came, the thicker were the guns around us, bellowing,
booming, barking, and cracking on all sides — in the val-
410
SECTION FOUR
leys below, in the fields alongside, from the hillsides above
us; and the thicker became the arrosage of German shells.
Where not torn by shell-fire, the road was simply worn
to unbelievable roughness; often hub-deep in mud, the
bottom was pitted and rutted as if by a violent earth-
quake, and, try as we would, the cars would pitch and
toss, rolling drunkenly like a dory in a tide-rip. . . .
On, up the winding road, narrower now than ever, and
crammed with supply trains — a chance shell here would
make rare havoc; but it's all in the game, and the sup-
plies must be got up, regardless of the cost. Now the
going is better for a space, as we run around the crest of
a long hill ; and here the guns are below us, indicated only
by the keen stabs of flame from the " 75's" or the dazzling
bursts from the big fellows. Again the road swings, pitch-
ing down, this time, and the scarred surface and torn
banks show that the stretch, clearly visible from the
enemy's drachens, is thoroughly " registered," and fre-
quently swept by their fire.
Down we swing toward a ruined town, gleaming wanly
in the moonlight, from which comes ever and anon the
snarl and flat, dull crash of an arriving big shell — Mont-
zeville; but halfway down the slope, we swing sharply
to the right, and strike over a little rise and down into a
very wilderness of great holes; for here, almost against
the roads, is a battery of great French guns, and on these
and the road is rained an intermittent shower of big
German shells.
Up goes the road again, and down through another
labyrinth of holes, here again the Boches had accurate
registration; and up again, gradually, till we came out on
the top of the world, with the torn battle-field of Hill 304
and the Mort Homme glimmering ghostlike to the north
of us.
Hill 272
In the bank beside us a hoyau leads to the entrance to
the poste de secours of Hill 272 — down several steps cut
411
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
in the clay, through a couple of blanket curtains, into an
abri whose arched roof of corrugated steel supports many
feet of dirt and stone. Here are rude bunks, straw-filled,
on the floor on either side of a narrow passageway; the
white glare of the single acetylene flame throws into high
relief and black shadow the drawn, resigned faces of the
blesses, who, mud-covered, bandaged and blood-stained,
fill the all-too-small shelter to overflowing. At the far end
a curtain shuts off a portion reserved for the medecin
auxiliaire in charge of the poste, his records and supplies.
Outside once more, we find the road on either side lined
with blesses, sitting, standing, or helpless on stretchers,
fully and unavoidably exposed to chance shell-fire ; there
is no room below, and expeditious transport is the only
answer. As quickly as may be we load up — three couches
inside, two assis in front with me — and begin the long,
hard run back. Easing into shell-holes, crawling out care-
fully, the going is not so bad for a while; but gradually
the light becomes deceptive, the holes are no longer
evident, and racking and rolling through the worst places,
we finally reach and pass the torn streets of Bethelainville
and roll smoothly on to Fromereville.
Such was the Hill 272 run — simple enough in the tell-
ing, but infinitely nerve-racking in actuality, especially
on a pitch-dark, rainy night; for every jolt and jar meant
to the driver, mindful of his charge, only less torture than
to the blesse himself, and the moans and agonized "/d-
Zd'5" of the poor fellows behind went through one like a
knife.
To this night duty was added that of a twenty-four
hour picket — one car always on call at Fromereville for
special w^ork — emergency day calls, etc. We were not
supposed to visit Hill 272 by day, but I can clearly recall
my first tour as picket and the message received about
7 A.M.: ''Grave blesse d la Cote Detix-cent-soixante-
douze^ A lift on the crank and we were off, skimming
smoothly through a fresh, clear morning, the sunshine
gleaming from daisy-starred, poppy- jewelled fields, flam-
412
SECTION FOUR
ing on the red, scarred tracks leading In a vast network
to the countless guns, and losing itself in the cool shade
of the little grove beyond Bethelainville. On past Vigne-
ville; and now, well up in the crystal-clear air, across the
lines, shone the opalescent drachens of the German artil-
lery — were the observ^ation officers Prussians, or more
kindly disposed beings? The little ambulance, crawling
now among the shell-holes, would make a splendid target,
and in modern warfare as practised by the Boche, the
Red Cross was no guarantee of security. On around Cal-
vary corner, and up across the roof of all the world, a
wonderful "sporting chance" for their guns — but not
taken. Stopping at the poste, the brancardiers brought out
an officer, blackened of face, unconscious, breath com-
ing in heaves through froth-rimmed mouth; he could
not breathe, flat on the stretcher, and we packed blank-
ets gently under head and shoulders; several assis were
brought out, and the hrmicardiers hastened back to shel-
ter — in ten days they had lost thirteen out of thirty,
and they were properly cautious.
Section Four at Verdun
July 21, 1916
Some four or five miles back of the lines, we stop for
orders — several cars lined up along the street. Fromere-
ville is bombarded rather frequently by a long-range, flat-
trajectory, five-inch gun, and the Germans occasionally
do pretty good shooting. It was taken rather as a matter
of course, at first — not too much attention to be paid
to it; but one night about two o'clock — I was there
on twenty-four-hour duty — there came the familiar
"boom" followed by the rather regretful snarl of this
particular gun's missives, and the usual dull, flat explo-
sion down the street, with the accompanying rattle and
clash and clatter of broken tiles, like the proverbial bull
in the china shop, showing that they had struck a house.
Men began to drift into the abri pretty quickly, dressing
as they came, and at casual and leisurely intervals the
413
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
big gun boomed again, and the shots whirled in, marching
steadily down the street toward and past us; sometimes
a man entering rather shamefacedly — as if he only came
because it was the proper thing to do, and not because he
wanted to — would hear the bang outside and be almost
lifted by his own reflex action into the room, galvanized
into life, and changing expression rather ludicrously.^ It
was all rather gay, and there was a good deal of jollying
and laughing, and a little buzz of good-natured comment
at each fresh bang from outside, till after twelve or fifteen
shots — some ten minutes, perhaps, in all — there came
no more, and we streamed out into the street for a breath
of fresh air, and then, for the soldiers, bed again.
But at the door we met a group of men, rather hushed
in their talk, carrying in two or three wounded men.
"La matson au coin, Id-basf' I heard. "// est mort?"
'Vh, out — "So I went down to the corner. Except for a
few broken panes it did n't look very different, this house,
so I went in and peered over the shoulders of the quiet
little group that had preceded me. There was nothing to
be done — it was quite complete. The shell had entered
the back of the house, passed through the room without
exploding, entered the big chimney in the middle of the
house, passed through it, and exploded in the great stone
mantel. The front room looked singularly flat, no colors
and peculiarly little light and shade effect in the feeble
glimmer of the one candle — all was one dull, mat gray,
walls, ceiling, furniture, hangings, thickly covered with a
coating of fine plaster and stone dust. Down from the
great gaping hole in the chimney breast streamed a long
pile of debris, gleaming pale in the flickering light, and at
the end of the pile on the floor at our feet, gray and al-
most indistinguishable, huddled on his breast, one hand,
palm upturned, flung across his back, lay what was left
of one who had started too late. Head completely gone
— I don't think they ever found any of it — a little dark
stain on the floor; and across the room a big grandfather's
clock — I looked at it to see at what time the explosion
414
SECTION FOUR
had stopped it — was still ticking away unconcernedly.
It was one of the last shells that did it, and had he moved
sooner — but none ever had struck there and it probably
seemed foolish to bother. . . .
A PosTE — Shells — and Repos !
July, 19 1 6
The road here is sunk perhaps three or four feet, and
on one side is a wide ditch bridged at inter\'als, with
little caves dug into the bank back of the covered places
— a ditch which, in time of heavy rains, beds a rushing
torrent which fills the little burrows three or four feet
deep; and these are "homes" of aumoniers, brancardiers,
etc. On the other side of the road a boyau, or trench, leads
into the bank, and off it, on one branch is the cook's
abri; and on the other, down a flight of steps dug in the
hard clay, through two blanket curtains — light must
not be allowed to filter out — we find the main abri of
the paste de secoiirs. Some thirty feet by ten wide, a great
shell of corrugated iron, covered several feet deep with
earth; one third partitioned off for the officers and the
bureau, the rest simply a long narrow passage down the
middle, separated by board strips from the four-foot-
wide piles of straw on either side which serve as beds for
waiting brancardiers, malades, or blesses. A single acety-
lene lamp usually lights both sides of the partition ; smoke
— there is n't much else to do — a little chat, sometimes
an argument, and always the little flurry of interest and
excitement when we bring the contribution of papers
f-om Bartlett and Crane — ''Les Russes marchejit tou-
jcurs bien ? " — "Et les Anglais ? ce n'est pas vite, en effet,
mais c'est bien sitr," ''A la Somme nos prisonniers sont
maintenant 8000 / " — ''Oh! nous les aurons I " And they
are much interested In our politics — Germany at the
bottom of the Mexican trouble — was Roosevelt going
to run — would Wilson be reelected — and what sort of
a man was " Monsieur Ooges? " The French are marvel-
lously patient with our wandering diplomacy, unexpect-
415
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
edly cognizant of our difficulties; and their journals
are, if anything, over-fair. But they all seem to ask,
"When will the true United States speak?" It isn't
action that they want (though there are many who feel
that we should be supplying free ammunition and things
as a government taking part in a job of world-policing,
rather than selling as individuals). But they still hope to
see our country live up to its ideals and leave its impos-
sible policy of aloofness — the " none-of-my-business-so-
long-as-it-does n't-touch-my-pocket " attitude.
Away there to the north, just not visible over the
crest, three kilometres away, are the trenches. They
were pushed over the first week we were here, leaving
behind — we can see it all clearly when we have to make
a daylight trip — a great slope of raw, scarred, and fur-
rowed clay, pitted with great craters, with zigzag hoyaux
running up, and long, wavy lines of trenches length-
wise — no sign of life — apparently an absolutely bar-
ren waste — till something starts.
But at night here is none of this visible — sheer black-
ness on dark nights, or, when it is clear, the long, dim
outline of the hills, dark against the dull sky above, with
ever a light cloud of mist or smoke hanging low over the
trenches. Up from the lines, now here, now there, rise
the quick, soaring arrow-sprays of the rocket-lights —
the fusees eclairantes — a golden pencil-stroke of star-
dust, breaking, high over the trenches, into a single,
great, dazzling ball of white fire ; the rocket head shoots
on up with its train of fire and, still mounting, disappears
in the darkness. The flare, flickering slightly, more power-
ful and more brilliant than any arc light, sinks, now
drifting or falling rapidly, now almost stationary, the-
vast shadow of its supporting parachute wheeling above
it on the low-hung clouds; beneath, for miles around, the
light of a decent-sized moonlit night. When going away
from the lines this light is really of great assistance to us.
These are the French lights, lasting for ten or twelve
minutes. The German flares ignite at once, as they ascend,
416
SECTION FOUR OX SEUVICh: IX VKUDUX
EVACUATION HOSPITAL AT GLORIEUX AT THE iMOMENT OE AN ATTACK
ON THE VERDUN FRONT, 1917
SECTION FOUR
descend quickly, and do not last long. Green-starred
rockets, red-starred rockets, rockets that release long
strings of white stars, or red or green stars, falling in long
serpentine trains, or great showers of stars, veritable
constellations, each presumably giving its message as to
range, attacks, etc., to the distant artillery, in a code
presumably changed constantly — the whole front from
Switzerland to the sea is one long Jeu d' artifice, nightly
repeated.
September, 19 16
Around us the guns are constantly at it — sometimes
all at once in an attack, more often turn and turn
about — now here, now there, the short, sharp bark
of the "75," with the wicked, tearing swish and snarl of
the shell hurtling off overhead, soon lost to hearing; the
lively boom and deeper note of the medium-sized weap-
ons; the deep crash of the big chaps followed by the roar
as of a heavy express train entering a railway cut as the
shell tears off into the far, high places above; every now
and then some big gun, more distant, emits a sort of
mellow, musical note, and the projectile eases off on its
errand, calmly and quietly, with an accent of confidence.
This is singularly emphasized in the case of the big shells
passing overhead from so far behind that the boom of the
gun is lost — we merely hear an unhurried, dispassionate
whisper overhead, " I 'm not saying much, I 'm not worry-
ing, I 'm not hurrying, but I 'm on my way — just wait
and — " He passes on with all the airs of manifest destiny,
and all is quiet till away in front rises a great ragged
sheet of smoke and flame, and a few seconds later the
heavy, sullen " G-r-r-r-ooMP ! " that shows that part of
its self-confidence, at any rate, was well-founded. More
often, though, the shelling does not appear to be on the
lines, but on the roads and villages behind, through which
the supply trains and troop reliefs must pass.
417
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
October, igi6
And so our life is very pleasant, when the weather per-
mits — which it mostly does n't; we run at night, but not
every night, sleep until lunch-time, and then work on the
cars or sit out on our pleasant little slope lazily watching
the clouds drifting across, the aeroplanes and birds
wheeling overhead, listening to the wind constantly
whispering and rustling in the poplars along the busy
little brook, the bright little chirrups and trills and liquid
notes of the birds, the gay and voluble chat of the little
groups of soldiers. . . .
Richard C. Ware^
^ Of Milton, Mass.; Harvard,'04 ; served ten months in Section Four in
1916, and as Sous-Chef of the Section; subsequently a Captain in the
U. S, Field Artillery.
Ill
Near Mort Homme and Hill 304
The Section was cantoned, in July, 191 6, under canvas
among the ruins of Ippecourt, destroyed in the Battle of
the Marne, and about twenty-five kilometres from Ver-
dun. The unit was commanded by the French Sous-
Lieutenant, Frederic de Turckheim, with Oliver H. Perry
as Chef, and Paul Delanoy as Marechal des Logis. We did
front poste work only, for the 64th and 65th Divisions
which were resisting the Boche counter-attacks after the
big Verdun battle of a few months before. The runs were
almost entirely at night from Ippecourt to the main
poste at Fromereville, a town badly damaged by shell-fire
and situated between Verdun and the lines of the famous
Mort Homme and Hill 304. Several roads lead to Fromere-
ville from Ippecourt, Osches, Lemmes, Souilly, Jubecourt,
Rampont, Souhesme, and Dombasle. The last-named
route was badly shelled and frequently dangerous. Fro-
mereville was often under fire.
The runs to front postes were from Fromereville to
Hill 272 just back of the Mort Homme, passing through
what was left of Bethelainville and Vigneville. There was
another run from Fromereville to Marre, a poste four
hundred metres from the Boche lines and fourteen kilo-
metres from Fromereville. This route skirted Verdun and
ran along the left bank of the Meuse past Chamy. Marre,
completely in ruins, is close to Chattancourt, from which
the blesses were brought in.
A third run was a short one to the ruins of Germon-
ville, a town on the edge of the Bois Bourrus, where were
a lot of French batteries. Hill 272 was quite spectacular,
as it looked over the trenches on the Mort Homme, and
to go thither you passed a comer we called Calvary, on
account of a grave there with a huge cross.
419
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
All these roads were badly rutted with shell-holes which
made the driving difficult. At one time the holes were so
numerous and deep that, for thirty hours, four men who
had gone to one of the pastes could not get back with their
ambulances, but were forced to bring the wounded back
as far as they could, unload them and carry them, by
hand, through the bad place on the road, and then put
them into other ambulances which had been sent for the
purpose. The French batteries, lined along the road, added
to our troubles by their noise, while star-shells, bursting
eclats, and shrapnel in the sky were like fireworks. These
helped a little, as they lighted us on our way.
The Death of Kelley
At ten o'clock in the evening of September 23, Roswell
Sanders, in company with Edward Kelley, was driving
his ambulance through Marre on his way to the poste.
When about two hundred yards from the poste, a shell
exploded in front of the car, killing Kelley instantly and
badly wounding Sanders in the head. The driver of an-
other ambulance, Robert Gooch, who was in a neighbor-
ing ahri, came out, went down the road alone under
machine-gun-fire, and brought in Kelley's body. Kelley
was buried two days later at a near-by town, Blercourt,
while Sanders, after hovering between life and death for
two weeks at the nearest field hospital, finally recovered.
Kelley received the Croix de Guerre and Sanders the
Medaille Militaire and the Croix de Guerre.
In the little stone chapel of the village a funeral service
was held, brief, simple, and sincere, yet amazingly im-
pressive because of that simplicity. The small procession,
sturdy of faith and loyalty, wound slowly up onto the
hillside at the town's edge, where crouched brown earth
heaps beside new graves. There was a choir of grizzled
brancardiers, in their stained, faded tenue once horizon-
blue, whose hearts were in their voices. The aumdnier,
clad in uniform of war, read the service for the dead,
fondly and movingly. Then Lieutenant de Turckheim
420
SECTION FOUR
put into words the adieu and feelings of the Section.
Those deeper feelings which are well-nigh impossible for
an American to voice. The Medecm Inspecteur, M. Gou-
zin, spoke in appreciation at the new-turned grave:
C'est dans une douloureuse etreinte que nous sommes reunis
autour de ce cercueil, pour rendre les derniers devoirs au con-
ducteur volontaire americain Kelley, Edward, mort pour la
France.
Voulant apporter k !a cause sacree I'ardeur de sa jeunesse,
il vient, d'un geste genereux, de cueillir dans la mort son pre-
mier laurier.
C'etait, en effet, son voyage de debut dans le secteur, et le
conducteur Sanders, Roswell — un veteran de ces missions
perilleuses — qui lui servait de guide, s'est lui-meme, sans
partager le sort fatal de son camarade, inscrit a ses cotes au
livre d'or des braves de la Grande Guerre.
Nous les voyons chaque jour k I'oeuvre ces vaillantes sec-
tions sanitaires, et, dans des circonstances toutes recentes, nous
avons pu admirer avec quel sang-froid, quelle intrepidite,
quelle habilete, quelle sollicitude touchante pour nos chers
blesses, elles s'acquittaient de leur rude et noble tache, en depit
des difficultes sans nombre.
Ah! que ces jeunes gens au coeur franc, au visage ouvert, ex-
priment bien le caractere loyal et chevaleresque de leur race, ce
temperament qui, sous des dehors froids et reserves, abrite les
aspirations et les ardeurs les plus g^nereuses! Leurs chefs qui,
avec la meme simplicite, la meme modestie, apportent k leur
mission tant de competence et tant de courage, sont justement
fiers de commander k de tels hommes, dont ils partagent les
fatigues et les dangers.
Et quelle discipline ideale que celle qui, sans autre rein, unit
si familialement toute cette jeunesse d'elite dans un meme
sentiment de haute pitie, d'abnegation, de sacrifice librement,
volontairement consenti! Car vous souffriez de rester inactifs,
temoins impassibles du grand conflit mondial, et vous n'avez
pas hesite a franchir les mers pour venir spontanement offrir a
vos freres d'Europe, meurtris dans la lutte et pantelants, votre
aide secourable et desinteressee, aux c6tes de vos braves cama-
rades des sections sanitaires frangaises,
Dignes fils de la grande Republique soeur, dignes emules de
vos compatriotes, les Chapman, les Rockwell, qui, eux aussi,
en d'autres lieux, sont tomb^s glorieusement au service de
notre chere Patrie, vous avez droit a notre reconnaissance in-
finie, imperissable : nul ici ne vous la manage, vous etes nos
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THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
amis et cette affection profonde que tous nous vous portons
survivra k I'heure presente.
Devant cette tombe qui va se refermer sur les restes mortels
d'un jeune heros, nous nous inclinons avec respect. Votre fa-
mille, Edward Kelley, en apprenant la fatale nouvelle, saura du
moins que, mort en soldat, decore de la Croix de Guerre par le
General commandant le Corps d'Armee, vous avez regu sur le
sol de France, les supremes honneurs qui vous etaient dus,
parmi la foule emue et recueillie de vos compagnons de mission,
de vos camarades frangais. Puisse ce pieux temoignage de notre
douloureuse sympathie adoucir I'inconsolable chagrin de ces
itres aimes!
Adieu, Kelley, reposez en paix dans cette terre sanctifi6e par
votre sang: votre mort est un symbole et un exemple, votre
souvenir ne perira pas !
Then each of us tossed some earth onto the coffin in its
resting-place and turned away, eyes dry, throats queerly
tight — turned away, back to the scurrying tasks of the
day's service.
