Part 5

At 9 o'clock on the morning of September 4th the entire 110th Sanitary Train started on the march for the railhead at La Haussiere, about fourteen kilos away. Full field equipment was carried by each man, and a lunch, consisting of one bacon and one jam sandwich, which turned out to be the only rations for the next twenty-eight hours.

Arriving at La Haussiere about 1 P. M., the sanitary train boarded the box cars. A previous train carrying troops on this route had been attacked by Boche airplanes, so we had machine guns mounted on a flat car to be prepared for any which might attack us. Fortunately, or unfortunately, we saw none and so missed what would have been an interesting experience.

The destination of this trip was to be Benney. The trucks carrying the kitchen and supplies went overland, and the intention was that there should be a hot supper waiting for us on our arrival. The railroad passed through several towns within a very short distance of Benney, and why we didn't detrain at one of these has always been a deep, dark mystery. At the time we were on the train we did not know what our destination was to be, and we only found out after reaching Luneville at 8 P. M. that we were confronted with the necessity of retracing a large part of our trip--but this time on foot, and supperless to boot.

While we were waiting for the 140th Ambulance Company to unload its mules and ambulances we laid down upon the muddy sidewalks and watched the powerful flashlights searching the sky for Boche airplanes. Luneville was a favorite visiting place for such planes, and the shattered buildings testified to the accuracy of their aim.

About 11 P. M. the column was formed and began to move on the long and never-to-be-forgotten hike to Benney. Ambulance Company 139 was the last marching company, with Ambulance Company 140 bringing up the rear. The orders were no lights, and only men tagged sick would be allowed to ride in the twelve mule ambulances.

Major Salisbury was in command of the train, and at 1 A. M. ordered a halt of two hours. Some of the men unrolled their packs and wrapped themselves in their blankets, while others laid down in the mud and managed to get a little sleep, covered only by their raincoats. When the column resumed the march several of the men were left sleeping peacefully alongside of the road, against trees or upon piles of rocks. Here we nearly lost Lieut. Bates, who fortunately awoke just as the last ambulance was passing by.

It soon began to rain, and by 3:30 the men were splashing through a regular downpour. When the orders to fall in were passed back, most of the men would turn their backs, and give their faces a brief rest from the stinging cuts of the rain. Others would sink down on the roadside, regardless of mud or water. It was a weird looking lot of soldiers that marched into Blainville, with raincoats thrown over their heads and packs to prevent them, especially the latter, from becoming soaked with rain. Many here found an empty hayloft and lost no time in getting to sleep, leaving the column to struggle on without them.

As the eastern sky was beginning to show signs of the welcome daybreak, the rain diminished to a light but uncomfortable drizzle. Slowly but steadily the column moved on through the towns of Rehainville, Haussonville and Velle-sur-Meuse. Upon entering each small town every man in the train was hoping that that would be the end of the hike. The morning of the 5th wore away, and as the wet and weary column continued to leave town after town behind, the men came to the conclusion that we were "lost again," and that we were doubling back toward Bayon, through which they had passed the day before on the train.

Since daybreak straggling had become general. After leaving Haussonville there was hardly a kilo that did not claim its group of stragglers. The heavy laden plum trees along the roadside helped thin the ranks, because the men had had nothing to eat for breakfast but a few pieces of water-soaked bacon and bread. During one of the hourly ten-minute rest periods Tony Cataldi, who was perched up in a plum tree enjoying the delicious plums, was seen by a passing officer and immediately ordered down. Unable to see who was giving the order, on account of the leaves and rain, he inquired with true Italian curiosity, "Who in de h--l are you?" He soon found out that the officer was in command of the column.

As the men continued their weary way there was little talking--the men had enough to do in keeping going. By this time the companies were reduced to platoons, for buck privates, non-coms and even company commanders were falling out. The only thing that kept the rest going was pride. Pride would not allow them to drop out while others were "making the riffle."

The last mile told. The long hill that hid the little town of Benney was lined with the men who had fallen out. Just twenty-eight men out of the ninety that left Luneville with our company pulled into the town about 11:30 A. M. They had made the entire trip without dropping out or having their packs hauled. They had marched 14 kilos, ridden seven hours in box cars, and then marched 41 kilos more, all this on a two-sandwich ration, and through rain and muddy roads.

So ended the hike to Benney, a hike whose only claim to distinction is the fact that it need never have been made. Why the companies were not detrained at Bayon, or even Blainville, through which they had passed on the train and thereby saving 15 hours of long and weary hiking, will probably always remain a "military secret." From either of these towns the march would have been only a walk. Efforts were made at both places to have the troops detrained, but they were unavailing.

