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    History of Ambulance
    Company Number 139

    [Illustration]

    PRESS OF
    E. R. CALLENDER PRINTING CO
    KANSAS CITY, KANSAS




Foreword


     THIS BOOK IS AN ATTEMPT TO GIVE A BRIEF ACCOUNT OF THE LIFE OF
     THE MEN OF AMBULANCE COMPANY NUMBER 139 DURING THEIR SERVICES
     IN THE GREAT WAR. IT WAS WRITTEN BY THE MEN WHILE THEY WERE
     AWAITING SAILING ORDERS FOR HOME. IN BARN-LOFT BILLETS OF THE
     VILLAGE OF AULNOIS-SOUS-VERTUZEY, FRANCE, WHILE THE MEMORIES OF
     OUR EXPERIENCES WERE STILL FRESH IN OUR MINDS.

[Illustration]




CONTENTS


    ORGANIZATION OF AMBULANCE COMPANY 139          Page 5

    LIFE AT CAMP HOEL                                "  6

    TRAINING AT CAMP DONIPHAN                        "  8

    DEPARTURE FROM CAMP DONIPHAN                     " 12

    THE TRIP ACROSS THE ATLANTIC                     " 14

    OUR FLYING TRIP THROUGH ENGLAND                  " 18

    FROM SOUTHAMPTON TO LE HAVRE                     " 20

    OUR TRIP THROUGH FRANCE TO ELOYES                " 22

    IN ACTION ON THE WESSERLING SECTOR               " 25

    VENTRON                                          " 31

    LE COLLET                                        " 32

    THE MARCH FROM LUNEVILLE TO BENNEY               " 37

    BENNEY TO FIVE TRENCHES                          " 40

    FROM FIVE TRENCHES TO SENARD                     " 42

    MEUSE-ARGONNE OFFENSIVE                          " 43

    WITH THE KITCHEN IN THE ARGONNE OFFENSIVE        " 48

    CITATIONS AND CASUALTIES                         " 50

    THE STAY IN VAUBECOURT                           " 52

    THE VERDUN FRONT                                 " 53

    MOVE TOWARD METZ AND THE ARMISTICE               " 56

    THE FIRST REPLACEMENTS                           " 59

    FURLOUGHS--GRENOBLE                              " 62

    LA BOURBOULE                                     " 64

    THE FURLOUGHS AT AIX-LES-BAINES                  " 67

    TRIP TO MARSEILLES                               " 68

    A CASUAL IN THE S. O. S.                         " 71

    PERSHING REVIEWS THE 35th DIVISION               " 73

    FROM COUSANCES TO AULNOIS                        " 74

    THE HOME GOING                                   " 75

    FROM AULNOIS TO "CIVIES"                         " 76

    FICKLE WOMEN                                     " 78

    COMPANY ROSTER                                   " 80





ORGANIZATION OF AMBULANCE COMPANY 139


When war was declared on Germany April 5th, 1917, the government sent
out calls for volunteers. The auxiliary organizations were to be the
first ones to go across, and it looked as if ambulance companies would
be among the first to get into action. Many of the universities and
colleges in the east started at once to organize ambulance companies.
These companies were quickly filled, and the enthusiasm spread quickly
to the west.

Early in April Dr. Edwin R. Tenney of Kansas City, Kansas, was appointed
by the adjutant general of the State of Kansas to organize a national
guard ambulance company in that city. Until this time there had never
been a national guard ambulance company in the State of Kansas. Dr.
Tenney had been a practicing physician in Kansas City for a number of
years and before coming to the city he served as a physician during the
Spanish-American war. For the past five years he had held a lieutenant's
commission in the U. S. Army Reserve Corps. It was through his efficient
work that this company was recruited to full strength within a month
after he received his appointment.

The recruiting office in the press room at the city hall was a very busy
place during the month of April. Every one was anxious to join some
branch of the army. By April 25th the company was recruited to its full
strength of sixty-four men and the office was closed. However, orders
were received the next day to recruit the company to eighty-four men, so
again the office was opened for business with a sign which read, "Join a
motor ambulance company and _ride_." It was in this office that so many
of the men held up their right hand and said that fatal "I do."

About this time Dr. Richard T. Speck, of Kansas City, Kansas, received a
lieutenant's commission in the Kansas National Guard and was assigned to
this company. A few days later Drs. A. J. Bondurant, of St. Margaret's
Hospital, Kansas City, Kansas, and A. H. Adamson, of the General
Hospital, Kansas City, Missouri, also received commissions and were
assigned to this company.

On April 30th Major Seth A. Hammell, of Topeka, Kansas, mustered the
company into the state guard as Kansas Ambulance Company No. 2. Another
ambulance company, known as Kansas Ambulance Company No. 1, was
organized by Lieutenant W. L. Rhodes, of Argentine, Kansas.

After the state muster the company had two drill nights a week. These
drills often interfered with some of the men's plans, but that made no
difference as they now belonged to "Uncle Sam" and duty came before
pleasure. It was at these semi-weekly drills that the men learned the
first principles of soldiering under the leadership of Lieutenant R. T.
Speck and Sergeant Roscoe Leady. They were unaccustomed to regular
drilling, especially on paved streets, and many times they went home
with sore feet from doing "fours right and left" and "to the rear,
march."

On June 14th the company was called out for federal inspection and was
formally recognized by the federal authorities. This was the first
formation in which every one was present, as many of the men lived out
of the city and could not come to the drills. After this inspection the
men were told to be ready to leave at any time, as it wouldn't be over
two weeks at the most before they would be called out. The days dragged
slowly, and it seemed that the company would never be called into
service. The men were all anxious to start for France and many of them
had already given up their positions, thinking that it would be but a
short time until they would leave.

On Decoration Day the company was ordered out for a special formation to
march to the cemetery and to pay tribute to the heroes of the past.
However, it rained so hard that the march was called off and instead the
men were assembled in the auditorium of the High School where they
listened to an address by J. K. Cubbison.

For a number of years it had been customary for all national guard
organizations to go into camp on the night of July 3rd and stay until
the 4th, when they would put on an exhibition of some kind. Consequently
this company, together with Company A, First infantry, K. N. G., and
Battery E, First Field Artillery, K. N. G., went into camp on the night
of July 3rd at the City Park. To most of the men this was their first
experience in sleeping on the ground, and it will not be easily
forgotten, for the next day found every one with aching bones. In the
afternoon of the 4th the men of Company A, Infantry, put on a sham
battle, and this company followed them up, administering first aid to
the "wounded."




LIFE AT CAMP HOEL


It was on the memorable day of August 5th, 1917, that the members of
Kansas Ambulance Company No. 2 assembled at the corner of Ninth and
Minnesota Avenue, Kansas City, Kansas. As the clock struck nine the
order "Fall in" was given. After a few army formalities the company was
marched out to Camp Hoel, which was situated at Twentieth Street and
Washington Boulevard. It was a spectacular scene for the outsiders and
for all the men in the company. It looked more like a parade of college
chaps before a football game, as almost all of the fellows were dressed
in their "Sunday best." There were a few boys dressed in the khaki,
which gave the passerby the idea that we were a part of the great
American Army which was being formed. When we reached camp a small white
tent was pitched, which was to be our office, supply room and a place of
shelter for those boys of the company who did not live in the city or
who were not staying at the homes of some of their friends.

Our company was not the only one at this camp, as we had neighbors, who
were later designated as follows: Company A, 137th Infantry; Companies B
and C of the 110th Regiment of Engineers; Battery E, 130th Field
Artillery, and Ambulance Company 140 of the 110th Sanitary Train. The
majority of the members of these organizations were Kansas City boys.

In a few days the drills were started. Awkward squads were formed and
from all parts of the camp the command of "fours right," "to the rear,
march," etc., could be heard. Hikes were numerous, and it was not long
until our feet knew all the bumps on every street in Kansas City,
Kansas.

The mess for the different companies at Camp Hoel was put in charge of
the Central Boarding Company of Kansas City, Missouri. A large tent was
erected for the kitchen and it was there that the men were initiated
into the secrets of "kitchen police."

After wearing overalls, blue shirts or any other old article that was
obtainable, the company was greatly shocked one morning when the news
came that part of our equipment had arrived. Here again another dream
was shattered, for it seemed that the good fits for the men must have
been lost in transit. The large fellows received clothing too small for
them, and the small fellows received clothes that would have looked well
if they had had about fifty more pounds of muscle upon their skeletons.
But as a matter of fact everyone was very proud of the new uniform.

A few days before the uniforms arrived a proposition was laid upon the
table for the debate of the company. The great question was, "Shall each
member buy leather leggins?" Nobody knew at that time about the uniform
rules of the army. Leather leggins looked fine and seemed to be the
fashion according to posters and magazine pictures. So the debate was
closed and the whole bunch bit on the eight and ten dollar pairs. We
used them several times, in fact we wore them in two parades, and were
granted the permission to wear them to Doniphan, were we soon sold them
at the average price of $5.00 per pair.

On August 13th the boys received their physical examination. A few were
disappointed at that time to find that they could not pass the
examination and go along with the company. That afternoon Captain Arthur
L. Donan of the 3rd Kentucky Infantry placed himself before the company
and mumbled a few words. After the company was dismissed the main
question was, "What did the captain have to say?" It was soon found out
that he had mustered us into Federal Service.

On the Saturdays of the first two weeks at camp we were treated fine
(just kidding us along). On the third Saturday we were lined up in
formation and were sent to the infirmary. There we were told to get
ready for the worst. Both arms were bared while iodine swabs, the
medics' famous panacea, were thrown around freely. There were three
doctors in one corner ready for action. Two of them were puncturing the
right arms with needles and with a little push of a plunger our body was
given some extra fluid so that we might be able to combat that great
army disease of former years, typhoid fever. The other doctor was
cutting a few nitches in the boys' left arms so that the smallpox
vaccine could do its duty. Fainting was in order on that day, as well as
on the following three Saturdays, when the puncturing process was
repeated, and no member of the company was slighted.

The mothers of Kansas City made army life, while we were at Camp Hoel,
as pleasant as possible. On different days we received a basket dinner,
a watermelon feast and an ice cream and cake festival from them. Those
days were the frequent topics of conversation during the boys' stay in
France and will never be forgotten. Shows were always at hand in Kansas
City and on certain afternoons theatre parties were formed by the
members of the company.

September 27th was the fatal day for Kansas Ambulance Company No. 2 in
Kansas City, Kansas. On that day camp was broken and the company was
formed. We left our camp and marched to the train behind the famous
Kilties Scotch Band, which led us down Minnesota Avenue through the
great crowds that had gathered along the street to cheer us on our way.
We boarded the train at Third and Washington Boulevard, where the boys
bid their dear ones "goodbye."




TRAINING AT CAMP DONIPHAN


When that Frisco troop train pulled out of Kansas City, Kansas, on
September 27th, 1917, it cannot be said that it carried a very hilarious
bunch of soldiers. The men, the majority of whom had never been away
from home before for any length of time, had just spent a last few happy
days with the home folks, sweethearts and friends and now they were
going out into a new life, into new environments and with unknown
problems and experiences ahead of them. They were quiet at first, no
doubt wondering what was in store for them before they saw "home"
again, but as they left Kansas City far behind their quietness
disappeared and soon little groups were chattering at a lively rate.

[Illustration: GERARDMER.]

[Illustration: NORTHEAST TOWARD CHARPENTRY.]

[Illustration: VENTRON--VOSGES.]

After an uneventful trip the troop train carrying Kansas Ambulance
Companies No. 1 and 2 and one field hospital company arrived at the Fort
Sill railroad yards at about 4:30 P. M. on September 28th. After a short
delay the companies started their march toward the area on the south
side of the camp, designated for the Sanitary Train, and right then and
there they were introduced to that for which Camp Doniphan is
noted--DUST--five or six inches of it on every road. What a hot, dirty
hike that was, unaccustomed as the men were to those ungainly, heavy
packs! And when Kansas Ambulance Company No. 2 (later designated as
Ambulance Company 139) reached camp did they find comfortable tents or
barracks to step into? They did not. True, tents were there, but they
were in wooden crates, and there was a long, vacant space between a mess
hall and a bath house on which those tents were to stand. Fate was with
the men that night, for the moon was shining brightly, so after a supper
of crackers and cheese they soon had twelve Sibley tents pitched on the
allotted space. Tired from their trip and work litters made excellent
bunks and the men slept the sleep of the weary, their first night under
real army conditions.

Army life, as experienced in those first six weeks at Camp Doniphan, can
scarcely be called a picnic. _If_ there had been floors in the tents,
and _if_ you could have turned a switch instead of having to light a
candle in order to have light, and _if_ there had been an adequate
supply of good water, and _if_ "DUST," in vast quantities, had not been
a "regular issue"--well, such was life at Doniphan for the first few
weeks.

However, by Thanksgiving, many improvements had been made. Good water
was piped from a lake some distance from the camp and no longer was moss
and like substances found in the water that came through the pipes. Nor
was it necessary to watch all the dust of Kansas blow by from the north
in the morning, with a return trip in the afternoon. The tents were
floored and sidings put on, and electric lights were installed; Sibley
stoves were issued, together with an ample supply of wood--all of which
made the life at Camp Doniphan a little more attractive. A large boiler
and tank was installed in the bath house, giving the men plenty of hot
water for bathing and washing clothes. Military training continued, of
course, consisting of drilling on the field and lectures in the mess
hall by medical officers on subjects essential to the work of sanitary
troops. This included practice in the use of bandages and splints and
litter drill.

The Thanksgiving and Christmas holidays brought many visitors to
camp--mothers, brothers, sisters and friends, all anxious to see for
themselves the Army life that the men had been writing about. If any of
the mothers had been worrying about the "beans and hard-tack" which is
supposed to be an unvarying part of a soldier's menu, they returned home
with that worry eliminated, for on both Thanksgiving and Christmas,
"John," the red-headed chef of the company, brought forth dinners that
would make the "Plantation Grill" or the "Pompeien Room" sit up and take
notice. Turkey, all you could eat and with all the trimmings, and the
dessert of mince pie and fruit cake, made one think of "Home, Sweet
Home" and Mother's incomparable cooking. As a whole, Army feed wasn't
half as bad as it was supposed to be. How could it be, when flapjacks,
sausage, steak and pie were regular issues?

The winter of 1917-18, according to the "natives," was the worst in
Oklahoma for fifteen years, and those reports will never be questioned
by the men who were at Doniphan that winter. More than once they awoke
in the morning to find three or four inches of snow on the tent floor.
However, unaccustomed as the men were to living in tents in cold
weather, there was a comparatively small amount of sickness. True, a
number of the men were sent to the Base Hospital, with measles,
influenza and pneumonia, and several times the company was quarantined,
but very few of the cases proved serious, and sooner or later the men
returned to duty.

For several months, both the Base Hospital and the Isolation Camp were
in need of Medical men, and details from the Sanitary Train were sent to
relieve the situation. The men were put to work at anything from nurse
to Supply Sergeant, and this work gave them some good, practical
experience along medical lines. Just before Christmas, the company
received twelve G. M. C. Ambulances, and for the remainder of our stay
at Doniphan these ambulances were used for evacuation work between the
Base Hospital and the different units of the Division.

Not all of the training at Doniphan was along _medical_ lines, however.
At regular intervals you could expect to find your name on the Bulletin
Board under the heading "Kitchen Police," and when it wasn't that, it
was probably for a tour of guard duty, and if you were lucky enough to
miss both of those details, it was seldom that you weren't picked for
company fatigue.

The personnel of our officers changed somewhat at Doniphan. Lt. Adamson
soon after getting there, received his honorable discharge. About
February 1st, Lt. Tenney was transferred to a Machine Gun Battalion, and
Lt. Speck was placed in command of the company. Lt. Paul R. "Daddy"
Siberts, Lt. Bret V. Bates, and Lt. Colin C. Vardon were assigned to the
company while at Doniphan, the latter in place of Lt. Bondurant, who was
transferred to the Casual Company at Camp Doniphan.

With the coming of warmer weather in the early spring, the outside drill
turned to hikes, and many is the tale that can be told about the
"strategic maneuvers" of the Sanitary Train. Ask any of the man about
the night at Buffalo Springs, when J. Pluvius turned the faucet wide
open, deluging the tent city. Ask them about "The Lost Sanitary Train,"
when, in returning from Sulphur Springs, they circled Scott Mountain
before they finally bumped into Medicine Lake, and finally arrived back
to camp at 3 A. M. But as a rule, the hikes were interesting and
instructive, and furnished excellent training. Men who had always
depended on Mother for their meals learned how to build a camp fire in
the face of a high wind and to cook their dinner of bacon, potatoes and
coffee. They learned that a great deal of territory can be covered
without the use of a street car or "flivver," and incidentally their
muscles became hardened, fitting them for the strenuous work ahead.

From the very first, nothing interested the men more than the thought of
a furlough home, and almost as soon as they arrived at Doniphan, the
arguments were many as to whether it would be nicer to be home for
Thanksgiving or Christmas. But it was not until January that any leaves
at all were granted. Then the furloughs were limited to five or seven
days, and in that way almost all of the men were able to visit the home
folks for a few days before leaving for overseas service. Putting their
feet under Mother's table again, and seeing Her for a few days,
invariably put the men in a happier and more contented spirit, and they
came back to camp with more "pep" for their work.

Tho the days were filled with the routine of drill and company duties,
the social side of life at Doniphan must not be forgotten. Not far from
camp was the city of Lawton, and while it was far from being an ideal
town, it was at least a change from the monotony of camp life. Passes to
town were liberal, and the men spent many pleasant evenings there,
either at the picture shows or with friends whom they met after going to
Doniphan.

The Y. M. C. A. deserves a great deal of credit for its work at
Doniphan. "Y" Bldg. No. 59, used by the Sanitary Train and the 110th
Engineers, was just a short distance from the train area, and in the
evening immediately after Retreat a stream of men could be seen going in
that direction. The "Y" furnished paper and envelopes, pen and ink, thus
encouraging the men to write home oftener. Movies, at least twice a
week, band concerts and boxing bouts were some of the means of
entertaining the men, and there was always a full house. On Sundays the
men were privileged to attend exceptionally interesting religious
services, and the series of addresses given by Chaplain Reeder of the
Engineers was well worth hearing.

Almost as soon as the company arrived at Doniphan, rumors filled the air
about the Division leaving for overseas service, but nothing
substantial developed until about the middle of March. Then orders were
received that the Division was booked to leave, and the work preparatory
to moving started in earnest. Everything, from the kitchen range to the
Pierce-Arrow trucks, had to be prepared for shipment. Lumber was
furnished, and the company carpenters were kept busy almost to the day
of departure building crates and boxes. After being crated, each article
had to be stenciled with the company designation, together with the
weight and cubical contents, and the Division Symbol. Packing lists were
prepared, which was no small task, and the main work preparatory to
leaving was completed.

Not all of the men of the company left Camp Doniphan with the Division,
for as is always the case in a large body of men, there were a few who
were physically unfit. These men, nine of them, were left at the Casual
Camp at Camp Doniphan, and were later assigned to recruiting or military
police duty in various parts of the United States.




DEPARTURE FROM CAMP DONIPHAN


The day of May 8th, 1918, dawned bright and fair. The morning was spent
in finishing up little odds and ends of work, and in rolling packs. At 1
P. M. "Fall in," the last one at Doniphan, sounded, and soon afterwards
the Sanitary Train started its march to the railroad yards. Again it was
hot and dusty, just as it had been when the company marched into camp,
and it was with a feeling of relief that the troop train came into view.
Pullman cars? No, the Sanitary Train couldn't be as fortunate as that,
so the men had to be content with chair cars.

With seven months training behind them, the men of Ambulance Company 139
left Camp Doniphan for "Somewhere in France" with great anticipation,
feeling that they were ready for any part that they might have to play.

On board the train, which left Doniphan at 3 P. M., the men amused
themselves in reading and card games. There were a few details, such as
sweeping the cars, kitchen police or serving the meals "de luxe" to the
boys, but the old beloved guard detail was not left to the privates. It
was graciously wished on the non-coms, who were forced to carry a "45
smoke wagon" on their belts, according to some General Order in the
"blue book." We never learned whether they were to keep the boys from
getting out or to keep the feminine sex from getting in.

At our first stop, El Reno, Okla., the four ambulance companies, which
made up one train, "fell-out" for a little exercise, and after an hour
or so of maneuvering, we climbed aboard again to journey nearer the
Atlantic. We were by this time consulting time tables, watches and maps
to decide over which route we must travel in order to pass through
Kansas City, the home of most of the boys in the company. The first
night of traveling passed slowly, and as the first tints of dawn were
spreading over the eastern sky our train drew into Topeka. Shortly after
daybreak the train left the Capitol city of Kansas, and headed down the
Kaw Valley towards Kansas City. As the noon hour of May 9th was passing
away the train pulled into the big Union Station, where mothers,
fathers, wives, brothers, sisters, sweethearts and friends had been
waiting for hours, with baskets overflowing with delicious meats,
sandwiches, fruits and all the rarest and spiciest that a Mother's
effort could put forth.

Again the "blue book" came into play, and we took a little sightseeing
trip up Main Street. The bride of a certain Sergeant in the company
tried to follow her "hero in hobs" but fell out after the first block.
We did an about-face at 12th Street and double-timed back to the folks.
After re-entering the coach, we leaned out of the window, pulled the
Mother and sweetheart up to us, and for the time being were utterly
unconscious of what went on around us or where we were. When the train
slowly moved out of the station, we tried to smile as we said
"Good-bye," and watched the handkerchiefs still waving when we rounded
the corner and were out of sight.

We arrived at St. Louis about 12:30 the next morning, and were switched
onto a siding, where we stayed until daybreak, when we continued our
journey, crossing Illinois and Indiana. At Huntington, Ind., we again
stopped and had setting-up exercises. Upon reaching Peru, Ind., we found
Pullman cars awaiting us, and from then on we rode in style. Our next
stop was at Salamanca, N. Y., where exercise was again on the program.
From there we traveled through some of the most picturesque country of
the east.