The Fall of 1916
During the latter part of September, Section Two was
attached to the 65th Division, leaving us the work of the
64th only. We gave up the "Hill" run, which was a poste
for the 65th, kept Marre and took on the evacuation back
from Fromereville to the hospitals at Blercourt and Vade-
laincourt. We also maintained a twenty-four hour piquet
at Glorieux on the outskirts of Verdun, whence we ran on
call to various forts or pastes, the former being Forts de
Charny, Vacherauville, and Sartelles. From the top of
the hill back of the large hospital at Glorieux, where we
were e7i piquet, one had a splendid view of Verdun, Bras,
Vaux, Douaumont, and the whole valley of the Meuse.
During the time we serv^ed on these runs we saw the
French troops take Fleury, Douaumont, Vaux, and the
Fort de Vaux, and later the famous Cote du Poivre. The
weather was almost always bad — rainy and foggy —
while deep mud was everywhere ; from about September
20 on, we began to carry many cases of trench feet and
marvelled how the men could live, to say nothing of fight,
422
SECTION FOUR
under such conditions; while in addition countless rats
were most annoying both to them and us, these pests
often running over our bodies and faces when we slept
in the abris.
About November, we were given a fortnight's repos,
during which time the only work we did was to keep three
cars stationed with the Division at its headquarters back
of Vaubecourt, whence we carried the malades of the Divi-
sion to various hospitals at Triaucourt, Conde, Rember-
court, ErIze-la-Grande, Erize-la- Petite, and Bar-le-Duc.
The rest of the Section remained at Ippecourt, painting
and working over ambulances, and then moved just out-
side Ippecourt to a new cantonment, a long line of small
cabins, three of us lodging in each cabin, the park for our
cars being the paved space in front. This "home" had
been made by Boche prisoners about a year before.
DOMBASLE — ESNES — ViLLE-SUR-CoUSANCES
After repos our Division moved up into the trenches of
Hill 304 and into the Foret d'Esnes, which meant new
pastes for us. The new Ambulance Headquarters were at
Jubecourt with the triage at Ville-sur-Cousances. We had
one poste at Dombasle, another nearer the lines in the
Bols de Bethelainville, another at Montzevllle and the
nearest at Esnes. From Ville-sur-Cousances we evacuated
back to Froidos and to the hospital at Fleury-sur-Aire.
In this sector two ambulances were sent every other
night for evacuation work at Ville-sur-Cousances, alter-
nating with a French section, while one car was kept at
twenty-four hour piquet work at Jouy at the bureau of
the Medecin Divisionnaire and two other cars at Jubecourt
for the runs to Montzevllle and Esnes. The Jouy ambu-
lance also ran to Montzevllle and Esnes on call, with
extra ambulances always posted at the cantonment at
Ippecourt In case of an emergency. The run from Jube-
court to Esnes was twenty kilometres, passing through
Brocourt, Dombasle, and then up over a long hill through
the Bois de Bethelainville and down to Montzevllle on
423
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
the other side. From the top of this hill one had a remark-
able view of the Mort Homme and Hill 304, with shells
bursting on the slopes. Montzeville by the way, was a
complete wreck of what had once been a smiling village,
most of the streets being so littered with debris as to be
impassable. We managed, however, to keep one street
clear, although, in spite of our efforts, it was usually full
of shell-holes. Our poste de secours here was in an abri in
the cellar of a wrecked house with ruins everywhere. On
the way to Montzeville was a poste de secours, an abri
into the side of a hill, in the Bois de Bethelainville, which
was used mostly for sick and for men slightly wounded or
suffering from trench feet. It was a good specimen of one
of these side-hill dugouts.
The most interesting part of the run was from Montze-
ville to Esnes, as the road wound back of the famous Hill
304, so that on active nights we had a good view of the
star-shells and the general fireworks. This road, I may
add, was most desolate in appearance — along each side
being only the stumps of trees, broken-down wagons,
smashed automobiles, old wire entanglements and debris
thrown over the ditches; and furthermore, it was rather a
river of soupy mud than a highway. There was one spot
in it which was particularly bad, full of shell-holes, with a
spring underneath. Here we frequently had to build
across it a sort of temporary bridge of logs and small
wood, in order to get through with our ambulances; some-
times even we had to take out the blesses and replace them
after our cars had passed the worst stretch.
Esnes itself was absolutely in ruins, with debris littered
about everywhere. The remains of the church were espe-
cially impressive on moonlight nights, and from it led a
sort of broken road to the ruins of what had once been a
chateau, in whose cellar was the poste de secours. We
called this little road "Hogan's Alley," and on black
nights it was far from easy to find one's way in. Back of
the chateau, was a battery of " 90's," and often the Boche
guns in trying to get it would send shells into "Hogan's
424
SECTION FOUR
Alley" and into the courtyard of the chateau in front of
the poste. Fortunately none of our drivers or their
wounded were ever hit there, although several had some
narrow escapes, while some of our cars were not so for-
tunate. The same good luck was with us on the road from
Montzeville and going through the streets of Esnes.
An Attack
At about 4 p.m., on December 7, the Boches made a very
vicious attack on our 340th Regiment, which was in the
trenches between the Mort Homme and Hill 304, and
drove a salient into our line, thus being able to shoot en
enfilade down our trenches. Our first car up, leaving Jube-
court at 3.30 heard the tir de barrage from the top of
Bethelainville Hill, and in spite of the dusk and fog could
see the innumerable gas-flashes. On reaching Montzeville
we found everything was fairly lively and the blesses al-
ready being brought to the poste. At this point the tele-
phone communications were cut, and as the orders were
to take the farthest and most important poste first, the
driver would leave word for the second car to take back
to the triage all blesses from Montzeville.
This bringing in the wounded was slow work on ac-
count of the awful mud which was nearly up to the knees
of the brancardiers, so that, naturally, progress was diffi-
cult for them. For example, it took four brancardiers an
average of four hours to make the trip of eight hundred
yards to the trenches and back with one blesse couche. In
the end, twelve additional ambulances were telephoned
for and arrived in about an hour. They worked all night,
some all the following day, and part of them during the
next night — such a labor was it to get the wounded to
safety. The roads were full of troops, wagons, and guns,
which did not help matters. The poste in Esnes was much
congested with the ambulances coming, going, and wait-
ing outside for the wounded and with the brancardiers
bringing them in in a steady stream. Montzeville was the
same. We also made trips to the poste at Hill 232. In fact
425
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
the attacks and counter-attacks kept us very busy for
two weeks, our Division regaining all the lost trenches
except one salient.
A few days before Christmas we took over an additional
poste de secoiirs to the left of Esnes, known then as the
Cottpeur d' Esnes and later as poste B. 2. This was on the
edge of the Foret de Hesse, between Esnes and Avocourt,
and about a kilometre behind the French trenches. The
French ambulances had never been up to that poste, their
weight making it impossible for them to run on the bad
road. But our light Fords were able to bring the service
two and three kilometres nearer the lines, saving much
time and labor for brancardiers, who before this brought
back the blesses either by hand or with two-wheeled carts.
Snow at the Front — Repos
After December 15, we began to get lots of snow, sleet,
and hail, and the weather became much colder, which
did not make the driving any easier. There were times
even when, notwithstanding chains, we had to put blan-
kets under the wheels in order to get up the hills — espe-
cially the Dombasle Hill which was particularly steep.
During the first week in January, 1917, our Division
went en repos for a week, preparatory to changing sectors,
the Division to which Section One was attached taking
its place. Section One came over and took our quarters at
Ippecourt while we moved into large vacated barracks of
the hospital at Glorieux on the edge of Verdun for our
repos, when e\^ery man of our Section had an opportunity
to visit thoroughly the famous city.
The Argonne — Work in the Woods
About the middle of January our Division moved over
farther to the left in the Argonne sector back of Vauquois
and Avocourt. We went with it and took up quarters in
Rarecourt, where we replaced English Section Ten and
assumed the work at new postes, most of which were in
the woods. Every afternoon we made a ramassage with
426
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SECTION FOUR
an ambulance, visiting the different camps in the woods,
getting the sick and taking them back to the triage. Our
runs to the postes avances were long, and on dark nights
very difficult owing to the woods shutting out every
vestige of light. Nevertheless, either because we had
good, careful drivers, or good luck, or both, it was extra-
ordinary how few accidents we had. The work was light,
however, but the weather was exceedingly cold — the
coldest winter in twenty- two years, in fact. Yet it was
the mud that was the most disagreeable feature of the
situation. All the abris were made well down in the ground
and whenever there came a thaw this mud was every-
where and most irritating.
The cars were kept on twenty-four hours' piquet at
Camp Derv^n and at Bon Abri, running on call to Les
Ailleux and B. i. The poste at Les Ailleux was within
about four hundred yards of the Boche lines and B. i
about one kilometre. As in the other sectors of our serv^ice,
here, too, we were able to advance the postes beyond
where they had been before, our light Fords being able to
travel over the bad roads. B. i, for instance, was at least
three kilometres nearer the lines than had ever been the
case before.
The other poste to which we sent a night piquet was
Neuvilly, the ruins of what must have once been an
attractive village on the banks of a large stream. From
there we sometimes went on call to a poste called Abri
Brainere, which was really very much exposed, as the
road to it was in plain view of the German trenches and
not over five hundred yards from them. On the way to
Neuvilly we passed through the ruins of Clermont, which
had once been a beautiful town. Even as it was, the
ruins were most impressive. The town had been built
around a great natural acropolis of rock, the top of which
was covered with pine trees. On moonlight nights, par-
ticularly when there was snow on the ground, the lines
of the ruins against the white and sky, with the acropo-
lis looming up, made a wonderful if saddening picture.
427
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
On February 12, 191 7, Oliver H. Perry, our Chef, left
us, much to our regret, after a year's service, during which
time he had contributed much to the splendid spirit of
service which existed in the Section.
Owing to the extreme cold and to the fact that it was
very difficult to find wood, to say nothing of coal, there
was considerable sickness in the Section, so that at times
only fifty per cent of the drivers were well enough to send
out on service.
The Champagne
Toward the last of April Section Four left the 64th Di-
vision after having served it sixteen months, preparatory
to joining a new Division, which we expected would be
in the Champagne sector. In many ways this was a sad
parting, as we had so many friends in the Division, and
yet we were glad to move to what promised to be a more
active field. In the meantime we received a splendid let-
ter of thanks and appreciation for our service from Gen-
eral Colin. Then we went en repos for three days at
Fains, a town on the outskirts of Bar-le-Duc, where we
received orders to move and report to the Fourth Army
at Chalons, going thence to Bussy-le-Chateau, about
twenty-five kilometres out from Chalons, where we took
on, temporarily, evacuation work for a large hospital.
After ten days we received orders that we would be
attached shortly to the 20th Division, Fourth Army —
one of the best — and be sent up into action. At this
time Henry Iselin became CheJ. Although a young man,
he had seen long service, and quickly won the respect
and admiration of all.
William de Ford Bigelow ^
J Of Cohasset, Massachusetts; Harvard, '00; a member of the Field
Service from August, 1916, until its militarization; served as driver and
Chef in Section Four; later, as Captain, commanded a pare; subsequently
a Major in the U.S. Army Ambulance Service.
IV
Villers-Marmery — Mont Cornillet
1917
The personnel of Section Four was largely renewed in
the spring of 191 7, and a dozen more or less inexperienced
men came from the Field Service camp at May-en-
Multien, May 9, 191 7, to join us at Villers-Marmery, in
the Champagne, where we were informed that we were
to join the 20th Division, loth Army Corps, of the
Fourth Army. The delight of the Section was un-
bounded when we heard that we were to be attached to
that crack attacking portion of the French Army. Other
Sections had tried in vain to get the job, but it took
Lieutenant de Turckhelm to secure it for us.
We were to take over the w^ork of a French ambulance
section, and for that reason the new men of our group
were sent first, in order that they might work with experi-
enced drivers, and thus learn the roads, pastes, etc., under
the most favorable circumstances. The next day, on the
loth of May, the second half of our Section moved to
Villers-Marmery and took over the work of the French.
As soon as we got into camp and had had some lunch, we
went to our pastes to relieve the old piquet. We had French
orderlies to show us the way to our pastes, after which
they said farewell and went back to their cantonment on
the returning cars, leaving us to our own devices. The
assumption was that we were experienced men and could
take care of ourselves.
Our front pastes were at Foss6-aux-0urs, the camp of
our paste de secaurs at the boyau at the foot of Mont
Cornillet, and at Wez, near Thuizy, a little to the left of
Mont Cornillet. From Wez we worked a paste at the
Maisonnette, a small railroad crossing in the midst of a
swamp not far from Prunay. The paste at the bayau was
429
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
a little bridge that crossed an old trench. There was
just room to crawl in on your hands and knees and
lie down. It was a draughty, damp, uncomfortable hole.
The approach to this poste was over a plain which lay
under observation by the Boches from a hill back of
Cornillet and somewhat to the left. The road was heavily
screened but we had to drive slowly so as not to raise a
dust, which would rise above the screen and warn the
Boches that the road was being used. Here the road was
for the most part very good, just the opposite of the road
from Wez to the Maisonnette, which ran through a
swamp. Around Fosse-aux-Ours and the boyau, where the
batteries abounded, the Germans did comparatively little
shelling, and at the Maisonnette, where the French bat-
teries were less active, the Boches kept up quite a shell
display. The road was cut to pieces and the swampy soil
made travelling most difficult. One afternoon two of the
fellows timed the arrivees and in two hours the Boches
threw in eight hundred shells. The Maisonnette poste was
in a log abri not far from a railroad. All this railroad
needed to fix it up was a new roadbed, new ties, new rails,
and a new crossing. In time the road from Wez became
so bad that we drove to the Maisonnette only on call.
Besides these postes, we had a car stationed at Livry-sur-
Vesle at the Direction du Service de Sante. Here a fellow
could get a good rest for twenty-four hours and, If he were
fortunate, alittle taxi service for the MedecinDivisionnaire.
While in the Champagne we did no evacuation work
(that is, carrying the blesses from the triage or sorting hos-
pitals to other hospitals). We carried our blesses to the
triage in Villers-Marmery and S.S.U. 13 did our evacua-
tion work. The peculiar thing is that in all our front work
we had no casualties, while Section Thirteen, working
back, had three of its members, its lieutenant and two
drivers, meet an obus and come out second best. Cest la
guerre!
On the 1 2th of May the French began to rush up a lot
pi their zouaves, and Madagascar and Senegalese negroes
430
SECTION FOUR
to join the 19th Division, stationed on Mont Blanc, at the
immediate right of our Division. While the troops moved
forward, the French cannon quieted down a bit, so as not
to draw too much of the hostile fire on the batteries that
skirted the roads. This did not prevent the Boches from
throwing shrapnel over the road, however.
The Attack in Champagne
On the 20th of May our whole Section was ordered out
for the attack about to start. We sent fourteen ambu-
lances to Fosse-aux-Ours and four or five to Wez. The
attack by the 19th Division was to begin at noon. From
about 8.30 on, the French batteries let loose. It was like
a giant corn-popper. At noon the troops advanced. Look-
ing through a break in the woods, we could see the splen-
did troops go up the hill, wave after wave, to get the
Boches. Before the attack the French had held one side
of the range, the Germans the other side. Three times
before had the French attacked and failed. The Boches
had held their positions from shell-holes and concrete
machine-gun emplacements. Three times the French had
been unable to maintain the ground they had gained.
This was the fourth attempt, and they were determined
to succeed. The 20th Division attacked at the same time
as the 19th, and succeed they did, but the decision was
close.
The wounded began to come in about eight o'clock in
the evening. We were kept quite busy, but less so than
we had feared. Most of the wounded had fallen in No
Man's Land, and as soon as the fever of the attack had
cooled down, the Boches turned their machine-guns on
those blesses, and there they died, French and German.
The only ones we carried were those who had fallen in and
near the trenches.
The next day the authorities started to withdraw the
negroes and send them to the rear. They are wonderful
men for attacking, but do not stand up well under the
hammering of counter-attacks. On the 25th of May our
431
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
Division moved out of the trenches and went back en
repos. They had been in the trenches, attacking, for a
month and they were about "all in." On the 26th we
followed our Division en repos, turning over the work to
the French Section that came to relieve us.
We went under tents at Rouffy, a little village about
midway between Chalons and Epernay. The Section re-
mained there from May 26 to June 15, overhauling
cars, washing, scrubbing, sweating, loafing, playing, enter-
taining the Frenchmen and getting acquainted with
them. We had been too busy at Villers-Marmery to be-
come acquainted with our allies, and now was our chance!
On the 15th of June we followed our Division to Verdun,
making our home in an old hospital at Baleycourt.
Leon H. Buckler *
1 Of Rochester, N.Y.; a member of Section Four from December, 1916,
until the Service was taken over by the U.S. Army. Subsequently a
Sergeant in the U.S.A. Ambulance Service. Died of pneumonia at the
front on September 23, 1918.
*♦< ■ Ht/(Vr^
V
The Verdun Attack of August, 191 7
July 28, 19 17, will Icng be remembered by us, for in the
night a most violent explosion, several miles beyond
Verdun, broke nearly all the windows of our quarters and
served as a good prelude to the Boche air raids which
were to come later. At this time the pastes (T evacuation
were at Bras and Montgrignon and the triage in Verdun.
This latter, however, was changed on August 5, to Glo-
rieux, and the Section did both evacuation and triage work,
which was not hard at this time, but which became in-
creasingly difficult with the moving-up of artillery and
troops in preparation for the great offensive. Enormous
guns were placed on each side of our camp at Baleycourt,
and though they were well concealed, within one hour
after they had fired the first shot the Germans replied,
their shells landing in a field in close proximity to our
guns and camp. In addition to a daily bombardment, the
Boche aviators came nearly every night to bomb, so that
a good abri was a necessity. Such a one was made and
resorted to about every night until after the battle, which
broke forth in all its fury on August 20.
During the entire period of that terrible night, the
enemy maintained a firm reply to the fierce barrage of the
French artillery, with the result that daylight uncovered
a series of ghastly scenes along the road to Bras. But
nothing dampened our spirits as we worked that fine,
clear day, while report after report brought news of splen-
did French successes. By noon, all the objectives had been
attained, while the transportation of the wounded pro-
ceeded smoothly. In the afternoon, however, the work
threatened to become messed up, for the reserve ambu-
lances, which had been hidden behind a camouflage at
Petit Bras, found themselves forced to fly in haste, the
433
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
enemy concentrating their shelling for half an hour on
that spot.
Soon the increasing number of wounded crowded the
poste at Bras, and a temporary one was established up
about halfway from Bras to Vacherauville, But the next
morning, after a further advance of the French troops,
this poste was abandoned, and the ambulances began to
work as far forward as Vacherauville. That day a still
further advance poste was established at a place called La
Cage, but after a few attempts to run to it, the impracti-
cability of the venture was manifest.
For three days and nights Section Four worked with
Section Eighteen in transporting wounded from Bras
and Vacherauville to the triage at Glorleux.
On Tuesday night of the attack, after Evans had left
Bras with a load of blesses, a shell exploded near his
machine, wounding him in the arm and inflicting new
wounds on two of his already badly wounded couches.
A curious incident happened in connection with this —
an eclat of the shell hit the gasoline cock, shutting off the
supply of gas, so that the machine ran about a hundred
yards and then stopped. Thereupon Evans's blesses were
taken to Glorieux, while he went to Montgrignon, where
his wound was dressed.
Aeroplane Bombs — Wounded and Killed
This event was followed by one still sadder for the Sec-
tion. In the night of August 22, a German aviator dropped
a bomb which struck about ten paces from our quarters,
wounding three men, our French brigadier Berger and
drivers Shreve and Greenhalgh. Berger was so grievously
injured that he died a few days later and now sleeps with
hundreds of others in the cemetery of Glorieux, others
who like him are marts pour la France.
Finally the bombing became so bad at Baleycourt that
we were ordered to leave and take new quarters at
Glorieux, the change being made on the last day of
August, which did not prevent us from keeping one am-
434
THE G.B.D. '-rOSTE" AT BRAS ABOVE VERDUN
"POSTE" AT VACHERAITVILLE ON AU(il'ST -il, 1017, WHEN
THE FRENCH ADVANCED
SECTION FOUR
bulance always on duty at the Verdun citadel, bombarded
every day by the Germans.