BENNEY TO FIVE TRENCHES

Immediately upon our arrival in the village of Benney we were billeted in haymows, which is the customary home for the American soldier in the country of France. These "billets," as they have been called by the men, are usually located in the haymows of the French homes. The French peasant's home usually consists of one large building, in which the entire family, including horses, cattle and pigs, is housed. While it seems strange to us, who are not accustomed to this manner of living, they are quite comfortable compared to pup tents in a wet, soggy forest, and especially at the end of a long hike by night with full equipment.

Benney was, we believe, the dirtiest village we have been in to date, so consequently the next day we had to clean up the manure piles and refuse left by the populace of this village. The village had, at one time, been occupied by the Hun armies, who left their customary destructive earmarks upon it. Those who remain consist mainly of women, children and men too old for work. It can therefore be easily understood why its streets were dirty and conditions in general were neglected.

We spent four days in the village, our duties being to clean up the streets. We had become quite proficient with shovels and push-brooms, by reason of previous experience, and strangely enough the men usually chose this duty in preference to the daily duties of kitchen police and guard. Most of us were badly in need of a bath, as all soldiers generally are, and upon investigating discovered an old swimming hole which we soon Americanized by taking a plunge every day during our short stay there. We were entertained two evenings by the French movies while here.

It was evident to us that a large troop movement was taking place, and from the many precautions taken to avoid observation, it appeared that the movement was of more than usual importance. Troops were marched only at night and no lights of any kind were permitted, even smoking being barred outside of cover. Kitchens were covered and mess lines were being divided into sections so that Boche planes could see but a few men at a time. We were told that we must get under cover and stay there whenever hostile planes were about. No drilling was done and every effort made to keep every evidence of the presence of troops hidden from observation. All this could mean but one thing--a big attack was being prepared and we would undoubtedly be in it. We were curious to know just when and where it would be, but we had to be content with guessing, for the secret of the St. Mihiel drive was well kept.

Leaving Benney, we hiked a distance of 13 kilos to a little village called Haussonville, arriving there at 3:30 A. M. We had a very sloppy march and passed our kitchen truck, stuck in the ditch by the roadside. Of all trucks, this should have been the one to pull through, judging by the yearning in the region of our stomachs. Immediately upon our arrival in Haussonville we were billeted in a large barn and "hit the hay" for a few hours. We were soon awakened by the glad news that our kitchen had arrived, was in action and that we would have breakfast at 10. The name Haussonville stands out prominently in the minds of the boys, for we recall, with a shudder, that this is where we caught our first real batch of cooties.

Dinner was served at 3, and after this meal we again rolled pack and had hopes of leaving this unwelcome company at 8 P. M., but did not until three hours later. At last under way, we hiked 14 kilos with full packs and reached our next destination, a salt factory a few kilos from Nancy. Though much fatigued by our night journey, we were somewhat encouraged to find a soft pine floor upon which to rest our weary bones, and with the aid of a few salt sacks, which we found, soon made ourselves as comfortable as possible under the existing conditions. After the customary late breakfast and dinner, orders were received to resume the hike as soon as it became dark.

Darkness found us again trailing the rock roads amid a steady downpour of rain. The night grew darker and darker, until it was impossible for the men in ranks to see each other. This however, was nothing unusual and all went well until we suddenly found ourselves lost in the streets of Nancy. It was a fine night for ducks, which might have enjoyed the next three hours, but as soldiers it was far from pleasant wandering around the town aimlessly, first up one street and then down another, with a soggy pack upon our backs. At last, righting ourselves, we left the city just as it was getting dawn, and continued our course.

Seemingly endless lines of artillery regiments on their way to form the reserve for the St. Mihiel drive, passed us along the road with their caissons and guns of all sizes. Later an impressive sight greeted us as we marched along. Dawn was breaking in the east, but the northern horizon was lighted by flares from the muzzles of hundreds of Allied guns, the intermittent flashings of which indicated to us that the great drive was in progress. Tired, hungry and foot sore, we pitched tents a little later in the woods safely concealed from enemy observation.

Thus ended the long-drawn-out hike. We knew now why we had been marched every night and subjected to seemingly unnecessary hardships. Not a man regretted the experience, and all proud that they helped form a cog in the mighty machine which straightened the St. Mihiel salient, and marked the first American triumph over the Hun.

FROM FIVE TRENCHES TO SENARD

While at Five Trenches, we were in constant readiness to move, and on Sept. 18th, orders were received to embuss at three o'clock P. M. Where we were going we did not know, but we prepared for a ride, which, we were told would be a long one. A short march brought us to a large number of French trucks which we boarded, filling each to its utmost capacity.

