Part 2 — The Last Salvo

November 11th. The last salvo was fired at eleven this morning! While I was in Paris called on L. There were two old chatterboxes there who cackled about divorces and clothes. It gave me such a strange sensation and seemed so unreal and trivial. I suppose the world must go on in spite of war—"battle, murder and sudden death."

November 18th. Was commissioned Lieutenant-Colonel to-day and walked down town and bought some silver leaves in the afternoon.

On November 3rd a telegram from Helen telling me that dear father had died on the tenth of October. I had expected it, but it was a shock.

November 24th. Have just returned from what I hope will be the last Paris medical meeting. I want to get home, and kicking about the city is pretty dreary. Called on every one I knew. Saw Dorziat and Lucien Guitry in "Samson" and supped at Maxim's.

Have applied for home, and am hoping with all my heart that it will go through. Work over here is an awful anti-climax now.

December 6th. Toul. Called up Neufchâteau three days ago and spoke to Major McLean. General Thayer, as usual, was not there. However, McLean told me I would get my home orders. The same night Colonel Thornburgh told me he had arranged matters so I could go, but now it was necessary to wait for my rating card before the final orders could be issued, so here I am, waiting.

Last night we went over to a musical show at the Marshal Ney Barracks. It was very poor—absolutely devoid of imagination or humor.

This morning I got the motor after some scrapping and took Yocum, Hodges and Kennon over to Metz. We went via Pont-à-Mousson. There was a thick fog which practically obscured the views. As we passed through Pont-à-Mousson I could not but think of the time I was last there with Normand when shells were coming and going all the time. The road was still fairly full of transports, but nothing like old times. Pont-à-Mousson was more shot up than when I last saw it, and it was almost deserted.

From there we soon ran into German territory, with old gun emplacements, camouflage and ruined buildings all along the road.

Metz was gaily decorated with flags, and the streets were gay with French and Americans, but the whole air suggested a conquered city. Some shops had posted "Maison Française" on the door; painters were rapidly changing the signs from German to French. The Hotel welcomed one, but everywhere it was with the air of the conqueror. The people were frightened and did not know what was going to happen. There were only eight thousand real Alsace-Lorraines in the city, so an intelligent German officer told me, and most of the "hurrahing" was done from policy.

Boys and men were doing a thriving business in selling Boche souvenirs. Iron crosses and belts being their specialty. And the Americans were the victims, especially the large army who fought the war in swivel chairs and are seeing the front for the first time.

In spite of all tales to the contrary, the shops seemed full, especially the provision stores. Prices are very high. I saw plain women's hats, that are generally seen at a store like Macy's piled by hundreds in a box and selling for fifty cents, marked fifty and sixty francs. There was no rubber, so bicycle tires were made of a steel spring arrangement and one of rope. Shoes had wooden soles.

We had a very good plain dinner, but paid ten francs for what ordinarily would have been about three marks. The beer was simply bitter water.

Coming home we passed on the other bank of the Moselle and back through Lorry, Fleury, Meiul-la-Tour, and so home, but the roads were all deserted—so very different from my previous visits.

December 12th. Yesterday Fullerton (Major Robert Fullerton of St. Louis) asked me to go to Montfaucon and Varennes with him. We started this morning at eight a. m. in a drizzling rain and fog.

On our way out we went through Commercy, St. Mihiel and Verdun. The latter looked much tidier than when I saw it in July with Brewer. Out of Verdun through the Gate St. Paul into the beyond on the Montfaucon road, the battlefield is still fresh. The destruction is worse than anything I have so far seen. The earth for miles is torn with shells, one hole knocked out and then the edge of that hole knocked into another. Several of the holes were twelve to fourteen feet deep, and thirty-five or forty feet across. Everywhere was wreckage; gunners' positions, guns (77's), machine guns, clothes, rifles and quantities of Boche ammunition; all the towns about were obliterated.

While we were waiting at the former Crown Prince's house, the owner turned up after an absence of four years and three months. I wish I could describe the scene. She was a plump little woman of fifty-five or more. Two men friends drove her out from somewhere. We were standing in the door when she descended from the old trap. She came in through the mud and announced in a cheery voice that this was her old home. There was a little tremor in her voice when she turned and said: "There was the salle-à-manger, but gentlemen, as you see, it is all no more. We left it at two a. m. September 2nd, 1914, and with it everything in my life departed." Still the voice was cheery. "My husband, son-in-law and two sons have been killed. My grandfather, who was buried over there (pointing) has been turned out of his grave." She then looked around a few minutes, gazing in a wistful way, then walked out the front door, turned and looked back at the mass of wreckage. Her lips trembled, she covered her mouth with her hand, and we heard a few soft sobs. Then she quietly turned, pulled up her skirts and tramped out into the muddy road.