October, 191 7 — Last Days of Section Four
The last work done by Section Four while still a part of
the American Field Service was difficult — indeed, about
as hard as that done during the French offensive in
August. Cold fall rains set in during the first day of
October, and in addition to working the pastes mentioned
above, there were frequent calls to Equarrissage and
Charny, coupled with long runs to Fleury and Souilly, all
of which made the work increasingly severe. Cases of
trench feet increased in proportion to the rain, and with
four sections evacuating from front pastes to the Glorieux
triage, our days on duty there became very hard and
trying with small Fords and thirty-kilometre runs. But
these were not all our trials. Members of the Section will
remember during this period the frequent gas attacks
made by the Germans on the French batteries between
Vacherauville and Bras, and the difficulty of driving
through the gas at night wearing a gas-mask. Several of
us were gassed. Finally, having served in the Verdun sector
continuously since June, and outlived there five other
sections, Section Four was relieved on October 22, 191 7,
and given a rest which it had richly earned, and its last
month's work closed in a fitting manner a long and hon-
orable career as a member of the American Field Service.
How honorable this career was is best illustrated, perhaps,
by the fact that when the Section was finally relieved.
Lieutenant de Turckheim, its French Commander, re-
ceived four Croix de Guerres "to be given to four of
the most deserving members." ''But I returned them,"
states that officer, "saying that all had done so well
that it would be unfair to pick out any four."
Charles H. Hunkins ^
^ Of Providence, Rhode Island; Dartmouth and the University of Paris;
joined the Field Service in June, 191 7; subsequently served with the Mil-
itary Censorship Department, United States Army.
435
VI
Summary of the Section's History under the
United States Army
Section Four lost its identity as a Field Service Section dur-
ing September of 1917. It was then that the remnant of its old
personnel officially enlisted, and became new Section 627. The
Section was en repos at the time in a little village by the name
of Villers-le-Sec which is situated about forty kilometres to the
northwest of Bar-le-Duc. Along about the middle of October
we moved back to the front in the Verdun sector. We had our
quarters in the small village of Sommedieu, where we were des-
tined to spend the winter of 1917-18. We did not leave this sec-
tor, which was remarkably quiet during our stay, until about
the 1st of March. During all this time we were serving the fa-
mous 20th Division of French Infantry which hailed from the
coast of Normandy. In this sector we had only two front posies
which, in reality, were not front posies at all.
The 1st of March, 1918, saw us en repos at Pierrefitte, a siza-
ble village in the valley of the Meuse. After a few days we were
detached from our Division, which was to be broken up and
sent in to strengthen various parts of the line in preparation for
the coming Boche spring offensive. We moved to Ravigny,
which is only the name of a patch of woods to the east of
Souilly. The Section had been with the 20th Division for over a
year, and so it was hard for us to part with these old friends of
ours. Also we lost our wonderful French Lieutenant, the Baron
de Turckheim. While we were at Ravigny the first Boche at-
tack broke out which almost resulted in the taking of Amiens.
Suddenly we got orders to move. Then began our tour of
France. We made the voyage all the way from the valley of the
Meuse to the sea, then back again to Doullens. There we stayed
for a short time, doing the drudgery of evacuation work for the
Tenth Army. The Boche again attacked, this time on the
Chemin des Dames, and we were ordered south to replace a
French Section which had been badly handled during the re-
treat. We were with the ist French Division of Infantry, at
whose head was General Gregoire aided by General Duvais.
We went into action in the Forest of Villers-Cotterets, just to
the northwest of that famous town.
That sector was what one would call "hot." We had two
main front posies working back through a G.B.D. posie and
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SECTION FOUR
then to the Hopitaiix d' Evacuation, which were situated in al-
most every little village behind us. Our first attack was that
made upon the Ferme de Chavigny. During a period of about a
month and a half, half the Section worked one day and the
other half worked the next. The work w^as very difficult, for the
traffic was terrible, and to add to the amusement, the Boches
made out rather well with their shelling. After the coup de
main on the Ferme de Chavigny, we were ordered en repos
again, where we stayed the long time of one day and a half.
Then we were ordered back for the ever-famous attack of July
1 8. Our Division went over in the first line of assault, helped
out by tanks. We advanced steadily, and as our front pro-
gressed, we passed with it up through Longpont to our old
stamping-grounds at Villers-Helon, Blancy, Saint-Remy, and
le Plessier-Huleu. The hottest spot was le Plessier-Huleu.
There many of the men had to drive through almost a barrage
to get to the poste, which was supposed to exist in the above-
mentioned village. Our poor old division was finally pulled out
of the line and we went en repos in a little village to the west of
that famous old pile, Pierrefonds. There we stayed for a few
weeks, and then we began our second trip across France, going
this time in the opposite direction, and finally finishing up in
the valley of Thann — to be specific, the village of Ranspach
in Alsace Recongiiise.
It was here we had to report the deaths of three of the finest
men in the Section. Sergeant Buckler, Phil Winsor, and the
French mechanic who really had no right to be in the war at
all. They died of influenza and were buried in the Vosges
Mountains; Sergeant Buckler and the French mechanic in the
military cemetery at Urbes, and Philip Winsor in the cemetery
of Bussang, with all the honors, such as they are, of war.
We were all glad when about the ist of November we started
on another trip which saw our Division first in Belfort, then
near Nancy. At Darney we first began to hear rumors of an
armistice, and the nth of November saw us just south of
Nancy, ready to go in when General Mangin was to begin his
great attack in Lorraine. At Darney the Section received its
citation for the work it did during the attack at Villers-Cotte-
rets.
Then began our march to the Rhine, one of the hardest trips
we ever had. We crossed the old line near Chateau Salins; then
went up through the valley of the Sarre, stopping at Saar-
briicken, Kircheim Bolendon, and so on to Mayence where we
saw Generals Fayolle and Mangin enter the city in triumph.
We then went on to Grosse Gerau, where we stayed for the
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winter. Our work in Germany could not be called hard or diffi-
cult. We did quite a good deal of evacuation work from the old
prison camp of Darmstadt — the name of the camp itself being
Barackenlager.
At Grosse Gerau we stayed until we were ordered to report
to Paris en route for the United States in February, 1919.
Hugh J. Kelleher ^
^ Of New York City; Harvard, '18; joined the Field Service in January,
1917, and served at various times in Sections 12, 3, and 4; with the U.S.A.
Ambulance Service after the incorporation of the Field Service in the U.S.
Army.
Section Eight
THE STORY TOLD BY
I. William B. Seabrook
II. Malbone H. Birckhead
III. Grenville Temple Keogh
IV. Charles Law Watkins
V. Austin B. Mason
VI. Harry L. Dunn
SUMMARY
Section Eight left Versailles on May 25, 1916, going directly
to Champagne in the Mourmelon sector. It remained there
but a few days when it moved on to Dugny for the great bat-
tle of Verdun. It next served in the region of Les fiparges. Re-
ward came in the form of an extended repos in the Moselle
region, followed by a long journey to the Somme where it spent
part of the winter of 1916-17, From there it went to the Meuse,
thence to Sainte-Menehould and the Argonne in the early
spring of 191 7. In April of the same year the Section went again
to Verdun. From there it moved to Champagne, remaining un-
til August, then returning once more to Sainte-M6nehould. It
was while here that Eight was taken over by the Army in the
autumn of 1917, as Section Six-Twenty-Eight of the U.S.A.
Ambulance Service.
« -^Cl
Section Eight^
In weariness and worry and mischance
Remember the long fortitude of France,
And write in deeds your country's true romance.
Jefferson B. Fletcher
I
The Beginning
It was about the first of May that our Section assembled
in the General Headquarters at Neuilly-sur-Seine. The
men were ready, but the cars were not. The chassis were
standing in line in Kellner's great carrosserie works, near
Sevres, a couple of miles beyond the Bois de Boulogne,
awaiting the construction of the wooden bodies which
were only half completed. Kellner was short of men, and
we went to Kellner's. Within twenty-four hours men
among us who had never swung anything heavier than a
' The numbers attributed by the French Army Automobile Service to the
ambulance sections of the American Field Service were not always consec-
utive. Thus, while the numbers run from one to seventy-two, this Service
really embraced but thirty-three separate sections. The intervening num-
bers were given to other formations provided either by the French or other
countries. In general, the numbers were assigned chronologically according
as new sections were provided. In some later instances, however, Field Serv-
ice sections received numbers originally borne by the French Army sections,
which they replaced.
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THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
mashie were working at forge and anvil, making heavy
iron braces and hinges; others drilled holes in the wood
and iron; still others screwed and riveted the parts to-
gether. The sturdy women, who were working by hun-
dreds in place of men who had gone to the front, stopped
building bomb-cases and handling heavy tools to watch
us for an instant from time to time, and bring us lit-
tle sprigs of lily-of-the-valley, '7e muguet qui porte bon-
heur." The French carpenters became our friends and
frequently invited us to share the coarse bread and red
wine which they kept loose in the same box with their
tools, by way of refreshment between meals.
In eight days we had completed the work, and in an-
other twenty-four hours a squad switched to the paint
shops and covered the cars with the official battleship-
gray. On Saturday, May 20, moving pictures were taken
of the Section at work in the shops, and on Sunday morn-
ing. May 21, the twenty cars were standing in line in
front of the hospital at Neuilly, completely equipped and
ready for the field.
Among the men of our Section who worked as laborers
and mechanics at Kellner's were many who had never
handled tools before — the Section included professional
men, business men, university students, Rhodes scholars,
a minister of the Gospel, a winner of golf tournaments,
and even a dramatic and musical critic. Indeed, our meta-
morphosis seemed a slight thing when some of us learned
that in the great historic porcelain works of Sevres im-
mediately across the river all art had ceased for the time
being, and the men whose brains and hands had only a
short time before been engaged in designing plates and
vases of marvellous grace and beauty were now one and
all occupied solely with the rude labor of constructing
immense rough earthenware jars and acid-containers
used in the manufacture of high explosives.
No ,matter what experiences may come to us later, we
shall never forget those days — the early morning rides
from Neuilly through the Bois, the trees in leaf and
442
SECTION EIGHT
flower, the silent lakes with here and there a single swan
— a splotch of white on the black surface of the water
beneath tall cypress groves ; perfect beauty, perfect peace.
Chdlons-sur-Marne, May 25, 1916
We started this morning from Versailles. On the way here
we began to see w^ooden crosses dotting the fields by the
roadside, sometimes a single grave, sometimes a cluster,
sometimes a field full of them. Each cross is made from
an upright piece of pine sapling about five feet high, with
a cross-piece of the same wood about three feet in length,
the bark still on, and the name, when there is a name,
inscribed on a small board nailed to the centre. Some
of the crosses stood over barren mounds; other mounds
were covered with flowers; but beneath them all, marked
or nameless, lie men who died to save France.
Mourmelon-le-Grand, May 26
From Chalons we came on to this village situated in the
plains of Champagne about twenty-five kilometres south-
w^est of Reims and about nine kilometres behind the
trenches. This is to be our headquarters as long as the
6th Army Corps, of which we are a part, remains in this
sector.
May 27
To-day Section Eight received its baptism of fire. Three
cars were called to Saint-Hilaire, our evacuation poste
eight kilometres from Mourmelon and about two and a
half kilometres behind the first-line trenches. We arrived
there under a German bombardment. "They are not
firing at us," explained the French sergeant on duty there,
at the entrance to his dugout and smoking a pipe, while
a half-dozen of his stretcher-bearers were sitting around
under the trees; "but a shell timed a fraction of a second
earlier, or fired a fraction of a centimetre lower, might
land here by accident; so we had better get our blesses
loaded and away." Scarcely had the sergeant ceased
443
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
speaking when the shells began to fly about us. By the
way, descriptions of how one feels under shell-fire are
always inadequate because every man feels differently;
but close observation, on this and subsequent occasions,
of the men of our Section, seems to show that they are
alike in only one respect — they all hold their ground.
May 29
Calm follows storm on an artillery front, as we discovered
on one of the quiet mornings recently when an officer
consented to show us the batteries in the woods behind
the evacuation poste. Though many of the guns were
quite close by, they were so skilfully screened by trees
and brush-heaps that we could never have found them
without a guide. Birds were singing, the trees glistening
from a flurry of rain, while the sun was again breaking
through the leaves around the now silent monsters of
destruction.
We surprised the Lieutenant of the nearest battery
engaged, like Candide, in cultivating his garden. He had
cleared a tiny spot, a few yards wide, facing the entrance
of his bomb-proof dugout, and had planted lettuce and
radishes, with rows of flowers between the vegetable beds.
He had even built a little wooden bench where he could
sit and smoke his pipe and dream of his real vegetable
garden in Provence. One of his men was darning socks;
another was mending a shirt ; a boy who looked scarcely
more than twenty was amusing himself tossing bits of
bread to a puppy; while others were reading books or
laughing over last week's funny papers from Paris. "So
you find an opportunity to enjoy life even here," one of us
remarked to a grizzled veteran, who, with a smile that was
half a sigh, responded: "Mais il lefaut, on est tue si vite.^*
From Mourmelon to La Veuve — En Repos
La Veuve, June 2
A formal order came to our Section yesterday instruct-
ing us to leave Mourmelon at 2 a.m. and repair to the
444
SECTION EIGHT
stable and back yard of the Widow Cueux, in this village
where we are now billeted. We filed out of Mourmelon
in the darkness, running without lights, but by 2.30 the
dawn was red and it was broad daylight at 3 a.m., when
we got here, turned down a narrow side street, found the
Widow Cueux's house and parked our cars under the
sycamore trees. It is true that this village is squalid ; it is
true that the mayor had to order the removal of large
quantities of stable manure from the Widow Cueux's
premises before its barn doors opened to receive us; it is
true that a score of our own huskiest lads had to work
with shovel and wheelbarrow to make the yard habitable ;
but the squalor of La Veuve has its picturesque qualities,
nevertheless. It straggles along the main road from Cha-
lons to Reims just where the Mourmelon route branches
off. And the very thought of Reims lying at the far end
of this same street lends romance to the humble town.
June 3
This morning the poilus who are en repos in this village
introduced us to the corporal who has "sixteen bullets in
his blanket, but not a scratch on his skin." He proudly
exhibited the blanket and told us how the poilus, when all
patent armour devices and bullet-proof jackets had failed
to deflect the German rifle-fire, had themselves invented,
or rather discovered, the unknown buffer that no rifle
bullet can pierce. They take their own heavy sleeping-
blankets, soak them in water, and then roll two or three
of them in a tight wad, sometimes putting a knapsack in
the centre of the roll to make it thicker. Crawling along
on their bellies, pushing the wad of blankets foot by foot
in front of them, it affords just enough cover to protect
them from horizontal rifle-fire. The high velocity bullets,
which neither wood nor steel can turn, sink into the soft,
soggy, woollen roll and die there, harmless as eggs in a
nest. Many another trick the poilus have learned in order
to save their skins, but none so efficient as this roll of
wet blankets.
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THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
Taking Stock of Ourselves and Neighbors
June 10
Our ten days here with the soldiers of our Division,
quartered at La Veuve and in neighboring villages, have
given us a splendid opportunity to take stock of our-
selves and also to learn something of the men with whom
we shall be associated for the next few months. We are
the official ambulance section of the 12th Division of the
6th Corps of the Fourth Army. Our Division is composed
of four regiments of about three thousand each, totalling
in all some twelve thousand men. We are as much a part
of the Division as if we were all born Frenchmen. Our
rations are furnished by the army; we are under army
regulations; billeted in our sleeping quarters by the
army; each of us receives five sous per day, the regular
pay of the poilu; and each of us receives his army ration
of pipe-tobacco every ten days. Back in Paris the Field
Service furnished us a list of things which we ought to
have; but all this would have been as appropriate for a
hard auto-camping trip across the American continent in
time of peace as it is for our present purposes here. On the
first day of our arrival at the front, the army added two
items for each of us more important than all the rest,
namely, one regulation steel casque and one regulation
gas-mask. So here we are, poilus and comrades like the
rest, by these two tokens, and by the aluminum num-
bered identification tags which we wear on a chain around
our wrists.
June II
The regiment which we have learned to know best is the
67th, as it is quartered in La Veuve. It has been one of the
hardest hit by the war ; thirty thousand men have passed
through it during the past sixteen months. As they
marched by in closed ranks at a review the other day, we
could recognize many faces of new-made friends. How
many of them, we wonder, will be left "Id-bas'' in the
446
SECTION EIGHT
next attack; how many will be brought back bleeding
and broken in our ''belles petites voitures," which they
have gathered around so often in the evening to
admire.
We were merely spectators at the review. An hour later
our new Commander, General Giraudon, left his limou-
sine, left his prancing steed, left his general staff, and
came down the alley on foot through the mud to our barn-
yard, accompanied only by an orderly, to "review" his
new "section sanitaire." As we are all under military
regulations, we scarcely dared to blink an eyelid as we
stood stiffly beside our cars on his arrival. The General
walked along the line and stopped before Boyd. We had
been given our instructions ^to stand at attention and not
salute while under inspection ; so Boyd stood like a statue,
until it became unmistakably evident that the General
intended speaking to him. Boyd's hand then started to-
ward his cap in a salute that was never finished. Those
of us up the line never will know exactly what happened
in that embarrassing half-second ; but an instant later the
General and Boyd were shaking hands in good American
fashion, while words escaped Boyd's lips which sounded
suspiciously like "How are you?" The ice was broken,
and when the General left he told us he was proud to
have an American section in his division.
Our only duties while en repos here have been to trans-
port occasional sick men in the Division. Most of our time
off duty has been spent exchanging visits and souvenirs
with the poilus of the 67th, who have been very much
taken with the American songs. Every evening they
gather in a ring before the cars to hear Armour, Jacobs,
and the other musical members of the Section singing to
the accompaniment of mandolin and guitars. One night
they decided it would be appropriate for them to exchange
courtesies, and they invited the Section to the sleeping-
quarters of one of the companies in a neighboring barn,
where wine and cakes were served in the straw, and chan-
sons de guerre were sung.
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THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
Brabant-le-Roi — DuGNY — Verdun
Brabant-le-Roi, June 12
Fifty kilometres we came in cold and rain, and here we
are, quartered for three days in a huge stock-farm barn
with Verdun fifty-five kilometres farther north. But we
are still too far away to hear the guns.
June 13
Still at Brabant-le-Roi.
It was among the ruins of one of the little villages In
the Marne that Charlie Faulkner encountered and made
friends with a fluffy-haired puppy of mongrel breed in
which the setter seemed to predominate, and straightway
adopted him as the mascot of Section Eight. After the
puppy was washed and as many of the fleas removed from
his hide as possible, the problem of a name presented it-
self. Some one suggested the name of "Pinard," which
is war-time slang for the red wine furnished the men in
the trenches, and the soldiers found both the dog and the
name so droll that Pinard became not only the mascot of
our American Section, but the joke and the pet of the
whole French Division. Some of the boys of the Section
who are not very strong on French, have anglicized
. Pinard's name and call him "Peanut."
Dugny, June 21
This village is four kilometres behind the city of Verdun.
Here we have been with our Division since the i8th inst.
We will remain here for perhaps a fortnight longer, when
we will be sent back en repos and replaced by a new
Division. Three weeks is about the limit of human endur-
ance. For four nerve-racking days and nights our little
cars have been climbing to the citadel of Verdun, turning
to the right and going into the hills among the batteries
and bursting shells, to a poke de secours in the Fort of
Tavannes, less than two kilometres behind Vaux and the
first-line trenches. The road by which we pass is shelled
448
SECTION EIGHT
day and night. Ambulance drivers have been killed and
wounded in the sections which preceded us. We have
seen men mangled by shells bursting a few yards away in
front of us while we have escaped. We have driven our
cars over the bodies of dying horses. Three of our cars
have been pierced by shrapnel and shell fragments. Yet
not a man among us has been touched. Lack of sleep, the
continued noise of artillery, bad drinking-water and the
attendant dysentery have put our nerves on edge; but
we are doing the work, and the one thought in the
minds of all of us, when we are not too worn out to
think at all, is that, come what may, we are going
to stick it out.
It is hard to write about — this Verdun service. Those
of us who used to laugh at danger have stopped laughing.
Those of us who used to turn pale have got the same set
look about the jaws and eyes as the rest, but we no
longer change color. We don't come back any longer and
tell each other with excited interest how close to our car
this or that shell burst — it is sufficient that we come
back.
June 22
The hundred and sixty hrancardiers, or stretcher-bearers,
of our Division had to be transported from Houdainville,
near Dugny, to Fort Tavannes, and the duty fell to us.