The trip was through a country of rolling hills, dotted with the picturesque French villages with their stone houses and red tile roofs. Late in the afternoon the Moselle was crossed and we passed through the outskirts of the ancient city of Toul. Our journey continued throughout the night and after passing through Bar-le-Duc, and Triacourt, we arrived at our destination, the small village of Senard, about six o'clock the following morning. The truck containing our kitchen had been sent on ahead to prepare breakfast for us when we got there, but with the usual fortune of the kitchen buss, it had been mis-instructed and so it was afternoon before it arrived to fill the stomachs of the very hungry soldiers.

Our billet was a large barn, over a hundred years old, in which the whole company was housed. Its bunks with straw mattresses were a welcome change after sleeping on the ground in the forest. It had at one time been quarters for German soldiers, for in 1914 when the army of the Kaiser poured into France, Senard had been occupied for about nine days. Although the city shows plainly the scars of battle, it was fortunate compared to some of the neighboring villages, many of which were complete ruins.

The stay here was a short one. We left on the night of Sept. 18th and marched for several hours along roads already crowded with artillery and supply trains moving toward the front, and shortly after dark pitched pup tents at Camp Wagon, in the heart of the Argonne Forest. The few days spent here passed uneventfully; even pay day failing to cause its usual enthusiasm, for what good was money in the heart of a forest? An occasional barrage sounding nearby kept us on the alert, for we imagined each one to be the prelude to the big drive we knew we were soon to engage in.

Finally, definite information came and it left us rather dazed, causing many of us to write home letters that we thought might possibly be the last ones. We learned that the greatest offensive of the war was about to take place, extending from the North Sea to the Moselle river. Also, and what was more to the point, that on that part of the front to be taken by the American Army the position assigned to the 35th Division to reduce was expected to be the most difficult to take. Our division had the honor positions on the whole front.

MEUSE-ARGONNE OFFENSIVE

Our part in the offensive began the night of the 25th of September. Orders were received to move up to Bourelles as soon as it should become dark. Camp was struck and supplies were stacked along side the road before dark so that we would be able to find them when the time came.

A vast sense of relief settled down over every one as we realized that the time which we had enlisted for, trained for, worked and waited for was finally at hand, and that by morning we would be doing our work over in the Boche trenches instead of on our own side of the line.

As soon as it was dark we got our stuff packed into the trucks and packed ourselves in on top, mud and all, and started for Germany. The roads were muddy and slippery and often the convoy was held up until a truck could be pulled out of the ditch. No lights were allowed--the roads were under shell fire and no chances were taken in showing troop movements to the ever vigilant enemy aeroplanes. Several times we were led astray, but finally, about midnight we arrived at Bourelles.

Here we unloaded the trucks behind the protection of a steep bank and the men settled down on the rocks and grass for a few hours' rest, while the cooks borrowed a fire and began to prepare soup for breakfast. We did not secure much sleep. Jerry was sending over a few in search of some of our "heavies," but it was these same heavy guns that most disturbed our rest. The crack of these guns whipped across the valley with such a force that the hills fairly shook. They were not firing very fast but what they lacked in speed they made up in noise.

At 2:30 A. M. our fire opened up in earnest and the thought of being on the receiving end of that terrific rain of steel was almost enough to cause a little pity for the Germans--almost. With the coming of dawn the artillery seemed to slacken and at 6:05 the doughboys went over the top. Little could be seen through the haze and smoke by those who waited. We could see the groups of airplanes go sailing overhead and the elephant-shaped observation balloons move snail-like in a race to the enemy lines. While the big guns were methodically sending over their "messages of hate," here and there could be seen groups of horses nibbling unconcernedly at the trampled grass, while their drivers were wrapped up in shelter halves catching a well earned rest.

After a reconnaissance had been made, we received the order from our Director of Ambulances, Maj. Wm. Gist, to advance. We piled into the trucks again and started forward. The effects of Jerry's fire could now be seen. The large shell holes, the demolished trees, the shattered buildings, were beginning to make us realize that we were fighting some force that had the power to fight back. We passed through several ruined villages and finally reached Neuvilly, which was the end of the road for motors at that time. Here we unloaded and were heavily equipped with litters, packs, medicine belts and extra shell wound dressings.

