I 
 
 
 ¥A \ 
 
 
 
\ 
 
 Dr. C. D. Center. 
 
 The ashes of Dr Charles D. Cen- 
 ter were entombed in Woodland 
 Mausoleum Wednesday afternoon at 
 5-30 Full military honors were ac- 
 corded by the Hill-Emery post of 
 ^American Legion. The services 
 were in charge of Commander Ralph 
 Butcher and J. W. Primrose, vjce- 
 commander. The Rev Phillip John- 
 son, chaplain, officiated, assisted by 
 Adit. Chester H. Johnson. The col- 
 ors color guard and firing squad 
 were in charge of Capt. Carl Grim- 
 mer. 
 
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 Four members have been elected presi- 
 dent of the Illinois State Medical Society: 
 Dr. William Byrd, 1885; Dr. L. H. A. Nicker 
 son, 1912; Dr. Charles Center, 1935, anc 
 Dr. Walter Stevenson, Sr. 7 1949. 
 
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 For a i 
 
 Anniversary 
 
 M T R ( 
 
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COPYRIGHT 1927 
 
 CHAS. D. CENTER 
 
 M. D.— F. A. C. S. 
 
 QUINCY, ILL. 
 
THINGS USUALLY 
 LEFT UNSAID 
 
 BY 
 
 CHAS. D. CENTER 
 M. D.— F. A. C. S. 
 
 QUINCY, ILLINOIS 
 1927 
 
CL33W 
 
 PREFACE 
 
 In presenting this narrative I have no excuses to make. Much 
 has been written about the great war, chiefly from one of two 
 angles. The first that of the enlisted man, or the company 
 lieutenant. The second, from the standpoint of some one con- 
 nected with the General Staff, or possibly from the standpoint 
 of a Division Commander. In each case there has been an un- 
 bridged gulf, the space and distance between the two observers. 
 Each has portrayed his experience, and one sees the vast picture 
 largely from the mud and trenches on the one hand, while the 
 other has seen only the workings of G. H. Q. and the staff — 
 those formal orders which made up the daily round. 
 
 I have tried to throw a few fascines into the ditch which divides 
 the two pictures. No doubt there are some inaccuracies herein, 
 for it is especially hard to keep geographical conditions in mind, 
 particularly when one sees that geography but once, and then 
 perhaps under circumstances not conducive to a clear remem- 
 brance. But the effort has been made to steer clear of the 
 beaten path; to show the things as yet unshown; to forget 
 romance, plot, and all things apparently necessary to make a 
 "best seller", and to paint a picture which because of its verity 
 may make an impression on some minds. I am indebted to a 
 number of officers who at one or another time served with me, 
 for their suggestions, and criticisms, of what is written. I am 
 particularly indebted to my wife, who said, not to me but to 
 some of her sympathizing friends who knew I had been sent to 
 France, and who questioned "how could you ever let him go?" 
 "He wanted to go, he thought after all his work and training he 
 should go, he felt it was his duty to go, and if he hadn't gone I 
 think I would have taken his pistol away from him, and taken 
 a pot shot at him myself". 
 
 Such sentiments, from a devoted wife and mother, make a 
 man act a man whether he has it in him or not. 
 
Some of my friends and comrades have criticised this copy 
 because it does not contain all of the middle ground material 
 that it might. If there should be a decisive cry for more of the 
 war stuff it can be supplied very readily. 
 
 The Author 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Page 
 
 Chapter One 9 
 
 Chapter Two 13 
 
 Chapter Three 21 
 
 Chapter Four 30 
 
 Chapter Five 36 
 
 Chapter Six 40 
 
 Chapter Seven 49 
 
 Chapter Eight 56 
 
 Chapter Nine 65 
 
 Chapter Ten 71 
 
 Chapter Eleven 82 
 
 Chapter Twelve 101 
 
 Chapter Thirteen 118 
 
 Chapter Fourteen 135 
 
 Chapter Fifteen 150 
 
 Chapter Sixteen 163 
 
 Chapter Seventeen 165 
 
 Chapter Eighteen 180 
 
 Chapter Nineteen 185 
 
 Chapter Twenty 192 
 
 Chapter Twenty-one 198 
 
 Appendix u A" 201 
 
CHAPTER I 
 
 To me an autobiography is always more or less of a regretable 
 incident. It smacks too much of the personal pronoun, but since 
 this account is only for the purpose of leaving a record for my 
 children, of an historic nature within the family, concerning the 
 family, and for the family, the dislike and distaste for such an 
 undertaking is more or less cheerfully assumed. 
 
 The name "Center" is probably of Scottish origin; the findings 
 of my son Donald in the kirkyard in Aberdeen will partially 
 verify this assumption. However, in the early development of 
 this country, with its extremely meagre resources for perpetuating 
 events not of major importance, the advent of the first Center on 
 American soil is either lost, or so buried in obscurity that it will 
 probably never be ascertained, but John Center, a cordwainer is 
 found in Biddleford, Maine, early in 1700, and there is con- 
 clusive evidence, that a Center was wounded at the battle of 
 Lexington who died two days later as a result of his wounds. 
 
 This immediate branch of the family apparently developed in 
 western Massachusetts. Nathaniel Center, the paternal grand- 
 father of the writer, married Mary Dewey. Her ancestry can be 
 traced to Thomas Dewey, "the Settler," in 1646. Mary Dewey 
 was of western Massachusetts, and as Nathaniel Center and 
 Mary Dewey were both of humble station, it is reasonable to 
 suppose that they became acquainted in one locality where both 
 resided. Mary Dewey was a taciturn woman whose life was 
 both rugged and hard. She died in Illinois when the writer was 
 fourteen years old, and if she ever gave much of information con- 
 cerning her birthplace, or the birthplace of her husband, the 
 matter made so little impression on the hearers that it never 
 became a fact known to the writer. Nathaniel Center died in 
 1844 leaving six living children. At the time of his death Mary 
 
Dewey Center was forty years of age, and it is my dim remem- 
 brance that Nathaniel was fifty-four years old when he died. 
 
 During the married life of Nathaniel and his wife they lived 
 first in Washington County, N. Y. Shortly before his death they 
 moved to Wayne County, N. Y., where he was engaged in farm- 
 ing. Their children, in order of birth, were Helen, Hallett, John, 
 Dorr, Eliza, and Harriett. Helen married William Blaine, and 
 died at the age of seventy-nine at Fairbury, Illinois. Hallett 
 married Harriett Hall, and died at the age of eighty-four at 
 Watseka, Illinois. John married Sarah Price, and died at the age 
 of eighty-nine at Ottawa, Illinois. Dorr married Harriett Allen 
 and died at the age of eighty years at Ottawa, Illinois. 
 Eliza never married, and died at the age of eighty-two at Watseka, 
 Illinois. Harriett married Christopher Poundstone, and died at 
 the age of seventy-three, at Grand Ridge, Illinois. Of these 
 children, John, Dorr, and Eliza came to Illinois in 1858. Some 
 time thereafter, all the children and the mother came west. 
 
 The personality of Nathaniel Center was said to have been 
 very unusual. He was a man standing over six feet in height, 
 with flaming red hair, of a very hot temper, given to argument 
 and dispute, and withal a very handsome man. It is said that he 
 and his young wife were an exceptionally striking looking couple, 
 as Mary Dewey, in her youth, stood six feet in height. Mary 
 Dewey, broken by hard work and care, became a reserved, 
 reticent, and retiring woman in her later years, and lived to be 
 seventy-seven years old. 
 
 Of our immediate branch of the family, Dorr Dewey, born in 
 L838 married Harriett Allen, born in 1840. Her birthplace was 
 in Wayne County, N. Y., and she was born of Solomon Allen 
 and Susan West cot t Allen. Solomon Allen was born in Vermont, 
 ;in<l some time in his early lite moved to western New York, lb' 
 lived to the age of ninety-one. 
 
 Susan Westcotl was bom in Ireland, and so far as known was 
 .in orphan when she married Solomon Allen. She lived to the aire 1 
 of eighty-five years. The children of this pair, in Older of birth, 
 were Eugenia, Nathaniel, Charles, Lampson, Harriett, and 
 Clayton. 
 
 in 
 
In 1866 Dorr Center and Harriett Allen were married, and 
 went at once to live on what later became known as Oak Grove 
 Farm near Ottawa. John Center and Sarah Price were married 
 in 1867, and the two brothers lived on adjoining farms until the 
 death of the father of Sarah Price, when John and Sarah moved 
 to the farm of her father. 
 
 To the marriage of Dorr Center and Harriett Allen were born, 
 in order of birth, Genevieve, Charles, Orlo, and Ralph, in the 
 years 1867, 1869, 1872 and 1875. All these children were born 
 in the little old farm house on Oak Grove Farm. 
 
 It is a matter of loving and reverent pleasure for me to take up 
 the characteristics and lives of Dorr D. Center and Harriett Allen 
 Center. He was, first of all a consistent man; his standards of 
 life were extremely high; his sense of the ethical was unusually 
 well developed, and he never varied from his conceptions of duty. 
 In stature he was but five feet, eight inches — the smallest of the 
 three brothers, if not of the entire family. The most he ever 
 weighed was one hundred and sixty-five pounds. During the 
 forty-eight years the writer knew him, never but once did he lose 
 his temper, and his self-control was a matter of comment. He 
 was the most thoroughly peace-loving individual I have ever 
 known. His integrity, and sense of justice were so well recognized 
 that he became an unofficial arbitrator for all sorts and kinds of 
 disputes and disagreements between his neighbors. 
 
 His education in schools was extremely limited, but he was of 
 the turn of mind to continue his education in the school of life, 
 and he stored the essentials of knowledge so readily that finally 
 he was enabled to meet anyone upon a common ground. He 
 had the faculty of seeing only the good in his fellows. He was 
 deeply religious, and lived his belief. He was very tenacious in 
 his ideas, but his tenacity was of the passive sort; in this he 
 differed supremely from his brother John, whose tenacity was 
 always of the aggressive type. Dorr idolized his wife. 
 
 In some respects Harriett Allen was his exact antithesis; she 
 was also deeply religious, and lived her religion, but while with 
 Dorr anyone could get to -heaven who believed in God, and who 
 
 11 
 
followed closely the teachings of the Golden Rule, with her there 
 was a considerable doubt about the ultimate destination of that 
 person. His religion was a constant pleasure to him; hers was an 
 important and serious undertaking to be carefully and prayer- 
 fully guarded at all times. The difference in these two concep- 
 tions of religion followed in everything coming into the daily life. 
 With him, if things went wrong today, he believed they would 
 go right tomorrow, while she always retained her apprehension 
 that tomorrow would be a little worse than today. She could 
 not be properly described as a gloomy individual; if she felt 
 gloom and worry she did not inflict her feelings upon the family, 
 but she can be described as a serious-minded person. She was, 
 for the times, well educated and well read ; she could be a brilliant 
 conversationalist, and often in public — particularly upon some 
 church occasion — she spoke fluently and eloquently without 
 previous preparation. She was of much sterner mould than her 
 husband, more strict with her children, more unyielding to her- 
 self. Her devotion to her family, and her sense of duty made her 
 a martyr for she died at the age of sixty-seven years, worn out, 
 tired out, nearly blind, having compressed the labor and love of 
 a life of four score into these sixty-seven years. 
 
 12 
 
CHAPTER TWO 
 
 The writer of this sketch probably differed very little from the 
 average boy. It is true, that as a baby he was considered petulant, 
 bad-tempered, and not robust. As a small boy in school he gave 
 no evidence of genius, and at the same time had no difficulty in 
 keeping pace with others of his age both in his play and in his 
 classes. Though undersized, he had no trouble either in boyish 
 athletics, or in boyhood fights, in maintaining his part, for a 
 quickness of muscular movement above that of the average — 
 which remains even to the present day — gave him an advantage 
 to offset the handicap of size and weight. 
 
 As years went by it developed that he was a bashful boy, and 
 at the same time a self-reliant boy. When he was ten years old 
 his father and mother went back to the old childhood home in 
 New York State, leaving the boy — as expressed by his father 
 with "an eye on the house, a hand on the barn, and with Billy at 
 your command let nothing suffer harm." There were cattle, 
 horses and hogs to be cared for; it was in the month of August 
 and very hot and dry; the little stream of water running through 
 the pasture failed entirely, and every day the lad had to pump 
 water from a well for all the thirsty stock; the pasture dried up; 
 food for the animals became so scarce that they began to break 
 fences, and jump fences to get into other fields to get food. This 
 meant that they had to be herded on the meadows, and as there 
 were no fences between the meadows and the corn fields, the lad 
 "with Billy at his command" was kept busy. 
 
 Billy is worth special mention. He was a Morgan colt, and as 
 a young horse was one of the most beautiful animals I have ever 
 seen. He was a bay of so rich and deep a red that it was almost 
 mahogany, while his streaming mane and tail were of a lustrous 
 black; he was a very spirited and mischievous horse. Billy was 
 given to the writer by his father when the colt was two years old, 
 and when the writer was ten years old, and the boy had broken 
 him to the saddle — after being thrown many times — . Until 
 
 13 
 
Billy was four years old no one but the boy ever bestrode him, 
 and he lived to be twenty-six years old, and remained in the 
 family all this time. 
 
 The boyhood life of the writer was not unlike that of other 
 boys of his day who lived in the country; it was at once routine 
 and full of incident. It was perhaps fortunate for him that he 
 was the oldest boy, for this meant that like most boys on a farm, 
 he had to work, and being the eldest he had to assume some 
 responsibility for seeing accomplishment of work by himself, and 
 later take up some responsibility in seeing that the younger boys 
 did their work also. As a little fellow the wood box for the 
 kitchen fire had to be kept filled ; the kindling for the starting of 
 the fires in the morning had to be provided the evening before; 
 the ashes had to be taken out; the cows had to be driven up each 
 night; the eggs had to be collected, all work for the boys, and all 
 coming under the head of "chores," and chores on a farm increase 
 in number and variety as a boy grows older. 
 
 At the age of eleven years he began to "make a man" by driv- 
 ing a team to break corn stalks, to harrow, and to do work of that 
 sort. The year he was twelve years old there was an early and 
 very severe winter; the corn husking was not finished when 
 Thanksgiving came as was usual and one day in December of 
 that year the writer and his father husked corn when the mercury 
 stood at eight degrees below zero, and when the snow was so 
 deep that they took grain sacks, drew them over boots and 
 trousers, and tied them as high on the thighs as possible to keep 
 the feet warm. 
 
 Some of the winters in those days were very severe. The 
 children at Oak Grove Farm had to go a mile and a half to "Chase 
 School," and one morning when the thermometer showed thirty- 
 six degrees below zero Genevieve, Orlo and the writer started out. 
 Orlo quit and turned back before he was well started; Vevie 
 lasted nearly half way to school when she turned about, and the 
 writer struggled on to school to find the teacher and three or four 
 of the larger boys huddled about the big cannon stove trying to 
 keep warm. There was no attempt made at having classes, and 
 about eleven o'clock the teacher sent us home. In the winter 
 
 14 
 
time there was skating, snow-balling, and rabbit hunting; in the 
 summer fishing, swimming and horse-back riding, and in the long 
 winter evenings plenty of reading. It was a point with the 
 parents of this family that, no matter how hard times were, no 
 matter how many other things were denied them and us, the 
 children must have good, wholesome reading matter. The result 
 was that the "Youth's Companion/' or "Golden Days," or "St. 
 Nicholas," all, or some of them came to the house regularly for 
 many years. In fact the Youth's Companion, which began to 
 come when Genevieve was eight years old, was still coming up to 
 within a few years of the death of my father — a period of probably 
 forty years. 
 
 Among the school teachers of early days there are still a few 
 who stand out prominently in my memory for one reason or 
 another. My first teacher was my Aunt Eliza, who hauled me 
 into the school house and gave me a switching the first day 
 because she overheard me say to a crowd of the little boys and 
 girls, "I can do as I please; teacher is my aunt, and she won't 
 do anything to me." So far as I know this was the first time I 
 was ever used as a horrible example. Among other teachers 
 remembered was "Professor Long," an elderly, kindly man, tall, 
 lean, dim of eye sight; a man who had dropped from teaching in 
 larger institutions because of his age and physical infirmities. 
 He was badgered and annoyed the entire winter by the boys, and 
 was considered an "easy mark," and rather contemptible by the 
 girls. The next winter his son Jimmy — who had been relieved of 
 his duties as a cadet at the United States Military Academy — 
 was employed. Jimmy was not as large as several of the big boys; 
 in fact, he was about the size of the sixteen year old ones, but 
 Jimmy was an athlete. He pursued his quiet and unassuming way 
 for the first week, allowed the boys to show their hands in all sorts 
 of mischief, and then promulgated his rules and regulations which, 
 to us, seemed Spartan in the extreme. We decided that Jimmy 
 had outlived his usefullness; that Jimmy must be taught a lesson; 
 that Jimmy had to go, but when it came time to put our plans in 
 execution Jimmy showed us that his Spartan rules were like the 
 laws of the Medes and Persians, unchanging; we tried concerted 
 
 15 
 
action, and Jimmy took on all comers and completely discouraged 
 us. Then he took us, one by one, and larruped us with a two foot 
 portion of a trace from a work harness, and after that double 
 thickness of two inch width of leather had bitten into us a few 
 times, we decided to be good scholars — so far as that term of 
 school was concerned. 
 
 Then there was Miss Osterhaut who left an impression on my 
 boyhood, largely I think, because she unconsciously appealed to 
 the chivalry and the dramatic in me. With her large, appealing 
 eyes, her low, controlled, well-accented voice, her ability to make 
 me feel the climax she felt in a crisis in history, or in a reading 
 from some eloquent, or pathetic, or dramatic selection she left 
 a permanent impress.. 
 
 And Bert Carson who was first of all an example of practicality. 
 Whether her name was really Bertha, or Alberta, or something 
 else I never knew, at any rate, every one called her Bert. She 
 was so encouraging in her attitude toward the pupils, and so 
 filled with the belief that as a teacher her work was worth while. 
 She did not need Spartan rules ; she made us feel that the most 
 desirable thing was to study and learn. Because of what will 
 come a little later I am going to set down — without feeling im- 
 modest — the report she sent to my parents at the end of the 
 term. "Charles is an exceptionally bright boy; he has studied 
 faithfully and hard, but most of all I wish to commend him for 
 being a perfect gentleman at all times." While my breast swelled 
 with pride that evening when father and mother praised me, 
 still I felt just a little 'peeved' over that last line, for I knew that 
 if the other boys ever heard of it they would call me "sissy." 
 
 And the next winter came Bert's sister Fannie. Bert had 
 secured a larger and more desirable school, but she had made 
 such an excellent teacher that the board of directors felt sure her 
 sister must be a good teacher also. But Fannie wasn't Bert. 
 In the first place she had a fiery temper; in the second place I do 
 not think she liked children, and in the third place, we found 
 early, how easy it was to annoy her. It developed too, and was 
 really her own statement, that she intended to be very 'strict,' 
 consequently we laid our plans to live and move as near the 
 
 16 
 
danger line as possible all the time. The result was, that within 
 a month I was sent home with a note to my parents saying that 
 I need not return, for she "would not permit such a young imp 
 to remain in school." Again, with boyish perverseness, that note 
 made me feel as if I had been knighted and given the order of the 
 Star and Garter. 
 
 When the writer was sixteen years old, his father rented what 
 was known as the Carman Eighty, a farm two miles from Oak 
 Grove Farm, and made this announcement: "Charlie, you are 
 to take Kit and Flora and farm that eight}' as if it were your own." 
 Kit was a big dappled gray Percheron, and Flora a big bay 
 Clydesdale. Each one weighed over sixteen hundred pounds. 
 The distance meant an extra early start from home in the 
 morning, the taking of a cold lunch for the mid-day meal, and 
 a drive home in the dusk in the evening. It was probably too 
 much for the growing boy. At any rate, when early Fall came 
 he was so run down and tired out that he became sick. From 
 the view point of today it is possible that he was poisoned by 
 working in corn which carried "smut", for the corn on the 
 Carman place was excessively smutty that year. At any rate, a 
 well established case of septicaemia came on, and the result was 
 that from October to February he was in bed, and was a very 
 sick boy. It may be said that right here his farming ended. The 
 following summer found him in no condition to work. 
 
 At this time Aunt Eliza stepped in and said she had been 
 wanting for years to go back to New York State, and revisit 
 girlhood scenes and friends, and that she was now going, and 
 was going to take Charlie with her. Inasmuch as the boy was so 
 crippled from his long illness that he was still compelled to use 
 crutches to walk, this seemed a most generous labor of love. The 
 Aunt and Nephew started and were gone for six months. To 
 the boy, who had, practically, never been off the farm, the trip 
 and the scenes were a revelation. There were many relatives 
 "down east" and each one was kindness itself to the boy of "Dorr 
 and Harriett," and the result was improved health, and regained 
 locomotion without the crutches, although some of the joints 
 were still stiff and sore. 
 
 17 
 
It must be that the winter following this six months period 
 was spent in contemplation of the trip, for there is not a solitary 
 thing remaining in my mind to indentify this interval of time. 
 
 When Spring came again it was plain that the boy could not 
 work on the farm. A little exercise, a little exposure, and the 
 joints that had been affected became sore and swollen again. 
 Inaction was one thing he could not endure so he decided to 
 become a book agent, to try and make some money, and to go to 
 college. He had always felt a desire to become a doctor, and 
 during his boyhood days had experimented with cats and chloro- 
 form until nothing but bob-tailed cats could be found at Oak 
 Grove Farm. He had even sewed up — with black cotton thread 
 and a cambric needle — a five inch cut one of the playmates of his 
 younger brothers had received in an accident. The strange part 
 of this story is that the injured boy recovered as quickly, and 
 with as good a result as the writer would have obtained in later 
 life with all the asepsis and equipment of a surgeon's office. 
 
 The illness, the incapacity for farm work, and the resultant 
 inactivity served to crystallize his purpose. But the farm was not 
 a very profitable thing; prices were low for all farm products; 
 the initial purchase price for the land had not yet been wiped 
 out; Genevieve was going away to school, and if Charles went 
 also, he must find some means to finance himself in whole, or in 
 at least the greater part. The outcome was that he finally secured 
 the agency for "My Story of the War" by Mrs. Mary A. Liver- 
 more. It may be said here that during the '80's the elapsed time 
 following the Civil War had not, in any measure, abated the 
 desire of the people for more "war books," nor had very many 
 authoritative works on the War of the Rebellion been published. 
 
 The physical condition of the boy meant that he must handicap 
 himself and his efforts as a book agent in the country by seeing 
 only one or two prospects a day, or else he must make provision 
 for transportation. Billy had been drafted into farm work by 
 the needs of the season, but there was a spindling, undersized 
 colt, two years old, unbroken, running in the pasture. On request 
 for the use of this colt father said, "Yes, if you can use her do so, 
 and what's more I'll give her to you to help you through college." 
 
 18 
 
With the aid of Orlo who had to do the catching in the pasture, 
 Maud — named so at this time because of the new dignity which 
 had come upon her — was gotten in the barn. A few days were 
 spent in getting her accustomed to her new owner, a few more 
 to get her accustomed to bit and harness, a little driving about 
 the barn lot to teach her to guide by the bit, and Maud was 
 ready. So far, so good, but there had to be a vehicle in which to 
 ride. Again Aunt Eliza came to the rescue. She had an old 
 fashioned, single buggy, long since antiquated, and relegated to 
 oblivion, but which, like so many articles on a farm was just 
 too good to throw away entirely. This she presented to the boy 
 and he was ready to start out on his business career. Maud 
 behaved fairly well; the neighbors in the immediate vicinity 
 were kind and sympathetic; many of them knew of the long ill- 
 ness, and the reason for his becoming a book-agent; the book he 
 had to sell was an attracitve story, well told, and well clothed in 
 three different bindings, and business was brisk; he could make 
 from a dollar and a half to three dollars per sale, depending on 
 which type of binding was selected. The work was pleasant; 
 the weather was favorable, and the boy could see his college 
 course coming closer and closer. It is true two dogs made inti- 
 mate acquaintance with his legs while he was making his way to 
 the doors of two farm houses, but the fact that each bite meant 
 the sale of a book compensated largely for the slight pain in- 
 curred. Then one day Maud decided that the peripatetic life did 
 not please her. She started kicking, and before she had finished 
 the old fashioned buggy, and the old harness were in pieces along 
 the road, so scattered as to be beyond the hope of successful 
 collection. 
 
 Looking backward over the years it becomes apparent that 
 the work done as a book-agent was among the most valuable 
 things of my life. Up to this time I had been bashful and retiring. 
 There is nothing connected with success as a book-agent even 
 distantly related to these traits of character, and common sense 
 told me this early in the game. The outcome of this realization 
 was that I forced myself to develop opposite characteristics. 
 Also speaking from the stand-point of experience, if you are ever 
 
 19 
 
a book-agent doing business at farm houses, do not go to the 
 front door if the farmer has a dog. Such action tells the dog 
 that you are a stranger with no legitimate reason for being there. 
 If you go round to the back door the dog thinks you are some 
 friend, or neighbor whom he has forgotten temporarily. 
 
 20 
 
CHAPTER THREE 
 
 That Fall it was off to college. It is surprising how little 
 knowledge, or concern about entrance requirements the writer 
 or his family had. It is likely that if the choice of school had been 
 other than it was, it would have been a case of turn about and go 
 back home. But the school selected was Knox College, and at 
 that time this institution had in connection with it Knox Acad- 
 emy. The new student had no credits from his district school; 
 he knew no Latin; he had had no algebra or geometry, but after 
 an interview with the Head of the Academy, who in a measure 
 gave him an oral examination, The Head very kindly showed him 
 that his place was in the Academy. In passing it may be said 
 that one year in the Academy enabled him to pass as a "con- 
 ditioned" freshman to the college. 
 
 A room was secured with another boy; a place to board was 
 found at a boarding club, where we paid two dollars and twenty- 
 five cents a week for twenty-one excellent meals, and school life 
 was on. At the Christmas vacation Mother sent me a whole 
 roasted turkey, cookies, jam, etc. That vacation no attempt was 
 made to earn money for I was new at the game, and while getting 
 stronger every day, the family had thought best for me to do 
 nothing but school work at first, but when the Easter vacation 
 came on my money was running low and my ambition high. 
 Knox College has always been known as a place where young 
 men can "make their way" by work of some sort. Several boys 
 I had known at home were working, or had worked their way 
 through college, some of them at Knox. There were all sorts of 
 ways for doing this; some men acted as waiters at restaurants or 
 hotels, some did odd jobs; some took care of a furnace, or a 
 garden, or a horse or cow; some sawed wood. 
 
 When Easter vacation came Tom McGregor, a big Scotchman 
 who was also in the Academy, joined me in looking for work; we 
 decided to saw wood as this was an occupation where we could 
 work together, and as it was work calling — we thought — for 
 
 21 
 
very little training. Our method of job hunting was to walk 
 down the street until we saw a big pile of cord wood, and then go 
 in and ask for the job of sawing and splitting it. At last, in the 
 rear of a fine residence we saw a healthy looking pile; we went to 
 the front door and rang the bell, and it so happened that the 
 mistress of the house answered the door herself. We stammered 
 out the news that we were college students anxious to saw and 
 split the wood for her. She was graciousness itself, but she ad- 
 mitted that she knew nothing about the woodpile, the quantity 
 there, or a fair figure for doing such work, but if we would come 
 back at six in the evening her husband would be home, and if he 
 had not made arrangements she felt sure he would let us have 
 the job. Until six in the evening we worried over the chance of 
 somebody else being introduced to that woodpile. Tom roomed 
 nearer here than I did, so at six he went again, saw the owner, 
 found there were ten cords in the pile and that the owner would 
 pay one dollar and a quarter per cord to have it sawed, split, and 
 piled up in the woodshed. We took the job, and for three days 
 we raised blisters, lame backs, and bad temper, but we con- 
 quered that woodpile, and divided twelve dollars and fifty cents 
 between us. We really divided more than this, for the lady who 
 had met us at the front door fed us two or three times a day on 
 pie, or cake, or cookies, with all the milk we could drink. 
 
 At the end of my first year at Knox I was able to find a place 
 in the family of Dr. T. R. Willard — a member of the faculty of 
 the college — where I received board, room, and laundry for my 
 rough clothing, in exchange for taking care of the stoves in the 
 house, milking the cow, and caring for the horse and garden. 
 There was wood to be sawed for the kitchen stove, too. All this 
 meant getting up at five in the morning, or even earlier, and 
 getting home in the afternoon earlier than I liked, for little by 
 little, I had worked into the athletic life of the school, and was 
 playing both baseball and football with the "Preps" the Spring 
 of my first year. It had become evident too, that there was 
 material in me to make a boxer, and each day I worked out with 
 the gloves for half an hour or more. 
 
 Dr. Willard had two boys, ages about twelve and fourteen. 
 
 22 
 
When he found I was inclined to athletics, and especially base- 
 ball, he suggested that it would be all right with him if I would 
 try something he had never been able to accomplish — get those 
 boys to work. If this could be done it would relieve me of some 
 of my chores, and would really be doing him, and the boys a 
 kindness. The professor was a rabid baseball fan, and in his day 
 had been rather a fancy player himself. He also suggested, with 
 a twinkle in his eye, that perhaps if I would teach the boys to 
 box that I could better control them and direct their efforts. 
 The boxing idea was an excellent one; to make up for the dif- 
 ference in ages — nineteen as compared to twelve and fourteen — 
 we used always to have our set-tos with all three going at once, 
 the two boys pitted against me. Of course, I had to go rather 
 lightly, and pull my blows in order not to hurt, or discourage 
 them, while they slugged at me as hard as they could. Two good, 
 husky lads of this age can make it fairly interesting for anyone, 
 and the training they gave me in foot work and ducking was 
 worth more to me than they got from me. But they did learn 
 to do part of my work for me so that I had more time for athletics. 
 
 Life at Dr. Willard's was pleasant in every way; they made me 
 a member of the family; Mrs. Willard called me "one of my boys," 
 and before living there very long I was sincerely attached to every 
 member of the household. More than this, I could feel their 
 growing affection for me. The amount of good that this one 
 family has done can never be computed or even estimated. For 
 a period of forty years they have been entertaining students in 
 the way they entertained me, and it is likely that at least twenty 
 men have been enabled to get their education through their 
 kindness. More even than this, the example set, the fatherliness 
 of Dr. Willard, the motherliness of Mrs. Willard, their high ideals, 
 their beautiful views of life and of the ethics of correct living, 
 their home so full of "homeness," all this served as the broadest 
 kind of an education for the student living in this family circle. 
 
 It may be said that during part of the time of my physical 
 disability as a farmer, father had strained a financial point to 
 allow me to take singing lessons under an instructor of almost 
 national prominence. This instruction had proved somewhat 
 
 23 
 
remunerative as there was always more or less of a demand for a 
 singer who could serve at funerals, celebrations, and occasions of 
 various sorts. Because of the singing ability it was arranged that 
 during the summer vacation I was to become one of a traveling 
 troop known as the "Knox College Boys," who went from place 
 to place in the state on a two-fold mission: to extend and intro- 
 duce the Y. M. C. A. as an organization, and to advertise Knox 
 College. One organization paid all our travel expense, and the 
 other promised freedom from college fees for the following year. 
 With college fees and living expense out of the way there remained 
 only the item of clothes to be taken care of, so at this point 
 mother stepped in and said that, as father was paying the ex- 
 pense of Genevieve's education, that she would buy my clothes 
 out of her butter and egg money. The result was that I had a 
 summer vacation that was largely pleasure, and returned to 
 college in the Fall apparently in excellent health. 
 
 Almost upon my return I suffered an injury to one leg — the 
 one which had given me the most trouble during my attack with 
 septicaemia. Later in the season it was hurt again while playing 
 football, and this time it became apparent that something had 
 to be done. The doing was deferred to the Christmas holidays 
 in the hope that whatever operative measures were necessary 
 would not require more than the vacation period, but the work, 
 and the subsequent convalescence kept me at the Presbyterian 
 Hospital in Chicago for ten weeks, and then it was evident that 
 I would have to depend on crutches for a considerable time longer. 
 This was the first time real discouragement had ever come to me. 
 It meant that I had fallen behind my class; my place at Dr. 
 Willard's had to be filled by someone else; I was no longer 
 physically fit to "work my way" through school. 
 
 In the early Spring of this year father decided that the old 
 farm house was no longer competent for our needs; for years 
 mother had kept up her hopes for a new home; if a new house 
 was built there would be no money for a college course. I do not 
 remember that I had any voice in the matter; I hope I did, and 
 hope that I voted for the new house; at any rate the house was 
 decided upon, and crippled as I was I helped build that house 
 
 24 
 
for mother; helped, not only in the way of helping to furnish the 
 funds by not spending the funds, but helped in the actual con- 
 struction work. The contractor was a friend of the family, and 
 on being asked by the writer if there was not somewhere that a 
 cripple could work and earn day's wages, was answered "Yes." 
 Then I was set with instructions to make certain mortises and 
 tenons in the foundation timbers. What I did not know about 
 this kind of work would take weeks to tell. Then the contractor 
 asked if I could lay shingles; he had another job which had 
 reached the shingle stage; of course I said Yes. Strange as it 
 may seem, a few minutes watching a real carpenter lay shingles, 
 a few hours of practice, and I could lay shingles. I had to go up 
 and down a ladder by arm power, and once on a roof I had to 
 transport myself sitting down, but before a month was over I 
 could lay more shingles in a day than any man the contractor 
 had, and I laid the shingles on mother's new home. 
 
 But the injured leg got worse again, and on July first there 
 was a return to the hospital for further operation, and this time 
 it kept me there until October first. During these months, part of 
 the time in the face of expectation on the part of doctors and 
 friends that I would not live, the decision was reached to give 
 up college so far as Knox was concerned, and to begin the study 
 of medicine. The preliminary education required before trying 
 for a medical degree was not as great as it is today. But there 
 was the case of "no money," and no ability to "work my way." 
 
 This time I took my plans, and troubles to Aunt Eliza, and 
 asked her to loan me four hundred dollars on my unsecured note. 
 She replied that she had never loaned money to a relative without 
 losing the interest, and frequently the principal as well, and that 
 she had firmly determined never to lend to a relative again; but 
 whereas, all other borrowing relatives had seemed to be good 
 loans, and as it appeared that I was an extremely risk}^ one, 
 perhaps I would be the exception to the relative-rule, and she 
 would let me have the money. That four hundred took care of 
 my first year at Rush Medical. Right here let me say that 
 twenty-one years afterward, the note was paid off with all 
 interest; it might have been paid off years before, but it was 
 
 25 
 
carried until all other debts had been cleared away, and then 
 carried another year or two just out of sentiment. When Aunt 
 Eliza cancelled it and sent it to me, she asked me to return it 
 to her if I had no objections, for she considered it in all respects, 
 the "prettiest" note she had ever had, and she wanted to keep 
 it always. 
 
 That first year at Rush Medical was spent in study and in 
 getting well. The first half of the year was spent on crutches too. 
 The summer vacation found me in shape to do some kinds of 
 work, and "male nursing" seemed the most profitable; this 
 brought in from five to seven dollars a day, and usually furnished 
 board as well. By the time Fall came a good little-nest-egg had 
 been collected, and I faced the second year of school confident 
 that I could see it through. It was in this year too, that I was 
 elected to the editorial staff of "The Corpuscle," which was a 
 "medical journal, owned, edited and published by medical 
 students, the only one of the kind in the world." It was a pretty 
 good publication too, and had a remarkably wide circulation; 
 copies went to Canada, to England, to India, and to other foreign 
 countries, subscribed for by medical colleges for their students, 
 or subscribed for by the foreign students for themselves. The 
 advertising we had secured paid all our expenses, and anything 
 secured from subscriptions, or from the sale of copies was profit 
 for the editorial staff of six men. Then because some of the six 
 did no particular amount of work, it was decided to split the 
 profits on a space-rate basis for material furnished and proof- 
 reading done. The outcome was that John Ross and myself 
 practically divided the proceeds from this journal, which gener- 
 ally ran about one hundred dollars a month. 
 
 The second summer vacation was spent as a traveling salesman 
 for Armour and Company, with Michigan and Wisconsin as 
 territory; this gave me an almost ideal summer, and it is possible 
 one of the financial mistakes of my life was made right here, for 
 the company was so well pleased with my efforts after the end 
 of five months that they offered to send me into the Southwest 
 as the general representative for their Laboratory line of products, 
 and give me a salary of twenty-two hundred dollars, with travel 
 
 26 
 
expense. The fact that this company never discharge a man who 
 does good work, and the fact that twenty years of continuous 
 service meant an assured pension, were used to persuade the 
 young man to stay with them, but the idea of a doctor's life was 
 too strong to be resisted, and I went back to school for my final 
 year well fortified with funds. In fact I felt so rich that I paid 
 Aunt Eliza interest for two years on that note. 
 
 Just prior to the date of graduation, and just after taking my 
 final examinations at Rush Medical, there came a call for a 
 surgeon to take up work immediately in three iron mines on the 
 Gogebic Range. I had taken the competitive examination for a 
 place as interne at the Presbyterian Hospital, in Chicago, had 
 been successful, but would not begin my duties there until 
 October first. This was in March, so that it appeared that there 
 was an interval of six months to fill in in some way. With my 
 money gone, and a period of a year and a half in the hospital with 
 no way of making money, I could not afford to waste those six 
 months. Hearing of this call from the iron country I importuned 
 Dr. Holmes, president of Rush, for this opportunity. At first he 
 could not see how it was possible; I had not gone through the 
 formality of graduation, even if the final examinations had been 
 taken, and even if I had been notified that I would be graduated ; 
 also, I had been fortunate in taking the prize offered for the best 
 graduation thesis; in a sense I was a show figure for the gradua- 
 tion exercises. But his objections were overcome by my in- 
 sistence that I needed that position; by my promise to furnish a 
 man to impersonate me at the graduation exercises, and the 
 result was that I left that same night for the Gogebic Range. 
 
 The impersonation at the graduation exercises resulted in 
 something more or less humorous — depending on the end from 
 which it is viewed. Arthur T. Holbrook a member of the class 
 after mine, had agreed to appear for me. When the diplomas 
 were being distributed, and my name was called in turn, he 
 gravely stepped forward and accepted the parchment; when the 
 announcement was made that Charles D. Center was the winner 
 of the fifty dollars in gold, the prize for the best thesis, again he 
 stepped forward, gravely and modestly, and was handed the 
 
 27 
 
money. In the audience was a young lady I had known at Knox, 
 who, at this time, was a student in the Art Institute in Chicago, 
 and who had come over to Central Music Hall to see me graduate. 
 She was greatly perturbed at seeing this stranger respond to my 
 name, and thinking there must be something very wrong, she 
 wrote to mother telling her all this, and asked if there was a 
 possibility of foul play somewhere. 
 
 My departure from Chicago had been so hurried that I had 
 not written home. A letter sent to me in Chicago, by mother, 
 brought no immediate reply. Genevieve and her husband, living 
 in Chicago, were apprized of the situation but they knew nothing 
 of my whereabouts. The clerk in the office of Rush Medical 
 did not know of the substitution on the graduation program, so 
 he could throw no light on the situation. About the time the 
 family was ready to call for help from the Pinkertons, or some 
 one else, the clerk at the college bethought himself, called Dr. 
 Holmes on the telephone, and the mystery ended very suddenly. 
 
 The six months on the Gogebic Range were spent in the 
 practice of medicine, and in serving as a deptuy sheriff, for there 
 was a strike among the miners, and that country was destitute 
 of men who could be depended upon to stop the rioting and the 
 destruction of property which soon ensued, and it was something 
 of a new sensation for me to do my best to inflict injuries when 
 injuries were needed to stop the burning of a shaft-house, and 
 then turn around and fix the injury inflicted; for I was the only 
 surgeon at these mines, and the next nearest was twelve miles 
 away and he was just as busy with his injuries as I was with mine. 
 
 Then followed a year and a half of service in the Presbyterian 
 Hospital. This was a period of very continuous and very in- 
 tensive work. There was almost no moment of relaxation as the 
 four internes were supposed to be on duty at all times. However 
 the Superintendent, discovering that in the past one out of each 
 four members of this house staff had either died during his term 
 of service, or developed tuberculosis during his term, put into 
 effect a rule that each interne should have two hours relief from 
 duty each day, and a full half-day additional once a week. The 
 writer generally took his recreation with the boxing gloves, and 
 
 28 
 
during this year and a half had the pleasure of standing up in 
 friendly bouts, with several recognized professionals of meri- 
 torious standing, and with a number of different amateurs. 
 
 Nearing the close of the term of service at the hospital, the 
 matter of seeking a location presented itself. Dr. A. C. Cotton, 
 of the faculty of Rush Medical, asked the writer to become his 
 assistant with a fixed salary, but said at the same time, "while 
 I want you I'm a good enough friend to say that it may be years 
 before you are known as anything but an assistant, and with 
 your ability and energy you can likely go farther in these same 
 years if you go it alone." The salary offered assured immediate 
 relief from the wonder and worry about a new doctor making a 
 living, and for this reason looked very attractive to me. In all 
 probability the offer would have been accepted but for one thing; 
 Dr. Cotton was a specialist in diseases of children — a line of work 
 which had no particular attraction for me. I had done extra 
 work while in the hospital, with both Doctor Senn and Doctor 
 Etheridge, both of them well-known surgeons, and felt strongly 
 drawn to surgical work. It is quite likely that my experience in 
 somewhat crude surgical work on the Gogebic Range still 
 further influenced me in this direction, so the offer was declined. 
 
 When Dr. Cotton was told that his offer could not be accepted, 
 he again showed his friendship by telling me of an acquaintance 
 of his, Dr. Henry Hatch, of Quincy, Illinois, who was looking 
 for an associate. Correspondence with Dr. Hatch culminated in 
 an arrangement to come to Quincy, draw a salary for the first 
 year, and then enter on a partnership business. Shortly after 
 the expiration of the first year a disagreement arose over the 
 interpretation of the terms of the partnership contract, and we 
 separated. 
 
 Before going further let me interject that Arthur Tenny 
 Holbrook, who impersonated me at the graduation exercises, 
 became my successor as chief editor of the Corpuscle, and in his 
 year of graduation my successor in winning the fifty dollars in 
 gold for the best thesis. 
 
 29 
 
CHAPTER FOUR 
 
 The residence in Quincy began April first, 1896. On September 
 first of that year the writer went to Council Bluffs, Iowa, and 
 was married to Edith Campbell, of Summerside, Prince Edward 
 Island. The wedding was at the home of her brother Charles. 
 She had been a nurse at the Presbyterian Hospital, and the 
 acquaintance began there in 1890 when the writer was a patient 
 in the hospital. At the time she was married she was assistant 
 superintendent of the Illinois Training School for Nurses. She 
 was the daughter of James Campbell and Rose Buxton Campbell. 
 She had been educated in a convent on Prince Edward Island. 
 Her father was born in Scotland and belonged to Clan Argyle. 
 Rose Buxton was born in England, and as shown by Burke's 
 Peerage and Landed Gentry, came from the lesser nobility. They 
 were married in England and emigrated to Prince Edward Island 
 where James Campbell became a well-known man, at one time 
 representing the Island in the Canadian Parliament. Their 
 children were Flora, later to become a daughter-in-law of 
 Senator Frye, of Maine; Charles, who was an engineer and 
 architect and who lived in Council Bluffs; also he built one of 
 the early bridges there across the Missouri River, and further 
 built the Montana State House. Sidney, who was the captain 
 of an English liner, plying between New Orleans and Liverpool 
 for many years. Colin, who was the ne'er-do-well of the family, 
 and who disappeared and has never been heard from. Harry 
 who is still living in Los Angeles. Helen now living in California, 
 James, who lived and died in Portsmouth, New Hampshire. 
 Edith, who married the writer. Edward, who like Colin, was for 
 some years a worthless fellow, but who became interested in a 
 worthwhile life through the efforts of the Salvation Army and is 
 living in California at present where he has gained high standing 
 and a considerable fortune. Jack, who was an invalid all his 
 life, and who spent practically all his twenty-two years in the 
 hospital. Of these children only Harry, Helen, and Edward are 
 living. From the best information obtainable, the father, mother, 
 
 30 
 
Charles, Flora, Sidney, James and Edith died with cardio- 
 vascular disease, and all in middle, or early middle life with the 
 exception of Flora, who lived well into the sixties. 
 
 The family appearance of these children was somewhat unusual 
 as each one was either a pronounced blonde or a profound 
 brunette; there were no mixtures of the two types. Flora, 
 Charles, James, Edith, and Jack were all blue-eyed blondes; 
 Sidney, Helen, Harry, Edward and Colin were all dark of eye, 
 of hair and of skin. 
 
 Edith, the mother of Donald and Arch, died in April 1908. 
 Following her request, her remains were cremated and the ashes 
 deposited in the Atlantic Ocean — the ocean she had learned to 
 love in childhood, and for which she always yearned. 
 
 The beginning of the practice in an office by myself began in 
 February, 1898. At that time the family was living at 527 Lind 
 Street. During the late winter of that year there was a tremen- 
 dous snowfall; it lay twenty-six inches deep on level ground. 
 Nearly every one took it as a huge joke, and the first day there 
 was but little attempt to overcome it. Business, in general, was 
 suspended to allow every one to look at it, and laugh over the 
 snowfall. The writer had a few patients, but none of them in so 
 serious condition that they would suffer if not seen for a day, but 
 the complete suspension of business in all lines seemed too 
 Providential for the young doctor to overlook, so he saddled up 
 "Thirteen," and wearing rubber hip boots astonished the town 
 by making calls on horseback — and no possible chance for a 
 call was overlooked. As soon as it was seen that there was a 
 doctor abroad some families really desiring, and needing the 
 services of a doctor, called him in. It was hard on Thirteen, but 
 wonderfully good advertising for the doctor. 
 