Each car made about four trips by night during a period
of thirty-six hours, in the midst of conditions like those
described in my last entry. It was inevitable that some
of our cars and some of our men would be touched. Three
of our twenty cars were en panne, and the other seventeen
were doing the work supposed normally to be done by
two sections totalling forty cars. It was during this time
of stress that we also evacuated 540 wounded from
Tavannes Fort to Dugny, a distance of fifteen kilometres
each way, in twenty-four hours, making the record of the
war, so far, for that particular poste, and for that speci-
fied length of time.
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THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
Riddled with Eclats
June 23
Night before last Davison^ answered a midnight Ta-
vannes call and had his car pierced through and through
with shell fragments as he was entering the fort. The next
morning, as I was leaving the fort with a load of wounded,
my car was struck in the same way. Both Davison and I
were untouched, but one of the wounded men in my car
was hit in the side by a small fragment. In the afternoon,
Rogers,^ lying on the grass near our dining-tent, received
a slight surface wound in the leg from a stray piece of
shell. Yesterday morning the entrance tunnel of the same
fort was caved in by German "380" high-explosive shells.
Rogers, Faulkner, Boyd, and MacMonagle^ were in the
fort at the time and escaped, by a miracle, with their
lives. They were hurled to the ground by the concussion.
The place is no longer tenable as a poste de secours and
so is to be abandoned. While we are not afraid to go there,
we are glad to leave, for the underground, vaulted tunnels
of that fort composed a chamber of horrors which we
remember in our dreams. The floors were mud, the ceiling
slimy-dripping stone; and the light was scant, while the
wounded were so numerous that we had to step over
their prostrate bodies; and to add to it all, the stench
was horrible.
Cabaret Rouge, June 24
To-day this picturesquely named place became our regu-
lar poste de secours. There is a diabolical fitness about the
name. The house, which is halfway up the slope in a val-
^ Alden Davison, of New York City; Yale, '19; joined the Field Service
in February, 1916, serving with Section Eight until September; entered the
U.S. Aviation Service, and was killed in training December 26, 19 17.
2 Randolph Rogers, of Grand Rapids, Michigan; served with Section
Eight of the Field Service from April to September, 1916; subsequently en-
listed in the U.S. Infantry, becoming a Sergeant; he was killed in action on
the Marne, July 15, 1918.
' Douglas MacMonagle, previously in Section Three; killed while in
French Aviation, September 24, 19 18, near Verdun in aerial combat.
450
SECTION EIGHT
ley, is simply surrounded by the French batteries, while
German shells are continually bursting in the fields
around. Red signal rockets illumine the sky. Down from
the trenches come the stretcher-bearers with their crim-
son burdens. Red Cabaret, red rockets, red fire, red
blood!
June 26
The Germans keep shelling the road. On the night of the
23d, Charlie Faulkner, volunteering to drive a car, had
the metal part of the searchlight smashed by a shell. The
next night, Keogh, the laughing, brave-hearted boy we
love perhaps most of all, came walking back with his arm
streaming blood, and last night I was nearly finished off
by a gas attack, but was saved by Faulkner.
Section One for Neighbors
June 28
To-day the French ambulance section was replaced by
our Section One, so that we now have two American
sections, parked side by side here, with forty cars doing
the work that we originally had had to do with seventeen
cars. Yesterday, Charlie Faulkner saved a French soldier
from drowning in the swift current of the Meuse where we
often go to swim. He went in and got him, having to swim
against the current and go twice to the bottom. The
Frenchmen were filled with gratitude and admiration.
"We can't swim like Americans," was one of their re-
peated comments. Then Faulkner leaped on a bareback
horse, galloped across the marshes to Dugny for a doctor
and an ambulance, and soon the little Ford came tearing
along in best three-reel-thriller style with Faulkner on
the seat. We all began laughing and wondered if he had
the horse inside.
July I
The chief medical officers of the Division tell us that our
little cars are doing great work. We are glad, for we have
been doing the best we can, and, without knowing it, we
seem to have established some new records in this sector.
451
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
Thus, on our "best day," June 22, in thirty-four hours we
transported 555 wounded from Tavannes and Cabaret to
Dugny, an average distance per round trip of 25 kilo-
metres. The work was done by 19 cars, the total 19 mak-
ing an aggregate distance of 1339 kilometres loaded, and
1359 kilometres empty, or an average of about 142 kilo-
metres per car. Practically all the work was done under
shell-fire. Armour made the best individual record, total-
ling four trips to Tavannes and five to Cabaret, carrying
a total of 51 wounded.
July 7
Our work has been growing lighter so that we were able
to let half of our men go up to Paris to celebrate "the
glorious Fourth." When they came back we had a pleas-
ant surprise for them. Section Eight had left Dugny and
had gone in convoy to Ancerville, a lovely village fully
eighty kilometres behind the lines, out of sound of the
guns.
The Glorious Fourth — and Fourteenth
Ancerville, July 15
Yesterday was celebrated the French national fete. We
joined heart and soul with our friends of the Division in
celebrating it. The Section Americaine was featured on
the programme as the " grande attractiojt,'' and consisted
of mandolin and guitar music by Armour and Jacobs,
followed by a boxing bout between Jacobs and Mac-
Monagle, and another bout between Buffum and Armour.
The applause was generous and sincere. That night there
was a torchlight procession through the village in which
our boys carried lanterns, marching and singing, side by
side, and arm in arm with the poilus.
Back to Cabaret Rouge
Dugny, July 18
Early yesterday morning we left our Division to go back
to Dugny. It was a real chagrin for us. Early as it was,
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SECTION EIGHT
scores of our personal friends in the Division came to bid
us good-bye. Our work is to be the same as before. In fact
we had n't been here five minutes when an orderly came
with his little square scrap of paper: "Two cars quick
to the Cabaret Rouge." The people of Dugny remem-
bered us and seemed to be glad to see us again — espe-
cially the little woman who still makes "ca/e chaud d,
toiite heure:' We brought her a dozen glasses, which she
needed, and some shirts from Paris for her little boy.
July 23
The day after our arrival there was consternation In the
Section. Pinard was missing. He came on Armour's car
from Ancerville to Dugny, and had been seen frolicking
around the street. But on the evening of our arrival a big
German shell burst near us and Pinard was seen no more.
We did n't seriously believe he had been struck by the
shell, but he had nevertheless completely disappeared.
Armour found it necessary to return for a day to Ancer-
ville, and there, exhausted and asleep in the straw of the
deserted house where we had slept, he discovered Pinard,
lonely, miserable, lost. He brought him back in triumph
and there was joy at his return.
July 25
The troops in our sector are now taking many German
prisoners, and we are all avid for German souvenirs, and
so are the poilus. Sometimes the prisoners are willing to
let us take their little red-banded vizorless caps, provided
we give them some kind of head covering in exchange.
But we have never seen an American or Frenchman either
take a cap from a German without asking it and unless
the owner was willing.
July 26
A QUEER Story came to us a couple of nights ago about the
German wireless message, said to have been picked up
by a French station over on the other side of Verdun near
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Mort Homme. Rumor said the message was from the
German General Staff, announcing that an American
ambulance unit, working the Cabaret Rouge poste, had
been seen by the German aviators, and that instructions
had been given the German gunners not to fire on Caba-
ret. But just as we were beginning to give serious credence
to the tale, word came that fifteen men had been killed
and fifty wounded by shells within a few paces of the
poste; and a few hours afterwards, while lasigi's car was
standing in front of Cabaret, a German '"'j'j'' landed
within five paces of it, luckily doing no damage. No won-
der we are now laughing at our own credulity.
July 27
Though the work here as a whole is not so dangerous
now as it was in June, some of the men have had rather
narrow escapes since we returned. For instance, a piece
of shell came through the top of one car yesterday, and
Keogh was missed less than two feet by a fragment that
struck the seat beside him.
The Real Hero
And let me close this record with one reflection. The real
hero of Verdun and of the war is the poilu, or infantry
soldier, of the first-line trenches. The destiny of France
is in his keeping. The man in the trenches is the essential
factor. The rest of us, back here among the batteries and
observation points and pastes de secours, are engaged
solely in the work of backing up his efforts. Whether
generals, artillerymen, stretcher-bearers, or ambulance
drivers, we are here only to protect and serve the men out
yonder — preparing the way before him with shell and
shrapnel when he advances, and transporting him back,
covered with blood and mud and glory, when his work is
done.
William B. Seabrook ^
1 Of Atlanta, Georgia; Newberry College; spent six months in the Field
Service during the year 1916 with Section Eight.
SAUCISSE ABOVE VERDUN
II
Shells and Gas' — The Roads of Verdun
In the Hills of France, June 23, 19 16
They have given us a very important work as well as a
dangerous one — to evacuate the wounded about one
and a quarter miles from the first-line trenches in this
Verdun sector, and since we have been here — about a
week — our little ambulances, holding five wounded,
have carried some hundreds of men. We are quartered in
Dugny, about four miles away from the front, which the
Germans take pleasure in shelling twice a day. We got
here a week ago, or Friday, and on Saturday morning I
made my first trip, on a French machine, to our poste
de secoiirs. The first part of the drive is through a valley,
where there is a beautiful winding river, and some pretty
old towns. Then you begin an ascent for about two miles
on a road which is lined with French batteries and quite
open to the view of the Germans, who have a large
obser^^ation balloon only a mile or two away. Conse-
quently the road is fired over all the time; so you feel
that a passing shell may at any moment fall on you.
Just this morning, about four o'clock, three shells went
over my machine and broke in a field near by. When one
reaches the top of the ascent, there is a piece of road,
very rough, and covered with debris of all kinds — dead
horses, old carts and wheels, guns, and confusion every-
w^here. This road leads to an old fort where our wounded
are, and on this road the German fire is even worse.
Well, this first morning, just before we arrived, the
Germans began a bombardment which lasted five hours.
The shells landed all around us, but we finally got in
safely. Before this, however, we discovered a small tunnel
large enough to hold three of our cars, and here I waited
five hours, without any breakfast, hearing the roar of the
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shells — they made a noise like a loud, prolonged whistle
— and then listening to the French batteries answer with
a more awful roar, because nearer. To add to the interest,
two or three gas-shells exploded near us, which made our
eyes water. Luckily we had our gas-masks with us; but
we had got the gas in our faces before we could put them
on. Meanwhile, the wounded were being carried in from
the first-line trenches by the stretcher-bearers, who, by
the way, are among the real heroes of this war. Finally
the time came for us to go out into the open in order to
let the other cars get in after us. We went along slowly
but surely, and at last we got down the hill, away from
all the noise and danger. It was worth while, though, for
we were carrying many wounded with us. For a week we
have been doing this work and are still alive ; and we have
to our credit about 700 blesses. The French are, of course,
very appreciative of our labor. I may add that I am well
in spite of the excitement, but tired to death of the hor-
rors, the smells, and the sights of war. I am glad to have
got a taste of real war, though, so as to know what it
really means.
Malbone H. Birckhead ^
' Of New York City; Harvard University; an Episcopal clergyman;
served in Section Eight from April to October, 1916. The above is an
extract from a letter written to Mr. Birckhead 's mother.
Ill
Thursday, July 20
This morning at 1.30 I left Dugny and went up to Caba-
ret, where I relieved, with Forbush,^ who went with me,
the two cars which were there. At the time there was a
very heavy French attack going on, so our run up was one
of the noisiest that I ever made. All along the road the
French batteries were firing tirs de barrage, and roaring
right in our ears. The roads were also very bad with
breaking shells, because, naturally, the heavy fire of the
French guns called forth much bombarding by the Ger-
mans. At Cabaret there were no wounded, and I just had
to sit around until 8.30 a.m., when I was relieved by two
other cars from our Section. During the first few hours of
my wait, I lay down in the straw on the floor of the dug-
out and tried to get some sleep. This, however, was out
of the question, owing to the terrific noise. At about
3 A.M. I got up and just hung around. The day was just
beginning to break, and it was a wonderful sight to see
the long trains of artillery passing along the brow of the
hill directly behind Cabaret, coming in from their night's
shift. All around Cabaret were situated French "75"
batteries. I went down into the dugout connected with
the nearest one of these, and watched it work. It was really
a foolish thing to do, for the batteries were being bom-
barded. However, I thought it too good a chance to miss,
and I am now very glad that I did it. The Lieutenant in
charge of the battery gave me little plugs to put in my
ears, and mica goggles to keep the powder out of my eyes.
He also told me that each time that a gun was fired to
rise up on my toes. This stops a great deal of the shock to
your ear-drums. At about 5 a.m. the sun was bright enough
to enable me to take pictures. I got some good views of
1 Frederic Moore Forbush, of Detroit, Michigan; served with Section
Eight of the Field Service from April 26 to October 24, 1916; subsequently
in the U.S. Navy; died of pneumonia October 6, 1918.
457
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
the guns in action. The Lieutenant in command did every-
thing he could to enable me to get the best possible posi-
tions and exposures.
Friday, July 21
I SLEPT quite late and got up just in time for lunch. Dur-
ing the afternoon worked on my car. At 8 p.m. our Divi-
sion went again on call and "Doc" Armour and I immedi-
ately left for Cabaret, to relieve the two cars of the other
division and to stay until 2 a.m. to-morrow morning. On
our run up, there was not very much firing done by
either side, and it was not until ii p.m. that the action
began. At this hour the Germans launched a very heavy
attack on all positions along the line of our sector. The
attack lasted for an hour and was immediately followed
by the French counter-attack, in which they regained all
the ground that they had lost. This French attack, of
course, made things very uncomfortable for Doc and me,
who had to stay in the dugout behind Cabaret. Cabaret
itself simply rocked with the vibration and concussion of
the huge guns which were firing all around it. The whole
country, as far as we could see, was a mass of flashes from
the French light and heavy artillery. The terrific noise
was mingled with the crashing of the German shells,
which kept continually breaking on the hill just behind
Cabaret. Many times they broke so close that our dug-
out was sprinkled with eclats and pieces of stone. At about
midnight there were four men carried in from one of the
near-by batteries in a horrible condition. A German
gun had found the range of this battery, and before it
could be moved had killed most of the gun crew and
wounded nearly all the rest. The doctor in Cabaret (a
surgeon) dressed their wounds there. It looked just like
the pictures you see in books of a doctor fixing up the
wounded in a little dugout. This doctor did all the dress-
ing on his knees because it was not possible to stand up
owing to the lowness of the roof. He had on his helmet,
with his gas-mask fastened at his side. During all the
458
SECTION EIGHT
dressings the French batteries directly outside the door
and all around the surrounding hills kept up the steady
roar of a tir de barrage.
I left Cabaret at 12.30 with my first load, and, as soon
as I had delivered them at the hospital, returned, because
we were not to be relieved until 2 or 2.30 A.M. On the trip
back and forth I had some quite narrow squeaks. Once a
shell broke right in the road about twenty yards in front
of me, and before I could stop I ran right into the shell-
hole, but did n't break the car at all. However, it gave the
blesses a terrible shaking-up and they all roared to beat
the band ! A small piece of the same shell chipped one of
my front spokes. At 2.15 a.m. the other two cars arrived
and I went straight back to Dugny.
Monday, July 24
This morning at 2.30 a call came in for two cars at
"Berlin." The reason that we call this poste "Berlin" is
because it is only two hundred yards away from the
German trenches. It is a very dangerous run and also
a very interesting one. From the poste (a little dugout)
you can plainly see the men firing their rifles from the
shell-holes out on the firing-line. Bill Seabrook and I
were the first two on call, and were therefore the ones
sent out. When we left Dugny we could easily tell, by the
exceptionally heavy firing, that there was an attack going
on. The road after we passed Belleray was as bright as
day owing to the great number of batteries firing directly
over it and to the star-shells with which the sky was
thickly dotted. This did not make any difference to us,
until after we passed the hill beyond Cabaret. In fact, it
was really a great help. When we passed the top of the
hill, however, we came into plain sight of the Germans,
and this made it very dangerous. W^e also came into sight
of the whole attack, which happened to be taking place
around Fleury. It was a magnificent sight to watch. The
whole valley was filled with the little puffs of flame from
the German and French rifles. We had to run down to
459
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
the Rue de Moulainville which was only three hundred
yards away from the Hnes, and which was therefore very
nearly in rifle range. Our blesses were all ready, waiting
for us in a little dugout which was at the junction of the
roads. I for one was very glad that they were ready, be-
cause this was my idea of "nowhere to hang out." We
got our cars loaded and started back. Bill Seabrook's car,
which was just in front of mine coming back, was struck
by a number of eclats. The woodwork on the back of his
car was filled with holes, and one of the blesses whom he
was carrying was hit again. He himself was not touched.
We arrived, back at Dugny again, at 5.45 a.m.
Wednesday, July 26
This morning at 1.30 I left Dugny for Cabaret. When I
arrived there, there was a terrible tir de barrage going on.
The noise was absolutely deafening. All the hills around
Cabaret were as light as day owing to the flashes of all
the guns. Their fire kept up steadily until nearly three
o'clock, when it stopped as suddenly as it had begun.
However, this was by no means the end of the noise. All
this heavy firing enabled the Boches to locate the bat-
teries, and when they once got the range the slaughter
began. For an hour and a half they kept pouring enor-
mous shells into all the hillsides. We spent the whole day
in an abri, and I never spent such an hour and a half in
all my life. We did not know at what minute a shell would
hit our dugout and smash it to pieces. However, none
even as much as touched it, eind when the bombardment
ceased our work began.
Wounded kept pouring into Cabaret from all sides.
They, of course, had had no dressings, and therefore the
ones who were badly wounded were in a terrible way.
Many of these poor fellows had their arms and legs com-
pletely shot off. As quickly as they were dressed, we car-
ried them down to Dugny and then returned to Cabaret
again for another load. We kept running back and forth
steadily until eight o'clock, when we were relieved by
460
SECTION EIGHT
Armour and Sortwell.^ As soon as I arrived at Dugny I
tumbled into bed and slept steadily until 2 p.m.
Monday, August 7
At 1.30 A.M. I was pulled out of bed to go to Cabaret.
When I left Dugny the firing was very heavy. After I had
passed through the woods outside of Verdun, the shells
began landing all around the road. The French batteries
were roaring and the place was certainly noisy. Just
before I got to Cabaret, I was held up by a block of con-
voy wagons. I jumped out of the car and ran on ahead to
see what the trouble was. When I arrived at the cause of
the hold-up a sight met my eyes that I will not forget for
some time. Lying right in the middle of the road was a
wagon all smashed to bits, and beside it four men sim-
ply torn to pieces. One had his head just hanging by a
shred, while another had his two legs blown off, just be-
low his waist. The other two were just scattered all over
the road. I helped with the job of cleaning away the wreck-
age and carrying what was left of the bodies into our
poste de secours. I then went back and got my car, and
went on up to the poste. The bombardment of the roads
kept up all the rest of the night. However, I made nine
trips back and forth. This kept me going until 1 1 a.m.
It is now almost sure that we have to leave here the
day after to-morrow for a poste in the Les Eparges district.
Tuesday, August 8
To-day I had my first real experience with mitrailleuse
fire. This morning at about eleven o'clock a call came in
for one car up at an advanced poste, to which we had
never been before. Fred Forbush was on call, but Mason
said that he wanted two men on the car just for safety's
sake, so I went along with him. The poste was situated
fully one hundred and fifty yards in front of Fort
^ Edward Carter Sortwell, of Cambridge, Massachusetts; Harvard; with
the Field Service from April 26, serving in Sections Eight and Three; killed
in Salonica in action, November, 1916.
461
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
Tavannes, and was closer to the lines than any to which
we have ever been sent. Until we got up to Tavannes,
things went along all right, but as soon as we passed the
fort and started down the hill in front, things immedi-
ately livened up. The whole side of the hill was covered
with puffs of white smoke, caused by the breaking of
German shells. We got down to our poste and picked up
our wounded. Just as we were going to start, all the men
around us began yelling at us to hurry out of the car and
get into a dugout. We did n't have any idea of what was
happening until we got into the dugout and heard the
rapid-fire guns spattering. We could follow the course of
their curtain fire from the door of the dugout. It extended
for very nearly a mile. From where we were, we could see
it coming closer and closer until it passed right over
the dugout, and for about five hundred yards beyond. It
looked as if a slight puff of wind was stirring the trees.
The steady rain of bullets shook the trees and completely
wiped out all the small bushes. Of course, these small
bullets could n't penetrate our dugouts, but when we
came out after it was all over, we found that one of our
front tires had been punctured. We fixed it right there
and then came back to Dugny without having anything
more happen.
