Chapter 2

---- ARMY MEN BUILD AN OVER-SEAS PITTSBURGH ---- Mammoth Warehouses and the World's Largest Cold Storage Plant Spring Up in Three Months. ---- FORESTERS AND ENGINEERS DOING THE WORK. ---- "Winter of Our Discontent" Sees Big Job of Preparation Speeded "Somewhere" in France. ----

You, Mr. Infantryman, out there for heaven knows how many hours a day jabbing at a straw-filled burlap bag and pretending it's old Rat-Face, the Crown Prince--been doing that ever since you came over here, haven't you?

You, Mr. Artilleryman, loading, unloading, standing clear, and all the rest of it until your back aches and your ear-drums wellnigh cave in--

You, Mr. Machine-Gunner, going out every day and lugging about a ton of assorted hardware and cutlery around a vacant lot--

You, Mr. Marine, land-logged, land-sick, trying out your web feet in wading through the muddy depths of Europe instead of wading ashore through the roaring surr-yip! hi-ho, and a bottla grape juice!--

You, all of you, own up now! Doesn't seem as though you weren't getting anywhere at times, now does it? Doesn't seem as though you had made any particular progress, eh, what? Doesn't seem to have made the beef any tenderer, the supplies come up any quicker, the Q.M.'s clothing get issued any quicker? As far as you can see, things have been pretty much at a standstill, on account of the weather and what-not, for some time, haven't they?

With Speed and Drive.

But that, Mr. Infantryman, Cannoneer, Machine-Gunner or whoever and whatever you are, is where you are, for one, dead wrong. The old U. S. is making all sorts of progress here in France--progress towards your comfort, and upkeep, and safety, and toward that of the millions who are coming along to play your game with you. Not in your particular section, perhaps, but, in a certain spot in inland France, the old U. S. has been engaged in big doings this winter, doing big things as only Americans can do 'em and putting them through with the speed and drive that, as we like to think, only the Yanks can put into an undertaking. And the work which the old U. S. has been doing at that particular place in France, has excited the outspoken admiration and surprise of every officer of the Allied armies who has watched it grow.

In three months this spot in France has been transformed from an insignificant railroad station--such as White River Junction, New Hampshire, or Princeton Junction, in New Jersey, say--surrounded by wild woodland and rolling plains, into a regular young Pittsburgh of industry. Fact! Not only a young Pittsburgh of industry, but a young St. Louis of railway tracks, a young Chicago of meat refrigerators, a young Boston of bean stowawayeries, a young New York water front of warehouses. Just for example, the warehouses already put up at this place will hold more stuff than the new Pennsylvania Railroad freight terminal in Chicago, which is some monster of its kind.

Cold Storage Plants.

Wait! That's only a sample. The foundations are already on the ground for--now, get this; it's straight dope, no bull--for what will be the largest refrigerating cold storage plant in the world. Its construction, by the time this article sees the light of print, will be well under way. It will have a manufacturing capacity of 500 tons of ice, and will be capable of handling 2,000 tons of fresh beef daily, besides having storage space for 5,000 tons of beef additional, to say nothing of other fresh food supplies whenever they may be awaiting shipment up forward to the men in the Amexforce. Every detail of it is absodarnlutely the last word in uptodateness.

Along with a refrigerating plant of that magnitude, there have also been going up--going up all during the time you thought there was "nothing doing" over here, too--a number of monster storage houses for ammunition and other inflammable supplies. These are built of real old honest-to-goodness hollow fireproof brick, brought all the way from the United States. And if that were not enough to safeguard the bonbons for the Boche contained in them, the storage depot has a waterworks system all its own; to construct it, a pipe line had to be laid half a mile--the distance of the plant from the nearest body of water. Hundreds of miles of auxiliary piping have already been laid, and the water supply will be more than adequate for mechanical purposes and for protection against fire.

Regulars Lend a Hand.

The warehouses themselves are one story buildings, 50 by 30 feet in dimension, constructed in rows of fours, with loading and unloading tracks between them and with big doors in their sides, making easy the quick handling of the supplies to be stowed therein. Goods for four branches of the service are to be stored in them--machinery, ordinance supplies, medical necessaries, and all the varied articles handled by the Quartermaster's Corps. The construction of the buildings has been in the hands of a regiment of railroad engineers and a forestry regiment, assisted by companies detailed from regular regiments.

As if that were not enough in the line of construction, over in a corner of the mammoth reservation is a gas plant, and buster, too. This plant is already in operation and other plants of like size are busy in repairing machinery and in other work. Everywhere about the place there is incessant activity--regular "Hurry up Yost" speed-upativeness--in road building, well driving (some deep ones have been plugged down, too), in track laying, in hundreds of other ways.

