Chapter IX · HOMEWARD BOUND

At 7:00 A. M. Monday, May 5th, “B” Company “fell in” in front of the Abbaye with full equipment, and at eight o’clock, with the command: SQUADS RIGHT, MARCH, moved out with the remaining troops, from the town that had been our home for nearly half a year, and our long journey homeward had at last really begun. By easy marches we reached Les Laumes-Alesia Station at 10:00 A. M., where we were given a big dinner by the American Red Cross, consisting of a good beef stew, bread, jam, coffee (with both milk and sugar in it), apple sauce, cigarettes and candy, which was followed by hot chocolate and cakes given to us by pretty Y. M. C. A. girls. At 12:30 P. M. we entrained in American “60 Hommes-20 Chevaux,” which we had lined with bed sacks filled with straw and about thirty-five men to a car, which proved the most comfortable ride we had had since our arrival in Europe nearly a year previous. We made several stops to get coffee or warmed corned beef. The trip lasted about 42 hours, arriving at St. Jean Station, Bordeaux, at 4:00 A. M. May 7th, from which we marched to the “Entrance Camp,” reaching there at 9:00 A. M. and immediately having breakfast served. The men were kept pretty busy during the day on various details, and the following morning, May 8th, we left this camp and marched about a mile to the “Permanent Camp.” The memory of this camp will probably remain with most of us by reason of the “MILL,” which was the first thing to which we were introduced and which consumed most of the conversation during our stay here.

The MILL was well named in every respect. First we were marched into a “hangar” very similar to those used to house air planes. This had a dirt floor and after unslinging packs the men filed along one side of the hangar leaving their rifles in a heap, then filed back to their packs. Next they took their blankets which had been rolled together before leaving the Entrance Camp, and threw them in a pile. Next, everything the soldier carried was placed in his shelter half and carried thru a wicket gate, by which stood a long desk behind which were several men. The first asked your name and army serial number, which he wrote on two slips of paper which you had to sign. This seemed quite natural because no one knew what they were signing, and if anyone should stop to ask he would be informed that he would learn that in due time, a statement which no one doubted because no one thought any more about that phase of it, probably for the reason that about one-tenth of a doughboy’s time is spent in signing papers he does not know anything about, the same being part of his military training.

The next man took the “dog tags” and asked your name and number and compared your answer with the tags; if they agreed all well and good, if they disagreed something was checked on the slip of paper you had signed and you began to wonder how many checks you would get and if each check meant an additional month in France, or an extra tour of K. P. The next man gave you a Red Cross bag which often brought a smile because of the name—“American Red Cross” was stamped in ink on a white patch on the bag, otherwise you would have looked for a deduction on the next pay roll. At this time someone in the farthest corner of the building called out a number which sounded like a cell number, but which proved to be nothing more than their manner of ushering you to a certain litter into which you dumped everything you had, from your steel helmet which had just been painted to your last handkerchief which you had failed to wash. The object of this being for the man to see if you had more than he did. If you did not have as much, he handed you a barrack bag and helped you to put all your things into it except such personal things as your pocket book, tooth brush, shaving brush, etc. These you put in the Red Cross bag, then handed your slip of paper to the man who then asked what you had in the barrack bag or on your back. If you guessed right, all right; if you guessed wrong he checked an item on the slip of paper.

If you did not like your blouse he would give you a chance to draw again. If your underclothes were too large for you he would give you a chance to draw a larger pair, and so on. After you were all out of breath talking to this man, you hung your Red Cross Bag around your neck, threw your Barrack Bag on your shoulder and marched out of the door across a wood pile to another building in which was another long row of desks, and for a moment you thought you were going to get your discharge papers toote de suite, but these hopes were soon dashed to the ground. An officer handed you your Service Record, which seemed rather a strange thing because the company clerk said that he had it when you asked him the day before you left Flavigny. Struggling along with this in one hand and dragging your barrack bag with the other you passed down the line until you came to a blank file with a typewriter and a man behind it.

Here you stopped and handed him your Service Record, after which he asked you your name, number, name and address of your wife or mother. He evidently wanted to know this in the event you did not come through the mill alive he could advise your nearest relative that you had been killed in action, or words to that effect. When you afterwards inquired what this slip was you were informed that it was a certificate to show that you had been through the mill. But why should they issue such a certificate before you had been through? Probably the government took a chance like the doughboy does when he signs the pay roll a month before he gets paid. If he did not sign re would not get paid and often when he does sign he don’t get paid, so “sanferriens.” Any way this man kept the Service Record, “mill slip,” and all, and you were ushered into the engine room.

There was a great racket going on and your heart was beating like a trip hammer. You remembered you had not cut your toe nails for several weeks and you wondered if they would scratch your neck. You also wondered what part of your body went in first. Someone ordered you to move along, and along you moved until you came to a bin which reminded you of where your grandfather kept his potatoes. You looked around for the man who was administering the “Dope,” because you heard nobody scream or groan—or were some of those noises groans? Through the middle of this bin ran a railroad and in the middle of the track stood a man issuing orders, none of which you understood. Besides, the man in the bin behind you was talking louder than the man in your bin, so that you heard more of what he said than of what your man said; but after listening for a while you gleaned the fact that you were supposed to take off all your clothes, which you did.