Sunday, August 13
This was a "big day" for our Section. To-night the
Medecin Divisionnaire (a Colonel), a Lieutenant from our
poste de secours, Walker {Chef of Section 2), and his
Lieutenant, all came over to our ''Croix de Guerre Din-
ner." We had our dining-room out in a big field. We
backed all the cars in, around the table. The dinner itself
was a big success. After dinner the old Medecin Division-
naire stood up and made a very nice little speech. He sur-
prised us all by decorating MacMonagle with the Croix
de Guerre. His citation went in about two weeks ago, but
we had no idea that he was to be decorated to-night.
In his speech the Colonel thanked us all for coming
462
'ASSIS" WAITING AT CABARET ROUGE
STRETCHER CASES COMINCJ INTO THE " POS TE " AT
CABARET, NEAR VERDUN
SECTION EIGHT
over here. He complimented us on the way we went
through our big rush at Verdun. He said that it was a
wonderful piece of work, and one to be remembered with
pride throughout our lifetime.
Tuesday, August 15
This morning Section Two of the Field Service, which is
doing evacuation work at Petit Monthairon about five
miles from here, brought over a baseball team. As there
was n't much work for us, nine of us went down and
played with them. We beat them 7 to 4.
In the afternoon I had to take a lieutenant to Benoite-
Vaux, a little town about six miles from here, and close
to the lines. All the roads leading up to it were heavily
screened because they were in plain sight of the Germans.
They were also being shelled when we were coming back
over them. Many shells landed very close to my car, but
none close enough to do any damage. One time the lieu-
tenant and I counted twenty-five pufTs of smoke, caused
by breaking shells, in a radius of half a mile. I arrived
back at Belle Helene at about five o'clock and was imme-
diately sent up with Armour to the poste at Les Eparges
to get four men who had been very seriously wounded.
We went up and nothing extraordinary happened.
However, after we had been at the poste for several min-
utes waiting for our men to be prepared to leave, the
Germans loosed a cloud of poison gas. We put on our
masks, got our car loaded, and started back, but owing
to the way our breath smoked up our goggles we could n't
drive. We therefore stopped on the road and waited for
the gas to pass. When it was entirely gone we went on.
Between the point where we stopped and Belle Helene we
picked up four gas victims, who had forgotten to bring
along their masks. We also saw three lying dead beside
the road, but did n't stop, because there was nothing that
we could do.
Tuesday, August 29
This morning I was called out at three to bring a lieuten-
ant of the Medical Corps up to the various batteries in
463
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
this vicinity. One of these trips is always most interesting,
because it is just a tour of inspection and you get a chance
to see a great deal more than you do when you go to get
wounded. We went to all the heavy artillery batteries
situated on the hills behind Les Eparges. They were all
firing unceasingly when we were there, because it is al-
most always just at dawn that the attacking is done, and
an infantry attack is necessarily preceded by heavy bom-
barding from the heavy guns behind the lines.
We arrived back at Belle Helene after a trip which
lasted for five hours. Mason was beginning to get worried
about us, and was just going to start out in the staff car
to look for us.
At about eleven o'clock this morning I answered a
regular call to our poste de secours. These calls don't often
come in during the day, but a huge mine had exploded
right beside the poste and wounded about forty men and
killed fifteen. If it had gone off during the night it would
have wounded some of our fellows, because there are
always two or more cars there, whether there are blesses
or not.
This afternoon there was nothing for me to do, so I
took my car and went over to Section Two's quarters and
had a swim.
September 8
On the night of September 3 the French started a big
offensive which lasted until late. last night. During these
five days I have had in all eight hours' sleep. Our cars
have been running steadily back and forth to the various
pastes de secours. We carried at least five hundred wounded
every night, and had to evacuate the same number of
wounded every day.
This grand offensive extended over the entire Eparges
front, which is about eight miles long. The roads have
been simply jammed with long, heavy convoys of ammu-
nition and food wagons. The offensive was very impor-
tant, inasmuch as the French wanted to drive the Germans
464
SECTION EIGHT
out of the portion of the city of Les Eparges which they
occupied. This they succeeded in doing, but only at the
expense of hundreds and hundreds of men. There were
three extra divisions moved up here, just for the attack,
and in each regiment there were twelve thousand men,
and picked men at that; that is, they were picked men
for attacking. One regiment was of the Foreign Legion,
one of Senegals (negroes), and one of zouaves, or colo-
nials. Any one that has read of, or that knows anything
at all about these things, will be fully able to realize what
three divisions such as these can do. From the very start
the French had the whip hand. This was shown by the
hundreds upon hundreds of German prisoners taken
every day.
The work was very hard, as well as very dangerous.
Roads which never before had been shelled were subject
to the most terrible bombardment. The reason for this
was that the Germans knew very well that all the roads
were sure to be filled with troops and convoys, so they
moved over a great deal of their heavy artillery from
Verdun and simply showered the roads with high-explo-
sive shells. This, in one way, is what the French wanted,
because, when they saw the artillery being moved, they
immediately started another attack in the Verdun sector
and retook all of Fleury.
Of course all this shelling made our work just so much
more difficult. Many of our cars were hit, and one of our
men got a piece of shell casing in his leg. However, it
did n't amount to anything. Instead of getting some of
our wounded at the more protected postes, as we had been
doing, we had to get them all right up at the advanced
paste. You see, they could n't waste any time in bringing
the wounded back, so we simply had to go and get them.
Up at the paste we could plainly hear the shouting and
yelling of the men fighting. Of course, it was not always
continuous. There were times, however, for nearly hours
at a time, when things were as quiet as the grave. It was
during these lapses that the wounded were carried back
465
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
by hand. None of the wounds had been dressed at all,
and were in a horrid condition. After about two days the
walls and sides and even roofs of our ambulances were
covered with blood. We did n't have any time to clean
them. It was about the worst four days, besides the ones
we put in at Tavannes, that I ever spent. We did n't have
any regular time for eating. There was hot coffee always
ready at our poste, and when we had a chance we would
grab a cup and be ofT again. Besides this, in the office
there were always little bundles, containing a cake of
chocolate and some sandwiches, which we would take
with us and eat on the way up to the poste.
This afternoon the General of the Division here came
around to our camp and made a long speech congratulat-
ing us on our work. He said that it was a piece of work
which we might pride ourselves on, as few others could
do it as well. He also said that the poste at Les Eparges
was on no occasion overcrowded with wounded. This in
itself meant a great deal, because more than fifty were
carried in every hour. He finished up by thanking us, not
only for himself, but also for the men in his Division.
We are all nearly crazy from loss of sleep and the roads
are in terrible condition from shelling.
Sunday, September 17
These past four days have been very quiet in comparison
with the past two weeks and a half. There has been very
little or no attacking done by either side, although there
have been quite a number of wounded. This was due to
the fact that a great number of mines were exploded by
the Germans.
On Friday a rumor started around our quarters that
we were to move within the next two or three days. We
did n't pay much attention to this, and were therefore
very much surprised on Saturday when an order came in
for us to pack up all our things and be ready to move at
four o'clock on Sunday morning (this morning).
Therefore at five o'clock our whole Section started off
466
SECTION EIGHT
for a little town just outside of Ligny for a short rest. The
entire Division moved with us. After this rest the Divi-
sion (the 1 8th) will very likely go up to the Somme or
down to the Vosges Mountains, and unless we change
divisions it naturally means that we shall go along with
them. Everybody thinks that there is only one chance in
a hundred of this outfit returning to Verdun, because, as
they have been in the Verdun district since February
without a single real rest, they surely will now be let off.
It is a regiment composed entirely of old classes, and is
therefore used more for holding trenches than for taking
them. For this reason the majority of opinions seem to
point to the Vosges.
Our Section is fixed up very well here. We are quar-
tered in the classroom of the village school, and are look-
ing forward to four or five days, at least, with nothing at
all to do except to take care of the few men who are taken
ill during this repos. This usually amounts to one call a
day, so we shall have plenty of time to make up for the
sleep we lost during the past three weeks.
Grenville T. Keogh ^
* Of New Rochelle, New York; served in Sections Eight and Three in
1916 and 1917; subsequently a Sous- Lieutenant in French Aviation, on duty
in the Orient; these are extracts from Mr. Keogh 's diary.
IV
The Famous Convoy that Dro n't
Crevecceur, The Somme, December 4, 1916
Our first few days of convoy running were very amusing.
In fact, I think our Section must now be one of the best
jokes in the French Army. We left early one very foggy
morning, with our thirty-odd voitures all beautifully lined
up, and ready for a long spin the first day; but we had
scarcely turned our backs on the little village before the
entire convoy was lost in a fog and headed in thirty sepa-
rate directions — all going like mad to "catch up."
Mason, our Chef, took the wrong turn in the middle of
the town and went up a terrific hill, while two cars that
tried to follow him broke down on the grade. A marching
company cut the rest of us off and every car following got
a different road.
Two days later, when the majority of us had finally
been collected at a small town several hundred kilometres
distant, we found a nice hotel and decided to eat our
Thanksgiving dinner there, although the date was a day
too early. On this occasion, in lieu of post-prandial ora-
tory, I produced some atrocious doggerel ; but, after a good
turkey and mince-pie feast, the Section was in a mood to
laugh at anything, and some of the unpolished stuff I
wrote seemed to appeal to the fellows — a fine crowd of
rough, good-hearted boys, whose performances have
been "a scream" from the start of the convoy. . . .
We are not far from one of the quaintest and oldest
towns in France, full of houses and monuments dating
from 1000 to 1500, and offering endless material for little
sight-seeing expeditions. The name of "American Tour-
ing Club," which has been given us, is not half the joke
that it would appear to be. It is really astounding the
amount of leisure and comfort that the French military
system allows officers and men who are in the convois
468
SECTION EIGHT
autos. Of course, when they are in active operations they
are in a perfect hell for a period, but when they come out,
it is possible to forget now and then that France is at war.
W'e are quartered temporarily over a cafe. I have a
very nice room with a big desk on which I work consider-
ably making cartoons as a record of our convoy experi-
ences. If we get into an interesting sector, the boys want
to have these cartoons and these experiences put into a
book as a souvenir of the Section. They would only have
a personal, not a general interest; but I am going to make
the most of my last two months over here and try to
bring together the material for a permanent keepsake of
the time I have spent here.
Furthermore, I don't want to go away without feeling
that I have done a little for France, which has certainly
given me innumerable lessons in the philosophy of living
and dying. It is too bad that every American cannot see
first-hand what this indomitable nation is now going
through, and with what a fine spirit it faces crisis after
crisis. France is entitled to the reward of a magnificent
future, and every American who has been here will be
bitterly disgusted if the United States does not lend all
its aid to assuring such a future. We know nothing of true
Democracy. The innate courtesy, forbearance, and stead-
fastness of the "common people" here is something that
never ceases to inspire one, day after day. I hope I can
return here often and never lose touch and sympathy
with these surroundings.
Charles Law Watkins ^
' Of Rye, New York; Yale, '08; served in Sections Three and Eight, from
August, 1916, to February, 1917; entered the French Artillery School at
Fontainebleau, and subsequently became a Sous-Lieutenant in the French
Army. The above are extracts from home letters.
V
The Somme — and Cold Weather
January lo, 1917
We were at Crevecoeur some two weeks before we got
out. Finally, about the middle of December, after all the
troops had gone, we got our orders to go to Mailly Raine-
val, near Moreuil. We stayed there four or five days, and
were beginning to think we had been side-tracked and
would not get up to the front at all, when we got our or-
ders in the middle of the night to move the next morning
to Proyart. So we ploughed up there through the mud.
There is a long, straight road running due east from
Amiens along which were some of our pastes, and Proyart
is only a mile ofif it. We landed there on December 21,
parked our cars in a foot of mud, and with great dififi-
culty found an old barn as cantonment.
On the 22d I went up with the French Lieutenant to
see the pastes. We went out along that straight road
through Foucaucourt toward Estrees. At the latter town
we were to keep one car and another at Fay, just north of
it. Then at a point called Bois de Satyr, in a little valley
behind Estrees, we were to hold three cars to replace the
others when they came in with a load.
Foucaucourt was about the most demolished village I
had ever seen, not a house standing, just walls and ruins.
The street was one sea of mud. The original lines used to
be just beyond Foucaucourt, and we could see the old
trenches, pretty well broken in now, and the fields
ploughed all to pieces and covered with shell-holes. They
looked more like a choppy sea than fields. Then we came
to a little hois down in a gully, the Bois de Satyr, where
were old abris made by the Germans — and wonderfully
well made, very deep and nicely boarded in. Then we
went on and came to a cross-roads. We asked some one
470
SECTION EIGHT
where Estrees was, and he said simply, "This is Es-
trees!" There was no sign of a house — only dugouts. In
fact, of Estrees, that had been a thriving village, nothing
remained — it was razed to the ground. And Fay was
nearly as bad.
Next day we began work, replacing two French sec-
tions instead of one; but it was not hard, and later we
took over a third section's service of evacuating back
from Proyart. But even with tripled work we had no
great difificulties. We worked only four or fire days, fol-
lowing to Bayonvillers, when our Division was moved
back.
A couple of days before we left Proyart the Boches
bombarded the place with an eight-inch marine gun. It
was quite a day. We had gotten off three cars to relieve
the night shift at the hospital — and the other two driv-
ers were having a time cranking their cars — when,
Bang! right across the street came a huge explosion.
Rocks began to fall all around. I did not know whether
it was an avion bomb or a shell. Some one cried, "Gas,"
but I knew it was not that. A wounded Frenchman came
tearing into our quarters hanging onto his arm, and Wat-
kins took him up to the hospital. We did not know what
it was, but soon heard another one down in the village. I
went across the street to see what had happened. The
shell had dropped through a barn and pretty well wrecked
it, killing a man and a horse, and wounding other horses.
It had dug a hole six or eight feet deep in the ground — •
and down in it stood a couple of horses shivering.
I had just come back into our court, when, Bang!
again, right behind me. I knew it was awfully close,
much closer than the last one, and, knowing that rocks
would begin to fall, ducked under d'Estes' car. Usually
one ducks, or dodges into an abri from common sense,
but this time I was carried under the car without con-
scious effort on my part. I know now I was blown down
onto my hands and knees, because my first recollection
was exerting every effort to crawl under the nearest car.
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THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
I got up, and saw several fellows appear from behind the
radiator of the car, among them Meadowcroft, with a
very white face and a gash on his head. He was a little
shaky, but said he was O.K., and I saw it was only a cut,
though bleeding a little.
It is hard to tell the sequence of events, but about the
same time that I saw Meadowcroft I looked around and
saw a great hole in the middle of our yard, and two cars
that had been standing there had disappeared. Breed
told me afterwards that I said, "My God! I did n't know
it was so close." I don't know just what I did then, but
Tower was hollering about abris, and we started down
into the cave, though it would not stop a shell. Some one
said there was a deeper one out back in our garden and a
lot of us ran out there to find it; but there was nothing,
so I came back to the cave. My last impression as I turned
back was of half a dozen of our fellows climbing the
eight-foot garden wall with the greatest ease and agility,
and "Booze," our dog, yelping after them.
Several more shells fell in town — about eighteen in
all — and fourteen Frenchmen were killed. They say it
was the first bombardment of Proyart in five months.
In our courtyard four cars had been lined up on each
side, and the shell, landing between two cars, blew one
tv\'^enty-five feet away against the wall, and the other
fifteen feet in the opposite direction. The bodies of both
cars had completely disappeared and the chassis were all
twisted up. One other car was tipped up at an angle of
forty-five degrees against the wall with a bent wheel and
a window blown off. A fourth car was lifted sideways five
feet, its body all broken in, and a wheel smashed. Later
half of Breed's rear axle was found two hundred and fifty
yards away behind the chateau, and other parts were
scattered about.
I was only eight or ten feet from the shell when it
dropped; my reflex action was so prompt that I don't
know whether it was' the explosion or my muscles that
propelled me under the car so quickly. My ears sang for
472
SECTION EIGHT
some time. Why I was n't blown to atoms I don't know.
The ground was soft, of course, and the shell sank deep
and was somewhat muffled, but all the same I consider it
a miraculous escape.
Sainte-Menehotdd, February i, 1917
December 30 we moved a short distance from Proyart
and did the old work of looking after the malades of the
Division. This lasted about four days, after which we had
four days of travel — going each day only thirty or forty
kilometres. We could have done the whole distance in one
day, but had to obey orders. It was a nuisance. Finally,
after stops of some days in a couple of places, we made
a long run of three days, beginning January 22, into the
Sainte-Menehould sector. The day of our start it got very
cold, and has been ever since, ten to twenty-five degrees
Fahrenheit all the time. We have our troubles with cars
freezing up and have already ruined one motor that froze
up solid.
February 2, 1917
Wf live in a sort of house and bam combined. The car-
riage-room is our dining-hall. Only one chamber we heat
with a stove. All the sleeping-rooms are frigid, the dining-
place dead cold, and everything is frozen solid all the
time. Even my ink-bottle down in the bottom of my
trunk froze and had to be thawed out on the stove. My
toothbrush, sponge, and nailbrush are always frozen
stiff, and one has to wash, if one must, in water with ice
floating in it. They say it is the coldest spell they have
had in France for fifteen years.
Glorieux, March 18, 1917
In our Sainte-Menehould sector the fellows had nice little
abris to live in up at the pastes, dug into the back side of
the hill, where they had a fire and kept warm. They
were, in fact, much more comfortable than we were back
in town, with a heatless barn for eating-place, heatless
rooms and loft to sleep in, and a room with one lone stove
for a sitting-room ! And we had continuous cold weather.
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THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
I don't think the thermometer ever rose above freezing
point while we were there, but ranged from zero to about
twenty-five degrees. Our cars would freeze up in a jiffy
if we were not very careful, and we always ran the motors
in the morning before putting any water in the radiators,
otherwise the water froze solid before the car was even
cranked.
Shortly after this we moved over to the next army and
were attached to a new Division, then en repos. We made
a cold convoy run to Erize-la- Petite, where we stayed
one night last June. We got as cantonment the same barn
we had before, but whereas then we were much pleased
with it as airy quarters this winter it was terrific. It was
draughty and cold, and the weather was as cold as ever,
never above freezing. It was something fearful, as we had
no place we could even put up a stove, and no place to go
to get warm — except the cuisine roulante, which at best
could hold only three men at a time. The village was
crowded with 1300 troops, whereas it is figured to hold
only 800, and half the village was burned down at the
beginning of the war. I slept in the barn four nights and
nearly froze ; slept in my clothes with a sweater around
my neck. My toes were numb when I went to bed and
did not get thoroughly thawed out by morning, with two
pairs of socks on.
Everything froze up. One fellow had a flask of brandy
which solidified. It broke the bottle and the chap had a
great hunk of frozen brandy. He would break off chunks
and treat every one to cognac glace.
We moved up here into the caserne on March 5, in the
snow. Our work is sufficient to keep us more than occu-
pied, and, thank Heaven, we have comfortable barracks
and plenty of stoves !
Austin B. Mason ^
* Of Boston, Massachusetts; Harvard, '08; Massachusetts Institute of
Technology, '10; joined the Field Service March 4, 1916, serving with Sec-
tion Four and as Chef oi Section Eight; left in April, 1917, to enter Aviation,
where he became a First Lieutenant, U.S. Signal Corps. These are clippings
from home letters.
IHiiiliMiiillilillill^^
72 5
7- H
S .'^
VI
Last Months of the Field Service
Glorieux, May 3, 1917
Cadman, Gwynn, Eckstein, and I (the California-Belgium
quartet) arrived here day before yesterday and were at
once initiated into Section Eight. All of us were much im-
pressed by our proximity to Verdun, and by the war-
scarred, veteran tradition which perv^aded the atmosphere
of the little amhulancier group.
Glorieux is three kilometres from Verdun. We send six
cars there every evening. They wait at Maison Nathan
for calls to go to the front or to the hospitals in the rear.
Our front pastes are at Bras and Montgrignon, and the
hospitals to which we evacuate are at Dugny, Vadelain-
court, Fontaine Routon, and Souhesme.
The first trip I made was to Bras, about three kilo-
metres from the German lines. The road is screened, but
we went up before dark and raised a good deal of dust.
We had just put the Ford in a shed near the poste when
shells began to whistle over and burst a hundred yards or
so behind us. Paden and I watched them calmly enough,
until a poilu ran in and called for brancardiers, saying
that a sergeant had just been killed and several soldiers
wounded when one of the above-mentioned shells broke
in the room in which they were sitting. They took a
stretcher out and brought the dead man in — his head
had been smashed. The incident made a great impression
on me. But Paden did not seem to think much about it.