Some plant, isn't it, to have been put up in the short time, comparatively, that we have been over here in France? It even puts into the shade the overnight growth of, say Hopewell, Va., the famous munitions city that, unlike Rome, seemed almost to have been built in a day.

Of course it has taken a tremendous force of workers to do all this, and it is going to take more and more and more as time goes on, and as more and more and more troops from the States keep pouring into the French seaports. The size of the plant, with the provisions for making it larger, prove, for one thing, that our Uncle Sam expects to send a lot more troops--and, what is more, intends to keep them well supplied with everything they need as long as they are here.

No Delay About Moving In.

Our Uncle Samuel, be it remembered, is a cautious old gent, and looks well on both sides before getting into a scrap; but once he gets in--and the canny old customer always picks the right side--he's in to stay until the whole job is cleaned up, and he's in right up to his shoulderblades. No more convincing proof of America's determination to see the thing through could be had than a sight of Uncle Sam's big storage depot and all-around tool shop. And, to clinch the argument even further, as fast as the shops on the big reservation have been put up, the machinery has been shoved into them and the work in them started as soon as the machinery was in place and oiled up.

No, Mr. Infantryman, Mr. Artilleryman, Mr. Machine-Gun-toter, Mr. Aviator, Mr. Wireless-buzzer, this has not been "the winter of our discontent"--as footless and no-use-at-all as your own work may have seemed to you sometimes. It has been the winter during which your old uncle has been laying a firm foundation for your comfort and safety and for that of the men who will follow you over--and believe us, he's done an almighty big, an almightily far-sighted, an all-around almightily creditable and thoroughly American, workmanlike job.

---- A NEWS STORY IN VERSE ---- (The incident this poem describes was told by a British sergeant in a dug-out to the author--an American serving at the time in the British Army, but now fighting under the Stars and Stripes.) ----

Joe was me pal, and a likely lad, as gay as gay could be; The worst I expected to happen was the leave that would set him free To visit the wife and the kiddies; but they're waiting for him in vain. All along of a Boche wot peppered our water and ration train.-- You see, w'd been pals from childhood; him and me chummed through school, And when we growed up and got married we put our spare kale in a pool, And both made a comfortable living; 'twas just for our mates and the kids,-- Now the Hun--damn his soul--has taken his toll, and me pal had to cash in his bids. That night when we left the ration dump to face the dark ahead, I can never forget the look on his face when he picked up his kit and said "Another trip to the front, old lad; we'll take 'em their bully and tea; We'll catch hell to-night, but we'll get there all right; take that little tip from me." And Joe swung up in his saddle; I crawled in the trailer behind; The train moved off with a groan and a squeak, for the midnight work and the grind Then Joe looked 'round as we started off, I could see his face all alight; "I got a letter from home," he said; "I'll read it to you to-night." We pulled along through Dick Busch, through Fairy Court and Dell. When word came back from the blokes ahead to give the nags a spell. Joe slid outen his saddle, with a chuckle deep down in his throat, An' he walked back to me, as gay as could be, and pulled the kid's note from his coat. Says he, "Listen, lad, for a kid it ain't bad--it's her birthday--she's five to-night-- It's a ripping note this--she sends you a kiss--" and Joe, poor old pal, struck a light. He held up the kiddie's letter--we were laughin' a bit at the scrawl, All warm inside with a feeling--well, you know what I mean, damn it all! When along come a German bullet, and Joe, he wavered a mite, Then without a word he wilted down. They carried him West that night: A bullet hole in his temple, by God, but clutching that letter tight. I've forgot all me bloomin' duties, for me blood is boilin' with hate; And I'll get that sniping rotter what drilled me pal through the pate. I'll teach the dirty beggar how an Englishman sticks to his friend: I'm saving a foot of cold steel for the rat--so help me God to the end.

---- HE OUGHT TO BE GOOD. ----

"Jim, I see that old Bill Boozum, from home, has been drafted."

"Well, Hank, he ought to pass out some nifty hand salutes, all right."

"How's that?"

"Why, look at the practice he's had in bending his elbow!"

Don't Forget that War-Risk Insurance. February 12 is Your last chance at it.

---- ARMY'S MOTOR ARMADA TO BE 50,000 STRONG ---- Uncle Sam's Garages and Assembling Shops Demand the Services of 150,000 Chauffeurs and Repair Men ---- FIRST AID AMBULANCES FOR BREAKDOWNS ---- Experts from American Factories to Take Charge of Efficiency Problems ----

Uncle Samuel has gone into the garage business here in France. He has gone into it feet first. He knows the importance of the automobile game in modern warfare; he realizes that if Napoleon the Great had only had one "Henry" at the battle of Waterloo, Marshal Blucher's famous advance through the mud would have been in vain. So he is determined, by aid of all the up-to-date motors, all the up-to-date mechanics and chauffeurs and technical experts he can muster, to prevent any of Marshal Blucher's Prussian successors from stealing a march on him.

