AHBULANCE NO. 10 PERSONAL LETTERS FROM THE FRONT BY LESLIE BUSWELL Columbia intijeCitpofitogork THE LIBRARIES Bequest of Frederic Bancroft 1860-1945 Louis C. Haggerty AMBULANCE NUMBER 10 LESLIE BLSWELL AMBULANCE NO. 10 PERSONAL LETTERS FROM THE FRONT BY LESLIE BUSWELL .£&& BOSTON AND NEW YORK HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY R-* COPYRIGHT, I915 AND 1916, BY HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY ALL RIGHTS RESERVED J T- Of EDITOR'S NOTE (August, 1916) Some months ago a few copies of these ^ letters were printed, for private distri- J bution, under the title of " With the £ American Ambulance Field Service in %£\ France." So keen was the interest that .£ they stirred, and so many the requests for them which followed, that permission for their publication and sale in America was subsequently asked of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs in Paris. The French Gov- ernment, which had conferred upon their author last October the Croix de Guerre for valor, has now given the necessary sanction and approval. The preface and introduction, written for the original edi- tion, have been left here unaltered, as they explain the circumstances to which this book owes its existence. The title only, for brevity's sake, has been changed to "Ambulance No. 10." FOREIGN AFFAIRS Office of the Minister Paris, August 14, 1916. M. Berthelot, Ministre Plenipoten- tiaire, Chef de Cabinet du Ministre des Affaires Etrangeres, President du Conseil, after having read with interest Mr. Leslie BusioelVs book, " With the American Ambu- lance Field Service in France'' considers that the public sale in the United States of so excellent a record can only prove advan- tageous, and he desires to state that, in be- half of France, the censor finds nothing to suppress. [signed] Berthelot 'atrfj &/*a/ {&<&'■&) /Sff<#<-C u*+oZ."*LJh A.6w-r^V a**uC . <£-r C fto j wdJL (< Witt /£L ~mJmtm** Ofil^f- . co z: IT 1 1 /^ > l ^\ 2 g /C/ Pour le Ministre et par automation, fh^/^^y Le Chef du Cabinet et du Personnel m" — PREFACE These letters, according to ordinary ethics in such matters, should not, per- haps, be published. They were merely intended as tributes of friendship and remembrance. Casually written — in pen- cil often — at moments between duties, with no thought of their being destined to any further purpose than that distance and absence might count a little less through the pictures they would give of a day's work far away. Excepting that here and there in each letter a few details quite personal have been omitted, and of course the names of places sometimes changed, they are un- touched. Their author has had no chance to revise them, nor, it must be confessed, has his consent to their printing been asked. 1 Knowing him, there seemed little 1 This, of course, has now (Aug., 1916) been granted. x PREFACE likelihood of his believing them worthy of special attention; not at least without a correspondence of persuasion, and much loss of time. Only the exigency of the hour and a conviction of their worth have led me to take this step. If they give to those who may now read as clear a vision as they have given me of the chivalrous work our young American volunteers are doing in France, they will have achieved something. If occasionally, some reader — grateful for this proof that our country is contributing so worthy a part to the heroism of to-day — should feel inspired to do what he is able toward the encour- agement and continuation of this work, these letters will have served a high pur- pose. The knowledge that a possibility so worth while would ultimately outweigh with my friend any personal considera- tion is justification of the liberty taken — and of this book. Perhaps for the time and effort the PREFACE xi writer of these records so generously spent for friendship's sake in the midst of hard and hazardous days he may find recom- pense in the realization that, aside from the pleasure which their coming meant to one who looked for them, they may bring much benefit to " the Service " he so valiantly describes, and through that service, to thousands of men and women whose happiness death might otherwise have destroyed. H. D. S. Gloucester, Massachusetts September loth, 1915 ILLUSTRATIONS Leslie Bdswell Frontispiece Some of the Section at Pont-a-Mousson ... 1 Bridge over Moselle at Pont-a-Mousson ... 6 Trench Work 6 Soldiers' Graves at Bois-Le-Pretre .... 8 Putting in Upper Stretcher 16 Loading an Ambulance 16 Dieulouard 22 Fishing within Rifle-Range of the Bocheb . . 22 Poste de Secour at Auberge St. Pierre ... 40 Decorations for the 4th at Headquarters . . 44 PoNT-A-MoUSSON HOUSE HIT BY A "210" ... 50 Burning Church at Pont-a-Mousson struck by In- cendiary Shell 56 montauville 56 House in which Large Hole was made by a Shell 76 The Snapshot of a German First Line Trench from a French Advance Post 84 Houses at Pont-a-Mousson 92 Cemetery at Pont-a-Mousson 102 xiv ILLUSTRATIONS View op Moselle behind my House . . . .106 Quart-en-Reserve IOC Grenade Catapult, First Line Trenches . . .132 Main Street op Fey-en-Haye 140 The Wreck op the German Aeroplane . . . - 144 INTRODUCTION For many years before the war there existed at Neuilly-sur-Seine, a suburb of Paris, a semi-philanthropic institution supported by Americans and known as the American Hospital. At the outbreak of the war this institution instantly and naturally became the rallying-point for Americans who loved France and wanted to help care for her wounded soldiers. Within a few weeks it was evident, how- ever, that larger quarters must be found. A splendid new school building, which was rapidly nearing completion in the neigh- borhood, was rented; its large, well- lighted, and well-ventilated rooms were transformed into hospital wards, operat- ing-rooms, dormitories, and offices; a mul- titude of doctors, surgeons, and nurses were brought over from the United States; xvi INTRODUCTION and thus the American Ambulance Hos- pital in the Lycee Pasteur, with accom- modations for more than six hundred wounded soldiers, came into being. Soon the generosity of another American friend of France made possible a second Ameri- can Ambulance Hospital, and the ven- erable College of Juilly, located about thirty miles east of Paris, was steam-fitted, electric-lighted and plumbed, and made over into a hospital for about two hundred additional wounded, with distinguished American surgeons in charge. From the outset it was clear that the saving of soldiers' lives depended quite as much upon the quick transportation of the wounded as upon their surgical treat- ment, and in September, 1914, when the battle front surged close to Paris, a dozen automobiles given by Americans, hastily extemporized into ambulances, and driven by American volunteers, ran back and forth night and day between the western INTRODUCTION xvii end of the Marne Valley and Paris. This was the beginning of the American Ambu- lance Field Service with which the follow- ing letters have to do. During the autumn and winter that followed many more cars were given and many more young Ameri- cans volunteered, and when the battle front retired from the vicinity of Paris, sections of motor ambulances were de- tached from the hospitals at Neuilly and Juilly and became more or less independ- ent units attached to the several French armies, serving the dressing-stations and Army hospitals within the Army zone. To-day more than a hundred such am- bulances given and driven by American friends of France are carrying wounded French soldiers along the very fighting front in Belgium and France. 