 Thirteen was a chestnut-sorrel mare. When a horse had to 
 be purchased it was necessary to find a low-priced one. This 
 mare was shown; she was just in from the country; she had been 
 clipped earlier in the summer and had sunburned to a dingy, 
 dirty yellow; she had a big grass-belly; she was altogether about 
 as forlorn and sorry a looking specimen of horse flesh as one 
 could wish to see. But she was sound, seven years old, and 
 
 31 
 
looked intelligent. The price the owner asked was forty dollars. 
 More as a joke than anything else he was offered thirty- five 
 dollars. With a considerable show of temper the seller remarked 
 that "he would be damned if he would sell a horse and halter 
 for thirty- five dollars." "What will you take for her without the 
 halter?" "Thirty-nine dollars." The sum seemed so unusual and 
 so altogether preposterous, that I bought her. The date was 
 July 13; 39 was the third multiple of 13, and 13 had always 
 appeared to be a lucky number for me, so the mare was named 
 Thirteen. She was in daily service for eleven years, and then was 
 sold as "a gentle family horse" to a man who had a timid wife 
 and five small children, for one hundred and five dollars. 
 
 The practice of medicine was altogether satisfactory. That 
 first year of less than eleven months, brought in $1648.00 in 
 cash, and some good accounts still unpaid. The second year 
 ran to over $3000.00 and as these were the days of porterhouse 
 steak at twelve cents a pound, it was possible to lay up a little 
 money. Then the family decided to move; there was an addition 
 expected, and it had developed too, that a residence nearer the 
 east part of town was more desirable from a business standpoint, 
 so we went to 1245 Vermont Street. At this house both Donald 
 and Arch were born. Then with two babies, and a growing prac- 
 tice it looked logical to own our own home, and 1200 Park Place 
 was purchased. A needed loan was effected from Binkert and 
 Son for almost the amount of the purchase price. I have never 
 been able to decide whether the Binkerts had confidence in the 
 ultimate increase in value of this property, or confidence in the 
 paying ability, and stability of the borrower, to induce them to 
 lend so nearly up to the purchase price of this property. 
 
 But the mother of the children did not like it here; there were 
 some things in the immediate surroundings of which she did not 
 approve; the majority of her friends lived further east; her 
 health had been failing for six years, and it was necessary for her 
 to escape the summer heat, and for several summers she had been 
 forced to go to the far north for the summer months. An oppor- 
 tunity presented itself for selling this place to advantage and 
 this was done. Then one year was spent at 1468 Vermont Street 
 
 32 
 
in a rented house, while the home at 1671 Hampshire Street was 
 being built. It is not necessary to take up events current with 
 the residence at this latter place, as all the members of the 
 family are familiar with them. 
 
 On June 1, 1909 the writer went to Cresco, Iowa and was 
 married to Louise Pecinovsky. The wedding was at the home of 
 her uncle, S. A. Converse. She had been a nurse in training at 
 Blessing Hospital, Quincy, Illinois following her graduation 
 from St. Mary's School for Girls at Faribault, Minnesota. Her 
 father, John Pecinovsky, was born in Bohemia of a family which 
 had been driven out of Poland in one of the numerous Russian 
 persecutions. The family of John Pecinovsky had immigrated 
 to Howard County, Iowa and had become farmers there. The 
 mother of Louise was born a Converse, the family coming of old 
 New England stock. The mother of Louise, and a babe in her 
 arms, were killed by a stroke of lightning when Louise was only 
 four years old; Louise and an older sister, May, were the only 
 surviving children. 
 
 From the marriage of Louise Pecinovsky and the writer were 
 born two sons, Charles Converse and Harry Allen, and this was 
 the family, a wife, two small boys ages five and seven years, two 
 older boys, ages sixteen and eighteen years, which was left 
 behind when the war broke out. To be exact, however, the oldest 
 boy, Donald, was not left behind as he had returned from the 
 University of Illinois in May, 1917 and had enlisted in the Fifth 
 Illinois Infantry. Later he went overseas with the Headquarters 
 Company of the 129th., Infantry, and while in France was trans- 
 ferred to, and became Battalion Sergeant-Major 108th., Trains 
 Hdqs., and M. P. 
 
 One of the most pleasant memories of my life is the "wedding 
 tour" taken at the time of the second marriage. Both the bride 
 and groom were lovers of the outdoors; the bride had always 
 wished to do some "roughing it" and camp out where night 
 overtook her, so two canoes had been shipped to Aurora, Illinois 
 in advance. With one canoe for tent and luggage, and one for 
 the newly married pair, and a man to handle the second canoe 
 and to help make camp and run errands, with camp made 
 
 33 
 
whenever and wherever the fancy struck us, and with the 
 journey resumed at our own sweet wills, it proved an ideal way 
 to spend two weeks. During this time the party traversed the 
 greater portion of the Fox River — the prettiest river in the state. 
 
 To retrace our steps, and scan a little more closely the medical 
 career of the writer. In 1899 he was made secretary of the 
 medical section of the Illinois State Medical Society. In 1900 
 he was advanced to the Chairmanship of this same sectioii; in 
 1902 he was made assistant general secretary of the Society. In 
 the years from 1899 to 1909 he produced various papers and 
 monographs on different medical and surgical subjects which 
 were published in one or another of the leading medical journals. 
 Among those published were, "Variations in the Manifestations 
 of Malaria," "A Glance at the History of Medicine," "Acute 
 Hemorrhagic Encephalitis," "The Influenza Microbe as a Cause 
 for Mastoiditis," "The Educational Treatment of Neurasthen- 
 ics," "A case of Apparent True Abdominal Pregnancy," "The 
 Brain a Good Field for Surgery." In this last named paper he 
 laid down the dictum which still holds good, that the brain, out- 
 side of, and beyond the corpus callosum, need not be considered 
 a vital part. 
 
 In 1905 the writer was made assistant surgeon, medical corps, 
 and assigned to the Fifth Illinois Infantry. In 1910 he was pro- 
 moted to Captain, and two months later to Major, with the 
 same assignment. In September of this year the Fifth Infantry 
 was sent to Fort Benjamin Harrison for duty with other regi- 
 ments of the National Guard, and with regiments of the regular 
 army. Because of volunteer services outside of the duties of a 
 medical officer, and because of the satisfactory performance of 
 these duties, it was recommended by the officers of the regular 
 army serving at the Fort as instructors, that the writer be trans- 
 ferred from the Medical Corps to Field and Staff, and that he 
 be made a Lieutenant-Colonel of Infantry. This was done 
 October 1912. 
 
 As the records of the Militia Bureau at Washington will 
 substantiate this statement, it may be of interest to say that 
 the medical detachment of the Fifth Illinois Infantry ranked 
 
 34 
 
the highest in the 1910 inspection, of any detachment in the 
 United States. As this detachment was resident at Hillsboro, 
 Illinois, and as Captain Clotfelter, the senior assistant surgeon 
 lived there and had immediate supervision over the detachment, 
 the credit for this splendid record is given to Captain Clotfelter. 
 In passing it may be said that upon my transference to Field 
 and Staff, Captain Clotfelter was made Major, and became my 
 successor in the Fifth Infantry. It was his misfortune to be re- 
 moved from this assignment after the regiment went to Camp 
 Logan, and he did not accompany the medical corps overseas. 
 
 Another backward glance is the recital of the disappointment 
 of 1898. At this time Dr. Nicholas Senn had been made a 
 Colonel, Medical Corps United States Army, and been given the 
 further designation of Chief of the Operating Staff in the Field. 
 Dr. Senn was to go to Cuba at once; he selected Dr. Frank Jay, 
 Chicago, another young Chicago doctor whose name escapes me, 
 and myself as his assistants. While getting ready and waiting 
 for my commission to arrive, I was taken with an attack of 
 appendicitis, was operated upon, and by the time I was physically 
 fit again, Dr. Senn had filled my place and had gone to the front. 
 None of his selected assistants ever reached Cuba. Dr. Jay went 
 as far as Miami, came down with an attack of dysentery, nearly 
 died and was finally invalided home; the doctor whose name 
 escapes me resigned, and the man selected by Dr. Senn as my 
 successor could not pass the physical examination. While this 
 inability to get into the military service was a considerable dis- 
 appointment at the time, and for a considerable time thereafter, 
 the mature reflection of later years compels me to admit that it 
 still further serves to convince me that "Whatever is, is right/' 
 and that "there is a destiny that shapes our ends, rough hew 
 them as we mav." 
 
 35 
 
CHAPTER FIVE 
 
 At 3:30 a. m., March 26, 1917, the telephone rang, and the 
 voice of Colonel Shand, Adjutant General's office at Springfield, 
 said, "The Fifth Infantry has been ordered into Federal service; 
 you will mobilize the regiment at once at the various home 
 stations, and receive further orders from General Barry." In a 
 considerable measure this did not come as a surprise. For months 
 the units of the regiments had been having extra drills, and extra 
 schools. Schools for officers within the regiment had been going 
 on for more than a year. Examination Boards had been sitting 
 every two weeks, in order to weed out incompetents among the 
 officers. Because of these Boards, and because good commissioned 
 material had not as yet been developed within some of the com- 
 panies, several were without company captains, while some had 
 a captain and no lieutenants. 
 
 On the morning of the 26th, recruiting began in earnest. 
 Company F, Machine Gun Company, and the nucleus of Head- 
 quarters company were mobilized in the armory at Quincy. 
 Here was found also the regimental headquarters, and head- 
 quarters of the 65th Brigade, although the Brigade did not 
 receive orders for several weeks. 
 
 Almost immediately after the receipt of notification from the 
 office of the Adjutant General, orders began to arrive from 
 General Barry commanding what was then known as the Central 
 District. Under his orders the regiment was split into companies, 
 and even platoons, and scattered throughout the south half of 
 Illinois, in the state of Indiana, Missouri and Kentucky. These 
 various details were for the purpose of protection over essential 
 industries, and the railroad bridges necessary for trans-continental 
 and inter-state commerce. 
 
 It was a busy time. It was at a season of inclement weather. 
 Equipment was meagre or lacking. At many of the home stations 
 appeals were made to the citizens to furnish the men of their 
 home companies with shoes, underwear, bedding, etc. It is to 
 
 36 
 
the credit of the people of Illinois, that no sooner was the need 
 made known to them than the need was filled. Quincy furnished 
 150 bed sacks, 72 pairs of shoes, 30 double blankets, and other 
 needed articles. Other cities did as well. This guard duty was 
 irksome, and in some places decidedly dangerous. A long, un- 
 lighted railroad bridge, with spare space at the side for a man to 
 stand while a train is passing, was not a desirable thing to patrol 
 constantly. During the three months this duty was maintained 
 the regiment lost three men, killed by apparently unavoidable 
 accidents. % 
 
 In June the railroads were ordered to supply their own guards 
 and the regiment was mobilized in three cities — Springfield, 
 Peoria and Quincy. Quincy had Company F, Machine Gun 
 Company, Headquarters Company, Company B, of Jacksonville, 
 Company D, of Bloomington, the Medical Corps and Regimental 
 Headquarters. These various outfits went under canvas at 
 Parker Heights, Gardner Park, Quincy. Not long after going into 
 camp at Parker Heights the Headquarters company was ordered 
 to Springfield to handle the horses and mules then coming in 
 for the use of the regiment. 
 
 While at Camp Parker an incident occurred which I will never 
 forget. Late in August the writer was surprised by having an 
 unexpected visit from two venerable men, his father and his 
 Uncle John. In spite of their ages, eighty-one in the case of my 
 uncle, and seventy-nine in the case of my father, these two old 
 men had braved the heat and discomfort of travel to come to 
 Quincy, believing that it was only a question of a short time 
 before the regiment would be gone. As they concluded their 
 little visit and said good-bye, there were tears in the eyes of each 
 one, and father said to me, "I have the feeling that this will be 
 the last time we will ever see each other; I hope my feeling is a 
 mistaken one, but if it is true I pray that it may be my place to 
 go, and that you may be spared to your family and country.' ' 
 The feeling was prophetic, for father died while the writer was 
 in France — died as he had lived, calmly, and without excitement 
 or emotion. He had taken the train to go and make Genevieve 
 a little visit, and after cheerful conversation with another pas- 
 
 37 
 
senger he remarked, "I feel very sleepy and think I will take a 
 nap." A few moments later it was discovered that he was 
 peacefully sleeping the sleep of death. Thus passed a man whose 
 worst enemy — if there was such — would have said, "He was a 
 good and just man." 
 
 In September there came the welcome news that we were 
 ordered to Camp Logan, Houston, Texas. Entrainment was 
 accomplished at 11:00 a. m., September 13, and at 11:00 a. m., 
 September 16, we detrained at Camp Logan. At first, the work 
 at the Camp consisted of clearing the grounds. The sector 
 allotted to the Fifth Infantry was nothing but a portion of the 
 forest. It was impossible to find a cleared space large enough 
 to drill even one company, so axes, shovels, picks and dynamite 
 were drawn, and the work of clearing begun. In four days the 
 regiment had cleared a space sufficiently large to hold a regi- 
 mental parade. 
 
 Very early in the life at Camp Logan there came rumors that 
 the Fifth Infantry was to be converted into machine gun com- 
 panies and machine gun battalions for the Division. Naturally 
 this was resented by the officers and men of the regiment. We 
 all knew that the Fifth was at least as well drilled, disciplined, 
 and officered as the average regiment of the Division. As a 
 matter of fact the records of the Militia Bureau for 1916 and 1917 
 ranked the Fifth Illinois Infantry very high among all National 
 Guard regiments. But there were two grave obstacles in the way 
 when it came to remaining an infantry outfit. One was the im- 
 perative need for transforming some of the infantry into ar- 
 tillery, into machine gun battalions, and into Divisional Trains. 
 The other obstacle was that Colonel Wood, commanding the 
 Fifth Infantry, had unfortunately incurred the enmity of some 
 of the inspectors from the regular army, and a short time before 
 this he had been ordered before an Efficiency Board to determine 
 whether he should be dismissed from the service. While this 
 Board, which in a considerable measure was equivalent to a 
 Court Martial found nothing on which to base a recommendation 
 for dismissal, still this, taken with subsequent disagreements 
 between Colonel Wood and officers of the regular establishment, 
 
 38 
 
was sufficient to cause a suspicion of insubordination, or in- 
 efficiency. Our fears proved well grounded, for on October 11 
 came the order that the Fifth be transformed. 
 
 Headquarters Company was to go the 129th Infantry as 
 Headquarters Company of that regiment. Company A was to go 
 to Divisional Trains. Companies B and H were to become the 
 Military Police for the Division. Company M to the 108th, 
 Engineers as the Train for the outfit. The remaining companies 
 were to form the 122nd, 123rd, and 124th Machine Gun Bat- 
 talions. This left Colonel Wood, Captain Fawcett the Chaplain, 
 and the writer as "surplus officers." The writer was immediately 
 offered the command of the 122nd Machine Gun Battalion, 
 which was the Divisional Machine Gun Battalion, but because 
 of the channel through which this offer came, and because of the 
 feeling of resentment developed over the breaking up of the 
 regiment, this offer was declined. In this I feel that a wise deci- 
 sion was made. Had this command been accepted the writer 
 would not have been sent to France in advance of the Division, 
 and would, in all probability, have remained a Lieutenant- 
 Colonel throughout the war. 
 
 39 
 
CHAPTER SIX 
 
 The appended letters written at different times, to different 
 people during the war, may serve to cast still another light, and 
 another view on the war, the results of the war, and on the 
 results of the war on the individual who was closely concerned 
 with the war. 
 
 The first one was written from Camp Logan, about November 
 1, 1917, and was in response for a communication which could 
 be read to the people of Quincy, who were to be gathered in an 
 immense mass-meeting for patriotic purposes. 
 
 "In accordance with your kind invitation to say something 
 for the wives and mothers of Quincy and Adams County, relative 
 to the men who have gone out from there and into the army 
 service, I can but say that it is both a privilege and a pleasure. 
 A privilege, for when anyone has an opportunity to say anything 
 regarding the men who have given, and are giving unselfishly 
 of the best of themselves, and in fact their entire selves in this 
 hour of national need, one is doing a favor to oneself in re- 
 counting these facts. 
 
 "And it is a pleasure for there is nothing in which I take more 
 personal satisfaction than in the feeling that, in a small measure 
 I have been concerned in getting these boys and men into service, 
 and in directing them after they came in. More than this, the 
 majority of them have been personal friends and acquaintances 
 in civil life; some of them I have known since boyhood; most of 
 them I have known so well that I have been in the habit of 
 addressing them by their given names, and they have come to 
 be almost as the members of my own family. 
 
 "There is no doubt that the first thought entering the mind 
 of the relatives of these men is, 'Are they well taken care of?' 
 To this there is but one answer, 'Yes.' A moment of reflection 
 will convince anyone that this answer is the truth, for Uncle 
 Sam is trying to make the most efficient army the world has ever 
 seen, and in order to do this he must take good care of the in- 
 
 40 
 
dividual in the army. The result is that food — good food, ample 
 food, and a variety of food — is furnished them. Then he shelters 
 his men; there are the big, roomy, pyramidal tents, boarded up, 
 now that winter is coming, to a height of three feet on all sides. 
 Not content with this, a small wood stove is installed in each 
 tent. The clothing is ample, and so good that it is becoming a 
 custom with the officers of the army to go to the quartermaster, 
 and buy clothing designed and manufactured for the enlisted 
 man, for the personal use of that officer. This does not rob any 
 enlisted man, for the supply of clothing is adequate at all times. 
 
 "If for any reason the enlisted man falls sick, there is a doctor 
 on the job immediately, for Uncle Sam can do nothing with an 
 army of sick men. He does all in his power to prevent sickness, 
 and to return the occasional sick man to health and duty as 
 soon as possible. 
 
 "Then there is another factor in the care of the men — one 
 never considered by the civilian — that factor is that each com- 
 pany commander has a pride in his company; in order to be able 
 to maintain that pride he must make, and keep this company in 
 good and fit condition all the time. 
 
 "Of course the soldier has to work. Work is good for him, 
 but this work is well-directed, well considered, and the man is 
 the better physically, morally and mentally for the work. All 
 things considered well regulated army life is the most conducive 
 life there is in time of peace — or perhaps better to say, in time 
 of active training — for the physical well-being, the moral well- 
 being, and the mental well-being of the individual. 
 
 "Another thing to consider is this: No matter what the out- 
 come, no matter whether all, or none of these boys come back to 
 us again, in either case the city and county has a right to, and 
 cannot be true to its own prerogatives, if there is not an exceeding 
 pride in these men who have gone to the front. As Governor 
 Lowden said in his Houston Address, 'These are our boys; 
 Illinois can give none better, for they are our best/ and as the 
 years roll by, and this war passes into history — this history 
 showing the state and nation stronger, more virile, more pure 
 
 41 
 
and safe because of these boys who today are offering themselves 
 so gallantly and so joyously — we who are privileged to see the 
 making of such history, should be proud of the opportunity, and 
 prouder still of the men who furnished the opportunity. Keep it 
 before the people of this, and other lands that these men are 
 not serfs; they are not men who are going to face the terrors and 
 horrors of war because of compulsion; they are men who realize 
 the need of the hour, whose foresight is keen enough to show 
 them the Nation's danger; whose high-springing spirits, whose 
 love for doing the part of a man, and whose training and in- 
 clination is to take a man's part in the greatest game the civilized 
 world has ever known; it makes the thought of cold, of fatigue, 
 of mud and exhaustion, of wounds or death seem a light matter. 
 The adventuous and daring spirit of youth comes but once. 
 Many are denied the opportunity of finding egress for the natural 
 desire of the strong man to put his muscular strength against 
 that of his fellows — the pleasure in striving for the mastery, and 
 in striving with all his thews and sinews. We of today have that 
 opportunity; we have a chance to play the game, and in playing 
 the game to play the man in the fullest sense of the term. We 
 can fight for the love of fighting, for the protection of our homes 
 and families, for the anguished and oppressed of other lands, for 
 the safety and betterment of the world, and for the establishment 
 within the world of a universal democracy; and we can fight for 
 the down-throwing of autocracy, of rapine, of lust, of monarch- 
 ical murder, and against the blasphemous utterances of a self- 
 inflated, imperial egotist. 
 
 "To the mother whose boy is at the front this must seem a 
 righteous war, and even though the heart-strings are played 
 upon almost to breaking, she can be proud that blood of her 
 blood, a son whom she carried, and nursed, and raised to man- 
 hood is of the stuff that will not sit calmly in cowardice or in- 
 difference at home at such a time as this. 
 
 "Nor is this all, the iron has not yet entered sufficiently into 
 the soul. Pitted as we are against a treacherous and brutal foe, 
 and a foe who has been in preparation for the last sixty years, 
 whose plans were perfected in times of peace and quiet, who has 
 
 42 
 
no scruples and who hesitates at no atrocity in his efforts to 
 conquer the world — and I use the word " World" advisedly — 
 whose brutal strength is so great, and whose devilish cunning so 
 unscrupulous, bearing all these things in mind I say to you that 
 the wives and mothers, the sisters and sweethearts of this land 
 have not yet given enough. In the light of human vision at the 
 present time, the only apparent chance for an early peace lies 
 in the revolt of the German nation against its emperor, or in the 
 death of that emperor, and certainly it is no crime to hope 
 devoutly, that either of these alternatives may come to pass. 
 Nero slew and burned; his crimes stank to heaven, but even 
 Nero — before the judgment seat of God — has no more to answer 
 for than has the German Kaiser. Remember the brutal murder 
 of the Belgian nation; the defilement of hundreds of Belgian and 
 French women, the multilation of innocent children, and the 
 actual crucifixion of aged men. This war is horrible, more hor- 
 rible than any the civilized world has ever known. Turn the 
 pages of your histories; find, if you can, any account of where 
 strong men by the scores have gone insane because of the hor- 
 rible sights and sounds they are called upon to endure in the 
 theatre of action. Show me any instance in history where whole 
 platoons, yes, whole companies have instantaneously disappeared 
 until there was not a vestige of humanity to show where, one 
 instant before, strong and gallant men had been standing. You 
 mothers and sisters of Adams County, your boys, hale, strong, 
 brave, with the fires of determination gleaming in their eyes as 
 no fire ever gleamed before, are facing these facts bravely, 
 calmly, even eagerly — eager to "get in" and to help wipe from 
 the fair face of earth this hellish stain. They are doing it for you; 
 they are doing it for their children and their grand-children, 
 both generations as yet unborn. They are doing it for themselves, 
 for their love of freedom, of decency, of respect for law, and out 
 of the reverence for clean womanhood which they drew in with 
 their baby breath, and which they learned while leaning against 
 your knees. Their up-bringing, their teachings makes them 
 honor their manhood by wanting to fight, and to die if need be, 
 to honor these ideals. Do not, I beg of you, make their burden 
 any more heavy by being anything other than heroic yourself. 
 
 43 
 
Just as "he is thrice armed whose cause is just," so is he thrice 
 energized whose friends and family say to him, "Go and do a 
 man's part." 
 
 There is plenty of work for us all. There is no gain in trying 
 to dodge the issue, nor to shrink looking danger in the face. It 
 would be just as sensible to clap the hands over the face at the 
 approach of a cyclone, and try to feel secure because the sight 
 of nearing danger has been obscured, as it is to try to dodge the 
 issue now. It is just as certain that we will win as it is that there 
 is a God in heaven, but whether the end will come in one year, 
 or in ten years remains with the people of the United States. If 
 we give niggardly, grudgingly, selfishly of our money, our 
 munitions, and our men what will be the result? I can tell you. 
 It will mean added years of war; it will mean for each twelve 
 months of that continuation, fifty thousand more graves of 
 American soldiers; one hundred thousand more permanent 
 cripples here at home; thirty billion dollars more for each twelve 
 months; it will mean more hardships at home, more bereaved 
 mothers and wives, more fatherless children. 
 
 We are in the war, and God forbid that anyone should be 
 other than thankful, that this nation, representing as it does 
 freedom, honor, justice, should be anywhere else than in the 
 war. Let each help to carry the burden not only of the nation, 
 but of each other. Just as the tired soldier in the ranks, who — 
 although almost ready to drop — takes the rifle or the pack of 
 the man at his side who is even more tired than himself. Let 
 each one hide, conceal and bury the grief, the anxiety, the 
 weight of sorrow, and help that one perhaps less able than him- 
 self. It is a horrible war; all the dogs of hell are let loose; but it 
 is a glorious war since out of this world-strife and awful carnage, 
 a lasting and just peace, a righteous peace must come." 
 
 5j< ;jc %: HJ >H * 
 
 For nearly a month the status of "surplus officer" remained. 
 Then came a Division order directing me to take command of 
 the 108th Ammunition Train. The 7th Illinois Infantry like the 
 Fifth, and on the same date, had been transformed into the 
 Ammunition Train and the Supply Train. Colonel Moriarty, 
 
 44 
 
commanding the Seventh Infantry had been made Commander 
 of Trains and Military Police, and Lieutenant-Colonel Clasby 
 had been made commander of the Ammunition Train. It 
 developed that Colonel Clasby was not proving satisfactory in 
 this command, and he resigned the service. 
 
 On November 16th, the writer assumed command of the 
 Ammunition Train. It appeared at once that both officers and 
 men were extremely disgruntled. The writer was told later by 
 some of the officers of this organization, that a reputation as a 
 rigid martinet had preceded him, and that it had been mutually 
 agreed to make it as unpleasant for him as possible ; they were all 
 friendly to Colonel Clasby and to Colonel Moriarty, and felt 
 that my superseding Colonel Clasby came about through efforts 
 of my own. In fact a few days after the order was issued my 
 immediate superior officer, Colonel Moriarty, said to me, "How 
 did you manage to put it over, Center?" If he had known that 
 the one place in the* 33rd Division which, above all else, I did 
 not want was the Trains, he could have spared himself the 
 question. 
 
 But once on the job, pride in myself and a desire to do my 
 part came uppermost in mind. Within twenty-four hours I had 
 my plans for whipping that outfit into shape. It appeared that 
 for six weeks there had been no order of exercise for these men; 
 company officers drilled their men only as they felt inclined; 
 there were no setting-up exercises, no gymnastics, no play, no 
 work. It is a wonder that these men, Irish, Italians, Jews, and 
 various foreign races from the Stock Yards district of Chicago, 
 had not become more disorganized than they had; nothing but 
 the fact that there were a few excellent company officers had 
 prevented it. 
 
 The officers were called together and told in a friendly way, 
 but firmly, that there must be general improvement in the or- 
 ganization; that it was up to each officer to prove his ability to 
 hold his position. Drills and physical exercises covering eight 
 hours a day were established, and the writer spent most of his 
 time on the drill ground. Almost at once it appeared that some 
 of the officers were inefficient; some who felt their inefficiency 
 
 45 
 
came up and asked to be directed along lines to make themselves 
 efficient; the majority of the officers were good, intelligent, hard- 
 working fellows who only needed direction and a firm hand to 
 make them A-l officers; this statement is proved by the records 
 they made later. 
 
 The work was at once pleasant and unpleasant; I could feel 
 the undercurrent of antagonism on the part of some of the 
 officers, while on the other hand, some of them co-operated 
 heartily when they found that all my energy was directed to one 
 end, and that end was to secure benefits for them; that I did 
 not intend to spare myself in attaining that end, nor did I intend 
 to make it unpleasant for them to reach that goal. I have always 
 felt that some of the antagonism on the part of some of these 
 officers was fostered and directed — at least to some degree — by 
 Colonel Moriarty, my immediate superior officer. 
 
 At the end of twenty days an order came through from the 
 Division requiring me to cite any and all* officers of the Am- 
 munition Train whom I considered inefficient, as these men would 
 be sent before the Efficiency Board then sitting within the 
 Division. This was done. Three days after these names had been 
 sent in came another order from the commanding General, 
 saying, "You will assume command of the 108th Trains and 
 Military Police in addition to your other duties." Colonel 
 Moriarty had been relieved of his command by the General 
 commanding the Division, and as a result resigned from the 
 service. 
 
 This order reached me about 1 1 :00 a. m. As quickly as possible, 
 and in company with Captain Stine who was my Adjutant in 
 the Ammunition Train, I went to Trains Headquarters, had an 
 interview with Captain Sexton the adjutant of Trains Head- 
 quarters, gave him directions for immediate course of action 
 for the day, went over the standing orders at Trains Head- 
 quarters, and picked up from Captain Sexton such information 
 of the work of Trains and Military Police as he could give me. 
 I had never met Captain Sexton before, but while returning to 
 my headquarters at the Ammunition Train, expressed myself 
 to Captain Stine to the effect that I was not well impressed with 
 
 46 
 
Captain Sexton; that I feared he was not the man for that posi- 
 tion; that he affected me as a man who did not have adequate 
 comprehension of his position and his duties. I mention this to 
 show the reaction he had on me, and to offer it, in a measure, as 
 justification for the action of my successor Colonel Clinnin. 
 
 It was now about four p. m. At seven p. m., an order came to 
 me from Division Headquarters, "You will proceed at once to 
 Hoboken, reporting to the commanding officer port of em- 
 barkation, for service in France." All this goes to show that in 
 time of war things are apt to happen suddenly. 
 
 Let me say in passing that Major Clinnin of the 131st., 
 Infantry was transferred to the 108th Ammunition Train, made 
 a Lieutenant-Colonel, and ordered to assume command of the 
 Trains Headquarters and Military Police in my stead. Colonel 
 Clinnin discovered very shortly that Captain Sexton would not 
 do; the Efficiency Board acted, and the Captain — refusing to 
 resign — was dismissed from the service. It is a pleasure to state 
 however, that the War Department reviewed the action of this 
 Board, and reinstated the Captain. 
 
 Now that the war is over, and now that my experience will 
 justify — in a small measure at least — the giving of an opinion, 
 let me state my belief that an injustice was done to many good 
 and valuable men by summary dismissals from the service. 
 Experience in France showed us that many men, unfitted for 
 the work in which they might be found, or to which they had 
 been assigned, were valuable men when shifted to another line 
 of work. It is absurd to expect that every man will be as efficient 
 in every position, as he will be in one for which he has peculiar 
 personal adaptation, or in one for which he has been particularly 
 trained. Too many men were dismissed the service, or resigned 
 to escape dismissal, who were merely round pegs in square holes. 
 
 On the morning of the tenth of December I left Camp Logan 
 for Hoboken. As the order had indicated that I was to report at 
 Hoboken by the fifteenth of the month, it seemed that I might 
 risk seeing the family on my way, consequently I spent a day 
 and a night at home. It is unnecessary to say how hard it was 
 
 47 
 
to leave that family, with a whole world of uncertainty in front 
 of me. The trip from Camp Logan to Quincy was enlivened by 
 meeting aboard the train a Captain Logan of the regular army, 
 who was proceeding from El Paso on marching orders similar to 
 my own. It was made somewhat pleasant too by the "good 
 byes" given me by brother officers at Camp Logan, many of 
 whom swore at me affectionately for my good luck in getting 
 such an early trip to France, and all of whom envied me that luck. 
 
 48 
 
CHAPTER SEVEN 
 
 After going through the almost endless amount of red tape 
 with its tiresome formalities of registration, re-registration, pass- 
 ports, consular vises, etc., than necessary at Hoboken, we found 
 that there was still a period of waiting before we set sail. Captain 
 Logan and I found that we were booked to sail on a specified 
 boat, and finally we went aboard the Andania of the Cunard line. 
 It was our full expectation that we would pull out of the harbor 
 that same night, but when morning came we found that we had 
 spent the night at our moorings. The next day we were held 
 aboard ship, but the following day we were allowed to go ashore 
 again, and many officers who came from such nearby cities as 
 Philadelphia or Washington were allowed to go and visit their 
 friends. Captain Logan and I spent our time hanging about the 
 city of New York, and when Christmas came and we were still 
 held here we had a very small modicum of the spirit of Christmas. 
 On the day after Christmas we were required to go aboard ship 
 again, and late that afternoon we felt the throbbing of the 
 engines and the gentle swing and roll of motion, and the great 
 adventure was on. A survey of those aboard ship disclosed that 
 we were 246 "casual officers," and 27 field clerks — the latter 
 being half civilian, half soldier. By that is meant that a field 
 clerk is a civilian who wears a uniform, but who is a non-com- 
 batant. This appeared a fairly small and worthless grist to call 
 for the service of one whole ocean liner to transport, but we 
 discovered early that we were to call at Halifax for an important 
 cargo. It is of some interest to show how shipping rules and 
 Admiralty regulations were disregarded at this time. The 
 Andania was listed to carry a total of not more than 1281 souls, 
 including the crew. On this trip there were over 300 in the crew, 
 our 246 casual officers, and 27 field clerks, a lone Canadian 
 officer returning to France, and our Halifax "cargo" of 2882 
 Chinese. 
 
 Between New York and Halifax scarlet fever broke out among 
 the casual officers, and this by the way, was the term used at this 
 
 49 
 
time for officers who had no definite assignment with troops. 
 The greater portion of casual officers during the war were those 
 coming from training camps, where civilians were made into 
 commissioned officers, and later assigned to troops wherever 
 needed. 
 
 The ship's doctor, discovering that I was a doctor, called me 
 in conference on this case, and we agreed to hospitalize this 
 officer at Halifax. This was done, and done in such a quiet way 
 that information of what we had on board went no farther than 
 the captain of the ship, his executive officer, the doctor and 
 myself. Naturally however, the development of this one case 
 gave us a feeling of uneasiness for the rest of the voyage, and any 
 one showing signs of illness was very closely scrutinized. 
 
 The landing at Halifax gave me an opportunity to see the 
 ruined city; it was but a few days before we reached there that 
 it had been blown up by the explosion of a munitions ship in 
 the harbor. Travel orders were that no one should be allowed 
 to land, but the scarlet fever case had to be taken ashore, some- 
 one had to accompany him to see that he was properly placed, 
 and to acquaint the American consul with the matter. As I was 
 senior military officer aboard ship, and was one not terrified 
 by contact with scarlet fever, I elected to take this duty myself. 
 This gave me three hours on shore to see the horrible effects on 
 the city itself due to the explosion of over 600 tons of T. N. T. 
 Aside from the destruction of buildings the most noticeable thing 
 was the unusual number of people going about the streets wearing 
 bandages. When one recalls that more than two hundred persons 
 lost the sight of one or both eyes in this explosion because of the 
 flying of broken glass, one can get an idea of the number of 
 casualties there must have been. 
 
 As said before, the cargo at Halifax consisted of 2882 Chinese. 
 The British government imported 50,000 of these men for road 
 work in France. These were north Chinamen, and were uni- 
 formly big fellows, many of them standing six feet or more. 
 They enshipped at Halifax in a driving snow storm, with the 
 mercury falling rapidly, each one carrying his bundle, each one 
 dressed in his quilted jacket, his felt shoes, and many in but one 
 
 50 
 
thin pair of trousers which napped in the driving wind. They 
 were not all aboard before a report was brought me, "the Chinks 
 are in the vegetable hold stealing the vegetables." Investigation 
 proved that this was so. How they discovered the hold no one 
 knows, but they had the hatchway off, and had dropped the nine 
 or ten feet into the hold. The only way they could get in was by 
 dropping, and the only way the could get out was by one man 
 "swarming up" another. They were ordered out, and as each 
 one appeared he was "frisked." The first ones to appear through 
 the hatchway had their pockets and hands full of potatoes, cab- 
 bage, turnips, apples or whatever had taken their fancy. The 
 later ones climbed out apparently empty of vegetables, but close 
 examination disclosed that each one had a potato, a turnip or 
 an apple dropped down into each leg of his trousers, and as they 
 wore these garments tied about the ankles it was easy to see why 
 such use was made of them at this time. The chief characteristic 
 of these Chinese was first, acquisitiveness, and then a naive 
 childishness. They stole the door plates off the doors, and the 
 brass nozzles off the fire hose. Any metal capable of a lustre 
 was desirable to them, and from a flat piece of brass, with no 
 other tools than a pocket knife they would fashion another 
 pocket knife, or a pair of scissors, or some kind of a novelty which 
 they would offer to sell to the officers aboard ship. 
 
 The supposition on the part of the Cunard line, and the 
 British government was that there would be American troops 
 aboard this ship. The "troops" have been previously described. 
 The question then arose, "Shall we proceed without definite 
 arrangements, and definite force for handling these Chinese in an 
 emergency, or shall we wait here at Halifax until some Canadian 
 battalion is ready to cross, or until the United States can send 
 up a battalion?" The officers of the rank of Captain and above 
 were called into conference, and it was decided that the com- 
 missioned officers aboard ship should serve as enlisted men, to 
 carry on the necessary guard duty. As a result four companies 
 were formed from the officer personnel. The next item was, 
 "what tools have we to work with?" An inventory disclosed 
 that there were eleven pistols and revolvers aboard ship, and 
 
 51 
 
about five hundred rounds of various sorts of ammunition. And 
 here were 246 officers going to war, and supposedly equipped 
 for war, and almost none of them had even side arms. 
 
 All the guns and ammunition were requisitioned and passed 
 from sentry to sentry during the voyage. Fire hose was laid so 
 that in an emergency a two inch stream, of 200 pounds pressure 
 could be used to sweep the gangways; then the ship's carpenter 
 turned out for us eighteen good, husky, hardwood "saps," and 
 we said "Go ahead." 
 
 The departure from Halifax was in a blizzard ; the mercury was 
 falling rapidly; six other vessels were leaving at the same time, 
 making a convoy. During the first night out the mercury went 
 to 28 degrees below zero; water pipes aboard the Andania froze, 
 and at 2 a. m., one burst down in the hold among the Chinese. 
 In less time than it takes to tell it there were Chinese all over 
 that ship; I think some went even to the "cro' nest." It was a 
 valuable lesson to the guard, for it developed the fact that they 
 had not been taking their job sufficiently seriously. 
 
 For twenty-four hours we remained with our convoy. Then it 
 was decided that the speed of the Andania was such that the 
 other ships were no longer justified in retarding their passage 
 for her. The Andania was something of a cripple; at her previous 
 docking at Liverpool she had rammed her bow into the dock 
 with sufficient force to stave in her forward starboard plates. 
 This damage had been repaired by filling in, between the plates 
 and the sheathing, with cement. This cement filling had become 
 loosened by the turbulence of the waves during her westward 
 voyage, still further loosened by the rough trip from New York 
 to Halifax, and she was leaking badly. Also, her coal was so poor 
 that she could not make steam for the eleven or twelve knots 
 which the rest of the convoy could make. Still more, because of 
 her leak it became necessary to list her to port as much as pos- 
 sible, in order to save the filling in her starboard teeth. To 
 make a long story short, the rest of the convoy went ahead leav- 
 ing us alone on the vast Atlantic. Seven knots was about the 
 best we could do, and added to this there came one morning a 
 wireless of so disturbing nature that the Captain decided to put 
 
 52 
 
back toward Halifax, and all day long instead of going east we 
 went west and north. Then we turned again and proceeded east- 
 ward, but we were so far to the north as to be out of all recognized 
 lines of steamboat travel. So far north in fact, that when we 
 stopped going east, and bore due south, we sailed south for 
 twenty hours before picking up the lights on the islands north- 
 west of Scotland. For fifteen days we had been out of sight of 
 land, and we finally docked at Liverpool on the seventeenth day 
 of travel. 
 
 At Liverpool a special train was waiting to convey the officers 
 and field clerks to Southampton. The ship disgorged our baggage 
 on the dock. The train stood about four city blocks distance, 
 but there was a strike among the wharf workers, and there was 
 no one to make the baggage transfer. It was amazing what a lot 
 of baggage there was too; apparently every officer had leaned 
 heavily on Army Regulations, and had taken the number of 
 pounds specified as the allowance for his rank. I know one Major 
 who had four locker-trunks and a huge bed-roll; all the officers 
 had one or more locker-trunks, and nearly every one a bed-roll. 
 
 General, Lord Some-body-or-other, whose name I promptly 
 forgot, was there to meet us; he informed us that because of the 
 strike no one knew when the baggage could be transferred; that 
 we might either proceed without it — leaving it to follow when it 
 could be transferred, or the special train might be cancelled, and 
 we could wait in Liverpool until the strike was settled. No one 
 wanted to wait; no one wanted to leave his baggage, for the one 
 thing we had learned from those who had been across and had 
 returned to the states, was "the first thing to learn after you get 
 over is, never let your baggage out of your sight." Remembering 
 the Chinese aboard the ship I proposed to Lord Somebody to 
 deploy, and employ a couple of hundred of those Chinks to hustle 
 the baggage. He threw up his hands in horror and exclaimed, 
 "But, my dear fellow, if we allowed that we would never get 
 a wharf man back on the dock." Our feeling just then was that 
 we were perfectly willing to start complications with union labor, 
 with Great Britain, or with anybody else. A few minutes con- 
 sultation with some of the officers and the word was passed 
 
 53 
 
around, "every American grab a hand barrow; we will transfer 
 this baggage ourselves/' and we did to the great amazement of 
 the General and his Staff. 
 
 An English army officer, except when actually in the front line, 
 is apparently the most helpless thing on two legs. He must be 
 waited upon, and served by some one not of commissioned rank, 
 all the time. General, the Lord Whosit, watched our officers 
 trundling baggage for awhile, and finally in a burst of real ad- 
 miration exclaimed, "My word, but your fellows are deucedly 
 efficient; on me honor ours would never have thought of that 
 way out of the dilemma. " In this connection let me recount an 
 incident illustrating the apparent helplessness of the British 
 officer. 
 
 AVhen the 33rd Division was part of 4th British Army, I had 
 occasion one day to drive to the back areas. The car was an 
 English Sunbeam, the driver a British Tommy. Contrary to all 
 existing precedents I rode on the front seat with Tommy, both 
 for conversational purposes and because I preferred the front 
 seat. About fifty kilometres back of the front lines we came upon 
 a British subaltern with his bed-roll, at a crossroad. The lorry 
 he had been riding on had taken him this far, had then turned 
 off in another direction, and he was waiting for another lift. 
 Recognizing the uniform of Tommy, and not being familiar 
 with the American uniform or its insignia of rank, he hailed the 
 car and asked for a ride. Of course there was ample room in the 
 tonneau, so we stopped to pick him up. Still not recognizing my 
 rank, and being very conscious of his own he said, "Now, my 
 man, just step down here and throw this bed-roll into the car, 
 will you?" It wasn't a large bed-roll; it didn't look as if it contain- 
 ed I-beams or pig iron, and besides the complete complacency of 
 the boy rubbed me the wrong way, so before the driver could 
 leave his seat I said to the young officer, "Grab hold of that 
 bed-roll and heave it in, let's be on our way." With a look of 
 astonishment, and with rising wrath at what he evidently con- 
 sidered an insult to the British army, he began to gasp and 
 stutter. In this International crisis the driver spoke up and 
 said, "This is Colonel Center of the American Army, Sir." It 
 
 54 
 
was a most diplomatic introduction; it furnished a legitimate 
 basis for my abrupt remark, and at the same time the "sir" 
 acknowledged the rank of the English officer. Apologies on his 
 part were so profuse, and his confusion so great that he handled 
 his bed-roll almost unconsciously. My last memory of him, 
 when we finally deposited him as near his destination as we were 
 going, is seeing him standing there by the roadside, very erect, 
 and waggling that inimitable English military salute at me. 
 
 Aboard the train we went, baggage and all, for Southampton. 
 It was 12:30 p. m. when we left Liverpool; it was 11 p. m. when 
 we reached Southampton. At this point we were met by some 
 of our own Marines who were on duty as Military Police. The 
 Marine Corps Captain said all officers below the grade of Major 
 were to go to a "rest Camp." There is a joke connected with that 
 word, or term, inasmuch as the "rest camp" had to be reached 
 by a three mile walk, and when reached consisted of nothing in 
 the way of accommodations except tents; no blankets, no straw, 
 no furnishings of any sort. Most Rest Camps were so called 
 because anyone sent to one of them remembered it for the rest 
 of his life. Four of us were entitled to go into town to the hotel, 
 and the Captain took us up in his car. It was cold and raining 
 hard. We were tired and hungry, and the hotel was practically 
 shut up for the night. The desk clerk could not offer any en- 
 couragement concerning things to eat and drink, so we refreshed 
 his memory with a tip; he called the dining room chief, or steward, 
 or someone who seemed to be in authority in the commissary 
 line. This man didn't see how anything could be done; there 
 were rules and regulations about eating and drinking after ten 
 p. m., war rules, English rules, hotel rules. We informed him that 
 we represented the great United States of America; that where 
 the eagle flew there were no rules greater than those of hospitality 
 and humanity; that we had come across the ocean to save his 
 bloomin' little isle from utter destruction; that we were perishin' 
 with hunger and thirst, and that here were two shillin's for 
 himself, to forget the rules for a minute and see what he could 
 do. The result was a gorgeous meal with several kinds of meats, 
 bread, fruit, coffee, and a "B and S" to keep out the cold. 
 