While on the train a humorous incident occurred. The officers heard from
some underground source that "Snowball," our dark-complexioned porter,
had been passing "Old Evans" around to the boys in a promiscuous
fashion. And at the same time "Snowball" heard in the same way that the
officer of the guard was going to make a search of his possessions for
this precious "fire-water." The search was made, with Snowball looking
on wild-eyed, and the officer detective was about to give it up, when he
noticed a string leading out the window, and upon investigating found
the poor half-dead soldier (bottled in bond) tied by the neck to the
other end of the string.

The last night of riding brought us near to the eastern coast, and soon
after daybreak on May 12th the train stopped at Jersey City. We slung
our packs and pushed our way through the station to a ferry boat. From
this point many of us had our first view of New York and the salt water.
After loading on the ferry we were pulled out into the East River,
where the boat remained for the greater part of the day. At last it
moved on and we landed in Long Island City. Dragging our packs and
barrack bags, we marched wearily to a Long Island train. A few hours'
ride brought us to Garden City, and truly it was well named, for with
its low, well kept hedges, its English gardens and its wild flowers
growing everywhere, it looked like a garden city. From Garden City to
Camp Mills was a weary hike but we finally reached there, and after
eating supper, we crawled under our three O. D.s and slept.

During our five days stay at Camp Mills, some of the men were granted
passes to New York City, but we left before all the men had a chance to
visit that city of bright lights. The day before we departed we were
given the last of our overseas equipment, including the pan-shaped steel
helmet.




THE TRIP ACROSS THE ATLANTIC


After spending five chilly nights at Camp Mills, Long Island, and
awaiting anxiously the orders to leave for France, we did not seem to
mind the coolness of the night on May the 17th, for we were to leave the
following day on the long expected trip across the Atlantic. Bright and
early the next morning a passer-by could plainly see that something was
about to happen. All were in gay spirits as they hurried here and there,
gathering together the miscellaneous articles and other things, which
make up a soldier's equipment. Packs were rolled, the camp tidied up,
and our overseas boxes loaded on trucks. At last after everything was
ready we fell in line and marched across the camp, to the train that
would carry us to the ferry. The old world seemed to hold a different
meaning for everyone that morning. We were about to step into the
greatest adventure of our lives, and one that would never be forgotten.
Groups of soldiers cheered us on all sides, and yelled that they would
be with us soon. Some were from our own division, and we recognized many
of our friends.

On arriving at the ferry, we took our place as close to the rail as
possible, and waved to the passengers on passing boats. The ferry,
filled to its full capacity, chugged down the East River to one of the
many docks where, quietly waiting, was the big camouflaged boat that
would complete for us the trip from our training camp in Doniphan to
England.

The moment that we had been looking forward to for so long a time had at
last arrived. We wound our way to the big warehouse and stopped in front
of an iron door. Stacked on the floor were life-saving jackets and as
each one passed through the door, he received a colored tag, and one of
the life-preservers. The tag assured him a bunk and meals.

Our expectations were fully realized as we filed by one by one up the
gang-plank and onto the boat that was to be our home for the coming
fourteen days. We were divided up and led down stairs to our quarters.
They looked more like a steam-room than a place to sleep. It was all a
jumbled-up puzzle. Water pipes seemed to be running in all directions,
and arguments could be heard on all sides as to how we were to sleep. In
the midst of it all an officer appeared, and he told us to let down the
rectangular shaped frame, also made of water-pipe, which rested in
sockets on two other upright pipes like hinged shelves. Then he told us
to unwrap the small piece of canvas, which was wrapped to the
rectangular frame. After doing this, things began to seem clearer, for
the canvas was also rectangular in shape, and had grummets all around
it. By means of the rope it was securely laced to the framework. This
composed our bunk, and there were three of these in a tier, and a tier
on each side of the two perpendicular pipes. The aisle between the bunks
was very narrow and we crowded and pushed in making up our beds, for
everyone was more than anxious to learn more about our boat.

In the meantime several sailors came in from the engine room and we
began making friends, although they had many a laugh while watching us
prepare our bunks. They were asked for every bit of information we could
think of about the boat--"How fast it could go," "How long it was"--and
many other questions about the sea, and their experiences. We found out
that the name of the boat was the "S. S. Louisville," formerly the "St.
Louis," that it was 564 ft. long, and carried 3500 men. On asking how
many miles the boat could make in an hour, we were assured that "it was
the speediest ship in the convoy."

By this time we heard mess-call, and began to look for a line. Men were
running upstairs and down, and hurried questions flew from everyone as
to when and where the men with his color of tag were eating. Each color
had a certain time to eat. There were four colors, two eating at one
time. The men filed in to the dining room from each side of the main
deck through two large double doors. There were four long tables and we
stood up to eat, moving along the table as the men ahead finished eating
and moved out to wash their mess-kits in large sinks, just before
leaving the room. It was very interesting to see the systematic way in
which the men moved along, taking a mouth-full as they pushed their
mess-kits up the table.

As we were strolling on deck that afternoon, a low grumbling sound met
our ears, as if it came from some place far below. Then it turned into a
rythmatical chug of a large engine, and we knew that the boat was
getting up steam preparatory for the trip. The sailor-boys, too, were
making preparations for "Jerry." They carried large shells and deposited
them in cases behind the guns, and as we watched them work, we wondered
if there would ever be a real necessity to use them during the trip.

Evening found everyone knowing the boat almost by heart, and we began to
gather in groups on deck and look about. To the rear lay New York, the
tall buildings outlined against the sky. Numerous tug-boats were slowly
winding their way in and out of the docks. One of the sailors leaning
against the rail pointed out to us the former German ship "Vaterland,"
in a dock across the river. We were entertained for awhile by watching a
bunch of negro waiters for the officers mess shooting dice, and a
quartet gave us a few songs. But night soon came, and we went below to
try our new bunks. One of the boys no sooner found the trick that one
could play, than he immediately dislodged the man above him, by putting
his feet on the bottom of the bunk above, pushing it out of its socket,
and bringing the fellow down into the aisle below.

All night the engines kept up their continuous running, and the next
morning two little tug-boats came up along side and pulled us out and
down the river. We were ordered "below decks," out of sight, but a few
borrowed sailor caps and stood on the lower deck to get a last long look
at old New York and the Statue of Liberty. As we neared the open water,
and the tall buildings began to fade away behind us, the cold facts of
the situation began to present themselves. We were leaving a land, the
only one we had ever known, to cross the fathomless ocean to another
land, and to battle-fields with horrors unknown. But we soon put such
thoughts aside when we were permitted to go on deck. The convoy was
slowly spreading out into formation, the battle-ship that accompanied us
going ahead as our protector. As soon as we reached the ocean, orders
were given not to go on deck without our life-preservers, and to stay on
the side of the boat which our color of tag designated. By night we were
using "sailor-terms" for every part of the boat. A detail was called
for, to stand watch in the "crows-nest" and other look-out stations. One
of the boys in the "crows-nest" said that "when we hit the rough sea, he
knew the top of that main mast touched the water when the boat made a
big heave to one side."

A few days passed, uneventful except that we went through the usual
drill necessary in case there should be a fire or an attack by
submarines. Every man had his place to go in case of danger. At the gong
of a bell, every man would grab his life-preserver, and hurry,
supposedly in an orderly manner, to his portion of the deck. One of the
fellows asked John, the cook, if he expected one little life-preserver
to hold him up. Well, John didn't say anything, but that night he had a
couple of extras--"I might have to use them," was the only excuse he
would give.

[Illustration: CAMP DONIPHAN, JANUARY, 1917: LT. EDWIN R. TENNEY, LT.
ADAM H. ADAMSON, LT. RICHARD T. SPECK, LT. ALPHEUS J. BONDURANT, LT.
PAUL R. SIBERTS.]

[Illustration: STARTING HOME.]

[Illustration: ARRIVAL IN KANSAS CITY, MAY 5, 1919.]

After a few days out the ocean began to get rough, and the boat would
heave from side to side, and at the same time pitch forward and
backward. However, we soon got used to it, and did not mind it so much.
Some time that night one of the boys who had been on deck ran in, saying
"the rudder has broken"--and apparently something _was_ broken, for the
boat seemed to heave all the more, and to take a zig-zag course. Once or
twice it made a complete circle, and we began to think that they had
lost all control of it, but three sturdy sailors were sent up in the
stern to handle it by means of large pilot wheels. Our company was
quartered just beneath the officers kitchen, and during the roughest
part, the plates and other dishes began to roll from their places on the
shelves, breaking upon the floor. This made a very unpleasant sound,
above the uproar of a thousand other noises. During the rough sea, the
mess line began to thin out somewhat. Some would come into the mess
hall, but at the sight of food, they would turn pale and make a hurried
exit.

Soon we ran into comparatively smooth water again, and one day our
boat's turn came for target practice. We drew away from the convoy, and
a buoy with a small flag on was dropped overboard. The gunners took
their turn shooting as the boat swung around, and once or twice they
came so close that we felt sure they had made a direct hit. The buoy was
knocked under the water, but the little thing soon appeared again. The
boys were naturally anxious to see them handle the guns, and they
crowded around as closely as possible, but after the first shot they
gave them more room. One fellow was standing directly behind the gun,
but upon the super-deck. He was so intent upon watching the operations
that when the gun fired its concussion knocked him off his feet. He got
up, took a wild look around and immediately left. Finally the big
six-inch gun in the stern sank the buoy. After cruising around all day,
and just as night was hovering over the sea, we again caught sight of
the convoy. We were certainly glad, too, for of course we felt more
comfortable with the other ships.

It was on board the ship that we first became acquainted with the
censorship rules. The officers did a slashing business on our first
letters, and only a few unconnected lines ever reached the folks back
home.

It was on the morning of May 29 that the news flew over the boat that
land was in sight. Although only 2 o'clock, day was breaking, and many
went on deck to see that which we had not seen for fourteen long days.
Upon reaching the deck, we could also see a number of little torpedo
destroyers darting here and there--small in size but powerful little
"watchdogs" of the sea. The "Mosquito Fleet" had arrived, and was
tearing through the water in all directions. We were thus escorted
through the danger zone, and had little fear of submarines. But we could
now understand why old "Chris Columbus" felt so glad upon seeing land.
As the day grew on we drew into the Irish Sea. The water was as smooth
as glass, with only little ripples disturbing its peacefulness. Jelly
fish of every shape and size could be seen through its clearness. Two
large dirigibles, and several aeroplanes came out to greet our convoy
and protect us in the dangerous waters. At one time we could see both
Bonnie Scotland and Ireland, where the channel was very narrow.

About 10 o'clock that morning five long blasts from one of the ships was
heard--the signal for a submarine. The little sub chasers raced around
to our right and immediately began to fire upon an object. The big
dirigibles also made a nose dive, and turned loose with its machine
guns. Aroused by the shooting, we ran up on deck to see the action, but
were ordered below to await the outcome, and if there was ever a time
when we could have used an "island," it was then. However, nothing
serious developed, and afterwards we were told that it was a broken life
buoy which had been mistaken for a periscope.

We were moving slowly, so very slowly that one could hardly feel the
throbbing of the tired engines that for twelve long days had worked
untiringly. From the officers' deck we could see the green and red guide
lights, welcoming our convoy of fifteen ships into the sheltered harbor
of Liverpool, England.




OUR FLYING TRIP THROUGH ENGLAND


We crawled out of our bunks just as dawn was breaking upon a new world
for us, and went on deck, where we saw, on a cliff, "Spratt's Dog Food"
printed in large white letters on a black background. Unpoetic and
unromantic indeed was this first sight of England.

Here was where the "weary waiting" began, as we waited for the first
transport to unload its human cargo. Old man "bon chance" was with us
for the time being, for we were the second to dock. We stood on the
deck, complying with the English boys request "'ave you any coins" by
tossing them all the pennies we had. The men on the port side were first
ordered to fall in, and then those on the starboard side, for the
purpose of finding out if any of us had fallen overboard during our
journey. Finally, half walking and half sliding, down the gang-plank, we
stood on what was to us real land, only it was but one of the many
floating docks of England.

On the side of the main street, Y. M. C. A. signs were seen, and
incidentally three live American girls, who were soon serving the
"to-be-heroes" with hot coffee, buns and cookies. Although they were war
buns and war cookies, without sugar, we enjoyed them to the utmost.

A large, stately policeman stood guarding the gates to the street and
the docks. Some of us, wondering what was on the other side of the gate,
climbed up and peered over on a large, beautifully designed square,
which was crowded with women and children. But, alas, we were in a big
hurry, and did not get to parade before them, or to receive the embraces
and kisses which we were told awaited us. The R. T. O.'s (Railway
Transportation Officers) crowded us into a "miniature train," like the
ones seen in the parks in "God's Country," and we were soon on our way.

We rode across streets and through buildings just like a runaway engine
might do. All the time pretty girls, dressed in overalls, waved at us
from factory windows. After numerous stops, and more tunnels, we passed
through the suburbs, traveling at a speed which did not seem possible
from the looks of the engine.

We will never forget the beauty of the English villages, nestled snugly
between green hills, or the soothing effect of the winding brooks which
spread their cool waters over the well kept gardens.

Three or four times the train stopped to take on water (or perhaps at
the command of the "top-cutter" in order to give the boys a chance to
open another can of "bully beef"). About midnight we grew weary of
sitting in our little compartments, and having cosmopolitan ideas, we
proceeded to make ourselves "at home." Some were packed upon the baggage
racks and managed to get a little sleep,--being used to the bunks on the
boat, it was not difficult to adjust ourselves to this situation.

Sometime early in the morning we were awakened by a pounding at the
door, and thinking it was a fire call, or submarine drill, one chap
immediately began to feel around for his life-belt. He stuck his fist in
somebody's eye, and was soon told by that unfortunate person just where
he was. We fell in at the side of our "vest pocket edition of a train"
and marched off, and just as the sun was about to show his face, we
arrived at Camp Woodley, Romsey, England. After waiting for sometime to
be assigned to tents, which resembled a miniature Billy Sunday
tabernacle, we stretched our tired bodies on the soft pine boards and
listened intently for the "roar of cannon." Hearing nothing but the
songs of the birds, we decided that an armistice had been declared and
proceeded to make up for all the "couchey" we had lost.

We had always been told that England was famous for her bounteous feeds,
and after all the bully beef we had consumed for our "Uncle," we thought
we were entitled to one of those dinners of roast suckling pig and plum
pudding. But alas, we were badly disappointed, because in place of the
former we had a piece of cheese, the size of which wouldn't be an
inducement even to a starved rat, and in place of the latter, we ate a
bit of salt pork.

During our brief stay at Camp Woodley, we visited many historical
buildings and places. Among these was the old Abbey at Romsey, built in
the eleventh century, the walls of which plainly showed the ball marks
of Oliver Cromwell's siege against it. The pews in the Abbey were the
same old benches of old, and the altar was the work of an ancient
artist. Around the walls were carved the epitaphs and names of those who
were buried in its stately walls. Along with the tombs of the old
forefathers who had fought with the armor and lance were the tombs of
the late heroes, who fought with the methods of modern times. We signed
our names in the visitors book, along with King George and Ex-Kaiser
Wilhelm.

Our hikes in the morning were enjoyed by everyone, over well kept roads
shaded from the hot sun by large over-hanging trees, the same old trees
and the same old Sherwood forest that Robin Hood knew so well. But as
Roger Knight says, "You can't _eat_ scenery!"

After an enjoyable five days, spent in doing nothing much, we donned our
packs again and started for the Channel, a distance of twelve miles.
While walking thru the streets of Southampton, our throats parched and
our feet sore, we were cheered time and again by the women and children,
and many ran alongside of the marching column serving us cool water. We
sighed as we had to pass Ale Shops just as if they weren't there. About
noon we stopped at a Base Hospital to eat our picnic luncheon--(Bully
beef).

Our first big thrill of "La Guerre" came when we saw some real live
Boche prisoners working on the roads. We watched them as a little boy
watches the elephant at the circus. One of the boys asked them, in
German, how they liked England, and they said they liked it much better
than fighting.

After our slight repast, we again took up our yoke, and did one hundred
and twenty per until we reached the docks at Southampton.




FROM SOUTHAMPTON TO LE HAVRE


On the dock at Southampton, the British Y. M. C. A. operated a canteen,
selling hot coffee, cakes without sugar, and ginger bread made of ginger
and water. The supply lasted about fifteen minutes, as we were one
hungry bunch.

We boarded the "Archangel," a small passenger boat, about 9 P. M. on the
sixth of June. In peace times the "Archangel" was used as a pleasure
steamer, but was converted into a troop ship to ply between Southampton
and Le Havre. It had three decks, which accommodated about 325 men each.
We donned our life-belts, as usual, and tried to make ourselves
comfortable, but like all troop ships, that was impossible. The men
tried sleeping on deck, but it turned too cold, and they tried below
deck. Some were sleeping in the once "state-rooms," but they were too
small to accommodate all, so the rest slept in gang-ways, on chairs,
benches and barrack bags. We were tired in body but our spirits were
high, and we wanted to see the front, so we lay down where we happened
to be, using our life-belts as pillows. While pulling out into the
harbor, we saw ships in dry dock with large holes in their hulls, others
with nothing above water but the masts, all caused by the submarines.
And when the little speed demon raised anchor and slipped out of the
harbor, we were all fast asleep, never dreaming of what lay before us in
France, and not caring a great deal either. We waited in the outside
harbor until dark, or about 10 o'clock, and then started our trip across
the channel. The boat made very good time, and the trip was uneventful.

At about 7 A. M. we were called to breakfast, which consisted of the
customary bully-beef, coffee and hard-tack, and upon coming on deck, we
discovered that we were resting safely at one of the big docks of Le
Havre. The sun was shining bright and hot, and after unloading and
having our pictures taken by a moving picture camera, we were lined up
and marched toward the city proper of Le Havre. We were a tired,
disappointed bunch of men, for instead of the beautiful country we had
expected, we saw a factory infested city. The docks looked more like an
arsenal, with cases of ammunition everywhere, and it looked as if the
whole French and English armies were working there.

On our march to the rest camp, we passed large bodies of French and
Indo-Chinese laborers unloading cars, and conveying merchandise to the
warehouses. It was a common sight to see two or three of them pulling a
large, two-wheeled cart full of ammunition. We also passed a number of
German prisoners working on the roads, with the usual "Poilu" present,
with his long rifle and bayonet. It was strange to see the French
carrying their guns just opposite to the way the American troops do. We
saw many large caliber guns and caissons, that were back from the front
for repair, also blocks of salvaged motor trucks.

We marched about five miles to American Rest Camp No. 2, and were put
into an old cow-shed to sleep. It was the first billet we had in France,
and while it was not the most desirable place in the world to sleep, it
looked mighty good to us, as we had not had much rest since leaving
Romsey, England.

We were issued meal tickets, and had English tea, war bread and cheese
for breakfast, "slum" and war bread for dinner, and English tea and
cheese for supper. We had a good night's sleep, but the next morning we
were hiked up on a mountain, where we were issued English gas-masks. We
went through a gas chamber, to see that the masks were O. K., and to
give us confidence in them. About noon trucks were brought up to take us
back to camp, and upon arriving there, we were given orders to roll
packs and be ready to move. Every one made a trip to the Y. M. C. A.
where we could buy our first American cigarettes since coming from the
States. We did not know where we were going, or when we could buy more.




OUR TRIP THROUGH FRANCE TO ELOYES


At three P. M. on June the eighth we rolled our packs and started on our
first venture into the mysteries of France. It took us about forty-five
minutes of steady hiking through hot and dusty streets to reach the
depot where we were to entrain. We found a long string of second and
third class coaches waiting for us. Our barrack bags and three days
rations had been loaded on two box cars by a special detail sent ahead
for that purpose.

We crowded into our cars and all was ready to go. A description of a
French car might help one to get a better idea of our situation. The car
is only about one-half as long as an American coach and it is divided
into five separate compartments. Each compartment has a window and a
door on each side. There is a step on the outside running the entire
length of the car. It is just below the level of the floor and one can
walk from one compartment to the other if he is not afraid of falling
off the car. The compartment is about large enough for four persons to
ride in any degree of comfort if they have cushions to sit on; but the
Railway transport officer evidently thought that there would be more
room if the cushions were removed. There were eight of us to each
compartment.

We were scheduled to leave at three P. M. and by rushing a little we
were loaded by a few minutes after that hour. We lived up to the
reputation of the Sanitary Train for always being on time and pulled out
of the station only three hours late. We thought at least that we were
going to see some of the beautiful France we had heard about. We had not
gone far when we realized that we were going to have plenty of time to
look at the scenery. France must have some very strict laws against
speeding for we never traveled faster than ten miles per hour and it was
very seldom that we ever went that fast.

We ate our supper as soon as we were out of Le Havre. It was a very
hearty meal. Each man's issue was five crackers, one-eighth of a can of
"corn wooley," one-eighth of a can of tomatoes. He didn't have much
variation from that during the trip.

Our next problem was, how were we going to sleep. It did not take long
to solve that. Two of the boys slept in the hat racks, four slept in
the seats and two slept on the floor between the seats. Part of the time
we slept piled on top of each other. When we woke up in the morning we
felt like we had sat up all night.

The second day we began to get our first real sight of France. We saw
soldiers guarding the bridges and tunnels. Troop trains passed us all
day long going to from the front carrying both French and American
soldiers. We saw our first real barbed wire entanglements that day and
it made us realize that we were getting near the place where the
fighting was going on. The children all along the way attracted our
attention by running along the track crying "biskeet" and holding out
their hands. They looked queer to us. They wore a little black apron and
wooden shoes. Some of the fellows threw hard tack out the window to them
just to see them scramble for it.

