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 ma.s.s 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 pa.s.s.

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 a.s.signed 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 succ.u.mbed 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 sh.e.l.l fire. The ground is simply pulverized. There are helmets (French and German), old rifles, cart wheels, unexploded sh.e.l.ls, 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 sh.e.l.ling 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 sh.e.l.l would burst near the fort, throwing dirt and rock high into the air. Then the sound of the sh.e.l.l, 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 pa.s.se 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 sh.e.l.l marks will be there forever. Another interesting thing connected with Verdun is its underground city, capable of accommodating forty-two thousand, and absolutely sh.e.l.l proof. The Germans sh.e.l.led Verdun regularly, dropping sh.e.l.ls 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 antic.i.p.ations, 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, G.o.d!" 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.

[Ill.u.s.tration: AMBULANCE COMPANY 139, CAMP HOEL, KANSAS CITY, KANSAS.]

[Ill.u.s.tration: WOUNDED FROM THE ARGOXNE AT CHEPPY.]

[Ill.u.s.tration: 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 a.s.sault 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 n.o.blest 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 sh.e.l.ls.

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 Rans.p.a.ch, 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 pa.s.sed greeted them with a good luck wish and a G.o.d 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 pa.s.sing 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-cla.s.sified, 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 a.s.signed 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 a.s.signed 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 cla.s.s 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-cla.s.sified 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