 55 
 
CHAPTER EIGHT 
 
 The next afternoon, through British headquarters I received 
 an order to take 146 of my casual officers aboard ship that after- 
 noon, for France. The ship was a cattle ship just in from Aus- 
 tralia; we had to wait for the cattle to be unloaded. She wasn't 
 designed to carry passengers; there wasn't even a cabin aboard, 
 unless one calls the little room where the crew ate and slept, a 
 cabin; all the rest was cattle pens. The crew was Japanese and 
 Lascar; the skipper was a drunken Irishman; the cargo was 146 
 casual officers, the 1st American Evacuation Hospital, and a 
 battalion of Australians returning from leave. Apparently the 
 trip was only a crossing of the Channel, but under British regu- 
 lations, and as ranking officer aboard ship, I was asked to sign 
 for rations for two days for all on board. It looked like a little 
 bit of graft to me, for with any luck at all we should make the 
 crossing in a few hours, but regulations must be observed, and if 
 someone was going to profit out of those rations, far be it from 
 me to disturb regulations. We sailed at 7 p. m., in a rain and 
 snow that lasted all night. There was not a clean place aboard 
 the ship; there was but one deck, and it was a case of open air, 
 cattle pens, or crowd into the stuffy little cabin where the ship's 
 crew was supposed to sleep. Most of the American officers spent 
 the night on deck. At 4 a. m. we reached the Havre. The tide 
 was out, and there we hung until nearly noon of that day waiting 
 for sufficient water to get over the bar. What became of those 
 rations we were supposed to have aboard I never did learn. The 
 casual officers nibbled on a bar of chocolate, or something of the 
 sort which they had laid in before starting from Southampton; 
 the Australians, being old campaigners had a can of MaChon- 
 achie, or something else to eat, in their kits. 
 
 At Havre billets were provided for those who wished them. 
 Four of us, who had found each other congenial in the past three 
 weeks, scorned billets; we wanted to find a real hotel, a hotel 
 with a bath, and with wonderful French cooking where we could 
 spend some of our good American money. We did; the name of 
 
 56 
 
the hotel now escapes me, but the other desired conditions were 
 attained to the maximum. 
 
 Two days later the American officer in charge at the Havre 
 forwarded an order to me from American G. H. Q., to this effect: 
 to proceed to Paris with 146 designated casual officers, there to 
 receive additional orders. 
 
 As I look back at it now I never did take that order seriously; 
 it didn't mean anything to me; it did not occur to me that I was 
 responsible for the delivery of 146 American bodies under that 
 order; if I had sensed these things it might have spoiled my trip 
 from the Havre to Paris, and perhaps have kept me awake at 
 night. This run was quiet and uneventful, and when in Paris 
 an officer in rank equal to my own got himself lost, went no 
 farther with me, and later got himself reprimanded and side- 
 tracked into an S. 0. S. job, meant nothing in my young life. 
 The fact that he was a lieutenant-colonel seemed to relieve me 
 from all blame, for all the defense I ever offered was that he 
 absented himself without my knowledge or consent, all of which 
 was true, for he neither asked permission to absent himself, nor 
 told me that he was going A. W. 0. L. 
 
 On reaching Paris my responsibilities sat so lightly on me that 
 it did not occur to me to report at the historic No. 10, St. Anne 
 Street; it didn't occur to me that G. H. Q. was interested in me 
 in any way. A captain from Philadelphia — Captain Pleasonton — 
 did call at No. 10, Rue St. Anne, and came back with the in- 
 formation that a special train would be in waiting for us that 
 evening to take us to Blois, and that No. 10, Rue St. Anne was 
 looking for me. I did not want to see anyone at that number; 
 I didn't know where that street and number was, and if there 
 was a special train waiting anywhere to take us somewhere, I 
 wanted to make that train. So American headquarters did not 
 see me, and got in touch with me by messenger, at the train. As 
 we walked down the station we came to a coach which had chalked 
 on its side, "Commanding Officer," and underneath the words, 
 "Colonel Center." To put it mildly it knocked my eye out. 
 There stood an orderly with my orders too — to proceed with 270 
 
 57 
 
casual officers and 28 field clerks to Blois, and there open a casual 
 officers station. 
 
 My first thought was, "what the devil is a casual officers 
 station?" The train was a compartment train, and while, as 
 commanding officer an entire compartment had been reserved 
 for me, still I wanted company and not official seclusion. After 
 a little urging — for they felt the new dignity which had come 
 upon me — I induced Major Stacy from Cincinnati, Captain 
 Pleasonton from Philadelphia, and Captain Nelson of Detroit to 
 share my grandeur with me. Incidentally, I felt the need of 
 counsel and suggestion on the matter of a "casual officers 
 station." Also, at Paris, we as traveling companions had pro- 
 cured a large basket full of good things to eat and drink, and I 
 didn't want to separate myself from the commissary department. 
 
 So we organized, to some extent, on the way from Paris to 
 Blois. Aboard the train were found several officers who spoke 
 French fluently — or so it seemed to those of us who spoke but 
 little — and one was an American artist who had lived in Paris 
 for some years, and who had returned to the states and had 
 entered the first Training camp. He had some little knowledge 
 of the continental system of billeting, and was deputized to get 
 in touch with the Mairie as soon as we reached Blois, to ascertain 
 if a list of billets was procurable. On our arrival we discovered 
 that a colonel of our regular service, and a bunch of hospital 
 corps men had preceded us. About all this cavalry colonel had 
 done, or discovered, was to make arrangements for the use of 
 certain portions of the chateau of Blois, for barracks. This was 
 an item, inasmuch as this chateau — the second largest in France, 
 could accommodate 2000 men if necessary, but it was very un- 
 suitable and unsanitary. Moreover, because of its historic 
 associations, and because a portion of the chateau was then a 
 National museum, the French government was rather loathe to 
 have it used for troop purposes. 
 
 Our artist, through the local city administration, uncovered a 
 goodly number of billets, and in a few hours every one was taken 
 care of. The four of us who had traveled together in the com- 
 
 58 
 
partment of the "commanding officer" went to the leading hotel 
 where it cost us about twenty francs per man per day. 
 
 There were orders awaiting our arrival at Blois. One that 
 was urgent was to segregate and list all officers who had railroad 
 experience in any capacity, forwarding this list of names to 
 G. H. Q. at once. Some thirty-four officers were found eligible 
 for this list, and they were ordered at once to various points for 
 service on the American railroad. 
 
 On the third day after our arrival, Colonel Pulis, of the regular 
 army, arrived to take over the command. As no orders had come 
 through transferring me elsewhere, he made me his executive 
 officer. He was just as green at the job as I was, and was ex- 
 tremely frank and cordial in saying that he was glad he was not 
 the one selected to break the ice at- Blois. Now too, we began 
 to receive shipments of enlisted men, as well as casual officers, 
 and arrangements were made with the French authorities to 
 evacuate the French troops from the Caserne at Blois, in order 
 to enable us to more properly care for our own men. These 
 French troops at the Caserne, or barracks, were troops sent back 
 from the front to rest and recuperate, and they could be billeted 
 throughout the town — an arrangement which enabled us to 
 concentrate our enlisted men and keep them under training and 
 observation. The Caserne would accommodate 6000 troops so 
 our cares along this line were relieved. 
 
 It soon developed too, that a station for casual officers meant 
 more than had originally appeared on the surface — that casuals 
 included both those coming and those going. It has been men- 
 tioned previously that many officers were discharged the service 
 for one reason or another. Here at Blois we began to receive 
 officers who had been sent before Boards of Efficiency, or before 
 Courts Martial, who had not been informed of the findings in 
 their cases, but who had been ordered to Blois. At this station 
 the officer in command of the station would receive the findings 
 in the case, would have to break the news to the officer who had 
 been tried, and then hand to him the further orders of G. H. Q. 
 Colonel Pulis turned this division of the work over to me, and 
 when one is told that during my short stay at Blois, we passed 
 
 59 
 
through our hands as many as 37 dismissals in one day, one can 
 get an idea of how the weeding-out process was going on. These 
 dismissals ran from the shave-tail clear up to a full colonel, for 
 we had one colonel pass out via Blois. 
 
 One case seemed particularly unjust and uncalled for. An 
 American captain of artillery appeared ; his papers had preceded 
 him, and his orders waiting with us, were to report to the Ad- 
 jutant General, the Army, at Washington for dismissal from the 
 service on the grounds of inefficiency. He had enlisted in a 
 Canadian contingent before we got into the war, had reached a 
 commission in the Canadian forces, and had served seventeen 
 months before the entry of the forces of the United States. When 
 our government came into the struggle he had asked for a trans- 
 fer to our forces, which request had been granted. While with 
 the Canadians he had been decorated by both the British and 
 the French. He had a letter from his Canadian Colonel speaking 
 in very high terms of his ability and his valor. 
 
 After being assigned to an American regiment of artillery 
 which was then in France, he had been made a captain. Then 
 there was a change in the commanding officer of his regiment, 
 and the new commanding officer had, very shortly after taking 
 command, ordered this captain before an Efficiency Board. The 
 Board had found him efficient, for the captain had in his pos- 
 session a letter from the commanding officer of the Board stating 
 this fact. In spite of the decision of this Board his commanding 
 officer had insisted on his dismissal, and G. H. Q. had acquiesced 
 in the demand. 
 
 The captain, after I had broken the news to him and after he 
 had read the order I handed him, asked in a most respectful way, 
 if he might have permission to speak to the Colonel as man to 
 man; of course the request was granted, and he then submitted 
 the above mentioned facts to me. Then noticing that I wore a 
 Consistory ring he asked if he might ask my advice "on the 
 square.'' Again his request was granted. He then said that in 
 view of the findings and the order just received, that he proposed 
 to go — not to the Adjutant General at Washington to be dis- 
 missed in disgrace — but to go to the Canadian Corps in France, 
 
 60 
 
and to re-enlist with them, or rejoin them in any capacity. I 
 tried to show him the unwisdom of this, and told him that a 
 sense of ethics might decide the Canadians to decline his offer; 
 that such a course, to all intents and purposes, would make a 
 deserter of him since he was still in our service, and would be 
 until the Adjutant General had formally carried out the order 
 for his dismissal; that his only chance for a re-hearing, or a 
 reversal of the sentence lay with the Department at Washington; 
 that in the event he could not get a reversal and was dismissed, 
 that he could then with clean hands go to Canada, or England, 
 and get into the service again. He impressed me so favorably 
 with his manly qualities, his sense of military discipline, and his 
 self-control in this very trying situation, that I have often 
 wondered if he kept his promise made to me to go to Washington, 
 and if he was successful in getting a reversal of his sentence. 
 
 Later on Blois became notorious as the graveyard for the 
 hopes of many American officers, for after a time a permanent 
 Efficiency Board sat at Blois; it was here that General Henry 
 Hill was sent in the effort to drive him out of the service. 
 
 Military discipline is not only desirable but is imperative. 
 Ability to understand and to execute orders is also imperative. 
 Efficiency in an officer is the sine qua non, but it is very un- 
 likely, to my mind at least, that in the event of another war in 
 which this nation is involved if such arbitrary, unfeeling, and 
 sometimes unjust measures are taken to clear the service of men 
 who are eager to serve, and who may not be a success in the 
 first position to which they may be assigned, so long as men are 
 always needed for many positions other than those strictly 
 military with troops. 
 
 ****** 
 
 Somewhere in France, February 19, 1918. 
 
 My dear Captain Fawcett: ("Captain Fawcett" is Bishop M. 
 
 Edward Fawcett, formerly the 
 chaplain of the old 5th., Illinois 
 National Guard.) 
 Will you kindly accept a letter to yourself which is also designed 
 
 as a reminder to the Rotary Club that the familiar faces and 
 
 61 
 
names of that solemn and decorous body are not forgotten? 
 Knowing your amiable nature, and realizing that the Rotarians 
 will endure a great deal at your hands, I am sure my confidence 
 is well placed. Did you ever see a barrel of cider that was slowly 
 being transformed into vinegar? Did you ever plug up the 
 openings in that barrel and see the froth and foam sizzle out of 
 the crevices you did not know existed? Well, I am that barrel; 
 full to the bung with things I would like to write to the Rotary 
 Club and to yourself, and because of the censor, all that will 
 appear will be a little froth and foam. (By the way that is my 
 maiden, or virgin announcement that I am full.) Of the trip over 
 there is but little to say. The principal event was that we ex- 
 perienced 28 degrees below zero weather, our water supply froze 
 up, the steam pipes froze up, and for four days neither Peary or 
 Cook had anything on us in the way of Artie discomforts. Add 
 to this a howling blizzard with the sea running high, and you can 
 draw a picture of a bunch of would-be American heroes shivering 
 and straining to see which one could "throw" the farthest. Not 
 a periscope was seen; in fact if one had stuck its head above the 
 surface it would have its eye covered with ice in about 20 seconds, 
 so we merely worried over our creature discomforts. But if I 
 ever see Major Huidekoper again, I am going to tell him that as a 
 describer he ranks about zero. Before I left Camp Logan he told 
 me that after reaching here I would be wet and cold from 
 September 15 to May 1 : told it in just those plain and unadorned 
 words. I am no word painter; no one ever hung a medal on me 
 for eloquence; in fact my tendency is to be modestly tongue 
 tied, but if ever I come back and start in to explain to a novice 
 how he will feel in France from September 15 to May 1, the 
 words I use will help keep him warm during that period at any 
 rate. Duty since arriving here, has been confined largely to map 
 work; not the kind of map work you are thinking about though. 
 I reach one point ; shortly there comes an order to go somewhere 
 else. I study the map to find where is this next place, then visit 
 a Gare and wrestle — vocally — with the dame who inhabits the 
 office. Finally she tenders me a ticket. I say "Combien?" and 
 she says a large mouthful of something, none of which I com- 
 prehend except that apparently she is trying to say "sank" and 
 
 62 
 
is stuttering badly. Finally I take out my purse and tender her 
 the entire contents. She smiles, says "merci, beaucoup" helps 
 herself, and the transaction is over. I always feel sad when I 
 hear her say those words, for I have the impression they generally 
 cost me about five francs extra. Then I go to the new destination, 
 and stay one day, or nine days — the latter the longest time I 
 have been in any one place — and then comes an order to go 
 somewhere else. Again business of map study, and attentive 
 communion with another ticket lady. If only it could be arranged 
 for me to become a Cook's tourist and be personally conducted, 
 how happy I would be. But I'm seeing France. In fact it may 
 be said that I have considerable land holdings here already, for 
 there have been many nights when I am sure I had in my pos- 
 session between 25 to 50 pounds of good French soil. There is one 
 peculiar thing about the acquiring of real estate here; you 
 generally acquire it from the waist down. Also, I have acquired 
 a vast amount of, as yet unclassified information; have seen the 
 Hun in his lair— from a perfectly safe distance of course— have 
 seen mine craters and shell holes galore, the latter in the process 
 of making, and have gotten so that I do not shy when an aero- 
 plane passes overhead. However, after due and conscientious 
 consideration, I rise to second Sherman's motion relative to war. 
 
 There is no doubt that the whole thing tends to develop 
 generosity, free-handedness, and disregard for minutiae in one 
 who stays here long. You become separated from your baggage; 
 you go weeks, possibly months with the same devoted suit of 
 underwear. Some one says to you, "Don't you know you are 
 shedding effluvia upon the circumnabient air?" You exclaim 
 generously, "Oh never mind; I have plenty more." Finally you 
 reach a place where after walking eight miles, and swearing 
 sixteen, you find a laundress. (In "Trilby" laundresses were the 
 rule; in France they are the exception.) You leave her a parcel 
 bigger than a calf, and somewhat less in size than a cow. Then 
 you are ordered elsewhere. Do you worry over that bundle of 
 wearing apparel? You do not, for you know so far as you are 
 concerned it has departed; you merely murmur "Kismet," and 
 go and buy another union suit at the first opportunity. Just as a 
 
 63 
 
rolling stone gathers no moss, so does one on duty in France 
 gather no clean clothes. 
 
 Have seen none of the fellows from home who are over here, 
 and am convinced that the only way I will ever see them is to 
 run across them unexpectedly. A letter or two would look very 
 good. Just as an illustration of how sentimental one can become. 
 A few days ago among some papers which I brought from Camp 
 Logan, I happened across a letter from my wife dated in last 
 October. Do you know I read that letter with avidity and 
 interest about five times? On mature reflection it must be ad- 
 mitted that as a purveyor of news it was a trifle passe'. 
 
 At this present location it is said there will be no moving for 
 about ten weeks, so if you can find the time to send me general, 
 special, or Rotary news the favor will be greatly appreciated. 
 Address "Colonel" please, as my rank has changed, and below 
 the name put "A. P. O. 714, A. E. F." With kindest regards to 
 yourself and the others of the loyal and royal bunch. 
 
 64 
 
CHAPTER NINE 
 
 Eleven days at Blois, and there came an order to report to 
 the commanding General, 41st Division, at St. Aignan-Noyers. 
 The same order came for Major Stacy, Captain Pleasonton, and 
 Captain Nelson — the four inseparables. To say that we were 
 overjoyed to discover that our lot was still in common is putting 
 it mildly. At St. Aignan we reported to the Division Adjutant, 
 Major Jervey. On seeing the names on the orders he turned to 
 me and said, "I have some good news for you; a general order 
 has just come through promoting you to Colonel." He handed 
 me the "G. O." and I read, "December 26, 1917, Charles D. 
 Center to be Colonel of Infantry" — the date the day before we 
 sailed from New York; I had been a Colonel for more than a 
 month without knowing it. The order further said, "Who will 
 report at once to the commanding General, 33d Division." The 
 commanding General, 33d Division was in Houston, Texas; I 
 was in France, and realizing that "possession is nine points in 
 law" I decided to stay in France — at least until caught at it. 
 Major Jervey suggested that I go at once to the Judge Advocate 
 of the 41st, and take the oath, so that no more time be lost in 
 going through the necessary formality of qualifying for the pay 
 of a Colonel, and that suggestion met my hearty approval. 
 
 Then the Major said, "We don't know why you men are sent 
 down here; are you located in billets; can you be comfortable 
 for a few days until we find out about you?" We said, "Sure we 
 can be comfortable." So we reported to him daily for four days 
 only to meet with "nothing for you yet." On the fifth day it was 
 different. Colonel Center was to report to the commanding 
 general, 3rd Canadian Division; Major Stacy to the commanding 
 officer of an English regiment; Captain Pleasonton to the com- 
 manding officer of a French Division; Captain Nelson to the 
 commanding officer of the "Kings Rifles;" travel directions for 
 each of us enclosed; mine said "detrain at Ecurie." 
 
 So we journeyed to Tours where we met with some acquaint- 
 
 65 
 
ances, among them the lieutenant-colonel who had gone A. W. 
 O. L. in Paris. He had a desk job, and by the way, he held that 
 job during practically the whole war. Then we went on to Paris 
 where we delayed two days. It is possible that we might have 
 stayed longer, but again we did not visit No. 10, Rue St. Anne, 
 and it would have been embarrassing to have been picked up 
 by men of the Provost Marshal— without permission for delay 
 from the Provost Marshal — and we felt sure we would have no 
 luck in getting that permission if we interviewed him. 
 
 I tried to ticket from Gare dTEst to Ecurie, but after much 
 broken French on my part, found that they would sell only to 
 Amiens. Why I could not grasp; but I found out at Amiens, for 
 at this particular time Ecurie was about 30 kilometres inside the 
 German lines. At Amiens the English R. T. 0. suggested that 
 I take any train I could get, refrain from buying a ticket, and 
 ride as far as the train would take me. Acting on this advice I 
 boarded one going toward Arras. The passengers were all 
 Canadian or English officers and men returning from leave, and 
 it struck me that they were the most dismal, woe-begone outfit 
 I had ever seen. Among the American officers I had met every- 
 thing was hilarity and a general feeling of "here's hoping." But 
 these officers who had been in for three years knew what they 
 were up against, and there was no story telling, or conversation, 
 or card playing among them. So far as a ticket was concerned, 
 no one connected with the train crew seemed to care whether I 
 had one or not; the train officials evidently felt that anyone who 
 was fool enough to elect, or unlucky enough to be compelled to 
 go toward Arras could ride free of charge. 
 
 The train pulled into Arras, the town nothing but a pile of 
 ruins, and under shell fire when the train arrived. I hunted up 
 the British R. T. O., as the English officer occupying that posi- 
 tion at Amiens had given me such good advice, and I took a 
 chance that this one would be just as good. Let me say, that 
 before the war ended everyone was loud in his praise of the 
 British R. T. O. — the Railroad Transportation Officer. The effi- 
 ciency, and courtesy of this branch of the British service was 
 most commendable. If there was a French R. T. O., he either 
 
 66 
 
did not know, or if knowing would not tell. The American R. 
 T. 0., usually did not know — not his fault, for he was not kept 
 informed outside of the little bounds of his own particular 
 business, but the British R. T. 0., was a mine of valuable and 
 reliable information. 
 
 My orders were to report to the 3d Canadian Division. This 
 Division, according to the R. T. 0., was about 35 kilometres out 
 of Arras. Calling the Headquarters of the Division on the 
 telephone, he informed them that Colonel Center of the American 
 Army was at Arras, with an order requiring him to report to 
 their Division. Just what the conversation was that followed I 
 never knew, but apparently it was a trifle spicy. At any rate, 
 the R. T. 0., finally turned to me and said, "There must be some 
 mistake; the 3d Division knows nothing about such an assign- 
 ment." Naturally, I recognized that British G. H. Q., was not 
 accepting orders from American G. H. Q., and that whatever 
 had led up to n^ receiving such an order must have had the 
 sanction of both British and Canadian authorities. Calling to 
 mind the one blunder on the order which had been discovered 
 previously — the instruction to detrain at Ecurie — I suggested 
 to the R. T. 0., that there might be a clerical error in the order, 
 and that it might be the 2nd or 4th Canadian Division that was 
 expecting an invasion from me, so he called the headquarters of 
 the 4th Division, and was informed that they had been looking 
 for me for the last three days. My two days in Paris rose up to 
 rebuke me at once. They further said, "We will have a car there 
 for the Colonel in about three hours." 
 
 The ride out from Arras was intensely interesting, traversing 
 as it did roads, villages and country in the Vimy Ridge region 
 which had been battle ground for the past three years. The 
 headquarters of the Division were in a chateau about two 
 kilometres west of the Ridge, while the Ridge and villages up to 
 and including Lievan, were held by the Division. Lens was 
 directly in front of their sector, and was the first town east of 
 Lievan. 
 
 They put me up in a room in the chateau, a room next the roof, 
 and a perfectly good roof so far as I was concerned except in one 
 
 67 
 
place where a shell had come along and made a hole about as big 
 as a bushel basket. General Sir David Watson was the Division 
 commander. On meeting him it struck me that a man so old as 
 Sir David had no business commanding a Division; he looked 
 old, and worn, and frail; he talked with considerable effort; he 
 seemed absent-minded. I had not yet learned war values and 
 war results, for some days later I learned that Sir David had 
 entered the war as a major, had been promoted through the 
 grades to Major General, had been knighted after the taking of 
 Vimy Ridge, that he was universally liked and respected by 
 both officers and men, and that he was one year younger than 
 myself. 
 
 For two days I was put up at the General's mess. Then taking 
 one of his aides into my confidence, I asked if the General would 
 consider it an affront, or lacking in courtesy, if I requested to be 
 transferred to Mess "B" which consisted of practically all 
 officers at headquarters except the General, his chief-of-staff, 
 his Division adjutant, and his two aides, I wanted to be with the 
 men who were in the active part of Division operations, thinking 
 that I could hear more, and see more of methods and results in 
 this way than by being tied strictly to Division headquarters. 
 The aide saw the point at once, and said he felt sure the General 
 would feel the same way about it. Later in the day when the 
 General and I happened to meet, he said he thought I was in 
 the right and commended me for the idea, and for the wish 
 exhibited to learn as much as possible. 
 
 It will never be possible for me to express sufficiently or ade- 
 quately my gratitude to, and my admiration for these officers of 
 the 4th Canadian Division. They allowed me access to all records , 
 orders, and plans both those of the past, and those projected for 
 the future; they made me one of them in a social way; if they 
 felt that I was an outsider they successfully hid that feeling from 
 me; they did everything they could to teach me the things that 
 hard experience had taught them; they took me everywhere in 
 the divisional area that I wanted to go, in spite of Sir David's 
 prohibition that "the Colonel is our responsibility to the Amer- 
 ican Army, and he must be kept out of needless danger." 
 
 68 
 
But one day, while inspecting battery positions, and one which 
 was near the little Suchez River which had been shelled with gas 
 the day previously, and in which gas still held in the low ground 
 along the river, I managed to get myself gassed. Major Goodeve 
 was my guide that day, and as we were walking along he stopped, 
 sniffed, and said, "There is gas here." We paused a few moments 
 and he remarked: "I don't believe there is sufficient concentra- 
 tion to bother us." So we went on. In a few moments I began to 
 feel nausea, but as I was a tenderfoot, and as I thought the 
 feeling might be due largely to imagination I said nothing. In a 
 few moments more the effect was sufficiently marked to make the 
 Major say, "We will beat it out of here." We returned to our 
 horses, and made our way back to quarters. The nausea per- 
 sisted; my eyes, nose and throat were affected also, and for the 
 next three or four days I felt wretchedly. After this time the 
 only remaining effect seemed to be that on my voice, for it was 
 a matter of about three weeks before the voice was much else 
 but a husky whisper. To show the difference in the effects of 
 gas on two people I may say that Major Goodeve was made 
 uncomfortable, but there were no other results. 
 
 It was while with this Division too, that my toes were frozen. 
 The winter was extremely cold for northwest France, and 
 frozen toes were the rule rather than the exception. When I 
 say that in my open air chamber in the chateau it was my custom 
 to go to bed rolled up in four army blankets, with a straw mat- 
 tress under me, wearing my underclothes, my flannel shirt, a 
 pair of heavy golf stockings on my legs, a sweater, and sometimes 
 wearing one of the heavy, sheep-lined short top-coats then much 
 in evidence among American army officers, and then lie and 
 shiver all night, one can comprehend something of the damp and 
 penetrating cold with which we had to contend. 
 
 Sixteen days with these Canadian friends, and then came an 
 order to go to Staff College, at Langres. Langres is an extremely 
 old town and a very picturesque place; a place which before the 
 days of Big Berthas and Long Toms was a strategic point. Once 
 within the walls of this city, stuck as it is on the tip of a hill 
 that rises like the fin of a shark from the surrounding landscape, 
 
 69 
 
it meant safety in the old days for any force holding it. Here is 
 found one of the old fortresses of Henry of Navarre with its 
 griffons, its gargoyles, and its squatting human figures projecting 
 from the walls underneath the cornices. Here too, is a road, 
 built by Julius Caesar, used by him for his troop movements, 
 and used in the year of our Lord 1918 by American troops. It is 
 a much better road than many American roads, too. Langres is 
 situated on this hill-top very similar to the town of Hattonchatel 
 on its hill-top, and Hattonchatel is one of the lookout points of 
 the valley of the Woevre, and both places are like Cassel, the 
 city where Marshal Foch had his headquarters for a considerable 
 time. 
 
 70 
 
CHAPTER TEN 
 
 Here in Langres the four inseparables were again united, for 
 each of us had received the order to attend Staff* College, so as a 
 quartette we started out to find billets. On the second floor of 
 what apparently had been an iron-mongery shop in prosperous 
 times, we found an old lady who lived in four rooms, a kitchen, 
 a dining room, a sitting room and a hall bedroom. The sitting 
 room had a fire place; neither the hall, bedroom nor the dining 
 room could be heated. This grandmere, seventy-eight years old, 
 lived here alone. Her only remaining son was a medical officer 
 in the French army; two other sons had been killed during the 
 war. She had never billeted officers, but either because she liked 
 our looks, or because she needed the one franc a day which was 
 the allotted pay for a room in billets, she decided to take us in. 
 Pleasonton and Nelson took the dining room; Stacy the hall 
 bedroom, and a bed for me was provided in the sitting room. 
 This room was used by all as a common sitting room, and as a 
 breakfast room after we had broached the matter to the old lady 
 of furnishing us our petit dejeuners. She gladly consented, and 
 named a franc a meal as her charge. We rebelled at this however, 
 and insisted that two francs a meal was the very least we would 
 pay; as a result we ate omelette, bread, some kind of jam, and 
 coffee or chocolate each morning. The lady could not do enough 
 for us. As we could draw firewood from the local American 
 quartermaster, and as all know who were in France that firewood 
 is more precious, and trees more sacred than anything else, we 
 had material for fire in our one fireplace. The old lady would 
 tip-toe into the room each morning before daylight, and lay and 
 start our fire. She never became quite reconciled, however, to 
 the foolish plan we had of getting up before petit dejeuner, and 
 her hearty approval fell on Stacy — who was something of a 
 sleepy-head, and who frequently did not appear for breakfast 
 with the rest of the bunch. This gave an opportunity to grand- 
 mere to carry him his breakfast while he was still in bed, a little 
 service she quite enjoyed. Stacy was only twenty-six years old, 
 
 71 
 
and an exceedingly handsome fellow, and he was her "son," her 
 "child," her "petite soldat." 
 
 The Staff College was modeled somewhat on the War College 
 at Washington. It was a new venture, and at this time was very 
 crude; it developed, however, into a wonderfully efficient place. 
 In these early days the work was largely elementary, and the 
 Field Service Regulations and Infantry Drill Regulations 
 furnished the bulk of our text-books. Experience was already 
 indicating that, so far as the World War was concerned, each of 
 these works was passe. These two books for class work, an 
 occasional map problem on the terrain, a daily turn at equitation, 
 and writing of orders was all we got. Equitation was the biggest 
 farce of all. Under one or another student of the College — this 
 student being always selected from the officer personnel from the 
 regular army— the student body mounted horses and set out to 
 ride. The first ride was one of eighteen kilometres, with rain or 
 snow all the way. Some of the student officers had never been 
 on a horse before; the gaits maintained were walk, trot and 
 gallop, with the trot predominating. There was no instruction 
 of any sort. The word would be passed from the head of the col- 
 umn, "trot, and sit the saddle," or "trot, and post," or "gallop." 
 Many of the mounts were unsuitable; some were wild or vicious. 
 Those of us who were accustomed to riding managed to stay in 
 column and go back to town with the "instructor," reaching 
 there after dark. Some were thrown, and walked back; some 
 straggled and got lost. One student, a training camp captain, 
 had never been in the saddle before. He managed to stay on his 
 horse as the animal was a fairly gentle one, but he could not keep 
 up the pace. He became separated from the column, got lost in 
 the storm and darkness, was out nearly all night, and a few hours 
 after his return went violently insane. His body was well covered 
 with bruised areas, and spots where the skin was rubbed off 
 from saddle contact. One colonel of infantry, from the regular 
 army too, refused after this ride to take "equitation," saying 
 that if they wanted to make a staff officer out of him he was 
 willing, but that he wasn't going to cooperate in acting a dam 
 fool while they were doing it. 
 
 At the end of two weeks I went to Colonel Bjornsted, the 
 
 72 
 
then head of the college, and asked to be transferred to active 
 duty somewhere, saying that I realized that, as a full colonel, 
 the only place that could possibly be open for me on the general 
 staff would be as chief-of-staff to a Division, or Corps, and that 
 as I did not come from the regular army it was very doubtful — 
 to my mind — if such a position would every be assigned me. He 
 agreed heartily saying, "You see how many officers are here 
 from the regular service, and they will all be looking for staff 
 jobs with possible promotion, and there is no doubt they will 
 have the first call." As a result of this conversation he called 
 me in five days later, and said he could assign me for duty to 
 either the First American Division, or to the Twenty-sixth 
 Division, the first mentioned being then in the front line, and 
 the other then in a training area. I selected duty with the First 
 Division feeling that if there was any Division in the A. E. F. 
 that would see things and be in every move, it would be this 
 Division. Three days later came the orders to report to the 
 commanding general, First Division. Once more an object of 
 envy, for I think all the National Guard officers at Staff College 
 envied me the chance. 
 
 The order had come through about seven o'clock in the 
 evening, which meant that the first train obtainable would be 
 at four o'clock the next morning. As the town proper was more 
 than a mile from the railroad station this necessitated getting 
 up early. The local quartermaster was interviewed, and promised 
 to send a Dodge car over to take me down to the station. Pleason- 
 ton spoke French fluently, so he was deputized to tell the old 
 lady of my impending departure. The news threw her into a 
 flood of tears; she held my hand; she patted my hand; she wept, 
 and she poured forth a stream of colloquial French with such 
 profuseness that not even Pleasonton could follow her. She 
 said she was going to get up and get my breakfast for me, "the 
 last meal she would ever provide for her colonel." Of course we 
 said that a three o'clock breakfast was absurd; that by the time 
 breakfast was usually taken I would be Gondricourt where 
 breakfast could be obtained. But grandmere was obdurate; 
 from time to time during the night she crept into the room to 
 
 73 
 
place another stick of wood on the fire so that the room would 
 be warm against my arising, and at three a. m. she began to 
 bring in my breakfast. As I ate she sat silently and watched me, 
 the tears rolling down her face. When I said "good-bye" she 
 threw her shrunken old arms about my neck, calling down the 
 blessing of le bon Dieu on my head, and kissing me first on one 
 cheek and then On the other. Then at the last moment as I was 
 leaving the room she called me back, scuttled out of the room and 
 returned with a bottle of precious, and almost sacred cordial — 
 which she said she had procured from the Benedictines with 
 her own hand — and poured me out a drink, and a generous one, 
 of the firey liquid. 
 
 The trip, so far as the railroad was concerned, ended for me 
 at Toul. Here the R. T. O. said, "Take the 60 centimetre to 
 Menil-la-Tour where you will find the headquarters of the First 
 Division." In my ignorance I was forced to ask, "What in Sam 
 Hill is the 60 centimetre?" Later on that diminutive rail line 
 and I became very well acquainted. 
 
 On reporting at Menil-la-Tour to the division adjutant, I was 
 directed to Colonel King, chief-of-staff for the Division. He in 
 turn presented me to General Bullard who asked where I came 
 from, what I wanted, and what branch of the service I expected 
 to follow. After telling him my experience at Staff College, and 
 of my work with the 33rd Division, and that it was my supposition 
 that I had been sent across to familiarize myself with the work 
 of front line transport as the commanding officer of Trains and 
 Military Police, he said, "I'm going to follow this order and put 
 you on duty. Colonel Lawton commands our Trains and Military 
 Police. You will report to him for duty." 
 
 Colonel Lawton proved to be an old regular army officer — old 
 in point of service, not years. He had been connected with the 
 quartermaster department for some years prior to the war. His 
 headquarters were in the little village of Sanzey, some two kil- 
 ometres out from Menil-la-Tour, and on reporting I was billeted 
 by him in the house of the village priest where the Colonel had 
 established his headquarters, his mess, and his billet, and where 
 his supply officer was also billeted. Again I met nothing but 
 
 74 
 
kindness. While on duty under Colonel Lawton I do not think 
 he ever gave me an order. From time to time he would say, "Do 
 you object to doing so-and-so?" But never an outright command. 
 His duties took him all over the divisional area, and he took me 
 with him practically all the time. The work of Trains and 
 Military Police had not, at this time, been very definitely deter- 
 mined, and Colonel Lawton as a result was acting Zone Major, 
 acting Camp Inspector and acting almost any odd job that 
 called for the supervision of an officer of considerable rank. 
 
 The Toul sector was known as "a quiet sector," but even so 
 we averaged five casualties a day during this Spring period. 
 There was but one axial road going toward the front, and on this 
 road at Beaumont was a corner known as Death Corner. This 
 corner was shelled every day, or night, at least once during the 
 twenty-four hours, and on some days it was shelled half a dozen 
 times. While with the Canadians, Major Robertson and I were 
 in the village of Lievan one afternoon when the Major said, 
 "It's about time for the regular strafe; we had better get under- 
 ground." So we went into the nearest dugout. Almost as we 
 reached the bottom the strafe began. It lasted about twenty 
 minutes, and then stopped. The Major said, "All over for today." 
 But at Beaumont there was no regularity; any time seemed to 
 be the right time; the sight of a flivver, or a couple of men walking, 
 or any sign of movement at this point which was under obser- 
 vation by the Hun, was enough to make him cut loose. All our 
 supplies, ammunition, and foot troops went to the front over 
 this road and most of our five daily casualities came from here, 
 and no one ever disputed the name of the corner as being mala- 
 propos. 
 
 Shortly after being billeted in Sanzey there was an occurrence 
 which seemed laughable to me at the time, and there were some 
 features connected with it that were beyond my understanding. 
 Six of us had gathered at the priest's house one evening enjoying 
 a little game of poker. Of course the windows were carefully 
 covered, and there were no lights to indicate where the village 
 lay. But the Hun had evidently discovered that this little town 
 was the home of one of the Divisional Trains. Perhaps he even 
 
 75 
 
knew that it was the ammunition train, for he had ways and 
 means in those days of getting very accurate information. At 
 any rate as we sat there playing, one of the players suddenly 
 stiffened and said, "There's a Jerry." This meant only one 
 thing, an aeroplane, and as it was very dark it meant a 'plane 
 out on a bombing expedition whether it was a Jerry or not. In 
 the next minute a dispute arose as to whether it was a Hun 'plane 
 or one of ours, some declaring it did not have the right sound for 
 a Jerry. But the game broke up, then and there. That seemed 
 queer to me, for it was too dark to go outside and try to see the 
 'plane, and if it was looking for Sanzey it had to find the place 
 in the dark first, and even if located it might miss the whole 
 works when it did cut loose. But that game was broken up. 
 One officer paced the floor back and forth, a strained, ashy look 
 on his face; another went over and laid himself face downward 
 on the bed; two went outside in the darkness and were not seen 
 again that night. The whole thing was incomprehensible to me, 
 for I reasoned, and reasoned rightly, that we were but one house 
 in the whole village, and that to do us any particular harm the 
 fellow had to get a direct hit — a thing as full of chance as an egg 
 is of meat. I had not learned, or felt that unexplainable feeling 
 of apprehension which developed in practically every man after 
 going through the receiving end of a bombing expedition, a 
 feeling that can perhaps be explained by saying that a plane up 
 on a dark night seems, from the sound, to be directly overhead, 
 over your head, when as a matter of fact it may be half a mile 
 or more to one side of the direct perpendicular above you. 
 
 Soon our anti-aircraft guns opened, and then the machine 
 guns began their rat-a-tat-tat, and about that time Jerry cut 
 loose his first bomb. It was half a mile or more outside the 
 village. Then came another which was about two hundred 
 yards from our back door — and the priest's house was the easter- 
 most house in the village — and when Jerry laid his last egg he 
 had passed completely over the town, and all he hit was a sugar 
 beet field well away on the hillside. Later on I learned of the 
 feeling that comes to a man on the ground when he knows that 
 
 76 
 
Jerry is trying to drop from thirty-five to two hundred and fifty 
 pounds of high explosive on his head. 
 
 The following letter written to Quincy Consistory bears date 
 of March 19, 1918. 
 
 Headquarters 1st American Division, 
 A. P. O. 729, A. E. F. 
 
 There has come to me here a copy of an extract from the call of 
 the Sovereign Grand Commander, to which is added words of 
 our own Commander, S. I. Bragg — words which have reached 
 across land and sea to carry their message of fraternity, of en- 
 couragement, of loyalty and of brotherly remembrance. To him 
 who is at home, who feels no immediate effect of this world-war 
 upon his security or safety, who goes and comes upon the business 
 of the day, whose family and friends are about him with the 
 comforting effect of their presence, whose eye cannot see, and 
 whose ear cannot hear the storm of destruction and death that 
 rages over this portion of the surface of the earth, that one cannot 
 conceive of the satisfaction, the warm glow of appreciation one 
 feels on receiving such a message. "Behold how great a matter 
 a little fire kindleth." To you at home that letter — while not a 
 perfunctory thing, while sent with the kindliest motives — was 
 sent with incredulity on the part of some as to its value; by 
 some it was promptly forgotten as are many of the things we 
 say and the things we do in the passing days. But the spark of 
 brotherly love was in it, and that spark was so fanned by its 
 long journey, and by the effect of this foreign clime, that what 
 was originally a spark is a warm, revivifying flame to me. There 
 is no reason to doubt the same result wherever it was sent. 
 
 I wish it were within the power of my words, and within the 
 limitations of our orders relative to the sending of communica- 
 tions, to describe to you the impressions received, the sights 
 seen, the emotions felt, and the lessons learned in, and from this 
 war. And if to me, who am no more than on the edge of the 
 seething whirlpool, what must it be and mean to one who has 
 been thrown hither and yon for years in this vortex? It is all too 
 
 77 
 
vast for words; it is not a war as we'of middle years have learned 
 to know the word; there is no romance, no chivalry as we have 
 mentally painted those terms. There is chivalry though such as 
 modern civilization does not know exists, a chivalry which does 
 not blazon its path with banners, nor herald its coming with 
 trumpets; a chivalry which does not depend upon gentle blood, 
 high lineage, or commissioned rank. It is an almost universal 
 chivalry, a quiet, determined, intelligent walking into the face 
 of — of what? Of death in an unknown form for the sake of an 
 ideal. Men have lived in the past, and will live again in the 
 future who will brave, with calmness, death at the cannon's 
 mouth ; they have become accustomed to cannon and such death 
 has no terrors for them. More than this, if a man knows the 
 nature of his enemy he will unconsciously prepare his mind so 
 that he will meet that enemy with a considerable degree of tran- 
 quility. Today the man goes forth knowing that there are many 
 deadly enemies, many dangers and deaths instead of only one. 
 It is not a question of cannon, but is "What particular kind of 
 violence will try to rob me of my life?" Will it be shrapnel? Will 
 it be small high explosive? Will it be monster high explosive 
 whose blast may wipe him so out of existence that no fragment 
 will ever be seen again? Will the death agent come in the in- 
 sidious, lurking gas, and if by gas which one of the various ones? 
 Will he drop from the earth with his first or second breath, or 
 will it be the kind that will leave him strangling, suffocating for 
 hours before death relieves his agony? Will the great unknown 
 come to him from the level of the earth, or by a bolt from the 
 heavenly blue? Will the substantial hilltop on which he stands 
 suddenly split in twain vomit its bowels into the air, and settle 
 back to bury him alive under many feet of soil? Will he become 
 entangled and impaled among the barbed wire to remain a help- 
 less target until some friendly bullet brings relief? Does this 
 seem overdrawn to you? If it does, let me say that the human 
 mind cannot overdraw the awfulness of this conflict, and that 
 these words are merely a bald recital of a few of the conditions. 
 
 More than this — and what has been said is said to emphasize 
 w T hat follows — I want to say that the boys and men who face 
 
 78 
 
these conditions calmly and bravely from day to day, boys and 
 men who come from the farm and from the city, from homes of 
 luxury and from the slums, who are intelligent and thoughtful, 
 who know what stands before them — these boys and men are 
 showing the world as high a degree of valor, and as pure chivalry 
 as has ever been sung by bard, painted by an artist, or penned 
 by a poet. There is an underlying something in these men that 
 is greater than bravery or valor. There is no mawkish sentiment 
 about it; everyone seems engaged in attending merely to the 
 business of the day. In fact the whole stupendous thing is a 
 business, and without words or music, almost without command, 
 each one seems going quietly about the business of "As He died 
 to make men holy let us die to make men free." 
 
 From still another angle of thought your letter has appealed 
 to me. "Let our thoughts of comfort be of comfort to him, and 
 those nearest to him in the flesh," are the words of S. I. Bragg. 
 To you at home it doubtless appears that those who have gone 
 away, who may be cold, or hungry, or sick, or wounded or im- 
 prisoned, are the ones who suffer most, but if you will leave the 
 decision to those who have left families behind them you will 
 receive the answer, "Our discomforts are infinitely less than their 
 sorrow and anxiety." 
 
 It is the same old principle of punishment, where the guilty 
 suffer and the innocent suffer more. The child is naughty; the 
 mother punishes the child and the child suffers, but the mother — 
 loving even as she punishes — and punishing because she loves — 
 suffers more. The criminal is tried and condemned. No one 
 enjoys the business of awarding him imprisonment or death, but 
 it is done for the good of society. The criminal suffers, but his 
 family and friends suffer more than he does. A nation grows 
 mad with lust for power; its greed is so great that it overthrows 
 all recognized equity and decency; it is put on trial by the 
 nations of the earth. No one enjoys the trial; the jurors in the 
 case are not comfortable, but they have faith that this nation 
 will be punished, will be purged of its lust for greed and its greed 
 for lust; during the trial the jurors will suffer; the innocent world 
 from which this jury is drawn will suffer more, and there is no 
 
 79 
 
doubt that the Great Judge sitting on High will suffer most of all. 
 It comes to me as I write that perhaps this is the road to an 
 ultimate perfection; that the words "made perfect through 
 suffering" have a real and vital meaning to us, and that two 
 apparently conflicting portions of Holy Writ are entirely in 
 accord one with the other. Through pain and suffering the 
 mother brings forth her child; then in that little world— for the 
 great world is merely an accumulation of many little worlds — 
 there is "peace on earth, good will toward man." In that little 
 world is harmony, contentment, joy. That child grows, develops, 
 becomes a man, a thinking force. There are wrongs to right, and 
 because he is a force, and a thinking, reasoning being he can 
 righteously say, "I come, not to bring peace, but a sword." 
 
 But I did not intend to preach a sermon, nor to burden you 
 with a lot of disjointed utterances. My heart reaches out to all 
 members of the Craft. My message to you is that the good of 
 humanity at this hour needs every helping hand, and every 
 helpful word the Craft can supply; that the principles of Mason- 
 ry — than which principles there are none higher outside of the 
 Holy Bible — make it your privilege and your duty to direct 
 every hand, and every voice in the support of this war so that 
 an early and decisive result may be obtained, for I say to you 
 in all solemnity, that if a decisive result is not obtained, if justice, 
 national honor, mercy and righteousness are not securely en- 
 throned by an unquestioned victory, that our children for many 
 generations will have cause to curse the memory of us. 
 