1 In Belgium and Northern France, where the American Ambulance Field Service has had an important Section since the early months of the war, the valiant 1 There are at present (1916) over two hundred. xviii INTRODUCTION service rendered during the second battle of the Yser, and during the many bom- bardments from long-range guns in and about Dunkirk, has attracted official rec- ognition from the highest officers in the Army. At the time of the prolonged bat- tles in the vicinity of Ypres in May, Gen- eral Putz wrote that the American Section had, by working five nights and days with- out interruption, assured the evacuation of the hospitals in Everdinghe, though under continual shell fire which covered all of the roads in the neighborhood and even the hospitals themselves. "I cannot praise too highly," he added, "the courage and devotion of which the men in your Section have given evidence, and I ask you to transmit to them my congratula- tions and my thanks for the great physical effort which they have so generously made and the signal services which they have rendered." In the section of Alsace which France INTRODUCTION xix has definitely recovered from Germany, the American Ambulance Field Service has now the only automobile ambulances and they are performing a service which no other automobile ambulances could per- form. Because of the lightness and power of our little cars, and because we are will- ing to use them up in this service and re- place them without restrictions, our am- bulances are running over steep mountain passes in Alsace which the French auto- ambulances are unable to cross and over which wounded soldiers were formerly carried on mule-back. They have been able to reduce the duration of the journey of the wounded between the dressing-sta- tions and the hospitals from four or five hours to less than one, at the same time substituting transport in a comfortable springed vehicle for the agony of transport in the mule-litters. Two of the men in this Section have already received the "Croix- de-Guerre" for special acts of valor. xx INTRODUCTION We have another Section of ambulances attached to an American army field hospi- tal of thirty tents, which is also a branch of the American Ambulance Hospital made available to the French Army by gener- ous American friends. This movable hos- pital is equipped to care for one hun- dred and forty wounded, and the whole installation of ward tents, officers' and nurses' tents, operating-tents, mess-tents, etc., can be mounted by our men or de- mounted and packed on motor-trucks ready for transportation in less than three hours. It is destined to be of great service in the devastated regions when the French Army begins its advance. Finally, we have a Section of ambu- lances in Lorraine to which has been en- trusted exclusively the service of carrying the wounded in the much-f ought-over re- gion around Bois-le-Pretre. This Section alone has carried on the average about seventy-five hundred wounded per month. INTRODUCTION xxi The men work continually within range of the German shells and are almost daily under German fire. The Section as a whole, and their leader, have received honorable mention in official dispatches and have been given the "Croix-de- Guerre." The daily life and activities of the men of this section are sketched by one of its members in the following personal let- ters, which — while written without any thought of publication — are now pri- vately printed in order that those gener- ous Americans on the other side of the Atlantic who are making this chivalrous work possible may more truly appreciate its value and efficiency. From this uncon- scious story one gets an impression of the devoted service which young Americans are rendering in France and of the way in which they are reducing the agony and saving the lives of wounded French sol- diers. One sees, too, how deeply this serv- XX11 INTRODUCTION ice is appreciated, and how through it the old friendship which has existed between France and the United States since the very beginning of our national history is being quickened and rejuvenated. " Happy are all free peoples, too strong to be dispossessed, But blessed are those among nations who dare to be strong for the rest." A. P. A. September 6, 1915. " Lord, Thy most pointed pleasure take And stab my spirit broad awake." Stevenson AMBULANCE NO. 10 PERSONAL LETTERS FROM THE FRONT American Ambulance, June 17th. I came here — Pont-a-Mousson — last night after a seven hours' journey to Nancy from Paris. On the way I found much to interest me, as (if you will look on your map) you will see that the railway runs beside the River Marne, then the Meuse, and lastly the Moselle. An officer pointed out to me all the interesting places where the Germans advanced and then re- treated in a hurry, — or practically a rout, — leaving everything behind even to their flags, which I believe are now in London. After passing these and nearing Nancy I saw what looked like a fleet of aeroplanes, and the officer explained to me 2 AMERICAN AMBULANCE that it was a flying Taube being shot at by the French. It looked like this: — b& I am told that they rarely hit one. On arriving at Nancy I was met by Salis- bury, our Section leader, and after a very good meal in the most beautiful little town you could hope to see (and where the Kai- ser and ten thousand troops in dress pa- rade were waiting on a hill close by to en- ter in state last October), we started by motor for Pont-a-Mousson. Some fifteen kilometres farther on, our lights were put out and we then entered the region under FIELD SERVICE 3 shell fire. It was a funny feeling listening to my conductor talking about how this shell and that shell hit here and there; and all along the route we passed torn-up trees, houses, and roads. At last we came to Pont-a-Mousson, a dear little village with about eight thousand inhabitants, and felt our way, so to speak, in the dark- ness and silence to the barracks which are now the Headquarters of the Ambulance. I found that there were about twenty cars and twenty-two men here, the latter all enthusiastic about their work and the help the Section were giving the French. The day before I arrived a shell hit the house next door, and on first sight one would think it was the barracks itself which had been hit. These huge high-explosive shells are sent into the town every two or three days, and everywhere one sees masses of brick and stone, all that remains of houses struck. The Germans have bombarded the town over one hundred and ten times. 