Part 2 — 1918

November 18th. It has been many months since I have attempted to write anything, for the principal reason that shortly after the last entry I was sent to the 42nd Division as Medical Consultant. The Division was at Baccarat. At the time of my journey George E. Brewer of New York was the Surgical Consultant, and for the first two weeks we roomed together. Later I got a billet for myself over by the railroad.

It was a great relief to get away from the stuffy monotony of 15. The country was beautiful, and the opportunity to roam around and enter into the life of the war was very refreshing. We had a nice mess, not far from our billets—Sanford, Sam Arnold, "Sister" Rennis (Y.M.C.A.), I. N. Perry (Red Cross), Brewer and myself. Brewer was the cock o' the walk. Henry Sanford was Division Neurologist.

We had an epidemic of what we called "three day flu"—really, I think, grippe. Something like forty cases of pneumonia resulted from it. They ran a very protracted course and the incidence of empyema was high.

While at Baccarat I took many little side trips with Brewer in his motor. According to rules, I was entitled to a motor, but in spite of constant efforts I never got it and it did much to cripple my work with the Division.

Aside from gas attacks there was not much activity in the line. We had several nasty gas attacks. Jaspar Coglan was gas officer and seemed very efficient, but in spite of everything he did, they would get us in much too large proportions.

I drove out almost every day inspecting the regimental aid posts. The Division area was about twenty-five square miles. At one place where there was a gap in the woods, the trees had been shot away; when the Germans saw the dust of the motor they would put over a few shells, but they always broke behind us. Although the line was comparatively quiet, there was always more or less of a thrill in making these trips.

About the middle of June rumors began to spread. One, that we were to move up north and that "big business" was soon to begin. Finally officers from the 77th blew in to look the ground over, and then we knew they were the relieving division and that we were to go. In a day or two the jam in the street was terrific. 42nd moving out—77th coming in.

I motored in advance one morning, about the twentieth of June, to a charming little French town—Châtel. We spent two days here. A pleasant billet and days of real rest after a month's hard work.

The Division was slowly moving north to an unknown destination, some of it by train (the infantry)—the artillery and other overland. We found out that it would be somewhere in the neighborhood of Châlons, so started on ahead. We were finally assigned to a sector, of which the town of Souain was the center, about twenty-five kilometers north of Châlons. Medical headquarters at Vardanay.

While there visited Châlons many times and had some excellent dinners at the Hôtel Angleterre, which was afterward totally destroyed by a bomb. Also had a most interesting lunch with General Gouraud, to whose 4th Army we were attached. General Gouraud sent us to Verdun, where we were well entertained by Colonel Dehays, and lunched with General Hirschauer, the Commander of the Army of Verdun. It was all wonderfully interesting. The view from Fort St. Nicholas was grand, but we were shelled heartily while enjoying it. The whole country is devastated.

The days were full of new and interesting experiences. The end of June found me in a little peasant house at Vardanay across the way from the church. Our mess was in a combination schoolhouse and café, just to the right of the church. Madame Michel was the old lady proprietor's name. I had a little room under the roof, papered with daily newspapers. She had a nice little garden. After our mess we would congregate there and discuss what news there was.

It was pretty evident that they expected Fritz to start his next push somewhere in that neighborhood, as there were very extensive preparations being made. Troops and guns were arriving in large quantities every night, and all night long truck-loads of supplies were rumbling by my billet. Bussy-le-Château, about twenty kilos to our east, was chosen for our evacuation hospital, and two of our field hospitals, together with Mobile No. 2 (Captain St. John) were installed there. Walter Cannon came with a shock team, and I think we had either ten or twelve surgical teams.

I made almost daily trips in to Souain and the different positions held by our men. Toward the west (Rheims) there was almost constant bombarding, and at night the sky was brilliantly illuminated with gun flashes and rockets, but on our immediate sector there was almost an ominous quiet. Our artillery put over a daily barrage, but scarcely a shell came in.

Everything was ready, and still nothing happened. All sorts of rumors were afloat, that the attack would probably develop elsewhere, etc. In the evening after dark it was my habit to walk out on the plains and watch the artillery at work. The night of the fourteenth of July was cloudy, and it had been blowing a gale from the south all day. The guns were all very active, some shells coming in. The gale blew so that standing two hundred yards from the 155 mms. I could hardly hear the report. Starting the homeward trip about eleven against the wind, it almost made walking impossible. It seemed surely as if nothing would happen that night.

I had just undressed and blown the candle out, when crash and a roar. I knew what had happened and jumped from bed, pulling on a shirt, trousers and boots, without stopping to lace them. Before I had finished shells were dropping in Vardanay, many of them singing over the roof. As I ran down the stairs poor old Madame Michel met me. I sent her to the remains of the old Roman catacombs under the garden, and walked out into the road after fumbling with the gate for what seemed an age, trying to find the key and get it in the lock. While I was fussing a house further down the street was struck and dust and splinters dropped all over me.

I met Fairchild (D. S. Fairchild, Chief Surgeon, 42nd Division). His motor was waiting, and we got in and started east toward Bussy. I looked at my watch—it was twelve ten.