Fifty thousand motor vehicles, roughly speaking, represent Uncle Samuel's immediate needs for his charges in France. Of these, some 38,000 will be trucks, some 2,500 ambulances, some 3,000 "plain darn autos," and some 6,500 motorcycles. To take care of this vast motor fleet, to run it, keep it in repair, and so forth, our Uncle will need about 150,000 men--a young army in itself.

When one stops to consider the factories, repair shops, rebuilding stations and what not that will be required, one can see that Uncle Sam's garage is going to be no five-and-ten affair. It is going to be a real infant industry all by its lonesome; and already it is a pretty husky infant, with a loud honk-honk instead of a teething cry. In fact, in the few months since our collective arrival in France Uncle Sam has built up such an organization to keep his cars on the roads as to stagger the imagination of the men of big business, both of our own country and of our allies who have come to look it over.

These Are Real Experts

The A. E. F.--and this is news to many of its members--has, right here in France, a fully equipped automobile factory which is able not only to rebuild from the ground up any of a dozen or more makes of motors, but to turn out parts, tools, anything required from the vast stores of raw materials which has been shipped overseas for the purpose, with the special machinery which has been torn up in the States and replanted here. The factory is going to employ thousands of expert mechanics, and is going to have a capacity for general repair work unequalled by any similar plant back home.

People who dwell within the desolate region bounded by the Rhine on the west and the Russian frontier on the east have been in the habit of considering our national Uncle as a superficial sort of an old geezer; but the way he has taken hold of his automobile business proves that they have another good think coming. He hasn't overlooked a thing. Hard by his big new factory there is an "organization ground," a "salvage ground," a supply depot, and what is perhaps most important of all, the headquarters of a highly trained technical staff.

This is a staff of experts; not self-styled experts, but the real thing--big men in the automobile business representing all the important motor factories in the United States. Some of these experts inspect the broken down machines and pieces of machines in the salvage grounds, and report whether the wearing out process was due to a chauffeur's mishandling of the car, to the use of poor material in its construction, or to something wrong in its original designing.

Working "On the Ground"

If it is the chauffeur or mechanic who was responsible, he, wherever he is, is hauled up on the carpet. If the fault is found to lie with the factory in the States that turned out the machine, the representative of that company on the board of experts reports the facts to the home office himself, with recommendations for future betterment. In making out his recommendations for a car of a new design, peculiarly fitted to traffic and combat conditions in France, his co-workers on the board lend him their assistance. In this way defects in cars are detected "on the ground" and the responsibility placed at once, so that future errors of the same sort will be avoided.

This is, in brief, the journey that lies before an American made auto shipper, say "F.O.B. Detroit." Knocked down, or unassembled, it is packed and put aboard a transport at "an American port." It makes the same voyage that we all made to "a French port," gracefully thumbing its nose at any passing submarines. At the port it is assembled, painted, duly catalogued and numbered, and given a severe once-over and several finishing touches by the experts of the technical staff and their assistants.

For Emergency Calls

Having passed this examination, it is loaded with supplies--for even a car has to carry a pack while traveling--and headed towards the interior under charge of a picked crew of mechanics, who try it out under actual traffic conditions and adjust it. On the way it is held over at the "organization grounds," where it is given its supplementary equipment of tools, water cask, and the necessary picks, shovels and tow cables to get it out of the mud. This done, it is turned over to a new crew of men, and, as one of the component parts of a train of cars in charge of a truck company, it is sent "up front" if the need is urgent, or, in case there are cars aplenty in that interesting locality, it is run to a reserve station to await call.

When the car, after days or months at the front, begins to show, by its coughing or wheezing or other signs, that it is about due for a new lease of life, the journey is reversed. If the car is able to get back under its own power, it goes back that way; if it is not, a hurry call is sent for the auto-doctoring-train, which is nothing more nor less than a repair shop on wheels. There the blue-jeaned doctors of the train do their best for the car, and if it doesn't come around in a day or so, it is towed back to be overhauled from A to Izzard.

For the supplying of this auto armada, Uncle Sam, who seems to have overlooked nothing, has dotted the main routes from the Atlantic coast of France up to the fighting lines with gasoline stations. At the ports of entry themselves he has erected immense storage tanks, each capable of holding 25,000 barrels of the precious juice. At a number of inland bases on the way up are other tanks with a capacity of 5,000 gallons each. Near the front are many smaller tanks, while at the front itself the regular gas drums, small in size and readily transported, are available for the cars that have run out.

Just to make sure, Uncle Sam has brought over a flying squadron of some five hundred tank cars, which again has caused the natives to sit up and take notice. These cars are loaded from the tank ships at the ports of entry, and then sent inland to fill up the various depots. All in all, this same Uncle Sam who, by the way, is now supplying his allies with practically all their gasoline and lubricants, is doing a pretty good and speedy job as a distributing agent.