 Life in the Toul sector was rather humdrum. One item which 
 came along and which proved valuable in later service, was the 
 dipping of all the horses and mules of the Division. When the 
 first units of the A. E. F. went overseas there was the feeling 
 among some of the officers that men and animals not only had 
 to be trained, but must be hardened by actual hardship, in order 
 to endure the life made necessary by the conditions of warfare 
 in France. Something of the same idea was prevalent in some of 
 the divisional and other camps, in this country. The result was 
 that in the First Division, both men and transport animals during 
 
 80 
 
the winter just passed, had lived as much as possible in the open 
 air, day and night. The mere fact that the ground was usually 
 muddy, and the atmosphere always damp — excepting when it 
 was worse — made no difference. Consequently both men and 
 brutes had lived in the rain and snow, and had done considerable 
 sleeping in the mud in order to harden them. The animals had 
 been tied to picket lines in open fields, or in the woods, with no 
 horse covers, and no standings other than the mud. More than 
 this, these animals had come to the Division infected with mange, 
 and infested with lice. The result was we had 5000 mangy, 
 lousy, run-down, sick animals. General Bullard finally ob- 
 tained permission to have a concrete dipping vat constructed, 
 and all the animals were dipped. This was in the first half of 
 March. Some of the animals were so weak they had to be pulled 
 out of the vat after the plunge ; all went back to the picket lines 
 and the cold; some promptly died as a result of the disease and 
 its cure. 
 
 Coming as I had, from a Canadian Division where experience 
 had taught them that increased efficiency and lengthened service 
 was obtained by sparing the men and animals as much as pos- 
 sible, and where, if a transport outfit expected to remain in one 
 place longer than a night they invariably put in firm and reason- 
 ably dry standings for the animals, where horse covers were 
 universally used on animals in the open, and where mange or lice 
 would have been considered justification for a court-martial for 
 some responsible officer, the difference in results struck me very 
 forcibly. It was no uncommon thing in France, to have animals 
 put on a picket rope in a new place, on a hillside, or on the top 
 of a knoll where there was no indication of mud, or even of soft 
 ground, and to find these same animals in mud well above the 
 fet-locks the next morning. Add to this the wet season of the 
 year, and one can begin to realize how deep this mud could 
 become. 
 
 81 
 
CHAPTER ELEVEN 
 
 Came the latter part of March and with it an order for the 
 Division to pull out of the Toul sector. The infantry was to be 
 transported by train; the artillery was to go overland, and the 
 trains overland to a point in the vicinity of Montdidier. The 
 artillery horses were so weak and emaciated that General 
 Sumerall, commanding the artillery, ordered that all drivers and 
 cannoneers must walk. 
 
 The orders for the Trains prescribed that the Signal battalion 
 which was equipped with Fiat trucks, should lead; the Sanitary 
 train with its G. M. C.'s was to come next; then the Supply train 
 with its A. E. C.'s and the rest of the heterogenous mixture of 
 trucks, and the Ammunition train with its F. W. D.'s and its 
 Quads should bring up the rear, and a speed of twelve miles an 
 hour was to be maintained. This was easy for the Fiats and 
 G. M. C.'s, practically impossible for the Supply train and 
 utterly impossible, and even ridiculous for the Quads and F. W. 
 D.'s which were heavily loaded with cannon fodder. 
 
 Colonel Lawton was far from well. He held out the first day 
 of the hike, but the fact that his trains were scattered from Dan 
 to Beersheba that first day so worried him that he could neither 
 eat nor sleep. The Supply train, by driving part of the night, 
 and the Ammunition train by driving all of that first night, had 
 managed to close the gap in the column, but men who have 
 driven a Quad truck steadily for twenty-four hours are of no 
 use for another twelve hours at least, so nothing was gained by 
 this all-night driving. 
 
 In his illness, Colonel Lawton turned the handling of the 
 Supply and Ammunition trains over to me, giving me also his 
 adjutant Captain McLean. The Captain was traveling in a side 
 car, and could be used to send ahead in order to provide billets 
 for us at the close of the day. Then Colonel Lawton went ahead 
 with the leading units of the column. While it was contrary to 
 specific orders it appeared to me that it was better to get the 
 
 82 
 
two trains to their destination later than the original schedule 
 rather than to leave a goodly portion of each one somewhere along 
 the roadside. Also, if my decision to reduce the hourly mileage 
 rate got me into trouble I determined to fall back on the excuse 
 that where the travel order said twelve miles an hour, I under- 
 stood that it meant a maximum of twelve miles, and not a 
 mandatory twelve miles per hour. The Signal battalion and the 
 Sanitary train made the schedule; the Supply train was two 
 days later than schedule time, and the Ammunition train took 
 four days extra, but every truck in each train finished that move 
 of nearly three hundred kilometres, and no one got a wigging 
 because the original order was not carried out to the letter. 
 More than this, it is a good bet that never again in the A. E. F. 
 were orders issued for ordinary cargo trucks to maintain a speed 
 of twelve miles an hour for a long journey. 
 
 How true it was I do not know, but a French officer once said 
 to me "We do not want a flyer in a combat 'plane who has good 
 sense.." It is likely that it was a mere figure of speech for certainly 
 France had many Aces who could not be put in the imbecile class. 
 But with this remark in mind it was of particular interest one 
 night in LaFerte-sous-Jouarre, in April 1918, to sit down at the 
 table with fifteen French flyers, some of them the pick of the 
 French escadrilles. 
 
 It was while the first Division was crossing from the Toul 
 sector to Montdidier. Three of us, Americans, and these French 
 flyers were the only guests at this particular hostelry. The town 
 was just back of the fighting line and sufficiently near to the 
 advancing Hun line so that it was shunned by the traveling 
 public, and was largely deserted by the inhabitants. 
 
 The three of us were at dinner when the French arrived. There 
 was but the one large table in the dining room, so we made one 
 party although the table was sufficiently long to leave a few 
 vacant seats between the two groups. Naturally there was a 
 little polite fraternization at once, but the lives of the two 
 groups, and the military activities of the two parties had so 
 
 83 
 
little in common that the Americans soon were content to be 
 listeners and lookers. From the conversation it appeared that 
 these men had been flying and fighting for several days and had 
 just now been given one night off for rest and relaxation; they 
 were here with the avowed intention of having a good time, a 
 good dinner, and of forgetting themselves with wine and brandy. 
 Their faces and physiques made an interesting study. Almost 
 at once one could place every man in one of three classes, though 
 some of them showed evidence of belonging in two of these three 
 classes. There was represented the class of which my French 
 informant had spoken 'The man who did not have good sense:' 
 two or three of the fifteen could qualify here; there was stupidity, 
 cupidity, hero-worship, butterfly-chasing, and lack of mentality 
 in general all shown at once in this group. Then there was the 
 reckless, desperate man; the man who got his fun in trying to do 
 the impossible; the man who would stop at nothing because he 
 cared nothing. One individual in particular qualified in this 
 class. He was one of the handsomest men I ever saw, a man 
 possibly 27 or 28 years old, whose entire face and manner, con- 
 versation and everything about him indicated that he lived only 
 to take chances, and this was his record; he could not, and would 
 not live unless he could venture his life in some extra-hazardous 
 way. And then there was the criminal type — the hard, cold, 
 quick-thinking, merciless Apache. Naturally some of this latter 
 class also qualified in the reckless and desperate class but those 
 in the reckless class did not necessarily qualify in the Apache 
 class. These two classes did their own thinking while the first 
 class had its thinking done for it by someone else; they were the 
 imitators who did what they had seen others do, or who did what 
 they were told to do, and who did not have a sufficient mentality 
 to realize, or a sufficient nervous organization to be apprehensive 
 of the terrors and possibilities of the things they did. 
 
 What became of these men? God knows. One day while in 
 4th. British Army five British flyers ate at my mess. The next 
 day two of them were killed and I shall always believe that one 
 of the two, a hardy Scot, was convinced that his end was at 
 hand for never have I seen a man so pre-occupied, never one 
 
 84 
 
who could sit and stare into vacancy with a so expressionless 
 face as this man. He must have seen the handwriting on the wall; 
 he must have been convinced the next day when he took the air 
 that there were no more days of fighting for him. Brave men 
 all, whether French or British, whether desperate, reckless, 
 hopeless, plaudit-seeking or patriotic, whether criminal or law- 
 abiding. 
 
 Division headquarters in the new locality were established 
 first at Chaumont — not the Chaumont of G. H. Q., however. 
 After we had been there a few days the Division had a visit 
 from General Pershing, who requested that all the officers be 
 gathered at Chaumont so that he might address them; the address 
 was to tell us that we were to go into line in an active sector; 
 that the eyes of the whole world would be upon us; that probably 
 many within the sound of his voice would never return to the 
 United States, but would, in the drive then contemplated, lay 
 down their lives to prove that justice and righteousness still 
 exist on earth.* Much as we all admired General Pershing, still 
 this speech did not make much of a hit with us. 
 
 In a few days the Division headquarters moved up to Menil- 
 St.-Georges, a village immediately west of the angle of the 
 Montdidier salient, and the Division went into line. The head- 
 quarters of the Trains, and of some of the transport companies, 
 was established at Noyers-St. Martin just south of Montdidier. 
 It was while here at Noyers that Colonel Clayton, Division 
 quartermaster, two of his officers, and three of his men were 
 killed by a bomb from an aeroplane. It was while the Division 
 was in this sector too, that there was fought the battle of Can- 
 tigny, a comparatively small action, but one which proved that 
 the Americans would fight, and one that disproved the French 
 belief that foot soldiers could not dislodge troops well intrenched 
 for weeks, for the 18th and 26th U. S. infantry regiments went 
 forward, and in their successive thin brown lines, not only dis- 
 lodged troops well intrenched, but dislodged and captured troops 
 well established in dug-outs and bomb-proofs. 
 
 85 
 
Somewhere in France, April 4, 1918. 
 
 You probably remember that there was once a famous king who 
 "marched 10,000 up the hill, then marched them down again." 
 As I recall that incident there was always a little feeling of 
 derision for that king; one felt that he wasn't kinging in a very 
 effective way; that if there was reason for going up the hill he 
 should at least have stayed up there. Dates have changed, kings 
 have changed, but the custom still remains. As a matter of fact 
 if that old king was here in France, and he wanted to march 
 anywhere he would have to march either up or down for a short 
 hike, and if he wanted to keep on marching from breakfast until 
 the whistle blew, he would have to march both up and down, 
 for this country is that kind. You are either going up or down 
 every time you move. 
 
 There is an erroneous general idea about army life, too. In 
 reading the papers one gets the idea that the soldier rolls out 
 of his blanket about the time the rooster crows, cTrinks a tin cup 
 of coffee, eats a slice of bacon, and then goes out and fights until 
 the shroud of darkness covers the earth. He don't do anything 
 of the kind. He is routed out of his blanket, has his coffee and 
 bread, or maybe beans or hash — for bacon doesn't grow here — and 
 then he marches up and down hill all day, going somewhere so 
 that he will have a good place to start from to go somewhere the 
 next day. My powers of observation are not great, but finally 
 I have Sherlock-Holmesed the matter of strategy in this war. 
 The whole thing is this: The Hun has his Taube, or maybe his 
 Folker in the air. The observer sees troops marching southwest 
 or northeast, and so reports. Another observer sends in word to 
 Hun headquarters that they — the Allies — are marching troops 
 in a circle, and still another signals in that "the enemy is advanc- 
 ing straight up and down." By this time the Hun headquarters 
 are dizzy, and orders are issued like this: "The enemy is advanc- 
 ing in every direction; our supporting troops heavily armed with 
 German propaganda are near at hand in the U. S. A. This army 
 will march at 7 a. m. You will march out in dense masses, and 
 will soon find yourselves shot up from all sides. This will mean 
 
 86 
 
that you have encircled the enemy, for he will be completely 
 around you. It will be a glorious victory if you don't get killed 
 first. Gott mit uns." 
 
 All joking aside, for me at least war is going to one place in 
 order to be ordered somewhere else. This present one has been 
 my longest stop anywhere in France, and I haven't been here a 
 month yet, and now I'm to move on. The Wandering Jew, and 
 "the man without a country" were anchored to immovable rocks 
 compared to myself. After an experience on two different fronts, 
 I'm honest in saying that pinochle is a better game than this. 
 What the results on the coming front will decide will have to go 
 over until some future letter. 
 
 Now, if I remember correctly, more than a year ago in the 
 Rotary Club, I made myself possibly obnoxious, certainly was 
 called an alarmist, because of making a declaration that we 
 would be in this war, and that the United States did not begin to 
 realize the gravity of this war, the awfulness of this war, and the 
 need for every one of us doing his bit. This line of opinion I 
 wish to reiterate and make more emphatic than ever. The 
 Rotary Club is one of the active, moving, result-getting organ- 
 izations of the world. It will not live up to its privileges, will not 
 do its patriotic duty as a body unless, as a body, it devotes its 
 brains and energy to the support of this war. When I say this I 
 do not mean to reflect upon the organization at all; nor do I 
 disparage, nor question the efforts of individuals among its 
 members. But individual effort is not enough; routine Club 
 support is not enough; there must be concentration of Rotary 
 brains and Rotary genius on definite lines of support. Somewhere 
 there must be found a genius in the matter of food supply; one 
 for the question of equipment for the men; one for the problem 
 of transportation; one for the devising of more adequate -sub- 
 marine protection; one for the popularizing of the war within the 
 United States; for the effective suppression of German propa- 
 ganda within the states; one for a propaganda for instilling 
 within the people of our country such a sense of loyalty, and for 
 developing within their veins such a proportion of iron, that the 
 front line trenches in France will be a safer place than the 
 
 87 
 
United States for anyone who remains either actively, or pas- 
 sively a pro-German. The systems that have been used and are 
 being used, the crimes that have been committed and are being 
 committed, the false-hoods that have been, and are being told 
 by the German militarists, are more than sufficient to cause us 
 to look upon them, not as enlightened, civilized beings; they 
 have gone so far that the world owes them naught but punish- 
 ment. Here is a very small illustration of the way the German 
 enlisted man is being taught. 
 
 A few days ago some German prisoners were brought in; one 
 could talk English. He calmly 'asked, "When will we be shot?" 
 He was told that unless he tried to escape he stood no chance 
 of being shot; that what we did to prisoners was to warm them, 
 feed them, and send them to the rear. He had difficulty in be- 
 lieving this for a time, but when the heat and food were furnished 
 them he seemed to grasp the fact that he had been told the truth 
 and in a voice fairly trembling with eagerness asked if it would be 
 possible for him to get word to his brother who had not been 
 captured to get himself captured as quickly as possible, and 
 added, "if the battalion knew that you do not shoot your 
 prisoners every one of them would come across No Man's Land 
 and be prisoners." 
 
 But I have gotten off the subject. The thing, as it resolves 
 itself, is this: We can strike a light blow, get a light result, and 
 have to strike many more light blows before a decision is reached. 
 I think I am well within the bounds when I say, that, counting 
 from the time when the American forces went into line, our losses 
 from battle and from illness will run 250,000 a year. The losses 
 may run much higher. If the struggle is prolonged two, five, or 
 more years it is easy to compute what our losses will be. On the 
 other hand, if we could hit one mighty blow, say with a million 
 or more men, bring an immediate decisive result, take the losses 
 which such a blow would entail — and there is nothing in history, 
 or in the present war to make one think that they would run as 
 high as 250,000 — you can easily see how much time, and how 
 many valuable lives can be conserved by the latter method. 
 Over here we get the Paris editions of the New York Herald, the 
 
 88 
 
Chicago Tribune and the London Mail. From these papers I 
 draw the conclusions that the people of the States do not realize 
 the gravity of the situation. The dagger has not yet entered the 
 heart; the matter is, as yet, more or less an impersonal one. But 
 this is your war; this is for your benefit. It does not matter 
 whether Center comes back or not; the world will go on just the 
 same; but it does matter to 10,000, yes to 10,000,000 homes 
 whether this war is fought to a decisive result, whether German 
 ideas and Junker ideals are forever abolished, and it does matter 
 that such a result shall be produced as quickly as possible. 
 
 If, through the Rotary Club, the country could be shown that 
 inertia, slowness, indifference, apathy and slackness are re- 
 sponsible for the killing of good, patriotic, young American men, 
 then that one thing alone would put the Rotary Club in the halls 
 of fame. More than this, the gratitude of multitudes of mothers, 
 sisters and wives would be greater than any other pedestal upon 
 which Rotary could be placed. I do not get any mail, but have 
 confidence that somewhere in France there is a great deal for 
 me, and some day I hope to connect with it. In the meantime 
 please believe me that I haven't done anything yet to make you 
 ashamed of me. 
 
 Just before the battle of Cantigny, and after nine weeks of duty 
 with the First Division, there came an order for me to report at 
 Staff College again. Needless to say this order was about as 
 unwelcome as any I ever received. As said before Colonel Law- 
 ton was not at all well. If his health became still more uncertain 
 there was an opportunity for me if still on the ground; I felt at 
 home in the Division, and had begun to hope that I might find 
 a permanent berth there. But orders are orders, and off to 
 Langres, via Paris, I went. 
 
 The trip from Menil to Paris was made by auto. In the car 
 was Mr. Velay — a French banker who was the official interpreter 
 for Trains headquarters — Lieutenant Flynn the Supply Officer 
 for Trains, the driver and myself. The day was clear and spring- 
 like, and the trip started most enjoyably. About twenty kilo- 
 metres out of Paris we came upon some recovered French 
 
 89 
 
"blesses" mending road. At the same time we overtook another 
 vehicle going our way, and just then too, we met a drove of 
 cows with a vehicle following them closely. The cows scattered 
 all over the road ; a soldat ran out in front of our car to head back 
 a wandering cow which was trying to leave the road. He was 
 brandishing his long-handled shovel when he slipped and fell 
 just as he reached the car, the swinging shovel going through the 
 wind-shield, and the soldat going under the car. We were moving 
 so slowly that the car could be stopped almost immediately, but 
 one of the front wheels went over one of his legs, and for a few 
 moments his cries made , us think that we had mutilated his 
 entire family. Roadside examination disclosed that there were 
 no broken bones, and but little broken skin, and inquiry brought 
 out the fact that he was billeted about a kilometre down the 
 road in the direction we were going. So we loaded him in the 
 car and went on. On reaching the village where he was billeted 
 we found his Captain — who soundly berated him as soon as he 
 learned that the man was not seriously hurt — berated him for 
 getting in our way, and for breaking our windshield. Then, 
 because the soldat was a minute fraction of our allies, and because 
 we wished to preserve the entente cordiale, I gave the soldier 
 ten francs, telling him to buy wine for himself and his friends. 
 Immediately the car was surrounded by soldiers congratulating 
 the man who had been hurt, and in their hearts wishing, I 
 think, that we would run over them also. 
 
 The second accident that day was of a more serious nature. 
 We were passing through St. Denis, one of the suburbs of Paris. 
 The street was narrow, and as there was considerable traffic we 
 were forced to move slowly. A large man in a blue semi-uniform 
 started to cross the street in front of us, evidently changed his 
 mind and stepped back on the curbing. As he did so my driver 
 stepped on the gas to increase his speed and close up the gap 
 between us and the car next in front of us. Without warning, 
 and without looking in our direction, this man stepped off the 
 curb again, and his next step put him directly in front of the 
 car. The driver threw the wheel over as far as possible, but the 
 car struck the man in such a way that he fell beneath the car, 
 
 90 
 
and the front wheel passed over his abdomen. We stopped at 
 once, and the crowd that collected almost like magic, carried 
 him into a nearby estaminet. It seemed he was a well-known 
 character, and was the clerk of the Mairie of St. Denis. Our 
 French banker sent for an ambulance, and the banker and 
 Lieutenant Flynn accompanied the man to the hospital. The 
 driver and I, as hostages, remained with the gen'd'arme who had 
 appeared on the scene. He did not put us in arrest, but it was 
 easy to see that he did not intend to let us get out of his sight. 
 In accordance with A. E. F. regulations I made myself busy get- 
 ting the names and addresses of those who had witnessed the 
 accident. The keeper of the estaminet was a youngish woman 
 who spoke a little English, and after I had bought a drink for 
 the driver — who needed it badly as he was so horrified by the 
 accident that he had burst into tears— and for the gen'd'arme 
 as a matter of polic}^, she became quite friendly, saying, "The 
 old fool," meaning the injured man, "is always getting himself 
 into trouble." More than this, she went out and brought in. 
 others who had seen the accident, and who seemed anxious to 
 have me take their names so that they might be called to testify 
 that it was not our fault. Then Lieutenant Flynn and banker 
 Velay returned, and the gen'd'arme politely informed us that 
 we must go before the Commissionaire de Police. That looked 
 a little more serious. The gen'd'arme rode up with us too. At 
 the City Hall we had a short wait and then were ushered into 
 the Presence; our story was told. It had to be told slowly because 
 it was all taken down in longhand, and longhand that was con- 
 verted into French by banker Velay. When it was all tran- 
 scribed we were instructed to sign. For fear there might be 
 something in that French document that we had not said, I re- 
 quired banker Velay to read it to us, re-changing into United 
 States for our comprehension; but they had it down all right. 
 Then the Commissionaire rendered his decision, which was that 
 "The injured man came to his injury, and subsequent demise" — 
 for the Commissionaire had heard from the hospital — "by virtue 
 of his own fault, and our friends and allies, the American offi- 
 cers" — then naming each one of us by name — "are entirely 
 
 91 
 
blameless in the matter." Then we shook hands all round, and 
 beat it. 
 
 Over night in Paris and then on again to Langres. Of course, 
 they didn't know I was coming, and I didn't know whether the 
 " three guardsmen" were still there or not, but I went at once to 
 the old billet. Stacy was in, grinding away on some staff problem. 
 He let out a whoop which brought grandmere on the run to see 
 what had befallen her "petite soldat." When she saw me she 
 must have supposed she was seeing my ghost, for she backed 
 away, crossed herself, and began to say her prayers, but as I 
 grinned cheerfully at her she changed her mind, and the next 
 minute she had her arm about my neck, and at the same time 
 was apologizing for the liberty she was taking with "le Colonel." 
 
 That night there was a great reunion in that billet; both sides 
 had stories to tell. At supper we ran across a number of men I 
 had known previously in the College, many of whom came up 
 to our rooms during the evening to get some first-hand in- 
 formation from the front. The next morning I reported to 
 General Bjornsted — for he had been promoted. About the first 
 thing he said was, "What are the actual duties of a Trains Com- 
 mander; where does he fit in; is he a member of the staff of the 
 Division Commander, or not?" I rattled off what I thought the 
 duties were, and made the status pretty complicated and chaotic 
 I suspect, for he finally said, "Take two or three days; reduce 
 all that to writing and let me have it." If he had said, "Reduce 
 that to writing in an hour" it might have hurried me a little, 
 but when he talked about two or three days I could see a pleasant 
 little vacation ahead of me. 
 
 On reporting the second time with the desired tabulation, he 
 said, "I'll send an orderly to you when I am ready; I have a job 
 for you I think." Knowing how busy he was it seemed to me that 
 I might count on several days more, but the second day the 
 orderly came and said the General wanted to see me. His de- 
 cision was this: "I have just been made chief-of-staff to 3rd 
 Corps Headquarters; the commanding general has not yet been 
 named; the Corps consists at present of two divisions from the 
 regular army; I want you to go to that Corps training area, take 
 
 92 
 
one division at a time, inspect all transport and instruct transport 
 officers as you inspect. Get in touch with the Commander of 
 Trains and Military Police in each division, and teach him what 
 you have indicated here as the duties of a Trains Commander. 
 The 3rd Division is over; the 5th is over or on the way. You 
 will get your orders tonight." 
 
 There was another matter that made this visit to Langres a 
 pleasant one. It was nine weeks after landing in France before 
 I received any mail. While with the First Division two or three 
 letters had come, but as my wife and I had agreed to let our 
 letters to each other carry serial numbers, and since the two 
 which had been received from her had been numbers five and 
 eleven, I was firmly convinced that somewhere in France there 
 was a quantity of mail for me. Inquiry at the college postoffice — 
 "A. P. 0. 714" — found a large bundle, forty-two letters, to be 
 exact. They lasted me all the time I was at Langres, and part 
 of the time while at Mussy-sur-Seine, the headquarters of 3rd 
 Corps. 
 
 Acting as Inspector-Instructor at Corps was pleasant work in 
 the main. The Third Division was round about Chatillon. When 
 I reached this division it had been across about three weeks. 
 General Dickman, commanding the division, had had a large 
 experience with front line transport, and after finding my mission 
 under my orders and ascertaining what I intended to do, gave 
 me his enthusiastic support and encouragement to go ahead. 
 The work with this division took me three weeks and if they had 
 had a complete Supply train, and an Ammunition train at all 
 it would have taken longer. The absence of an Ammunition 
 train was a source of great disgust to General Dickman, and if 
 he could have foreseen what was about to happen to his Division, 
 it would have been a source of great anxiety to him. 
 
 From here the work called me to the Bar-sur-Aube region and 
 the Fifth Division, General McMahon commanding. This 
 division had been in its area but five days when I went to them, 
 and had practically none of its transport. After spending the 
 day with Colonel Morrow, the Commander of Trains, returning 
 to Mussy in the evening, it was learned at Corps headquarters 
 
 93 
 
that the Hun drive on Chateau-Thierry had become so ominous 
 that the Third Division had been ordered to the front — only 
 partially equipped as it was — and that the Fifth was to go forward 
 also, to act as guard over some bridges and railroads. The ex- 
 igencies of the hour had dissolved the 3rd Corps. 
 
 Many of the officers at Corps headquarters, seeing the period 
 of inactivity which was bound to ensue, and wishing to be in the 
 field in some active capacity, asked General Bjornsted for orders 
 sending them elsewhere. When I proffered my request the 
 General said, "Where do you want to be sent?" Having been 
 told by him previously that the Thirty-third Division was over, 
 or soon to come, and having seen in the scheme of divisions as 
 prepared by G. H. Q. that the Thirty-third was listed "combat 
 troops, shock division," I knew that the Thirty-third was not 
 going to be used as replacement troops, as was the Forty-first, 
 so requested an order sending me to the Thirty-third Division. 
 Turning to his clerk he dictated the order, and when it was 
 written out he signed it in a bold hand "John J. Pershing." 
 That is the only written order I ever received direct from General 
 Pershing. Folding and handing me the order, he said, "Now 
 don't ask me where that division is, for I don't know." A little 
 later in our conversation he suggested that I run over to Tours 
 to find out. Tours was probably two hundred kilometres west of 
 Mussy, and having been there several times before, I had the 
 impression that it was a poor town in which to hunt for in- 
 formation. The car that had been assigned for my use at Corps 
 headquarters had not been turned in. Chaumont, or G. H. Q. 
 was only fifty-five kilometres to the east of Mussy, and I had 
 never been in Chaumont, and certainly G. H. Q. was the fountain- 
 head for information. So bright and early the next morning my 
 driver and I started for Chaumont to hunt for the Thirty-third. 
 
 But it began to look as if I had made a bad choice, for on 
 applying at one office for the desired information I would meet 
 with "No, we do not know where the Thirty-third is, but prob- 
 ably Captain So-and-So can tell you." And Captain So-and-So 
 would say, "I don't know, but likely Major X. Y. Z. can inform 
 you." And so it went, always being referred to someone else, or 
 
 94 
 
to some other office. I was even sent to the French and British 
 liaison officers, and they could not tell me. At last "G-4," G. H. 
 Q. said, "I think Colonel Barnes can help you out." So Colonel 
 Barnes was found. He smiled, walked up to a map on the wall, 
 put the ball of his thumb flat on one part of that map and said, 
 "The Thirty-third is up there," I scanned that map closely and 
 discovered that his thumb had been covering considerable ter- 
 ritory, and a number of towns. He saw the question I was about 
 to ask, smiled again, and said, "I don't know the point for divi- 
 sion headquarters, but they are up there somewhere; they are 
 just over." The map space covered by the thumb had showed 
 Oisement on a railroad in that region, so he suggested that I go 
 to that place as a point for closer search. But his thumb had also 
 covered Abbeville, and privately I decided to go to that town. 
 I had heard Abbeville mentioned frequently while I was with 
 the Canadians. 
 
 The trip to Abbeville took me through Paris again, of course. 
 In traveling any distance in France, or one might say that in 
 traveling by rail in France, regardless of distance, one goes to 
 Paris and from there to the desired point. France does not believe 
 in connecting north and south, or east and west points in any 
 other way than via Paris. In Paris I ran across several officers 
 from Staff College, who — having now finished the course there — 
 were being sent to one or another division for duty; three of them 
 were heading toward Abbeville like myself. This made a pleasant 
 little travel party, for four men of any experience can put up a 
 bold, and successful front in holding a train compartment 
 originally designed for eight people. In fact two, if flanked by 
 the baggage of all four, can do so successfully while the other 
 two forage for rations. 
 
 The train reached Abbeville about nine thirty, p. m. Of 
 course there was the usual prohibition against lights of any 
 kind, but in the late twilight we could see, and run against, and 
 fall over the results of the many Hun bombing expeditions. 
 Apparently we were put to it very hardly in the matter of a place 
 to sleep, for the populace of Abbeville migrated, to a man, woman 
 and child, out into the country at sundown, and stayed there 
 
 95 
 
until sunrise the next morning. There wasn't a hotel open; 
 there wasn't a house where we could raise anyone. Finally an 
 English M. P. — military police, not member of Parliament — 
 suggested that our one best bet was the English Officers Club. 
 He wasn't very sanguine that we could get in, but it offered a 
 chance. So we tried the Club; it was full, but the clerk told us 
 they had an annex where officers could sleep, and an orderly 
 accompanied us the six blocks to this place. It was nothing but 
 an enormous store room that had escaped the bombing, a room 
 probably used originally as a warehouse for goods of some sort. 
 It was large enough to allow four rows of cots, with probably 
 thirty, or thirty-five cots to the row. There was no other furniture 
 of any sort. At one end of this room there had been rigged up a 
 water pipe with numerous faucets, and one washed one's face 
 and hands from the running stream. The orderly tagged us for 
 cots, 77, 78, 79 and 80, collected two francs from each one, and 
 wished us "pleasant dreams," adding that the town was bombed 
 the night before, so that there was a chance for a quiet night 
 tonight. I don't know about the other fellows, but do know that 
 I slept. An all day ride on the train, plenty of exercise up and 
 down the streets of Abbeville carrying a heavy grip into which I 
 had crowded all my precious, and most of my necessary belong- 
 ings, made me welcome that cot even if Jerry was sure to pay 
 us a call. 
 
 Breakfast was served at the Officers Club, the waitresses being 
 W. A. A. C. S. After breakfast we found an American Provost 
 Marshal who knew where the various divisions were located, 
 and who put me in telephone communication with Colonel 
 Naylor, Chief-of-Staff of the Thirty-third. After saying "Hello" 
 to Naylor, I nearly gave him a fatal shock by saying, "Send a 
 car in after me, will you?" It seemed that the Division was so 
 recently over that there were but two cars with the Division, 
 one of them assigned to General Bell of course, and being as- 
 signed to him could be used for no lesser purpose than his use. 
 Neither General Wolfe nor General Hill had a car as yet, and the 
 only other one in the Division was one that the Division quarter- 
 master had managed to get hold of in some way. But Naylor 
 
 96 
 
finally said, "Sit tight, and I'll see what I can do." That evening 
 the Q. M.'s car came and took me to Huppy, Division head- 
 quarters. 
 
 During this day, and while wandering the streets of Abbeville, 
 I ran across General Henry R. Hill. He seemed glad to see me, 
 and among other things said to me that he felt sure there was a 
 movement on foot to get him out of the service. He also said 
 that I was in command of the 130th Infantry Regiment, that the 
 regiment was completely demoralized, and that he welcomed 
 my assignment to the command as he felt I could straighten out 
 this outfit, and thus strengthen his position in the Division. 
 The 130th Infantry was in his Brigade, and had had three or four 
 different regimental commanders since its mobilization at Camp 
 Logan. Three or four different commanders in a six-months 
 training period is enough to demoralize almost any outfit. As I 
 had not been active in the infantry branch of the service since 
 October of the preceding year, and as training and leading an 
 infantry outfit had been completely revolutionized in that time, 
 the news that I was in command of an infantry regiment did not 
 make me feel particularly cheerful. 
 
 Headquarters 3rd Corps, 
 A. E. F. 
 June 2, 1918. 
 
 Rev. George A. Buttrick, 
 Quincy, Illinois. 
 
 My dear Mr. Buttrick: 
 
 I have just read a copy of the Quincy Herald containing your 
 sermon on the "Freedom of a true Jerusalem." May I venture 
 the hope that it appealed to the people at home as much as it 
 does to me. I do not quite know why I am writing to you in this 
 strain; as it comes to me the only reason, or excuse is that it 
 seems to me that the larger part of the education necessary for 
 the people of the United States, the education as to the meaning 
 of this war, and the reason for this war, and the aims of this war — 
 this necessary education must come largely from the pulpit. 
 
 97 
 
From the pulpit because it is to the pulpit we look for inter- 
 pretation of Divine plans and methods. This, coming from one 
 generally considered at least, to be rather materialistic in belief, 
 may seem unusual or even absurd. But this war is an education 
 in itself; it is an interpretation, an opener of blind eyes. 
 
 It is impossible to contemplate the heroic sacrifice of life, of 
 home, of family, of everything one holds dear, and believe that 
 such sacrifice is for a sordid purpose, or that it can arise from any 
 "earthy" motive. I have yet to see a young man in the vigor of 
 health and youth who wanted to die, but when one sees thousands, 
 and knows of hundreds of thousands who, in that youthful vigor, 
 go forth, look Death in the face, meet him and conquer, or are 
 conquered by him, and all this without a tremor, without hesi- 
 tation or a backward glance, I am convinced that there is some- 
 thing more than love of adventure, more than patriotism as we 
 ordinarily understand it, more than hatred of a foe, more than a 
 man's desire to pit himself against an adversary, in the heart of 
 that young man. There is something there that does not appear 
 on the surface, some motive, or thought, or belief which is 
 stronger than love of life. It is not a desire to acquire; it is not 
 fear of higher authority; these men are not being driven to be 
 brave; these men, French, English, Irish, Canadians, Australians 
 and all, do not feel driven, nor do they have to be driven. More 
 than this, there is no political union of these nations binding 
 their sons together in this death pact. Nor do I believe that any, 
 or all of these considerations could bind these men from the four 
 corners of the earth so firmly together as they are bound today, 
 nor put the determination in their hearts, the strength in their 
 hands, and the look in their eyes that they now have. For there 
 is a look in their eyes that the ordinary bustling business world 
 knows not. They seem to have seen the future; to have gazed 
 into the kaleidoscope of time upon the picture of what German 
 rule means, what a free and wholesome world means, and what 
 God's purpose is in this war, and they pass out as men who have 
 seen a vision and are amazed at the infinity thereof. 
 
 The Crusades came. To rid the Holy Land of the infidel was, 
 perhaps a worthy object. It is true the infidel was merely one who 
 
believed in God in a manner different from the crusader. Lives 
 were spent, fortunes were spent, deeds of valor were done, and 
 there is no doubt the world was the better for the effort made. 
 The crusader was convinced of the righteousness of his cause, 
 and at the same time, he discovered that his opponent was his 
 brother; the infidel was confirmed in his belief in the power of 
 his religion, and was introduced to a belief as strong as his own. 
 Those battles were for ideals and could not be without good 
 results. The struggle today is infinitely more of a true crusade 
 than that of the Christian and Saracen. This is not said as 
 voicing merely my opinion, for it must be the opinion of these 
 thousands and thousands of men of the allied armies who are 
 battling for God and humanity. Ask one man why he is fighting, 
 and the answer is "To make the world a safe place to live in." 
 Another will say, "To lick the Kaiser and stop him from murder- 
 ing women and children." Another, "I got tired of hearing about 
 'Gott mit uns' when I knew God wasn't that kind of a God." 
 These are answers taken at random from those received to the 
 above question, and they all show the inherent feeling that there 
 is wrong to be righted — a feeling which is the foundation for a 
 true crusade. 
 
 This brings up another thought which I hold firmly, but which 
 has never gained general approval when it has been broached; 
 I admit that war is an awful thing, but in many ways war is a 
 good thing. War is suffering, horror, want, sacrifice. Nothing 
 permanently good comes save through suffering — suffering on 
 the part of someone. We are born through suffering, we die 
 through suffering. Suffering is a sacrifice, the one we offer in- 
 stead of the slain lamb. "The broken and contrite heart is not 
 despised," and just as the Great Example became perfect through 
 suffering, so will this world ultimately find its universal peace by 
 treading the same path. War clarifies the vision, purifies the 
 life, gives us ideas of right values, takes our minds from the 
 little things, and from the gross and material, and shows us our 
 individual littleness in comparison with those things which make 
 for the betterment of the world. In a sense we come to place too 
 high a value on human life. The French wife who exclaimed over 
 
 99 
 
the dead body of her husband, "I was his wife, but France was 
 his mother; I have given him back to his mother," voiced in a 
 measure the keynote of the giving of human lives in a just cause. 
 Life came from Infinity; in the development of those plans which 
 no human intelligence can understand, Infinity requires the 
 absorption of human life into Itself, and while to our finite eyes 
 and minds this apparent wholesale absorption seems a horrible 
 and hellish thing, we must remember that it is only the tithe we 
 give, and that in the giving the world is improved, the universe 
 becomes nearer perfect, and the great plan for the "free Jeru- 
 salem" is furthered upon earth. This is essentially a religious 
 war; you feel it everywhere; these allied armies are religious 
 armies since the men in them are here for the purpose of making 
 the world better. It is a religious army even when it is a profane 
 army, for the very profanity one hears is a prayer since it is the 
 outburst of the pent up emotions caused by the earnestness of 
 the motive underlying the fighting. 
 
 I hope I have not bored you, but after reading your published 
 sermon I wanted to say to you that the men involved in helping 
 to make, and in hoping to make a "free Jerusalem," are with 
 their hands, and in their hearts engaged in a crusade which will 
 make it possible to say, "God's in his heaven; all's right with 
 the world." 
 
 100 
 
CHAPTER TWELVE 
 
 On reporting to General Bell he remarked, "You are in com- 
 mand of the 130th; the regiment is in the devil of a shape." 
 Then possibly seeing the look of apprehension, or consternation 
 on my face, he said, "What have you been doing in your six 
 months over here?" On answering that I had been with the 
 Canadians for front-line transport, and most recently had been 
 putting in time as an Inspector-Instructor for Division transport, 
 he thought a moment and then said, "Well, perhaps I will have 
 to make some changes; stay here at headquarters a few days, 
 and I will think it over." Two days later he transferred Colonel 
 Clinnin from Trains and Military Police to the 130th infantry 
 regiment, and transferred me to the Trains and Military Police. 
 It suited Colonel Clinnin who had had no front-line transport 
 work, and pleased me, for ignorant as I was of the new things 
 connected with the infantry I feared that I might not make good 
 on an infantry assignment, and knew that I could make good 
 with the Trains and Military Police. 
 
 Only a few days in the Huppy area and then a hike to the Eu 
 area. Eu is one of the old cities of France, and is the location 
 of one of the estates of the Orleans family. The present Duke 
 and Duchess were in residence here, and offered of their hos- 
 pitality to General Bell while he was at Eu. Here my work as 
 provost-marshal began in earnest, for the town was full of Bel- 
 gian soldiers, and our own men had not yet settled into the 
 harness. Shortly after reaching here an order came from G. H. 
 Q. sending certain officers to Australian and English divisions 
 then in line in this vicinity, for the purpose of putting each 
 American officer in close experience with the particular branch 
 of work with which he was connected. In this list of our officers 
 was scheduled the Commander of Trains. Feeling that in the 
 five days of this experience I would see but little not seen pre- 
 viously, and feeling that I could do more for the Division by 
 staying with the Division, I put it up to General Bell who said, 
 
 101 
 
"You certainly don't need it, but it's a G. H. Q., order and you 
 better go." My assignment took me to the Third Australian 
 Division, General Gelliband commanding, and was — except 
 for my sleeping quarters — a very pleasant outing. The Division 
 was in line at Villers-Bretoneau, and every one was living in 
 dug-outs. The Division headquarters dug-out was one drifted 
 into a hillside, and while not exceptionally wet, was the coldest 
 I ever saw. Even in June I could not get enough blankets to 
 keep out that penetrating chill. 
 
 The picture is a huge, ruined chateau. The grounds in front 
 are spacious, and even after four years of war, with this bit of 
 the world changing hands from allies to Germans and back 
 again four times in the four years, the hand of the landscape 
 gardener and artist can still be seen. The trees are half, or quite 
 destroyed; the earth is full of shell holes; the graveled drives 
 and walks are interrupted by these huge blotches which make 
 the country-side appear afflicted with a gross form of acne of the 
 terrain. It is also evident from the large fishpond in the rear of 
 the chateau that the owner of these grounds was a man of 
 substance, but the rim of water has become a scallop because of 
 still other shell holes. The park all about is marked with mounds 
 and pits, and when one starts to go anywhere one must go by 
 indirection in order to escape falling into these unsightly holes. 
 
 Just now the chateau is the headquarters of an Australian 
 brigade, and is being used as such first, because it is convenient, 
 and next, because the Germans, who have just left it, are con- 
 vinced that it is so thoroughly looted, and gutted, and porous, 
 and open to the sky as well as to observation, that no sensible 
 commander will do anything else than fight shy of the place. 
 Astonishing fellows, these Australians. They break and overlook 
 all the rules and red tape of hundreds of years of armyism, and 
 Field Service Regulations, and Military Discipline. Instead of 
 sticking one of their batteries in a wood — as is highly recom- 
 mended in the books — or instead of putting it behind a hill — 
 another procedure often followed — they are more likely to stick 
 those guns right out in the open on a level stretch of ground. 
 
 102 
 
They seem to lie awake nights seeking ways and means for break- 
 ing precedents, and they are always making precedents of their 
 own. It is to chuckle when one remembers the many cases, and 
 fits of horror they caused among the English Army Red Collars. 
 
 Division headquarters of this Australian outfit were about 
 two kilometres distant from this chateau. At noon the division 
 commander said, "I have accepted an invitation for Colonel 
 C." — my American confrere, "for yourself, and for myself to 
 take dinner this evening with General W. at brigade head- 
 quarters." Of course I said "delighted." Then he went on 
 "Some of our fellows have heard that you Americans are wonder- 
 ful marksmen; our officers have done some good shooting, and I 
 understand that there is a movement on foot to have some 
 target practice after dinner." This caused me no uneasiness for 
 Colonel C. — was known nationally as a crack rifle shot, and he 
 was far above the average at pistol or revolver shooting. As 
 to my own ability the less said the better. 
 
 About six o'clock General G. — his chief-of-staff, and aide, 
 and myself walked over to brigade headquarters. The dinner 
 was good. General W. — who was a merchant prince in Australia 
 in civil life, had a good cook, and there was no evidence of 
 scarcity of rations, or lack of variety of food and drink. Colonel 
 C — had not, and did not appear. The dinner went on; the 
 degree of hospitality and friendliness could not have been ex- 
 ceeded. We toasted the King; we toasted the President; we 
 toasted La Belle France; we toasted all the allied dignitaries 
 we could remember, and then I think we began to drink to the 
 good health of New York, Melbourne, Sidney, Buffalo, Kokomo 
 and Kalamazoo. Finally some one suggested that the light was 
 just right for pistol practice, so we adjourned to the sunken garden 
 in the grounds. It then appeared that America, as represented 
 in the person of one lone Colonel of Infantry, was to compete 
 with five husky and handsome Australian officers who had been 
 combed from the Australian Corps, and who were to shoot for 
 the glory and honor of the southern hemisphere. The match 
 looked onesided so General G. — the Division Commander, 
 offered to shoot for America in the place of the absent Colonel C. 
 
 103 
 
The targets were set up, set up against one side of the sunken, 
 garden, six empty Bass' ale bottles sitting in a row, six inches 
 between bottles, and the firing line was thirty paces distant. 
 Each contestant had six shots, and the longer I looked and 
 thought about those bottles standing in a row, the more bottles 
 I could see. There were a dozen, a dozen and a half, a whole 
 array of bottles; some still wearing their labels, some clothed 
 only in their naked and vitreous brownness. 
 
 As ranking officer present and contesting, and shooting as he 
 was for the American team, General G. — was first on the mark. 
 The six shots from his Webley ruined one bottle. When this was 
 replaced a young Australian stepped up and demolished three 
 bottles with his six shots. 
 
 It appeared to me that this was poor shooting for there were 
 dozens of bottles there, and they were moving, gliding, rotating, 
 doing the one step, the two step, the tango and the hesitation. 
 But my time had come. I had declared modestly, that I was no 
 pistol shot; that I was shooting only from a spirit of good- 
 fellowship, and because of my love for the American eagle; that 
 it was a crime to press upon my wavering hand and uncertain 
 eye a responsibility so great. You see, I was entering all my 
 alibis before shooting. 
 
 Still, I felt confident of the outcome for my observation during 
 those few minutes had disclosed that those moving bottles 
 moved in a regular and orderly way; there were no uncertain, 
 or unexpected movements in that case of bottles; they could 
 be depended upon. With no feeling of apprehension or doubt 
 I took my stand, aimed carefully, waited a moment, and fired. 
 There w T as the sound of broken and tinkling glass. Again I fired, 
 and again the same sound rejoiced my ear, but there seemed no 
 lessening of the number of bottles treading their stately minuet. 
 