The rest of our trip was similar to the first day. We went by the way of
Rouen and Troyes and arrived in Epinal, a city on the edge of the Vosges
mountains, on the evening of June the tenth. We were a very tired and
hungry bunch for our rations had run low that morning and we had eaten
nothing but hard tack all day.

We detrained there and marched through the town to an old military
prison of Napoleon's time. We were told that we would spend the night
there. There were several large buildings surrounded by a high stone
wall with only one gate and that was guarded by a French soldier. There
were about one hundred German prisoners in the building next to our
quarters. As we were not permitted to go up town the French people
thought that we were prisoners also. We were given our barrack bags that
night for the first time since we left the states. We were without any
funds so some of the boys who were fortunate enough to have some "Bull
Durham" stored away in their barrack bags disposed of it to the French
soldiers for a franc a package. It was an exchange where both parties
were satisfied.

We learned that the division was billeted a few miles south and the next
morning we received orders to move to Eloyes at two P. M. Trucks were
furnished to haul our barrack bags and packs and we started out hiking
with our company in the lead of the train. We were half way there when
we saw our first aeroplanes in action along the front. There were five
of them in battle formation returning from the direction of the front.
We noticed that houses and lumber piles along the road were camouflaged.
This began to look like the war that we had heard about. We passed
through Arches, division headquarters at that time, about mess. We
thought that we were at the end of our long journey and could almost
taste our supper but we did not stop there. Just as we came in sight of
Eloyes it began to rain. It did not rain long and the sun came out just
as we were climbing the hill to our kitchen. There was a very pretty
rainbow with the end of it, so it seemed, right at our kitchen. That
was one time that there was something better than a pot of gold at the
end of the rainbow, for the cooks had supper almost ready for us. It
certainly tasted good to us after our long hike.

It began raining almost immediately after supper and rained most of the
night. We stood around in the rain until almost eleven P. M., while the
Major de Cantonment was explaining that he had no billets for us. We
were tired enough to pitch our pup tents and sleep in the streets but
finally we marched about a mile out of town and were put in a barn for
the night. One of the boys said he will always feel like a criminal for
robbing a calf of its bed and also for carrying away about a thousand
"petite crawling animals."

We marched back to town the next morning about eight A. M. and enjoyed a
breakfast of bacon, hardtack and coffee. During the day the soldiers who
occupied the town moved out and by five o'clock our company was located
in fairly good billets.

It rained so consistently that we did not get to drill for over a week.
We were issued our overseas caps and spiral leggins a few days after we
arrived in Eloyes. At the same time we turned in our barrack bags and
russet shoes. We were equipped for the trenches.

We began drilling by going out under some trees and practicing with our
gas masks. A few days later we received litters and then our real
drilling began. "Patients" would be sent out and located on the sides of
the steep hills and the litter bearers were supposed to locate them and
bring them safely down the almost impassable paths.

However, the boys were not worked very hard and they had plenty of time
to spend with the inhabitants learning to "parlez Francais." Many of the
soldiers acquired private instructors in the shape of small French boys
who were only too glad to be adopted by the Americans. The typewriter in
the office was a big drawing card for children. There was always a large
bunch hanging around to watch "Abe" operate the machine.

We received some English army trucks here and after teaching them to
"Talk American" used them as ambulances. We evacuated the sick of the
division to Field Hospital 137 at Eloyes.

About the middle of June the division was ordered up to take over the
sector east of us in Alsace. Lieut. Siberts took a detachment with
trucks to Bussang to cover the movement, evacuating his patients to
Field Hospital 139 which went into action there. This detachment was the
first detachment of the Sanitary Train to operate in Alsace.




IN ACTION ON THE WESSERLING SECTOR


Late in June, 1918, the 35th Division relieved the French troops on a
portion of the front line in Alsace. Ambulance Company 139 entered
Alsace on June 24th and located in the quiet little village of Ranspach,
thus being the first company of the 110th Sanitary Train to cross the
former boundary line between French and German soil. Ranspach is near
the much larger factory town of Wesserling, and, Division Headquarters
being located at the latter place, the whole 12 or 15 kilometres of
front held by the 35th Division has come to be termed the "Wesserling
Sector". The front line itself was about ten kilometres east of
Wesserling.

Practically the whole front in Alsace was made up of what were called
"quiet" sectors, to distinguish them from "active" sectors. Alsace is
mountainous and the mountains are usually heavily timbered. The valleys
are narrow, and the main ones run north by south. The front lines also
ran north by south, parallel to the valleys. Hence, neither side could
gain ground without paying dearly for it. By a sort of mutual
understanding, both the French and the German troops had come to regard
Alsace as a place to rest, after the strenuous campaigns on other
fronts. When our fresh troops came, they made Alsace a less quiet front,
but for the most part they merely held their ground, as the French had
done for nearly four years after having pushed the Germans back part way
through Alsace in August, 1914. It was a final training area for
American divisions that had just arrived overseas.

Ambulance Company 139 maintained its headquarters at Ranspach for
exactly one month. During that time, however, most of the company was at
the front. Those who were left did not have to drill, for we were within
aerial observation and no formations could be stood. The trenches were
scarcely five miles away, tho by the winding road up through the
mountains it was twice that far. The main diversion during the day was
watching the anti-aircraft batteries shoot at the Boche aeroplanes. On
the morning of July 3rd we were rewarded for our patience, upon seeing
our first Boche plane fall after being hit. It must have been 5000 ft.
in the air when hit, and made a straight nose dive for the earth, but
before it landed, it righted itself and spun around like a leaf until it
hit the ground.

Every evening we would have our supper contested. An old man and his dog
grazed a herd of goats during the day, and brought them home in the
evening, just when we were eating. They passed right by our kitchen and
tried their best to help themselves to our supper. As the goats passed
by their respective houses, the dog would separate them and run them
into their own yards. In the morning, at the sound of a horn, the goats
would run out of their houses and join the collective herd.

Canes became the style from the buck private up, and every evening we
would go walking, Wesserling, St. Amarin, or the cherry trees on the
sides of the mountain being the chief points of interest. The canes were
a great help in climbing the hills.

For the first time since our arrival in France we were paid, and in
French money, and that evening "vin rouge" reigned supreme in the little
village. It didn't take us long to become accustomed to francs and
centimes, instead of dimes and quarters.

Within two days after reaching Ranspach we sent out small detachments of
litter bearers to Nennette, Duchet and Wagram, as the 35th Division was
already moving up to relieve the French. The last named detachment
returned two days later, because no American infantry was to hold that
portion of the line. Still later the detachment at Nennette moved to
Larchey.

After studying the maps and roads of the sector, the company commander
decided to divide it into two subsectors, the one on the right centering
at Larchey, and the one on the left at Mittlach. Accordingly, on June
29th, two detachments from the company left Ranspach together. One
detachment of ten men, Lt. Bates, was to take to Larchey; the other of
seven men, Lt. Monteith, was to take to Mittlach. As the company had no
ambulances, all the men hiked, carrying their packs. One of the Sanitary
Service Units commonly known as the "S. S. U." had been attached to our
company for ambulance service, so one of its Ford ambulances started out
by another route to haul the officers' luggage and some medical supplies
to the two stations. There was a box of surgical dressings and a box of
food for each station. And herein lies one of the mysteries of the war.
The ambulance stopped at Larchey first, as it was the nearer of the two
points, but while the box of surgical dressings reached Mittlach, the
box of food never did. Was it left at Larchey or lost in transit? Before
the two detachments reached Larchey they separated, the detachment
headed for Mittlach keeping the main road. When it arrived at Mittlach
late that evening the Ford ambulance had already gone, and it left no
food box there. Sgt. Pringle accused Sgt. Knight of the theft, and
therein lies an argument to this day.

In each of the two sectors the same plan was followed so far as the
handling of casualties was concerned. Detachments of litter bearers went
out to the different dressing stations established by the sanitary
detachments of the infantry. These dressing stations, or infirmaries, as
they are sometimes called, were located as close to the front lines as
wounded men could be collected with safety. The 138th Infantry held the
lines in front of Larchey, and the 137th Infantry in front of Mittlach.
Sgt. Wiershing had already taken one litter squad to Mittlach and from
there on out to a post called Braunkopf, where the infirmary of the
third battalion was located.

The French had an Alpine Ambulance at Mittlach and another at Larchey.
It is well, here, to say a few words about these organizations. They in
no way resemble our American Ambulance Companies, corresponding rather
to our Field Hospitals, though even more complete than these. Alpine
Ambulances were usually within three kilometres of the front line and
often in plain view of the enemy. Hence they must be housed in dugouts.
The one at Mittlach consisted of a series of underground chambers roofed
over with heavy timbers and stone. There was a well equipped operating
room and a chamber for treating gassed patients. The whole thing was
lighted by electricity. In fact, it was a modern hospital located within
a mile and a half of the front line trenches.

The staff of each Alpine Ambulance was permanent. It did not move away
when the French Infantry left a sector; hence the natural and logical
thing to do was to secure permission to use the Alpine Ambulance as a
dressing station. This we did at both Larchey and Mittlach. In the
former case the dressing station was operated by Lt. Vardon and a detail
from our company; in the latter case by a detachment from Ambulance
Company 138. The French willingly placed their hospital equipment at the
disposal of these detachments.

At both Larchey and Mittlach each litter squad consisted of four men
equipped with one litter, and, where the road was suitable, a
two-wheeled litter cart. The detachment at Larchey also had a mule which
was supposed to pull the litter cart, but usually the men pulled it
rather than bother fetching the mule. Theoretically the battalion aid
stations of the infantry should be well up toward the front line trench
so that the wounded can receive prompt attention. The litter bearers of
the Ambulance Company are supposed to take the wounded after first aid
has been given, and carry them back to the ambulance dressing station,
where an ambulance takes them on back to a field hospital. In practice
this plan did not always work out while we were in the Vosges Mountains.
The front line was so irregular and good locations for battalion aid
stations so few that they were sometimes almost in the front line
trench, and at other times quite far back. As a result it was frequently
impossible to place relay posts so as to equalize the work of our litter
squads.

In the Larchey sector there was one main road leading out toward the
front. About two kilometres from Larchey, at a point called Brun, this
road branched, the branches leading to points named Vialet, Sermet,
Fokeday and Old Colette. We had litter squads stationed at each of the
above named points. An ambulance could go from Larchey to Brun in
daylight without being seen by the Germans so when a litter squad had
carried their patient to Brun, they telephoned in to Larchey for the
ambulance. A separate road led from Larchey to a point to the northeast
called DeGalbert. Two litter squads were stationed there, and later a
mule was sent down, to be used for pulling the litter cart. Two litter
squads were also sent to Vialet and some men had to be kept in reserve
at Larchey. By July 4th we had about thirty-two men in the Larchey
sector.

At Mittlach our territory was divided into two distinct parts by a
rather wide valley that ran straight east and west for about one
kilometre below the town, and then joined the main valley running north
and south. The German trenches were on the eastern slope of this main
valley and ours were on the western slope and in the valley itself. The
German artillery had a clear sweep at Mittlach and the side valley,
which could not be crossed in the daytime. Nor was it practical for an
ambulance to go east of Mittlach in daylight. Hence we had to establish
two distinct routes of evacuation for litter cases. The northern route
led from Mittlach out along the side of the mountain to Krantz, where a
relay squad was stationed. Further on at Braunkopf we stationed another
litter squad in the battalion aid station. About three kilometres beyond
Braunkopf, at a point called Runtz, we had another squad. This station
was at the extreme left of the sector held by the 35th Division
Infantry, and was a good eight kilometres from Mittlach. Both Runtz and
Braunkopf evacuated to Krantz, where the relay squad took the patients
and either hauled them by litter carts or carried them to Mittlach. On
the southern route the main road from Mittlach led to Camp Dubarle,
where we stationed six men as a relay. Other squads were stationed
beyond Dubarle at the ruined village of Metzeral, at D'Angeley, and at
Camp Martin, the latter being about nine kilometres southeast of
Mittlach. All patients collected on the southern route were evacuated
through Dubarle. These numerous posts required many men, so that by July
4th there were forty from the company at Mittlach. The last detachments
that left Ranspach were a disappointed lot. The company was preparing a
big dinner for the next day, and some of these men had worked helping to
prepare it--then they had to shoulder their packs late on the night of
the 3rd of July and hike to Larchey and Mittlach.

During the month that this company had a detachment at Larchey there
were two raids in that sector. About the sixth of July, Company "H" of
the 138th Infantry made a raid. The artillery preparation began at 7:45
in the evening and at 8:30 the raiding party of one officer and 238 men
went over the top. They were gone one-half hour, and at about the same
time that they came back to our trenches the first wounded were brought
in by the stretcher bearers from the line organizations. Meantime our
litter squads had known of the contemplated raid, so they were ready to
receive the wounded and litter them on back to Brun. The raid took place
directly in front of Vialet. From there to Brun it was nearly five
kilometres, and uphill. Litter bearing is strenuous work at best, but it
is doubly so when performed in the dark, and over strange, up-hill
trails. There were in all nineteen patients to carry that night. The
first patient, carried by Joe Barnes, Vesper, Toohey and John Crowley,
was a Boche. The job lasted nearly all night, and it was getting
daylight when the last wounded man reached Larchey next morning. The
work of the infantry had lasted not quite a half hour.

Nearly a week later the Germans attempted a raid early one morning, but
it was easily repulsed. The work of our detachment during the remainder
of the month consisted mostly of carrying occasional patients, and
making the climbs back and forth to meals. In some cases this was no
small task. Frequently a litter squad would have to go a quarter of a
mile or more after rations, and the trails were steep and narrow. Then
there were occasional bombardments by the Germans, and the first shell
was enough to set everyone going for a dugout. During one bombardment a
large shell exploded close to a dugout occupied by three of our men, and
caved it in. Covington was one of the three men, and the event was more
or less immortalized by his song, a parody on "When you wore a tulip,
and I wore a big red rose":

    "I was sleeping in a dugout right up close to the front line,
    Now I was feeling fine, when those Dutch they issued mine;
    They shot some high explosives right in my dugout door,
    And since that time my dugout is no more.
    I grabbed my full equipment then and started back to town,
    For those dirty kraut eaters had torn my play house down.

                         _Chorus._

    When they blew up my dugout, my most substantial dugout,
    Then I got right on my toes;
    And when that shrapnel busted, I was thoroughly disgusted
    And the speed I made, no one knows.
    When I started running, my feet had a yearning
    To go from where the shrapnel flows;
    So when he blew up my dugout, I got my clothes and tore out,
    The reason--the Lord only knows."

On another night, when Lt. Vardon and Sergeants Knight and Childs were
racing for a dugout, Lt. Vardon ran past the entrance. The glare cast by
a nearby shell explosion lighted up the dugout and, doubling back, Lt.
Vardon beat Childs into it. A man casts dignity aside and sprints when
shells begin dropping around him.

At Mittlach there were no raids in the proper sense of the term. No
detachment of the infantry ever went over the top there. But there were
numerous casualties among our troops, due to the activity of German
snipers and to accidents. Then, too, the German artillery had such an
open sweep at the town of Mittlach and the valley below it, that several
Americans were either killed or wounded by shrapnel. In fact, the very
evening that our main detachment arrived in Mittlach, a corporal of the
137th Infantry was killed by a shell as he stood in the street reading a
letter. This was the first casualty in the regiment, so the chaplain
decided to give the man a military funeral, firing squad and all. He
made the funeral arrangements over the telephone and set the time for
the funeral at 9 o'clock the next evening. The time for the funeral came
and the procession was just leaving the Alpine Ambulance when the German
artillery again began shelling the town. There were, by actual count,
just twenty-two men in the street when the first three-inch shell came
whining towards the town. It took one of those shells about six seconds
to reach Mittlach after it could first be heard, and when the first one
exploded nearby, half of those twenty-two men had already scrambled into
the door of the nearest dugout. And it was only an average size door at
that. This was the first real shelling most of the twenty-two men had
experienced, yet they took to cover as if they were used to doing it. On
another occasion a sudden bombardment caught Lt. Speck and Lt. Martin
unawares. A three-inch shrapnel ushered them around a corner and into a
dugout in record time--the one ahead trying to keep ahead, and the one
behind, trying his best to get ahead.

The ruined town of Metzeral was the foremost point occupied by any of
our litter squads at Mittlach. It was in the main valley to the south
and east of Mittlach. The American trenches ran zig-zag through the
town--along tumble-down walls, into old cellars and basements, through
neglected gardens, and around the corner of the ruined church itself.
One ducked instinctively as he passed some of the low places in the
walls, for the German trenches were visible a few hundred yards away on
the eastern slope of the valley.

The ambulance work at Mittlach and Larchey was done partly by the mule
ambulances of Ambulance Company 140 and partly by the Fords of the S. S.
U. outfit. From the various advance aid stations, the patients were
transported by ambulance to a relay station called Treh, situated about
five kilos back of Larchey. Lt. Hancock, of Ambulance Company 137 was in
charge at Treh, having two motor and two mule drawn ambulances ready to
receive and transport the patients back to the various Field Hospitals,
which were located at Kruth and neighboring towns, well out of range of
the German guns.

On the whole, the time spent in the Wesserling sector was a period of
training for our company, and in fact for the whole Sanitary Train. We
learned something about maps and trails, and especially that trails on
maps and trails on mountain sides are two very different things. We
learned also to respect our gas masks and helmets. They became our
constant companions. Indeed, the sight of school children six and eight
years old going through gas mask drill in the streets of Mittlach was
enough to make anyone think about his gas mask. All the civilians there
carried masks as they went about their daily work. We learned too, the
value of camouflage along the sides of roads, and also the wisdom of
keeping behind it. The litter bearers learned to handle patients in all
sorts of tight places, and they did their work creditably. We saw a
little example of German propaganda, also. On June 30th the Boche sent
small balloons over our lines, and to the balloons they attached cards
bearing the following message on both sides:

       "Soldiers of the U. S. A.

     As we hear from your comrades seized by us, your officers say
     that we kill prisoners of war or do them some other harm.

     Don't be such Greenhorns!

     How can you smart Americans believe such a silly thing?"

Needless to say, this sort of propaganda made no impression on the
American troops.

We spent nearly a month in the Wesserling sector. At the end of that
time, Ambulance Company 137 relieved us at Larchey, and Ambulance
Company 140 at Mittlach. We were glad to move back across the boundary
line into France and settle in the sleepy little village of Ventron,
where we could hang up our gas masks and helmets, and almost forget
there was a war.




VENTRON


Ventron, a typical French village, nestles in a peaceful valley. To the
right of the town a broad green meadow stretches out, to be broken at
the foot of the mountain by a small, sparkling stream of water. The
crude stone houses, few in number, are built adjoining each other,
forming irregular lines. A large, quaint, high-steepled church, one
shop, several cafes and one hotel, probably patronized by tourists in
summer, make up the town. The prevailing cleanliness of Ventron
naturally impressed us. Without exception, it was the cleanest town in
which we were billeted during our stay in France.

Needless to say, a sigh of satisfaction could be heard when word reached
us to the effect that we would be billeted in barracks, instead of the
usual hay mow. Having learned to adapt ourselves to the surroundings,
most of us were by this time able to carry on a speaking conversation
with all domestic animals, so this change to cleaner barracks somewhat
elated us, for we would no doubt feel more like human beings.

Our duties were few, consisting of "setting up exercises" and perhaps a
two-hour hike in the morning, and gas mask drill (a most unpleasant
duty) in the afternoon. It was on one of our hikes that we discovered in
a secluded spot on the mountain top an old priest's hermitage. Here in a
small white stone shack lived this eccentric old man and worshipped in
his peculiar way.

Huckleberries and other wild berries grew abundantly on the hillsides,
and oftentimes while we were there a volunteer squad issued forth with
pails, to return later with pails loaded to the brim with berries. And
each evening by the candle light, with "seven-and-a-half" in vogue, we
commented most favorably upon those delicious huckleberry pies, just
like the ones mother used to make.

During our stay at Ventron a detail of fifteen men was sent to Kruth, 15
kilometres away, to oversee the erecting of a field hospital. From
reports that came back, our men were the engineers, and were forced to
do most of the work, much to their dismay.

Here also a Y. M. C. A. secretary came to our company, and through him
on several occasions we were delightfully entertained. We were now able
to purchase cigars, cigarettes, chocolate and other necessities of
soldier life.

Bathing facilities were of the poorest--in fact, none at all, as a
bathtub is a rare luxury among the French small-town people. Few of us
were bold enough to brave the cold mountain stream for a plunge. After
things had reached a climax, in that any time during the day a man could
be seen frantically scratching himself in a dozen places at once, and
singing "They Go Wild, Simply Wild Over Me," the company marched to
Cornimont, the nearest town, where we were "decootized," that is, we
were given a bath and all of our clothing was sterilized.

One evening at the hotel several of us ate our first "horse steak," at
least we were told that it was such, and the more we thought of it the
more we believed it true. After three weeks of this life, with plenty of
good food, sleep, exercise and entertainment, we were eager to be back
in the fray. Moving orders came, and early in August we took over our
second sector of the line.




LE COLLET


August 12th, the day we left Ventron, was hot, and being crowded into a
dusty truck added nothing to the enjoyment of the trip. We wound up and
up the sides of the picturesque Vosges mountains, passing many an old
Frenchman plodding along with his oxen and logging wagon. Once we pulled
into the gutter to let a long truck train pass, going down the hill.
Shortly afterwards one of our trucks, heavily loaded with litters, boxes
and men, ran into a hole and came near tipping over the steep bank.
After about two hours' work it was gotten out, although it had to be
unloaded and reloaded. No further trouble was encountered, and we
reached the top of the hill in due time. After the hustle and bustle of
unloading we had supper. After supper everyone began to look for a spot
to sleep, and most of the men ended the search by making beds on the
grass on the hillside.

[Illustration: LOOKING NORTHWEST INTO VARENNES.]

[Illustration: CHAUDRON EME. AND MONTREBEAU WOOD.]

[Illustration: MEMBERS OF 139TH AMBULANCE COMPANY BEFORE UNIFORMS WERE
ISSUED.]