One more sample of how this lean and canny old unk of ours uses his head, and this story will be over. All the motor trucks are being distributed about France in definite areas, according to their make; for example, a certain area will be served by Packard trucks exclusively, while another will have G.M.C.'s, and G.M.C.'s only. This system does away with the need for repair men carrying many kinds of parts, and makes it possible for one trouble-expert knowing all about one kind of car, to serve a whole district. In that way harmony of operation and speed in mending broken-down cars is secured.

---- THE SUPREME SACRIFICE. ---- (Corset makers all over the United States are forsaking that line of business in order to devote their factories to the turning out of gas masks for the Army.--News item from the States.) ----

Heaven bless the women! They are giving up their corsets So that we, in snowy France, may 'scape the Teuton's ire; Sacrificing form divine so factories may more sets Make of gas protectors and of shields 'gainst liquid fire!

Heaven bless the women! They are losing lines each minute So that we may hold the line from Belfort to the sea; Giving up their whalebones so that, after we get in it, We may whale the daylightes outer men from Germanee!

Heaven bless the women! They are wearing middy blouses As a sort of camouflage, the while we spite the Hun; Donning Mother Hubbards, too, and keeping to the houses While we Yanks gas-helmeted, put Fritzie on the run!

Heaven bless the women and their perfect thirty-sixes! Waists we clasped a-waltzing they some other way now drape. Disregarding fashion so that every Yank may fix his Breathing tube at "Gas--alert!" and thus preserve _his_ shape!

Heaven bless the women! They are doing without dancing, Knitting, packing, helping in a hundred thousand ways; But they help the most by this while the foe's advancing-- Giving us the staying power by going without their stays!

---- THE ANZAC DICTIONARY. ----

ARCHIE.--A person who aims high and is not discouraged by daily failures.

A.W.L.--An expensive form of amusement entailing loss to the Commonwealth and extra work for one's pals.

BARRAGE.--That which shelters or protects, often in an offensive sense, i.e., loud music forms a barrage against the activity of a bore; a barrage of young brothers and sisters interfere with the object of a visit; and an orchard is said to be barraged by a large dog or an active owner.

BEER.--A much appreciated form of nectar now replaced by a colored liquor of a light yellow taste.

CAMOUFLAGE.--A thin screen disguising or concealing the main thing, i.e., a camouflage of sauce covers the iniquity of stale fish; a suitor camouflages his true love by paying attention to another girl; ladies in evening dress may or may not adequately camouflage their charms; and men resort to a light camouflage of drink to conceal a sorrow or joy.

CIVILIAN.--A male person of tender or great age, or else of weak intellect and faint heart.

COMMUNIQUE.--An amusing game played by two or more people with paper and pencil in which the other side is always losing and your own side is always winning.

DIGGER.--A friend, pal, or comrade, synonymous with cobber; a white man who runs straight.

DUD.--A negative term signifying useless, ineffective or worthless, e.g., a "dud" egg; a "dud of a girl" is one who is unattractive; and a dud joke falls flat.

DUGOUT.--A deep recess in the earth usually too small. As an adjective it is used to denote that such a one avoids hopping over the bags, or, indeed, venturing out into the open air in a trench. At times the word is used to denote antiquated relics employed temporarily.

HOME.--The place or places where Billzac would fain be when the job is done. Also known as "Our Land" and "Happyland."

HOPOVER.--A departure from a fixed point into the Unknown, also the first step in a serious undertaking.

IMSHI.--Means "go," "get out quickly." Used by the speaker, the word implies quick and noiseless movement in the opposite direction to the advance.

LEAVE.--A state or condition of ease, comfort and pleasure, involving the cessation of work: not to be confounded with sick leave. Time is measured by leaves denoting intervals of from three months to three years. Leave on the other hand is measured by time, usually too short.

MUD.--Unpleasantness, generally connected with delay, danger or extreme discomfort. Hence a special meaning of baseness in "his name is mud."

OVER THE BAGS.--The intensive form of danger: denoting a test of fitness and experience for Billzac and his brethren.

RELIEF.--A slow process of changing places; occurs in Shakespeare: "for this relief many thanks."

REST.--A mythical period between being relieved and relieving in the trenches, which is usually spent in walking away from the line and returning straight back in poor weather and at short notice.

SALVAGE.--To rescue unused property and make use of it. The word is also used of the property rescued. Property salvaged in the presence of the owner leads to trouble and is not done by an expert.

SOUVENIR.--Is generally used in the same sense as salvage but of small, easily portable articles. Coal or firewood for instance, is salvaged at night, but an electric torch would be souvenired.

STUNT.--A successful enterprise or undertaking usually involving surprise. A large scale stunt lacks the latter and is termed a "push", and the element of success is not essential.