 The third shot I directed at a bottle which appeared to have 
 withdrawn itself a little from the festive aggregation; it had a 
 particularly bright and clean label, and looked larger and more 
 important than its fellows; it occurred to me that it was trying 
 to sneak away from my deadly fire. To my surprise it survived 
 
 104 
 
the attack; the shot was wasted. This must not be; my mission 
 was to make the American eagle give raucous screams of triumph 
 and joy, rather than to cause him to shed salty tears of dis- 
 appointment and woe. I called upon my reserve powers, and my 
 cunning. Perhaps Australia had not done her best; some other 
 entrant might break more than three of those six bottles, and 
 as yet I had not even tied my first opponent. My decision was 
 made; forget the isolated and important looking bottle; perhaps 
 it was devoted to some other fate any way — some more ignoble 
 end — and turn my attention to the common herd. 
 
 Again I aimed, waited, and fired. Once more the tinkling glass 
 could be heard; my first opponent's record was tied; now I must 
 continue, must beat him, must do so excellently that no late 
 shooter could beat me. I then realized that my original strategy 
 was correct, and that my tactics were unbeatable. Again I 
 fired, and again a bottle bit the dust. But this last shot puzzled 
 me, and caused me annoyance as well, for where, a moment before 
 there had been a collection of bottles, all apparently on good 
 terms with each other, all enjoying a considerable intimacy of 
 friendship and action, now there were two little groups, one 
 wearing bright, clean labels, while the other group was draped 
 in sombre brown and instead of revolving and saluting each other 
 in dignified and regular fashion these groups seemed insanely 
 bent on standing in their respective places and dancing up and 
 down; I could not decide which group to attack. 
 
 Remembering however that the group clothed in gay attire 
 must be the relatives and associates of the bottle I had pre- 
 viously fired upon, but which was unquestionably set aside for 
 a fate other than my bullet, I determined to slay one of those 
 little brown jumping-jacks. Which one was of no moment to me; 
 I had neither friendship nor animosity, but I had one remaining 
 shot; I must have one more bottle. 
 
 Taking careful aim I waited, but conditions were not right. 
 I lowered the gun and watched that little group. Again I aimed, 
 waited, and then fired; to my immense relief again we heard the 
 sound of broken glass. 
 
 105 
 
The Australian makes and breaks precedents, but by sticking 
 to what I had been taught I was enabled to capture the prize 
 which had been offered, for with every shot, except the one that 
 had been wasted on that bottle — set aside perhaps by its own 
 pride in drawing away from its fellows, or preserved from my 
 accuracy by a higher and postponed fate — I had never fired until 
 those revolving bottles had come in echelon, and then I en- 
 filaded the mass. 
 
 In late June the Thirty-third moved up to Molliens-au-Bois 
 sector to go into the line as a part of 4th British Army. Up to 
 this time I had not seen Donald; a part of the 129th Infantry 
 had been quarantined at Brest, with scarlet fever, but just before 
 the Division left Eu the quarantine was lifted, and this battalion 
 was to come on at once. As soon as we were well established at 
 Molliens, and as soon as the 129th Infantry had reached its 
 billeting area, I took advantage of opportunity one afternoon to 
 drive over to their regimental headquarters hoping to see Don. 
 Almost at once I ran into a corporal from Quincy, and in con- 
 versation with him learned that Don had been taken sick on the 
 march across country from Eu, and had been left behind on the 
 road. Finding the captain of the Headquarters company — 
 Don's organization — I asked for particulars. In an extremely 
 egotistic and unfeeling way Captain White replied, "Oh yes, 
 he came down with scarlet fever, and I couldn't be bothered 
 with him, so left him behind." Further inquiry developed the 
 fact that the boy was not turned over to any hospital or aid 
 station, but that he was left in the loft of a French barn; that no 
 one had been left with him; that Captain White had made no 
 effort to discover what had become of him, and that eleven days 
 had elapsed, and nothing had been heard of his whereabouts or 
 his condition. At once I began to make inquiry in every possible 
 direction, and spent the next day, in company with Captain 
 Algeo who commanded one of my military police companies, 
 going from place to place along the line of the recent march of 
 the 129th Infantry, making inquiries. Every British hospital 
 in that part of France, even those at Calais, Boulogne and La 
 
 106 
 
Treport were telephoned, and no news secured. About ten o'clock 
 that night the operator at our Division headquarters called me 
 to the phone, and the American unit of the British hospital at 
 La Treport was on the wire. One of the American surgeons from 
 this unit had been over to the British headquarters of the hospital, 
 and had seen lying on a desk a slip of paper on which was written, 
 that Colonel Center of the American army was trying to locate 
 his son, Donald. I had called that hospital and had been told 
 that he wasn't there, and he wasn't in the British unit, but was 
 in the American unit. 
 
 It is queer how some fairly intelligent men who are reasonably 
 well informed on a subject, who are under no strain, who are 
 having a pleasant time and thoroughly enjoying themselves, 
 can develop a tremendous case of absent-mindedness without 
 any warning. Just like a college professor looking for his glasses 
 when they are on his nose. 
 
 The Division was in front of Albert waiting to relieve a 
 British Division then in line. There was a day that had to be 
 employed in some sort of training, and the General decided 
 that the two infantry regiments of the 66th Brigade should 
 put on a battle exercise on the terrain. So for the occasion the 
 senior colonel of the division was labeled a Brigadier General, 
 and another colonel was similarly labeled, and one infantry 
 regiment was to be the Red Army and the other the Blue Army, 
 and the two hurriedly made generals were to suppose that they 
 had each an army with which to fight each other. 
 
 The day was pleasant; for a wonder the sun was both warm 
 and bright, and as the Division Commander had named me as 
 commentator and observer for the conduct — and errors if any — 
 of the Blue army, it began to look like a bon war. 
 
 The Blue army was to be the attacking force and during the 
 maneuver was to advance some three kilometres in order to 
 come to hand grips with the Red enemy. The artillery had to 
 be assumed, and as there was but one aeroplane obtainable for 
 
 107 
 
this use, this bird had to divide his time and act alternately for 
 each force, but the effort was made to make the problem as 
 realistic as possible. 
 
 Being critic I had been informed previously of the problem 
 in its details, and of the general plan each army had in mind. 
 Among other features there had been arranged for a specified 
 hour — provided the Blue army had reached a certain point by 
 that hour — a gas attack on the Blue forces. This was to come 
 from projectors so placed that the wind would sweep the gas 
 along the advancing line. The Blue army had been warned that 
 in all probability they would receive such an attack during the 
 day, and all officers and men were to be told that if gas came it 
 would not be a 'phony attack, but the real thing, and that the 
 respirators must be used. 
 
 At the given hour the Blue line, in three waves was nearing 
 the designated objective where those informed knew gas was to 
 come, and just then a platoon on the extreme right of the Blue 
 line gave the gas alarm; every one flew to his gas mask. Partly 
 because of the personal necessity and partly to assure men and 
 officers that it was the real thing, I grabbed mine as soon as 
 anyone else, and slipped it on. To my disgust the thing wouldn't 
 work; if I inhaled it clung to my face; if I exhaled it ballooned 
 out until it threatened to pull itself off. Hurriedly jerking it off 
 I gave it the 'once over' and slipped it back on again, but it 
 acted in just the same way. Now I had gone over that mask 
 that morning and knew it was in working condition, but it 
 wouldn't work here. I was just about to 'beat it' ignominiously 
 away from that quartering wind when the trouble disclosed 
 itself. As an observer, I had been enjoying the pleasure of a 
 cigar; this had burned down practically to my lips but the stub 
 had been retained. Just how I managed to keep that butt be- 
 tween my teeth while inserting the mouthpiece of the respirator 
 I don't know, but there it had been. Naturally the exhaled 
 breath had escaped between the cigar butt and the mouth- 
 piece, while the inhaled air was coming partly through the 
 mouth-piece and partly from inside the mask itself. Oh yes, 
 chagrin was my middle name. 
 
 108 
 
July 4th was celebrated by portions of our 131st and 132nd 
 regiments of infantry, together with some Australian con- 
 tingents, in putting on "a show" near Hamel woods. This 
 resulted in some 600 prisoners for the Thirty-third Division — 
 the first ones we had been called upon to handle. 
 
 About this time too, the Hun discovered that there were 
 American troops in his front, and so proceeded to try to "put 
 our wind up" for us. The city of Albert was in our immediate 
 front, and while it was a sort of "No Man's Land" still it was 
 in German hands. One forenoon a battery of 155s opened up 
 just behind Albert, and gave our Division headquarters a taste 
 of high explosive. One shell landed about 200 feet from the 
 chateau where General Bell was billeted. That afternoon a 
 company of our engineers was busy constructing a forty-foot 
 dugout near the chateau, and orders were issued for all officers 
 and men to get their sleeping quarters underground. Trains 
 headquarters were located at the village marie and school 
 house — for it was a combination building — and for a few nights 
 we obeyed the order, and seven officers, the school teacher — 
 who had not fled because she said she had nowhere to go — and 
 the old care-taker and his wife slept in the tiny cellar under the 
 building. This would have provided protection against frag- 
 ments of shells, but the discomfort was so much greater than the 
 risk, that we soon went back to sleeping on the floors of the 
 building. 
 
 One night about eleven o'clock, Major Hart and I who slept 
 on the floor of a little room upstairs, were lying talking when 
 we heard a 'plane coming over. I had just remarked, "He is 
 one of ours," for the sound was not that of a German machine, 
 when in the immediate vicinity we heard a BLAM. That settled 
 the question of whether it was a Jerry or not. Almost at once 
 we could hear the whistling sound of another bomb falling 
 through the air, and that whistle meant "It's close to you." 
 Then came another WHAM. The building rocked; plaster fell; 
 glass crashed and rattled; the room filled with acrid fumes. 
 Jumping up I rushed to the stair wondering if any of my officers 
 or men had been hit. On the stair I met Captain Algeo coming 
 
 109 
 
up. He gasped, "Colonel is that gas?" referring to the choking 
 fumes of the H. E. None of the five who were sleeping on the 
 floor down stairs had been hurt. Stepping outdoors, where 
 there had been nothing but dry ground and sidewalk when we 
 went to bed, I stepped on something soft and slippery; looking 
 down I could see a large, dark blob ; all around were dark blobs. 
 Voices in the direction of the first bomb could be heard, and soon 
 came stretcher men to carry the dead and wounded. A column 
 of English troops was just turning the corner of the street when 
 the first bomb fell in the street in front of them. A Captain 
 and two men were killed, and five others wounded. The second 
 bomb had fallen in the nearly dry village pond which was just 
 in front of the mairie, and the dark blobs I had seen were masses 
 of the thick, sticky mud from the hole ten feet deep, and twenty 
 feet in diameter in that one-time pond. From that night I could 
 understand the feeling of those officers of the First Division, 
 who had broken up our poker game. 
 
 I think most of those having this feeling of apprehension in 
 the presence of a Jerry, wanted to get out in the open; wanted 
 to get away from the crowd, feeling instinctively that Jerry 
 would not bother about sniping one lone man. But Jerry was 
 always shooting into the dark, and he was just as apt to drop 
 his load somewhere outside the town as he was to hit the town. 
 For my own part I wanted always to be on my feet; sitting, or 
 lying down was unbearable; when on my feet it did not matter 
 whether I was outdoors or indoors, but I had to stand up. 
 
 This same Jerry was shot down a little later in the evening, 
 and then we learned why his sound had fooled us. The 'plane 
 was an Italian one which the Germans had captured, and which 
 they were now using. 
 
 The next night Jerry visited us again, but this time he vented 
 his spleen on a field near the chateau, and on Pierregot — a 
 village a kilometre from Molliens. Here a bomb swept the head 
 cleanly off the man, who had sat up in his shallow pit bringing 
 his head above ground, while a man on guard only a few feet 
 away was untouched. 
 
 As is always the case, many unexplainable things happen in 
 
 110 
 
war. While with the First Division, four officers were standing 
 in a little group, talking. A 77 came over, and exploded probably 
 sixty feet beyond them; not one of the four was touched. A 
 runner was coming up with a message for one of the four; he 
 was at least two hundred feet from the point of the explosion, 
 and was killed instantly by a splinter of steel through the heart. 
 On Lorette Ridge, which is near Vimy Ridge, there was the 
 historic shrine of "Our Lady of Lorette." Lorette Ridge, again 
 like Vimy, is a large plateau with fairly gently slope on one side, 
 and abrupt and almost precipitous hill on the other. Sixty 
 thousand Frenchmen lost their lives on Lorette in 1915. The 
 church and shrine were almost churned to powder by the shell 
 fire of the Germans. The image of "Our Lady" has not even 
 been scratched. When I was there early in '18, the plateau was 
 still covered with skeletons and the remains of dead men. Two 
 French "blesses" had dug a well and a tunnel, and down in the 
 tunnel had made another shrine for "Our Lady," where, in spite 
 of the scarcity and high prices they managed to keep candles 
 burning day and night. 
 
 At Corbie there was a rather imposing looking cathedral, or 
 it must have been so before the war. Corbie, like Villers-Bre- 
 toneau was taken and re-taken repeatedly. The cathedral made 
 a recognized point for the laying-on of the distant guns, and the 
 three years of warfare had destroyed the roof completely, and 
 every old wall was pierced and broken. The interior had been 
 stripped of woodwork of all kinds; the Huns, at one time, had 
 used this cathedral as a stable for the horses of a cavalry outfit; 
 most of the images of the saints and apostles had been broken 
 or cast down; a more than life size image of the Christ, carved 
 from stone, high on the wall above the great altar, was untouched 
 in every way. 
 
 The line from Scripture, "One shall be taken and another left" 
 was proven daily. One night when the Thirty-third was in the 
 Meuse-Argonne battle, I was forward looking that rations and 
 ammunition got to the front. In the ruined village of Cumieres, 
 where there was literally not one stone left upon another, a 
 village that lay just beside "Dead Man's Hill," and a village 
 
 111 
 
that for three years had been in No Man's Land, I had an M. P. 
 on a field telephone. This phone was in a little booth perhaps 
 two feet square — just large enough so that the man could stand 
 inside out of the rain. This booth was on a little bank, perhaps 
 three feet high, beside the road. I was walking down the gentle 
 slope toward this phone; at the same time, and at about the 
 same distance from the booth, came the driver of a Supply 
 train truck from the other direction; he was walking up a gentle 
 slope. A shell was heard screaming. There is an old saying that 
 you never hear the shell that hits you; this is not so. You can 
 hear the scream of the shell, and tell from the sound whether 
 it is coming in^your direction or not, or whether it is billed to 
 go considerably to the right or the left of you, but you cannot 
 tell whether it is going to be a "short" or an "over." We all 
 three heard this shell. The man in the booth stood fast; he had 
 no time to do anything else. Usually I would have thrown my- 
 self on the ground, but it was so muddy, and I was so physically 
 exhausted that one shell more or less seemed a small matter to 
 me. The driver of the truck threw himself into the shallow ditch 
 by the roadside. The shell landed within twenty feet of the 
 telephone booth, about seventy feet from me, and a little less 
 than a hundred feet from the truck driver. It was an "instan- 
 taneous" — a fuse set to explode on probably fifteen pounds of 
 impact, for it made a hole in the road no larger than a dinner 
 plate. The man in the booth was untouched; I was untouched, 
 but well spattered with mud; the driver of the truck, lying in the 
 ditch, had the top of his head taken off. 
 
 Another day in front of "Dead Man's Hill" Captain Troxell, 
 driver Stone and I were coming back from the front, toward 
 Cumieres. One portion of the road was in open observation 
 from the Hun lines less than 2000 yards away; daylight had 
 caught us but we decided to take the risk. A shell came over 
 and "dusted" us; another came and sent a fragment through 
 the radiator. Feeling that we had no particular attachment for 
 that Dodge car, we jumped out and slid down in an old shallow 
 trench, where we hugged the side from which the fire came, as 
 closely as possible. In less than five minutes thirty more shells 
 
 112 
 
fell around us. One plumped into the earth just outside of the 
 parapet where we were lying. Did you ever think in a hurry? 
 Did you ever have to decide a question immediately, or sooner? 
 We did; we might try to run and be caught running when the 
 explosion came, and take our chance of being hit; we could lie 
 still and take our chance of being buried, or of being torn to 
 pieces where we lay. And we lay still. We knew that unless it 
 was a delayed fuse that running wouldn't get us anywhere; 
 we knew too, that to jump up exposed us to a greater chance for 
 severe or fatal concussion, even if we were not hit, so we decided 
 to take the chance of being buried alive, or of being blown out 
 bodily; but we didn't talk these matters over; no one said a 
 word, and we lay there a period that seemed like a week or two, 
 and that shell never did go off; it was a "dud." 
 
 How do I know that thirty-two shells came over there in less 
 than five minutes? Because I glanced at my wrist w T atch as we 
 tumbled into the trench, and because we counted the shells. 
 That was orders, to report the amount of fire on a given or certain 
 area, and the time in which the fire was delivered, and to spot — by 
 the sound — the place from which the fire seemed to come. Such 
 information was valuable to our artillery in several ways; it 
 helped locate where the guns of the enemy were, and the rapidity 
 of fire told whether it was a battery that was doing the firing, 
 or whether it was merely a decoy gun stuck out somewhere. 
 
 Hdqs. 33rd. Division 
 
 A. E. F — August 2, 1918 
 
 My dear Bishop — After receiving your good letter, together 
 with two from Emmett Howard, and one from our old friend 
 Halsey Osborn, I am encouraged to write again. But as always, 
 the question is, "What can I write?" Ordinarily, when one is at 
 an epistolary loss the weather and one's health, together with a 
 polite question, and a more or less superficial hope regarding 
 the health of the addressee, suffices. Over here the weather can 
 be best described with a few dashes and an exclamation point. 
 My health is shamefully good. But there is a matter, one I 
 
 113 
 
have kept my pen away from until my first impressions could be 
 confirmed, a little matter of analysis, a study of temperament, 
 of environment, and psychology which may prove of interest 
 to you. Now, Ed, if you read this at the Rotary meeting, and 
 get it off in your best dramatic manner, perhaps we can put it 
 over. I say "we" for I want a partner for the strain I am about 
 to place upon the good nature of the Rotarians. Just break the 
 news to them that I am going to offer proof — with the bunch 
 as jury — that the American soldier is the best in the world, and 
 give them a chance to plead "urgent business" if they want to 
 leave. In general, I am going to deal with the enlisted man. He 
 is fighting this war, and he is going to win this war, and all the 
 glory a commissioned officer gets is a reflected glory. 
 
 The Canadian soldier is a marvel of military perfection. He is 
 not particularly enthusiastic; he is a quiet, repressed sort of an 
 individual. He has no romance in his make-up, and no glamor 
 affects his sight. If he wins — and he generally does — he is as 
 cold as steel, and apparently just as impressionable. If he loses, 
 he is just as impressionable as he was before. One of the decisive 
 battles of the world is alluded to by him as "That little show we 
 
 had at ." He acts as if he was fed to repletion on war, 
 
 and he fights as if battle and bloodshed had been his breast 
 milk in infancy. He comes from a land of wide spaces and 
 extended vision. His methodic preciseness and almost immutable 
 demeanor is a parallel of the quiet, reserved forces of "Our Lady 
 of the Snows." 
 
 Now that last sentence, or paragraph, rather seems dragged 
 in by the heels, but there is method in my madness for it is 
 merely my way of leading up to the question, "How much effect 
 does native environment have on the human fighting machine, 
 and what makes the difference in the fighting men of the various 
 countries?" Does life in the open, the physical ability to look 
 beyond one's doorstep, have anything to do with it? How much 
 is due to tradition, how much to training, how much to tem- 
 perament? I'm not going to answer all these questions; you 
 are the jury and all I'm going to do is to present the case. 
 
 Come now to the French soldier. In the main, I do not think 
 
 114 
 
he likes the game; he has had four years of it, but so have the 
 others, and if it is granted that he does not like the game, one 
 must admit that he is among the bravest of the brave, for he 
 has fought, is fighting, and is willing to fight again if it is neces- 
 sary. With him there is no question of the abstract — he is fighting 
 in the concrete, fighting for his actual fireside. He has centuries 
 of tradition behind him; he is as highly trained as any; he has 
 ancient and recent wrongs to avenge; and still I feel that he 
 does not like the game, and that if it were not a case of his back 
 to the wall and the knife at his throat, he would not be the 
 efficient fighting man he is. He then is limited to tradition and 
 training, having neither the environment nor the temperament. 
 
 Then take the Scot, the dour, hard-headed Scot. He is like 
 the Canadian in nearly every way but one — the Scot has a lust 
 for fighting. Not that he is any better than the Canadian, but 
 he is different in this respect, and when a battalion of Sandy 
 McPhersons and Wully Gordons and Bobby McGregors starts 
 "over the top" the pick of the Hun nation, man for man, cannot 
 stop them. They have tradition and temperament, and in a 
 measure at least, they have the open spaces, for in viewing crag 
 from crag, peak from peak, and looking across the loch from 
 either, the Scot looks into the distance and creates for himself 
 a conception of boundless areas. 
 
 And now, welcome the wild west! Turn out the guard for the 
 spirit of the plains! The Australian has come. He is the native 
 son; the smell of the earth is in his nostrils; he is the village 
 cut-up; he is the irrespressible, irresponsible, irresistable IT. 
 He loves fighting because it is fighting. He doesn't care a hang 
 for King, Kaiser, captain, or major general. In fact, he is rather 
 apt, if the idea occurs to him to slap the general on the back 
 and say, "I say, old top, that was a bloody fine show we pulled 
 off, what?" He has the most lurid and unconventional vo- 
 cabulary in the world. He is wild and wooly, and has never been 
 curried below the knees. One of the Australian division com- 
 manders said to me, "Don't you know our fellows disappear 
 when there is nothing doing on the front; where they go I don't 
 know; how they hear that a show is going to start I don't know, 
 
 115 
 
but as soon as there is a fight in the wind the beggars all come 
 back." They have adopted the American lock, stock and barrel. 
 They are breezy, boisterous and impudent when viewed from a 
 military standpoint, and good natured! I have seen them half 
 drunk, put in arrest by an American M. P., resist arrest as a 
 matter of course, get a huge American fist on the eye, nose or 
 jaw, go to bye-bye from the blow, wake up with a split lip or a 
 black eye, and the man who turned the trick is a blood brother 
 ever after. There is no malice in them, and yet they rarely take 
 prisoners. They are of the family of the "Three Musketeers," 
 with an admixture of Irish and devil. They have no tradition; 
 they have — outwardly — but little training; it is there but they 
 don't show it; but they have the temperament, and they come 
 from the wide, open spaces. 
 
 And now for the proof which I promised you in the beginning. 
 
 The American likes fighting for fighting's sake. He has an 
 intense desire to prove himself the best man of them all. More 
 than any other soldier does he have the spirit of competition. 
 Like the Scot, and the Canadian, and the Australian his diction- 
 ary lacks the word "licked." He has all the dash and the en- 
 thusiasm of the Australian. He is just as steely cold in the 
 decisive moment as the Canadian. He is sufficiently intelligent 
 to know that he is fighting in the abstract, and is doing it without 
 having his back to the wall. He has an immense personal in- 
 itiative and resourcefulness. He realizes danger, and walks into 
 that danger to do his bit before the danger can cut him down. 
 He is best when the strain is the worst. If officer or man is told 
 off for some especially dangerous duty, I have heard them say, 
 "Well, I've got a 'good-night, fellows, good morning Peter,' 
 detail" — not said in a spirit of irreverance or bravado, but as 
 a recognition of what is in front of them, and then calmly and 
 unconcernedly take the detail. Invention of expression is 
 characteristic of the soldiers from the States. In fact, the 
 Australian, with his ever ready flow of Billings-gate, finds the 
 readiness and aptness of language of the American another tie 
 in their brotherhood of blood, but the Australian would never 
 invent such a reply as this to the remark frequently heard, 
 
 116 
 
"Hits a bloody, 'orrid war;" "Yes, it's a hell of a war, but it's 
 the best one we've got." The American has the tradition, he 
 has the temperament, he has the wide open spaces and he has 
 the training. I left that for the last, purposely. Some of the 
 people of Quincy saw last summer, exhibitions of bayonet drill 
 out at Camp Parker. That same bayonet drill has caused British 
 officers who have seen our troops in action to exclaim, "My word, 
 but your fellows are very keen at that work." So they are, so 
 keen they cleaned up a considerable number of that crack outfit, 
 the Prussian Guard, man to man, the other day, and they are 
 just as keen with the rifle, the machine gun, and the hand grenade. 
 They are the bonniest fighters the world has ever seen, and the 
 anxious families at home who may now, or may in the future be 
 sorrowing over the death of one of these bonny fighting men, 
 these families may hold their heads high with pride that one 
 of theirs was one of the best the world has known, in this, the 
 greatest war in all history. But may the good Lord bring an 
 early and lasting peace. 
 
 117 
 
CHAPTER THIRTEEN 
 
 But to get back to life at Molliens, and into the 4th British 
 Army again. 
 
 Following the show of July 4th the Division participated in 
 the battle of Chipilly Ridge, and of Gressaire Wood. This 
 engagement, like the battle of Cantigny, was a comparatively 
 small affair but with far-reaching results. The French had 
 learned that the American regulars could, and would fight. 
 Now the British discovered that our citizen soldiery was equal 
 in the final test, to any troops of the British army. In fact, the 
 American citizen soldiery took Chipilly Ridge, which the dash- 
 ing, hard-fighting Australians were not sanguine about tackling. 
 In this engagement the Division experienced its first heavy 
 losses, as there were needed for the 131st infantry regiment 
 alone, some 1200 replacements after this fight. As a result of 
 this engagement too — as we afterward learned from prisoners 
 and from captured documents — the German high command 
 listed the Thirty-third Division as "first class" troops, something 
 of a distinction, since they classified only five divisions of 
 National Guard troops in this way. 
 
 A pleasant interlude, because of its ceremonial aspect, because 
 of its motive and outcome, and because it was a glimpse of 
 something never before seen in our democratic regime, was the 
 visit paid to the Division subsequent to the battle of Chipilly 
 Ridge and Gressaire Wood, by the King of England. The reason 
 was a two-fold one. First, General Pershing was to be made a 
 Knight Commander of the Order of the Bath by King George, 
 and second, several officers and men of the Division were to be 
 decorated by Royalty because of the good work done in the 
 battle just mentioned. This was logical, diplomatic, and pictur- 
 esque. It may be stated here that the Thirty-third Division 
 was the only American Division which, at one time or another, 
 was a part of British Army, French Army, and of First, Second 
 and Third American Armies. At this particular time it was a 
 
 118 
 
part of 4th British Army, which was commanded by General 
 Sir Henry Rawlinson. 
 
 The King had indicated that on a specified date he wished to 
 show his appreciation of the Division by bestowing decorations, 
 and General Pershing came to Molliens at the instance of the 
 King to be knighted and decorated. The ceremony concerning 
 General Pershing took place within the chateau where General 
 Bell had his headquarters, and was witnessed by General Bell, 
 his aides, his chief-of-starT, and his Division adjutant. The 
 further ceremonies were held in a beautiful glade in the rear of 
 the chateau. General Bell had issued orders for a definite number 
 of men from each unit of the Division to be sent into Molliens to 
 witness the ceremony. He had designated me as Master of 
 Ceremonies and commander of the detachments coming in, 
 which were to be formed into a united force for the occasion. 
 So on this July morning I had these enlisted men, with their 
 officers, drawn up on three sides of a hollow square. A table 
 was placed in the open side which led to the chateau; from this 
 side the King and his retinue would approach; on the table 
 would be placed the glittering and be-ribboned decorations; the 
 individuals to receive them would march up to the table, and in 
 person the King would pin them on the American recipients. 
 
 Company A of the Military Police was designated as the guard 
 of honor to receive the royal party on the opposite side of the 
 chateau. This company was drawn up in company front, and 
 on the arrival of the King, presented arms; then General Sir 
 Henry Rawlinson reviewed the troops and inspected arms; the 
 King, the Prince of Wales, and the rest of the royal party entered 
 the chateau. When General Pershing had been invested, the 
 royal party emerged from the chateau and proceeded toward 
 the hollow square previously mentioned. 
 
 Prior to this, and when we were talking over the arrangements 
 for the occasion, I had said to General Bell, "As the King 
 approaches I will give the command "present arms;" Who will 
 give the command "order arms?" Of course I was in immediate 
 command of these troops, but General Bell was my superior, 
 and General Pershing was his superior, and still further — and 
 
 119 
 
in a strictly military sense — the King was General Pershing's 
 superior, and all of them would be present, and as a matter of 
 fact the King was in command of the whole affair. My middle- 
 west up-bringing had not made me fully conversant with a 
 positive knowledge of the proper etiquette for the occasion, and 
 I wasn't anxious to pull any "boner" that would embarrass 
 myself, General Bell, General Pershing or the King. General 
 Bell was in a dilemma also; he would not authorize me to call 
 the troops to the "order," nor would he take the responsibility 
 of giving the command himself. It began to look as if those 
 troops would be left standing there at the "present" until the 
 King got ready to go home. Finally I said to General Bell, 
 "After the King passes my post, and I have given my personal 
 salute, I will wait a moment, and if he does not exercise his 
 prerogative, I will call the troops to the 'order' myself." You 
 see, we were Americans, and not knowing how the King might 
 feel about assuming any authority on this occasion, we were 
 all in the dark as to the outcome. 
 
 The royal party approached, the King on the right, General 
 Pershing on his left, followed by English and American officers 
 in order of rank. When the King reached our regular recognition 
 distance, I gave the command "present arms," and followed 
 by wheeling and making the salute myself. I think this was the 
 only time in my life when I sincerely wished for the sabre, for 
 the hand salute seemed entirely inadequate for the occasion. 
 
 The King gravely returned my salute and passed on. I thought, 
 "If he says nothing by the time he has gone six paces I will 
 call the troops to the 'order'." At the exact point — and he must 
 have been counting his steps — the King turned his head slightly, 
 and said, "Call the troops to the 'order'." As an exhibition of 
 tact, and of consideration, and of appreciation, and of ability 
 to think under unusual circumstances, it was an instance hard 
 to beat. 
 
 It is only fair to say too, that the Prince of Wales was not 
 present at this ceremony. As soon as General Pershing had been 
 knighted, the Prince stole away, and when the royal party was 
 
 120 
 
ready to leave he was discovered hobnobbing with our enlisted 
 men and some of our junior officers, and evidently enjoying 
 himself as much as our fellows enjoyed him. 
 
 Shortly after this came an order for the Division to make so 
 hurried a move that the only equipment to be taken was such as 
 could be carried by the man, or moved by the battalion trans- 
 port units. Everything else was to be piled up at one point or 
 another, and left behind. The Enfield rifles, issued to our men at 
 Eu were to be turned in; ammunition was to be turned in, and 
 everything pointed to the greatest movement of the organization 
 of the First American Army. The different units of the Division 
 received orders to proceed to one of three points on rail, for 
 entraining. In the same order they were instructed to deposit 
 their property of all sorts — property and material that could 
 not be transported by the individuals — in dumps, and to furnish 
 map references concerning the location of these dumps to the 
 Commander of Trains. A guard of one non-commissioned officer 
 and five privates was to be left over each dump, and this detail 
 was to be furnished rations for five days, while each regimental 
 unit, or its equal was to leave one commissioned officer behind in 
 charge of the various details of that regiment. 
 
 At the same time I received an order to remain behind in the 
 area, and collect, transport and ship this deposited material. 
 In a conversation with General Bell he emphasized the im- 
 portance to him, and to the Division, in having the area well 
 cleared of this government property, saying that one American 
 Division which had received orders similar to those of the 
 Thirty-third, had left its front line position and its sector, and 
 had abandoned all this property to whomsoever could take it; 
 that he had selected me to remain behind, partly because he 
 wished to leave an officer in charge whose rank alone would 
 carry weight in case evidence was ever required to be produced 
 on the question of our efficiency in clearing the area, and partly 
 because he had found that when I did a thing it was done 
 thoroughly. (I took this latter remark as salve to make me feel 
 better over being left behind the Division.) 
 
 I was to request motor trucks from the British, who had 
 
 121 
 
promised to loan them for this purpose, and when the task was 
 finished I was to pick up the various details and rejoin the 
 Division. On asking General Bell how long he estimated that 
 the job would take, he replied, "Oh, five or ten days." Let me 
 say right here that it was five weeks to the day from the time 
 I said, "Good-bye" to the Division until I saw it again. 
 
 No sooner was the Division gone than my troubles began. 
 In the first place some of the divisional units had not obeyed 
 the order in the matter of furnishing me the location of their 
 dumps; some had left dumps without the prescribed guard 
 detail over them; in some cases a detail was left without a non- 
 commissioned officer; some details were left with no rations, or 
 with rations for but a day or two. Only one regiment, as a unit, 
 obeyed the order and left a commissioned officer behind. 
 
 The Division area at this time extended from Vignacourt on 
 the west, to Albert, Corbie and Bray on the east, a distance of 
 about forty kilometres, while the north and south diameter 
 was nearly twenty kilometres. The first day was spent in 
 driving — in the English "Sunbeam" — over the area, inspecting 
 the dumps whose locations had been furnished me. The sight 
 was appalling. In the dump of one of the infantry regiments I 
 estimated that there was at least five box-car loads of material, 
 stuff that included everything from fur rugs which had been 
 brought from home by officers, expecting to be able to use them 
 to furnish their quarters, to sides of leather, uniform and clothing 
 equipment of all kinds, rifles, ammunition, kitchen equipment of 
 all sorts, horse equipment, harness, etc. 
 
 In looking for the dump, from the map reference given by 
 one organization, I found three other dumps of this organization 
 which had not been designated, each one containing unopened 
 bales of shoes, shirts, underwear, socks, horse equipment and 
 harness. To make a long story short, there were found fourteen 
 different dumps, six of which had been reported to me, and five 
 of which had a guard over them. Just as one item let me add 
 we collected and shipped over two million rounds of rifle am- 
 munition. 
 
 When it came to the matter of trucks for transporting all this 
 
 122 
 
stuff to railhead, I ran against a snag immediately. Request was 
 made on British Corps headquarters for ten trucks and drivers 
 for the next day; two were furnished, and the following day none 
 could be secured. As a matter of fact the British were short of 
 transportation at this time; their forces were going forward in 
 that August drive then on, so rapidly that they had difficulty 
 keeping their own necessary supplies up to the front, and four 
 days went by, and the vast amount of material I had to move had 
 scarcely been scratched. The fifth day on request from myself, 
 "G-4" of 2nd American Corps came to the area, and was shown 
 the task. This American Corps was also interested in having 
 a good job done, inasmuch as this Corps was secondarily re- 
 sponsible for this area and this work. This Corps Colonel estim- 
 ated that there was between $300,000 and $500,000 worth of 
 government property in these dumps of the Thirty-third Division. 
 
 The battle lines continued to move forward. When the 
 Thirty-third left I was drawing rations from 47th English 
 Division. They moved forward. Then I attached to British 
 Corps headquarters for rations; they went on to the east. Then 
 we hitched ourselves to 4th British Army headquarters; it also 
 moved up and left us. 
 
 The 2nd American Corps headquarters was at first at Beauval, 
 only thirty-five kilometres north of me. From this place they 
 managed to send me eight trucks one day, with instructions to 
 the drivers to return that night. We worked those trucks until 
 dark, and then I told the drivers that I had other orders for 
 them — and I did, my orders — and would hold them for the next 
 day also. Unfortunately for me the telephone had not as yet 
 been discontinued by 4th British Army, and General Read's 
 •headquarters at Corps, got me on the 'phone about nine the 
 next morning, to ask where in heck those trucks were, and why 
 the original orders had not been observed. I spoke to them as soft 
 as I could, and said I had supposed that as the drivers were the 
 only ones notified that a return was to be made that night, that 
 such instructions were given them as advice based probably on 
 the belief that we had no facilities for feeding and billeting these 
 men; that they were scattered all over the area now, and that 
 
 123 
 
it would be impossible to mobilize them much before evening 
 anyway, and that if I were granted the use of them for the day 
 I would certainly send them back to Beauval that night. Finally 
 they acquiesced, and in those two days we moved eighty-two 
 lorry loads to railhead; a hole had been made at last in the big 
 job. 
 
 Just prior to this big stretch of work I had taken it upon 
 myself to amend my orders which said, "Railhead at Vignacourt." 
 This town was at the western side of our area and made the 
 longest haul possible. Poulainville was just a little west of the 
 centre of the area, and was on rail. The English R. T. O. at 
 Poulainville finally agreed to accept his town as my railhead, 
 provided he had orders to this effect from a responsible American 
 officer. Fearing that red tape might preclude this exchange if I 
 applied to 2nd American Corps for such an order, I decided that 
 I was a responsible officer, that I had an independent command, 
 that I was Lord High Chief Justice of the high, the middle, and 
 the low, and was the whole works so far as the Molliens area 
 was concerned, so I issued an order making Poulainville my 
 railhead, and signed it "Center, commanding Molliens area." 
 It went. 
 
 About this time, too, the British forces had advanced so far 
 that not even 4th Army headquarters were with us. Rations had 
 to be procured. From an original force of two officers and thirty- 
 eight men I had increased to four officers and one hundred seventy- 
 six men to feed, having added a "Graves Registration Detail/' 
 the 13th American Salvage Company, numerous A. W. O. L.'S 
 I had picked up, and a number of men who had returned from 
 
 hospital. The independent American army was growing. 
 
 » 
 On Saturday my acting Supply officer announced that he 
 could no longer draw rations from 4th British army. What to 
 do? All telephone communication with all organizations ceased 
 when 4th British army left us. The men had to be fed; I did 
 not know where British Army had gone, so Tommy and I took 
 the Sunbeam and started for 2nd American Corps headquarters. 
 As said before they had been at Beauval — but they had moved. 
 
 124 
 
All information we could get was that they had gone "up north" 
 somewhere. We went north, to Doullens, to St. Pol, to Lilliers, 
 to St. Omer, to Cassel, — the only information from French or 
 British sources being that the 2nd Corps had gone to the north. 
 Following the battle line as closely as possible we continued 
 north, and at Houtkerke, Belgium, we located them. 
 
 The Corps was with the British; it depended on the British 
 for rations; we would have to depend on the same sources. Then 
 I impressed them with the fact that I was 200 kilometres from 
 my men; that we had to eat to live; that we would finish our 
 "left-overs" the next day, and that on Monday there would 
 not be a bite for anyone; that I had prisoners and partly recovered 
 men from hospitals. Finally they said, "How much room have 
 you in your car?" "The whole tonneau and the running boards." 
 From some source or other two cases of hard bread were found, 
 and some cans of a mixture of meat and vegetables. The Red 
 Cross unit with the 2nd Corps, and the Y. M. C. A. outfit there 
 had just obtained a shipment of stuff, so from them I got choco- 
 late, extract of beef, cookies, anything and everything I could 
 get in the food line, and as my fellows had been out of cigarettes 
 for several days, I wheedled them out of several cartons of smokes 
 too. The tonneau was filled. 
 
 While this was going on Corps headquarters had been in 
 communication with British G. H. Q., and by the time Tommy 
 and I were ready to start back with our plunder on our long 
 drive, information was received that, beginning Monday morning, 
 rations would be shipped us each day to Poulainville. 
 
 Going home the Sunbeam went bad — it was a daylight car 
 apparently — and we landed "at home" at four a. m. 
 
 It may be of interest to know how and where we procured 
 gasoline for the Sunbeam. When the Thirty-third left us I 
 secured five ten gallon cans from our quartermaster. Knowing 
 that this would be only a drop in the bucket, even if we finished 
 our work in the five or ten days that General Bell had given us, 
 1 set about to get gas at once, from any and all sources. Forty- 
 seventh British Division had yielded twenty gallons; British 
 
 125 
 
Corps had contributed some; 4th. British Army had been re- 
 quisitioned for some. more. On the drive up into Belgium we 
 worked two French gasoline supply stations for twenty gallons 
 apiece, and any American officer who ever tried to get gas from 
 a French supply station knows that it takes persistency, diplo- 
 macy, bluff and forgery to get away with it. At any rate, our gas 
 efforts were so successful that when our work was finally com- 
 pleted Tommy had more than fifty gallons in reserve. 
 
 At last, largely because the Salvage company had a two-ton 
 Packard truck of its own, our task was done. This meant that 
 we had moved 127 lorry-loads of material, 53 of which were 
 engineers heavy material, over an average distance of sixteen 
 kilometres to railhead, where we had sorted and shipped this 
 material to five different points. 
 
 Somewhere in France, August 29, 1918 
 Mr. Ray Oakley, 
 Rotarian and other things: 
 
 Having just read in the Quincy Herald your account of the 
 invasion of Kansas City by the Rotarians, I am minded to do 
 a little invading myself. Just what that means I don't know, 
 but it sounds good. Were you ever marooned? Or kicked out in 
 the cold, or thrown into jail, when everybody forgot to go your 
 bail? Well, I'm sorry, for if you had been that kind of an orphan 
 you would know how I feel. Here I am, 200 miles or more from 
 the Division which has moved. When the Division left this 
 sector it, the sector, was previously refilled — not altogether a 
 paradox — with troops of our allies. The Hun was on the run 
 when the 33d was pulled out; he is still on the run; the troops 
 of our allies have followed him, and here I be, almost out of the 
 sound of even the heavy guns, in a little village now more quiet 
 and peaceful than a country churchyard, stuck, marooned, side- 
 tracked, and as Tommy Atkins would say, "A bloomin' well, 
 bloody orphan." 
 
 When you move from one house to another you discover that 
 the cellar, and attic, and the back yard and the barn loft have 
 
 126 
 
an awful lot of excess baggage in them. Just so a division, which 
 is a little family of 28000 or so. This move was engineered more 
 or less in a hurry; transportation was as easy to get as a seat in 
 a street car coming in from a circus at Baldwin Park; con- 
 sequently orders were given to each regimental organization, to 
 dump at a selected point, all material which could be spared for 
 a matter of three or four days; a guard was to be placed over 
 each dump, five days rations left for the guard, and yours truly 
 was selected to remain behind, and with lorries to be furnished 
 by our allies, get this stuff to railhead, and when all was shipped, 
 pick up the guard details, and rejoin the division. Lovely little 
 program — with only several big "ifs" in it. The first day after 
 the division left I motored — I like that word; it helps me forget 
 the wretched old Sunbeam car I have to ride in — where was I? 
 Oh yes, I motored over the divisional area. Now a divisional 
 area is from ten to thirty miles long in the long diameter, and 
 from six to eight in the waist. Also, in this present war game it 
 is fashionable to put your troops where they are as much out of 
 sight as possible — soldiers are naturally modest and shrinking 
 anyway — so wherever there is an inaccessible spot, or a large 
 fat swamp, or something of the kind, they always stick a regiment 
 in there. So I motored to all the unlikely places and found 11 
 dumps, and these dumps have in them everything from dirty 
 socks to a piano. Fact, I found a piano in one of them, and as 
 for harness and motorcycles, old shoes, army pistols, bacon 
 cans, underwear, and all manner of stuff there is no end. I 
 estimate 75 lorry loads, or 225 tons. Some attic full, eh? 
 
 Well, putting my hat on my head, and taking my most 
 attractive smile by the hand, I go to the S. M. T. O. — which 
 being interpreted means in his British Majesty's service — the 
 Senior Motor Transport Officer, and call his attention to the 
 fact that it is nominated in the bond that I am to get lorries 
 to move this stuff. He is very genial as icebergs go — and asks 
 very nonchalantly, "How many tons do you have to move?" 
 "A coupla hundred," I throw back at him with a very ingenue 
 air, and then the fight began. 
 
 To make a long story short, the emissaries of King George and 
 
 127 
 
I haven't signed any partnership papers yet. They said they 
 were willing to move the rain barrel and the baby's cradle, 
 but that they didn't agree to move the house and lot, and I'll 
 be darned if it doesn't look as if they would win the bet, for the 
 Hun is playing their game by falling back, and every day the 
 British move up a few more versts, or hectares, or whatever they 
 call 'em, leaving me just that much further behind with my 
 importunity. Meantime the five days have gone, and so have 
 the rations. The last batch of the allies as they flew from our 
 sight, flung us a few cans of bully beef, half a Stilton cheese, a 
 pot of jam and their blessing, so for one more meal my gallant 
 100 — no to be accurate, 96 — my gallant 96 will not starve. I 
 have decided to give the jam to the detail at 36th and State 
 Streets, the cheese to the men out at Burton, and divide the 
 bully beef between myself and the men at Walnut Grove and 
 Buck Bowles' pasture. I hate to think what will happen to the 
 few succulent French hens which still remain, and to the lucious 
 and nutritious green apples, if some D. A. D. O. S. (Deputy 
 Assistant Director Ordinance Supply, — ain't that a beaut?) 
 doesn't come into range pretty soon. So at the head of this letter 
 I wrote "somewhere," for that is the very identical, lucid place 
 where we are. 
 