[Illustration: MEMBERS OF 139TH AMBULANCE COMPANY AFTER UNIFORMS WERE
ISSUED.]

It was dark when we arrived at Le Collet, and the next morning we had
our first view of the camp. Situated on a high range of hills, it would
have commanded a wonderful view of the surrounding country but for the
tall trees which covered the hills in every direction. The camp was
composed of several long, low French barracks, arranged in haphazard
style on one side of the road on the hilltop, and many more down the
valley, between and on both sides of the forked road leading down to the
city of Gerardmer, about twenty kilometres distant. One of the barracks
on the hilltop, just at the fork of the road, was used for a triage, our
office, supply room and sleeping quarters for several men. About one
hundred feet back of this barrack, and reached by a narrow rock road,
was a big shed used for housing Gen. McClure's limousine and one or two
Ford ambulances. To one side of this road and just in front of the shed
was our kitchen, covered by a fly tent.

A French canteen, Red Cross, Y. M. C. A. and Major du Cantonement
occupied the remainder of the hilltop barracks. Across the road from the
triage was a large barnlike structure which served as the terminal of
the electric tramway. This tramway connected Le Collet with Gerardmer by
a steam road which came about half way. Its many cars groaning up and
down the hill was one of the most noticeable features of Le Collet. It
was used for bringing up supplies and also to evacuate patients to the
hospitals at Gerardmer.

The 69th Infantry Brigade was ordered to take over from the French the
sector immediately north of the front being held at that time by the
70th Brigade. We were ordered to accompany the brigade and evacuate it
to Field Hospital 138, which went into action at the little summer
resort town of Gerardmer. We were to establish a triage at the camp of
Le Collet, which was perched on top of the divide which formerly marked
the boundary line between France and Germany.

Our work in this sector, except that of the triage, was carried on at
three advanced dressing stations and a relay station. Running from south
to north, the dressing stations were Nicholas, Morlier and Richard. The
relay post was at Spitzenfels, situated on the road from Le Collet,
where it forked to go to Nicholas and Morlier.

The work at Nicholas was taken over by Lieut. Siberts and a detachment
of twenty-five men, who established a dressing station in connection
with the French Alpine Ambulance Service. The entire detachment, with
the exception of six men who remained at the station, was sent to the
battalion aid stations to act as litter bearers, their duties consisting
of carrying patients from the battalion aid stations to the ambulance
station. Detachments were also sent out to Moriez, Miradore, Jourdan,
Eck and Amphersbach.

The activities in this area were very small, consisting principally of
sniping by machine guns and an occasional artillery duel. The latter
sometimes became interesting to the party at Nicholas, because the
artillery was directly behind the station and the arc of fire was
overhead, both for the Boche and our own boys. Many were the times when
they all ducked for a friendly dugout door, to the tune of a screaming
shell.

In connection with this station there was a motorcycle with litter
sidecar operated by an Englishman. He carried all single cases to
Spitzenfels thus relieving the ambulances from extra runs. This
Englishman was a good scout and was liked by all.

Lieut. Siberts was relieved a few days after the station was established
by a lieutenant of the 162 Ambulance Company, and reported at the
company triage to operate that station.

The detail for the dressing station at Morlier left Le Collet shortly
after dinner on August 13th, under command of Lieut. Vardon. Our program
was to go by truck to Spitzenfels, where, after dark, for much of the
road to be traveled was under enemy observation, we were to be picked up
by a supply train and taken to our destination. But the best laid plans
will sometimes go wrong, and in this case a confusion of orders stopped
the supply train before it had gone far, and there was nothing for us to
do but proceed on foot. The road was a long one, winding up the
mountainside, past the ruins of many buildings that had once been the
homes of shepherds, lighted up now and then by a brilliant star-shell,
while an occasional rifle shot, or rather a machine gun, sounding almost
underneath us, broke the silence. Finally about midnight, after
following the many twists and turns in the road, each of which it seemed
must be the last, we arrived at our destination.

Morlier was situated about five miles north of Nicholas, on the same
ridge of hills. It was built on the opposite side of a small hill from
the lines, and about a quarter mile distant. Dugouts and small shacks
formed the principal part of the camp, and most of the best dugouts had
heavy half-circular corrugated steel ceilings. This metal was painted
white to make the interior light. Several rooms in the Alpine Ambulance
Station were fixed this way.

The dressing station was established in the Alpine Ambulance. Lieut.
Vardon and about nine men formed the personnel of this place. The one
outpost was Barbarot, about a half mile to the north. Morlier was
approachable by night only by a rock road which wound up the hillside in
full view of the German lines. In daylight the only safe way was by a
gallery about a mile long which ran over the hill from Camp Bouquet, a
branch of which ran down to Barbarot. The gallery was a trench about six
feet deep, sided up and roofed over with branches and camouflaged.

In the Alpine Ambulance we found such luxuries as electric lights, piano
and talking machine and furniture much better than we had been used to,
all taken from "Altenberg," the former summer home of the Kaiser, which
was near by. The French and British soldiers there proved to be
excellent companions and treated us royally.

We were close to the lines and under constant observation, but when the
first two days passed uneventfully our boldness grew. However, just at
supper time on the third day "Jerry" woke us up by planting eight shells
in the kitchen, and from then on did not let us forget that he was near
by. Bombardments were frequent, while wandering German patrols paid our
vicinity frequent visits at night. Our work consisted mostly of handling
the sick, as there were very few wounded, this being a "quiet" sector.

Our stay was not without its humorous incidents, such as the time when
one of our dignified "non-coms," at the sound of the first exploding
shell, dove into bed, and, pulling the blankets over his head, remarked
that "even a blanket might help some if a shell hit," and the time when
our commanding officer, deceived by a false gas alarm, wore his gas mask
for nearly three hours in the middle of the night before discovering
that we would be breathing only the purest of mountain air without it.

Our pleasant stay at Morlier came to an end when the division was
relieved on the night of September 1st. The enemy, scenting a troop
movement, kept up a steady bombardment, and it was well towards morning
before we were able to make a getaway. The trip was an exciting one, as
it was necessary to run a gauntlet of exploding shells. Gas was also
encountered, but, in spite of it all, we all arrived safely about
daybreak at company headquarters.

Richard was situated in a narrow gap on the bank of Lac Noir (meaning
Black Lake). The dressing station there was established by Lieut.
Monteith and a detachment of twenty-five men. The outposts were Vignal
and Pairis, and detachments of litter bearers were sent to each of those
places, which were occupied by the Infantry Battalion Aid Stations.
Later Lieut. Bates and six men arrived from Rudlin, where a station had
been established but abandoned. Relay litter squads were formed, thus
making the work lighter.

The men on outpost duty at Pairis were billeted in an old hotel
basement, where there was running water, electric lights and real beds,
but even with these luxuries at their disposal they can hardly be said
to have had an enjoyable time. This hotel had a road running alongside,
and whenever anyone appeared in the road, the Boche immediately opened
up on the hotel with high explosives and shrapnel. The boys got to be
experts at hitting the cellar entrance on a moment's notice--in fact,
they stayed pretty close to it at all times, unless at the kitchen,
which was about three hundred yards distant.

The outpost at Vignal was not so well situated, but was rarely shelled.
This party took part in a raid which was pulled off just before they
were relieved. They went out with the raiding party to its starting
point and remained until the raid was over, when they evacuated the
wounded to the foot of the hill below Richard, from where the litter
cases were taken to the top of the hill by squads from Richard. At
Richard there was big preparation when word of the intended raid was
received. Two spare ambulances and twelve men were ordered out from Le
Collet. When the word was telephoned up that three litter cases were on
the way, a detachment of nineteen men went to the bottom of the hill and
brought the wounded to the station, where they were dressed and sent to
the triage.

The work of both the outposts was highly complimented by the battalion
surgeons. The Americans at Richard were relieved by French Colonials. In
coming in, the French seemed to have attracted the attention of the
Boche, and as a result they received an unmerciful shelling. One litter
case and two walking cases was the toll, and they were evacuated through
our station, much to the satisfaction of the French authorities.

On August 13th a detachment of six men and two ambulances was sent from
Le Collet to the relay post at Spitzenfels. Ambulances and drivers from
the 162nd Ambulance Company, 41st Division, were attached to our company
to furnish motor transportation to and from the different stations, as
we had no ambulances at that time. Spitzenfels was a French Red Cross
post and an ambulance relay station. It was located on a mountain side
in the midst of a thick pine forest and at a junction of the
Paris-Strassburg road, about three kilometres inside of the
France-Alsace boundary line. The place had not been shelled by the
Germans for four years and was very quiet. The billets were comfortable
and rainproof, making it an ideal place to stay.

Upon first taking over the station at Spitzenfels we worked with the
French medical men, but they soon left, leaving the entire station to
us. The duties were comparatively light, consisting of making a sick
call at 9 A. M. to two infantry aid stations, and transferring the sick
and wounded back to the triage. Another duty was to give out Red Cross
supplies, mostly tobacco and hot chocolate, to the passing soldiers.
Most of the Red Cross business was with the French troop, as very few of
the American forces knew of the station, and thus were unable to take
advantage of it.

At the triage Lieut. Siberts was in charge, with the assistance of a
sergeant and three men, and their work testified that they were on the
job. They had to unload all ambulances, register all cases, sort out the
ones for the various hospitals and reload them into the ambulances, or
onto the tram car. They were compelled to work at all hours.

One incident to be long remembered by all the company was the big fire
of the truck at Le Collet on the night all the posts were relieved. Two
men were attempting to fill a Pierce-Arrow truck with gasoline, by the
aid of a candle, when there was an explosion and the entire truck caught
fire. The blaze shot thirty feet into the air and could be seen for
miles around. It was a wonder that the place was not shelled, because it
was as light as day and crowded with soldiers.

On September 1st the order came to move again, and the old routine of
packing and loading was on. We were not sorry to leave Le Collet,
because our stay had not been long enough to let us become attached to
the place. We were not sorry, for another reason. Rumor was, now that
our training was over, that we were to go north and take active part in
the great battles that were then raging on the western front. The term
"shock troops" came into use, and all were proud to belong to a division
so designated. With our movement came orders to turn over our dressing
stations and triage to Ambulance Company 39, of the 6th Division. This
was their first trip up to the front, and as none of them had ever heard
a Boche shell ring, we had a lot of fun yarning to them about the things
they would soon experience.




THE MARCH FROM LUNEVILLE TO BENNEY


After being relieved in the Vosges sector by the 6th Division,
headquarters of the 35th Division was moved from Gerardmer to Rosieres,
a rest camp in the Luneville area. In the evening of September 2nd we
left Le Collet in trucks, and arrived at Barbey-Seroux about midnight.
Pup tents were pitched in an open field, and for two days and nights
they served as our homes.

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.

All three companies worked together at Charpentry under the direction of
Maj. Gist, and shared rations and supplies in common. The dressing
stations at Charpentry were located in old French barns and buildings
set around a sort of courtyard. They had served until a couple of days
before as the headquarters of the German division holding the sector.
After the place had been examined to make sure that no German souvenirs
in the way of hand grenades and shells had been hidden within, we
started fires and soon had some warm places for dressing the wounded. At
the south end were some empty buildings evidently used as store rooms
and an arched opening into the court. On the east side was a former
dwelling house which contained several rooms on the ground floor. All of
the second story had been shot away. On the north end was a large barn
which contained a small amount of engineering stores. The other side was
open and had a garden which contained vegetables for the Germans. This
spot was later used to bury some of the men who died in the dressing
station. Back from the east side there was a steep hill which contained
several excellent dugouts, some of which were used as dressing rooms. As
soon as the wounded were dressed they were placed in these empty rooms
to await transportation to the rear. These rooms were soon filled,
however, and it became necessary to place the men in the court yard on
litters or rubber blankets. The wind and rain added nothing to the
comfort of these poor chaps, but there was no murmur of complaint from
any of them. They were so exhausted from lack of sleep and food and
constant fighting, that they were able to sleep undisturbed either by
their wounds, or by the thunder of the guns all around.

Two batteries of seventy-fives, of the 129th Field Artillery took
position behind our station here, in such a way that their fire passed
directly over us. At each discharge, a shower of dust from the roofs of
the buildings would descend upon the wounded and workers alike. We had
some gas this day, but there were more alarms than gas. No shells fell
in our immediate vicinity as the dressing station was more or less
protected by the hill. Every one worked at top speed, as the wounded
were coming in so fast that it required the services of almost the
entire company to take care of them. Later in the afternoon a detachment
was sent to Baulney, and with the aid of some mule ambulances, cleared
the regimental station there of wounded. Later, motor ambulances began
to arrive and the wounded were started back toward the triage at Cheppy.
From this time on the evacuation was continuous, ambulances from
Ambulance Co. 41 and S. S. U. sections undertaking this work. Many
empty, returning ammunition trucks were also used. The trucks carried
the wounded, for the most part, to the old triage at Neuvilly, which had
been taken over by the field hospital companies. Those who were able to
walk, were started out on foot, as all available transportation was
required for recumbent cases. By morning of the 29th, the influx of
wounded having lessened somewhat, two bearer parties went forward, one
under Lt. Speck, and the other under Lt. Bates. Mule ambulances
accompanied these parties, the detachments coming under heavy fire and
some of the mules being killed. One of the drivers was mortally wounded.
These parties were out until about the middle of the afternoon. The work
of the bearers was the most laborious owing to the mud and the long
distances of the carries.

Information was received that the salient created by the attack was to
be protected by establishing the first line in the area being covered by
the bearers. The parties were, therefore, withdrawn to Charpentry. It
was during this operation that Pvt. Lloyd Richmond was wounded, while
remaining with wounded at Chaudron Farm. Upon arrival of the bearers at
Charpentry, their patients were loaded into ambulances, which, by this
time, had cleared the station there, since the location was becoming a
target for gas. Orders were received to move the station back to some
more sheltered position where the wounded could be kept in more
security. Ambulance companies were now ordered to Varennes. Lt. Siberts,
with a detachment of men, proceeded to Very, joining the company at
Varennes the next day.

In leaving Charpentry, the men were forced to run a gauntlet of high
explosives, gas and shrapnel. A rain of shells were pouring into the
valley in a desperate attempt to silence the American batteries. One of
the spectacular scenes of the drive occurred when a battery of French
artillery came crashing down the road, the gunners riding the
seventy-fives which were drawn by big trucks. The little men in blue
were leaning forward and gazing eagerly ahead to the nearby hill where
they afterwards whirled their guns into position and poured a murderous
fire, point blank, into the counter-attacking Germans. It was a little
incident that gave us a slight insight into the reason why the Germans
failed to crush France.

On arriving at Varennes, volunteers were called for to return to
Charpentry to take care of the wounded who might be expected, and to
relieve congestion in regimental stations, which had fallen back to that
place. Lt. Bates with 15 men and an equal number from Ambulance Co. 137,
were selected. This detachment had a very exciting and strenuous
forty-eight hours of work at Charpentry. During the first night wounded
were numerous and there was much hard and tiresome work carrying wounded
and loading out ambulances.

The 35th Division was now being relieved by the First Division, and we
received orders that we had been temporarily attached to that division
until their own Ambulance and Field Hospitals could get into action.
After being relieved from this duty, the company assembled at Neuvilly,
and left the next day for a rest.




WITH THE KITCHEN IN THE ARGONNE OFFENSIVE


For anyone to say that they derived any amount of happiness from being
in the Argonne, other than our complete victory over the Boche, would
probably be judged insane. According to the Mess Sergeant's version,
however, a certain amount of joy may be had in not being threatened with
one's life after serving the famous "Corn Willy" to men who were working
in the midst of this hell.

We moved up the night before the drive and made our first stop the next
morning at about 2:00 A. M. at a place mentioned before, behind a steep
bank, where our supplies were unloaded from the trucks. These trucks
were ordered to wait until later in the morning before moving nearer the
lines. As the men were going in the drive at five o'clock that morning
we borrowed a fire, and inside of a small hut, prepared some soup for
them to have just before leaving.

[Illustration: LOOKING NORTH INTO BAULNY.]

[Illustration: LOOKING WEST TOWARD VACQUOIS HILL.]

[Illustration: AMBULANCE SECTION, 110TH, SANITARY TRAIN, CAMP DONIPHAN,
OKLA.]

They left about on time, but the trucks which were to report for our
supplies, were delayed, so it was rather late before we started moving.
When we did, however, we made fairly good time until we were held up in
the woods by trucks that were stuck in the mud. We at last made it
through, and catching up with the company that afternoon, unloaded our
supplies and equipment and established our first kitchen, right back of
Vacquois Hill.

We managed to get coffee made before dark, and our men began to come in
a few at a time. Not all of them got there, however, but nevertheless we
were busy feeding the most of the night, as everyone who came along
wanted something to eat, and we tried to feed all who came.

The next morning, what men were there, moved on to Cheppy and we were
told that transportation would come for us. We waited until that
afternoon, and had just about concluded that we were left, when two men
came down the road leading a couple of pack mules. We were informed that
this was our transportation. Accordingly, we loaded all that was
possible on the mules and started for Cheppy. Our kitchen now consisted
mainly of a G. I. coffee can, and such rations as we, ourselves, could
carry.

We arrived in Cheppy in time to cook supper for the men and we continued
to cook as long as it was light, as there were scores of men to be fed
and we endeavored to feed all who came. The greatest efforts bore little
fruit, however, and most of the men received nothing hot until they came
out of the drive. Our pack mules made another trip that night, bringing
up a few rations and some food which we were very glad to get, being
almost out.

The next morning we moved up past Very, using an ambulance for what few
supplies we had, and set up a kitchen alongside a captured six-inch
German gun which later proved to be a rather disagreeable location, as
Jerry threw over a few H. E. trying to put it out of commission. The
artillery, having come up and started a barrage, left us in a rather
noisy place, also.

Here the supply section of our train managed to get a few rations up to
us. We cooked and served all that day and night, but were unable to take
care of all those wanting to be fed. It seemed to be impossible to
secure enough transportation.

The company moved on to Charpentry that afternoon and we were again
informed that a transport wagon would pick up our supplies and kitchen
and for us to follow. As usual, the wagon did not arrive, and we were
again left to do the best we could.

In the meantime part of our supplies and equipment which we left back at
Vacquois, came up in a mule drawn ambulance, which we sent on to
Charpentry that night. We waited, however, for the transportation which
was to move us from our present location and as has already been
mentioned, it never came. The next morning we divided our force, part
going on to Charpentry and the rest remaining to cook and serve the
remainder of our rations which was not hard to do. All we had was a
little coffee and bread.

Our kitchen in Charpentry was located in a sort of a court yard, near
the buildings in which were located the dressing stations. Here we
located an iron boiler, that the Germans had left in their hasty
retreat, which helped us out quite a lot in cooking. Things were going
fine here, in fact, too good to last. We had plenty of rations and had
served two fairly good meals, when things began to happen. Jerry got it
into his head that Dressing Stations and kitchens were not essential in
a successful drive and right away started trying to eliminate them. A
short time after he had started trying to put this idea into effect, we
received orders to retire. This order probably saved a little work for
the burying squad, as far as the kitchen force was concerned, as about
fifteen minutes after leaving, a few direct hits were scored, scattering
our kitchen and supplies to the four winds.

We now moved back to Varennes, picking up as much of our equipment at
Very as we could and taking it back with us. We stayed in Varennes for
almost two days, cooking what we could in a much dilapidated stove that
was in one of the dugouts. Our field range reached us just as we were
leaving for Bourelles. We arrived there in time to set up for supper,
but had to tear it down that night as we moved back to Neuvilly. Here we
were relieved and moved out, and back to billets and a small French
kitchen. Although small, it seemed to us all that anyone could ask for
in the kitchen line, after having put in a week of trying to cook for a
company of men with hardly anything more than two flat rocks and a
coffee can.




CITATIONS AND CASUALTIES


The fact that some of the men of Ambulance Company 139 were cited, does
not indicate that they were more courageous or devoted to duty than
those not so mentioned. The work of the entire company showed an
efficiency, and disregard for personal danger, of the very highest
order. Many acts of individual heroism passed unnoticed. The following
is an extract from General Order No. 82, October 14th, Hqs. 35th
Division:

"The Division Commander takes pleasure in citing in General Orders, the
following named officers and enlisted men for effective, efficient and
courageous work during the six days' battle from September 26th to
October 1st, 1918."

Private Glen B. Smith, M. D., Ambulance Co. 139, September 29th, near
Chaudron Farm. For remaining under continuous shell and machine gun
fire for a considerable time more than required by his orders, caring
for the wounded under the most intense shell and machine gun fire.

Sergeant Junior Briggs, M. D., Ambulance Co. 139, September 29th, near
Chaudron Farm. For remaining under continuous shell and machine gun fire
for a considerable time more than required by his orders, caring for the
wounded under the most intense shell and machine gun fire.

Private Lloyd Richmond, M. D., Ambulance Co. 139, September 29th, near
Chaudron Farm. On account of artillery and machine gun fire, Private
Richmond remained at his post and cared for the wounded until he was
himself wounded by a shell which killed two other wounded men.

Sergeant Kenneth W. Pringle, M. D., Ambulance Co. 139, September 28th and
29th this non-commissioned officer, of his own accord and under
extremely heavy shell fire, found and evacuated many wounded.

First Lieutenant Richard T. Speck, M. D., Ambulance Co. 139, September
30th, near Charpentry. For effective, efficient and courageous work in
collecting wounded in the field north of Charpentry with detachment of
mule drawn ambulances, under heavy artillery and machine gun fire and
repeated aeroplane attacks.

First Lieutenant Bret V. Bates, M. D., Ambulance Co. 139, September 30th,
near Charpentry. For efficient, effective and courageous work in the
open field with a detachment of mule drawn ambulances under heavy
artillery and machine gun fire.