The roar of the artillery was so great that we had to yell to make ourselves heard. Shells were flying over our heads, breaking on both sides of the road. Where the road turned north for a few hundred yards our motor suddenly stopped. The chauffeur managed to make it run again, but as we waited shells were constantly screeching over our heads.

We reached Bussy in due time. The roads were crowded with all manner of transport, and we crawled along, the only light being the gun flashes.

At Bussy all was ready. The first wounded began coming in about two a. m. At the same time the Boche opened fire on the hospital. At first the shots were wild, but with the break of day and probably aerial observation, they began getting direct hits. After three or four we decided to send nurses below and evacuate patients to dugouts, and, after further consultation, to fall back on the other two field hospitals and Evacuation 4 at Écury-sur-Coole. These had been prepared in advance for just such a contingency.

The nurses left first. I took charge of the patients, and superintended the loading of them on ambulances and got the whole lot loaded in a little over an hour.

I had no leggings, in fact had nothing but trousers, socks, shirt and jacket, so while we were waiting for transportation to move with, I went in and Allison loaned me a razor with which I started to shave, but while I was all lathered and had just commenced, they began shelling again. I kept on, but had a good many nicks on my face, for I could not keep my hand from jerking when they whizzed over. About five minutes after I left the hut it was struck and completely demolished.

Got down to Écury in time for a bite to eat (lunched with Campbell), then went back to Triage where I had been working all night. Short of ambulances. Sent Fagely out to find trucks. He got some thirty Q. M. trucks and pressed them into service. Majorie Nott and several other R. C. women came on the scene, making coffee and sandwiches.

Wounded pouring in. Triage crowded. A. lost his head and was flying around like a madman. Many necessaries lacking. Profanity flying. Night. Dare not show a light. Promptly at ten p.m. air full of avions, dropping twenty or more bombs on Châlons. Saw three large fires. Wounded coming in all night. Six operating teams going, but not half enough. They can't nearly handle the work, and too many men kept waiting who need urgent attention.

Two p. m. Avions again over Châlons and us. More bombing. The sky full of searchlights. Dawn. Almost dead. Two nights and a day, but the wounded still coming in. At seven a.m. am relieved by some one. Go down and climb in Spielman's bed and sleep till ten a. m., then go on duty.

Third night. Châlons bombed. Aviator flew over us. He could not have been one hundred feet above the tents, and in the moonlight clearly visible. He dropped two bombs. No one hurt. Don't remember how long exactly we stayed here, but think it was eight or ten days. Châlons bombed nightly.

About the sixth day returned to Vardanay. The house was locked and Madame M. gone, but climbed in the window, got my belongings and put them in the motor. The village was deserted, save for a few old women and a child. They sat around the mouth of the cave and went below whenever the shelling started. It was a pathetic sight. I left some money with them, which surprised them more than the shells.

There is a lot of talk about the rotten way things were handled in general. Not enough ambulances, nor general equipment, and such as we had was antiquated.

About July 24th or 25th, orders to move. Where, no one knows. Started cross country with field hospitals, going west.

Château-Thierry. Started in all over again. Night and day wounded pouring in. Insufficient ambulances. Insufficient hospitalization. Not an evacuation hospital on the scene till the main push is over. Two field hospitals taking the brunt of the work. Transporting wounded in trucks thirty-five kilometers clear to Commercy.

Pushed on with the troops to Épieds and later to Fère-en-Tardenois. Much evidence that the Boche is beating a hasty retreat, from the quantities of stores and munitions left behind.

Considerable bombing. Was almost caught on the road by three bombs returning from La Ferté with Perry.

We pulled out the end of August and left for Bourmont near Chaumont. En route spent three delightful days in a small French château in Lysantry, five kilometers from La Ferté. The old caretaker cooked for me and I ate under the trees. I hated to go.

We understand the Division gets thirty days' rest, but we get seven, then orders to move. All night groping our way in the dark, arrive in Longchamps at dawn in a drizzling rain. I knocked on the door of the first house in the village and after a long pause was admitted by a very old man. He had a fine spare room and without undressing I wrapped myself in blankets and fell asleep. The old man was eighty-six and his wife eighty-four. They lived there all alone.

Next day moved to Chatenois two kilometers away where headquarters were. No news of probable destination. Three nights later another move, this time to Germiny on the road to Toul, or rather just off it. Dirty little place, but got a fair billet. Two nights here, then all night on the road, arrived at Bicqueley in early morning and camped by roadside thirty-six hours (B. is ten kilometers south of Toul). Later on to Bruley. Rotten billets. The place is full of French and everything is crowded. Rain and mud.

Probably the attack will be at St. Mihiel.

Saw a ghastly notice posted in the Y. M. C. A. to the effect that if any of our men were taken prisoner and questioned to say nothing; that torture would undoubtedly be used, and that such men would never be allowed to return alive, no matter what they said. It ended by saying let them meet Eternity with the knowledge they had done their duty. It gave me a thrill as I read it.

At most of our stops I have been fortunate in finding French families where I could get something to eat.