 Yesterday a nice looking little fox terrier adopted me. How 
 I cherish that pup! He follows me all about; if he didn't I would 
 put a string on him and lead him, for I have designs on that 
 dog. Friday, front leg; Saturday, other front leg; Sunday dinner, 
 leg o'lamb off the little oP pup, and so on. His former owner 
 had a mean disposition though, for the dog has only the stump 
 of a tail. It probably didn't hurt the dog much, but it hurts 
 me; I don't like to see my food supply "cur tailed." To make 
 my personal affairs still worse I sent all my baggage but a bar 
 of soap and a tooth brush, with the men of my headquarters, 
 when they accompanied the division. It has turned quite chilly 
 and last night even "the marrow of my bones" was chilled. 
 (Quotation from Shakespeare, chapter 8, verse 23.) Tonight I 
 expect to sleep under four gunny sacks. We have no tentage; 
 we have no lorries; soon we will have no allies and no rations. 
 
 128 
 
Wasn't Sherman the wise old bird, tho? Another thing. Anyone 
 who says the English lack a sense of humor had better go out 
 and see. There's that motor car, the Sunbeam. Yep, a sunbeam 
 steals upon you silently, warms, cheers, invigorates you, and 
 gives you a dozen hours of daylight to do your work. This motor 
 Sunbeam thing sounds like the Amalgamated Debating Society 
 of Associated Boiler Shops. It warms you all right, though — 
 under the collar; it cheers you — just like the Dead March; it 
 invigorates you until, unaided, you could throw it over the wall 
 into the river. If the blamed old thing wasn't charged up to me 
 I would make the first French gasoline supply station a present 
 of it; they are so distinctly not generous with their gas that they 
 need a little education in how to spend it. If you try to use the 
 old bird, and manage to get one hour of daylight into actual 
 work you are ahead of the game. And horse power! If I had 
 a load stuck in the mud and had to take my choice between the 
 Sunbeam and this fox terrier pup I would hitch up the pup, 
 holler "Sic, 'em Tige" and it would be a safe bet to lay your 
 money on the pup. Yep, the English lack a sense of humor — not. 
 
 I know this isn't much of a letter, but just as the one little 
 paraffine candle I have in front of me doesn't give much light, 
 so does my little one-horse think-machine work. Also, I haven't 
 had much experience as a war correspondent, and when this 
 war is over I ain't never goin' to have any more. Amen. Regards 
 to all the boys — and girls. 
 
 Then came the question, "Where is the Thirty-third? Not even 
 our British R. T. O. could find this out for us, but he said that 
 if he had an order, signed by a responsible American officer, he 
 would, in due time, get a train and ship us somewhere. So 
 once more, in the face of all existing rules and regulations to the 
 contrary, I issued an order to the French government to furnish 
 a train of so many coaches to transport so many officers and men, 
 and signed it "Center, commanding." I left it up to the French 
 to find out who Center was, and what he commanded. Three 
 days later we got the train. 
 
 In these three days, and with fifty gallons of gas on hand, I 
 
 129 
 
decided if Tommy was willing, that I was going to exercise my 
 prerogative as an independent commander, and instead of 
 traveling by train that we would drive across France. Tommy was 
 not only willing but eager; his British driving had not taken 
 him over very much of the map. So I issued myself a pass and 
 a travel order, turned the command of the troops over to Lieu- 
 tenant Weese — the one commissioned officer who belonged to 
 the Division and saw them aboard the train, destination un- 
 known. Lieutenant Weese had my written orders to report to 
 the commanding general, Thirty-third Division, and as all 
 bluffs up to the present time had gone over, I hoped for success 
 with this one. Of necessity the train must pass through Is-sur- 
 Tille, and as this town was a distribution point for both supplies 
 and troop replacements, I was a little dubious. 
 
 Tommy and I started, skirting the recent battle line through 
 Albert, Amiens, Montdidier, Chateau-Thierry, landing for our 
 first night at Chalons. Whenever we had been halted by the 
 French for travel credentials, my self-issued pass was all suffi- 
 cient. It is true I had an old French "Pink Permis," a relic of 
 First Division days and which had long "before outlived its 
 usefulness. Whenever I pulled out my "pass" I flashed this 
 pink paper, and then thrust it back as if it was entirely un- 
 necessary for the occasion. When we left Chalons we began to 
 orient ourselves, and decided on a city liable to furnish us some 
 information concerning the whereabouts of the Thirty-third. 
 Knowing that there was an American Officers Club at Bar- 
 le-Duc we headed for there. No news of the Thirty-third, but a 
 brigade commander of the Thirty-second Division imparted the 
 information that American G. H. Q. had moved from Chaumont 
 to Ligny, and certainly at Ligny I could get the desired in- 
 formation. So to Ligny we started; Ligny was familiar territory, 
 for I had been there several times while with the First Division. 
 
 As we drew near the city we were halted by an American 
 military police; this was something new. When G. H. Q. was 
 at Chaumont any American officer could drive into the city 
 unquestioned; he might have to prove that he had business 
 there before he could drive out again, but he could drive in all 
 
 130 
 
right, but here at Ligny the M. P. said no one could come in 
 without a pass. Of course "pass" was my middle name, so once 
 more I exhibited my pet invention; it worked. We went on, 
 and almost reached the heart of the city when another M. P. 
 halted us. Again I produced the "pass." This man was skeptical, 
 or was better informed as to signatures valid on passes. His 
 orders were that I could not proceed, and he meant what he 
 said; he meant it so much that he drew his 45 automatic to 
 convince me. Later I learned that information had been uncover- 
 ed that there was a conspiracy to assassinate General Pershing, 
 and that it was supposed a German officer, or officers would 
 attempt it by getting into Ligny disguised as American or 
 French or British officers. This M. P. evidently felt that he had 
 the potential offender. 
 
 But his confidence was disturbed a little when I demanded 
 that he take me at once to the American Provost-marshal. He 
 blew his whistle and two more M. P.'s came running up. After 
 a muttered conversation, the two extras drew their automatics, 
 and with one on each running board, we were escorted to the 
 office of the Provost-marshal. I do not recall the name of the 
 Major who held this position, but his first questions were put 
 to me with one of those grisly M. P.'s standing behind me, and 
 holding that cannon in my direction; the mate to mine was 
 sitting in the tonneau with his in close proximity to Tommy's 
 back. 
 
 Of course I told a straight story to the Provost-marshal, even 
 to the admission that I knew my "pass" was no good, but that 
 under the conditions I had done the best I could. Finally he 
 inquired, "Is there anyone here at G. H. Q. who can identify 
 you?" I asked for the names of some of the officers, and among 
 others he mentioned a Major Straight with whom I had become 
 acquainted at Staff College. Writing a note which he handed 
 to my body-guard, he directed him to take me over to Major 
 Straight. The Major recognized me, told the M. P. to put away 
 his arsenal, gave me the Ha! Ha! for being arrested, called the 
 Provost on the 'phone, and the affair was over. I asked the 
 M. P. to go back and call off his pal, for I had a feeling that 
 Tommy wasn't altogether comfortable either. 
 
 131 
 
The thirty-third was at Fromerville, a little village six kilo- 
 metres out from Verdun. In spite of the fact that my status 
 was recognized as 0. K. here at G. H. Q. the Provost-Marshal 
 said that officers proceeding under orders, were not allowed to 
 tarry at Ligny at all, so there was nothing to do but go. Tommy 
 and I did not want to, for we had had nothing to eat since 
 breakfast, and as it was now 2:00 p. m. we wanted to stop long 
 enough to get something to eat; we didn't though. 
 
 The drivers of cars for officers had a varied and checkered 
 career. In my own case I had considerable difficulty in having 
 the same one for any length of time. Of course the drivers were 
 assigned by the Division Motor Transport Officer who could 
 switch them around to suit himself, or in some cases to satisfy 
 the drivers as they occasionally asked to be transferred from the 
 car of one officer to that of another. Furthermore, as my driving 
 was long hours and generally undesirable, I often thought that 
 the D. M. T. O. used this assignment as a punishment for a 
 driver whom he wished to discipline. 
 
 When the division was in line my work was always heaviest 
 at night, while if the division was in line and was active it was 
 more or less a day and night continuous performance. Also, as 
 I was laz}^ and objected to walking when possible to ride, my 
 car went rather farther front than most of the division autos. 
 That was a trick learned from Colonel Lawton while with the 
 First Division. His theory was that it was impossible for him as 
 controller of traffic and commander of the Military Police, to 
 decide upon the proper bounds for auto traffic unless he went over 
 the forward roads in his car; if at a certain place he drew Hun 
 fire that place should be out of bounds for autos— in daylight 
 at least. 
 
 Then as the most of the work of getting supplies up front had 
 to be done during the night, and as lights would have given the 
 movements away, all cars and lorries in the forward areas had 
 to run with no lights. It's a ticklish business to run an auto over 
 a more or less unknown road, and one that is liable to change 
 
 132 
 
from an unbroken'surface to a chain of shell holes at any time — 
 run in the darkness and fog and go twenty or more miles an hour 
 with any peace of mind. The drivers of officer's cars drove by 
 instinct, ear, guts, and the grace of God. 
 
 One of the best men I ever had was a boy from Texas, a boy 
 both skillful and careful, but who finally reached the point where 
 night driving and acting as a decoy to see if our public appearance 
 would draw fire, so got on his nerves that he asked for a transfer 
 to the car of the division surgeon, and goodness knows that 
 Colonel Hatheway was more reckless than I ever dreamed of 
 being. 
 
 Then there was another who was both cool and skillful. 
 One day between Saulx and Fresnes — both villages at that time 
 on our front — we came to a creek where the bridge had been 
 destroyed, and where our engineers had stretched a couple of 
 small I-beams across the night before, getting ready to replace 
 the bridge. Neither of us wanted to turn back for we had been 
 through one or two unpleasant spots on our way. The creek 
 however was too deep, and the banks too precipitous to offer 
 any possibility of fording. Finally Sloan said, "Colonel, if we 
 can edge those beams together so that they will make the width 
 of our track I'll drive the car across on them". So we got some 
 levers from the wreckage of the former bridge and managed to 
 get this done. Then Sloan deflated all his tires, asked me to 
 cross to the opposite side and direct him with a motion of the 
 hand if he tried to steer too much to the right or the left, got 
 his rims over the flanges of the I-beams and in this way drove 
 that Dodge car across. If anything had gone wrong it meant 
 a drop of probably 8 or 9 feet into the creek below. 
 
 Sloan wasn't the name of this driver, but I use it so that 
 another of his escapades may be told here. One night, without 
 permission of course, he took the car and beat it to a city in our 
 rear where vin blanc and other drinkables could be secured, and 
 where the drinks would be shared with ladies more or less fair 
 to look upon. He left the car outside the estaminet and while 
 he was within with the wine, women and song someone stole the 
 
 133 
 
car. Thinking that he might as well be killed for a sheep as for 
 young mutton Sloan then went A. W. O. L. Of course it was only 
 a question of time until he was picked up and returned to the 
 division. There was this in his favor though; when he was brought 
 back in arrest he told the above story about losing the car, 
 which story we were able to check up and prove truthful, but 
 a military court took Sloan away from me for the rest of the war. 
 
 134 
 
CHAPTER FOURTEEN- 
 
 We drove into Fromerville that evening and found that we 
 had beaten the trainload shipped by rail from Poulainville, but 
 this contingent came in the next morning. Three days later 
 all non-combatant units and individuals of the Division — the 
 strictly office force of the outfit — was ordered to fall back to 
 Lempire, and the following day Division headquarters were 
 advanced to LaHutte, and the combat units went up during the 
 night to take over our designated sector. Trains and M. P. 
 headquarters, Signal battalion, and one Machine Gun battalion 
 were sent to Longbut farm. Imagine if you can, trying to get 
 approximately 1500 men and 45 officers into the ordinary build- 
 ings of an ordinary French farm, and you will get an idea of the 
 density of the troops crowded into line for the big kick-off of 
 September 26, 1918. 
 
 On top of the awful crowding of Americans in this particular 
 place orders came from French sources for a battalion of French 
 infantry to crowd in here with us. Apparently every inch of 
 housing space, farm house, barns, sheds, dugouts and shallow 
 holes on the hillsides were full, but in came this battalion. 
 Somewhere, somehow they found a few more holes to get into. 
 Scarcely had they come in when reports were brought to me by 
 my own officers, and by officers of the 124th Machine Gun 
 Battalion that the French were stealing shoes and blankets from 
 our men. Now, sometimes an American soldier will sell, or trade 
 an extra pair of shoes that have been issued to him; or he may 
 part with a blanket — not necessarily his own, but one he may 
 have borrowed without the knowledge of its rightful owner. 
 This is especially possible if there is an owner in his squad, or 
 platoon whom he dislikes, so that my first thought was that 
 one of the above contingencies had occurred, and that possibly 
 to avoid future responsibility, or because he had decided that 
 he wanted the property back, the guilty American soldier was 
 the one making the complaint. But in two hours time so many 
 
 135 
 
reports of the same kind came in that I sent for the French 
 Major commanding this battalion. He was horrified at the 
 thought that his men could be suspected of stealing; weren't 
 we allies? Didn't the French nation esteem and feel magnificent 
 gratitude to their American brothers? It was simply 'impossib' 
 that his men could have stolen, and besides the American soldier 
 was willing to sell. 
 
 Even while he was talking other complaints arrived. One 
 officer brought in two of his men whom he said were entirely 
 trustworthy, and these men had actually seen a couple of 
 French soldiers stealing American equipment; had chased them 
 and taken it away from them. That was something tangible, 
 so I said to the Major "I will draw a dead line between such and 
 such points. Your men will stay on their side of the line; the 
 Americans will stay on the other side, and there will be an 
 American line of sentries on that line to enforce the order." 
 
 This seemed to meet with the approval of the Major. Then 
 turning to my sergeant-major I gave him an outline for the order 
 for immediate issuance, and in the order stated that the sentries 
 should be instructed to shoot any man found crossing this line. 
 That was a horse of another color so far as the Major was 
 concerned: he didn't object to a dead line but he didn't want 
 it too confoundedly dead. He expostulated: he mentioned com- 
 plications, and unfriendly attitude; he talked with his hands, his 
 shoulders, his face; he seemed to feel that if there was any 
 shooting his men would be on the receiving end. Finally he 
 threatened to go to General Bell, and he was invited to go there 
 real pronto. Rushing to his side-car he was whirled away toward 
 division headquarters. In a little while the telephone rang, 
 and General Bell wanted to know what was up. He was told 
 that apparently the French Major had his wind up, but that so 
 far as the rest of us were concerned we were enjoying our usual 
 health; that the men on post were doing sentry — go with loaded 
 rifles, and that since they went on post there had been no more 
 lost property. I don't know what General Bell said to the Major 
 but early that evening the French battalion went somewhere else. 
 
 136 
 
On the morning of the twenty-sixth practically all of the 
 division front-line transport was assembled at Longbut. In 
 the general combat order, it was to be held here by the com- 
 mander of Trains until a release order came from Division 
 headquarters. This was also impressed on me by "G-I" in 
 person — not to allow the transport to go forward until the 
 Division was informed of the advance of the various combat 
 units, until they had reached their objectives and consolidated 
 their positions, or on the other hand, had been thrown back 
 in the attempt. Forges Wood, considered impregnable by the 
 French, was in our immediate front. If this wood was not taken, 
 if a counter push was made by the Germans, the transport must 
 not be caught in a backward movement. The 131st infantry 
 regiment had one objective, the 132nd regiment another; each 
 had its supporting element of machine gun companies. 
 
 About eleven o'clock came a release order — in person, by 
 G-I for the advance of the transport of the 132nd infantry. 
 This meant that Forges Wood had been taken. When G-I gave 
 me the release order I took out my notebook and jotted it down, 
 with the time of receiving it. Nothing was said about the 131st 
 transport. This seemed reasonable to me as I knew that the 
 131st infantry had farther to go than the 132nd in order to reach 
 its objective. A little later, by telephone, came a release order, 
 naming the different organizations, for everything except the 
 131st transport. About 2:00 p. m. G-I drove up to my head- 
 quarters again, foaming at the mouth because the transport of 
 the 131st was still held, saying that he had ordered it released 
 at the same time he released the 132nd; that it was now so late 
 in the day that the transport could not get to the 131st early 
 enough to get supplies and the surplus equipment up for the 
 night. I referred him to my notebook, refreshed his memory by 
 reading him what I had written down, by recalling to him that 
 I had read it to him after writing it, and that he had laughed at 
 me and said, "Never write anything down, for if you do you 
 will forget something you want to remember.' ' It was easy to 
 see that someone had blundered, someone had forgotten some- 
 thing, and that it was proposed that I should be the goat. There 
 
 137 
 
were a few hot words between us, and with the remark, "You 
 will have to answer to General Bell for this," G-I rode away. 
 General Bell never mentioned the matter to me. 
 
 Life in the Meuse-Argonne was a very hectic thing from 
 September 26 to about October 15, as fighting went on more or 
 less uninterruptedly all the time; roads there were none; supplies 
 had to be taken up; wounded had to be brought back; on Septem- 
 ber 27 a group of wounded, twenty-nine of them, were carried 
 over two miles on stretchers by German prisoners. They had 
 lain out all night with only first-aid dressings, but it was remarked 
 how much better they did than those who were considered for- 
 tunate at the time, in being sent out by ambulance or motor 
 truck to the hospitals in the rear. At Malancourt on the 28th 
 of September I saw truck load after truck load of wounded 
 being taken to the rear in motor trucks. Malancourt was outside 
 of our sector but because this particular road was better than 
 some others, and because it was not so heavily burdened with 
 troops and supplies, it was being used to get out these wounded 
 from the Thirty-third, the Eightieth, and the Fourth Divisions. 
 
 The method of transporting wounded by motor truck was to 
 place three men side by side on the floor of the truck, and cross- 
 wise of the body of the truck as many stretcher cases were placed 
 as the space would hold. Then this truck would swing and slip, 
 bump and jerk its way over the roads, cut up, shell torn, stony 
 in places, never good, to the Division hospital, three, six or eight 
 kilometres to the rear. It is no wonder the wounded died; it is 
 no wonder that the men who lay out all night, and who were 
 carried on stretchers those bad first miles did better than the 
 truck-transported cases. 
 
 Historical writers, men acting as real historians will tell of 
 the horrors of the Meuse-Argonne; of the deeds the American 
 soldiers did there; of the effect on civilization. It is my place and 
 purpose to tell the lesser events, and to carry on a more or less 
 personal narrative, leaving the larger matters for those abler 
 than I to describe. 
 
 It may be mentioned that from September 26 to October 15 
 the Division captured nearly 3600 Germans and Austrians. As 
 
 138 
 
Division Provost-marshal all these had to pass through my hands. 
 In this connection, one event which called down on my head the 
 wrath of General Bell may be cited. The area was so large, and 
 the calls for military police for traffic work, for a straggler line, 
 and for prisoner guards — both at the prison cage, and when on 
 the road going back to our cage, or when continuing back to 
 Corps cage — kept me short of officers and men all the time. 
 Major Hart had broken down. Regulations had reduced us to 
 one company of military police, meaning now only one hundred 
 and fifty men, and work in every line had quadrupled. Just in 
 the dusk of evening seventy-six more prisoners were brought to 
 the collecting point; they must be taken back to the cage at 
 Longbut for the night. At night too, the traffic work was always 
 heaviest; the military police had to handle this traffic which 
 otherwise would jam, stick, congest and block our one road; 
 someone had to keep this two miles of mud and shell holes open 
 all the time; every transport officer wanted to get his supplies 
 from the dump first, and they all must get back before daylight. 
 With these traffic conditions present, and with night already upon 
 us, I was put to it to find an escort for these seventy-six prisoners. 
 There was a big, hard-faced corporal in the M. P. company 
 named Spink. Calling him, I directed him to select one other 
 man, and with one riding in front of the column and the other 
 in the rear, to take these prisoners back to the division cage — 
 about six kilometres. I had receipted to the regiment bringing 
 them in, the corporal would receipt to me, and he in turn would 
 be released of responsibility by the Non-commissioned officer on 
 duty at the cage. But even though the corporal receipted to me, 
 if he didn't deliver seventy-six prisoners at the cage, it would 
 be my funeral, not his. 
 
 Spink spoke German, and before starting out he addressed 
 those Huns in simple and direct language, telling them that he 
 would just as leave arrive at prison cage with sixty men as with 
 seventy-six, but that if he did it would be because there would 
 be sixteen dead Boches along the road; that they would march 
 in a column of twos, and that any man stepping outside of the 
 line of file, would be shot first and questioned after. And on 
 that long dark march Spink did not lose a man. 
 
 139 
 
But someone passed the occurrence on to General Bell, who 
 certainly ripped it into me for taking such chances with prisoners. 
 At the same time, I had no resentment toward General Bell for 
 this little "strafe" of his. Under the stress and strain which 
 existed for all of us at this time, everyone took occasion to 
 blow off steam once in awhile on someone else, for some com- 
 paratively trivial offense. It was a different matter though if 
 the offense was one of moment; then the "strafe" was not so much 
 in evidence, but the penalty was quick and conclusive. 
 
 War always accentuates the truism that there is a difference 
 in individuals, and that the conception of gratitude one man 
 may have differs vastly from that of another. Driver Stone and 
 1 had been up front — farther front in fact than cars were sup- 
 posed to go. In returning we had to traverse that hillside road 
 in front of Dead Man's Hill where the observation was splendid 
 for the Hun. We had stopped in the ruined village of Forges to 
 get our breakfast from a detail of M. P. I had there — a detail 
 with the double duty of maintaining a straggler line and 
 as acting guard for the collecting point for prisoners. I had a 
 second lieutenant in charge of this detail, a little Irishman I had 
 taken quite a fancy to because he impressed me as having good 
 stuff in him, and perhaps I had even been a little partial to him. 
 
 By the time breakfast was over it was broad daylight and still 
 there was that strip of open road to cover. This strip of road, 
 by the way, was clearly in view, and not five hundred yards 
 away from the dugout where my M. P. detail in Forges lived. 
 
 Thanking the lieutenant for our breakfast Stone and I started 
 out. One couldn't make much speed over that so-called road, 
 but as we approached the stretch which might invite the kind 
 attention of the German 77s, I told Stone to step on the gas and 
 have the uncertainty over as soon as possible. But they saw 
 us and opened fire, and they didn't need any ranging shots 
 either. There was a slight bank of earth on the side toward the 
 Hun which would offer partial protection to the car, so I told 
 Stone to pull up against this bank and we would take to one of 
 
 140 
 
the old trenches until Fritz got tired. Out we piled and into a 
 trench, and in almost no time Fritz planted one sufficiently 
 close to the car to riddle it. 
 
 The men over in Forges were watching proceedings, and 
 when they saw the car tilt as it went into the ditch, and then a 
 few moments later get the full benefit of a close one ; and as they 
 had not seen us take to the trench, they called the lieutenant, 
 told him of the occurrence, and my little Irishman coolly re- 
 marked, "Well, there is one Colonel less," nor did he send any- 
 body over there to see if by chance Stone or the colonel might 
 still be gasping. 
 
 The opposite may be shown b}^ another story. Captain Ehart 
 and I were looking for the transport of the 123rd Machine Gun 
 Battalion; I was inspecting transport that day. We knew it 
 was somewhere near Les Esparges, so we went to that ruined 
 village with the car, but being farther front again than cars were 
 supposed to be, we left the car and the driver in the shadow of 
 the ruined church in the village, and went ahead on foot. After 
 rambling through two or three bits of woods, and up and down 
 two or three ravines — for we knew the transport would be hidden 
 in some such place — and finding no clue, we decided to cross a 
 treeless valley and look among the wooded hills on the other 
 side. We were perhaps one third the way across when through a 
 saddle in the hills in front there began to come some shells, and 
 they were coming from the direction of the German lines. Now, 
 it wasn't real battery fire; it seemed more like one isolated 77 
 doing a little exercise on its own, and we didn't pay much 
 attention to the first two or three shells; neither one of us was 
 sufficiently conceited to think that we were attracting that 
 fire, so we kept sauntering along. 
 
 About that time too, we heard some frantic hallooing to our 
 left rear. At first we couldn't see anyone in the fringe of trees 
 on that side of the valley, but when a shell came unpleasantly 
 near us, and we looked again toward the friendly cry we saw 
 an olive drab uniform slip out for a moment from his place of 
 concealment and beckon to us. We went. It was an officer of 
 
 141 
 
the battalion for which we were looking, and while the transport 
 was considerably to the rear of where he showed himself, the 
 battalion had an outpost with one gun at the point in the woods 
 where he caught our attention. 
 
 Of course all this had taken time, and the inspection of that 
 transport took more, the result being that by the time we 
 started back to the ruined village, the old church, and the car, 
 it was well after sundown. We had been gone probably three 
 hours. 
 
 The driver of the car met us as we returned; he had watched 
 us disappear in the distance; he had seen us emerge in the open 
 valley, for Les Esparges was at one end of this valley; he had 
 seen the shells coming into the valley, but he had not seen us 
 hastily depart from the valley when signaled by the machine 
 gun officer, and his deduction was that the shells had got us. 
 He waited what seemed ages to him; he said he debated with 
 himself the right thing to do; should he go back to the nearest 
 headquarters and report our being hit? Should be stay where 
 we had told him to stay until some one came along and make 
 report to that someone? Or should he leave the car and go hunt 
 for our mangled remains? And he finally decided his duty was 
 to go and find his passengers and bring them back dead or alive. 
 The poor chap was so wrought up that he almost broke down 
 and cried when we met him, and as he told how worried and 
 anxious he had been. 
 
 About the 29th or 30th of September it was seen necessary 
 to crowd another American division in on our right. The French 
 line on our right did not seem able to go forward sufficiently to 
 cover our right flank, and too, the distant objective of the 
 Thirty-third was such that with the point of our crossing the 
 Meuse as the apex, the sides of the inverted pyramid between 
 the right of the Thirty-third and the left of the French line, 
 would widen more and more as the troops advanced, consequently 
 another American division was ordered to squeeze itself into 
 the slowly widening opening. This meant that the one road we 
 had leading to the front would be used, temporarily at least, 
 
 142 
 
by the incoming Division, and would cause still greater con- 
 gestion and trouble. 
 
 An infantry brigade of the incoming division, with its front- 
 line transport, came up over our road by daylight. This was all 
 right up to a certain point, for up to this point they were hidden 
 from observation, other than balloon or airplane; I have never 
 been able to ascertain whether this daylight move was an 
 authorized one, so far as the daylight is concerned, or not; 
 certainly if it was, it was an unusual permission. When they 
 had reached the forward limit of travel by daylight, and were 
 waiting for darkness to allow them to complete their going into 
 position, they were content to stay on the road, effectually 
 closing it even for runners. So here they were, at 11:00 a. m., 
 just past the village of Cumieres, and under cover of the last 
 hill. Captain Troxell was on traffic duty that day, but his 
 expostulations and requests got no results; a Brigadier General 
 was in command of that brigade, and the requests of an M. P. 
 captain meant nothing to him. 
 
 I had gone to my billet at sunrise to get some sleep. The 
 telephone rang, and our G-I announced that the road was 
 blocked, that he wanted to send supplies and engineer material 
 up to that very point under that hill where the brigade of the 
 new division was lying, and what did I mean by allowing that 
 road to become jammed, and why wasn't I on the job, and 
 dash, and double dash it, etc. He had no sooner rung off than 
 Captain Troxell called me saying that he could do nothing with 
 the outfit, that the brigadier general would not listen to him, 
 and what could he do? So into the Dodge I jumped and beat it 
 back to the stamping ground where I had been spending all my 
 nights and most of my days as well. The road jam was there 
 all right ; to show their indifference to any needs other than their 
 own, this brigade had, under order from the brigadier general, 
 even set up their kitchens in the roadway and were getting ready 
 to give their men a hot meal. After passing on to Captain 
 Troxell some of the trimming G-I had handed to me for not 
 enforcing Division orders about keeping that road open, even 
 if such enforcement meant putting a brigadier general in arrest, 
 
 143 
 
I sent him back to handle the prison cage while I stayed up front. 
 Then taking Lieutenant Ingrahm — an M. P. officer — with me 
 as a witness, I hunted up that general. He was very affable until 
 he found out what I was after, and on finding out tried to dodge 
 the responsibility by saying, "But that transport isn't all mine; 
 I have but one kitchen and two trucks in the whole column." 
 In as respectful a manner as possible I told him that I was not 
 inferring that all the transport in the column was his individual 
 property, but that I took it for granted that he was in command 
 of the brigade, and if so it was his transport; that its halting 
 on the road was contrary to orders, and that the present situation 
 would have to be changed immediately. He inquired, "con- 
 trary to whose orders?" As a matter of fact it was contrary to 
 orders of G. H. Q. as well as of the Division, but his question 
 rubbed me the wrong way, so I said, "My orders." He looked at 
 me in amazement for a moment, and then sneeringly replied, 
 "I guess my orders are as good as yours under the circumstances." 
 And that was the last straw. "This road will be cleared in twenty 
 minutes or I will put every wagon and truck you have into the 
 ditch." That was considerable of a mouthful, considering that 
 he had a brigade of infantry, and all I had was twenty-four 
 military police there just then. He declared that he would put 
 me in arrest, and I begged him to do so, for "General Pershing 
 will be glad to hear that a brigade commander is arresting his 
 special traffic officers who are carrying out his special orders." 
 That bluff got home, and in about half an hour the road was 
 clear. The general filed complaint with General Bell, but as 
 I had seen General Bell first and told him the story, all the 
 satisfaction the brigade commander got was, "better keep off 
 Colonel Center; he was acting under orders." 
 
 Life on the Meuse-Argonne was life in the darkness except 
 those times when the troops were actually fighting their way 
 forward. All other movements, of all kinds, had to be at night 
 in order to reduce to a minimum the losses from shell fire. 
 About October 2nd or 3rd "G-I" decided that he could send 
 materials to the front during daylight. He was told by several 
 officers who were familiar with our road conditions and with the 
 
 144 
 
fact that in places there was direct observation from the Hun 
 lines, that the thing was merely an incentive to the German to 
 damage us, and that it could not be accomplished, but he in- 
 sisted that the Hun was so shaken-up by the events of the past 
 few days, that a few motor trucks would not mean anything to 
 him even if they were observed, so he ordered five trucks, with 
 supplies and such special comforts as candy, cigarettes, and the 
 various package goods of dainties that the men were always glad 
 to get, to go that afternoon. Knowing of this intention, and 
 feeling confident as to the outcome, I was up forward; I was 
 giving big odds that the Hun was going to give us his undivided 
 attention for awhile. 
 
 Two trucks, with an interval of about 200 yards, went first. 
 These passed the first point of observation unchallenged, 
 crossed Forges creek, passed the ruined village of Forges, and 
 as the leading one emerged from the village it came again under 
 direct observation. The Hun opened fire, and promptly put it 
 out of business. The second, because of its interval, had not 
 come under observation, and the driver was sensible enough to 
 stay where he was. At this time the other three trucks were 
 passing the hill-side point half a mile to the rear, where the other 
 point of observation was. They were seen, and drew battery 
 fire at once. One shell landed in the middle of the road between 
 trucks two and three, making a hole as big as the road was wide. 
 The driver of the lead truck got excited, or acted with purpose 
 perhaps, and his truck ran off the road sinking to its axles in 
 the ditch, and truck number two had its front torn off by a 
 shell. That road was fairly effectively blocked. 
 
 At this time one of the many humorous things of war hap- 
 pened. There was a company of our engineers stationed on the 
 other — or safe — side of this hill for the very purpose of keeping 
 this road in travelable condition. Sending a runner back for 
 them, I stood near that big hole in the road talking to Captain 
 Troxell, telling him to send a runner over past Forges to ascertain 
 whether the two trucks over there were still in running condition. 
 On my right as I stood, was a clay bank probably six feet high; 
 the German fire was coming from that side. On the other side 
 
 145 
 
of the road there was no bank. The shelling was going merrily 
 on; to the rear the company of engineers was coming down the 
 road; so was Major Haines who commanded the Supply Train 
 and who, like myself, expected to see his precious trucks put 
 out of commission. All this is fresh in my mind. 
 
 As Troxell and I stood there we were both conscious that a 
 shell sounded "your vicinity." Then as it exploded just beyond 
 the far side of the road, we were both conscious that something 
 passed between our faces and plumped into the clay bank beside 
 us; it sounded as I imagine a soup plate would have sounded 
 if it had been thrown against that wet clay. I was in the midst 
 of a sentence; how long the interruption of conversation lasted 
 can be left to your imagination; just when Captain Troxell 
 left me I don't know, but when I resumed what I had to say he 
 wasn't there, and my first glimpse of him was seeing him thrust 
 both hands before him as if he were diving into water, seeing 
 him leave the ground with both feet and dive under truck number 
 two, which was probably sixty feet from where we had been 
 standing. Knowing that those trucks were the target for Fritz, 
 and seeing that voluntary header into the mud under the target 
 struck me as being extremely funny. And the action was wholly 
 sub-conscious on the part of Captain Troxell. 
 
 One day I did a thing just as ridiculous. I was caught in a 
 burst of shell fire. There was no ditch or trench to get into, but 
 lying on the ground quite near me was a bit of old camouflage 
 material — a bit of burlap as I now recall it. With a short run 
 and a dive I landed on this bit of stuff, and lay there feeling 
 perfectly secure until I had time to think of the absurdity of 
 the thing. 
 
 Still another time, one when I had gone as far forward in the 
 Dodge as cars were allowed to go, and had left it to go on on 
 foot. I had also gone on and forgotten my steel helmet, leaving 
 it in the car. After a chat with Colonel Smith of the 52nd 
 Brigade, Field Artillery, whose command lay in my route of 
 march — I had gone but little farther when Fritz began to send 
 some over, evidently reaching for the batteries I had just left. 
 It was then that I missed that tin pot, and as Fritz was a little 
 
 146 
 
 
short of those batteries, and as I was a little in front of those 
 batteries, I had that lonesome feeling which comes when you 
 feel that you are the target. I curled up in a ditch to wait for 
 the fire to slacken, or to lift, and all I could think of was that 
 wretched bit of steel head-cover which I didn't have; it seemed 
 to me that if it was only there that I could shrink, and shrink 
 until I could get my whole body under it. 
 
 Extracts from a letter to Mrs. Esther Montgomery Carrott, 
 date October 10, 1918. 
 
 — Yesterday a plane flew over our front lines dropping yester- 
 day's paper. Ordinarily, if we get a paper at all it is one or two 
 days old, but yesterday we had the paper of the day which told 
 of the request for peace from some of the Central powers. Now, 
 an army is generally supposed to be a blood-thirsty aggregation, 
 whose natural occupation is war, and whose chief loathing is 
 peace. If there is any such individual still extant, please send 
 him over here to hear and see the expressions and the demon- 
 strations that rise when it looks as if this war may be nearly 
 over. The last few days have been rather lurid ones for the 
 division. There has been but little rest by day or by night, but 
 last night the feeling, so general, of weariness and exhaustion 
 was amelioriated because of the news. Every one seemed to 
 feel, "this is the home stretch; we can rest when the war is over." 
 
 It is a marvel to me how some of the men keep going. We 
 find men sound asleep driving four horse teams; we find them 
 sound asleep sitting in the saddle; we find them "standing to" 
 on the fire step of the trench, standing up and sound asleep. In 
 a way, this tremendous physical weariness is a good thing. 
 Sometimes I wonder if about half the fighting isn't done with 
 the men at least half asleep. The imagination is less active; one 
 does not visualize so clearly the many things that may happen, 
 and one loses the feeling of apprehension, or dread of injury 
 which is more or less present when one is rested and fresh. 
 Tired men rarely look up to see if the whining or swishing shells 
 are coming towards them; rested men nearly always do. Not 
 
 147 
 
that you can see the darn things, but it is instinct to look up 
 and try to see them. 
 
 It is remarkable too, how small one can become under certain 
 conditions. A few days ago, I happened to get caught without 
 my steel helmet in some pretty brisk shell fire. Except for shrap- 
 nel a steel helmet isn't much good — and this was high explosive. 
 If there is a chance, one never has to be told what to do in shell 
 fire — one does it without thinking. If there is a hole, or a ditch, 
 or a depression one gets into it; if there isn't anything of the 
 kind, one lies flat on his face and hopes that a shell will not drop 
 closer than about fifteen yards. It happened that there was no 
 shell hole or decent depression, so I had to be content with flat 
 ground, and I know you could have run a baby buggy, with a 
 sick baby in it, over me as I lay there, and the hump I made on 
 the ground wouldn't have jarred the baby enough to waken him. 
 And I lay there and yearned for that steel helmet, and convinced 
 myself that if it were at hand I could crawl, and ooze my whole 
 body under it. 
 
 Joe Ehart had a hunch the other day; he was under shell 
 fire, and was in a nice comfortable old shell hole, but his hunch 
 said "go to another," so Joe climbed out, took a one way ticket 
 on the lightning express, and departed for an adjacent hole. 
 Just as he slithered and slid down into his new residence a shell 
 dropped squarely into hole he had just vacated. There is no 
 doubt that "there are more wonders in the world than thy 
 philosophy ever dreamed of, Horatio." But the whole business 
 is a sordid one. There is no romance, no poesy, no glamor about 
 any of it. The only poetry, or sentiment must be within the 
 heart of each individual — a spark at least of something bigger 
 than the things of every day life, sweeter and more precious than 
 comfort or safety, or than life itself for these men who plod, 
 plod, plod, keeping it up by night and day, going here and going 
 there without knowing where or why, not knowing today 
 whether they will be among the living tomorrow, sleeping, eating, 
 living, dying in the wet and the mud, these enlisted men, these 
 Spartans, these unknown heroes could not go on as they do. 
 The officer has a little consolation in knowing some of the 
 
 148 
 
reasons Why; the enlisted man has to go it blind. It must be 
 said to the credit of the officer that the enlisted man would not 
 go it blind were it not that he has confidence in the officers. 
 They realize that "Theirs not reason why, theirs but to do and 
 die/' and with the almost general confidence that is reposed 
 in the officers they expect to be able to "do," and not to be led 
 into a trap to "die." I'm ready, today, to see the war end, but 
 with all the sordidness, with all the discomfort, with all the 
 weariness and the sights that tear the stoutest heart, it is, and 
 will be, a glorious memory. From this time on there should be 
 no question regarding a national anthem for the United States. 
 The "Battle Hymn of the Republic" is our national anthem, 
 not because any grave and (perhaps) reverend solons have so 
 decreed, but because the living, breathing, fighting and dying 
 men from every state in the Union now here on foreign soil, 
 have made it so by living it, and by upholding its sentiments, 
 and by giving their lives for its doctrines. In the '60s it had a 
 limited and local application; now it applies to every nation 
 and every individual in the world. My heart goes out in sym- 
 pathy, and joins in sorrow because of the death of Joseph 
 Emery. He, like one and a half million other vivid and virile 
 Americans over here, carried with him all the time the sentiment, 
 "As He died to make men holy, let us die to make them free." 
 Sometimes I wonder if the words, "Greater love hath no man 
 than this, that a man lay down his life for a friend," are as 
 comprehensive as the deeds of such as Joseph Emery. Speaking 
 narrowly, Joe did not lay down his life for a friend; be did a 
 harder task; he died for a great principle; for many generations 
 yet unborn; for a multitude of people entirely unknown to him. 
 It is a pity the inmost thoughts of those who do great deeds 
 cannot be known, for if in their sorrow, Joe's family could 
 know his, they would feel that he had given them such a heritage, 
 such a lustre, such a glorious adequateness for the love and care 
 they had given him, that their grief would be illumined with 
 wonder, with thankfullness, with joy that one of them went, 
 unafraid, to die to make men free. War is an awful thing, but 
 this world cannot but be a sweeter, cleaner place, a world with 
 higher ideals, a world with less sham and pretense, a world 
 with more brotherhood in it as a result of this war. 
 
 149 
 
CHAPTER FIFTEEN 
 
 It is not likely that many men in the world war saw much of 
 the purely spectacular, or of the glamorous; it simply was not 
 there to be seen. The war was not of a character where more 
 than a small bit here and there could be seen. The trenches, the 
 mud, the rain — not only from the sky, but the rain of shells and 
 machine gun bullets — made the need imperative for being under 
 cover nearly all the time, and took away most of the chance 
 for a famous charge, or for an open movement of sufficiently 
 large magnitude, and sufficiently concentrated to make a showy 
 picture. The movement of September 26, with the greatest 
 artillery action the world has ever known, with a battle line 
 many miles in length, a line going forward almost as one com- 
 pany, gave but little that could be of use to the artist or the 
 camera man. In the first place the fog was so dense that the men 
 had to use particular care not to become separated; in the next 
 place, the kick-off was at six a. m. — too early for anything in the 
 way of sunlight. But on October 10th there was a spectacle just 
 east of the Meuse which was at once worth seeing, and which in 
 the bright sunlight of the morning, could be seen. Again, in a 
 sense, it was a little thing, for so far as the Thirty-third was 
 concerned, it represented a movement of less than 5000 infantry- 
 men. Orders were to attack the heights to the east and north of 
 Brabant, and to take Consenvoye Woods. The little ruined 
 village of Forges lies about one half a kilometre west of the 
 river, and about midway between Brabant and Consenvoye, 
 both of which are on the river, but on the opposite side. From 
 the river to the east the terrain rises gradually a distance of 
 probably two and a half kilometres, gently rolling swells, each 
 rising higher than the one next the river, steadily pushing up 
 until there was a high, well-defined unobstructed skyline. The 
 troop movement started from the vicinity of Brabant-Consen- 
 voye. It was my good fortune to be in the village of Forges, 
 where from the top of a reinforced concrete "pill-box" of German 
 construction, I could overlook the river, the distant heights, and 
 
 150 
 
the intervening open land. Our troops went forward in three 
 waves following the rolling barrage. 
 
 Almost at the beginning of the advance the Germans could 
 be seen piling out of the trenches and coming forward with up- 
 lifted hands. Shells of every description fell within, behind, ahead 
 of the advancing lines, while circling about from one end of our 
 line to the other soared one of our 'planes observing the dropping 
 of the fire of our artillery, and wirelessing directions to our 
 men behind the guns in the rear. Slowly and steadily the lines 
 advanced, now shut off from view for a moment by the smoke 
 of bursting shells, and then coming into vision again as the fresh 
 breeze cleared the air. 
 
 On Consenvoye side the wood was approached at its apex 
 of the triangle of trees. As the lines reached the apex, a squad 
 here and a squad there passed along the side of the woods to its 
 appointed distance, and then would melt into the forest. From 
 here also, from time to time could be seen groups of prisoners 
 emerging under guard of one or two of our men. 
 
 On the Brabant side the lines maintaining their respective 
 distances, could be watched going up and up the slopes, wave 
 by wave appearing on the skyline for an instant, then disappear 
 down the receding slope, while overhead was the constant whine 
 and shriek of our shells carrying encouragement to our men. 
 It was a sight that can never be forgotten, and more nearly 
 approached the glamor, the spectacular, and the romance of 
 war as we once conceived it, than anything I saw in France. 
 
 Unless one has seen one of the completely destroyed villages 
 in the war-worn and war-torn areas of France, one cannot even 
 picture what a completely ruined town looks like. Of course 
 there are degrees of destruction. Many towns have been de- 
 stroyed so far as any use or activity is concerned, and yet there 
 may be some walls standing, some roofs remaining, and some 
 dwellings that are inhabitable. But a town completely destroyed 
 means a town non est; a town which is a name only; one where 
 you must have the site of the town pointed out to you, shown to 
 
 151 
 
you, and then asserted to you by one who knows before you 
 can bring yourself to believe that there was ever a town there. 
 Such a place hasn't even ruins left; it has been so ploughed and 
 churned by shell fire that no walls, no roofs are visible, and where 
 even cellars and foundation stones have to be sought with a 
 pick and shovel. 
 
 I remember my incredulity while with the Canadians when 
 an officer pointed out a rough waste space to me and said "that 
 is Carency." I didn't know there had been a village by that 
 name so inquired, "What do you mean by Carney?'' "The 
 town of Carency, and that is what is left." Even then I felt 
 that he was "spoofing" me until my eye caught fragments of 
 stone and wreckage half buried, strewn about over this area, 
 while closer observation showed that this wreckage, a board 
 here, a part of a rafter there, more cobble stones than elsewhere 
 and stone of a nature different from those in the fields or along 
 the road, and all of this in a more or less regularly circum- 
 scribed area, convinced me that I was gazing on what had once 
 been a town. 
 
 Such a town too was Cumieres lying beside Dead Man's Hill, 
 in No Man's Land for four years, held alternately by the French 
 and the Germans. When we kicked off the morning of September 
 26 for the 'Meuse-Argonne,' zero hour found the waiting line in 
 the swamps of Forges Creek just in front of Cumieres. When 
 our troops took Forges, Forges Wood and the village of Ger- 
 court — their objectives for that first day, Cumieres was desig- 
 nated as our forward dump for provisions and ammunition. 
 The first time I went to find Cumieres it is likely I would have 
 missed it more or less completely in depending solely on a map 
 reference, but the remembrance of Carency told me where 
 Cumieres was when I reached there. In the darkness of night 
 the limbers and wagons of the battalions and other units would 
 come down to this point to pick up and spread to the fighting 
 line the things the line must have. 
 
 Lieut. Ehart was the transport officer for the 123rd Machine 
 Gun Battalion at that time. It was his fortune not to have seen 
 Cumieres on September 26, or by daylight on any day, for 
 
 152 
 
when his battalion went forward it was well to the left of this 
 village and over toward Chattencourt. But he and his transport 
 came down there night after night in the rain and the darkness 
 to get food and small arms ammunition, and he knew that the 
 village of Cumieres was the forward Division dump, and in the 
 darkness he pictured to himself how this village looked; he could 
 see the village church on a certain corner; he even saw the type 
 of architecture of this church; he saw the row of dwellings with 
 their straw and chalk-stone stucco; he saw the deserted stores. 
 There was a clear mental picture but he did not know that it 
 was only a mental picture. 
 