Cressy à Varennes. We passed through there on the way back. Like the other neighboring towns it only exists in name. The same utter desolation, shell holes, tin cans, wire, guns, shells, fog and rain. Nothing can ever picture the dreary awfulness of it all. It looked as if the sun had faded and we were at the end of the world, stepping into the Infinite.

Back to Toul at seven and it was good to see a few lights burning in the homes.

December 13th. Raining hard all day, but very warm and balmy. Cornelia Landon and Rose Saltonstall of Boston are at our mess for a few days. I asked Colonel Thornburgh to invite them, as they were billeted here and sick. The Madame told me there were two sick Americans down there, and I was much surprised to see little Landon. Saltonstall is very bright and attractive. We don't see much of them, for they only show up for lunch, playing in the evening.

It seems strange to be sitting December 13th with your window open, enjoying the efforts of the moon to work through the clouds.

December 15th. Went to Neufchâteau on the excuse of seeing Thayer, who was not there. A beautiful sunny day. Met Tommy Robertson at the Officers' Club and had a fairly good representation of a real cocktail.

Landon and Saltonstall left this morning. I did not see them again, but they left two nice little good-by letters.

December 20th. A bit colder. There was a flurry of snow yesterday, but still, with the exception of a few days in October, there has been no cold weather.

Took my daily walk up to the railroad track. Found the life of P. T. Barnum among some old books and read hard for two hours.

Colonel T. has an attack of rheumatism, is in bed, and feels very sorry for himself.

We take Christmas dinner at B. H. 45, that is unless I have the good luck to get away before then. Every one is beginning to feel very homesick and restless. I cannot realize that Christmas will be here in four days. There isn't a suggestion of it in the air.

The children keep up a continual chatter in the next room, but strange, it is rather pleasant than otherwise. If they would only not start the squeaky old pump at seven in the morning!

Christmas Eve, 1918. It hardly seems possible that another year has rolled by and Christmas is here again. One year ago to-night, and now here again in Toul.

Goodall, Yocum and self went to Nancy this afternoon. In the evening the Delatté children came in my room, played the piano and they danced. I gave them some candy; then to supper.

Dinner was pretty sad. Never try and be gay, is a rule that should be taught in childhood.

My landlady, is having "tea" at nine this evening, and I am expected to join. The day started beautifully, but it is sleeting hard now. And mud everywhere.

No signs of Christmas anywhere among the French, except Madame Delatté asked me to go to Midnight Mass with her. She got confessed this afternoon, and is ready now for another year of miserliness. Much to my astonishment, she made me a brioche.

December 28th. Waiting! Waiting for orders to return. Cadwalader called me up Friday and said he had received his, and that my name was on the same paper, but nothing has come. It is very trying. Over three weeks now in daily anticipation.

Yocum, Goodall and self went to Neufchâteau. Saw Finney, Boggs and Longcape, but no one knew anything about what was happening. We lunched and came back by way of Domremy, Jeanne d'Arc's birthplace. Then across via Voucoleur to Colombey-la-Belle. Heavy fog and rain, as usual. There were no lights on the machine, so we had to grope the last four miles home.

New Years Eve. By special invitation I was asked to see the old year out with Madame De Salle, my neighbor of the next room. There was great stirring about all afternoon in her rooms, and I could hear a stirring of something in a bowl. Phillip, her son, age eight, came in to get me at eight p. m., but I did not turn up till nine. When all the guests were assembled, which was promptly at nine, we sat down, ate a piece of dry sponge-cake, drank a small glass of white wine, then a little coffee. Lieutenant Le Beau, Madame Gérard, the local teacher of the art of piano-playing, a fat, healthy, false-toothed dame, Madame Ralling, and her son waxing into manhood, down on his upper lip and a voice that wabbled from treble to bass. At midnight we all kissed.

But this is all as nothing now, for it is January 2nd, 1919, and at three fifteen p. m. this afternoon, after all hope of anything immediate had vanished, received orders for home. Telegraphed H. and leave for Paris Saturday, January 4th, en route for Angers and from there to a port of embarkation.