4 AMERICAN AMBULANCE After being introduced to the "boys," I went to my room which is some one hun- dred and sixty metres up the road — nearer the trenches, but safer for all that. Here I found I was to share the house with an- other man, Schroeder by name, a Hol- lander and a very nice fellow, who has already lost one brother and has had an- other wounded in the French army. My bedroom is a quite typical French peasant room, very comfortable, and I felt grate- ful to know that I was to have a bed and not straw to sleep on. I went to sleep there my first night in comparative quiet- ness, only hearing now and then a crack of a musket which in peace time one would think was merely a back-fire of some motor. In the morning I woke at six and went to breakfast in our barracks, which is always served at seven o'clock. Walk- ing out of my front door I came into the main street. To the left is the way to the town and the barracks — to the right FIELD SERVICE 5 the road goes straight on, an avenue of trees. My friend or housemate pointed out, about five hundred metres away, what looked like a fallen tree across the road. Imagine my feelings when he told me that they were the French trenches. To the right and left of this avenue are hills and on the left runs the River Moselle. On the ridge of hills on the right, one sees a brown line — these are the German trenches, and walking down the road to breakfast, one gets the knowledge that a first-class rifle shot could pick one off. After break- fast I was asked by one of the men, Roe- der, if I would like to look about the place, and I jumped at the invitation. We got into a Ford Ambulance (no one can real- ize the excellence of the Ford for this purpose until he has seen what they can do), and we started on a tour, or "petit promenade," as an officer told us we were doing. Pont-a-Mousson was in the hands of 6 AMERICAN AMBULANCE the Germans for five days and our Head- quarters were the German Officers' Head- quarters. The French partially blew up the bridge which crosses the Moselle at this most picturesque point, and for the last five days the Germans have been bombarding it, attempting in their turn to destroy it ; many of the houses round it seem to have been hit, and the two places where shells have taken most effect are on the bridge the French have repaired with wood. The boys tell me it is a wonderful sight to see the water rising like a geyser when the shells hit in the river. To show how careless the few remaining peasants are, directly the Germans have "appar- ently" ceased firing, they get into boats to pick up the fish killed in hundreds by the concussion. We left the river (where we could be clearly seen by the Germans en- trenched some thousand metres away), and I confess I sighed in relief — for it is difficult to accustom one's self immedi- I BRIDGE OVER MOSELLE AT PONT-A-MOUSSON TRENCH WORK FIELD SERVICE 7 ately to the possibility of receiving a bullet in one's head or a shell in one's stomach. We then went through the town, everywhere being told stories of how, on such and such a day last week, five men were killed there and three wounded here, etc. All the houses are left open, and one can walk into any doorway that looks interesting and do a tour of inspection. We left Pont-a-Mousson and started up the hill to our first " place de secour" — X — you will see it on your map some three kilometres from Pont-a-Mous- son. Roeder, as we sped on, carefully explained that I was never to drive along this particular road, but was to take a back way, as the Commandant had for- bidden any one to use this route which was in full view of the German artillery and trenches. If he could have realized how I felt, he would have taken me by the back way that time too. 8 AMERICAN AMBULANCE On the other side of the hill on our right extended the famous Bois-le-Pretre; but it is no longer a wood — it is just a wilder- ness with a few brown stumps sticking up. "Would you like to go into the Bois?" I was asked. I felt I had been in as much danger as I was likely to get into, so I said yes, and we turned to the left and mounted a steep hill and entered it. Here the birds were singing and all was green and beautiful (it was a part where the ar- tillery had not been) but one could see trench after trench deserted. Here was an officers' cemetery, a terribly sad sight, six hundred officers' graves. Close by were also the graves of eighteen hundred sol- diers. The little cemetery was quite im- pressive on the side of this lovely green hill with the great trees all around and the little plain wood crosses at each grave. As we waited a broken-down horse appeared with a cart-load of what looked like old clothes — "Les Morts." I had never seen FIELD SERVICE 9 a dead body until that moment. It was a horrible awakening — eight stiff, semi- detached, armless, trunkless, headless bodies, — all men like ourselves with peo- ple loving them, — somewhere, — all gone this way, — because of — what? I don't know, do you? A grave had been dug two metres deep, large enough to hold sixteen, and then we were asked to group ourselves around the car to be taken "pour sou- venir." I managed to do it. I stood there by those dead men and tried to look as if it were a natural thing to do. I felt like be- ing sick. Then one by one they were low- ered into the grave, and when they were all laid out the identification started to take place — the good boots were taken off — and if a coat was not too bloody or torn it was kept — "Surely we must be going," I said. "No, no! not before we have shown you the dead in the fosse there." "Good God," I cried, "I can't do that now"; and I did n't. We returned 10 AMERICAN AMBULANCE to Pont-a-Mousson for lunch at twelve o'clock and I felt a very different person — and wondered how I could have felt faint the week before on merely seeing the