Sergeant 1st Class Charles G. Rowland, M. D., Ambulance Co. 139,
September 29th near Charpentry. While his company was on the march from
Charpentry to Varennes, Sergeant Rowland stopped to attend a truck
driver who had been struck by a shell. Disregarding all personal danger,
he passed through a curtain of artillery fire and dressed the wounded
man. During the four days at the dressing station, the work of Sergeant
Rowland was of the highest order of efficiency.

The following men in the detachment of Ambulance Company 139, 110th
Sanitary Train, for courage and devotion to duty under intense fire
while acting as litter bearers on the morning of September 30th, 1918:

    Wagoner Jacob C. Weaverling
    Pvt. Stephen F. McCormick
    Pvt. 1cl. George G. Crowley
    Pvt. 1cl. Fay A. Downing
    Pvt. 1cl. Joe Barnes
    Pvt. John J. Fisher
    Pvt. Charles F. Blaker
    Pvt. Harry T. Douglass
    Pvt. Garland Freeman
    Pvt. William W. Williams
    Pvt. Louis J. Fisher
    Pvt. John R. Fulmer
    Pvt. Robert A. Still
    Pvt. John P. Feeney

_Casualties_--Ambulance Company 139, during the five days in the Argonne
with our own division, and the forty-eight hours attached to the First
Division, came out of battle without a death. Private Lloyd Richmond, on
the night of September 29th, while taking care of some wounded men under
intense shell and machine gun fire at Chaudron Farm, was wounded in
seven different places.

The following named men were gassed while attached to the First Division
at Charpentry:

Lt. George Monteith, Sgt. Clarence Falconer, Pvt. Edward DeTalent, Pvt.
Wilson Meyers, Lt. Bret V. Bates, Sgt. Ernest Stalcup, Pvt. Kenneth S.
Brown, Pvt. Jesse Dennis, Pvt. Lester A. Brogan, Pvt. Jesse Casteel,
Pvt. William Peterson, Pvt. Rollo C. Dugan.




THE STAY IN VAUBECOURT


On coming from the Argonne offensive on October 5th, the Sanitary Train
moved to Vaubecourt, a city whose blocks of ruins told plainer than
words the story of its bombardment in the earlier days of the war. But,
complete as was the destruction of some parts of the city other parts
escaped harm, and in this quarter we found a comfortable home in a large
barn, well equipped with bunks.

The memory of our stay in Vaubecourt to most of us is not a pleasant
one. Sick, tired, hungry, dirty, clothing torn and stained with mud and
blood, and equipment lost, the men of our company certainly did not have
the appearance of spic and span soldiers of Uncle Sam. A few hours of
rest, with good food and plenty of soap and water did much to better
conditions, but the effects of the previous days at the front were not
at once thrown off. Sickness prevailed, hardly a man escaping it in some
degree, and the number sent each day to the hospital was probably the
largest at any time in the history of the company. Here for the first
time in months, we heard the once famous sound of the bugle, the
companies standing all calls.

But in the midst of this, there was one day of our Vaubecourt stay that
stood out as one of the brightest in our experience. It was the day the
news arrived that Germany, surrounded by an unbreakable band of fire and
steel, and realizing the inevitable, had asked for peace terms. To us
who had just emerged from the horrors of the Argonne, the news seemed
like the first streak of morning light shining through the darkness.
However, the constant rumbling of the distant artillery and the steady
procession of aeroplanes overhead, kept us from becoming too optimistic.
Yet the feeling seemed to remain that it was the beginning of the end,
and that peace could not be far distant.

The fact that the Hun was at last, not asking, but begging for a
cessation of hostilities, in the name of her people, gave us renewed
spirits. We were further cheered by the fact that the entire Sanitary
Train had been commended for its work in the Argonne by our own
Divisional Commander, as well as by the Commanding General of the
division that relieved us. The work in battle had been without fault,
but at this time we were informed that discipline was very lax, and
instead of the much needed rest, we were put through a period of
training which lasted until the division relieved a division of French
in a sector north of Verdun.




THE VERDUN FRONT


While at Vaubecourt we received word that we were to go to the front
again, and that news surprised us not a little, because of the fact that
we had only been out of the Argonne some two weeks.

On October 15th, the division occupied a new sector east of Verdun,
extending from near Fresnes to Eix. As usual, Ambulance Company 139 took
position near the front lines, to evacuate the division. On October
16th, headquarters of the company was located at Fontaine Brilliante, a
very beautifully situated triage near Somme-Dieue. This triage evidently
had been a most busy place during the great drive on Verdun in 1916.
Immense Red Crosses were painted on the tops of the various buildings,
and two very ingenious Red Crosses were constructed upon the hillside,
of small red and white stones. These were placed there to protect the
triage from Boche airplanes.

Immediately upon arrival at Fontaine Brilliante, Lt. Monteith, with a
detachment of twenty-six men, started to the front and established a
dressing station at Deramee. Two cooks were with the detachment, and a
kitchen was set up in the same building with the dressing station.
Rations were drawn from the first battalion of the 110th Engineers and
it was not a rare thing to have hot cakes for breakfast. In the kitchen
was a wire cage which could be locked, and which looked for all the
world like a large rat trap. One night the cooks had written several
letters to their wives and put them into this cage and locked it. The
rats, which had already carried away some very sizable articles,
including dippers, frying pans and what-nots, got the letters out of the
cage in some magic way that night, and to this day those two cooks are
marveling at the cleverness of French rats.

Litter and ambulance posts were placed at Tunis, Bellvue Farm and
Joffre. There were a few camps near, which were merely billeting places
for soldiers in reserve, and for supply organizations of the line
troops. They were all in easy shelling distance for the Germans, in
fact, Deramee was so close to the lines that one could hear the report
of the guns an instant before the shells would come over.

The forts around Verdun were very interesting. There were two within two
kilometres of Deramee, one named Fort Deramee, and the other Fort
Roselier. These forts were situated on points commanding a view of all
the surrounding country. They were neatly concealed from aerial
observation, and one might easily walk squarely into one before he
noticed it. They were most formidably constructed of reinforced
concrete, and were built deep into the ground. Some were encircled by a
moat over which were heavy draw bridges, and beyond the moat a mass of
barbed wire entanglements encircled the entire defense. There were over
forty of these forts around Verdun, all garrisoned by the French. A look
at these mighty bulwarks told at once why the Germans could not pass.

On October 8th, another section to the north, extending to Vaux, was
taken over by the division, and another dressing station, in charge of
Lt. Vardon with fifteen men, was established at Vaux. At first
dependence was placed upon four G. M. C. ambulances of Ambulance Co. 138
to do all of the evacuating, but later S. S. U. 526 was assigned for
this work. All cases were taken to Field Hospital 139, at Fontaine
Brilliante.

Some mention of the old battlefield near Vaux must be made. Fort Vaux
was taken by the Germans after a fierce and uninterrupted cannonading
lasting from March 12th to April 9th, 1916. Fort Avocourt and the
Mort-Homme also succumbed to the terrific onslaught of the Hun on April
10th. After five months of furious fighting, in which the Germans lost
over a half million men, the French retook these important positions.
Just back from the dressing station an eighth of a mile is a famous hill
of the Verdun battle. A look at this barren hill filled one with awe,
for there isn't a tree, not even a stump, standing, and not a square
foot of ground that has not been torn by shell fire. The ground is
simply pulverized. There are helmets (French and German), old rifles,
cart wheels, unexploded shells, clothing and most everything in the line
of war equipment lying around on the ground, just as it was left after
that terrible struggle. Bones of every part of the human body could be
found in almost any numbers. One could pick up a helmet with a skull in
it, or a shoe with the bones of a foot in it. Standing at the bottom of
this hill, one could look up at the head of the valley and see a German
battery, sitting just as it had been deserted after her defeat in 1916.
The wood that was brought in from the fallen timber was literally filled
with shrapnel.

The Vaux detail, when not busy, spent most of its time seeing the many
interesting places, even though at times it was a bit dangerous. From
the hill back of the dressing station one could see the Germans shelling
Ft. Douamont, two miles away. A very strange impression it left on one,
too. First the report of the German guns would be heard, and in an
instant the shell would burst near the fort, throwing dirt and rock high
into the air. Then the sound of the shell, which had already bursted,
could be heard going through the air.

While there were not many casualties through Vaux, over seven hundred
came through Deramee. The division had just been filled up with men who
had not been in France over a month or so, and who had not trained
longer than that in the States. The trenches of Verdun, which were
always filled with water and mud, seemed to be too much for them, and
many cases of influenza and pneumonia developed.

We had many gas cases, too, at Deramee. In one day a hundred and six gas
patients came through the dressing station. It was mostly mustard gas,
and the patients would come in by the ambulance load, temporarily blind
and feeling miserable. We could only bathe their eyes with a sodium
bi-carbonate solution, and use the sag-paste freely. During this rush
the only available ambulances were those of the S. S. U. 526, and the
drivers of that unit not being familiar with the roads, Corporals O'Dowd
and Bailey were kept busy guiding them around. We worked well after
midnight on that particular day before all the patients were evacuated.
The total number of gas patients numbered well over two hundred.

A sergeant and three men were stationed at Bellevue Ferme, a relay
station between Derame and Vaux. This station was situated on a hill
only a short distance from Verdun, and one could get a splendid view of
the old battered city from this place. There were eleven big naval guns
down below Bellevue on a narrow gage railway, and they surely made some
music when they fired. They drew fire from the Germans, too, but no
sooner would the Germans locate them than they were moved along the
track to another place.

Verdun was very close to the different stations, and many of us visited
the silent old city. One had only to take one look at that city to
realize that one of the mightiest struggles of human history took place
for its possession. Petain, the great French leader, won an immortal
place among military leaders for the defense of that city in 1916, and a
glance at the battlefield would convince one absolutely that he meant
those words "_On ne passe pas_." The cathedral in Verdun was badly
damaged; fourteen holes in one side of the building were counted and the
roof had three big gaps in it, and while the cathedral can be repaired,
yet its shell marks will be there forever. Another interesting thing
connected with Verdun is its underground city, capable of accommodating
forty-two thousand, and absolutely shell proof. The Germans shelled
Verdun regularly, dropping shells on certain crossroads and buildings at
exact intervals. One couldn't tarry in one place in that city, even if
he cared to, because an M. P. would firmly suggest "move along."

We were on the Verdun front when Austria capitulated, and were almost
fighting for newspapers in order to get the details. The question in
everyone's mind during our last days at Verdun was "How long will
Germany hold out?" We left Deramee on November 6th, having been relieved
by the "Wildcats," a division of soldiers not soon to be forgotten, and
we little knew that we had been on our last front.




MOVE TOWARD METZ, AND THE ARMISTICE


After a siege of about three weeks, our company was relieved from duty
in the sector north of Verdun, and we were all preparing for a good long
rest, and best of all, a thorough delousing at the hands of the official
"Cootie-cooking-brigade." As later developments will show, we realized
none of our anticipations, at least not at Erize-la-Grande.

The sector which we had just left was famous for at least three of the
war's most deadly weapons, viz.--Cooties (most of them wearing service
stripes), prize rats and German gas. The combined efforts of the three
made life hardly worth living at times, and a sigh of relief was
breathed when at last the task was at an end.

The village of Erize-la-Grande compared favorably with all other
villages in which we had been billeted, especially as regards street
scenes and sleeping quarters. These had evidently been constructed
during the dark ages, but whether those who inhabited them were afraid
of light or fond of darkness remains a secret.

On the night of November 7th, the wild cry arose that the war was over!
We were used to all manner of reports, though none quite as stunning as
this, and in a few minutes excitement was at its height. An optimistic
M. P. was heard shouting, "It's over, so help me, God!" and a little
later the same spirit was evidenced by the doughboys along the roads,
who were joyfully proclaiming the end by shooting up flares and yelling,
"_Fini la guerre_." By this time it was a settled fact that the war
really was over, that nothing remained to be done but the shouting, and
that this was the proper time to shout. What happened during the next
few hours, gentle reader, will be left to your imagination. It was a
grand and glorious feeling, and not long afterwards we found out that
just about the entire A. E. F. and practically all the folks at home
were also celebrating.

[Illustration: AMBULANCE COMPANY 139, CAMP HOEL, KANSAS CITY, KANSAS.]

[Illustration: WOUNDED FROM THE ARGOXNE AT CHEPPY.]

[Illustration: DRESSING STATION AT CHEPP.]

The next morning we awoke to the real situation, and found that the
cause of the whole thing originated from a certain German White Flag
party which was on its way to meet Marshal Foch. The German high command
had ordered the cessation of hostilities along a certain part of the
line in order that these peace plenipotentiaries might reach the great
French Marshal and learn from him, personally, how peace terms could be
had. Things began to move pretty fast now, and there was a great deal of
speculation as to what the Boche would do. The next day the official
communique reported that Foch had very generously allowed them
seventy-two hours in which to accept or reject the iron-clad terms of an
armistice. Meanwhile, the entire western front was the scene of one of
the greatest Allied offensives of the war.

In the midst of all these things, orders were suddenly issued to move at
once toward the front, and Sunday morning, November 10th, found us
packed up and moving. All along, the roads were lined with American
troops. Mile after mile of supply wagons, artillery, machine gun
battalions and infantry were slowly but surely wending their way to
Berlin. This looked very different from peace. We learned afterwards
that the 35th Division was to make a direct frontal assault upon Metz,
while other troops were to engage in a flanking movement. As Metz was
the most strongly fortified position the Germans held, it can readily be
seen that the 35th would have had a pretty stiff job. It seemed certain
that in a day or two we would enter the offensive against this powerful
fort, and we were well aware of what this movement would call for.

At about 2:30 Sunday afternoon we halted at a small village named
Cousances, expecting to move on at any time. Here it was reported that
the Kaiser had abdicated, and that all Germany was in a state of
revolution, but we had heard this same thing at least a dozen times
before, and so thought nothing of it. The entire front from the Channel
to the Vosges was ablaze, with the Yanks near Sedan, the capture of
which village by the Germans in 1871 marked the triumph of Bismarck.
History was about to repeat itself. The British in Flanders were rapidly
driving the Hun from Belgium, while in the Champagne the French were
making such advances as they had never made before. Apparently Foch had
chosen Berlin for the Allied objective.

While these events were in progress, a German courier, laboring under
great difficulty, was carrying messages from the Allied Headquarters to
the German General Headquarters, at Spa, in Belgium. Only a few hours
remained for the Hun to arrange his answer. German propaganda was at an
end, and that of the Allies consisted of cold steel from the heavies.
One by one Germany's allies had deserted her, until now she stood alone
facing the ever increasing strength of the strongest and noblest armies
of the world. Her armies were almost demoralized. At home her people
were terrorized at the thought of having their Fatherland invaded, and
were demanding that the war be ended. For over four years they had
waited behind a curtain of lies and outrages, only to see it lifted and
defeat staring at them. Such were a few of the conditions which
confronted the German High Command at Spa, while Foch, with his gallant
armies smashing on, calmly waited for one of two short words--Yes or No.

At Cousances, stowed away in an old dismantled factory, we were waiting
for this important answer. As was mentioned before, we had expected to
continue our march, but orders had evidently been changed to wait for
the German answer. On Monday morning, November 11th, the famous "drum
fire" was plainly audible, and again things didn't sound at all
peaceful. Having had a little previous experience around Cheppy and
Charpentry, we realized what the acceptance or rejection of the terms
would mean. There was no noticeable let-up in the firing. The suspense
was becoming acute. Either they would sign it or reject it. In case the
former should happen, it would only be a matter of waiting our turn at
the gang-plank; should the latter occur, the Lord only knew what would
happen. Visions of a gang-plank and tug-boats changed into visions of
litters loaded with wounded, and the loud cheers of Yanks bidding
farewell to Gallant France changed into the shriek of gas and high
explosive shells.

But the old saying, that it is always the darkest just before dawn,
held. Almost before any of us realized it the guns were quiet. We
listened again, but not a sound could be heard. We realized that they
were advancing rapidly, but that it was hardly possible for them to be
out of sound this soon. At this time the British troops were at Mons,
the French armies were across the Belgian line from the Meuse to the
Oise, and American armies were advancing from Sedan to the eastern forts
of Metz. France was almost clear of the invader. The liberation of
Belgium had begun. The whole German army was in disorderly retreat, and
there needed only a little more time to transform that retreat into the
greatest rout of all military history.

We were convinced of the signing of the armistice only when we read the
following memorable telegram, which, although heard the world over,
probably meant more to each one of the Allied soldiers than to the whole
world:

"The Armistice is signed and becomes effective November 11th at 11
o'clock. At this hour, or before, hostilities and the advance must
cease. Hold the lines reached and notify exactly the line reached at
that hour. No communication with the enemy will take place."




THE FIRST REPLACEMENTS


The first replacements were a part of the first replacement company
consisting of 500 officers and 2500 men, to sail overseas. While at
Ranspach, thirty-six men were received to bring the strength up to 122
men. They all came originally from Camp Greenleaf, Ft. Oglethorpe,
Georgia, located in Chickamagua Park, near Lookout Mountain and
Missionary Ridge. It was here that the future members of Ambulance Co.
139 received their first military training, among which, too important
to forget, were the duties of kitchen police, guard duty and company
fatigue, the three delights of a soldier. The winter of '17 and '18 will
be remembered for a long time by many of the men, especially because of
the sticky mud and bitter cold nights, although the days were usually
sunshiny and warm.

Along towards the last of May a few men were picked from each of the
Ambulance and Field Hospital companies and sent to Camp Forest, also in
Chickamagua Park, and formerly the home of the old Sixth Infantry. There
they were placed in a recruit company and after a week of daily
inspections both physical and of equipment, finally received orders to
roll packs and leave. Every man, fully equipped, left camp and marched
to the town of Lyttle, to entrain Decoration Day, May 30th, 1918. It was
an impressive scene to see all those well trained, healthy young fellows
drawn up in company front awaiting the order to climb aboard the five
comfortable Pullman trains and start for France. The regimental band was
also there, playing popular pieces as if to cheer the men up, but
judging by the looks of their clean, smiling faces, it was plain to see
that they were going forth, eagerly to do their bit.

Leaving Lyttle on May 30th, three of the five sections started northeast
for New York and the other two sections started south, going to Atlanta
and from there to the coast, thence north on the Seaboard line to New
York. Every little town and city through which they passed greeted them
with a good luck wish and a God speed, and many a dainty from a
cigarette to candy found its way through the car windows.

On Sunday morning, June 3rd, they left the train at the ferry dock in
Hoboken, N. J., and soon were loaded on two large ferry boats which were
drawn up to the docks to transfer the men down the river to Long Island
City. The trip down the river that fine morning was enjoyed by everyone,
as the fresh air gave them new life after being cooped up in the train
for so long. Every passing tug and ferry boat gave the men a shrieking
whistle in salute accompanied by the flutter of handkerchiefs. They
landed in Long Island a little later and after a ride of three hours,
left the train at the outskirts of Camp Mills on June 3rd. Arriving at
the camp, they were placed eight men to a tent with an iron bed apiece
but with no mattresses or bed sacks. Just the hard iron springs to sleep
upon. Here the men were re-classified, received the last of their
overseas equipment, and on June 6th had their final overseas examination
which left them ready to sail.

At midnight they rolled their packs, filled their barrack bags and
marched slowly and silently from camp. At a small station near the camp
the bags were loaded on box cars to be seen no more until the arrival in
France. After another short trip by rail and ferry, the men were landed
at the Cunard line dock, No. 52, and through the driving rain caught a
glimpse of the gigantic ship moored there. They quietly unloaded from
the ferry and in a few minutes were inside of the huge sheltered freight
dock. Here groups of Red Cross girls with steaming coffee and sandwiches
were awaiting them. After a delay of about two hours they filed up the
gang-plank and boarded the Aquitania, the largest ship afloat. It
carried about eleven thousand officers and men, together with several
tons of mail. Its armament consisted of British manned naval guns. Once
on board the ship, after giving their names and number, they were
assigned a comfortable bunk and given a mess ticket telling them when
and where to eat. The ship remained at the dock all through the day and
night but finally, about eight o'clock on the morning of June 8th, she
swung slowly from her moorings, headed down the harbor, and about noon
the men saw the Statue of Liberty fade away into the skyline.

The trip across the Atlantic was rather uneventful. The ship traveled
slowly in the day time, taking a zig-zag course, turning and twisting,
and leaving behind a wake like the trail of an angry serpent. As soon as
night fell, however, the ship would vibrate with the pulsing throb of
her mighty engines and would plunge through the water at full speed,
every light extinguished, for even the glow of a cigarette might make it
the target for some lurking submarine. The men were given life boat
drill every day and also a thorough physical inspection, so there was no
danger of any disease breaking out and spreading among them undetected.
The day before sighting land, two long, gray British Destroyers came
plunging through the heavy seas to meet the ship and escort it into the
harbor. On the 15th of June, about 7 o'clock in the morning the ship
dropped anchor in the harbor of Liverpool, its voyage at an end.

Almost immediately the work of unloading was commenced and by three
o'clock in the afternoon the men were all lined up on English soil ready
for further orders. Shortly afterwards they walked through the streets
of Liverpool to the railway station, led by a band composed of English
Boy Scouts, playing national airs by which the men marched along,
keeping step to the music and being enthusiastically cheered by the
crowds that lined the streets.

Arriving at the station, they entered day coaches and were rapidly
hauled across England to Southampton, reaching there about one o'clock
the next morning, June 16th. From the station they hiked out to a rest
camp on the outskirts of the city and were assigned long, bare wooden
barracks and inside of a few minutes the tired men were wrapped up in
their blankets and snoring in peace on the hard floor.

On the morning of the 17th they again rolled their packs and marched
down to the docks where they were loaded into a small side wheeled boat
and by dark were being rapidly carried across the English Channel,
taking the same zig-zag course as they did coming to England, to avoid
the enemy submarines. On the morning of the 18th the ship docked at Le
Havre, France, and the men were soon unloaded and ready for another
hike, this time to a second rest camp situated on the top of a large
hill on the outskirts of the city. After staying three days in this
so-called rest camp, where twelve men slept in tents that were made to
accommodate only six, they marched back down to the railway station and
were loaded onto "side door pullmans" and third class coaches.
Twenty-four hours later they arrived at Blois and were at once taken to
the large replacement camp there.