The truth is, as I soon found out, the Section considers
this a rest sector, and is impatient to be moving out and
into something interesting.
Ferme de Piemont, May 15
On May 12 we were succeeded at Glorieux by Section
Eighteen, and convoyed past the Argonne into the Cham-
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THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
pagne to our present headquarters. "Doc" Dodge has
gone to Paris and Steve Munger is now our Chef.
Here we have three front pastes and three back, or
evacution, pastes. The advanced pastes are at Bois Carre,
Ferme des Wacques (which is on the position of the front-
line trenches of September, 19 15), and Pont Suippes. The
latter is about three kilometres from the front. One car
goes there and another stays at Jonchery. When the car
comes down from Pont Suippes the car from Jonchery
replaces it. Our back pastes are at Ambulance 2/60 at
Suippes, from which we evacuate to the Suippes hospitals,
to Nantivet, to Bussy, to Cuperly and Chalons.
We are beginning to realize that our change of sectors
was not for the better. It is even quieter in the Cham-
pagne than it was at Verdun. All we can do is to sit about
and listen to "Ken" Austin, "Steve'- Munger, and "Ap"
Miles tell of the glory that used to be Section Eight's, and
to speculate on the great things that we shall do if we are
ever given a chance. I rather think that the powers that
be have decided Section Eight has enough citations and
that this summer should be one of repos for us.
Details of the Daily Round
May 27
I WENT to G.B.D. Headquarters yesterday, resigning my-
self to a day en reserve, meaning a day of doing nothing.
When Sewall and I arrived, Blake and Burton, whom we
were to replace, told us that four or five gentle abus had
dropped into camp during the evening. The first ones
landed quite a way from the cars, and Blake, who was
sitting in his vaiture, had time to duck into an abri. The
next one landed in the road and the eclat knocked a hole
in Burton's radiator, and splintered the top of Blake's
car.
The Medecin Chef said that that was enough for him
and he moved his quarters to the Ferme de Piemont,
among a cluster of trees, back of Suippes, just off the
main road to Chalons.
476
SECTION EIGHT
May 30
This afternoon's communique will probably read, "Artil-
lery activity on the Champagne front." The Germans
found a battery of French "150's" near Saint-Hilaire
last night. They destroyed all four guns and broke up the
abris with penetration shells; then they completed the
job with gas-shells. Most of the artillerymen were killed,
but a call came in for three ambulances, and Austin,
Lambert, and Boardman answered it. Only one blesse
was still alive when they arrived.
June 5
Blake arrived back from permissioji yesterday, bringing
a large strawberry shortcake. We had been talking of
such a delicacy for the past two weeks, and to have it
appear so suddenly was too good.
The Boches located a French battery near the Ferme
des Wacques last night. Burton brought one of the vic-
tims down. The poor fellow had both legs shot off, and
died in the ambulance.
"Booze," the Section dog, was hit by a camion on the
Chalons road yesterday. After dinner Austin, Hall, Sew-
all, Lieutenant Bollaert,^ Pohlman, and I went up and
buried him.
Pont Suippes, June 9
The wagon des morts has just come up the road and is
waiting for dark, so that it can continue up to La Rose.
It comes every night about this time, goes up to get the
dead, and takes them down to Jonchery, where the grave-
diggers bury them in the divisional cemetery. An average
of four or five are taken down every night.
June 14
There was a successful French coup de main yesterday
morning in the sector on our right. I could see the artillery
1 Lieutenant Bollaert, the French officer of Section Eighi , was killed by a
shell at a dressing-station in the region of Montdidier on August ii, 1918.
477
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
preparation from Jonchery. It sounded like a regular bat-
tle, but only seven Germans were taken, and no French
were killed or wounded.
Jttne 17
Bill Gwynn's car was almost converted into kindling
wood yesterday, but luckily Bill was not in it when the
shell landed. The same shell hit a general's chauffeur who
was standing near. Bill rushed out and brought the man
in, and then went out and found that though the body of
the ambulance had been knocked out, the engine would
still run as well as ever. So he took the wounded chauffeur
down to Suippes.
Ferme des Wacques, June 21
I HAVE just seen my first dead German. A hrancardier
came in a few minutes ago and said that a Boche had been
killed with a hand-grenade near one of the petites pastes.
We went down the road to see him. He was a young fellow,
with a light mustache. The brancardiers stopped laugh-
ing and looked at him. One said, ''He is very young";
another, "That is what is happening to all the young
men"; "And the old ones too, and it is not over yet,"
said a third.
A lively bombardment in the direction of Mont Cor-
nillet started about an hour ago and is still going strong.
It sounds as though one side had attacked and the other
were now getting ready a counter-attack. I can see the
star-shells over the trenches and occasional gun flashes.
July II
We were replaced at Ferme de Piemont by Section Twelve
and are now at St. Martin-sur-le-Pre, encamped in a
barnyard. Our Division is en repos.
Most of us celebrated the 4th of July in Paris (thanks
to a forty-eight-hour permission) and saw a contingent
of the American First Division, which had just landed
at Saint-Nazaire, march down the Boulevards. It was a
great inspiration, both for us and for the French.
478
SECTION EIGHT
Ville-Sur-Tene, July i8
We left Saint- Martin July 13' and convoyed here, pass-
ing through very beautiful country on the way. Our Divi-
sion is completely en repos. We are ninety kilometres
from the nearest point on the Saint-Mihiel front.
This is a wonderful place for the Division to rest in.
The land is rolling and green and highly cultivated, ex-
cept for occasional woods. We are on the southern edge
of the Champagne, near where Bungundy begins.
There is very little to do. Every day two cars go out to
visit all the villages where the Division is billeted. If
there are any sick we carry them to the hospital at Bar-
sur-Aube.
Anticipated Action and a Disappointment
Camp Dilleman
. (near Les Petites Loges in the Champagne)
August 6
We arrived Saturday and relieved the English section
which was on duty here. At last it looks as if we were in
for some action. We are serving the Moronvilliers Massifs
Sector, composed of Monts Cornillet, Blanc, and Haut.
Since April, when the crests of the heights were taken by
the French, this has been one of the liveliest sectors on the
Western Front. The position on the hills is a command-
ing one for either side. The hills rise almost directly from
the plain and offer excellent observation postes for about
twenty kilometres. The last fight here was about three
weeks ago. The division which we replaced took the first
line of German trenches. The Germans recovered them
the next night; the French retook them the next, and
after dark the following day kept such a heavy barrage on
the German lines that the Boches could not get out to
attack. The French division lost about 1600 in the two
weeks that it was here.
Our front postes are at Prosnes and L' Esplanade. We
do not keep cars continually at the latter, but two cars
are always at Prosnes. We take the blesses from there to
479
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
La Plaine, where they are numbered and examined, and
then sent on.
August 7
We have been here three days, and now, just as an inter-
esting time seems to loom up ahead of us, we are leaving
for what I know is a quiet sector. We are swapping places,
and divisions, with Section Thirteen. We are going to
Sainte-Menehould this afternoon.
A Repos Sector
August 9
Arrived at Sainte-Menehould Tuesday afternoon. We
have fairly good quarters in an alley and a couple of barns
and a schoolhouse, right in the middle of the town. It is a
prosperous little city, and we will be able to get anything
we want, even baths.
Our pastes are a long way from Sainte-Menehould, but
near the lines. Because of the many hills and the thick
woods fighting on a large scale is very difficult in this
sector, and both sides have settled down as if they in-
tend to stay where they are for the duration of the war.
Though in some places the trenches are but fifty feet
apart, concrete dugouts, with electric lights, have been
built. The roads run up to within less than a kilometre of
the lines.
This is a repos sector. The French division now here
(the 169th) was in the first attack at Mont Cornillet. In
the German trenches is a part of the Prussian Guard,
which was also at Cornillet.
Besides this poste (Saint-Thomas) our only other one is
at La Narazee, in one of the ravines to the right of here.
We have one car at each of these pastes and three at the
triage to which we evacuate. But the work is very light.
Harry L. Dunn ^
^ Of Santa Barbara, California; University of California; in Section
Eight from April to October, 1917; subsequently an officer in the U.S.
Field Artillery; these are extracts from an unpublished diary.
VII
Summary of the Section's History under the
United States Army
After it was enlisted in the United States Army, Section
Eight, now 628, remained in the Argonne, with front-Hne pastes
at La Harazee, Saint-Thomas, and Le Four de Paris until Feb-
ruary 28, 191 8, having during this time very little work.
From February 28 until March 28, it was en repos at Saint-
Ouen, Corbeil, and Herpont, small towns in the vicinity of
Vitry-le-Frangois. From April 2 until June 9, it was in the Oise
and Somme sectors in Picardy. It was cantoned at Coivrel, a
small town south of Montdidier, and had postes at Dompierre,
Domfront, Godenvillers, and Le Ployron. It sustained a gas
attack April 17 and 18, for which the Section was cited to the
order of the Division. The work was very heavy. Jack Keogh
was wounded by a shell at Coivrel, and was in a hospital for
two months.
From June 9 until August 19 it remained in the Oise sector,
being cantoned at Ravenel, south of Montdidier. The French
offensive here began on the 9th of August. The 169th Division,
to which the Section was attached, advanced from Le Ployron
to Fescamps, approximately twenty kilometres. The front
postes during the attack were at Domfront, Rubescourt, Le
Ployron, Assainvillers, Fescamps, and Bus. The Section's
French Lieutenant, Lieutenant Bollaert, was killed, and Henri
Werlemman, his French driver, was very gravely wounded in
the leg at the poste at Rubescourt. The Section was cited for its
work here.
From August 19 until September 7, the Section was en repos
at Froissy, near Beauvais. It went back to the front again on
September 7, and from this time until October 16 had some
of its hardest work. It went into line just behind Ham at a
town called Vilette. Its Division attacked and advanced from
Ham to Saint-Quentin, and beyond to Mont Origny — a dis-
tance of over thirty-five kilometres. In this advance the Divi-
sion broke the Hindenburg line just in front of Saint-Quentin.
The Section was here again cited for its work. During the ad-
vance from Ham to Mont Origny, it worked postes at Ham,
Ollezy, Saint-Simon, Avesne, Clastres, LizeroUes, Essigny-le-
Grand, Urvillers, Itancourt, Mesnil-Saint-Laurent, and Regny.
481
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
From October i6 until November i, it was en repos at
Crevecoeur-le-Grand, near Beauvais. On November li, at the
signing of the Armistice, the Section was at Guise. After the
Armistice it proceeded with the French Army of Occupation
into Belgium, passing through Le Nouvion, La Capelle, Trelon,
Chimay, as far as Mariembourg. The Division was demobilized
at La Nouvion January 22, 1919, and the Section went to
Crepy-en-Valois, outside of Paris until it was ordered to Base
Camp in February.
Section Nine
THE STORY TOLD BY
I. George R. Cogswell
II. Carleton Burr
III. William Carey Sanger, Jr.
IV. Harvey Cass Evans
SUMMARY
Section Nine came into existence on August 14, 1916, and
left Versailles for the Vosges Mountains. It worked over prac-
tically the same ground that Section Three had worked over
before it, serving in the valley of the Thur, in the region of the
Ballon de Guebwiller, Hartmannsweilerkopf, and around
MoUau and Mittlach. The Section left this region of Alsace on
December 14, 1916, going to Bar-le-Duc and later to Vadelain-
court and Glorieux, where they worked the Verdun front in
the region of the Meuse River and around Montgrignon. On
January 15, 1917, the Section was moved again, this time going
to Toul. On January 24, 1917, it moved to Royaumeix, and
worked pastes at Saint-Jacques and La Carriere de Flirey. On
February 5, 191 7, it again moved to Rupt, close to Saint-Mihiel.
Another move took place in April to Ligny-en-Barrois, Vau-
couleurs, and filoyes-sur-Moselle. On April 19 it went to Van-
doeuvre, near Nancy. On June 15 it worked about Pont-^-
Mousson. On October 6 the Section changed once again, going
to Saint-Max, just outside of Nancy, where, two weeks later,
it was taken over by the United States Army as Section Six-
Twenty-Nine.
.cH
Sectiofi Nine
O friends, in your fortunate present ease . . .
If you would see how a race can soar
That has no love, but no fear, of war,
How each can turn from his private role
That all may act as a perfect whole,
How men can live up to the place they claim
And a nation, jealous of its good name,
Be true to its proud inheritance.
Oh, look over here and learn from France.
Alan Seeger
I
Forming the Section — First Experiences
Alsace
In June of 1916, two generous Americans made possible
a new Field Service section. Living in Paris from the be-
ginning of the war, they had observed and recognized
how greatly the French Army appreciated the five sec-
tions already in the field, and they offered to provide cars
and equipment, and all expenses incident to the formation
and maintenance of a sixth section. They made this great
gift anonymously, only asking that each of the twenty-five
485
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
cars composing the section should bear upon its name-
plate this inscription:
"Aux Soldats de France,
Deux Americains Reconnaissants"
The names of the donors were only known at the time to
the officers of the Field Service, but the nameless bene-
factors maintained throughout the war deep interest in
the work of the Section, and in the welfare and achieve-
ments of its members, sending them continually articles
for their comfort and convenience. We believe it only
appropriate to-day to state that the donors of this Section
were Mr. and Mrs. Robert Woods Bliss.
Section Nine came into existence August 14, 1916, and
left Versailles for the Vosges. Carleton Burr was the
American CheJ and Lieutenant J. Ostheimer, the French
Commander. Three days and two nights of convoy
brought us to Rupt-sur-Moselle, where we waited a week,
and on August 25 the Section moved and took up its real
work at Mollau, a little town in Alsace Reconquise, where
all the natives speak a mixture of German and French —
mostly German.
Our troubles in maintaining the service were caused
by mountains and poor roads. The first day, Walter
Chrystie's car was assisted to the top of the Ballon de
Guebwiller by horses, while my car, going to the poste
near Hartmannsweilerkopf, simply expired three times,
on each of which occasions a total change of water in the
radiator was necessary. An hour in low gear seemed too
much. However, practice and removing carbon from
cylinders told in our favor to such an extent that finally
we could make the grades unassisted.
We had six postes that required mountain-climbing.
There was one car at Camp Hoche, near Hartmanns-
weilerkopf; one at Camp Duchet, near the Sudel ; another
at Hoog on the Ballon de Guebwiller; a fourth at Nenette,
in the valley of the Lauchensee; a fifth at Treh, the
mountain of Trehkopf; and a sixth at Mittlach in the
486
ONE OF OUR CARS IN TROUBLE
COFFINS IN THE COURTYARD OF A BASE HOSPITAL IN ALSACE
SECTION NINE
valley of the Fecht. In the same valley as Mollau we had
two cars at Villers, and one each at Moosch, Wesserling,
Kruth, and Urbes. Later Kriith was taken off and the
car at Moosch transferred to Camp Larchey on the
Trehkopf. For such a widespread service, drivers had to
go to poste for forty-eight hours and then had twenty-four
hours' repos at Mollau. During our four months' stay in
Alsace our only excitements were a few near-accidents.
The roads had sheer walls on one side and a drop-off
abruptly on the other. On the outer side there was occa-
sionally a one-foot-high bank, as a gentle reminder that
you might drop a long way to the nearest tree down
the mountain-side. Several cars temporarily tlght-rope-
walked these little embankments In the dark. One expert
at this game was Judd Farley, who on a certain occasion
had to be pulled back onto the road by three artillery
horses and about fifteen men.
Our relations with the French Army were most cordial.
The Section was reviewed by General Boyer, command-
ing the Division, who congratulated and thanked the
men for the work done, and when, on December 12, the
Division left, the General sent us his felicitations. On
December 14 we, too, left Alsace. A prettier sight I have
never seen. Two days before, the country had been
clothed in a blanket of snow three feet deep. The day
was clear and there was a real zip in the air. Passing
through the little town of Urbes, the Section was infor-
mally reviewed by the natives who waved us good-bye.
Then came the long climb over the famous Col de Bus-
sang, a passage through the tunnel, and we were out of
Alsace. Riding at the end and watching the long convoy
file out ahead was wonderful.
Great Days at Verdun
Two days later found us at Bar-le-Duc. We spent the
night at Joinvllle. The next day an urgent telephone mes-
sage ordered us to the H.O.E. of Vadelaincourt, and by
2.30 in the afternoon we were there — our blanket rolls,
487
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
section belongings, and all dumped out in the mud. Real
mud it was; mud that was like a ten-pound weight on
your feet when you walked, and like the most exquisite
auto grease if you were on an incline. The French had
just taken the Cote du Poivre and everything was going
full blast. We set to work helping Section Fifteen evacu-
ate men from Fontaine Routon to the H.O.E., which
continued till 2 A.M., when the whole Section was given
a load for Bar-le-Duc. This finished our rush work, but
for two weeks more we had plenty to do, as we were
attached to the hospital.
On January i we were attached to the 123d Division,
and our headquarters changed to Glorieux, just outside
the city of Verdun. Our poste was on the Meuse River at
Montgrignon, just across from Thierville, and we evacu-
ated to Fontaine Routon, a distance of about eighteen
kilometres. Then commenced two weeks of about the
stiffest labor possible — not that we had any "red-hot"
corners to round, but because it was an everlasting grind.
Theoretically half the Section would go on duty for
twenty-four hours, when the other half would relieve
them. As a matter of fact the work became so heavy that
the squad en repos would commence about 2.30 p.m., and
then officially go on duty at 7 p.m., when we could always
count on keeping the motors humming steadily until
5 A.M. Between then and 11 a.m. there were many calls,
though not enough to keep the whole squad on the go
continually. After that the grind began again and lasted
until evening.
Bed was a welcome place after such a turn on duty. In
fact, for two weeks we thought of nothing but eating,
sleeping, and driving. Any great amount of washing,
either of the men or the cars, went by the board. The
number of wounded carried cannot be told at this writ-
ing, but suffice it to say that in two weeks the Section
covered more than 34,000 kilometres over abominable
roads. The amount of work, coupled with the fact that
we had low-spring hangers and were constantly banging
488
SECTION NINE
flat on the axles, caused crystallization of all the axles so
that most of them soon broke as a result, which neither
lightened our labor nor our spirits.
On January 15 the Section was moved again, this time
going to Toul, where Carleton Burr left the Section for
home. Every one, I may add, was mighty sorry to see him
leave, for he was a fine leader and always well liked by
the men. Walter Jepson then became chej ''par interim^
On January 24 we moved to Royaumeix, and were
attached to the 130th Division. Our pastes were Saint-
Jacques and La Carriere de Flirey. Cars went out every
night. A cold streak of weather made the Fords extremely
balky. With the temperature below zero, Fahrenheit, a
half-hour's steady cranking, often with a torch on the
manifold, was the usual procedure. While running, the
lower half of the radiator on every Ford was always
blocked to prevent freezing.
Saint-Mihiel, 1 91 7
On February 5 the Section again lived up to its reputa-
tion as the "Wanderer" of the Field Service by moving
again. After packing up in a great hurry and thawing out
a few radiators, we got under way about noon, and eleven
o'clock that night saw us installed at Rupt right by Saint-
Mihiel, where we relieved the same French sanitary sec-
tion that we relieved in the Vosges. Our Division was the
63d. For a fixed poste we had Pierrefitte, which was sup-
posed to keep three cars busy.
The Section shifted its cantonment, March 10, to
Villotte, but maintained the same service at the front.
On the 15th the Boches shot at the hospital of Bellevallee
which had to be evacuated in a hurry.
On the evening of April 4, General Andlauer and the
Staff of the 63d Division, with which Section Nine served
during many months, dined with us in our Headquarters,
when the General presented each "American volunteer"
with a copy of a letter, which was really his speech at the
dinner, signed by him (see plate).
489
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
We all felt very proud and happy, especially as the
General shook hands and spoke with each of us.
April 3 the Section again moved, and this was the
beginning of its famous tour with the 63d Division. Three
nights were spent at Ligny-en-Barrois. Then commenced
the real tour. We spent nights in Vaucouleurs, Coussey,
Valaincourt, Remoncourt, Dompaire, Darnieulles, and
finally a week in Eloyes-sur-Moselle. During this tour the
Section maintained a flying squadron of four to six cars
which made the evacuations of sick and foot-weary sol-
diers. There was also "Hutchinson's Walking Club." A
half-hour after arriving in a place the club would set out
to see the sights, and in this way many kilometres were
covered in the few spare hours before supper-time. As the
country passed through was where Jeanne d'Arc spent
her youth, it was doubly interesting.