photographs of wounded in our Neuilly Hospital; — one becomes "habitue," they tell me. I was then officially handed over the car I am to drive, and I began looking over all the parts, as we have to do every- thing for ourselves here. Saturday. It hardly seems possible that we are so close to the German trenches — fair food — even hot water — wonderful moon- light nights, and a comfortable bed. Every other night we have to sleep in barracks to be on duty any moment, and so we sleep on straw and don't undress. Every fourth night we are on duty all night and go to X and stay there in the car taking wounded to the first, second, and third base hospitals. FIELD SERVICE 11 Thursday was my baptism of fire, for we had a great artillery duel, and it was very interesting, though not at all quieting to hear the big guns fired and shells exploded over our heads. About six o'clock it stopped and we went in to dinner. After- ward another boy — Barclay — went for a walk with me, and we stopped to talk to two peasant girls who still remained in the town. "Come in and have some strawberries," they invited. And the way these girls offered us all the little luxuries their house could afford showed us how respected the American Am- bulance is by the peasants as well as the officers. "Do you fence?" one of them asked. "Yes, a little," I answered, and foils were brought out and we started in. The girl fenced well, but I managed to remember a little of what I once knew, when suddenly I heard a man's voice say in French, "Well done, well done — give me the foils, my daughter, quick"; and I 12 AMERICAN AMBULANCE was introduced to a fine old soldier who had fought in the campaign of 1870. We saluted and started again, but here I soon realized the touch of a master, and al- though I got in a few hits I was easily beaten and felt a little downcast. "But my husband is a professor of fencing for forty years," observed Madame. I re- tired to bed, feeling that though beaten I might have many happy games in the evening at fencing with the "vieux maf- tre." Yesterday I took out my ambu- lance alone and carried eight wounded for the first time. I am now gradually slip- ping into my place and the sense of strangeness is passing off. June 19th. To continue from where I left off — I am now on duty at the Bureau — our Headquarters here. Last night as I was finishing my dinner I was told to go to F to fetch a contagious case and take it to the train. FIELD SERVICE 13 Sunday. I was suddenly interrupted by being called to fetch the wounded from X and I am just back. My roommate offered to come with me to get the contagious case (which proved fortunately to be only measles), and we started off on what I thought then one of the most amazing trips of my life. Turn- ing suddenly to the left from the main road, I drove our little Ford three kilo- metres along the road, which was in full view of the Germans and which had been the death place of many passers-by, then turning left again we drove slowly to a village so full of soldiers that it seemed impossible so many could even find shel- ter — a quick turn to the right — up — up — up — first speed — along a very narrow road with just room for the car. On both sides were stuck up cut tree branches to make the Germans think 14 AMERICAN AMBULANCE there was no road. Up we went through another tiny hill village full of artillery, and on every side, underground dugouts where they all live — trees blown down — branches stuck here and there to look like trees, and at last we reached the top. The water in the radiator was boiling, so we stopped, walked a bit in the most beauti- ful woods, and picked flowers and wild strawberries to the tune of birds and dis- tant cannon. In this wood are heavy naval guns, but from where and how they were ever taken there is a puzzle. On we went through more woods until we were stopped by a sentry, who directed us still further, and then I saw what was the most dream- like spectacle I ever beheld. The thick woods teemed with soldiers, and dotted through the forests were little huts, very low, where they live — thou- sands of them — pathways starting every twenty yards to some new wood village. We heard music, and on reaching our des- FIELD SERVICE 15 tination were invited to inspect these quaint habitations. We walked down a path past hut after hut, and then sud- denly the wood opened out and we came to a kind of amphitheatre, and my friend and I were conducted to "fauteuils," so to speak, and we listened (after much hand- shaking and "vive l'Amerique," "vive l'Angleterre," and "camarades," etc.) to a band of three, banjo, violin, and dul- cimer (as I write a shell has just exploded near by. I jumped to see where — about two hundred yards away and the smoke is slowly clearing). We soon left our friends and took our contagious case to the station. After passing through wonderful valleys, hills, woods, and plains we returned home pretty tired — w T ondering how such atro- cities could be taking place in such a perfect country. We go regularly to X to get our "blesses," and for two out of the six kilometres we are exposed 16 AMERICAN AMBULANCE to German view and the whole of the way, of course, to shell fire. On my first arrival at this little mountain village I was horri- fied to see two people lying dead in the road in huge pools of blood. Six German " 150's" had been suddenly launched into the village which is full of soldiers, and killed six soldiers and wounded some thirty. Three of the six shots had landed actually in the road itself. Two of our ambulances were in the street at the time and only chance spared them. I asked where the shells had struck, and my stretcher-bearer looked around for a moment and then pointed under my own car, and there was a hole some nine inches deep and two feet wide. It made me feel rather rotten, I must say. Only five minutes before and it might happen again at any moment. I took down three " couches," as the lying-down ones are called, and had to pass in front of a battery of "75V which fired as I passed and gave me a PUTTING IN UPPER STRETCHER LOADING AN AMBULANCE FIELD SERVICE 17 shaky knee feeling, I can tell you. Then backward and forward for two hours carrying more wounded, and to add to the excitement it rained so hard that I was thankful I had bought myself two uni- forms and could change. To-day is Sun- day, and after a rather uncomfortable night in my clothes and a snatchy sleep, I have a day off. Salisbury, our Section leader, asked me to go with him to Toul, and I went for what proved to be a wonderful drive through sleeping villages and semi-tilled land and woods and valleys. Toul is one of the .most fortified