Here they were again inspected and re-classified and placed in different
casual companies. All their extra equipment and barrack bags were taken
away from them and they were left with only their field equipment, all
ready for active service. Three days later the following thirty-six men,
representing the first replacements of the company, reported to Train
Hqs. for duty:

    Frank M. Allen
    Wm. J. Armbrustmacher
    Allen L. Barris
    Frank E. Bellows
    Chas. F. Blaker
    Joseph J. Blandford
    John R. Fulmer
    Michael Harriston
    Ernest P. Heidel
    John E. Lancaster
    Walter Lebeck
    Stephen McCormick
    Lester A. Brogan
    Francis P. Cannon
    James W. Coleman
    John P. Feeney
    Abraham H. Feinberg
    John J. Fisher
    Garland Freeman
    George G. Crowley
    Angelo Castaldi
    Clarke Ellis
    James R. McDonald
    John Troode
    Verne F. Crawford
    Harry T. Douglas
    Jesse M. Casteel
    Vaughn James
    James E. Johnston
    August Lottner
    Dewey T. Barbour
    Fay A. Downing
    Arthur E. Jones
    Parker E. Saul

The second and last replacements to this company arrived in three
sections. The first section sailed from New York on the transport
Mongunias, Sept. 17th, 1918, landing in St. Nazaire, France, Sept. 30th.
The second section left New York on the Princess Mantoka, Sept. 23rd,
arriving at St. Nazaire on Oct. 6th, having been forced far off their
course by the equatorial storms. The third and last section started
across on the ship Walmer Castle, October 20th, and were unloaded at La
Havre, France, Oct. 31st.

Upon arriving in France all were sent to the Medical Training School
near St. Agnon, one of the largest replacement camps in France. After
spending about three weeks there in drilling and receiving final
instruction for active duty all were sent out to ambulance companies,
Field Hospitals and Medical Detachments of different line organizations.

The following men received orders to report to Ambulance Co. 139, for
duty, on October 27th and November 20th:

    Albert J. Daley
    Andrew J. Dolak
    Dennis Duffy
    Lester E. Eakin
    John E. Evans
    Howard C. Evert
    Harry W. Fowler
    Cornelius A. Gallagher
    Augusts Giorgi
    Walter F. Hess
    Benjamin W. Kline
    Edward Kletecka
    Thomas G. Kuntz
    Charlie Lulow
    Elmer F. Lutt
    Jess W. McKain
    Clarence T. S. Murphy
    Grigory Mukansky




FURLOUGHS

Grenoble


The first men to receive furloughs in this company received word on the
24th of October to be ready to take the train at Ancemont at 5 A. M. the
next morning. Only four places were given each company, and lots were
drawn to see who would go. Three places were drawn by "buck" Privates
Piatt, Smith and Wise, and Wag. Lawrence Putman was the fourth man. The
balance of the day was spent in hurried preparations for the trip.
Nobody had made one of these trips before, and no one knew what was
required. Full field equipment was the verdict from Headquarters as to
packs.

As no alarm clocks were handy, the men took turns sitting up so that
they would leave on time in the morning. Like the small boy, they were
all up and at the station long before time for the train. First guess
was 10 A. M. for the "furlough special," but it was 7:30 P. M. before
it finally arrived. About a thousand men from the division were to make
the trip, so that it required a good-sized train. The Sanitary Train men
were lucky in loading, as they drew a second-class coach, but French
coaches, even second class, were never intended for sleeping purposes.
All of the men were loaded with rations, issued for the trip, and of
course the jam disappeared first, as it usually does under like
circumstances.

Next morning a strangely peaceful country and welcome sunshine greeted
their vision. Hot coffee was served by a Red Cross canteen for
breakfast. Lyon was reached by noon and a short stop was made there.

The train arrived at Grenoble at 3:30 P. M. on a beautiful Sunday
afternoon. One captain, four or five M. P.'s and the entire population
of Grenoble was at the station to welcome the train. The reception royal
was explained by the captain, who said "Grenoble has just been opened as
a leave area, and this is the first lot of Americans to arrive." When
the men were lined up outside of the station to be marched to the A. P.
M. office, they started out in a column of fours, but it wasn't long
until they were lucky to get through the crowd at all. All the people
wanted to see the Americans and shake hands with them, and not a few
wanted to kiss them. It was surprising to hear so many of the people
speak good English. They explained this, saying that Grenoble was a
popular European and American pleasure resort before the war. Arriving
at the office of the A. P. M., passes were stamped and tickets issued
for rooms and meals. The men were divided among several nearby towns and
pleasure resorts. The last four hundred, including those of the Sanitary
Train, were left in Grenoble proper.

Grenoble is built especially for tourists' trade, and the hotels are all
large and well furnished. They seemed like palaces to the men just from
the barren wastes of northern France. Real beds with white sheets and
soft mattresses, lace curtains at the windows, polished floors, neat
little wash stands, clothing cabinets and fire places greeted the men in
the rooms they were shown to. Single or double rooms were furnished as
desired. Meals were served in the dining room of the hotel, and the men
were informed that all they had to do for seven days and nights was to
enjoy themselves--no reveille, retreat or drill calls to mar their
pleasure. Breakfast from 7:30 to 9:00 A. M., dinner at 1:00 P. M. and
supper at 6:30 P. M. were served at long tables, family style, and they
were real meals. Best of all there were no mess kits to bother with
after eating.

Needless to say, it did not take the men long to get used to living like
white men again, and before long they were all stepping out to see the
town. The barber shops, restaurants and souvenir stores were soon doing
a rushing business. Most surprising was the fact that prices didn't
take a jump the first day and keep rising thereafter. The trades people
even made reductions for the Americans. Modern stores with plate glass
windows and electric lights at night greeted the men, and it is
gratifying to state that the word "finish" was never heard in Grenoble.

The Y. M. C. A. had a well supplied canteen, and every day several of
the "Y" girls led a party of sightseers to nearby places of interest.
Every night some kind of an entertainment, either dances, picture shows
or vaudeville, was staged by the Y. M. C. A. The French shows were all
closed on account of the influenza, so the men had to furnish their own
entertainment.

Grenoble is situated close to both the Swiss and Italian borders, and is
snuggled right up in the Alps. The mountains are snow-capped the year
round, and form a pretty background for the town. Some of the mountains
were close enough for a climb, and several parties took trips to them.
The town is cut in two by the river Isce and three large concrete
bridges span the water, making a pretty setting. The buildings are all
large, of modern and substantial construction, and from the top of the
nearby mountain the town makes a beautiful picture. Of the eight days
spent in Grenoble, seven were sunshiny and clear, so the men were
convinced that there actually was such a thing as a "Sunny France."

The mademoiselles all seemed to think it an honor to show the Americans
a good time, and the men were never lonesome for feminine company. They
seemed more like American girls, as they spoke a little English, wore
good clothes, and were very good looking. As the time for departure drew
nearer, it was hard for them to think of leaving, but like everything
else that sad day rolled around. Many were the promises made to keep up
a correspondence, but how many of these promises were kept, only the
writer and the censor know. Almost as large a crowd bid them good-bye as
welcomed them.

That the men of the 35th division made a good impression on the people
of Grenoble is evidenced in a letter from the mayor of Grenoble,
thanking our General for the good conduct of the men and asking that
more men of the 35th division be sent there.

Whatever the impression made by the boys upon the people of Grenoble, it
is certain that the people of Grenoble made a good impression on the
boys.




LA BOURBOULE


The "Permissions" read La Bourboule, and no sooner were these handed to
their proper owners than sixty well-groomed "Medics," representing the
Sanitary Train were on their way to the destination specified. After
being jammed into those queer French coaches (third class) with no
thought given to comfort, the train finally picked up speed and passed
out upon the main line. The clicking of the rail-joints seemed to call
cadence for the songs from 1200 throats, all from the 35th division,
whose owners were happy to get away from bugle calls, military
discipline and slushy streets.

After a few hours' ride--just a sample of what they were to get--the
train was sidetracked at Nancy and all enjoyed the best bath they had
ever taken, in what is said to be the largest bath-house in the world.
Here the water comes out of the ground at a temperature of 78 degrees F.
and passes direct into the pool. After this "decootieization" they
boarded the train again and were able to sit and enjoy the scenery for
the rest of the trip.

The first day and night passed quickly, but then time began to drag, and
along toward evening of the second day some great geniuses were born to
the world. These were the men who devised the method by which nine men
could sleep in a space that only seemed large enough for half that
number. Could one have peeped into the passing coaches it would have
struck him as exceedingly humorous--some were stowed away in the
hat-racks over head, while others, with no room to lie down, were trying
to sleep in a sitting posture. So time passed for three days and two
nights.

To step from the train and see no town of any size was the thing that
befell these men, and exclamations of dissatisfaction and disgust were
heard everywhere. Being encouraged by a Y. M. C. A. man standing nearby
that twenty-four hours in the town would change their opinion, they were
content to be assigned to their various hotels.

The village, or town, of La Bourboule is located in the Auvergne
mountains, in the range Puy-de-Dome, and had been a very popular summer
resort for the French people up to the time the U. S. government took it
over as one of the leave areas for American troops. The altitude of this
locality varies, for the valleys are about 2800 feet, while some peaks
are 4500 feet above the sea level. But as a leave sector it was a
disappointment to everyone. There were no recreations at all except
those furnished by the Y. M. C. A. and that place was carried by storm
from morning to night. A Y. M. C. A. man spoke of the trouble and placed
the blame to the fact that the town had accommodations for 1200 men, but
there were twice that number there of the 35th and the 26th divisions.
One can easily judge why these fellows thought they were "in the wrong
pew." To see an evening's performance of vaudeville or motion pictures
at the theatre, it was necessary to take a magazine and lunch, make
yourself at home for at least two hours and stick it out in said
selected seat.

All had the idea that their days of standing in line for everything were
"_fini_," for seven days' leave, but it was not to be; they lined up to
purchase canteen checks and "fell in" behind, sometimes, one hundred
others to buy at the wet or dry canteen. At the former could be
purchased soft drinks, sandwiches and cakes, while at the latter was an
abundant supply of tobaccos and soldiers' needs.

One Y. M. C. A. man made a practice of taking all interested soldiers to
see the many sights that the town boasted of, that is, to those that
were within hiking distance. The most important were the Roman Baths,
which are located at a distance of about six kilometres from La
Bourboule. These baths were first built by the soldiers of Caesar about
the year 400 A. D. Afterwards the springs were found to be beneficial to
people suffering from rheumatics and bronchial troubles. There are
eleven springs, all of a temperature averaging from 98 to 100 degrees
except one cold spring, and all tasting of mineral properties very
strongly. All of these springs are said to be radio-active, and each is
famous as a "cure" for some particular ailment. The most popular is the
"Singer's Spring," so-called because most of the leading vocalists in
the country took treatment there by gargling the water from this spring.
The original building was sacked and pillaged by the Gauls and
afterwards rebuilt as nearly along former lines as knowledge would
permit. Throughout the building are scattered pieces of the former
structure; statues, arches and pillars of the old Doric, Ionic and
Corinthian designs, which were unearthed and placed on display in the
many rooms. Among these is a piece of masonry representing the she-wolf
that suckled Romulus and Remus, as the legend goes, when they were lost
in the woods prior to the founding of Rome. It is not known, however,
whether this is the original that the Romans prized so highly, or a
reproduction.

Another thing worth visiting at La Bourboule is the subterranean city,
which was supposed to have been submerged by an earthquake in early
times. A few of the buildings were unearthed a few years ago, but the
task was never completed. All around that vicinity the ground has a
hollow sound under foot, and makes walking seem a little dangerous.

On a large plateau, 4500 feet above the town proper, is said to have
been the camping ground for Caesar's large army at the time he attempted
to stop the advance of the Gauls from the north. The French say he was
unsuccessful, and was forced to retire to the valley below. Mont
D'Sancy, one of the highest peaks in France, is near this area, but few
have ever cared to climb to its summit.

After enduring French menu, which could have been much improved, for
nine days, the men were not sorry to receive orders to return to their
units. Prices ranged but one way--high and higher. One soldier remarked
that every time a certain bell rang, prices in the town jumped a franc.
The bell struck every quarter-hour. But conditions returning by rail
were even worse than the trip down, for this time, instead of nine to a
compartment, there were twelve crabby, disagreeable "soldats" returning
from their bi-yearly "Permission" in the heart of France.




THE FURLOUGHS AT AIX-LES-BAINES


Three groups of men of Ambulance Co. 139 were fortunate in having their
permissions read "Aix-les-Bains," furloughs which will never be
forgotten by the men who went there.

Aix-les-Bains is a famous watering place in a picturesque valley along
the French Alps, not far from the Italian border. It is situated at the
foot of Mt. Revard, and within fifteen minutes' walk of Lake Bourget,
the largest and one of the most beautiful lakes in France. Next to Monte
Carlo, it was once the most renowned gambling center in the world.

Everything possible was done to make our vacation a happy one. The men
were quartered in the very best hotels, getting the best of service and
everything to be desired in the line of eats. There was mountain
climbing, entertainments of all kinds provided by the Y. M. C. A., and,
best of all, companionship with real, live American "Y" girls.

"Grand Cercle," the celebrated gambling casino of Aix-le-Bains, is now
the most beautiful Y. M. C. A. hut in France. It is a large, imposing
and luxuriously appointed building, costing several million francs. Its
various saloons are ornamented with magnificent mosaics by Salviati, of
Venice. Just beyond the vestibule is the "Gallery de Glaces," from which
most of the rooms of the casino can be entered. To the right is the
beautiful writing and reading room, the library, and the theatre, which
seats over a thousand persons. There is also the "Salle de Bacchus" and
the "Royal Bar." The bar is still doing a thriving business, but in
place of the former bar maid are the attractive American girls, serving
hot chocolate and coffee. At the "Salle de Bacchus" one could buy all he
wanted to eat at extremely low prices. To the left again are the rooms
formerly used for gambling purposes. The largest is used for lectures
and informal social times, and the smaller, where the larger stakes were
played for, is the center for the religious work program.

The men were privileged to take trips to the summit of Mt. Revard, five
thousand feet above the sea level, by means of a little cog railroad.
From there they could see the Jura Mountains, the Alps, and the
snow-covered top of Mt. Blanc, the highest peak in Europe. When the
last furlough men were at Aix-les-Bains, early in February, "skiing" was
in vogue on Mt. Revard, and many were the tumbles taken in the attempt
to learn that fine winter sport.

Another interesting trip was the hike to Mt. Chambotte, twelve kilos
away, where the men could also enjoy skiing and tobogganing. Then there
was the bike trip to the "Gorges" where they saw deep gashes worn in the
face of the earth by the unceasing mountain streams. Twice a week there
were trips by steamboat to Hautecomb Abbey, on which they could get a
wonderful view of the lake and the mountains. There, in the historical
old Abbey, are quite a number of beautiful oil paintings and statues,
taken care of by three old Monks. On all of these trips the Y. M. C. A.
furnished a competent guide, who explained the interesting points.

At the "Y" casino, there was some form of entertainment at almost every
hour of the day. If there wasn't a vaudeville performance in the
theatre, there was either a moving picture show in the Cinema Hall or a
band concert in the ball-room, and sometimes all three were in process
at the same time. Each Thursday night was "stunt night," when different
stunts and dances were put on in the theatre by the soldiers on leave,
assisted by the "Y" girls.

Such entertainment as this gave the men a new lease on life. All of the
men going to Aix-le-Bains returned saying that they had one of the best
times of their lives, and regretted that they could not have stayed
longer, as it was more like home than any place they had been in France.




TRIP TO MARSEILLES


While at Fontaine Brilliante, on the Verdun front, orders were received
for a detail to proceed to Marseilles for the purpose of getting the
ambulances we had been longing for since our arrival in France. Aside
from eight G. M. C. cars of Ambulance Co. 138, and four broken down
Fords, the 110th Sanitary Train had had no ambulances since leaving
Doniphan. We had long since given up the idea of ever having a
transportation section again, in fact someone had even gone the length
of voicing the following lament:

    "They sent us down to Doniphan to get an ambulance
    To go abroad and let 'er go and drive for sunny France,
    And then it took us seven months to get a pair of pants.
    Oh, there's something rotten somewhere in this blooming ambulance.
    Of course to drive an ambulance you've got to learn to drill,
    So every morning, afternoon, they put us through the mill.
    And when this war is over you will find us at it still;
    For we never saw an ambulance, and never, never will."

The wagoners and ambulance orderlies were hastily recalled from their
work as litter bearers in the advanced posts, and on October 26th, Lt.
Speck started for Marseilles for twenty-nine G. M. C. ambulances, with a
detail of thirty-two men from Ambulance Co. 139, sixteen from Ambulance
Co. 138, and twelve from Ambulance Co. 137. There was a mad scramble to
get on this detail, which meant a trip across France, away from the
monotony of the trenches.

We arrived at the railroad about an hour early, but in the course of
time the train arrived and then started the scramble for the best
compartments that the train afforded. Most of us found second-class
compartments, which, after more cushions had been obtained, were very
comfortable, although a little breezy. Of course no lights could be
shown, but they were much better than the customary box cars.
Seven-thirty A. M., October 27th, found us at St. Dizier. We were
escorted to Camp Tambourine by an M. P., where we spent the morning
partaking of our rations. At about noon the M. P. returned, notifying us
that the train was ready, so we were checked out of the camp, marched to
the train and packed into box cars (40 hommes or 8 chevaux). They were
better than some we had drawn formerly, as there was straw on the floor.

The train traveled along a beautiful tree-lined canal for a long
distance. Barges on the canal were for the most part drawn by horses,
but occasionally we would see very small burros pulling them. Each barge
appeared to be a home, for family washings were hanging out on a great
many of them.

We arrived at Dijon about 1 A. M. October 28th, and marched across the
city wheeling rations on two-wheeled baggage trucks which were
"borrowed" at the railroad station. We stayed the balance of the night
at a French Permissionares Barrack, and spent the following day looking
around the numerous parks and squares. While in the Permissionares
barracks, one of our boys inquired of another, "Who are those 'birds' in
French uniforms wearing those four-cornered caps?" Before the question
could be answered, the French-uniformed person replied, in English, "We
are of the Polish Legion. My home is in Chicago."

That evening we entrained again, and after an uneventful ride, arrived
at Lyons at 7 A. M. the next morning. After a wait at the station of
about two hours, we marched to some barracks which were surrounded by a
high board fence. The city being quarantined on account of the
influenza, we were not allowed outside of the enclosure except to go to
the wash-house, about a hundred yards distant. Between the gate of the
enclosure and the wash-house was a "boozerie," consequently there were a
great many men who wanted to wash.

Just before leaving Lyons that evening, a doughboy "promoted" a large
crate of grapes from a shipment on the station platform. At daylight the
following morning we were traveling through a rather sandy country, with
vineyards on both sides of the track. Then for a long distance there
were Larch trees planted along the track, so close together that it was
impossible to see beyond them. Later in the day we traveled along the
shore of Etyde Berre Sea, with its many rice plantations, and multitude
of wild ducks, then through a tunnel about two kilos long, through large
groves of fig trees, finally arriving at Marseilles about noon.

Our packs were hauled in trucks to the Motor Reception Park while the
men marched, giving us an opportunity to see the many fruit peddlers,
the numerous fountains and squares, and the dirty, narrow streets of the
city. Upon our arrival at the Motor Reception Park we were assigned to
billets in French buildings. We spent the afternoon cleaning up, eating
fruit purchased from peddlers, and selling all kinds of little trinkets
to the S. O. S. men as German souvenirs, and explaining to them who "won
the war." In the evening we were given passes into Marseilles, good
until midnight. Some went to the theatre staging a burlesque show, which
was very similar to an American show. Others went around the town, to
the water front, and sampled all of the fruits available, none of which
are as good as the fruits which can be procured in American cities.
However, we found Marseilles a cosmopolitan city, both in regard to
civilians and soldiers. The main streets were very much like the streets
of an American city.

Early in the afternoon of October 31st we were marched to the
ambulances, and busied ourselves looking over the machines preparing for
the start. During the evening we looked around the immediate vicinity of
the Motor Park and sampled the vintage of southern France.

At 8:00 A. M., on November 1st, the convoy of 29 ambulances left the
park in a gentle shower, but before traveling very far it became a
regular cloudburst, with a strong wind. The first day's drive was over
very good roads, in a narrow valley, with high, rocky hills and peaks in
the distance and an occasional village at the foot of the hills. We
stopped the first night just outside of St. Aminol, a very small
village, and being the first American soldiers who had stopped near
there, we were enthusiastically received by the mademoiselles, and
invited to visit the town.

During the next day we passed through Avignon, where we were given
flowers by French children. We crossed several suspension bridges over
streams flowing into the Rhone River, and drove for miles through
vineyards, with their beautiful red and yellow leaves. We saw many wine
presses, most of which were operated by women, in fact a greater part of
the manual labor was done by the women. We stopped for the night near
Valence, a city of many narrow crooked streets, beautiful squares and
fountains. We saw there many patterns of Val lace.

Leaving Valence at 7 A. M. November 3rd, we passed through St. Symphone
on a market day. The farm products and animals were lined up along the
street; vegetables piled on the sidewalk, while the pigs, geese and
calves were in excelsior-lined crates and baskets. We arrived at Lyons
in the afternoon and drove down one of the main streets--and it was
agreed by all that they had never seen so many beautiful ladies in a
similar length of time, not even in America. We stopped for the night at
a French Barracks, another prison, the city still being under
quarantine. Lyons is built at the junction of the Rhone and Prome
rivers, the different parts of the city being connected by many bridges,
one the Pont du President Wilson, which was dedicated July 14th, 1918.