Work about Nancy
We moved on April 19, 191 7, to Vandoeuvre, near Nancy,
and served as reserve for the Army. June 15 the Section
became attached to the nth Division of Infantry — a
welcome change after two months of repos, and we cov-
ered the evacuation of this Division, which held the
Lorraine sector, and also the evacuations of the 67th
Division, which held the Pont-a-Mousson sector.
On July I the Boches launched a gas attack on the
region around Beaumont, when we hauled out over four
hundred asphyxiated men in twenty-four hours, and on
July 22 General Vuillemot, commanding the nth Divi-
sion, cited, to the Order of the Division, Jepson, our Chef,
and the whole Section, for work done on July i.
July 5 Chef Jepson went on permission, and while in
Paris, he entered the French Aviation Service. On August
31, George R. Cogswell was officially made Chef to replace
him. On September i the Section lost its French Com-
mander, Lieutenant Binoche, who was called to special
work at the Paris War Office. A tribute to him, which
shows how well he was loved, is found in a remark of one
490
{
SECTION NINE
of the men who said, "When Binoche went I felt as blue
as when I left my family in the States, to come over to
France."
On October 6 the Section changed once again. A slow
convoy took us to Saint-Max, just outside of Nancy,
where we were cantoned in the chalet adjoining the cha-
teau of M. Noel, where hardwood floors, open fireplaces,
electric lights, fine wallpaper, and a landlord who spoke
perfect English, helped to make our stay as pleasant as
possible.
On October i6 and 17 Nancy suffered severely from a
hail of aeroplane bombs, when the Section evacuated
about a hundred people from the Hospital Bon Pasteur
and at the same time searched out and evacuated many
civilians who were wounded or killed by the bombard-
ment. For this work, part of which was voluntary, the
Section received the warm thanks of the officials of the
Prefecture. This was our last work before being taken over
by the American Army.
George R. Cogswell ^
^ Of Cambridge, Massachusetts; Harvard, 'i8; entered the Service in
June, 1916, and became, later, a Lieutenant in the Ambulance Service of
the American Army in France.
II
Life as a Section Leader
August i8, 1916
Here we are, as a Section, in a beautiful little town in the
Vosges Mountains. With a section of new cars and an
eager, willing bunch of men, the life as a section leader
for a while, at least, should not be a difficult one. Besides,
as an officer, I have thus far been billeted in a private
room with all the comforts of home. It has its distinct
advantages over sleeping in one's ambulance or in a filthy
barn, I assure you!
September 11
We left the "pare" of this army, where we had remained
eight days, on August 25, and took up our position and
duties in this town of Alsace on the same day. A lovelier
trip than this across the frontier pass could not have been
sought for anywhere, especially in the clear, dewy light of
that early morning. That same afternoon, accompanied
by the Lieutenant of the French section which we were
replacing, our Lieutenant and I sallied forth to visit as
many as possible of the pastes we were to serve. These are
divided into six mountain and six valley pastes, at each of
which we must maintain one car all the time. To handle
this work, therefore, we have divided the Section into
three squads of six men each, maintaining, at the same
time, a reserve of two cars here at the base, in case of
break-down or as a relief if any one of the pastes should
be overworked. Every afternoon the squad which has
been ofT duty for twenty-four hours replaces one of the
other two, thus affording each individual forty-eight
hours of duty and twenty-four hours off. Under this sys-
tem the work becomes in no way monotonous.
The mountain pastes are, of course, the more interest-
ing, as they are situated just behind the first line trenches
492
Oener&l AauUvUBR
To Anerioan Sanitary Ssotlon Bine.
My deur friends
Until yesterday, you ware our friends; to-day you
our allies.
i.8 friends, you have Dro»«d your friendship in
many ways, the bast of which Is your preseiKie here amongst
as.
As Allies, we are sure that we shall soon feel the
powerful and efflolont cooperation of a country like yours,
80 ynung, so mighty and so noble.
The satisfactory way In whloh Section nina has ac-
complished all the work I have given It, to this day, makes
me confidant that the most difficult task will not prove
too much for your courage and your good will.
I drink to the health of President Wilson, the United
States People, Army and Navy, our Allies of the War of In-
depr-ndence and our Allies of the War for the Liberty of Ba-
t Ions.
Le Oeneral AHDLAUSB
Oorar.andanl la 63e Division.
%
^
GENERAL ANDLAUER'S LETTER TO SECTION NINE WHEN
AMERICA JOINED THE ALLIES
SECTION NINE
and one must surmount prodigious grades to reach them.
In some places, especially along the crests of the moun-
tains, the road is cut out of the cliff with nothing but
open air between the outside edge and the valley bottom,
several hundred feet below. I foresee that, with the ad-
vent of winter snows, driving Fords in the Vosges is going
to become an amusing form of sport, to say the least! If
no car goes over the edge during the winter on any of the
bad corners which we encounter daily, I shall consider
we are very lucky. It has been done several times by our
predecessors with varying degrees of damage to car and
driver. However, ''c'est la guerre!''
We have been received wonderfully by every one since
our arrival here in the valley, due largely to the excellent
name Section Three made for itself here during the last
December attacks. The sector is so quiet now, however,
that even the men in the trenches (as I have already seen
for myself) are enjoying a peaceful "vacation," which,
unfortunately, is a cause of impatience among our men
as they are naturally eager to prove themselves as
worthy as our American predecessors. For me, at least,
this life is a delightful contrast to that of Verdun. This
country is teeming with tradition, and the associations
now forming in Alsace Reconguise will lend themselves
to many pleasant recollections in later years. Of course
my opportunities are unlimited, as I am received by all
French officers as a fellow-ofhcer. Only to-day, for ex-
ample, I lunched with a colonel, a captain, and two lieu-
tenants who, collectively, form the group of ''les Officiers
de r Administration'' of French Alsace. You can imagine
the interesting bits I gleaned from their conversation.
A good example of the Alsatian feelings toward Ameri-
cans was shown to me the other day when visiting Rich-
ard Hall's grave. In the beautiful little military cemetery
in which he is buried I found his grave with its simple
wooden cross bearing his name and the legend, "inort pour
la patrie." But also the touch of some devoted caretaker
was present, for, on the grave itself, were growing some
493
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freshly watered little flowering plants. Upon questioning
a doctor of the near-by hospital, I found that ever since
Section Three had left in January, two girls of the only
cafe in town had voluntarily assumed the role of care-
takers. Of course I paid them a call and found them just
as nice as they were plain. They seemed to consider it
only natural, in view of the fact that Hall, several times
before his death, had taken his meals in their establish-
ment and that he had left no immediate friends in this
neighborhood, they should do this little bit in his behalf.
This is typical of the sympathetic attention we encounter
at every turn (not that we have selected our grave-
tenders as yet!), and which feeling, I am convinced, is
mothered only by intense suffering. The peoples of Eu-
rope should, therefore, gain something, if only morally,
out of this miserable war.
October 24
You would be amazed, I am sure, at the seeming ease in
which war is carried on, which fact, however, is not so
noticeable in busier sectors. Every one goes about his
business in his own quiet way, the element of glamour
being almost entirely lacking. Very little sentiment is
manifested over either the wounded or the dead, for
these are part of the day's routine. If you went into the
trenches, you would find a group of normal, healthy men
leading an apparently normal existence. You would no-
tice much more confusion and annoyance if something
went wrong with the cook's stove, than if a large German
marmite suddenly wiped out two or three poilus. Man be-
comes accustomed to his surroundings so rapidly that
even war loses many of its terrors for him after he has
been thoroughly initiated. The phase which would trou-
ble you most, as it does almost every participant in a
quiet sector, is the seeming inactivity. Patience, in such
times as these, is the hardest virtue to acquire. Both the
sentinel at his loop-hole and the ambulance driver on his
car wish that events could be produced more rapidly in
494
SECTION NINE
order that something definite might be determined. To
be held in constant suspense becomes almost unbearable.
It is for this reason that the roles played by the British
navy and the French cavalry at this time are not enviable
ones. But, to pass the time more quickly we are lucky
here in having many diversions. When not occupied by
regular duty (which for me is the majority of time), there
are many beautiful walks which always reveal something
new of interest. Also we play association football and re-
sort frequently to boxing gloves.
Luckily, nothing but solitary confinement can prevent
the forming of friendships, and we have not reached that
stage yet ! These friendships and associations, welded to-
gether by a spirit of comradeship which could not be as
strong if we were not all working for one common cause,
are what make this life such an enviable one.
December i
This sector remains as quiet as ever, but this does not
mean that the maintenance of our service is always an
easy task. The bitter cold and icy roads are two elements
which, at times, are difficult to combat. The wounded
men we carry are actually few, but the number of those
with frozen feet is daily augmenting. In this sector, na-
ture is man's greatest enemy, especially when campaign-
ing settles down to trench warfare.
Carleton Burr ^
1 Of Boston, Massachusetts; Harvard, '13; joined the Field Service in
February, 1916, serving with Section Two, and as Chef ol Section Nine until
January, 1917; later a Lieutenant in the U.S. Marine Corps; killed in ac-
tion, July 29, 1918. These extracts are from home letters.
Ill
Leaves from a Section Nine Diary
The Bordeaux Station, December 6, 1916
The station platform and the trains were crowded with
soldiers, either coming from the front on their seven days'
leave or else starting out again after their brief week of
rest was ended. Now and then in the crowd one could
distinguish the uniform of a colonel or a captain. There
were several lieutenants, and many sergeants and cor-
porals. But the great majority were the plain, everyday
soldiers, the mainstay and backbone of the army, les
poilus. Most of them were short and stocky, all with
mustaches. The gray-blue uniform of the soldier is almost
invariably faded by reason of long and hard usage, his
casque shows signs of age and wear; he bears a rather
formidable number of little brown musettes, which are
slung over his shoulders and hang at the hips and back,
and which are always stuffed full and bulging out with
odds and ends which he carries. Some militaires had their
full equipment with them, rifles, knapsack, and all, while
others who were just back for permission had evidently
been allowed to leave their arms and packs with their
divisions at the front. I watched them there on the sta-
tion platform, as they stood about in groups talking,
sometimes solemnly and gravely, sometimes smilingly
andpaughing. Here and there a soldier's wife, or mother,
or fiancee would be standing talking with him. Most of
the women were dressed in black, though now and then a
touch of color would lend a pathetic note of gaiety to the
scene. The officers on the platform usually walk up and
down in twos or threes, their uniforms spick-and-span, the
little gold bars on their sleeves and caps flashing in the
light ; but le pauvre poilu, with his faded uniform and his
great collection of bags, knapsacks, and so on, usually se-
lects some place on the platform and then stays there. He
496
SECTION NINE
has too many things to carry to walk up and down for
pleasure, and besides, when he gets to the muddy roads
at the front, he has to do more than enough walking
heavy-loaded with equipment. But, although the officers
looked so formidable, I noticed that when they had occa-
sion to speak to any soldier, or when the latter asked an
officer any question, the officer always replied with the
greatest kindness and spirit of comradeship. They seemed
like brothers talking to each other.
Hospital Work at Vadelaincourt
December 22, 19 16
The evening we arrived at Vadelaincourt, the Section
began its work of helping in the evacuation of the wounded
from the H.O.E. Throughout the evening and the night
the wounded kept arriving in great numbers. French,
British, and American ambulances brought them in.
Railroad trains and American ambulances took them out.
The wounded were all first classified as assis or couches
and they arrived at separate entrances. One does not
easily forget the scenes at a large evacuation hospital as
the wounded from a big attack come in. The sights, the
sounds, the smells — the never-ending stream of incoming
ambulances, the mud everywhere. Each big ambulance
that pulled up at the door brought with it a peculiar and
ghastly odor — rather hard to describe — strange, sweet-
ish, sickening, pungent, utterly revolting — a combina-
tion of gasoline fumes, mud, unwashed filth, sweat, surgi-
cal dressings, and the hot, heavy air from the closely
crowded ambulance cars; for the weather was cold, and
while en route the doors and canvas flaps of the ambu-
lances were closed. Throughout the evening and the night
that stream of ambulances kept coming in. As each car
arrived the tired brancardiers unloaded the wounded un-
der the rays of light from one or two lanterns by the
wooden portal of the entrance. The blood-soaked ban-
dages gave ghastly testimony of the severity of the
wounds. The blood often dripped upon the stretchers and
497
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
the floor of the car. Many of the wounded were zouaves,
Moroccans, and Algerians, being extensively used in
forming attacking divisions. These Moroccan and Al-
gerian troops wear yellowish khaki uniforms, their steel
helmets are of the same color, and their fatigue caps are
a sort of red fez, in marked contrast to the blue fatigue
caps of various shapes which the native French soldiers
wear while en repos.
Sad — picturesque — depressing — inspiring — that
was Vadelaincourt. The general tone color of the place
was brown — muddy brown. The rain-washed earth in the
fields, the rain-soaked board hospital buildings, the rain-
drenched roads — all brown and sad and dreary. The
region around Vadelaincourt consists of low, gently slop-
ing plains, for the most part unwooded, and, as I saw it in
December, 191 6, muddy and brown and forlorn. Wounded
German prisoners were kept in hospital buildings close to
the centre of the French group. Unwounded German pris-
oners were used for road repair work in and about the
region. Within sight of the hospital buildings was the
military cemetery. We were told that eight months before
there were seven graves; now there were hundreds, and
every day the cemetery was growing. Sometimes a pro-
cession of officers and soldiers would accompany the plain
pine-box coffin to its last resting-place, indicating that an
officer had died. Sometimes there would be no one but
the priest and the grave-diggers. The graves of the Mo-
hammedan troops were all at an angle facing Mecca,
and strange Mohammedan crescents and signs were in-
scribed on the name boards over their graves. The French
dead all received plain wooden coflins. Often, when sev-
eral were buried at a time, a large trench would be dug,
each cofhn being placed practically touching the next one.
The colored Mohammedans were wrapped in a white
sheet — the blood from the wounds of which they died
sometimes darkening and clotting on the winding-sheet
— and were laid on their sides with their feet toward
Mecca, so very far away.
498
SECTION NINE
New Year's Eve on the Roads about Verdun
On one occasion my car was blocked by a long artillery
convoy which got stuck in the mud on a narrow road near
Vadelaincourt. The night was cloudy and misty and dark,
and as the road was very narrow it was impossible to
keep the two- and three-team guns and caissons from
now and then getting one wheel over into the mud at
the roadside. Whenever this happened it meant a long
delay for the convoy.
From somewhere in the darkness ahead could be heard
the shouts of men tugging and hauling at the wheels and
helping the horses that strained at the traces, while the
harness clanked and snapped and jingled. There were one
or two lanterns up ahead where the soldiers were grouped
about the mud-embedded wheels. As the convoy did not
seem to be making any progress, I decided to walk up
ahead and investigate the situation. Perhaps I could see
the officer in charge and find out from him how long the
delay would last. I accordingly took a lantern and set
out on foot through the deep mud toward the head of
the convoy. As I went forward, I passed several heavily
loaded wagons and then came upon two or three cannon,
and then more artillery, and again some more. The tired
French soldiers, standing beside the trucks and wagons
and gun caissons, looked curiously at me as I hurried for-
ward. I stopped now and then to ask for the officer in
charge. The answer was always the same, ''En avant'' \
and they pointed up ahead to where one or two lanterns
and the struggling horses told of the efforts to free the big
guns from the grip of the mud. The soldiers, as always,
were anxious to do all they could to help the Americans
with their ambulances, and after I had gone about half-
way down the line one of them, when I had explained my
difficulties, came with me to find the officer in charge. Hot
and tired, and troubled as I was, I could not help seeing
the picturesque side of it all as I and my friend hurried
forward, and the glow of my lantern lit up the muddy,
499
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
rain-soaked men and horses and guns. At last I came to
the officer who was directing the work of extricating the
wheels of a large gun from the mud. Eight or ten horses,
hitched two abreast, were straining at the traces, while
scores of men tugged at the wheels to move them forward.
What delayed them was the fact that no sooner had they
got one gun or wagon onto the road than another, a little
way in front or behind, would get into the ditch, and they
would have to take the extra horses and men forward or
back to their new job. And so it went. The officer in charge
was very courteous and kindly, and said that the convoy
was destined for Deux Nouds, where they were to spend
the night, but that from the looks of things he did not
expect they would cover the remaining three kilometres
till dawn! There was only one thing for me to do, so I
hurried back in the direction of my ambulance. It seemed
to take forever to get back to the point in the convoy
where my car was stationed. When I had first come to the
convoy it was moving forward a little — stopping and
then starting again. The road was at that point broad
enough to pass, and not knowing the road, I had hoped
that it would continue so. Accordingly I went forward,
now and then — where there was a vacant place in the
convoy taking it, especially if there was a narrow place on
the road. The convoy, as I have said, was at that time
making slight headway. After holding my place in the
convoy for a little while, as we went ahead foot by foot, I
noticed that the road had become so narrow that it was
impossible to turn out of the line. Then the convoy got
stopped — unable to move forward a single step. That
was when I went forw^ard on foot, as I have described, and,
upon learning that there was no hope of m.oving forward
before morning, I came back and, with the aid of ten or a
dozen soldiers from the artillery train, got my ambulance
turned around and managed to get it back through the
mud at the sides of the road till I reached the rear of the
convoy again. But by this time the low-speed clutch band
on my car had been worn out by the friction, and so I was
500
BRKAKFAST, SECTION NINE -AT AN AMEPaCAN FIELD SERVK K
KITCHEN, IN THE LIGNY-EN-BARROIS REGION
WOODEN-BAKRACK HOSl'ITAL - THE ' TRIAGE '
SECTION NINE
stalled. I ran back to the nearest village and telephoned
to S.S.U. Nine for another car. This arrived soon with
Johnson at the wheel. The wounded were transferred to
his car and I went with him by another and a somewhat
longer road to Deux Nouds, where we left the wounded.
In the morning I and the mechanics came back and towed
my car to Vadelaincourt.
"Quelle Existence"
Whenever I think of that convoy, in addition to the
above-described scenes there comes to my mind the pic-
ture of an old mounted artilleryman. He and his horse
were muddy, and rain-soaked, and tired out. He was just
in front of my car when I got in the jam and I asked him
whether he thought there would be a long delay. He did
not know. He added that the convoy had left Verdun
that morning at 4 a.m. and was scheduled to reach Deux
Nouds by late afternoon. They had had only a bite to eat
during the whole day. I afterwards heard that owing to
the difficulties with the mud, they did not reach Deux
Nouds till the following dawn. When he learned that I was
of the Field Service he asked how long I had been at the
front. I told him I had only just arrived a week before.
He seemed half asleep as he sat there on his tired horse.
His head was bent forward. He roused himself, and, indi-
cating with a gesture of his hand himself and his com-
rades in the convoy, said, ''Pour nous, trente mois de la
guerre, trente mois. Quelle existence, quelle existence 1'^
As I came to our canal boat by the banks of the Meuse
canal, on my return, a company or two of French soldiers
in single file were silently moving along the towpath on
their way to the front-line trenches. In the cold night
mist they looked like shadowy, muffled ghosts moving
slowly onward to some strange doom. Possibly some of
them were thinking at that time, "What an existence,
what an existence!" Perhaps in the early hours of the
night, before they had been ordered to the lines, they had
been sleeping — fully dressed, with guns and bayonets
501
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
close by — below some shattered caserne near the front.
Let us hope that they slept well. And if they dreamt, let
us trust they dreamt of home and rest and peacefulness.
But more than likely their sleep was troubled by weird
and ghastly dreams. Perhaps now and again they were
awakened by the crash of a shell in the great deserted bar-
racks above-ground — for the guns are always restless
at Verdun. At all events, like tired ghosts in blue-gray
shrouds, now they moved onward in silence to disappear
into the shadows of the night. Perhaps the following
night some of them, clothes muddy and torn, and cov-
ered with blood, would be carried back in American
ambulances to the under-ground operating-rooms in the
city of Verdun or to the distant hospital at Fontaine
Routon. And others would find that quiet and un-
troubled rest which had so long been denied them, and
their soul-refreshing sleep would be untroubled by the
fitfulness and wakefulness of the night before. For the
tumult of the shells above their heads would be no tu-
mult, and their torn and tired bodies would feel no pain.