 About October 6 I had to have an adjutant as mine was 
 transferred to the Postal Service, and on request to General 
 Bell, Lieut. Ehart was transferred to my headquarters then at 
 Longbut. Two or three days after the transfer I was going 
 to drive to the front and asked Lieut. Ehart to accompany me. 
 On the way up he inquired, "Will we go to, or through Cumieres?" 
 "Yes: it is likely that we can go no farther than there with the 
 car." "Well, I am particularly anxious to see that town: I have 
 seen it only in the darkness but what I saw has left a very vivid 
 impression on me, and I wish particularly to see that old church 
 on the corner: more than this, I don't think there is another 
 town in France I dislike so much, for Cumieres will always mean 
 mud, rain, gas, high explosive and hell in general to me." I 
 began to wonder a little if Lieut. Ehart was quite 'all there,' 
 but said nothing for I didn't know but he had found the remains 
 of a church on a corner somewhere. We arrived. "This is Cum- 
 ieres", and the Lieut, looked at me in amazement. He thought 
 as I had at Vimy Ridge that I was "spoofing him," for there 
 was no church: there was not a sign of any structure other than 
 the broken stones and the flat roof of concrete and I-beams, 
 sticking just above the level of the ground, of a one-time Hun 
 pill-box. He gazed with amazement, and awe, and incredulity 
 on his face, and then he told me what he had seen night after 
 night in the darkness: how he was so convinced that he saw these 
 things that he always stopped the head of his transport column 
 just opposite the office of the village Mairie, and depended on 
 
 153 
 
seeing that particular building to give the command to halt. 
 What a wonderful machine the imagination is, and what a 
 blessing the lieutenant, did not have to take his transport down 
 to Cumieres in daylight. 
 
 But there is a limit to human endurance. High resolve, dis- 
 cipline and morale can be worn down and consumed by ex- 
 haustion, by privation, by starvation, and by unceasing day 
 and night anticipation and nerve tension. Before we went into 
 the war it was a more or less recognized law that an organization 
 in the front line, where attack and counter-attack was made 
 and received, outlived its immediate and highest effectiveness 
 in ten days or less. In some cases — and with good troops too — 
 three or four days seemed all the men could endure and carry-on 
 effectively. But in the Meuse-Argonne, and farther up the line 
 w T here the French and British were going forward also, the belief 
 of our High Command that the time had come for striking, 
 for striking hard, and for continuing to strike irrespective of the 
 number of days in the line, made us forget some of the things 
 learned previously. As a result we had outfits in the front line 
 fighting, watching, going forward, wet, hungry, half-clothed, 
 half-fed, dirty, lousy, physically and nervously at a low ebb, for 
 some of these outfits had been in this front line for more than a 
 month. Finally General Bell insisted that his division had reached 
 the point where it must have rest, and we were pulled out and 
 sent to a "quiet sector," the Troyon sector, just south of Verdun. 
 
 Did you ever put heavy, and light, and variegated traffic over 
 an impassable "one-way" road in the dark? Well, that's what 
 every division in the A. E. F. had to do. Take one road as an 
 illustration — the one from the corner south of Chattencourt, 
 through the village of Cumieres, across Forges creek, through 
 Forges and to the ruined mill at Ratentout and the spring, the 
 flowing spring where water was chlorinated and then used for 
 all the front line troops of the division. Oh Yes, there were dead 
 horses, and occasionally a dead soldier in Forges creek, and the 
 
 154 
 
spring was a part of the creek, and you just can't separate water 
 that has come in contact with a dead artillery horse from that 
 which has not, but it was all chlorinated, and the chlorinated 
 water plus some dead animal is much safer drinking than water 
 from shell holes — water well impregnated with mustard gas for 
 instance. Besides this, one never knows what may be in the 
 bottom of that shell hole. But this isn't a treatise on hygiene 
 and sanitation; it's an account of traffic and transportation. 
 
 The aforesaid bit of road some three kilometres in length, 
 winds about a hill. It runs east, and northeast, and north, and 
 northwest, and west in order to get where it wants to go. It is 
 all of yellow clay except some chalkstone on the hillside, and 
 some swamp along Forges creek. It had been in No Man's Land 
 for four years, just out in front of Dead Man's Hill and the huge 
 tunnels the Huns had dug through these hills. Where it winds 
 up along the side of the hill on its eastward leg, it rises more than 
 two hundred feet above the valley of the Meuse. When it turned 
 to the northeast and north it came under direct observation 
 from the Hun lines. It was a road thoroughly dreaded, and 
 rightfully so, by all the men who drove front-line transport; 
 and it was a "one-way" road — not from choice, not because 
 there was another road which could be used to complete a loop, 
 but because of topographical conditions. It was a "one-way" 
 road because it was so bad and so narrow that one vehicle could 
 not meet another, and a column of marching troops could not 
 meet a vehicle. And all the troops, all the ammunition, all the 
 food, all the wounded, all the supplies of every sort for the 
 division, had to travel this particular road. Every night, and 
 many days the Hun shelled this particular bit of geography, 
 for he knew that it carried the arterial life-blood of at least one 
 division of allied troops. 
 
 Late in October the particular division which had been en- 
 during these disadvantages for nearly a month, and which had 
 been handling traffic over this road on the "block" system, was 
 relieved and sent to a "quiet sector." (It's another story of how 
 that "quiet sector" changed its name inside of ten days there- 
 after.) The "block system" meant that traffic was allowed to 
 
 155 
 
enter the southerly and westerly end of this road, flow toward 
 the front for a period, and then on word from the director of 
 traffic the "block" would be closed for traffic going toward the 
 front and opened for that bringing wounded back, and for the 
 "empties" coming back from the front. Most of the time the 
 telephone was out of commission and the "block" had to be 
 run by sending a messenger to the open end with a message that 
 at 11:30 p. m. or 2 p. m. as the case might be, that that end 
 would be closed. It was a joyous life for all concerned. 
 
 But the division has been relieved, and the order specified 
 that at 5 p. m. of a particular date, -the control of the divisional 
 area would pass from the 542nd Division to the 245th Division, 
 and at 5 p. m. things were just going good. About 7 p. m. my 
 telephone rang and a voice said, "General X" — the division 
 commander of the 542nd — " has just been informed that the 
 road between Cumieres and Forges is blocked, and one regiment 
 of our infantry with its transport is held up on the far side. 
 Will you go up there and clear the road?" Naturally I didn't 
 crave the job. As usual it was raining. The road was ankle deep 
 in mud in the dry spots and knee deep everywhere else. More 
 than this, our control had passed at 5 p. m., so I said, "under 
 what authority will I take over command?" "You will have to 
 do it on your own nerve, but General X — says he will' back you 
 to the limit; the General isn't going to give you an order to do 
 this, but asks it as a favor to the division." Of course that put 
 a different face on the matter, so back I went to that bit of road 
 to which I had just said "Goodby" and which I had hoped never 
 to see again, taking with me twelve men of the Military Police 
 who hated the job as much as I did. 
 
 Was it blocked? From Marre on the southeast to Bethancourt 
 on the west — a distance of about four miles — it was nothing 
 but a pot of human jam. There was a marching column of 
 French infantry, a whole brigade of them. There was French 
 heavy transport, trucks and forgeons; there was a battery of 
 American howitzers with their huge caterpillar tractors; there 
 was an engineer train with heavy bridge material; then there 
 was horse drawn transport, mule drawn transport, motor lorries, 
 
 156 
 
officers, automobiles, ambulances — about everything in the way 
 of vehicles one could imagine. There were even motor cycle 
 messengers wedged into that mass; there was profanity, mud, 
 darkness, rain, and several hundred different kinds of orders 
 and advice; there was surging back and forth, each one trying to 
 find a way to get through — except on the part of some of the 
 more experienced drivers who, with that never failing philosophy 
 of theirs, were making the best of a bad mess by going soundly 
 to sleep while waiting for someone to untangle the mass. Some 
 motor lorries were sunk to the hubs in the mud at the side of 
 the road; some were diagonally, or even transversely across the 
 road showing the efforts of the driver at getting out, turning 
 around, or trying to get through. It took probably an hour for 
 me to walk through — over and under vehicles and animals- 
 through the worst part of this jam trying to find the most feasible 
 way to untangle the snarl. 
 
 As luck would have it the "heavies" with their caterpillars 
 were located almost in the middle of the jam, and near a part 
 of the road which was so uniformly bad that our engineers had 
 planked it for about 200 feet with heavy planks sixteen feet 
 long. This gave a bit of firm roadway sixteen feet wide, wide 
 enough for vehicles to meet, and it seemed to be our only hope. 
 The next thing was to stop every Tom, Dick, and Harry from 
 giving orders that seemed to him to be the solution of the trouble, 
 for these orders had no co-ordination, and could only make 
 matters worse; so after telling unknown officers, of unknown 
 rank, to shut up; after threatening several with arrest; after 
 convincing them that I was in command, I went to the officer 
 in charge of the artillery column, told him to uncouple his leading 
 caterpillar, and to do as he was told regardless of protests or 
 comments. Then he was told to start down the road run the 
 nose of his caterpillar into anything in front of him, and push 
 it over into the ditch off the road. It so happened that a section 
 of French motor lorries were just in front of him, and as the big 
 tractor pushed first one and then another off into what seemed 
 to be bottomless mud, it began to look as if this already lurid 
 occasion was about to be enhanced by an immediate severance 
 of allied ties, and that an international crisis was at hand. 
 
 1£7 
 
But that tractor gave us a clear road for a couple of hundred 
 feet, and then we came to the planked space which was cleared 
 in the same way, giving us about two hundred feet more where 
 it was possible for vehicle to meet vehicle. To make a long and 
 dirty story short, that traffic jam met, passed, and was dis- 
 solved on that two hundred feet of planking. Occasionally the 
 caterpillar would have to go up or down the road to shove some 
 crosswise vehicle into the ditch, but that was of small moment; 
 the caterpillar rather enjoyed doing it as soon as the habit was 
 formed. Occasionally some officer's car would try to steal a 
 march on the procession, or some aide would arrive in the dark- 
 ness with a message like this: 
 
 "General Z — demands that you put him through immediately. " 
 One Cadillac, with a general officer and his two aides, made an 
 individual effort to get through, and succeeded in blocking one 
 end of the open space. After expressing my personal opinion of 
 him to his face — unless he turned his head, for it was so dark 
 in his car I could not see him — my trusty caterpillar pushed 
 him and his car into the ditch where he remained until the road 
 was well cleared. 
 
 At 1 a. m. the units of my own division came through, and I 
 thanked my artillery officer for his assistance in pushing the 
 road open, and then in pulling stranded vehicles back on the 
 road, collected my weary twelve men, and turned the control 
 of that road over to anyone who might apply for the job. 
 
 For one week after making this move the Division rested. 
 "Resting" in the army differs from the definition in the diction- 
 ary. In the army one is supposed to rest by working hard at 
 something else, and our week of rest was spent in a feverish 
 activity to repair, and replace everything that needed repairing 
 or replacing. Equipment of all kinds must needs be neglected 
 somewhat during a campaign, so animals, harness, wheeled 
 equipment, uniforms, underwear, rolling kitchens, arms, reports 
 and paper work had to be brought up to standard again, and 
 one week isn't a long time in which to do it. 
 
 At the end of the week our chief-of-staff, not satisfied with 
 information passed on to us by the Division we had followed 
 
 158 
 
in this sector, began to institute raids — raids in this "quiet 
 sector." Fritz hates to be disturbed. He has no objections to 
 being the disturbing element, himself, but a little annoyance like 
 a raid makes him peevish, so he began to vent his spleen in 
 "strafing" us. Also, it is likely that he ascertained that there 
 were different troops in his front, and that the new ones were not 
 inclined to observe the "entente cordiale" with him. A few days, 
 a few raids, and it began to be noised about, "we are going in 
 again." This rumor proved true, for shortly there came orders 
 for a four-division show to be put on, and the Thirty-third was 
 one of the four divisions. 
 
 There were some features of this show — for it is only fair to 
 call it such — which were more or less absurd. In the first place 
 the show was more or less a demonstration, and was intended as 
 an aid to the Meuse-Argonne drive more than anything else. 
 Then too, it was in the immediate vicinity of Metz, which was 
 only about 35 or 40 kilometres away — and was intended to put 
 the wind up for the Hun over the safety of that city. But the 
 first impression at Division Headquarters was that it was the 
 real thing, and that once started we were to go as far as Metz, 
 or Berlin if we wanted to and could. 
 
 Troyon, and all our points held in force except one or two, 
 were on the heights over the valley of the Woevre. In the valley 
 were a number of ruined villages, but the valley itself — in our 
 immediate front— was practically No Man's Land. 
 
 The day before the show was to begin General Bell sent me to 
 the front to bring back the latest reports on road conditions, 
 especially in and out of Herbeville, as this was the map location 
 he had selected for his next headquarters — after the division 
 began its trek to Metz and Berlin. In its prime I imagine 
 Herbeville was a village of possibly 500 people. Just now it was 
 inhabited by a platoon of our machine gunners, who were holding 
 it as a strong point. As orders were that no officer should visit 
 the front line alone I had taken Captain Ehart, my adjutant, 
 with me. The only way we could get into Herbeville was on 
 foot, and the roads were in such condition that if the Hun had 
 been 1000 miles away, and General Bell had wanted to get into 
 
 159 
 
this village still, he would have had to go on foot also. To make 
 a long story short Division Headquarters never moved to 
 Herbeville. 
 
 This same day, and while on this mission an amusing incident 
 occurred. At Hannonville, to the southwest of Herbeville, there 
 was stationed a battalion of the 131st infantry. We could pass 
 Hannonville by road in going to Herbeville. Hannonville was a 
 village stretching back from this road for perhaps half a mile to 
 the east. I had driven as near the front as Hannonville several 
 times, and this place had been disturbed comparatively little. 
 Some towns and villages were left as nearly undestroyed as 
 possible by the Germans, evidently with an eye to their future 
 use by themselves. 
 
 We were just approaching the cross-road leading into this 
 village when a Hun battery cut loose. The fire was not rapid, 
 nor excessive, so slowing down a bit we kept on going. But so 
 did the fire. Also it was easy to see that Fritz was doing it 
 systematically, for as the first shells had landed in the eastern- 
 most part of the village, the successive ones were coming regular- 
 ly, and with mathematical exactness to the west. I waited for 
 Captain Ehart to say something; he kept still. Then I hoped 
 that the driver would make a suggestion; he never said a word. 
 At the rate we were progressing, and at the rate that shelling 
 was lifting all the time, we were due to get to the cross-road 
 simultaneously with a bunch of shells. Finally I leaned over to 
 Captain Ehart and said "Joe, I don't remember that we have lost 
 anything in Hannonville; driver turn round." With a look of the 
 most intense relief the Captain grabbed my hand, and with his 
 face in smiles said, "Thank you, Colonel for those kind words; 
 I thought you had forgotten them." What the driver thought 
 can be best expressed by what he did; that Dodge car turned 
 around "on a ten cent piece;" he stepped on the gas and we got 
 away much faster than we had come. 
 
 For the remainder of the time the Division spent in the 
 Troyon sector, up to November eleven, a sort of warfare which 
 may be described as "irritation warfare" was maintained. The 
 Hun made no raids upon us but we continued annoying him. 
 
 160 
 
It is doubtful if this gained us anything. The low lands of the 
 valley were excessively wet; some of the villages, like Herbeville 
 on our side of the valley, were practically under water. A 
 raiding party went into St. Hilaire one night, found the village 
 flooded, and could not find a German. A few nights later another 
 party visited this village and discovered a strong party of the 
 enemy; the village had dried out a bit; a little engagement 
 ensued which cost us two men. So far as a general advance was 
 concerned, or the taking of ground which strengthened our 
 position was concerned, it all netted us nothing. 
 
 All this time too, we were becoming more and more convinced 
 that the war was near its close. While in the Meuse-Argonne 
 many of our prisoners stated freely that they knew that the end 
 was near; some fixed the date as November 1st; many said 
 November 5th. Prisoners brought in here on the Troyon front 
 nearly all said the war was going to end November 5th. On 
 November 9th it was a matter of general information about 
 division headquarters that the end was set, and would be 
 November 11th. At the same time an advance all along our 
 ront was ordered for November 10th. 
 
 It has been said that this advance was necessary by way of a 
 demonstration in order to clinch the arranging of an armistice 
 on the 11th, but in view of the very frank and positive state- 
 ments of prisoners — some of whom were officers and "unter- 
 omcers" — who had declared that they had been informed that 
 Germany would quit on November 5th, and in view of the 
 accepted information we had from American sources, I am con- 
 vinced that, irrespective of any demonstration along the front 
 line, for the part of the line south of Verdun at least, that the 
 armistice would have come just the same. 
 
 But as said, orders came for a general advance along our front. 
 One other item to indicate that in the minds of our chief-of- 
 staff, and of the division commander, that they felt certain that 
 the armistice was assured, was first, a remark to me by the 
 chief-of-staff on the evening of November 9th that the move- 
 ment the next day was "a joke on the Division." Next, that 
 unlike a forward movement where the result is at all uncertain, 
 
 161 
 
and where good judgment always holds out a sufficient reserve 
 of supporting troops, the advance for November 10th threw all 
 the infantry, and all the machine guns we had into the line 
 with orders to "go forward as far as possible until eleven o'clock 
 November 11th, when all firing must cease." 
 
 Further up the line, in the vicinity of Stenay or Sedan for 
 instance, it may have been desirable and necessary to fight until 
 the final moment, but I am thoroughly and completely convinced 
 that nothing that the Thirty-third Division did, or that any 
 other division in our section of the line did on November 10th, 
 or November 11th, had any influence whatever on bringing about 
 cessation of the war, and that American lives lost that morning 
 in the ranks of the Thirty-third Division were lives needlessly 
 sacrificed. By ten-thirty that morning our Division surgeon 
 had reported over 200 casualties, and in the Thirty-third division 
 cemetery just outside of Thillot, under the precipitous bluffs of 
 the heights overlooking the valley of the Woevre, there are more 
 than thirty graves of those officers and men who gave their lives 
 that morning of November 11th that a "demonstration" might 
 be made. Because of a blunder, or a mistaken idea, or a desire 
 to make a showing, or for some other indefensible reason, into 
 the mud and marsh of the valley of the Woevre marched the 
 foot troops of the Thirty-third Division that morning of Novem- 
 ber 11th to make a Roman holiday for someone. 
 
 162 
 
CHAPTER SIXTEEN 
 
 There are many people who ask "How did the men in the 
 army feel when the war ended?" There is no answer to this 
 question; it is likely that no two men felt alike. Some were 
 jubilant; some were fairly hysterical; some showed an almost 
 immediate "let-down," an easing up in their sense of duty and 
 responsibility; some became more or less lethargic, and ab- 
 normally quiet, as if they had previously said a final goodbye 
 to all friends, and could not quite grasp the reprieve which had 
 come to them; some seemed utterly stunned by the realization 
 that the worst was over and that they might go home again. 
 I do not think anyone felt that the armistice was merely an 
 armistice, and that fighting might begin again later on. The 
 fact was that the men of the Thirty-third Division were con- 
 vinced that the war was at an end, and that the Hun was done. 
 I do not suppose that the feeling among the men was very 
 different from that the men of Appomatox or Yorktown had. 
 In my own case it was a sudden realization of extreme mental, 
 nervous and physical weariness. I felt as men looked — men I 
 had seen during the days of trench warfare — men coming out 
 from a tour of duty in the front trenches — that column of muddy, 
 tired men who looked as if hope had forsaken them, who reeled 
 as they walked in column, who gave no sign of recognition, or 
 curiosity, or of interest in anything or anyone as they stumbled 
 along. Aside from the sight of wounded and dying, this column 
 of exhausted troops is the saddest, the most pathetic, the most 
 pitiable sight within the army. Dirt destroys morale, or in other 
 words it is demoralizing. Consider this with psychology and it 
 is demoralizing not only in the army but wherever its influence 
 is exerted. This does not mean accidental, or transient dirt, but 
 refers to the persistent, continuous, unescapable dirt, dirt that 
 you eat with and sleep with; dirt you are conscious of in your 
 working hours, and dirt that haunts you in your dreams; dirt 
 you see and feel all the time on yourself, and dirt which stares 
 you in the face whenever you look at one of your fellows. It 
 
 163 
 
lessens self-respect, which is the foundation stone of morale; it 
 breaks down the wall of self-pride you have unconsciously built 
 in self-protection, and when this wall crumbles the physical 
 being tires more easily, and this physical fatigue aggravates 
 and incites the moral deterioration. Dirt is unquestionably the 
 connecting link in the vicious circle — dirt, physical decline, moral 
 decrepitude. The man who devised the sentence "cleanliness is 
 next to godliness" spoke better than he knew, and certainly in 
 the army it is the basis of all discipline and morale. 
 
 164 
 
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN 
 
 Ten days in which to regain our equilibrium, and to clean up 
 the divisional area, and then came the march to Germany. 
 This hike was about as trying as anything the men of the Division 
 had been called upon to undergo. It meant an average of eighteen 
 kilometres a day in heavy marching order. It rained, it snowed, 
 it froze and rained and snowed again. The men were wet every 
 night; they had to billet in barns and sheds which were entirely 
 unprepared and totally unfit, and after a restless and uncomfort- 
 able night had to start out again early in the morning. 
 
 Our motor transportation was so limited that it was difficult 
 to keep supplies up to the men, and the only way we could do it 
 at all, was by making two, or more trips with the lorries each 
 day. Even in this way it was impossible to keep full rations for 
 the animals, and the consequent underfeeding of the horses and 
 mules made the animal-drawn transport lag. But there was one 
 thing which served to rest the tired feet and warm the chilled 
 bodies, to prevent complaints over short rations, and to cause 
 every man to give of the best there was in him — we were going 
 into Germany. 
 
 The march took us through the mine-sowed fields of Mars-la- 
 Tour where the Hun had planted acre after acre, and mile after 
 mile across the valley of the Woevre to protect the approaches 
 to Metz, to Conflans and to Briey. When we saw the prepara- 
 tions which had been made in this region, and then realized that 
 if the Thirty-third had continued to go ahead in its drive that 
 we would have been walking over these fields, and when we 
 knew that the mine sown area was sufficiently large to have 
 attended to all our artillery at once, or all of our infantry at 
 once, we did not regret that the war was over. These chains 
 of mines had been rendered innocuous by our engineers before 
 the Division passed this way, but at the cost of eight of our 
 men killed during the destruction or removal. 
 
 On we went, through Conflans, through Briey, and to Audun- 
 
 165 
 
le-Roman that dead city; Audun-le-Roman where in 1914 the 
 Hun had lined thirty-two men, women, and children up against 
 a wall, and had shot them down; the Mayor, the village priests, 
 the shop-keepers, the women and children, and all because the 
 town had not turned in one or two fire-arms as ordered by the 
 German commandant. Then not satisfied with this atrocity, 
 every roof of every building had been burned. Nearly all of 
 these buildings were of stone, and the stark, gaunt walls re- 
 mained, but for four years Audun-le-Roman had been a dead 
 and deserted city. While other towns in this vicinity had gone 
 on living under German rule as best they could, Audun-le- 
 Roman had been allowed to stand in its desolation, untenanted, 
 avoided, a silent protest and a continuous reminder of the 
 relentless ferocity and savagery of the invader. The line of march 
 of the portion of the Division under my command passed within 
 about one half kilometre of this place, and several of us took 
 occasion to go into the town. 
 
 As we viewed the ruins, a public building here, a mansion 
 there, a school house, a church, a business block — many signs 
 of prosperity and progress, for Audun-le-Roman was an especially 
 prosperous place in 1914, and in its architecture and arrangement 
 was much more pretentious than most cities of ten or twelve 
 thousand inhabitants. As we gazed at the ruined structures we 
 could see evidences from the facades, and the type of architec- 
 ture, that they had been there for generations, and we mentally 
 visioned the streets thronging with vivacious and home-loving 
 people; and we looked at the wall against which those thirty- 
 two human beings stood — a wall well nicked with Mauser 
 bullets — where those mothers and children took their last look 
 at the city they loved, at the friends they were leaving, at the 
 sky and the earth, and the sunshine of that September day, and 
 as we pictured all these things I could not but regret that every 
 American soldier in the A. E. F. was unable to march through 
 this town, hear what had happened there, and see what was left; 
 not to make him bloodthirsty or vindictive, but that each one 
 might carry with him such an impress of military Prussianism 
 that never could time, or age, efface the picture. 
 
 166 
 
Did we get into Germany? We did, and we did not. The 66th 
 Infantry Brigade crossed over the border, stayed one night, 
 and was ordered back into Luxemburg, and in Luxemburg the 
 Division stayed from December 20th, 1918 to April 22nd, 1919. 
 Doing what? Cleaning horses, harness, rolling equipment; 
 playing football, giving horse and auto shows; doing guard duty; 
 in a considerable measure policing Luxemburg along civil as 
 well as military lines. Our portion of the duchy was all that 
 north of a line drawn east and west through the city of Luxem- 
 burg or in other words, about three fourths of the duchy. The 
 province was in a political ferment. A few days after we moved 
 in the whole Luxemburg army went on a strike for higher pay. 
 Fancy a whole army going on a strike; this one did, and they 
 gave evidence of being on a strike by casting their gorgeous, 
 be-plumed hats on the ground, and then trampling on them. 
 Two hundred and fifty men, the most resplendent army in 
 Europe, went on a strike and trampled on their hats. 
 
 There were two post-war parties. One was in favor of a close 
 and binding alliance with France. (This party had been corner- 
 ing all the French francs they could get hold of.) The other 
 party wanted a close and binding alliance with Belgium. (This 
 party had been cornering the Belgique currency.) The Grand 
 Duchess was out of favor. She had withdrawn from Luxemburg 
 city, and was resident in one of her five castles — the one near 
 Colmar. As provost-marshal it was up to me to keep a guard 
 about this castle to prevent the possibility of our men carrying 
 it away as a souvenir. As a matter of fact when the army went 
 out on strike, the court chamberlain, or the prime minister — 
 I forget which — requested that the Division furnish such a 
 guard, so that the striking Luxemburg army might not abduct 
 the Grand Duchess, so there were twelve military police stationed 
 there, a force I deemed adequate for all emergencies. 
 
 The Grand Duchess was very democratic; she enjoyed a dish 
 of conversation with her American guard, and she was not at 
 all loath to accept a cigarette — and use it — from the hands of an 
 enlisted man; she even grew to specify the 'particular brand of 
 American smokes she liked best. On New Year's Day she re- 
 
 167 
 
quested the privilege of dining and wineing this guard detail in 
 the castle. It began to look like a "bon" war. 
 
 The service in Luxemburg was not unpleasant. It was neces- 
 sary to maintain activity, to draw the lines of discipline closely, 
 to keep the men engaged in one way or another. Here in Luxem- 
 burg we had for the first time, our own artillery, and for the 
 first time in more than a year I met the officers of the 108th 
 Ammunition Train from whom I had separated at Camp Logan. 
 During the active period of the war the Division had used 
 British artillery when in the 4th British Army; French artillery 
 when in 10th French Army, the artillery brigade of the Twenty- 
 seventh Division while in the Meuse-Argonne, and the artillery 
 of the Thirtieth Division when in the Troyon sector. During 
 this same period the 58th artillery brigade — or ours — had been 
 attached to seven or eight different divisions for combat action. 
 
 But the political unrest in Luxemburg came to a head. Rumors 
 of revolution, and sinister suspicions of assassinations, beheadings 
 and horrors of all sorts which floated about, were finally brought 
 to rest by the Grand Duchess being displaced in favor of her 
 sister next younger. There were four or five of these sisters, and 
 they were entirely too thrifty to allow the job to get out of the 
 family. It is probably true that they had but little to say in the 
 matter, for an uncle, the old Grand Duke, did the thinking and 
 planning for the family. The upsetting of the sovereign, and 
 the creation of a new one really made less stir here in the duchy 
 than the election of a new justice of the peace does here at home, 
 and the Luxemburg army went back to its life of glorious inaction 
 and majestic safety, with an increase of pay. 
 
 Luxemburg as a province has many features that are unusual. 
 In spite of the fact that it is only about thrice the size of one of 
 our thirty-six township counties, it has two capitals — Luxemburg 
 city the executive capital, and Diekirch the judiciary capital. 
 It was in Diekirch where our division made its headquarters for 
 the winter. My own headquarters were established in the 
 parochial school-room of the house of the priest. It was rather 
 remarkable how often it was my lot to be quartered in the house 
 of a priest. At Sanzey it was the priest's house; at Eu with the 
 
 168 
 
archbishop; at Diekirch at the priest's; over night at Briey at 
 the priest's. The billet at Eu was obtained somewhat under 
 false pretenses. When the people of Eu learned that an American 
 Division was coming in, and when the city was canvassed by 
 the Mairie to provide billets, the archbishop of Eu learned in 
 some way that a Colonel of the Thirty-third — Colonel Clinnin — 
 was a Roman Catholic. The archbishop had never billeted any- 
 one, nor was he asked to do so on this occasion, but he requested 
 that Colonel Clinnin be sent to him. It happened that Colonel 
 Clinnin and the headquarters of the 130th Infantry were located 
 in a village some little distance from Eu. Our billeting officer 
 told me of the arrangement made by the archbishop, asked if— 
 as Colonel Clinnin's successor I wished to take this billet, and 
 
 1 decided to take the offer to myself. 
 
 On arrival at his palace, or at the gate of the grounds to the 
 palace, I rang the bell. Finally the gate swung open and a 
 voice somewhere in the distance said "entrez". I walked in. 
 The voice was found to be that of an elderly woman, who when 
 she saw me, immediately addressed me as u le Colonel." I 
 admitted the fact. Another bell was rung; two other serving 
 women came ; one relieved me of my musette bag, the other acted 
 as my conductor. I was taken to a large and very pleasant room, 
 well furnished, and containing besides the usual furniture of a 
 bed room a piano, several prie dieu, etc. A key to the gate of the 
 grounds was given me. A serving woman brought a tray with a 
 glass and a small decanter of very excellent wine, and I was 
 informed that the archbishop would be very pleased to have 
 me specify an hour agreeable to me, to wait upon him. Knowing 
 that I had to get it over with sooner or later, I suggested that 
 
 2 p. m., would suit me, if that time was agreeable to him; the 
 hour suited him. 
 
 The archbishop was cordial; he addressed me in French and 
 my reply was so evidently un-French that he smiled and then 
 spoke in rather halting English. Finding that he understood 
 my mother tongue fairly well, I made my confession that I was 
 not the Colonel he had been expecting, but that I had been 
 sent to him as a substitute for Colonel Clinnin. Then the 
 
 169 
 
atmosphere chilled a little bit. After a little more conversation 
 he inquired if I was Roman Catholic. On being informed in the 
 negative it was easy to see that he had lost interest in me, so 
 as quickly as possible I excused myself on the grounds of my 
 military duties, and got away. A number of times in the coming 
 few days, I met the archbishop when going or coming; he was 
 always courteous — but not interested. On leaving Eu I paid him 
 my respects, and asked him to accept one hundred francs for 
 his poor. 
 
 I have always been curious as to the further developments in 
 this matter, for either my behaviour was satisfactory to the 
 archbishop, or my donation met with his hearty approval, for 
 after the Division had gone into the line in the Molliens area, 
 and had gone through the affair at Hamel and the one at Chipilly 
 Ridge, one of my officers, Captain Killoran, happened to be in 
 Eu, happened to meet the archbishop who inquired very kindly 
 after my welfare, and then sent me the message by Captain 
 Killoran that I had his blessing, and that he was remembering 
 me in his devotions. 
 
 The priest in Diekirch and I did not get along so well. It is 
 possible that our prolonged stay had something to do with this, 
 for there is no doubt that the people as a whole, were rather 
 tired of their overload of American soldiers before our visit 
 terminated. This priest was inclined from the first, to find 
 fault, to make objections, and to drop uncomplimentary re- 
 marks. Some of the Luxemburgers were unquestionably German 
 in their sympathies, and it is possible that this priest was among 
 them. At any rate, before we had left there a state of dislike and 
 hostility existed between us, and on one occasion I was forced 
 to tell him that if he did not change his ways his cloth would not 
 protect him, and that I would be compelled to put him in arrest. 
 This was more than a idle threat, for some time previously the 
 chief political boss of Luxemburg, and the man who gloried in 
 the title "heavyweight champion of Luxemburg" had been 
 arrested at my instance. It is true we were unable to secure con- 
 viction in the civil courts, but the mere fact that in securing law 
 and order in Luxemburg, we were willing to land on any offender, 
 
 170 
 
no matter what his rank, station, or status, went far in keeping 
 the turbulent, and the law-breakers in a state of quiescence. 
 
 This heavyweight champion had a sad undoing before we left 
 Diekirch. After his arrest he was sufficiently frightened to make 
 him behave himself, and more than this, he started in to curry 
 favor with the Americans. From time to time various organ- 
 izations and units of the Division put on boxing bouts and 
 elimination contests. The 33d Military Police Company had a 
 sergeant who was particularly good, but as he weighed 194 
 pounds it was difficult to find anyone to go against him. The 
 Luxemburg champion weighed 182, but he would not consider 
 taking on the sergeant. Finally we found a man in the 129th 
 Infantry who weighed only 168, but who was said by the men of 
 the regiment to be a "bearcat." The Luxemburg champion 
 agreed to go three rounds with him. The bout was staged in the 
 public square in Diekirch, and apparently all Luxemburg turned 
 out to see it. A non-commissioned officer with whom the Luxem- 
 burg man was acquainted, and with whom he had been rather 
 friendly, was agreed upon as referee. Then I named Captain 
 Killoran and Captain Ehart as ringside judges, and as referees 
 for the referee — in case the N. C. O., should prove to be giving 
 either man the best of it, and the bout was on. The first round 
 was 'grand stand' play on the part of the champion, and caution 
 in feeling out his man on the part of the doughboy. Round two 
 came; it was evident at once that Luxemburg had been told 
 that the end would come in this round; comments on every side 
 were to the effect that "here is where the American meets de- 
 feat," and the champion tore loose with all he had, while the 
 infantryman surprised him by meeting him a little more than 
 half way. Just at the close of this round the "Champ" pushed 
 his face into a swinging jolt, and landed on his back under the 
 ropes; the timekeeper saved him. Round three looked as if it 
 might end at once for the champion did his best to foul his man, 
 and did foul him, but the doughboy only smiled and shook his 
 head at the referee when that official was ready to award him 
 the bout. Then the champ did his best to clinch and stall for 
 time, but as they were fighting as long as one arm was free in 
 
 171 
 
clinches, all he got for his tactics was an awful drubbing. Again 
 he was sent to the mat, and at the count of nine he rose very 
 reluctantly, took a couple of open handed slaps across the face, 
 and time was up. There was no need for a decision. Even the 
 populace, which had declared that he would kill the American 
 in three rounds was satisfied that, while their champion might 
 be good in Luxemburg, he was not in the same class with the 
 doughboy. 
 
 In February it was my misfortune to come down with the 
 "flu." After repeated, and almost annual attacks of grippe at 
 home over a period of more than twenty years, the flu made 
 little more impression on me than an old-time attack of grippe. 
 But there must have been a little difference somewhere, or it 
 may be that the difference was in the environment rather than 
 in the disease. After eight days in bed and in my room I returned 
 to headquarters at the priest's house; the schoolroom was poorly 
 heated and the room was cold, the weather wet and snowy. On 
 the third day after my return I was taken sick again, this time 
 with a well marked case of pneumonia accompanied with an 
 acute nephritis. Again I went to bed, and Major Reack of the 
 Medical Corps was sent for. Realizing that I was an exceedingly 
 sick man, and knowing how many of our flu-pneumonia cases 
 died when sent to the hospital, and knowing too, that if I ever 
 reached a hospital with the existence of that nephritis that I 
 would draw an early order to be sent back to the states — if I 
 lasted that long — , I made my orderly, Andy O'Neill, and 
 Captain Ehart promise that they would not let me be moved. 
 This was merely looking forward to the contingency of delirium, 
 or coma on my part; so long as neither of these conditions super- 
 vened, I felt quite competent to keep myself out of the hospital. 
 
 Then Colonel Orr, our division surgeon came in with Major 
 Reack; I must go to the hospital. Half delirious as I was, I still 
 had sufficient stubbornness to refuse. Then Colonel Orr went 
 to General Bell and asked for an order from him compelling me 
 to go; General Bell evidently considered that if I wanted to die 
 where I was that it was my business, for he declined to issue 
 such an order, and Andy O'Neill went on nursing me. It was a 
 
 172 
 
pleasant illness; there were days of mild delirium, days of a 
 comatose condition, and about all I did, as I now recall it, was 
 to sleep, and to ask Major Reack to leave me alone when he came 
 in, and to swear at Andy when he brought me soup or medicine, 
 and seventeen days from the time I went to bed I was up again. 
 
 During the convalescence all that appealed to me, all I could 
 think about was apples. Apples in Luxemburg, in the month of 
 March, are not easily discovered, but Andy and my driver, 
 Faust, took a day off and scoured the country. Faust had an 
 uncle living in Luxemburg, and with the aid of this uncle apples, 
 good apples were discovered and procured, and for several days 
 I just lived on apples. There were many peccadillos of which 
 both Andy and Faust were guilty, but the apples wiped out all 
 those of the past, and I'm afraid granted them immunity for 
 some of the future. 
 
 Hdqs. 33rd. Div. 
 Diekirch, Luxemburg. 
 
 December 31, 1918—11:50 p. m. 
 
 Mr. C. A. Fifer, Rotary Club, Quincy, 111. 
 
 Happy New Year, fellows — meaning all of you. Joe and I have 
 been comparing notes, and find that a lot of you have sent us 
 cards and letters, many more than we deserve, but not more than 
 we appreciate. This is addressed to "Pot," not because he was 
 the only one who sent me a Christmas card, but because I wanted 
 to write his new name on an envelope; I could never spell his 
 old one. The English troops have a new song, which by ap- 
 parently logical steps proves that the solitary, down-and-out, 
 no good, flabby, bone-headed private in the rear rank lost the 
 war, and won the war; I wish I could get it for Pot so that he 
 might sing it for you in return for your affectionate and cheerful 
 messages sent us; also, when we get home Joe and Royal and I 
 are going to use it to prove to you at home that Quincy Rotary 
 won the war. We may not be as logical, or as musical as the 
 English song, but we are going to do it just the same. Just now 
 things are deadly dull; business is poor. The first ten days of the 
 
 173 
 
armistice every one had that grand and g-1-o-r-i-o-u-s feeling; 
 every one rested, and let down, and took stock. The move to- 
 wards the Rhine was interesting. Crossing into territory held 
 by the Hun for four years was more or less of an experience. 
 The enthusiasm of the people for "our deliverers" was pathetic, 
 and we marched into this beautiful country, this neat clean 
 country, and it should be fairly neat and clean, and seem home- 
 like, for almost every third person here has lived in the United 
 States at one time or another. As one man said to me, "We are 
 part of the United States, for while our standing army is only 
 250 men, there are 10,000 Luxemburg men in the United States 
 Army." The greater portion of them — I mean those who have 
 lived in the states — lived either in Chicago or Denver. And we 
 come into this land where we hear our native tongue on every 
 side, this land so beautiful that many towns one quarter, yes one 
 tenth the size of Quincy have as great, or greater hotel accom- 
 modations than Quincy has in order to care for their summer 
 tourists, and sit down here for eight days and find it deadly dull. 
 It's true. The troops drill, maneuver, etc., but there isn't any 
 zest to it; the war is over, the job is done, and every man thinks, 
 "Why not let me go home to my wife and babies, my sweetheart, 
 my father, my mother, my work." I still insist that the American 
 is the most willing, the most daring, the most reckless, the most 
 intelligent, and when trained the most efficient fighter in the 
 world when there is something to fight for, and he is the biggest 
 pacifist in the — world when it is over. 
 
 (Exit, double time, just there) 
 
 3:30 a. m. January 1, 1919. 
 
 It isn't so darn dull after all. Right there I had to stop, bolt 
 out, and see what had broken loose. It Had!! You see they are 
 daily and hourly expecting a revolution in Luxemburg; in fact 
 they have had one or two since we have been here. Once the 
 whole army went on strike for higher pay. So back there when 
 I heard the sounds of "heavy firing" — anything more than two 
 shots is heavy firing for the newspaper correspondents — I 
 thought that the revolution had come, for our troops have been 
 under solemn orders not to fire a shot any time, anywhere, for 
 
 174 
 
fear of precipitating something. But it wasn't even a revolution. 
 It seems that some of the Luxemburgers who had formerly 
 lived in the states had told the rest of the Luxemburgers that 
 it was "good form" in the states to make Rome howl as the 
 New Year came in, and apparently every last son-of-a-gun in 
 town had a shooting iron which he proceeded to get out and 
 exercise. Some of our enlisted men got tangled up in the general 
 enthusiasm, and as Provost Marshal it was one of my joys and 
 perquisites, to stay up and put them to bed. 
 
 These are a most primitive, no a most child-like people. They 
 are eager to learn, especially anything English or American. 
 They are a questioning people; Li Hung Chang never had any- 
 thing on them in his search for information. Apparently they 
 are an affectionate people, for if a good man and his wife going 
 down the street happen to think of it, they are quite apt to 
 walk along with their arms about each other. Tonight, during 
 "the revolution" two of my military police posted on a corner, 
 were greatly embarrassed by two perfectly sober and respectable 
 married couples coming up to them, talking for a few minutes, 
 and then by the insistence of the two wives that they must kiss 
 the brave American soldats. I don't mean that these men were 
 embarrassed because the ladies wished to kiss them. On no, but 
 because they were on duty, and because I happened to be present. 
 Also it occurred to me that either I could not qualify as a brave 
 soldat, or else I had passed the bloom of my youth, for neither 
 of the ladies insisted on kissing me. 
 
 From some of their legal methods I think we could learn a 
 lesson; also, we could teach them a thing or two. When we 
 first came to this town the Attorney-General filed complaint 
 that American soldiers, deserters from divisions which had 
 passed through Luxemburg, had been guilty of theft. On being 
 given descriptions, my military police went out and gathered 
 in three of them. They were given the "third degree" and con- 
 fessions were obtained from two of the three. These confessions 
 implicated three male, and two female civilians, one of the 
 implicated men being the champion pugilist, sport, and chief 
 local political boss. So back to the Attorney-General I go with 
 
 175 
 
the information, only to meet the announcement that the 
 evidence having been furnished by confessed criminals there is 
 nothing to do, as no one knows whether these civilians are in 
 possession of stolen property or not. Back I go to my deserters, 
 and they tell me where the stolen property was put, what it 
 consisted of, but of course they do not know whether or not it 
 is still there as several days have elapsed. Back I go to the 
 Attorney-General and in as vague terms as possible, describe 
 the stolen property, and sign a paper — really an affidavit — that 
 it is at such and such a place. Finally the judge gives authority 
 for a raid on these civilians. It has taken so much time, and had 
 had so much airing that it seemed to me someone was anxious 
 to have the property safely removed, but as luck would have it, 
 we do find some of the stolen goods. Even then, the local author- 
 ities do not arrest the big fellow, but do arrest the others. One 
 of the arrested civilians gets cold feet and squeals, and then they 
 pick up the big fellow, or rather I get permission to arrest him 
 if I can; it seems he is a bad man, one who always goes heeled, 
 and who shoots first and asks questions after. The day we raided 
 his place and picked him up he was vehemently innocent; first 
 he was going to shoot any man who tried to arrest him; the 
 sergeant went ahead; then he was going to shoot himself if dis- 
 graced by being arrested, and by his own effort, and with con- 
 siderable help from the sergeant, seven Luger pistols were dug 
 from his pockets. They were the palm size, the ones so many 
 German officers carried and concealed after surrendering, until 
 such time when they might be taken before an allied officer, 
 when it was the custom of the Hun to shoot first the allied 
 officer and then himself. And now comes the novelty. The 
 deserter — who is the accuser — and the big fellow are brought 
 in for preliminary hearing. The deserter makes an accusation; 
 the defendant either denies or admits it. If he denies, each is 
 questioned until a decision can be reached on that point; then 
 that point goes into the indictment, and they take up another 
 point. The result is that when the indictment is finally drawn, 
 it is really a joint admission of fact, and that about all the jury 
 and judge have to decide upon is the amount, or degree of the 
 
 176 
 
verdict. I might mention the fact that lawyers in Luxemburg 
 are rather scarce. 
 
 But they are a thrifty people, ah yes, very thrifty. Also like 
 the heathen Chinee they are child-like and bland. 
 
 The French franc is worth 100 centimes; the German mark is 
 worth 70 centimes. The Luxemburgers use both kinds of money, 
 but the German mark chiefty. When the Kaiser and Ludendorf 
 decided to go out of business, Luxemburg saw the German mark 
 was liable to be unpopular money, carrying also considerable 
 depreciation. So they became child-like and bland, and among 
 themselves decided to reverse what all the Government banks 
 in the world had decided, and make the mark worth 100 centimes 
 — in Luxemburg, for purely American consumption — and the 
 franc worth 70 centimes. Of course the Americans came into 
 Luxemburg loaded with French francs. The result was some- 
 thing like this; "How much a glass of beer?" "50 centimes." 
 A franc is offered in payment, and the profferer got back a little 
 disc of iron with a hole in it. "What in Sam Hill is this, I gave 
 you a franc?" "Yes, but a franc is worth only 70 centimes, and 
 that is Luxemburg money for 20 centimes." The result was that 
 many changed their francs into marks at the rate of 100 for 70. 
 When on the 28th of December, I suppose when the word was 
 passed around that they had unloaded all the German money, 
 the House of Representatives, or the Supreme Court, or some 
 one, passed a motion unanimously that German money is not 
 legal tender in Luxemburg, but that natives only can exchange 
 their German money for francs, at the post office in either 
 Diekirch or Luxemburg City. Can you beat it? 
 