By that time two large doors in the side of the building opened and out came a car that looked like the ones they have in circuses to carry animals in, which was divided into compartments with numbers corresponding with the number of your bin, which were full of shelves and hooks. Into your compartment on this car you put everything you had except the articles in the Red Cross bag. This you still had hung around your neck. Everything had to be taken out of the Barrack bag; your puttees could not be wound; your underclothes and socks which you took off were not put in the car however. They said this was to kill the cooties, and suddenly you had a feeling of pity for the poor cootie. As suddenly as the car came out of these big doors it went back again and the doors were closed; then you were ordered to pick up your soiled underclothes and “move along.” A little further along you threw your soiled underclothes out of a window marked “Salvaged Clothes.” You were wearing your shoes but nothing else. As you passed out of this room you were handed a towel and as you entered the next room you were met by a couple of doctors who asked you if you had been to Paris and then refused to take your word that you had not. From here you entered the bath room where you had the grand and glorious feeling of a real shower bath, although the so-called soap was beyond description. From here you passed another long line of doctors that reminded you of your first day at camp, and then you passed into a room which reminded you of Gimbel Brothers at home. Your famous slip of paper which had been kept in your Red Cross Bag, now came into use and you began to learn the reason for it. Everything that your Supply Sergeant at Flavigny had refused to give you was handed to you here. First you were given a suit of underclothes and a pair of socks to take the place of the ones you had salvaged. Then down the line you went, getting new blankets for the ones you had left in the hangar, and new trousers for the ones you had said were no good, and even a new tape for your dog tags. From here you passed into another bin similar to the first one, and while you were putting on your underclothes out came the car with all your things on it, but everything so hot you could hardly touch them. Poor cooties, not a one remained alive to tell of what happened inside.

After dressing, which you had to do in four seconds less than a minute, you stuffed everything into the barrack bag except your overcoat which you put on, and, with barrack bag over your shoulder and your slip of paper in your hand, you passed into another room. Here you handed said slip of paper to a man whom you could just see over the top of a heap of them, then passed by a man who examined the condition of your hair and then passed outside with the perspiration streaming down your face and marched about two blocks down the street to another building. There you completed your toilet and were guided to your company barracks which was either 212, 214 or 216, and there you set yourself down more exhausted than you were the day you marched from Florent to Varimont. But you were still in the army though not in the mill, and there was work to be done. The first detail was to carry all the rifles from the mill to the barracks. You were given dinner and then given more detail, and more detail the next day.

Friday, May 9th, the commanding officer was notified that Company “B” would embark the next day, and accordingly, at 5:00 P. M. Saturday, May 11th, the company was lined up and marched to the American Docks, reaching them about 7:00 P. M. A peculiar coincidence it was, that during the greater part of this march it rained. It had been bright and clear all day but when we started on our last march in France the sky became darkened, with a heavy cloud, and shortly after we had started for the docks it began to rain and did not clear until after we had embarked. After reaching the dock, we were served sandwiches, chocolate, cigarettes, candy, and a handkerchief by the Red Cross. Miss Colby, the Y. M. C. A. worker who had been with us all winter at Flavigny, followed us to the dock and there bade us good-bye. She was not to return to America for several months. The rest of the Y. M. C. A. outfit had departed with Regimental Headquarters. Mr. Allen, the K. of C. worker who had been with us at Flavigny, returned to America with us. We embarked at 8:00 P. M. May 10th, on the good ship “OTSEGO,” formerly the Prince Eitel Fredrich III, one of the German liners that had been turned over to the American Government for the transportation of troops to America. It was her second trip in this service.

The trip was long, somewhat tedious, and uneventful. The food was excellent, the best we had had since we had left home. The Azores lay along our route and we passed close enough to see some of the buildings. A couple of schools of small whales were sighted, and porpoises were continually playing about the ship. The third or fourth day out we began to have trouble with the boilers, which continued nearly all the way across, which accounted for the length of the voyage. On the morning of the 25th we passed the “Ambrose” Lightship and soon after sighted land. We expected to dock in the afternoon, but it was five o’clock when we entered the Upper Bay at New York and dropped anchor off St. Georges, S. I. Many small boats loaded with sight-seers came by. The Mayor’s Committee of New York City brought a band to play for us. The next morning, May 26th, 1919, about eight o’clock we weighed anchor and sailed up the river to Hoboken, where we docked a half hour later. We were given a light lunch by the Red Cross and were then put on a river boat and went to the West Shore docks, where we got on a train and went to Camp Merritt. It was a grand and glorious feeling to be riding in an American train once more. We arrived at Camp Merritt about 11:00 A. M. and had lunch shortly after. In the afternoon we again went through the mill or “Sanitary Process” and the next morning went to a different part of the camp, where the company was broken up into Casual Detachments. The men from most of the Southern and Western camps being assigned to Hoboken Casual Detachments, and the others into Camp Dix, Camp Upton, or Camp Grant Casual Detachments. We did not move out, however, until Sunday afternoon, June 1st. Passes were issued daily, however, and a majority of the men took advantage of this privilege and went home to visit their folks. At 2:00 P. M. June 1st, the Camp Dix C. D. entrained for Camp Dix, where we arrived at 7:00 P. M. and immediately turned in all our equipment and then marched to the barracks formerly occupied by the Third Battalion.

June 2nd: All company records were turned in and Company “B” was only a memory. The days dragged slowly by until Thursday, June 5th, when we had our final examination. One incident happened at this time which to us seemed almost tragical. A Welcoming Committee from Elizabeth came down Wednesday, June 4th, three days after we entered Camp Dix, to see the Elizabeth boys, and upon inquiring at Camp Headquarters for our location, were told that we were not in the Camp, as they had no record of us. This probably was the reason why several outfits that arrived in camp as late as Wednesday were discharged ahead of us. Saturday morning, June 7th, is a day in the lives of the remaining men of Company “B” 311th Infantry never to be forgotten, as it was then that we received our final pay and discharge from the Army and once more became civilians.