towns in France, and as we approached we saw trench after trench and wire entanglements, etc. The Germans, however, will never advance so far, I think. We stopped at the aeroplane sheds where we picked up a Captain (Australian) and with him entered Toul, a quiet sleeping town with a lovely church. Returning we were taken over 18 AMERICAN AMBULANCE the sheds and saw a large quantity of bi- planes and monoplanes. I am now wait- ing to be taken up into the trenches, but the bombardment I spoke of earlier has continued so heavily that I doubt if we shall get up to them after all. The whole Section here does real work night and day amidst great hardships and no small danger, and the French appreciation is very apparent. German prisoners say that the Germans intend utterly demol- ishing Pont-a-Mousson if they have to retire any more, but it would take about two hundred and fifty thousand shells to do it and I doubt if it is worth their while. If any one can imagine the feeling of a peaceful man who suddenly hears a gun fired and a shell whistling overhead, fol- lowed by the explosion, and then vice versa by the enemy, he will perhaps sym- pathize with the disagreeable sensation I experienced when I first heard it happen. However, for five days it has gone on FIELD SERVICE 19 constantly and soon I shall become ac- customed. Monday. This very long letter will probably end in being so dull that it will not be worth reading, but when everything is fresh to me it is easy to describe. After three or six weeks I shall probably write that I have no news, for one day is doubtless a repetition of the other, therefore while my impressions are new I must scribble them down. I did not get to the trenches last night, as the bombardment became so bad it would have been foolish to take so great a risk sight-seeing. If we had had to go to get wounded, it would have been differ- ent. I stood in the road opposite the little house I live in and watched the Germans bombard X . It was rather like a stage scene or a colored picture show. X is a little valley town with the conventional church steeple about two 20 AMERICAN AMBULANCE and one half kilometres as the crow flies from Pont-a-Mousson. 1 Shrapnel, curiously enough, is not con- sidered very dangerous and the soldiers ~_ CERrtAfiS here treat it with contempt. The Ger- mans use it to keep people from going on to the streets to put out fires which may have been started by their "210's" or "150" high explosives. Late yesterday afternoon they set fire to a haystack, and the smoke made them think that the vil- lage was on fire, so they sent about 100 1 The rough sketch shows the indirect fire of the opposing batteries. Every means to observe the effect of the batteries is used, such as aeroplane spotters, etc., and these observers communicate by electrical or visual signaling systems to correct the fire of the battery. FIELD SERVICE 21 shrapnel one after the other over it, and it was most interesting to see the flash in the sky, then a white cotton-wool effect — and finally the sound of explosion. The French behind A immediately opened fire and the music began. It lasted about an hour, but as none of our men were wounded we did not have to go up there. After dinner three of us went for a little walk along the Moselle. One can see the Germans about a thousand metres away on the hills, and as you walk along the banks of the river they can see you distinctly, but they don't bother to fire, which is kind of them ! We sat down and watched two soldiers fishing, and I took a photo of them, as I thought it so amus- ing for people to fish under the direct and easy rifle shot of the Boches. We then went and talked to a lot of soldiers about to return to the trenches. They are all nice to us, and it would make an American proud if he could see how the American 22 AMERICAN AMBULANCE boys here are respected and loved. One officer was very indignant because those " dirty Bodies" had actually thrown five shells into his trench yesterday! As he wandered off muttering, "7 will show them ! les cochons — les cochons — co- chons," rather sleepily, I thought — I could n't help remembering the Dormouse in "Alice in Wonderland." It appeared that at the particular line of trenches where he was they had agreed only to fire at each other with rifles ! In several places here the trenches are only fifteen or twenty metres apart and the French and Ger- mans are on quite good terms. They ex- change tobacco for wine and paper for cigarettes and then return and shoot at each other quite merrily. About Christ- mas or February, I am told, by soldiers who were then here, they used to walk into each other's trenches and exchange stories, etc., but now they have become "mechant." DIEULOUARD FISHING WITHIN RIFLE-RANGE OF THE BOCHES FIELD SERVICE 23 I am feeling pretty sick to-day and rather dread to-night, as I have all-night duty at X . I am not at all well. It is the hard food we are having, I sup- pose. Anyhow, I find myself nice and thin again, so your shocking example of gaining weight last spring is now of no influence. "Doc" comes to-morrow and I will give him this letter to post, as it would never get through unless posted in Paris. I have just returned from Belle- ville where I took three couches and two assis. One of the couches was raving and he yelled and shrieked the whole seven- teen kilometres. It was horrible. When I arrived at Belleville, where they are put on a train and sent to a Base Hospital, I found that in his agony he had torn off his clothes and broken the hangers of the stretcher, so it was a wonder he did not completely fall on the two men below. Our cars are packed like this — 24 AMERICAN AMBULANCE &* i l i [ v ^ja=*» I do not know what could be worse than having a poor peaceful peasant who, — forced to fight and after perhaps months of agonizing trench life — badly wounded, shrieks with pain and misery as you try to avoid the many bad bumps in the road. We expect a big attack to-day and we have evacuated all the X hospitals. It looks, too, as if they were preparing for many wounded. Any kind of news will be greatly appre- ciated. If you do not hear very regularly from me, remember it will be because work is too heavy. FIELD SERVICE 25 Thursday. "Doc" has not yet arrived (he was ex- pected Tuesday), so I am afraid you won't have heard from me this week, as he will miss the mail. I am sitting at the win- dow of my bedroom with the sun stream- ing through on the table and can imagine myself at "Beauport," or the bungalow — but every three or four minutes, boom! and then bang I — boom ! — the Germans firing on Montauville and the French re- plying. As I sit here I