It was raining when we left Lyons the next morning, and the roads were
very rough. As it was necessary to have the curtains of the ambulances
up all day, we could see very little of the country until we got to
Dijon, where we stopped for the night. From Dijon, we traveled over
fairly good roads through a rolling country similar to Kansas, stopping
on the night of November 5th at Chaumont, at which place is located
Headquarters, A. E. F.

We left Chaumont at 7:30 A. M. on November 6th, passing through Langres
with its fort. By afternoon we had arrived back to the part of the
country which was strewn with barbed wire entanglements, trenches and
other preparations for combat, and late in the evening arrived at
Fontaine Brilliante.

Had we never seen any of France but the northern devastated part, we
would have always wondered why the French fought so hard, but now we can
easily see the reason.




A CASUAL IN THE S. O. S.


Upon the conclusion of the 139th Amb. Co.'s part in the Argonne drive,
the company was assembled at Neuvilly. Here, orders were given for all
men who needed medical attention to report for examination, and the
Casual, after living on corn beef and hard tack once a day, no sleep to
speak of, and some experience with gas, concluded that he needed an
overhauling. Accordingly he went before the M. D., was sentenced to the
field hospital, and there being no field hospital in action, was sent to
Evacuation No. 9 at Vaubecourt.

The journey was made by ambulance and, upon his arrival he was taken to
the receiving ward. Here he was given a hot cup of cocoa by the Red
Cross girls, and a new diagnosis tag in exchange for the one he was
wearing. His helmet and gas mask were discarded since they could not be
of much benefit, and he was assigned a bed in Ward No. 40.

Here he lay for two days, waiting for his turn to go to the Base. The
bed felt good to his weary bones after months of no bed at all to speak
of. He let his mind wander to various subjects that he had been wanting
to think of for two weeks, but could not for fear of that soul
disturbing cry "gas!" He wondered why that shell that had distributed a
mule all over the landscape, had not distributed him instead, in the
same manner, and thanked the Lord that he was evidently considered of
more value than the mule. The third day found him on a French hospital
train, where he lived on French rations (including Vin Blanc) for two
days and one night. The evening of the second day found him at Neuves.
The trip was featured by the unsuccessful effort of the M. P's. to
protect the fine French vineyards from being ravaged by such of the
invalids as were not too sick to walk around. After all, it was a long
time since they had eaten grapes, for one does not pick grapes on the
front line and one used to living in that atmosphere is troubled by more
serious thoughts than property rights. When he got to Neuves he was to
be put through another receiving ward where the serious cases were
marked with a red tag, which means immediate attention. Not being so
badly off, the Casual was relieved of what clothes he still possessed
and everything else except personal articles. Next, came a bath and a
suit of pajamas and then, bed.

When he had gotten off the train those gallant heroes, the pirates of
the S. O. S. had immediately fallen on him tooth and nail, hammer and
tongs for anything in the line of souvenirs that he was likely to have
on his person. Having risked a great deal of his future in obtaining
these little remembrances of the Hun, he was quite naturally not very
much excited over the idea of getting rid of them, and especially to
people only by risking their reputation in trying to part a war-worn
Sammie from his only reminders of the fight. So he stood his ground
until he fell into the hands of the lieutenants of the receiving ward
from whom there is no escape. Here he was separated from all his
treasures with no regard whatsoever, for even common decency. He only
hopes he will meet and recognize them on the other shore, especially if
he could come upon them relating the story of their capture.

After the Casual was safely in bed, the ward master made a record of the
principal parts of his past life, which is called a "Clinical Record."
Next, a physical examination by the M. D. in charge who prescribed the
treatment. The man in the next car was suffering from a fractured leg
and in much pain, but he remarked to the Casual that he was glad that he
seemed to be getting reasonable treatment, for some places he would
have been given two O. D. pills and told to report for duty.

[Illustration: LEFT TO RIGHT: LT. GEO. MONTEITH, CAPT. PAUL R. SIBERTS,
CAPT. RICHARD T. SPECK, CAPT. BRET V. BATES, LT. COLIN C. VARDON.]

[Illustration: WEST TOWARD BAULNEY.]

[Illustration: COMPANY INSPECTION, CAMP DONIPHAN, OKLA.]

The Casual was put in Class C and had an in and out life of it. The food
was good but very little of it, at least, to a man with an appetite.
Occasionally there was a battle royal when enough parties had saved up
sufficient prune seeds to make an effective barrage, but when there were
no prune seeds, the time passed very slowly. The Casual went from Class
C to Class B in two weeks, and three weeks more of it found him ready to
depart for a Replacement Camp. When this time came, he was issued a new
outfit and put in a bunch of 40 men who were under the tender care of a
sergeant. That worthy one drew the rations and marched the detail to the
train. Side door Pullmans, this time. Quite different from first class.
Here the motto "Cheveaux 8, Hommes 40" was faithfully lived up to, but
the Casual thought the 40 hommes was a great deal over estimated. The
seating proved uncomfortable, so with much labor, seats were built
around the sides and through the center from stones and lumber, policed
from an American yard. Immediately after the job was done, an officer
entered and informed the sergeant that all the material policed should
be considered under the order of "As You Were." But he did not wait to
see if his orders were carried out, and the works were camouflaged with
blankets. However, the suspense proved too great, and the stuff was
returned for fear of the consequences. It is worthy of note that the car
was never inspected.

The train started, snail fashion, after the manner of French trains and
at one of the stops, a vin barrel was tapped, to the benefit of all
concerned in the tapping. The destination proved to be Toul, where the
Casual was put in a company and given the rest of his equipment and was
on his way back to his company the next day.

An hour and a half later, he pulled in after an eight kilo hike, glad to
be home and ready to eat some of the good old steaks. No more casual
life for him.




PERSHING REVIEWS THE 35th DIVISION


No day could have been more typical of France than the day of the
Divisional Review, Monday, February 17th, 1919. There was a steady fall
of rain, and the low-scudding clouds threw a dampened aspect upon the
scene.

The Sanitary Train, led by Maj. Oliver C. Gebhart, left Aulnois at 10:00
A. M. The distance of ten kilometers to the reviewing field between the
villages of Vignot and Boncourt was made under every disadvantage of
muddy roads and the heavy pour of rain. The field itself, located on a
broad stretch of the Meuse basin, was mush-like with mire and patched
with pools of water.

General Pershing, with the Prince of Wales, rode onto the field at 1:30
o'clock, while the entire division stood at attention. The salute to the
Commander-in-Chief was played by a detachment of picked buglers, and as
the General and his party rode around the entire division from right to
left, the band, stationed on the right, rendered "God Save the King," in
honor of England's young prince.

The columns of the Division were drawn up into platoon fronts, the
Sanitary Train being stationed between the Artillery, on the left, and
the Machine Gun, Signal Corps and Infantry Regiments on the right. After
riding around the Division, General Pershing and his party personally
inspected each platoon, winding back and forth, asking questions of the
company commanders and speaking with the men.

Having completed the personal inspection, the General and his party took
position in the reviewing stand on the right. At the command "Pass in
Review" by the Division Commander, each battalion executed successively
"Squads Right," and swept down the field in a line of platoons. It was
indeed a most impressive sight, and, although the sky was cast heavy
with low-hanging clouds, the sun, as if to lend color to an already
beautiful picture, broke through and shone for a few moments. Then, as
each column swung out upon its own way home, the rain began again. As
the last regiment passed in review, the Division was halted while the
General and Prince spoke a few words of praise for the splendid showing
of the Division, and of its work in battle.

Although participation in this great event required that the men wear
full packs for almost nine hours without removing them, and undergo a
hike of twenty kilos in the rain, not a man regretted the experience. It
will be long remembered with pride by those who took part.




FROM COUSANCES TO AULNOIS


The signing of the Armistice on November 11th, left the company at
Cousances, occupying an old, dismantled factory. It was a most
unsatisfactory place and there were practically no accommodations of any
kind. Winter was upon us. The open barn lofts were too breezy for
comfort, and there existed a little feeling of uneasiness, as days
passed by and still we did not move.

After a couple of weeks, however, we packed up and moved to the small
village of Ernecourt, situated about 12 kilos southeast of Cousances.
Remaining here for only a few days, we again moved on to Aulnois, where
the remainder of the time in this area was spent.




THE HOME GOING


Aulnois may have been a disappointment or the men may have thought it
satisfactory. Anyway, when the Sanitary Train moved into its area it was
a typical example of many of the other villages that they had found
over-run with dirt and French children.

It was not long after their cow-shed and hay-loft billets were made as
comfortable as possible, until the full force was out with brooms,
shovels and trucks, and soon the village took on an altogether different
appearance. The natives no doubt imagined that these veterans were a
Brigade of White Wings, or perhaps some Convict Labor Battalion and
perhaps they failed to appreciate the work, even after their little
"burg" was transformed into a decent place in which to dwell. Well,
"san-ferrie-Anne," this was the Sanitary Train, the 110th, at that.

Three months were the people of the village honored with the presence of
this hearty crew, and ere the end of the first month, they had decided
that the Americans were not so barbarious after all, and began to feel
content as the nice shining francs jingled in their jeans. The farmers
foresaw the necessity of doubling the next year's crop of
Pomm-de-terres, and the breweries of Commercy and Bar-le-Duc wondered at
the enormous consumption of their bottled products.

Still, after all, the stay in this area was very different from what
those on furloughs found at Aix-les-Bains, who, upon returning, usually
suffered an attack of the blues. Each company had work to do. The Field
Hospitals occupied the buildings on the hill just above the town and
were working day and night. The ambulance companies were evacuating the
entire Division, and the efficiency with which both performed their
duties was known throughout the Divisional area.

There are a few things that will tend to remind the men of the company
of their stay here, in the days when all incidents of the A. E. F. will
be pleasant memories. Christmas, and the dawning of the New Year were
celebrated here. These events are made more memorable because of one
fact, if no other; the cooks went out of their way to prepare the dishes
that, standing out above all else in the Christmas spirit of the Yank,
are to him ever associated with home, a full stomach and celebrations.
Colonel Wooley left the train for another command, and Madam Bon left
her establishment among the boys and was married. However, she continued
to sell a few bottles of beer after closing hours.

It was while here in Aulnois that the Commanding General of the
A. E. F., accompanied by the Prince of Wales, reviewed the Division.
And last, but by no means least, the long expected news reached us that
the old 35th Division was ordered home. Accordingly, though sometime
later, preparations for the first move were began, and on the evening of
the 9th of March, the men bade farewell to the little village, and
climbed aboard boxcars for the long ride to the Le Mans Embarkation
Area.




FROM AULNOIS TO "CIVIES"


It was with a willing hand and a happy heart that we prepared to leave
Aulnois-Sous-Vertuzey, where we had spent a "weary waiting period" of
over three months, and when the evening of March 9th rolled around, we
were all packed up and "rearin' to go." All medical property, extra
clothing, etc., had been turned in, so that there was very little to
pack except the office records and our personal belongings. Of this we
were duly thankful.

We entrained at Lerouville at 2 o'clock on the morning of March 10th,
bound for St. Corneille, in the Le Mans area, riding as usual in box
cars. The trip was characteristic of French train service--SLOW--in fact
on the second day of the trip we only made about 12 miles the whole day.
We finally arrived at St. Corneille, a clean little French village, on
the 13th, and for the next three weeks "waited" some more. The only part
of the company who were busy was the office force, and they were
exceedingly so, for there were passenger lists to be made out, besides
innumerable other rosters and reports. Of course there were the usual
physical examinations, "cootie" inspections, and a "shot in the arm,"
and these things helped to occupy our time.

Our next lap toward home started on April 5th, and the next morning
found us at the immense camp of St. Nazaire, our Port of Embarkation.
What a thrill went through us as we looked out onto the ocean again,
especially when we knew that we were soon to cross the gang-plank, "the
bridge whose western end is America!" It must be said here that St.
Nazaire is a wonderfully efficient camp. For instance, each kitchen in
the camp can feed as many as ten thousand men in a little more than an
hour's time. At this camp we were examined and de-cootieized some more,
but our stay was short, and on April 12th we glued our eyes on the
bulletin board, which read "110th Sanitary Train embarks at 11:30 A. M.,
April 14th, U. S. S. Antigone." That was "the thrill that comes once
in a lifetime."

On the dock, before embarking, we were treated to hot chocolate, cookies
and tobacco by the "Y" girls. Then the time that we had been waiting for
for eleven months came, and we crossed the gang-plank "Homeward Bound."
On account of storms just off the coast, our start was delayed until 3
A. M. on April 16th, and when we awoke that morning we were almost out
of sight of land. Strange to say, there were no "heartaches" when "Sunny
France" faded away behind us, for ahead of us was "God's Country," the
land where mothers, fathers, wives and sweethearts were waiting for us.
That first day out was a memorable one for most of us. The sea was
rough, and that evening no one doubted but that every fish in the
vicinity of the ship went to sleep with his hunger entirely appeased.
Nothing more needs to be said. By the next morning the sea had calmed
down, and the remainder of the voyage was a delightful one, with clear
skies and bright sunshine. The "Y," Red Cross and Knights of Columbus
assisted a great deal in making the trip a pleasant one, by distributing
fruit, candy, magazines and books, and with a "movie" show every
evening. The men were allowed to take trips down into the engine room,
which was indeed an interesting and instructive sight.

Early on the morning of Sunday, April 27th, we steamed up Hampton Roads,
at Newport News, Virginia, and at about 10:30 once more planted our feet
on the soil of "Uncle Sam." The streets of Newport News were lined with
people as we marched from the dock to Camp Stuart, about five miles
away, and as one fellow remarked, "I saw more good looking girls on that
march than during my whole time in France." Here's to the United States
and her people, for there's no others like them.

The greater part of our four days at Camp Stuart was spent in getting
new clothing, for every soldier was newly outfitted from head to foot
before he left that camp. So it was a spic and span company that boarded
the train on Friday afternoon, May 2, bound for Camp Funston, our
demobilization camp. That is, there were about seventy of the company to
go to Camp Funston, for the company was separated at Camp Stuart, and
each man was sent to the demobilization camp nearest his home. The homes
of many of our replacements were in the East. The trip across the states
in that fast American train was an enjoyable one, especially so because
of the reception given us by the people at the cities where we stopped.
At each large city a Red Cross canteen entertained us with homemade
sandwiches, coffee and pie. Some entertainment.

Our trip across the States took us via West Virginia, Cincinnati,
Indianapolis and Chicago. Late on the afternoon of Sunday, May 4th, we
left Chicago for Kansas City, and it was then that our hearts started to
miss a beat now and then, for we were getting close to home. What a
sight greeted our eyes as the train drew into the station at Second and
Washington, Kansas City, Kansas. The station platform was a solid mass
of people, each one trying to pour out a larger amount of "greeting"
than anyone else. When the train finally stopped and we piled out--well,
no words can tell what that reunion meant. Each fellow and his folks
know. We stayed at Kansas City about four hours, and during that time,
besides visiting our folks, our mothers gave us a delightful breakfast
at the Masonic Temple, with a dance afterwards. Then we went on to Camp
Funston, stopping several hours at Topeka, where a number of the men
lived.

Our stay at Funston was short, but strenuous. We were not allowed to
leave our barrack, for there were a thousand and one different papers,
it seemed, that each man had to sign. Then, too, we turned in our pack,
and all other equipment except our clothing and personal effects.

It was a wonderful feeling when, on the morning of May 9th, 1919, just a
year to the day from the time we left Camp Doniphan for overseas
service, we marched up to the Personnel Office to receive our
discharges. We could hardly believe it was true. We filed in--soldiers,
and a few minutes later came out--civilians.

We're glad we served our country when she needed us, and we're glad
"it's over over there." It's just as many an A. E. F. man has said, "We
wouldn't take a million dollars for our experiences over there, but we
wouldn't give a nickel with a hole in it for any more like them."




FICKLE WOMEN


It either was Tom Keene, Henry George or some other good nickel seller
that once said, "Women thou art fickle things," and to come right down
to it the old boy was about right. Even in this war we have found that
the fair sex is not overcoming this weakness, in fact woman today is
worse than she was yesterday.

In the days of old the men would do daring acts to win the hand of fair
lady. If he went on a crusade and brought back a string of dragon heads
she would marry him. They would live happily till some other daredevil
comes along with long wavy hair and two strings of dragon heads. Right
away friend wife drops a Sedlitz powder in his "vin-rouge." A few days
finds hubby pushing up daisies and the handsome stranger is seen playing
a guitar under the widow's window, she encouraging him by dropping
roses.

Now today he pops the question, she says, "But we won't have the knot
tied till you come back from the war." While he was putting the half
karat on that special finger he began to figure how long it would take
him to kill off the population of Germany at the rate of five thousand a
day and get back to the ideal of his dreams. He goes across the pond and
receives his sweet weekly letter till one day he gets one that makes him
think that he is opening some other fellow's mail.

She had not waited to see how many "Dutch" helmets and medals he would
bring home but had gone before the altar with some guy who couldn't
enlist on account of a thick head.

It's a wonder we ever won the war with such moral support as this coming
through the mail. In this company alone, which has a strength of only
one hundred and twenty-three men, eleven per cent were jilted in this
way. All of them will probably not die old bachelors, but it will take
some pretty strong bait to get these fish to nibble again.




ROSTER


AMBULANCE COMPANY No. 2, KANSAS NATIONAL GUARD.

  _Lieutenants._

  Edwin R. Tenney, 538 Oakland Ave.                   Kansas City, Kans.
  Richard F. Speck, 718 Washington Blvd.              Kansas City, Kans.
  Adam E. Adamson.
  Alpheus J. Bondurant                                   Charleston, Mo.

  _Sergeants._

  Rowland, Chas. G., 2304 Myrtle Ave.                   Kansas City, Mo.
  Adams, James A., 1134 Troup Ave.                    Kansas City, Kans.
  Hadley, Vernon A., 1241 Lafayette St.                  Lawrence, Kans.
  Leady, Roscoe B., 1005 Central Ave.                 Kansas City, Kans.
  Markley, Algernon                                   Minneapolis, Kans.
  Parsons, John D., 2614 N. 13th St.                  Kansas City, Kans.
  Thomas, Chester L., 823 N. Jackson                       Topeka, Kans.
  Falconer, Clarence E., 535 Oakland Ave.             Kansas City, Kans.
  Carson, Edward T., Aberdeen Hotel                     Kansas City, Mo.

  _Corporals._

  Hovey, Clarence E., 1136 Rowland Ave.               Kansas City, Kans.
  Ward, Clarence S., 609 Ohio Ave.                    Kansas City, Kans.
  Knight, Roger F., 12 S. Boeke St.                   Kansas City, Kans.
  Weirshing, Guy                                            Sedan, Kans.
  Dugan, Rollo C., 606 E. 4th St.                          Ottawa, Kans.
  Toler, Roy P., 601 E. 9th St.                         Kansas City, Mo.
  Robinson, William, 515 Quindaro Blvd.               Kansas City, Kans.
  O'Dowd, Hall B., 642 Everett Ave.                   Kansas City, Kans.
  Roach, Norvin M., 536 Brooklyn Ave.                   Kansas City, Mo.
  Alleman, Neal D., 1926 N. 15th St.                  Kansas City, Kans.
  Christian, John S., 31st and Pacific                Kansas City, Kans.

  _Cooks._

  Toohey, Paul E., 1232 Quindaro Blvd.                Kansas City, Kans.
  Karbach, Albert R., 531 Quindaro Blvd.              Kansas City, Kans.

  _Musicians._

  White, Frederick R., 1131 Rowland Ave.              Kansas City, Kans.
  Keck, Kenneth F., 606 Isett Ave.                         Wapello, Iowa

  _Privates._

  Addison, James W., 1938 N. 6th St.                  Kansas City, Kans.
  Anderson, Willard C.                                  Partridge, Kans.
  Anderson, John W., 713 Lafayette                    Kansas City, Kans.
  Adams, Ernest T., 636 Simpson Ave.                  Kansas City, Kans.
  Bailey, Clarence E.                                      Ramona, Okla.
  Barnes, Lile Joe, City Hospital                       Kansas City, Mo.
  Barnes, Richard A.                                       Ottawa, Kans.
  Barnett, Benjamin, 819 Southwest Blvd.                 Rosedale, Kans.