It is St. Mihiel. We move to Ansauville. The attack commences—I forget the date. In fact, one seldom knows it. We are in advance of the heavies, they firing over our heads. The show opens at one thirty a. m. It is drizzling. The fire is very intense, but nothing like Souain.

By four p.m. the guns ease off and the men go over. Met Normand who was in charge of Vittel, also a Major Finck, a fine man. They asked me to billet with them. The whole place is shot to pieces and there is scarcely any shelter to be found. We three, and sometimes a fourth casual, sleep in a kitchen. It is about the only place that has half a roof.

Later next day Normand and I pushed north with the advancing troops. The roads were simply jammed, but we followed up, finally getting into Essie. Every one is wild with enthusiasm, for the Boche is simply on the run. Groups of German prisoners are constantly passing us on the road down. Many have their knapsacks all packed, so must have been expecting us. I counted over eleven hundred going through the fields. They certainly make a most cheering sight.

We pass through several small towns, nothing but a mass of rubble now. The balloons are all moving forward.

Essie is a mass of ruins. The 82nd Division is holding the place. None of the transports have come up and there is still intermittent shelling.

The 42nd's triage is here in a cellar. We met and talked to a large number of the liberated civilians. They were happy, but very quiet. Most of them were old people. One woman had a baby by a Boche. Every one pointed her and it out, but it was more in the spirit of historical interest than anything else. An unfortunate accident. She clutched the baby as if in her eyes it was a perfectly good infant.

Toward night we made our way back and the next day started for Thiaucourt to help get out the civil population. The town was fairly intact when we first entered it, but while we were there they started up a violent artillery action. Soon buildings began to go. Most of the shelling was for one of their ammunition dumps they had abandoned in their precipitous flight. However, a little later the guns were turned on the town.

We got out all the civilians without any casualties. I have heard since that the place is completely wrecked. They kept on shelling it intermittently until November 11th.

A few days later we went out to Pont-à-Mousson. (We referring to Normand and myself.) The action had shifted more to the east, judging from the intensity of the artillery action. We passed out along the Thierry road. The lines had, of course, all pushed forward, but the place was just lined with the old gun emplacements. As our road gradually neared the Boche lines one could hear that a very heavy duel was in progress. We continued to the cross-road which turns into Pont-à-Mousson. Shells were dropping here every three minutes. We timed them, and when one exploded, beat it, full steam ahead. Our batteries were more terrifying than Fritz's, because they were on both sides of the road and were going off right under your nose.

When we arrived in the town things were very active. We took shelter in an abri for a time, but as most of the shells were passing over, searching out our "heavies" behind the town, we decided to walk along, across the river and climb into Mousson, a high conical hill where the French observation post was. It was a long, hot pull with a constant accompaniment of whistling shells, but when we got there it was well worth while.

The post was on the very top in some partially demolished buildings, the view from whence was superb. One, with the aid of the glass, could see Metz distinctly, even reading the time on the Cathedral clock.

Five hundred yards across to the next hill was the German observation post, but "noblesse oblige," they left one another alone. Below, across the river, were three German towns with the peasants working quietly in the fields, and right across the river was one of the Crown Prince's many châteaux, untouched, although one of our 75's could have blown it to fragments in five minutes.

As the gun-fire was likely to increase rather than diminish with sunset, we started down the hill and back through Pont-à-Mousson. The place was all but deserted, only a few Americans hanging around the mouths of abris. We found our motor and driver, however, after some little search, keeping careful lookout in the meanwhile where the shells were falling. Just as we were leaving the town two 77's broke in the road behind us, but doing no further damage than to cover us in a cloud of earth.

Two days later ordered to move forward and accordingly took position at Beaumont just behind Sains made famous by the stand of the Marines earlier in the summer.

Beaumont was nothing but a mass of wreckage and mud. We pitched the two field hospitals on the ground floor of all that remained of an old-time château, while the officers lived in the abandoned French dugouts. These were fairly comfortable, but infested with rats. The whole place is a sea of mud and filth.

During most of the St. Mihiel drive we had fine weather, except the first three days. The drive started September 12th, with the moon in the first quarter, consequently we had great German aerial activity. One evening a Boche plane was brought down by one of our men just at sunset. Both Germans were killed. Every night planes flew over our heads all night, but fortunately nothing fell near us.

* * * * * * * *

On September 26th I was detached from the 42nd Division and sent as Medical Consultant to the Justice Group of seven hospitals at Toul. H. C. Madden (Lt.-Col.) was Commanding Officer—an efficient man. The work here is purely medical and very tame after the Division. I was much disappointed as Thayer had promised me the 3rd Army Corps.

Toul is a dreary place and the darkest corner of France I have found. I have tried to organize the service, a thing requiring some tact, as each hospital has an excellent chief of its own medical service.

On October 6th I got into Paris for the Red Cross medical meeting. It was my first sight of real civilization since the previous April when I hated the everlasting dreary nights. However, this time it did not make much difference, as I was dog-tired and only too glad to turn in after dinner. Spirits are brighter moreover with the continuing good news. ***