can see the smoke rising from the village, and I wonder if either of our ambulances which are on duty there have been hurt. "Doc" may come to-night, and if he does so I shall make him come to X to-morrow, as it is my day's duty there and he will have some excitement. On my right I can see, about a thousand metres away, the German trenches. It is strange to sit at a window and be in such a position, and 26 AMERICAN AMBULANCE yet be writing a letter as though we were all together again in Gloucester. I have been very sick, but to-day I am better again and am very grateful for my recov- ery. Yesterday I discovered that the main backspring of my car was broken and I had to replace it. Imagine me on my back all day, working like a madman to get the job done in time for duty last night. I managed it all right, however, and so feel myself quite a mechanic. My old bus has a horrid habit of running for- ward when I crank it. I think I have more dread of cranking my car than of a German " obus." Last night I went into the Square to see the civilians leave. There are not a great many left, but the women are a nui- sance — morally — and so the Governor is turning them out as quickly as he can. Alas, that they could not have done their part better ! It was a sad sight — many, many tears — and some hysterics ! The Governor, a splendid old Colonel, came up FIELD SERVICE 27 and talked with us (there were four of us), and was eager to hear when America was to join the Allies. He quite spoils us all, and anything we want he sees we have if it is possible. Last night it was amusing to see his indignation when he learned that we were paid, as ordinary "poilus" (a fa- miliar term of endearment referring to the unshaven men in the trenches), a sou a day (we don't draw the pay!). He gal- lantly declared that we should all rank as sub-lieutenants and should be compen- sated as such, for he added, "You brave boys do as much as any soldier at the front and take as much risk." I like the French gallantry and sincerity. One meets it everywhere. The officers all salute us and the poilus all cheer, smile, and "vive l'Amerique," etc., and I feel that the work of the Section is real. I have rarely met a happier lot of fellows and all so good- natured and generous. You never hear a hard word. All work for the good cause, 28 AMERICAN AMBULANCE and as efficiency is unity we try to be effi- cient. I wish you could see this dear old garrison town with its poplars and bridge and church and the lazy Moselle slowly creeping along to quieter and happier places. Here and there are fallen houses — and often gaps in the walls — and torn- up trees. The house next to us has been hit and looks like this — with piles of stone and brick all over the road. I always try to talk with the sol- diers (my French is improving, but still rotten) and I find they have become fatal- ists. Some of the regiments here have FIELD SERVICE 29 been filled up several times and I hear that thirty -five thousand French have been killed in the Bois-le-Pretre. Every day great shells or hand grenades fall into the trenches and many a poor peasant or higher caste of Frenchman is called away. I took three wounded to the hospital this morning from X after they had only been in the trenches twenty minutes, having come straight from the Home Base. They talked so hopelessly about their chance of life. An old chap asked me yesterday if I would like a German rifle. "Well, rather," said I. He promised he would bring it to me at seven o'clock, unless an "obus" hit him. He did not come, poor fellow, but perhaps he forgot his promise. I hope so. Pont-a-Motjsson, June 25th. You will not have received any mail from me this week, and I am very sorry if 30 AMERICAN AMBULANCE I have caused you any anxiety. "Doc" said he would be here last Tuesday, and to our surprise he has not even arrived yet. I am a little anxious about him and so tried to send him a wire to ask if he is well. As yet I have received no answer. The three letters I have written could never possibly reach you from here, as we are only allowed to write little open letters or postals, so I shall wait until he comes before I send them. The last few days have been quiet, but for me full of interest and hard work. I am better, but my ill- ness of the three days has pulled me down a lot and the food is not good enough to allow me to pick up strength quickly. I have had many long talks with sol- diers and they tell me most interesting stories. One told me that he got on such friendly terms with the Germans in a trench ten metres away that he asked them all to put their heads above the trench so as to take their photos, and I FIELD SERVICE 31 have been promised a copy. Also that they promised to tell each other when they meant to attack or blow up a trench. The mining of the trenches is the most horrible method of warfare existing, I think. There seems so little chance — in fact, none. The worst implement of de- struction for the trench-livers is the new kind of projectile called a "torpille," a sort of torpedo. It is fired from about four hundred metres and is noiseless, very large and terribly destructive. Nearly all of the poor fellows we take to the hospi- tal have been '"saute" by a mine or hit by a torpille. The French have developed a projectile of the same sort, and neither side has had them more than six weeks. It has a kind of tail to its head (see sketch) and is shot from a sort of small gun. Of course they shoot big shells of say "210" or "280" into the trenches, and so mar- velous is the accuracy of firing that they explode often on the floor of the trench. FIELD SERVICE 33 A shell, however, one can hear coming. The whistle is very plain, and you have perhaps one second or two to hide. The torpille gives no warning, is just as large, and, therefore, very deadly. Yesterday I visited the trenches. I left here at four o'clock in the morning and started up the hill through a little village, rather like what the French call me, "Booseville," which has been much bombarded, and then climbed up past dis- used trenches until we came to a sentry who directed us up to the company where a friend had promised to meet me. At last I found him and we started for the "premier ligne." I felt a little nervous and anxious, as I did not care to get killed sight-seeing. My friend pointed out some bushes to me, and I had not noticed what he said, when on passing within a foot of another bush I found myself looking into the muzzle of a "75" gun. For some distance every inch 34 AMERICAN AMBULANCE 1 seemed full of great guns and little guns, all so cleverly hidden that it would seem impossible to know they were there. At