  Brown, Kenneth S., 646 Oakland Ave.                 Kansas City, Kans.
  Baum, Earl W., 1932 Parallel Ave.                   Kansas City, Kans.
  Baum, Eldon E., 1932 Parallel Ave.                  Kansas City, Kans.
  Blackwell, Joseph F., 735 Nebraska Ave.             Kansas City, Kans.
  Blazer, Robert T., 46 N. Tremont Ave.               Kansas City, Kans.
  Bradbury, Claude L., 1250 Sandusky Ave.             Kansas City, Kans.
  Brennan, Edward W., 538 Oakland Ave.                Kansas City, Kans.
  Briggs, Clarence, 609 Cornell Ave.                  Kansas City, Kans.
  Briggs, Junior, 609 Cornell Ave.                    Kansas City, Kans.
  Brown, Guy, 240 N. 16th St.                         Kansas City, Kans.
  Brunell, Ferdinand F. C., 604 N. 6th St.            Kansas City, Kans.
  Buckles, Doyle L.                                         Sedan, Kans.
  Buckley, Leslie K., 13 N. Feree                     Kansas City, Kans.
  Childs, Wesley M., 2116 N. 10th St.                 Kansas City, Kans.
  Carter, Edward, 29 N. Valley                       Kansas City, Kansas
  Church, Romulus B., 1228 Ohio St.                      Lawrence, Kans.
  Cline, Ernest R.                                     Tonganoxie, Kans.
  Cole, Charles L., 1604 Minnesota Ave.                Kansas City Kans.
  Conquest, Victor, 1903 N. 4th St.                   Kansas City, Kans.
  Corbett, Joseph F., 839 Ann Ave.                    Kansas City, Kans.
  Coyle, Walter E., 866 Orville Ave.                  Kansas City, Kans.
  Crowley, John J., 1233 Oread St.                       Lawrence, Kans.
  Davidson, Vernie, 1943 N. 11th St.                  Kansas City, Kans.
  Dennis, Jesse A., Ottawa County                           Pomma, Kans.
  DeTalent, Edward C., 1916 E. 34th St.                 Kansas City, Mo.
  Finley, Harold H.                                        Turner, Kans.
  Flagg, Paul E., 1320 Ohio Ave.                         Lawrence, Kans.
  Flesher, Clarence W., 1820 N. 9th St.               Kansas City, Kans.
  Foster, James R., 2828 Olive St.                      Kansas City, Mo.
  Gibson, Walter N., 329 N. Valley St.                Kansas City, Kans.
  Gregar, Mike G., 725 Lyons St.                      Kansas City, Kans.
  Goff, Melvin W., 808 Missouri St.                      Lawrence, Kans.
  Hallquist, Hugo F., 1721 Stewart Ave.               Kansas City, Kans.
  Hamman, Albert E., 2015 Hallack St.                        Enid, Okla.
  Hart, George M., 624 West Main St.                         Enid, Okla.
  Hendricks, William R., 511 Armstrong Ave.           Kansas City, Kans.
  Hinze, Edward W., 1020 Ford Ave.                    Kansas City, Kans.
  Houston, Herbert, 120 S. 17th St.                   Kansas City, Kans.
  Heuben, Paul T., 1139 Ella St.                      Kansas City, Kans.
  Ise, Frank H., 1125 Mississippi                        Lawrence, Kans.
  Jackson, Dale B.                                     Burlington, Kans.
  Jenkins, Robert C., 216 N. 21st St.                 Kansas City, Kans.
  Jenner, Clifford, 235 N. Mill St.                   Kansas City, Kans.
  Jessen, Joseph J., 3528 S. Halstead St.                  Chicago, Ill.
  Johnson, Andrew                                       McFarland, Kans.
  Johnson, Roy E., 918 Sandusky Ave.                  Kansas City, Kans.
  Jones, Jacobus F., 937 Minnesota Ave.               Kansas City, Kans.
  Kocher, Ernest J., 620 Broadway                    Jefferson City, Mo.
  Kemper, Eugene L.                                         Lakin, Kans.
  Locke, Lloyd B.                                            Erie, Kans.
  McClenahan, John L.                                  Miltonvale, Kans.
  McNabb, Fred R.                                        Richmond, Kans.
  Martin, William R., 1315 Madison St.                  Kansas City, Mo.
  Miller, Samuel C., 410 "T" St.                         Atchison, Kans.
  Minnear, John R., 2520 Alden St.                    Kansas City, Kans.
  Moore, Chester, 714½ N. 6th St.                     Kansas City, Kans.

  Murray, Frank A., 407 N. 7th St.                    Kansas City, Kans.
  Nelson, Oscar F., 1722 Stewart Ave.                 Kansas City, Kans.
  Oellerich, Clarence E., Penn Hotel                    Kansas City, Mo.
  Parimore, Roy C., 404 W. 7th St.                         Larned, Kans.
  Pedago, Ellis, 1240 Central Ave.                    Kansas City, Kans.
  Piatt, William C., R. F. D. No. 4                   Kansas City, Kans.
  Pringle, Kenneth W., 1334 Ohio Ave.                    Lawrence, Kans.
  Putman, Lawrence A., 806 Minn. Ave.                 Kansas City, Kans.
  Rebeck, John M., 1806 N. 2nd St.                    Kansas City, Kans.
  Reid, Alex., 2013 Water St.                         Kansas City, Kans.
  Reid, Roderick V., 1230 Tennessee                      Lawrence, Kans.
  Rewerts, Fred C.                                    Garden City, Kans.
  Richmond, Lloyd, 712 Ann Ave.                       Kansas City, Kans.
  Russell, Thomas C., 710 Riverview Ave.               Kansas City Kans.
  Schenke, Harold W., 1208 N. 9th St.                 Kansas City, Kans.
  Siebers, Frank A., 736 Tauromee Ave.                Kansas City, Kans.
  Sherrell, Clarence W., 1232 Minn. Ave.              Kansas City, Kans.
  Smith, Glenn E., 701 W. 11th St.                    Coffeyville, Kans.
  Stalcup, Ernest F.                                      Preston, Kans.
  Stewart, Chester B., 1846 N. 18th St.               Kansas City, Kans.
  Still, Robert P.                                     Tonganoxie, Kans.
  Stutes, Chester A., 1860 Brighton Ave.                Kansas City, Mo.
  Talmadge, Abram J., 720 Garfield                    Kansas City, Kans.
  Van Cleave, Donald W., 714 Troup Ave.               Kansas City, Kans.
  Vesper, Harold E., 730 Garfield Ave.                Kansas City, Kans.
  Walker, John W. Jr., 231 N. 16th St.                Kansas City, Kans.
  Wolf, Jonathan A.                                     Louisburg, Kans.
  Weaverling, Jacob C., 2843 Mercer Ave.                Kansas City, Mo.
  Williams, William J., 2832 Booth Ave.                  Rosedale, Kans.


LOSSES BY TRANSFER OR DISCHARGE FROM COMPANY.

  _Captains._

  Siberts, Paul T.                                  Oklahoma City, Okla.
  Bates, Bret V.                                          Wheaton, Minn.

  _First Lieutenants._

  Adamson, Adam J.                                      Kansas City, Mo.
  Bondurant, Alpheus J.                               Kansas City, Kans.
  Tenney, Edwin R                                     Kansas City, Kans.
  Monteith, Geo.                                       Hazleton, N. Dak.
  Shelton, ----                                        Los Angeles, Cal.
  Harwell, Wm. R.                                        Shreveport, La.
  Evers, Wm. P. V.                                              Illinois

  _Sergeants, First Class._

  Rowland, Chas. G., 2016 Lister Ave.                 Kansas City, Kans.
  Pringle, Kenneth W.                                        Alma, Kans.
  Parsons, John D., 1926 N. 15th St.                  Kansas City, Kans.

  _Sergeants._

  Leady, Roscoe B.                                    Kansas City, Kans.
  Markley, Algernon D.                                Minneapolis, Kans.
  Thomas, Chester L.                                       Topeka, Kans.
  Falconer, Clarence, 535 Oakland Ave.                Kansas City, Kans.

  Carson, Edward T.                                     Kansas City, Mo.
  Childs, Wesley M.                                   Kansas City, Kans.
  Foster, James R.                                       Lawrence, Kans.

  _Corporals._

  Conquest, Victor                                    Kansas City, Kans.
  Johns, Benjamin P. Kansas City, Mo.

  _Cooks._

  Kemper, Eugene L.                                         Lakin, Kans.

  _Privates, First Class._

  Anderson, John W.                                   Kansas City, Kans.
  Anderson, Willard C.                                   Lawrence, Kans.
  Baum, Earl W.                                       Kansas City, Kans.
  Brennan, Edward W.                                  Kansas City, Kans.
  Brown, Kenneth S.                                   Kansas City, Kans.
  Buckles, Doyle L.                                         Sedan, Kans.
  Casteel, Jess W.                                        Florence, Wis.
  Church, Romulus B.                                     Lawrence, Kans.
  Corbett, Joseph F.                                  Kansas City, Kans.
  Covington, Van D.                                     Kansas City, Mo.
  Crawford, Verne F.                                     Croswell, Mich.
  Dennis, Jesse A.                                         Ottawa, Kans.
  Dotson, Wm. R.                                                 Unknown
  Dugan, Rollo C.                                          Ottawa, Kans.
  Flagg, Paul E.                                         Lawrence, Kans.
  Flesher, Clarence W.                                Kansas City, Kans.
  Goff, Melvin W.                                        Lawrence, Kans.
  Hallquist, Hugo                                     Kansas City, Kans.
  Hinze, Edward W.                                    Kansas City, Kans.
  Hovey, Clarence E.                                  Kansas City, Kans.
  Heuben, Paul T.                                     Kansas City, Kans.
  Ise, Frank H.                                          Lawrence, Kans.
  Jackson, Dale B.                                    Kansas City, Kans.
  Jenkins, Robt. C.                                   Kansas City, Kans.
  Jesson, Joseph J.                                   Kansas City, Kans.
  Johnson, Andrew                                            Alma, Kans.
  Johnson, Roy E.                                     Kansas City, Kans.
  Jones, Jacobus E.                                       Clifton, Tenn.
  McClenahan, John S.                                  Miltonvale, Kans.
  Martin, Wm. R.                                      Kansas City, Kans.
  Miller, Samuel C.                                      Atchison, Kans.
  Myers, Wilson                                        Tonganoxie, Kans.
  Nelson, Oscar F.                                    Kansas City, Kans.
  Patrick, Currie F.                                      St. Louis, Mo.
  Pedago, Ellis                                       Kansas City, Kans.
  Richmond, Lloyd                                     Kansas City, Kans.
  Roach, Norvin M.                                      Kansas City, Mo.
  Sherrell, Clarence W.                               Kansas City, Kans.
  Stewart, Chester B.                                 Kansas City, Kans.
  Still, Robert A.                                     Tonganoxie, Kans.
  Toler, Roy P.                                         Kansas City, Mo.
  Van Cleave, Donald W.                               Kansas City, Kans.
  Wolf, Jonathan A.                                   Kansas City, Kans.
  Woolery, Clyde F.                                              Unknown
  Whiles, James W.                                      Kansas City, Mo.


MEN WITH AMBULANCE COMPANY 139, AT TIME OF DEMOBILIZATION.

  _Captains._

  Speck, Richard T. (Comdg. Co.), 618 Oakland Ave.    Kansas City, Kans.
  Hartman, Ralph C., Lake Edge Park                        Madison, Wis.

  _First Lieutenant._

  Vardon, Colin C., 225 Highland Ave.                     Detroit, Mich.

  _Sergeants, First Class._

  Briggs, Junior, 609 Cornell Ave.                    Kansas City, Kans.
  Knight, Roger F., 12 S. Boeke St.                   Kansas City, Kans.

  _Mess Sergeant._

  Hadley, Vernon A.                                      Ridgefarm, Ill.

  _Sergeants._

  Adams, James A., 1134 Troup Ave.                    Kansas City, Kans.
  Alleman, Neal D., 1926 N. 15th St.                  Kansas City, Kans.
  Wiershing, Guy                                            Sedan, Kans.
  Hart, George M., 611 N. Grand St.                          Enid, Okla.
  Stalcup, Ernest F., 417 E. 11th St.                  Hutchinson, Kans.
  Christian, John W., 122 S. Hicks St.                 Los Angeles, Cal.
  Hickam, Clinton J.                                       Freedom, Ind.
  Bailey, Clarence E.                                      Ramona, Okla.
  Rewerts, Fred C.                                    Garden City, Kans.
  Talmadge, Abram J., 720 Garfield Ave.               Kansas City, Kans.

  _Corporals._

  O'Dowd, Benjamin H., 642 Everett Ave.               Kansas City, Kans.
  Barnes, Richard A.                                       Ottawa, Kans.
  Finley, Harold H.                                        Turner, Kans.
  Ellis, Clark                                         Glenville, W. Va.
  Jensen, Henry M.                                      Concordia, Kans.
  Stutes, Chester A., 1860 Brighton Ave.              Kansas City, Kans.

  _Cooks._

  Crotty, John J., 1209 Paseo                           Kansas City, Mo.
  Carter, Edward, 1107 Riverview Ave.                 Kansas City, Kans.
  Locke, Lloyd B.                                            Erie, Kans.

  _Mechanic._

  Meinberg, Edwin J., 2006-A Russell Ave.                 St. Louis, Mo.

  _Wagoners._

  Bellows, Frank E.                                Fultonville, New York
  Bradbury, Claude L., 1250 Sandusky Ave.             Kansas City, Kans.
  Briggs, Clarence, 609 Cornell Ave.                  Kansas City, Kans.
  Brunell, Ferdinand F. C., 401½ N. 6th St.           Kansas City, Kans.
  Ely, Clarence G.                                     Midlothian, Texas
  Feehan, Walter J., 706 Frisco Ave.                         Monett, Mo.
  Kocher, Ernest J., 620 Broadway St.                Jefferson City, Mo.
  Lottner, August, 907 Townsend Ave.                      Detroit, Mich.

  McNabb, Fred R.                                        Richmond, Kans.
  Putman, Lawrence A., care of Harold E. Vesper, 720 Garfield Ave.
                                                      Kansas City, Kans.
  Reid, Alex, 2040 Walnut St.                         Kansas City, Kans.
  Robinson, William O., 515 Quindaro Blvd.            Kansas City, Kans.
  Smith, Glen E.                                         Van Buren, Ark.
  Vesper, Harold E., 730 Garfield Ave.                Kansas City, Kans.
  Ward, Clarence S., 609 Ohio Ave.                    Kansas City, Kans.
  Weaverling, Jacob C., 2843 Mercier Ave.               Kansas City, Mo.

  _Privates, First Class._

  Adams, Ernest T., 636 Simpson Ave.                  Kansas City, Kans.
  Addison, James W., 1938 N. 6th St.                  Kansas City, Kans.
  Barbour, Dewey T.                                         Houston, Pa.
  Barnes, Joe, K. C. General Hospital, 24th and Cherry  Kansas City, Mo.
  Brown, Guy B., 240 N. 16th St.                      Kansas City, Kans.
  Cataldi, Angelo, 604 Scott St.                        Wilmington, Del.
  Coleman, James W.                                      Le Sueur, Minn.
  Coyle, Walter E., 866 Orville Ave.                  Kansas City, Kans.
  Crowley, George G., 1319 E. Market St.                     Akron, Ohio
  DeTalent, Edward C., 1915 E. 34th St.                 Kansas City, Mo.
  Downing, Fay A.                                    Island Falls, Maine
  Houston, Herbert S., 120 S. 17th St.                Kansas City, Kans.
  Jones, Arthur E., 394 W. Euclid Ave.                    Detroit, Mich.
  Keck, Kenneth F.                                         Wapello, Iowa
  McCarthy, Bernard J., 1514 W. Benton Place            Kansas City, Mo.
  Moore, Chester, 610 N. 6th St.                      Kansas City, Kans.
  Murray, Frank H., 404 N. 7th St.                    Kansas City, Kans.
  Oellerich, Clarence G., 1425 Thurston Ave.                Racine, Wis.
  Rebeck, John M., 1807 N. 2nd St.                    Kansas City, Kans.
  Saul, Parker E.                                    R. F. D., Ava, Ill.
  Schenke, Harold W., 712 Orville Ave.                Kansas City, Kans.
  Walker, John W. Jr., 203 N. 14th St.                Kansas City, Kans.

  _Privates._

  Allen, Frank M.                                          Oxford, Mich.
  Altman, William R.                                           Knox, Pa.
  Armbrustmacher, William J.                               Fowler, Mich.
  Barnett, Benjamin, 819 Southwest Blvd.                 Rosedale, Kans.
  Barris, Allen L.                                      Dougherty, Okla.
  Blackwell, Joseph F., 735 Nebraska Ave.             Kansas City, Kans.
  Blaker, Charles F., R. F. D. 2                            Butler, Ind.
  Blandford, Joseph J., R. R. 1                         Morganfield, Ky.
  Blazer, Robert T., 46 N. Tremont St.                Kansas City, Kans.
  Brogan, Lester A., 705 N. Spring St.                   St. John, Mich.
  Buckley, Lee E., 13 N. Ferree St.                   Kansas City, Kans.
  Cannon, Francis P., 1260 Lyell Ave.              West Rochester, N. Y.
  Cline, Ernest R.                                     Tonganoxie, Kans.
  Cole, Charles R., 1604 Minnesota Ave.               Kansas City, Kans.
  Crane, Charlie, 10 N. Main St.                        Ft. Scott, Kans.
  Crowley, John J., 2113½-B W. 16th St.              Los Angeles, Calif.
  Daley, Albert J., 75 Hazel Ave.                      Wilkes Barre, Pa.
  Davidson, Vernie A., 1943 N. 11th St.               Kansas City, Kans.
  Dolak, Andrew J., 701 E. Ridge St.                       Lansford, Pa.
  Duffy, Dennis, 331 W. 4th St.                            Hazelton, Pa.
  Eakin, Laster E., 616 Buffalo St.                        Franklin, Pa.

  Evans, John E., East Hazard St.                        Summithill, Pa.
  Evert, Howard C., 340 W. 4th St.                         Hazelton, Pa.
  Feeney, John P., 10010 Pamalee Ave., N. E.             Cleveland, Ohio
  Feinberg, Abraham H., 1238 Chestnut St.               Wilmington, Del.
  Fisher, John J., 114 Pollard St.                        Detroit, Mich.
  Fisher, Louis J., 416 N. 10th St.                         Reading, Pa.
  Fowler, Harry W.                                          Portage, Pa.
  Freeman, Garland, 1317 Louisiana St.                 Little Rock, Ark.
  Fulmer, John R.                                   Cape, South Carolina
  Gallagher, Cornelius A.                          Parker's Landing, Pa.
  Gibson, Walter N., 562 Head St.             Esquimalt, Victoria, B. C.
  Giorgi, Auguste                             Mentana, Prov. Rome, Italy
  Gregar, Mike G., 725 Lyons Ave.                     Kansas City, Kans.
  Harriston, Michael, 5707 Central Ave.                  Cleveland, Ohio
  Heidel, Ernest P.                                       Florence, Wis.
  Hendricks, William R., 511 Armstrong Ave.           Kansas City, Kans.
  Hess, Walter F., 219 Lauderburn Ave.                    Weatherly, Pa.
  James, Vaughn F., 74 S. Martha Ave.                        Akron, Ohio
  Karbach, Albert R., 532 Quindaro Blvd.              Kansas City, Kans.
  Kletecka, Edward                                         Wakita, Okla.
  Kline, Benjamin W. Jr., 209 N. 11th St.                 Allentown, Pa.
  Kuntz, Thomas G.                                         Transfer, Pa.
  Lancaster, John E.                                   Gilmore, Maryland
  Lebeck, Walter, 38 Stoner St.                       River Rouge, Mich.
  Lulow, Charlie                                         Rushville, Neb.
  Lutt, Elmer F.                                           Niobara, Neb.
  McCormick, Stephen F., 1360 E. Market St.                  Akron, Ohio
  McDonald, James R.                                    Brookville, Ind.
  McKain, Jess W.                                     Minneapolis, Kans.
  Mukansky Grigory, 449 3rd St.                          Milwaukee, Wis.
  Murphy, Clarence T. S., 216 W. Pine St.                 Wichita, Kans.
  Nicholson, Paul R., 410 Elm St.                        Grove City, Pa.
  Peterson, William J., 19 S. 11th St.                Kansas City, Kans.
  Piatt, William C.                                          Erie, Kans.
  Siebers, Frank A., 736 Tauromee Ave.                Kansas City, Kans.
  Tinklepaugh, James D., 606 Tauromee Ave.            Kansas City, Kans.
  Toohey, Paul A., 1232 Quindaro Blvd.                Kansas City, Kans.
  Truede, John, 514 N. Front St.                      Camden, New Jersey
  Williams, William J., 3832 Booth St.                   Rosedale, Kans.
  Wise, Theodore T., 545 Ann Ave.                     Kansas City, Kans.


       *       *       *       *       *


Transcriber's Notes:

Obvious punctuation errors repaired.

Normally, upper-case "A. M." and "P. M." are used; lower-case "a. m."
and "p. m." were changed to upper-case.

The inconsistent hyphenation of the following words was not changed:
"good[-]bye", "hard[-]tack", "hay[-]loft", "passer[-]by", "up[-]hill".

Page 5: "Misouri" changed to "Missouri".

Page 9: "wather" changed to "water" (plenty of hot water).

Page 11: "distzance" changed to "distance" (a short distance from the
train area).

Page 12: "kichen" changed to "kitchen" (from the kitchen range).

Page 13: "day-break" changed to "daybreak" (stayed until daybreak).

Page 15: "rythmatical" changed to "rhythmetical"
(rhythmetical chug of a large engine).

Page 23: "set" changed to "sat" (sat up all night).

Page 26: "Franch" changed to "French" (in French money).

Page 26: "or" changed to "of" (handling of casualties).

Page 30: "killled" changed to "killed" (were either killed or).

Page 36: "Paris" changed to "Pairis" (outpost duty at Pairis).

Page 38: "downpower" changed to "downpour" (through a regular downpour).

Page 39: "wierd" changed to "weird" (a weird looking lot).

Page 39: "minue" changed to "minute" (ten-minute rest periods).

Page 44: "Dirctor" changed to "Director" (Director of Ambulances).

Page 52: "Montieth" changed to "Monteith" (Lt. George Monteith).

Page 57: "Geramns" changed to "Germans" (by the Germans in 1871).

Page 58: "armsitice" changed to "armistice" (signing of the armistice).

Page 59: "Chackamagua" changed to "Chickamagua" (in Chickamagua Park).

Page 62: "St. Naziere" changed to "St. Nazaire" (arriving at St.
Nazaire).

Page 64: "Gernoble" changed to "Grenoble" (the mayor of Grenoble).

Page 65: "furnishd" changed to "furnished" (except those furnished).

Page 66: "Ionis" changed to "Ionic" (Doric, Ionic and Corinthian).

Page 70: "madamoiselles" changed "mademoiselles" (received by the
mademoiselles).

Page 70: "mid-night" changed to "midnight" (good until midnight).

Page 75: "Batallion" changed to "Battalion" (Convict Labor Battalion).

Page 76: "With" changed to "What" (What a thrill went through us).

Page 81: "De Talent" changed to "DeTalent" (DeTalent, Edward).

Page 82: "Montieth" changed to "Monteith" (Monteith, Geo).





End of Project Gutenberg's History of Ambulance Company Number 139, by Various