The plan of operations was quite simple. The company was divided into sections, each under an officer, and each section further divided into litter squads of four men each. The non-coms were charged with locating wounded and directing litter squads to them, and also with doing most of the dressing. The wounded were to be gathered into groups located so that ambulances could reach and evacuate them to the triage which was established later in the day at Neuvilly, by Ambulance Company 138. The entire company, less cooks, took to the field and the cooks, by trading grub for transportation, managed to keep in touch with part of us part of the time.

Lieut. Bates with his section covered the rear of the 137th Infantry which was on the left. Lieut. Siberts with a detachment, bore to the right, covering the 138th Infantry, while Lieut. Monteith, with his detachment undertook to handle some wounded who were already coming into the old position of the 138th Infantry. Lt. Speck with Sgt. Rowland and a few men remained at Vacquois Hill and established a collecting station for wounded there.

As the men marched thru the lines the evidences of the superhuman struggle grew more and more. They could see dead horses, shattered wagons and caissons, trampled and torn up wire entanglements, and ambulances darting here and there. Groups of artillery were constantly shifting about, advancing all the time.

In places we passed the long naval guns, some of them so hot that they seemed to be fairly panting. Every clump of trees concealed a den of seventy-fives or larger guns, and miles of deserted trenches were passed through.

The work on hand was enough to keep all the men busy. Many German prisoners were coming through by this time and each group helped by carrying back wounded. Some of the German wounded were brought back in this way by their comrades. By this time, also, a shortage of litters began to be felt. The ambulances had not been able to get up owing to the blocking of the roads by artillery which was moving forward. Towards evening ambulances began to come in to Vacquois, and Hill No. 290. The last load of wounded had been removed by about 4:00 A. M., the next morning. Meanwhile, Lt. Siberts had reached Cheppy, close on the heels of the victorious 138th Infantry and collected a large number of wounded there.

In crossing the German trenches, we saw the effects of our artillery barrage and the evidences of the fierce fighting that the doughboys were doing. The ground was fairly pulverized. There were shell holes large enough to drop houses into, and parts of the hills were seemingly scalped and cast aside. Concrete dugouts were crushed as if they had been made of cardboard, trenches were leveled and barbwire entanglements were cut to pieces. The Germans had contested the ground inch by inch, and we could see where groups of our men had been literally blown to pieces--scenes that the boys will never forget. As we advanced further, the evidences of the struggle were not so ghastly, although we were passing the lifeless forms of many Kansas and Missouri boys mixed with those of the drab uniforms of the enemy.

The field was sprinkled with shell holes whose burnt sides seem to have been blasted by the touch of hell. Our artillery was crawling forward and were blazing away from behind the shelter of clumps of bushes. The doughboys were now moving so swiftly that the big guns could hardly keep up.

As we neared Cheppy, we could see where the infantry boys had charged an almost impregnable machine gun nest. About thirty men had been mowed down in front of this position. At a cross roads, a big shell had landed in the center of a collection of wounded doughboys, tearing them to pieces. Gas had been used, but nothing could stop the boys from entering Cheppy. The fierce struggle in this town had caused heavy casualties.

Ambulance Co. 138 having moved up the triage to Cheppy on the 28th, Lt. Siberts started for Charpentry with his detachment. By the morning of the second day, the entire company had reached Cheppy and we had a warm meal, the first one in thirty-six hours. Lt. Siberts and his detachment deserve a great deal of credit for the tremendous amount of work they accomplished at Cheppy in an old abandoned dugout, where hundreds of wounded were cared for under distressing and dangerous conditions.

Mr. Wesley R. Childs of the Y. M. C. A. came up to the station here with chocolates and was of material assistance in directing a party of walking wounded back to Neuvilly by the road through Verennes, which we had been unable to explore before. During this time the action was in view of the dressing station at times and the sound of the machine guns made it plain that there would be much more work for us. The dressing station at Cheppy was subjected to machine gun fire from hostile airplanes several times but no casualties resulted. Mule drawn ambulances from Ambulance Co. 140 arrived at the Cheppy station in the morning of the 27th. Later, motor ambulances came up and the work of evacuating went steadily on. There was very little rest for anyone.

On the 27th, Lt. Monteith with a detachment went forward to Very, and established another collection point in some German dugouts there. The next morning, evacuation of these wounded was begun by ambulances as the congestion at Cheppy was somewhat relieved. Litter bearer squads worked forward from Very in the direction of Charpentry and many wounded were collected together and cared for pending the arrival of mule drawn ambulances. In the meantime Ambulance Co. 137, and the dressing station section of Ambulance Co. 140, had arrived by trucks at Charpentry. They brought a large supply of dressings and other medical equipment and we were able to replace the contents of our belts. The field from Very to Charpentry was thus cleared, and by noon some of the advance squads had reached Charpentry.