last we came to a hill and were told by a sentry that we could not pass that way (for some reason or other — perhaps the position of a battery had just been changed), and we had either to go straight back or right across a field three hundred yards wide in full view of the Germans, three hundred and fifty metres away. Said my friend, "Oh, I think they are eating now; let's risk it. They never fire while food is about." So somewhat against human nature I assented, and we slowly trudged across the open. I con- fess I was relieved when we reached the shady wood. Still mounting up, we passed hundreds and hundreds of blue-coated soldiers returning from their night vigil in the trenches, and then the noise and chatter of men and birds seemed to die away and I could hear little else but the FIELD SERVICE 35 crack of some twig one of us walked on, or the occasional bang of a rifle. This deadly silence — it was really quite awe- inspiring — continued as we passed silent groups of soldiers sipping coffee, tea, or soup. Then we took three or four steps down and henceforth walked in trenches, — winding, curving, zigzag we went, no trench being more than five metres straight. /. a, 3. *. TV4H WAY* OF 3<»i-T»X £ M s ?§ a FIELD SERVICE 77 whole place shook and reechoed with the sound of artillery, hand grenade, and rifle fire. We stayed awake, expecting a call, but none came till five o'clock, when we were told that the "medecin division- naire " had ordered us to leave Pont-a- Mousson immediately. We dressed and packed and got around to the caserne to find that nearly every one had already left and that all thought Ogilvie dead. ' ' Why ?" we asked. His house had been completely destroyed, — even a " 280 " shell had burst in the cellar itself. Two shells had burst in our caserne and all around was wreckage and mess. I got some coffee at a little cafe, and being on Montauville duty went up there, a sad and depressed being. That afternoon, about one o'clock, a shell burst right in the middle of the street at X — killing one soldier and badly wounding four more. I was not far away. I took them to the hospital at Dieulouard, where I found the rest of 78 AMERICAN AMBULANCE the Section getting themselves installed in their new quarters. In the evening we went, at eight o'clock, to poor Mignot's funeral. Sad and horribly gruesome it was. Imagine a little chapel with four coffins in front of a small altar — one of them with many flowers, and of oak — Mignot's — the other three just pine wood — the ordinary w r ar coffin. The Governor came, and I shall not forget the dim scene — the priest who intoned the Latin burial service out of tune, and the "choir" consisting of one man who sang badly and as loud as he could, and a congregation of silent mourn- ers. Every note, every word, as it re- echoed through the chapel, seemed like the cry of despair of France — a small but pitiful note of the anguish of this country. Over at last, the coffins were shuffled out of the little chapel, and we were allowed to follow them to the bridge to St. Martin, where they were buried in a cemetery con- FIELD SERVICE 79 stantly upheaved by German shells. Hor- rible ! horrible ! horrible ! — that is all I can write. There had not yet been time to find rooms in Dieulouard, and I was asked if I minded sleeping in Pont-a-Mousson. " No, not a bit!" So I spent last night there alone, and perhaps for the last time — in our little room, Schroeder's and mine, of which I once sent you a photo. He was at X on night duty. This morning I am sitting in that room at the window writing this — all 's quiet — the sky, cloudless and blue — birds are singing — the red roses in the garden blossom in the sun, and the peace of Heaven is really on earth around me. Then comes the memory of Thursday night; a vision of another world. "Doc" will probably arrive here to- day, as we had to wire him at once, and so you may get this letter next mail. 80 AMERICAN AMBULANCE Pont-a-Mousson, July 26, 1915. Since Friday, things have been topsy- turvy. Our Section leader was away "en repos" and Glover, who is in charge in his absence, naturally feeling responsible for the safe-keeping of our many ambu- lances in this division of the army, thought best to evacuate Pont-a-Mousson. Of course the point of virtue in the idea was to avoid the possible loss of some of our men as well as cars — which would be a tragedy for the French wounded. But our Section is here to give its best service and I can't help feeling that it is better not to lower the standard of work and effi- ciency by retiring to . Perhaps I have rather forcibly expressed this idea, but a number of the men here are of the same opinion. I sleep at Pont-a-Mousson as usual, and of course Schroeder does too, and now three others also. I want to point out that the moral effect of seeing FIELD SERVICE 81 us about this place is very great on the soldiers encamped here, and if you could have heard their condolences and seen the look of pleasure on their faces when Schroeder and I walked down the street last night, you would realize that what little extra risk it involves is negligible, compared to its beneficial effect. How- ever, when Salisbury returns, we may have to leave, for good, dear old Pont- a-Mousson. I suppose you saw in the official French report of the 29th that we had been shelled — it meant something to you then, I am sure — but you little realized that it was our little group of ambulances they were hammering at. Our whole Section has been cited by Order of the Division, and last night the official wording, etc., was sent to us. It is really a very great compliment and I am so pleased — I expect Salisbury will get decorated as head of the Section. Here is a translation of it: — 82 AMERICAN AMBULANCE "American Ambulance Automobile, Section A.Y., composed of volunteers, friends of our country, has been contin- ually conspicuous for the enthusiasm, courage, and zeal of all its members, who, regardless of danger, have worked without rest to save our wounded, whose affection and gratitude they have gained." Poor Mignot — life at Pont-a-Mousson will be very different without him; and our mechanic, who was wounded, is, I now hear, to have his left arm amputated. 