At Villotte
March, 191 7
One night, while sleeping in the big attic hay-loft, I
gradually became aware of a far-away sound as though a
deep-toned bell were ringing. As I awoke, the sound seemed
nearer and nearer until at last I realized it was the church
bell of Villotte. The church was not a hundred yards
away. The sound was not the ordinary slow peals of a
church bell on Sunday, but was as though some giant
with a large hammer was striking a quick succession of
blows on the bell, making it sound almost like the ringing
of a great gong. The hammer blows would continue for
about half a minute and then stop for a few seconds, and
then commence again. I also heard in the distance the
roll of a drum. The other ambulance men in the loft were
waking too. "Le tocsin et le tambourl" It was the signal
for gas. We had our orders, and in a moment were dressed,
502
SECTION NINE
gas-masks slung about our necks In the position of readi-
ness. We were soon out, each in front of his car. We cranked
our cars and let the engines run for a little to see that they
were warmed up and working properly. We adjusted our
masks and then put them in readiness, awaiting orders.
As yet no gas-clouds had reached Villotte. I shall never
forget the weirdness of the scene that night. The wild
church bell clanged out its notes of warning into the dark-
ness, and up and down the village street walked a French
soldier with drum and gas-mask. His warning drumbeats
rolled out and echoed back from the stone and plaster
walls of the little houses along the way. The streets were
deserted. Doors and windows were shut and except for
the Americans, the French drummer, and some French
sentries at the crossroads, not a soul was in sight. Sud-
denly out of the darkness down the street came a woman
dressed in black. She wore a gas-mask. In her arms she
carried a baby, with a mask over its face, and a little child
about five years old, also with a mask, ran along beside
her crying and clinging to her skirts as she half-walked,
half-ran up the street. They were going to the schoolhouse
or to the home of some friend who had a room specially
arranged for just such an emergency. The little group
were soon lost to view in the gloomy shadows. As we stood
there by our ambulances, we wondered if even at that
moment the deadly gas-clouds were drifting slowly across
the dreary plain and would soon reach Villotte and the
neighboring towns. In the intervals when the Villotte bell
was not ringing we could hear the warning bell in one of
the near-by towns. There was a light wind blowing from
the direction of the German lines. For about half or three
quarters of an hour the warning bells continued to ring;
then they stopped as suddenly as they had begun. After
a time we were given orders to return to quarters. We
learned afterwards that there had been a small gas attack
somewhere along the lines in the general region of Saint-
Mihiel, but that the wind had not carried the deadly fumes
to Rupt or Villotte.
503
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
Epilogue
In my imagination I often go back again into the past.
Again I think of those tumultuous times when the soldiers
of France fought to save their country and all civilization
from the tyranny of autocracy and militarism which the
German hordes were striving to impose upon the world.
During the war the splendid valor and courage of the
French people has been gloriously proved to all, and es-
pecially to those of us who were privileged to serve with
the French Army in the field ; for we can fully appreciate
the hardships and agony which France has undergone,
and can bear witness to her indomitable courage and her
heroic sacrifices in the cause of world liberty and freedom.
But in addition to her superb fighting qualities, France's
character is richly endowed with love, and with a sympa-
thetic kindliness and a gentleness and tenderness which
endear her to all who come to know her. As I have said
my thoughts often turn back again into the past. I see
them yet, those armies of the French Republic, marching
forward in the mist and snow at Verdun. How many of
those brave soldiers are now at rest, and those who live —
what weird and troubled scenes their memories can con-
jure up before them — they who have passed through the
horror and agony of those long and bitter years !
William Carey Sanger, Jr.^
» Of Sangerfield, New York; Harvard, 1916; joined Section Nine in De-
cember, 1916; he left the Service in May to become a First Lieutenant in
the U.S. Infantry. These are excerpts from Mr. Sanger's new book, With
the Soldiers of the French Republic.
IV
Summary of the Section's History under the
United States Army
It was at Menil-la-Tour, in the Woevre sector, that the re-
cruiting officers first came to Section Nine. CAe/ Cogswell, John
Machado, Alexander Greene, and Harvey Evans enlisted on
September 29, 1917, the others deciding to enter other services.
The first contingent of army ambulance men as replacements
came late in October, followed a few days later by ten members
of old Section Seventy-Two, which had been broken up.
The Section entered the Lorraine front, north of Luneville,
January i, 191 8 and moved out on April 20, after having won a
second divisional citation for its part in a raid on Washington's
birthday. The Section carried 2428 evacues there.
From Toul, the Section embarked on trains and went up
behind the Amiens front in Picardy and then up to Belgium,
where it entered the lines in front of Mont Kemmel on May 5,
191 8. There seventeen nights without much sleep or rest from
continuous work were spent, and 3367 wounded were carried in
that time.
After a short repos, we entered the lines again, in Belgium
this time, for twelve days' easy work, leaving on July 9, bound
south in convoy, after handling only ninety-eight blesses. The
Delage repair car was lost on this trip, the White and kitchen
trailer having been lost coming up.
Following a speedy convoy of two days, the Section pulled
into Betz, near Villers-Cotterets to assist Section 585, which
was in dire need of assistance, and then entered the lines on the
night of July 17, 191 8, at Faverolles. The Section continued
steadily forward for twenty-one days without relief, and made
very long evacuations. We had passed through Chouy, Oulchy
le-Chateau, Arcy, and up to Jouaignes before relief came. The
Section did exceptionally good work in this sector and was
awarded an army citation.
Repos, beginning August 8, followed. August 23, the Section
entered the lines left of Soissons, remaining until September 6,
and then went to the Chemin des Dames, on the other side of
Soissons, from September 9 until the 15th; then once again the
convoy was headed north, after carrying a total of 122 1
wounded.
505
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
This was "some" convoy to Bergues, Flanders, and meant
second-line duty back of Ypres, at Woesten, for us, before going
into the swamps of Flanders at Langemarck. On October 2 we
pushed ahead with the Division until firm ground was reached
at Roulers, and repos was declared on October 17. The final
attack of the war in Belgium began on October 30, and the
Section was heavily at work at Spriete, Desselghem, and
Audenarde on the Scheldt River until the Armistice was signed.
Then came the fun, the triumphal march to the Rhine through
Belgium, up through Aix-la-Chapelle, Germany, and then to
the Rhine at Grevenbroich, arriving there on December 12.
The happy day came on January 29, 1919, when orders came
to move south. This was the best of all — down the^ Rhine
to Belfort, France, and up to Remiremont, where relief came
the middle of February. After that, Brest — and home.
Harvey Cass Evans ^
^ Of Joplin, Missouri; University of Missouri; served two months in the
Field Service, and continued under the Army in Section Nine until the
Armistice.
Vosges Detachment
THE STORY TOLD BY
I. Joseph R. Greenwood
SUMMARY
To continue in Alsace the work of Sections Three and Nine
in December, 1916, the Vosges Detachment of six ambulances
went to Wilier. There the Detachment remained for eight
months attached to the 52d French Division, and serving the
mountain pastes of Mittlach, Larchey, Thann, Hartmanns-
weilerkopf, etc. In August, 191 7, the men and cars were re-
turned to Paris, and the Vosges Detachment as a separate unit
was disbanded.
■^^^ >r-C
Vosges Detachment
Most sane, most spiritual, because most sane,
Upon her bitter road she steadfast shows
The sacrifice majestic, while again
Freedom's own everlasting altar flows
With France's blood; in that most sacred stain
Once more her own immortal genius glows.
Eden Phillpotts
I
Mountain Work
The Vosges Detachment of the American Field Service
was formed in December, 191 6, at the direct request of
Commandant Doumenc, Director of the French Army
Automobile Service, to carry on the work of evacuating
the wounded in that mountainous sector of the front
which had been so well served by Section Three and
Section Nine. For a clear understanding of the work done
by the light Field Service ambulances in this sector, it
is really necessary to have a mental picture of the
country itself and the position of the opposing battle-
lines.
The Vosges Mountains, rising grandly from the plains
of Alsace, presented a natural barrier to the advance into
France of any invader from the east. Many of the peaks
attain a height of well over three thousand feet above the
plains, and the sheer, rugged summits, snow-capped till
late in June, offer a wonderful sight for the lover of
mountain scenery. Roughly speaking, the French, after
August, 19 14, held the western slopes and most of the
crests of these mountains, and the Germans held the
509
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
plains stretching away eastward to the Rhine. The city
of Thann, regained for France by her army in the first
month of the war, lies at the point where the valley of
the Thur River opens out to the southward into the plains,
and it was along this valley, which stretched away for
thirty kilometres to the north of Thann, that the French
brought up their supplies and ammunition for the troops
holding this sector. In order to reach the lines from this
valley, it was necessary to climb over the mountains inter-
vening between it and the German-held plains, and this
was done by pack-mules on narrow military roads which
sometimes averaged fourteen per cent grade through-
out their entire length of twelve to fifteen kilometres.
Endless cables and buckets were also used to transport
the supplies and wounded up and down these mountains.
Such, then, was, in general, the sector in which Sec-
tions Three and Nine had worked for twenty months, and
for which, upon their departure in the late autumn of
19 1 6, Commandant Doumenc called on the Field Serv-
ice to supply other ambulances. After the departure of
Section Nine, the French had endeavored to do this work
with one of their own sections, using their usual heavy
ambulances; but the effort had proved unsatisfactory,
and the arrangement was finally made that six Fords
should be sent out, to be attached to this same French
section — the Fords to do the evacuation work from the
postes to the valley, and the French section to take up the
work from the valley to the rear. Such was the birth of
the Vosges Detachment.
In December, 1916, Louis Hall left Paris with a ca-
mionnette and six ambulances driven by Hamersley,
Ward, Nordhoff, Miller, Howe, and du Bouchet.^ The
convoy pushed through to Rupt-sur-Moselle where the
automobile pare of the Seventh French Army was located,
* Vivian du Bouchet of Paris, France; worked in American Hospital at
Neuilly from the beginning of the war; joined the American Field Service
September, 1915; served in Section Two and in the Vosges Detachment;
subsequently enlisted in the U.S. Infantry as a private; killed in action
May 10, 1918.
VOSGES DETACHMENT
and a stop of about a week was made at this place. Hall
reported to Commandant Arboux, the Chef of the Auto-
mobile Service of the Seventh Army, and received orders
to take his detachment to Wilier for billeting and to re-
port to the Medecin Divisionnaire of the 52d Division of
French Infantry for duty. The Detachment began its
service the next day. Comfortable quarters were found
for the men in Wilier, and Hall lived and messed with
the Medecin Chef of the G.B.D. of the Division. One
ambulance was assigned to duty at the "Ambulance
Alpine" at Mittlach, near Metzeral, thirty-six kilo-
metres from the cantonment; one at Larchey, at the
"Ambulance Nenette," and one at Hoche, another
branch of the "Ambulance Alpine," with call pastes at
"Bains Douches" and "Colardelle," two regimental aid
stations at the foot of Hartmannsweilerkopf. Call pastes
were also established at Thann, Vieux Thann, Goldbach,
Haag, and Markstein. Most of these latter were artillery
pastes and required little attention. The wounded were
taken to hospitals at Moosch, Saint-Amarin, Urbes, and
some few back over the Col de Bussang into France to
Le Thillot.
The trips in this sector were unusually long and the
grades up and down the mountains very severe. On both
the climbs up to Hoche and over to Mittlach, the lit-
tle Fords would be in low gear for half an hour at a
stretch, and it was frequently necessary to change the
water in the radiator two or three times on one trip. In
order to keep the gasoline consumption as low as possible,
the needle valves of the carburetors would be closed at
the top of each descent and the car allowed to coast
down against the engine as a brake. Naturally the wear
on the transmission bands was tremendous, and in order
to equalize it the following method was employed: The
low-speed band was worn during the climbs; the reverse
band was used very lightly as a brake during the straight-
away descents; the foot- brake was used only at corners
and on the steepest portions of the hills; and the emer-
511
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
gency brake was strictly reserved for real emergencies.
In this way the bands were made to last for as much as
ten days or two weeks, but naturally the wear on the cars
under such conditions was excessive, and it was found
necessary at different times to replace the ambulances.
Work in Winter
Much snow fell during the winter and the weather was
verv cold, so that some of the mountain roads became
quite Impassable and certain pastes had to be given up.
MIttlach, Haag, and Goldbach were not visited from the
end of January till the beginning of April. The paste at
Hoche, however, was attended all through the winter.
Sometimes not more than two blesses could be carried
at one time, and frequently, even with this light load,
the ambulances had to be assisted over Icy portions of
the grades by friendly poilus. By April, matters became
better and the regular service was resumed.
In May the original Detachment began to break up as
the engagements of the men ran out, and by the middle
of June an entire new personnel was in the Detachment
consisting of Greenwood, in charge, and Richards, Colie,
Lindsey, Harrington, Wilson, and Phlnney, as drivers.
These men carried on the work until the beginning of
August, when orders were received to take the Detach-
ment to Rupt, where It was to be joined by new men and
cars from Paris and organized into a full twenty-car Sec-
tion, which was to take over from the French Section
Eighty- Four the entire work of the sector. At Rupt,
however, the orders were amended; the ambulances and
touring-car were loaded on freight cars, and the entire
body returned to Paris, where It was officially disbanded
on August 9, 191 7, after eight months' service.
The work had not been hard, but the driving had been
far from easy, the sector being certainly the most difficult
as regards driving of any along the whole front, and any
conducteur who could successfully bring a loaded ambu-
lance over the mountain from MIttlach to Urbes on a
512
■ LE SERVICE QUI NE S'ARRETE JAMAIS ! "
AT A MOUNTAIN ■POSTK" IN ALSACE RECONQUISE
VOSGES DETACHMENT
dark, rainy night was surely entitled to a niche in the
automobilists' hall of fame.
The work of the Detachment also varied considerably.
Ordinarily the sector was quiet, and the car at Hoche
was then relieved every forty-eight hours and the one
at Mittlach every three days. The drivers were, of course,
always supposed to be within call of their cars, but it
was easy for them to obtain permission from the Medecin
Chef of the poste to be away for an hour or two at a time,
and they could then make interesting excursions out on
the slopes of Hartmannsweilerkopf or into the village
of Metzeral and up its surrounding hills. Some of the
fiercest battles during the French advance into Alsace took
place at these two points, and it was intensely interesting
to visit the scenes of these struggles and discover un-
expectedly gun emplacements and trenches hidden in
the woods. Boche and French aeroplanes were overhead
daily, as each side kept a close watch on his adversary,
and air battles were of frequent occurrence. One German
airman fell in flames in a field close to the poste at Mitt-
lach, and shortly after a Hun machine gun, pieces of a
propeller, an iron cross, and other souvenirs made their
appearance in the American cantonment at Mollau.
Spells of Hard Work
The service was not all play, however, by any means,
and when a French or Boche coup de main occurred, the
Vosges Detachment had plenty of hard work. Picture a
perfect summer evening, the sun an hour set behind the
mountains and the beautiful afterglow lighting up the
few clouds in the sky. The peaceful little village of Mollau
is just preparing to turn in for the night. In the distance
one begins to hear the rumbling of thunder, and before
darkness has finally settled, a terrific summer storm is
sweeping up the valley. It passes over, leaving behind a
steady downpour of rain, but as the thunder gradually
dies away a new sound takes its place — the rolling, re-
verberating, reechoing roar of a barrage up in the moun-
513
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
tains. Everybody is up and about, for something is
evidently doing up toward "Hartmanns." Tlien is heard
the telephone bell in the office at Mollau, and an order
comes to send all available cars to the poste at Hoche,
whereupon the Chef sets out in his staff car followed by
the ambulances. The run along the valley to Wilier is
quickly made, but then begins the fourteen-kilometre
climb up the mountain. A steady rain, wet, narrow, steep,
curving, slippery roads, long convoys of pack-mules,
artillery caissons, and ravitaillement wagons make the
trip up a difficult one, indeed, especially as after a certain
point is reached no lights of any description may be
used. Arrived finally at the poste, the first word is obtained
as to what has happened, and we learn that the Boches
have taken advantage of the storm to lay over a heavy
barrage and try a coup de main, with a net result for the
French of two killed, seven wounded, and no prisoners.
Four of the blesses are at Hoche itself, and these are
loaded into an ambulance and started on their way down
to the hospital at Moosch. The three others are down at
Colardelle in an ambulance that cannot pull the grade
to come back to Hoche. Two of the men afoot push on
the two kilometres to the regimental poste, where they
find the Medecin Chef raving crazy because he has
loaded three couches into an ambulance that cannot move,
the low-speed band having burned out. So there is nothing
else to do but for the two Americans, two braficardiers,
and the Medecin Chef to join forces and push the loaded
ambulance all the way up the muddy road to Hoche,
whence it can coast down the other side of the mountain
to the triage at Wilier. Nor is it an easy task to push a
loaded Ford ambulance up a steep hill on a slippery,
muddy road, at 2 a.m. on a rainy night! At Hoche no
more blesses have come in, so the chef serves a round of
hot tea and rum to every one, two ambulances are left
at the poste in case any more work develops, and the
staff car rolls its way back down to Mollau to close the
night's work at 4 a.m. Punctuate and illumine this de-
514
VOSGES DETACHMENT
scription with a fairly heavy bombardment, plenty of
star-shells, and roads which have a sheer drop of several
hundred feet from the outside edge, and a fair idea of an
active night in this sector will be obtained.
The Americans made many friends among both the
soldiers and the civilians in the sector, and many are the
stories that could be told, some sad and others amusing,
to show how warmly the ambulanciers were regarded by
both the French and Alsatians. Richard Hall, a member
of Section Three, and brother of Louis Hall, the Chef of
the Detachment, had been killed on Christmas Eve, 191 5,
by a German shell on the road to Hoche and had been
buried in the little military cemetery at Moosch. When
the Vosges Detachment arrived a year later, they found
two young Alsatian girls of a well-to-do family of Moosch
carefully tending the grave and seeing that it was always
well kept and covered with fresh flowers.
Good Times at the Front
The sector was a quiet one during 1917, and many "con-
certs" and entertainments were given by the soldiery.
Always ''les amencains" were invited and good seats
reserved for them. Whenever the Chefs visited the differ-
ent pastes, they were always pressed to stay for dejeuner
or dinner by the Medecin Chef, and the meal was invaria-
bly turned into a small fete. At Mittlach the drivers were
frequently asked to eat at the Medecin Chefs popote, and
at the different popotes at Wilier, at Saint-Amarin, at
Nenette, the Americans were always welcome. On the
4th of July, Commandant Arboux sent a message of
felicitation to the Detachment, and that night the Ameri-
cans gave a dinner to which they invited the officers of
S.S. Eighty- Four, and at which the citizens of Mollau
presented them with a huge formal bouquet. The pres-
entation was made by an Alsatian girl in full national
costume, and all the Americans Insisted on thanking her
in person on both cheeks. The Detachment was also host
on the 4th to all the men of the French section at an
515
THE AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
afternoon party, at which wine, cakes, and cigarettes were
served. One of the drivers in the French section was
Charliez, the leader of the orchestra at the Cafe de Paris
in Paris, and he supplied music on his violin for many of
these festivities, the musical selections ranging all the
way from Chopin to "Annie Rooney." On the 14th of
July, S.S. Eighty-Four had a wonderful party which
lasted almost continuously from 11.30 a.m. till 10 p.m.,
and the Americans were enthusiastic guests. On this
occasion all the citizens of the valley were in the full
national Alsatian costume; American, French, and Allied
flags were seen everywhere; band concerts were given in
many of the towns ; and wherever the Americans appeared..
they were greeted with cheers. In fact, this friendly feel-
ing between French and Americans is one of the pleasant-
est souvenirs of our sojourn in Alsace.
The Vosges Detachment made no records for "num-
ber of blesses carried," nor for the "number of kilometres
run," but it played its part in the game all the same. It
kept alive in the minds of the Alsatians the knowledge
that America was with them in spirit even before we
entered the war; it maintained the good feeling that all
the French officers and poilus had for the American vol-
unteers; and it did its work in the true spirit of the
American Field Service — that of helping France no mat-
ter what the work or where it led.
Joseph R. Greenwood ^
' Of New York City, Princeton, '05; served in Section Eight of the
Field Service, February to June, 19 17, the Vosges Detachment, June to
August, and Section Fifteen, from October to November, 1917; became a
First Lieutenant and subsequently Captain, U.S.A. Ambulance Service,
commanding first a Section, then a Pare.
END OF VOLUME I
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