1 What a real tragedy the 22d was for us! The more we think about the evening, and as further details come to light, the more we marvel that we were not all killed. It is strange, too, how those who one felt would behave well — did — and I am proud of my friends in the Section. P.S. We hear that a German captain, a prisoner in Paris, said that if any Ameri- can ambulance man was captured pris- 1 He died soon after. FIELD SERVICE 83 oner he would be shot ! Nice lot of people ! are n't they? July 29, 1915. I had a very interesting day yesterday; as you will have seen by official reports, the Germans presented us again with some twenty to thirty big shells on Mon- day night, and although I was at Pont-a- Mousson, I was in a good cellar! About three people were killed, but one woman was wounded, just down the road, and the doctor and I had to run out and bring her in. We were sufficiently excited not to think of more shells, and as she could run too — and did so with a vengeance — it was not a long "promenade"! Yesterday, I went with Schroeder to lunch with the battery who had enter- tained us at dinner on the 14th July. They had moved their position nearer the Germans. I have rarely enjoyed a day more — the sun was glorious — the views 84 AMERICAN AMBULANCE perfect — and the woods enchanting — though shells bursting in the air took the place of birds! We had a splendid lunch, and afterwards went out and visited the numerous guns and trenches. I took many wonderful photos (cest a dire they ought to be), I saw about five different- sized guns, and then we advanced to the trenches. Finally we reached the first line, where silence reigned supreme except for the occasional bang of a rifle or the inter- mittent explosion of shells. We went to an advanced post (several metres in front of first line), and there carefully looking through a hole I saw the German trenches. I then expressed a wish to be able to photo them, and I was shown a place where I could stand up and quickly get a snap- shot. I regretted having made the wish, but I saw they were looking at me, and I did n't intend showing a white liver, so up I jumped and took two. The bullets did not whistle all around me, as I suppose I 3 P FIELD SERVICE 85 ought to write, and although I was suc- cessful in taking the picture I do not in- tend to try the game again. In fact, I have now seen all the trench life I want to — and do not mean to visit them further. The point is that if I should be killed or wounded on a sight- seeing expedition it would not be very- creditable, and we run quite enough risk when on duty. Strange to say, I felt far less nervous in the first-line trenches than when on service at Pont-a-Mousson or Montau- ville — in fact I felt quite a sense of se- curity in those splendidly built trenches, while in a town the shelling is so much more dangerous; and when you have to go out into it sitting on that little Ford jos- tling its way over the bumpy road, the sensation is not a very comfortable one. However, as I told you before, I am a fatalist now — absolutely. We made our way slowly home to Pont- 86 AMERICAN AMBULANCE a-Mousson and there saw shells bursting over a little town in the valley and I got a photo of it. I am tired, so good-night. July 30th. All your letters from July 4th to July 15th have just arrived, and also a very nice one from Marconi. It was a great joy to me to know of your success and of your glorious effort. Things are gradually quieting down here, but we have had a dreadful time. However, I am glad the work we are doing is so well worth the cost. One has little time and less inclina- tion, in the presence of such great tragedy, to consider the virtue of one's personal service, but somehow it is good to remem- ber that, although one has done work at the front, it was without pay, titles, etc. — I acknowledge that I look forward to October when I plan to go back for a bit. I shall have had four months' service at the front, without a rest, and although I FIELD SERVICE 87 can, I hope, keep going another eight or ten weeks, I feel that without some res- pite the winter would finish me, if the Germans omitted to do so. I find myself feeling an intense — though futile and unphilosophic — resentment at my phys- ical condition: the not being able to eat enough to keep always at top speed — and of course one can never allow even a shadow, much less a mention of one's own problems to appear. The per- sonal equation practically does n't exist here. August 2d. Salisbury, who has returned to us, has supported our little group, who objected to the evacuation of Pont-a-Mousson. He found us a very fine, suitable house (an aesthete would go mad in it — German, and bad German at that), and we were told that no shell had fallen near it for nine months, so we entered with confi- 88 AMERICAN AMBULANCE dence. The telephone was established, and after changing the furniture about, altering a few details, and (I confess it) bringing in a few flowers from the garden, we found ourselves almost magnificently installed. Yesterday, the 1st of August, the French violently bombarded a town where a German regiment was en repos, and when I arrived at Montauville for day duty at seven-thirty yesterday morning, I was told that all the towns around here were expecting a bombardment in re- venge. Needless to say, it was correct. About ten o'clock I had a call to go to Auberge St. Pierre for two seriously wounded, and when I arrived there, the medecin chef told me that if I got them to the hospital quickly, they would have a chance of living. So "No. 10" tooted off down the hill — at what the plain warrior would term — "a hell of a pace." As I entered Montauville I saw no one about, FIELD SERVICE 89 but as I passed a poste de secour, a doctor rushed out and told me to take two more if I had room. I noticed they filled my car with extraordinary speed, and it was not necessary to tell me that Montauville was being bombarded. My stretchers filled, I set off again for my destination with the four seriously wounded. I de- cided to take a different road, which was quicker, though supposed to be more dan- gerous, and two big shells fell on the road I did not take while I passed. I began to think myself lucky. As I entered Pont-a-Mousson, I saw no one about (a bad sign), and on turning to go to Dieulouard where we take the wounded I saw a huge shell explode two hundred metres down the road I was to drive along. Had the ambulance been empty, or with only slightly wounded, I should have waited, of course, but under the circumstances my duty was to go on as fast as I could. I noticed ahead of me 90 AMERICAN AMBULANCE three large motor-trucks and the thought struck me: "What if those are hit and contain ammunition." I was ten yards away when — bang ! — I was half blown out of my seat — a shell had landed on the motor-truck. Hardly believing I was not hit, I increased my pace and emerged from the smoke and blackness, going at a good clip, safe and sound, but shaken. 1 deposited my wounded and started to re- turn, but was stopped and told that the road was not passable as thirty large