 Well here is one just as bad. Shortly after the American 
 troops went to France it became necessary to issue a notification 
 to the French nation about American money, for some thrifty 
 and enterprising fellows were living on the fat of the land and 
 paying for it in Confederate money, Mex. money, and even 
 United States Cigar coupons. Can you beat it? 
 
 If this letter were like wine it certainly would be a good one, 
 for it is properly aged due to interruptions. It has taken me three 
 
 177 
 
days to write it. If nothing happens, tomorrow will find me in 
 Germany trying to make the acquaintance of some soldiers 
 who robbed a castle on the frontier last night. 
 
 Came April, and an order for the commander of Trains to 
 inspect all animals, condemn and brand "I. C." those unfit 
 for army use, and sell all I. C. animals at public auction. Just 
 as in the time of Colonel Lawton in the early days of the First 
 Division, so now the Commander of Trains was given many odd 
 jobs. In fact, at one time while in Diekirch, I had five orders 
 reading — "in addition to his other duties, he will, etc." It became 
 a regular morning greeting with Captain Ehart, "in addition to 
 your regular duties, you will," and about that time I would be 
 on top of him with a spare boot or a chair. 
 
 The inspection of the animals gave us 252 horses and mules 
 to be sold. A Luxemburg auctioneer was engaged; a Luxemburg 
 banker was procured to act as clerk, and to attend to the col- 
 lections, and in Ettelbruck one day, and in Diekirch the next 
 these horses and mules were sold. The highest price obtained 
 for any animal was 4000 francs for a superb chestnut artillery 
 horse, but superb as he was in appearance he had a bad case of 
 quittor. Some of the small and sorry looking mules sold as low 
 as 250 francs, but the mule was more or less of a novelty, and 
 an unknown quantity in Luxemburg. The 252 animals brought 
 a little over 215000 francs. All animals were sold "as is." and 
 it was announced that all purchases were at the buyers risk. 
 This was necessary since several of the animals were vicious; 
 some of the horses were recognized man-killers, and had records 
 in this line. Eleven horses were sold that had never done a day's 
 work of any sort since coming into the Division; they could not 
 be harnessed, nor groomed, and when led had to be led at the 
 end of a pole, or between two men so that the animal could not 
 charge and bite or strike the men. Some horses and mules were 
 balky; some were sick, diseased or disabled. 
 
 One large, fine-looking mule sold to a farmer of Diekirch for 
 800 francs. He started away with his purchase at the end of- a 
 
 178 
 
rope, but after a couple of blocks the mule decided to go to the 
 corral, or back to the sale pen, or somewhere, and in order to do 
 so, made up his mind to get rid of the Luxemburger first, so he 
 bared his teeth and ran at his new owner; the farmer left that 
 vicinity with considerable apparent urgency, and the mule ran 
 down the street. A couple of doughboys caught him, and return- 
 ed, or tried to return him to the new owner; the mule apparently 
 had no dislike for the soldiers, but when the Luxemburger came 
 near those long, white teeth came uncovered at once. So the 
 owner offered the men ten francs to take the mule back to the 
 sales ring for him, and on his arrival, begged piteously to be 
 allowed to put the beast up for sale again. I called his attention 
 to the matter of purchase "as is," but finally relented and told 
 him that if he would make his arrangements with the auctioneer, 
 he might offer his mule in the ring after all of our animals had 
 been sold, and he was glad to accept some 500 francs when it 
 was bid. 
 
 179 
 
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN 
 
 One item of the post — armistice period which should be 
 mentioned, is the matter of schools. During the life of the A. 
 E. F. schools — of all sorts — abounded. Mention has been made 
 of the Staff College. Then there was a school for infantry, a 
 school for artillery, one for machine guns; there were gas schools, 
 and transport schools. In fact, about the only schools we didn't 
 have were Sunday schools, but if my memory serves me correctly 
 there was a school for chaplains. 
 
 Following the armistice, schools began to flourish as never 
 before. The A. E. F. with the assistance of the Y. M. C. A. — 
 established one at Beaune which had some 10,000 students. 
 Then arrangements were made for French and English uni- 
 versities to take a certain number of selected officers and men as 
 students. Donald was fortunate in being selected as one of the 
 one thousand to be sent to British universities, and later was 
 sent to the University of Aberdeen, Scotland. Some went to 
 Oxford, some to Cambridge, and some to one or another technical 
 school both in the British Isles and in France. All this did not 
 diminish the fervor for schools within the A. E. F., of A. E. F., 
 and for the A. E. F. 
 
 While with the Canadians I had received most thorough and 
 satisfactory instruction in the care of animals and animal-drawn 
 transport. When the Thirty-third was in 4th British Army our 
 instruction was continued and advanced along these lines. 
 General Bell was an enthusiast on the matter of efficient trans- 
 port, and on transport that was strictly military in its appearance 
 and upkeep. He insisted from the first, that the transport of the 
 Thirty-third must be second to no other in the A. E. F. This 
 fell in with my plans and wishes, for there was always his support 
 and cooperation in everything relating to improvement of the 
 transport. 
 
 During our months of activity as a combat division, there had 
 been given a great deal of instruction to the transport officers 
 
 180 
 
and men of the battalion transport units. Every unit was in- 
 spected at least once a month, and each inspection was checked 
 against the previous one, for purpose of comparison. One rather 
 laughable incident occurred because of these regular inspections, 
 and because of a bit of instruction once given. I was going over 
 the transport of the 123d Machine Gun Battalion, and there 
 was evidence of considerable laxity on the part of some of the 
 company transport officers. I was trying to make my remarks so 
 emphatic, in order to make the instruction stick in the minds 
 of officers and men that horses, harness and vehicles must be 
 kept clean, that I was feeling around in my mind for some 
 startling statement to give them. Finally it came to me, and I 
 said, "you must keep this transport so clean that if I come along 
 on inspection, and look at the teeth of the mules, I will find that 
 you have brushed them." Of course this was exaggeration, and 
 was said merely to make an impression. It did. There was one 
 young officer who had been commissioned from a training camp, 
 who was a bank teller in civil life, who was so conscientious and 
 willing that he took that remark in perfect seriousness, and 
 afterward issued an order to the men of his transport that the 
 teeth of the animals must be polished at the regular grooming 
 period, and who tried to make his men carry out the order. 
 
 When we went to the Troyon sector, and in the week given to 
 "resting," I devised a system of instruction to be used, and while 
 in this sector put the system into effect. It was by leaflets, one 
 issued every third day to each transport unit. This leaflet 
 carried in plain language, some subject, such as "the care of the 
 feet of animals," or the care of harness, or the proper methods 
 of grooming, or of feeding, always giving the reasons why. Each 
 leaflet was made as simple as possible, and often the wording 
 was purposely slangy; simple language was used so that every 
 man might understand, and the slang was incorporated to catch 
 the attention, and to relieve the lesson of the curse of "high- 
 browism." Officers and men were told that they would be held 
 responsible for a working knowledge of the contents of these 
 leaflets. I required the transport officer of each unit to read 
 this leaflet to his men at the first assembly after its receipt, 
 
 181 
 
and then to post it in a conspicuous place where the men could 
 read it for themselves, discuss it, verbally pick it to pieces if 
 they wanted to, curse me, or do whatever they liked, but they 
 must comply with the methods set forth in the leaflet. 
 
 About this time too, there came an inspecting officer from 
 G. H. Q. to look over our transport. He decided that if he saw 
 the complete transport of one entire regiment, it would be 
 sufficient for him to base his report upon, as to our divisional 
 condition, so on a two hour notice the transport of the 130th 
 Infantry was drawn up by battalions for him to see. It is true, 
 some that he saw was borrowed from other regiments and units, 
 because a part of the transport of the 130th was at such a 
 distance that it would have been impossible to have brought it 
 in, and had time to groom the horses, clean the vehicles, and 
 clean the harness. 
 
 The inspector was frank in his amazement at seeing such 
 transport; it did look well. Following the inspection he inquired 
 the methods followed for achieving such results. As luck would 
 have it, my leaflet system was in full swing at the time, so this 
 was shown and explained to him. Again he marvelled. A few 
 days later came an order for me to report to a designated officer 
 at Toul, bringing my scheme of instruction with me in full. 
 Following compliance with this order, and some two weeks after 
 the armistice, came another order to proceed to Toul for a 
 conference, and the matter under consideration proved to be the 
 question of the desirability of starting a school for transport 
 officers within 2nd Army. The result of the conference was the 
 school at Commercy, which later became notorious for all that 
 a school should not be. At this second conference considerable 
 attention was given to my opinions after Colonel Richmond — 
 who had inspected the transport of our 130th — announced that 
 the transport of the Thirty-third Division was the best of any 
 Division he had seen in the A. E. F. 
 
 After the hike into Luxemburg came an order to the Division 
 for all regimental commanders, infantry and artillery, and the 
 commander of Trains, to proceed to Commercy for a course of 
 training at the School for Transport officers. Knowing that this 
 
 182 
 
school was organized largely because of the results obtained 
 in our division, and because of the methods used in our division, 
 and knowing that there was nothing more up-to-date to be 
 taught in that school than I had been using in the Thirty-third, 
 I decided to disregard the order. At this time I was provost- 
 marshal as well as commander of Trains, and inspector of 
 animal drawn transport, and acting Motor Transport Officer, 
 and all these duties kept me busy. General Bell noticed that I 
 had not complied with the order and asked the reason. He was 
 told that the school had nothing to teach me. He smiled and 
 said, "even so, you will get yourself into trouble," but no trouble 
 came. Some of the Colonels were so disgusted with the methods 
 of the "school" that they left after the first day; some stayed 
 several days, and a few finished the "course." 
 
 There is no doubt in my mind that a grave mistake was made 
 in the methods of this school. It is neither military, nor sensible 
 to set officers grooming horses, cleaning out stables, wheeling 
 manure in a wheelbarrow, etc., and under the direction and 
 subject to the orders of non-commissioned officers and "shave 
 tails" who are detailed as instructors for such work. One of the 
 junior officers of the Thirty-third who was sent to this school 
 at a later date, and who was considerable of a wag, was being 
 instructed in shoeing a horse. He had been given the theoretical 
 instruction, and was next given the shoes and other necessary 
 materials, and a horse to shoe. Getting a few minutes to him- 
 self, not under the eye of the "instructor" he placed the shoe 
 under each foot of the horse, and with the animal standing on 
 the shoes drove the nails from above downward, thus nailing 
 the horse to the shoes, and also to the floor. When he was 
 asked if he had finished shoeing his horse he answered in the 
 affirmative. He was then ordered to bring his horse out for in- 
 spection of the work, and he replied, "the horse refuses to walk." 
 This was literally true, for while the spirit of the horse may have 
 been willing, the flesh was either too weak, or the nailing down 
 too strong. I may say that this officer did "kitchen police" of a 
 new variety for three days to pay for his prank — he wheeled 
 manure in a wheelbarrow. 
 
 183 
 
At the end of the first session of this school I received an order 
 to attend the second session. This order was also disregarded. 
 
 This account is not given for the purpose of boasting. It is 
 neither advisable nor healthy to disregard an order when in the 
 army, but by the termination of that first session of this school 
 I was so well fortified with facts concerning the inadequacy, and 
 the ridiculousness of the school, that I coveted an opportunity 
 of bringing these facts to the attention of General Bullard, 
 commanding 2nd Army, and whose order had instituted this 
 school. General Bullard was a man too practical, and too 
 sensible to allow such a farce to continue if the matter had come 
 to his knowledge. 
 
 Let me state also that before the armistice period was over, 
 an official communication came from General Bullard stating 
 that the Thirty-third had the best transport of any in 2nd 
 Army. Before we left Luxemburg, and after the many and 
 various horse shows in the entire A. E. F., where by a system 
 of elimination one Division after another fell by the wayside, 
 a G. H. Q. communication came stating the same thing for the 
 A. E. F. It is an especial gratification to add that the 33rd 
 Military Police Company was awarded the prize for the best 
 Transport in the Thirty-third Division. 
 
 184 
 
CHAPTER NINETEEN 
 
 Finally came orders that would send the Division to Brest 
 to embark for home. A schedule was made, giving train times, 
 and making the assignment of troops to each train. These 
 trains were to leave from two railheads — Ettelbruck and Mersch, 
 and two trains would pull out each day from each railhead. 
 When one remembers that a battalion, roughly speaking, is the 
 passenger complement for an entire train, and that there are 
 three battalions to a regiment, and then that there are odds and 
 ends, and smaller units, and supplementary troops of various 
 kinds in a combat division, one can see that the job of transport- 
 ing an entire division looms large. 
 
 The commander of Trains was designated as chief entraining 
 officer, while Lieutenant-Colonel Swaim, Division Machine 
 Gun Officer, was stationed at Mersch for this duty. Orders 
 were very strict as to the behavior of the troops at the time of 
 entraining, and of the condition of the quarters which they 
 were leaving, and the condition of the train-yards, and station 
 platforms and vicinity, on their departure. Now, more than 
 ever before was shown the natural tendency toward a let-down 
 in discipline, and as a corrolary to this, a natural result the 
 getting out of hand, or from control, by the men. One battalion 
 entraining at Ettelbruck was under command of an officer who 
 had made a splendid record, who had been wounded on the 
 field, who had been decorated, but who at this time had allowed 
 himself to slip, and whose men were thoroughly out of hand. He 
 had been named in entraining orders as the responsible officer 
 for this train, and this in spite of the fact that his Colonel and 
 Lieutenant Colonel were to travel on this same train. Trains 
 consisted of American box-cars for enlisted men, and French 
 compartment cars for the officers. Bales of straw were supplied 
 to the box-cars, a toilet was provided in each car, and the 
 enlisted men could travel more comfortably than the officers 
 who, of necessity were crowded in the compartment cars, with 
 
 185 
 
no chance of lying down during the journey — and the average 
 time each train was on the road for this trip was eighty hours. 
 
 This battalion, just mentioned, marched down to its train at 
 the designated time, and went aboard in rather a hilarious manner 
 and condition. Orders were that once aboard the train no officer 
 or man should leave the train, except those details used for polic- 
 ing the yards, and station grounds and platforms. This measure 
 was always necessary since the troops went aboard with things 
 to eat and drink, and once aboard always began at once to eat 
 and drink them, and to throw what they did not want, or could 
 not use, out of the cars. 
 
 Police details were called for; the Major issued his order; not 
 a man responded. The Major was informed that the time for 
 the departure of this train was near at hand, but that the train 
 would stand where it was until the wheels froze to the rails, if 
 the necessary cleaning-up was not done. He went along the 
 train calling for four men from each car, and was laughed at, 
 jeered, and advised to go to a warmer clime. One company 
 commander was found who could still control his men, so this 
 entire company was called out to do this work. They had 
 scarcely started when, to my amazement the train began to 
 put out. Of course these men dropped everything and ran to 
 board the train. 
 
 Now there was just one man in Ettelbruck who had authority 
 to release that train, and I was that man; naturally I was not 
 only amazed but angry as well. When the train began to move 
 I was about 200 yards from the station; but those yards were 
 covered faster than any of my previous records. The Station- 
 master, a Luxemburger of course, said that an officer from the 
 officers coach on the train, had come to him and said that I had 
 sent him to release the train. I do not know who that 
 officer was, and my only basis for suspicion is that one of my 
 military police saw one of the regimental officers in the station 
 just a few moments before the train began to move. But that 
 train load — jeering at me as the train pulled out, had left one 
 factor out of their reckoning — that road was run on the block 
 
 186 
 
system. Before I had reached the station, and had succeeded 
 in convincing that station-master that there was trouble in 
 store for him if he didn't do as I said, and do it pronto, the train 
 had passed the first semaphore, but before it had reached the 
 second the station-master had pulled the board on them. 
 
 Then I called the smallest and "sassiest" military policeman 
 I had, and directed him to walk — not run, not hurry — walk 
 down to that train, then about a mile from the station, find that 
 Major and say to him that I ordered the train to back up to 
 where it started from; that the Major was to give this order to 
 the engineer, and if the Major refused to give the order, and 
 refused to insist on its being carried out, to arrest the Major 
 and walk him back to me. The train backed up; the Major and 
 I had a little heart to heart talk; he disclaimed all responsibility 
 for the departure of the train; none of the regimental officers 
 aboard of the train appeared to take his part, to intercede for 
 him, or to assume any of the responsibility. The necessary 
 policing was then done, and done down to the last cigarette butt 
 and the last orange seed, and the train pulled out two and a 
 half hours behind schedule time. 
 
 The result of all this was that under telegraphic orders from 
 General Bell — which orders were received en route — this Major 
 landed in Brest in arrest. This fact is the more note-worthy as 
 he had been in very high favor with the General until this 
 occurrence. These recitals are of more or less trivial matters, 
 but they show two things. First, that there was a relaxation of 
 morale, even among the officers. Second, that up until the very 
 last moment, military discipline, military manners, and military 
 results were insisted upon by G. H. Q. The recital of these 
 many things small in detail, goes to show too, that life in the 
 army, discipline in the army, results in the army are exactly 
 like life under civil circumstances and results in civil environ- 
 ment; that the high lights, and the thrills and the stuff that 
 makes good reading matter, are after all largely submerged in 
 the strictly necessary and common things — the things we have 
 been accustomed to taking as a matter of course in our business 
 or professional life, the things we rarely speak about, but still 
 
 187 
 
the things that make up the greater percentage of our daily 
 existence. 
 
 It may be said, too, in corroboration of the determination to 
 "carry on" in a military manner, as evidenced by the orders 
 emanating primarily from G. H. Q., that of these trains leaving 
 from these two railheads, the responsible officer aboard three of 
 them arrived at Brest in arrest, either because he neglected his 
 orders, or because he was unable to control his men sufficiently 
 to carry out his orders. There was no excuse for a designated 
 officer aboard one of these trains failing to secure observance of 
 his orders, and particularly so in a case where the regimental 
 commander was aboard the train, for I do not believe the men 
 in any unit were sufficiently out of hand to cause them to refuse 
 to obey an order had it been backed up by the colonel of that 
 unit. 
 
 On the train on which I traveled to Brest — the last train 
 carrying a contingent of the Thirty-third Division — a somewhat 
 similar incident occurred. This train, so far as the officer pas- 
 sengers were concerned, consisted of all the odds and ends, the 
 left overs, of those who for one or another reason were not 
 traveling with the units to which they belonged, and with which 
 they had been closely identified. They were not so much un- 
 attached officers as they were detached officers. One of these 
 men was a very pompous, conceited prig, who had been at the 
 head of a division department at one time, and who had come 
 back to the Thirty-third just in time to go home with the 
 division. He outranked Major Hendrie who was the responsible 
 officer for the train, and undertook to criticize, condemn, and 
 in general make it unpleasant for the Major. On every count in 
 his indictment of the Major, the Major was in the right, but 
 because the Major was out-ranked he was put in an unpleasant 
 position. He realized too, that he was at a disadvantage — not 
 only because of the difference in rank — but because the other 
 officer had been an officer at Division headquarters, and because 
 he still had the ear of the Division commander. I wish to say 
 this for the Major, also; in spite of his realization of these con- 
 ditions he did not ask my assistance when he had every reason 
 
 188 
 
to believe it would have been given if asked. But matters so 
 shaped themselves that opportunity was afforded me "butting 
 in" ; my rank was greater than that of the commissioned nuisance, 
 and while as a passenger, I was subordinate to the orders of 
 Major Hendrie in the management of that train, I was not 
 subordinate to the other fellow in any way, and I have never 
 regretted taking the Major's annoyance and perplexity on my 
 own shoulders. 
 
 The trip from Brest to New York was one of sheer delight. 
 The contrast between the east-bound and the west-bound 
 voyages was as great as it is possible to imagine. Then the 
 frigid cold; the bursted water-pipes; the flooded apartments; 
 the long, tiresome voyage; the days following each other bringing 
 us nearer and nearer to risk, to danger, and possibly death. 
 Now the sunshine of late May, the society of American naval 
 officers; the knowledge that the war was over, and that each 
 day brought us that much nearer home and those we longed 
 so much to see. 
 
 My assignment for the voyage will always seem to me to have 
 been an especially fortunate one, for I was named as the senior 
 military officer for a contingent of 1300 officers and men to be 
 returned by the United States cruiser Charleston. Of course 
 this vessel had never been designed as a troop transport; of 
 course she did not have the palatial appointments of a Leviathan, 
 but she did afford us comfort and camaraderie, and every thing 
 that seemed at all essential. To officers and men who had lived 
 in billets, in dug-outs and in fox-holes for a year or more, she 
 seemed to contain every requisite one could demand. 
 
 The Charleston was the flagship of the cruiser fleet, and as 
 such contained the fleet Admiral's cabin. On going aboard 
 and meeting Captain Ridgeley who commanded her, he sug- 
 gested that as the Admiral was not on board, and could not come 
 on board, that he saw no reason why I should not occupy the 
 Admiral's quarters. So here I was with my own private bath, 
 my own private bedroom with a brass bed, and my own private 
 sitting room with its capacious easy chairs and lounges, and 
 
 189 
 
even a large mahogany desk, which Captain Ridgeley said the 
 Admiral never used. But there was one very embarrassing 
 incident. Long before this I had been reduced in my personal 
 baggage to my bed-roll and a valise. My clothing was of the 
 most meagre quantity, and chiefly of quartermaster quality. 
 Such things as pajamas, for instance, had long since become a 
 weariness to the flesh, and socks were something to be worn 
 until either the holes, or a slight remaining sense of personal 
 dignity, required throwing them away and procuring new ones. 
 I mention these things to emphasize my feelings when Captain 
 Ridgeley's Filipino valet came to me and said that if I would 
 point out my luggage to him, he would have it brought up, would 
 open it, put my "lingerie" in the dresser drawers, and would 
 press and hang up my dress uniforms. And my lingerie was on 
 my back and my dress uniforms were over the lingerie. I don't 
 think I blushed; I believe I have outgrown that delightful 
 girlish attribute, but for a moment I wished that that valet was 
 — well, over board or anywhere else. 
 
 On this voyage home Captain Ridgeley, who was a close 
 observer, and who was making his maiden trip with the Charles- 
 ton as a troop-transport, said one day, "'Colonel, I cannot under- 
 stand these officers and men at all; I had supposed that after 
 all you have gone through that the ship would be an inferno of 
 noise and deviltry; that the men would be up to all sorts of 
 pranks. Instead of this these men are quiet, abnormally quiet, 
 making no noise, playing no pranks, apparently interested very 
 little in what is going on; they really appear apathetic to me." 
 He did not remember, or appreciate that these men had very 
 recently run the entire gamut of all human emotions; that they 
 had suffered physically; that they had died many mental deaths; 
 that they had seen their buddies torn to pieces at their side, 
 or had suddenly discovered that they had disappeared entirely 
 from in front of their very eyes ; that now they were removed from 
 the atmosphere of discomfort and danger and pain, to one of quiet 
 safety and comfortable peace; that in reality they were dazed, 
 and had not had time to readjust themselves to peace conditions 
 and peace environment. This same thing was noted in some 
 individual cases long after they had returned home. 
 
 190 
 
Everyone takes it for granted that men going to war must 
 take some time to adjust themselves, or to be adjusted to war 
 requirements. I believe it is more difficult, and a thousand times 
 more complex bringing about the readjustment of the individual 
 following his personal participation in war — the securing of a 
 peace-time balance, if you please — than it was to adjust, or 
 change that same individual from the normal equilibrium of 
 peace to the proper equilibrium for a satisfactory man-at-arms. 
 
 The following is taken from "The Charleston Daily Roll," 
 the paper published daily while at sea, by the officers and men 
 of the U. S. Cruiser Charleston. The date is May 22, 1919. 
 To the Officers and Crew of the U. S. S. Charleston: 
 
 The officers and men of the U. S. Army wish to express to you 
 their thanks for all that you have done to make this "Homeward 
 Bound" voyage so pleasurable. 
 
 We appreciate the honor of having been your guests, and we 
 thank you for the courtesy and the kindness that you have 
 extended on every hand. 
 
 We leave you carrying with us the memories of a most en- 
 joyable acquaintance, and with every best wish to each one of 
 you, Au Revoir! 
 
 Charles D. Center, Colonel, U. S. A. 
 
 The commanding officer of the Charleston wishes the Roll to 
 convey to Colonel Center, his officers and men, his appreciation 
 of the privilege of returning to their native country this dis- 
 tinguished unit of the 33rd Division, and to assure them that 
 their presence on board made pleasant his first trip in the trans- 
 port service. His every good wish accompanies this gallant 
 aggregation of men, and he hopes that their expectations of the 
 joys of the home-coming may be surpassed in its realization, 
 and that the future of each individual may contain health, 
 happiness and success. 
 
 Commander F. E. Ridgeley, U. S. N. Commanding. 
 
 191 
 
CHAPTER TWENTY 
 
 Came then New York and Camp Mills, and the four days 
 here were interminable. Practically nothing to do except to 
 see one friend disappear in one direction, and another going 
 somewhere else. "When shall we meet again" was in every 
 mind, for it was likely that many of us would never meet again. 
 The Division that went across as officers and men of Illinois 
 returned with officers and men from many states. Necessary 
 replacements, and necessary changes, "over there" took no 
 heed of the home region of the one newly arrived to fill the 
 vacancy. The ties that had been formed by those coming in 
 close contact with one another, those depending on each other, 
 those learning to know each, other in times of adversity and 
 stress are ties not easily broken, and here at Camp Mills those 
 from the north, or from the south, those from the east or the 
 far west left the men of Illinois, and the Illinois division they 
 had served so well. Only by those who have experienced it, can 
 the feeling of sadness and loneliness which comes with such a 
 parting, be fully realized. Here we were, all going home, all 
 rejoicing in that thought, and yet there was this strong current 
 of sorrow running through our hearts. 
 
 On to Chicago and that parade before the multitudes; that 
 meeting with relatives and friends not seen for months; that 
 continuation of the journey to Camp Grant, and the formalities 
 of demobilization and discharge. Fini le guerre. 
 
 I have been asked many times "were you ever afraid?" 
 There is but one answer to this question when speaking per- 
 sonally, and speaking — »I believe — for every man who was in the 
 front lines, and that answer is an unqualified YES. The man 
 who stares pain, possible mutilation, possible death in the eye, 
 is afraid. That same man may not be frightened, or scared, or 
 timorous, but in the sense of being apprehensive he is afraid, 
 and I believe he is more afraid of the possibilities than he would 
 be, or is, of the certainties. It is no trouble to get men to lead 
 
 192 
 
a "forlorn hope," or go against a machine-gun nest single- 
 handed; to pass through a barrage in order to pick up 
 a wounded comrade, and then bring him back through the 
 barrage again. Frequently men had to be restrained from doing 
 these very things. In other words, the greater the chances, the 
 more certain the possibilities of destruction, the less the fear. 
 Very few men were frightened, or scared in the ignominious 
 sense; every man will tell you that he felt worse standing on the 
 fire-step of the trench, waiting to go over — standing there in 
 comparative safety — than he did after he jumped over the 
 parapet and started forward with the shells bursting around 
 him, and the machine-gun bullets zing-zinging past him. 
 
 In one of the Australian outfits was an officer who was accorded 
 the meed by all his brother officers of being the bravest man in 
 the Australian forces. He was an extremely handsome man, of 
 large, impressive, cordial and yet dignified personality. When- 
 ever his battalion was under fire, whether the men were going 
 forward or not, he would leave the trench or bomb-proof, and 
 walk up and down on the parapet, or if the men were out in the 
 open, he would go out far ahead of his men. One day there 
 came an opportunity when I could compliment him on his 
 absolute fearlessness, and to my surprise, he said, "I am going 
 to tell you something I have never dared to tell to my best 
 friends; I do that because I am afraid and because of my fear 
 that if I do not do it my men and officers will discover that I am 
 afraid," and I am still willing to agree with his brother officers 
 of the Australian Corps that this officer was the bravest man in 
 the Australian army. 
 
 The control of fear in oneself is also a relative matter, de- 
 pending on many things. Men will crack under strain. This 
 fact was perhaps more noticeable among officers than among 
 men, for the officer carried a greater load of responsibility than 
 the man; then too, by virtue of being inferior in numbers, and 
 in a sense being more in the limelight than the enlisted man, and 
 being more under observation by some superior officer, a case of 
 cracking under strain could not easily escape observation when 
 that case developed in an officer. While in the Argonne, a 2nd 
 
 193 
 
lieutenant and his platoon were under very heavy fire; three 
 times shells burst so close to this officer that each time he was 
 thrown down by the concussion, or by the eruption of earth 
 from underneath his feet; each time he was unhurt; each time 
 he regained his feet smiling and ready to "carry-on;" there came 
 a fourth time when a shell treated him in precisely the same 
 way, no injury, no marks on him other than the mud from the 
 earth's eruption, but this fourth time he came to his feet a 
 totally demented man; he gibbered like a driveling idiot; he 
 had cracked under the strain, and in the concussion of that 
 last shell. 
 
 All bravery is a relative matter; panic is something which 
 cannot be explained. Now there was Stone; this isn't his name 
 but it's just as good to use here as any other. He had been 
 my driver for all those trying days following September 26 
 when the American Army hopped off in the Meuse-Argonne. 
 He was a rattling good driver too; I mean, he knew a car, and 
 he didn't get rattled. A twenty or twenty-five mile gait at night 
 without lights, and possibly in a fog as well, didn't bother him 
 a bit. It's true, we went into the ditch occasionally, or into a 
 shell hole, but once on the road again and his nerve was un- 
 impaired. 
 
 On this particular night we were in Cumieres; less than three 
 thousand yards away was the Hun line. Because of necessity 
 "G-I" had designated this place as the advanced dumping 
 station for rations and ammunition for the Division. Of course 
 it was shelled; the Hun knew as much about this wretched village 
 as we did; he had held it repeatedly during the past three'years, 
 and the only roofed, comfortable structure then existing was a 
 Hun pill-box, mostly underground, and with a roof good enough 
 for anything except a direct hit, and this pill-box was the office 
 and quarters for the division ammunition officer and his detail. 
 
 Of course it was raining, and the hour was about two A. M. 
 Stone and I were there because it was our only chance to get a 
 cup of coffee and something to eat during the night. The am- 
 munition officer was there, and two other officers who were on 
 their way to the extreme front had also dropped in, ensnared 
 
 194 
 
by the odor of coffee no doubt. The car I was using was less 
 than fifty feet from the entrance to this pill-box. A blanket 
 door closed the entrance, i. e. there was the door and also a 
 blanket door as a protection against gas. We were sitting 
 round the table, on bunks and chairs and on the floor, and 
 Cumieres as usual was being shelled. Of a sudden we heard 
 a change in the note of the shell explosions and someone said, 
 'They are putting gas over." 
 
 Almost at once the gas alarm was sounded by the machine 
 gun companies on the slope of the hill just outside the village. 
 Every one reached for his mask to see that it was in working 
 order, and some of the enlisted men — probably because they 
 were in the presence of officers — obeyed orders implicitly and 
 put their masks on at once. No one was at all alarmed, and 
 most of them were but faintly interested. Suddenly, with a 
 cry that was half shriek and half sob, Stone clapped both his 
 hands over his mouth; he wept and swayed back and forth, and 
 for a few moments we could get nothing coherent from him; 
 he seemed in absolute despair and the strange part was that 
 none of us realized why he had become panic stricken, but at 
 last we got from him the cause of his fright and grief; he had 
 no gas mask. "Where is your mask?" "In the car," and the 
 car less than fifty feet away. I have always chuckled over the 
 sudden gasp and exclamation which one of the junior officers 
 present made when he heard that answer; "You double dashed 
 fool, put mine on and go get yours, or run out and hold your 
 breath till you get back." The emphatic way in which it was 
 said seemed to bring Stone to himself for he darted out of that 
 pill-box and was back again with the mask in several seconds less 
 than nothing. 
 
 Speaking of gas incidents brings to mind another occurrence. 
 A division was in line for the first time. The rear echelon — 
 within which was the Judge Advocate, the Assistant Division 
 Surgeon, the Division Ordnance Officer and others — remained 
 with the rear echelon until the Division Commander ordered 
 them up. The Judge Advocate and the Division Ordnance 
 officer were proceeding forward in the same car; it was about a 
 
 195 
 
thirty kilometre trip, and was being made at night. While 
 on the way up the driver, a seasoned old bird, gleaned from the 
 conversation on the back seat that each one of these officers 
 had his wind pretty well up; they seemed to vie with each other 
 in telling the horrible tales which had been told to them about 
 the awfulness of the front line. 
 
 Just then, as luck would have it, the German decided to shell 
 some of the back areas; he knew where roads and important 
 points were, and thought it well to give them a little strafe. 
 While none of the shells came in their immediate vicinity the 
 two officers decided it best to cease progress and told the driver 
 to stop on the road. Now as intimated, this driver was a wily 
 old bird; he knew the front, and he knew his passengers. As the 
 car stood there in the darkness some shells came over into a 
 little village about one kilometre ahead of them; the driver 
 recognized these as gas shells; so did the division ordnance 
 officer. This made it easy for the driver; his car was equipped 
 with the old carbide system of lighting. Saying nothing to his 
 passengers he turned on his lights, of course without lighting 
 them, and offered a silent prayer that the gas from the carbide 
 would float rearward to be smelled. Sure enough it did; all 
 there could smell something, and one of the two on the rear 
 seat asked, "what is that unusual odor, gas?" And the driver 
 answered in the affirmative. Then there was a frantic scramble 
 for masks, and to the horror of the officers there was but one 
 mask for the two, but the driver had his respirator. With one 
 accord the two officers said, "we will take your mask; you get 
 out and run to the rear to a zone of safety.'' This suited the 
 driver who beat it to the rear, lay down and had a quiet smoke, 
 leaving the judge advocate, the ordnance officer, the car, the 
 masks and the gas to themselves. Of course this story leaked 
 out; it was too good for the driver to keep, and we finally checked- 
 up the story by telling each one of the officers that the other 
 had 'snitched' on him, and had accused him of taking the 
 driver's mask. 
 
 Nor are all men alike in the manifestations of their fear, nor 
 in the causes of their fear. While with a division — not of the 
 American forces — there appeared a case, an extremely sad 
 
 196 
 
case of uncontrollable fear, of fright, of timidity, of something, 
 which on its face appeared base and ignominious, but which to 
 me will always be considered to have been a personal idiosyncrasy 
 for which the individual was no more responsible than he was for 
 the color of his eyes or the shape of his teeth. He was an enlisted 
 man, twenty years old, and had been in the service for two years. 
 The first time he was under heavy shell fire he was not compelled 
 to leave the trenches, and nothing unusual was discovered in his 
 behavior. Later he went forward in the face of a withering 
 machine-gun fire and conducted himself well. Still later his unit 
 was sent out under heavy shell fire, and he broke for the rear. 
 This action on his part brought punishment, but of a com- 
 paratively light nature. He returned to the ranks and to duty. 
 Following this came an occasion when he distinguished himself 
 by attacking a "strong point" single-handed, or "on his own;" 
 this brought citation in orders, and a recommendation for 
 decoration. Still later he was under shell fire again and this time 
 he ran for safety. Because of the recent citation for bravery, 
 and because there seemed to be some fairly reasonable excuse 
 for his breaking to the rear, this last lapse was over-looked. 
 Again he came under shell fire and again he lost control of 
 himself. This time it happened so openly, and was so apparent 
 to so many that no excuses could avail. He was tried and 
 sentenced to be shot. On the morning of his execution he was 
 the coolest and most contained man present; he talked amicably 
 and rationally, without any bitterness; he was entirely un- 
 perturbed; he admitted the justice of his sentence, and really 
 seemed to welcome it; he remarked that his conduct had been 
 despicable, that the example to his fellows could not be over- 
 looked or forgiven; he said that while he had no feeling of fear 
 for rifle fire, or gas, or machine guns, he knew that if he was 
 allowed to go on living he would repeat his offense if he ever 
 came under shell fire again, and remarked "When the shells 
 begin to burst near me my legs will do nothing else but take 
 me to the rear." And he stood up jauntily, happily and un- 
 afraid before the firing squad, and paid for something for which 
 — in all probability — he should have been pitied instead of 
 blamed. 
 
 197 
 
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE 
 
 But what did we get out of all of it? Was the game worth 
 the candle? Did we meddle in something that was none of our 
 business? One man will say that what we got out of it was the 
 biggest business depression the world has ever seen. Another 
 will refer to the vast amount of unemployment and unrest. 
 Another will mention the 200,000 men more or less physically 
 incapacitated by the war. Perhaps there will be one who will 
 say that "we made the world safe for democracy." Each one 
 has his own opinion, an opinion made up from what he can see 
 or feel from where he happens to stand, and perchance he can 
 see no other view even if it is presented to him. 
 
 Let us go back a little farther in taking the inventory, and 
 ask ourselves "Were we justified in entering the war?" If we 
 cannot satisfactorily convince ourselves on this point, all answers 
 to the query "What did we get out of it" must be in the negative. 
 Were we justified in entering the war? To this I can see but one 
 answer. Even if there had been no possibility, near or remote, 
 of the German Empire ever attacking us we were justified in 
 what we did. We were justified because of the loss of American 
 lives and American property — a loss that had been going on for 
 two years, and because the German Empire made no whole- 
 hearted and lasting effort to stop such losses. We were in 
 exactly the same position as the house-holder who sees the 
 burglar in his house, sees him killing his family and taking his 
 goods. We were justified by that cry of humanity coming from 
 Belgium and France, countries which were being devastated, 
 and whose nationals were being starved, persecuted and slain. 
 W^e were justified because common decency, and an enlightened 
 civilization were at stake, and because it was imperative that the 
 system of government which must necessarily follow if Germany 
 was allowed to win the war, must be prevented at any cost. 
 To my mind we were justified long before we entered the war. 
 In my opinion our delay in "coming in" can never be satis- 
 factorily explained to the English, the French, the Belgians or 
 
 198 
 
the Italians, nor to our own consciences, for this delay meant 
 the loss of more lives of the nationals of these different countries, 
 and more devastation and ruin for at least two of them. 
 
 It was not altogether a pleasant thing to be an American 
 officer in France late in 1917 and early in 1918. (In the months 
 of January, February and March of 1918) and while we were 
 being treated with every courtesy — it was no uncommon thing 
 to be told by officers of high rank in one of the allied armies, 
 "You have come too late; why did you delay? Why have you 
 let our men be killed needlessly, when if you had come in sooner 
 these men might have been saved, and the outcome of the war 
 assured favorably?" Or perhaps the statement would be like 
 this: "A year ago you would have been welcome; now, your 
 coming will merely prolong the struggle a few weeks or months, 
 and we will have to pay a still greater penalty for the pro- 
 longation." There was a well-established opinion that in the 
 spring drive of the Hun in 1918 he would be successful, and 
 history now tells us how nearly right that opinion was. There 
 is no doubt in my mind, that if the Hun had reached Paris in the 
 spring drive of 1918 the war, so far as the French would have 
 been concerned, would have been over; that in such an event 
 England would have had to "carry-on" alone in an effort at 
 self-preservation, and it was a matter of serious discussion as 
 to what would be the outcome for the handful of American 
 forces then in France, if Paris fell and the French sued for peace. 
 
 But with all these things in mind, what did we get out of the 
 war? The first item, and one of tremendous importance for 
 generations to come is that we proved again that the American 
 Nation — slow to take offense, dilatory perhaps in her methods 
 up to the final moment — will, when sufficiently aroused, fight, 
 and fight hard. Every time the world is shown this fact we have 
 taken out an insurance policy against aggressions, against 
 trespass, and against international irritations; we have solidified 
 our world position; we have increased our international credit. 
 
 The second count should be that in "coming in" we aligned 
 ourselves with the forces opposing despotism, and the harsh 
 and selfish designs of a highly polished but truly barbaric 
 
 190 
 
militarism. We placed ourselves on the side of enlightenment, 
 of world progress, of insistance on the desirability, and the 
 need, and the right for developing a world where justice, charity, 
 and the teachings of Christ shall be recognized as the highest 
 law and the greatest force. We placed ourselves firmly on the 
 side of a "bill of rights" for mankind, and these things are 
 worth while. 
 
 Of course the sequelae of the war are unpleasant; the war 
 was unpleasant too. It was, and is to be expected that violent 
 tremors will be felt throughout the whole of the social and 
 commercial fabric. This was a world war, the whole earth was 
 involved, directly or indirectly, and any upheavel in any part 
 of the world's surface affects all parts of that surface in greater 
 or lesser degree. But as the shimmering rings of the surface of 
 the disturbed waters widen and widen, until finally the last one 
 comes to rest after its gentle lapping of the shore and the lake 
 returns to its original smoothness again, so do the disturbances, 
 and the upsettings of war gradually disappear from among the 
 people of the earth. 
 
 If there was one impression above all others left by the world 
 war, it was the feeling of the infinitesimal value of human life 
 as compared to the scheme of life, growth, development and 
 evolution of the world and its affairs. In private and secluded 
 business and professional life one develops the idea of one's 
 extreme value to the world. The war entirely destroyed this 
 idea for every man who had an active place and part in the 
 war. Whether this contempt, or reduced valuation, or this 
 change in opinion relative to the value of the individual under 
 whatever circumstances, and in whatever position he may be 
 found, will affect the nations for their good, or for their detriment 
 must be settled in the future. 
 
 200 
 
APPENDIX U A" 
 
 During the time of life on the staff of the Corpuscle, the 
 writer made the attempt most young men make — an effort at 
 poetry. The subjoined verses disclose the result. 
 
 WHEN THE DOCTOR COMES 
 
 Gran'pap's sick, an' all of us are feelin' purty blue; 
 
 Fer he's a gittin' purty old, an' weak an' feeble too. 
 
 We're all a'mighty fond ov him; th' day w'en we cant see 
 
 Th' old man sittin' by th' fire, Th' Bible on 'is knee 
 
 Is goin' to make us orfle sad. Pap sets an' twirls 'is thum's 
 
 A waitin' fer th' gate to click w'en th' doctor comes. 
 
 Bill seen 'im drivin' up th' road, so Pap he ups an' goes 
 To tie th' horse, an' blanket 'im, fer th' doctor'll be mos' froze. 
 An' th' doctor's voice is jest es strong an' cheerful ez can be, 
 An' he says as how he thinks th' snow'll last all through Feb'ary. 
 But Pap's voice's harsh, an' sorter gruff, an' he acks so kinder 
 
 glum; 
 But he's cheerfuler'n he was before, fer th' doctor's come. 
 
 An' w'en he comes inter th' house Mam taked 'is coat an' hat, 
 An' puts a cheer up by th' fire; th' same place where he sat 
 The last time he was here. An' w'en he's warm he walks 
 Right inter th' spare bedroom; an' he an' Grandpap talks, 
 An' th' rest ov us is listenin' an' keepin' purty mum; 
 But things is goin' to go all right, fer th' doctor's come. 
 
 But he stays in thur so turribul long th' figgits gits hold of Mam; 
 An' mebby me too, fer she boxes me, an' tells me not to slam 
 Th' door. But Gran'mam she jest sits, an' a tear rolls down 
 
 'er face, 
 An' she says, so sorter soft an' low, "0 Lord, show us thy 
 
 grace." 
 An' that makes a nut come in my throat, an' I feel orfle bum, 
 But things is goin' to go all right, fer th' doctor's come. 
 
 201 
 
Nen he comes out, an' looks around, an' Mam she kinder braces 
 An' asks how Gran'pap '11 git along; an' nen th' doctor' face is 
 Jest th' han'somest ye ever seen, an' he says "There, there, 
 
 don't fret, 
 I shouldn't wonder but Gran'pap '11 bury us all yet." 
 An nen another tear rolls down, an' falls on Gran'mam's thumb, 
 But she looks orfle happy now th' doctor's come. 
 
 202 
 
RETROSPECTION 
 
 If you want to know the joys of this old earth, 
 
 If you wish to sip the nectar of the gods, 
 
 If you care to cultivate a gentle mirth 
 
 And offer thanks for being more than clods, 
 
 You must come as Phoebus finishes his task 
 
 When the din of day is changed to drowsy humming, 
 
 And the cows, in single file are slowly coming, 
 
 Where Willie stands, with cup in hand, to ask; 
 
 As Mother fills the pail, foam light as silk, 
 
 And Willie takes a good, long drink of the warm, sweet milk. 
 
 In days of life some sunsets are not bright; 
 
 The drowsy twilights short and shorter grow. 
 
 The play of youth becomes a steady fight, 
 
 And sorrow's stream grows wider in its flow. 
 
 Yet Nature is unchanged from days of yore ; 
 
 On country-side the cows are homeward swinging; 
 
 The birds at sunset to their nests are winging; 
 
 The strong man's heart turns to his boyhood's door; 
 
 To Mother with the pail, foam light as silk, 
 
 When Willie took a good, long drink of the warm, sweet milk. 
 
 When on the downward trend to dust again, 
 
 The grasshopper a burden to the strength, 
 
 Sitting almost in darkness among men, 
 
 Hearing the sweep of Charon's oar at length; 
 
 May dim and misty sight peer through the gloom 
 
 To see once more the vision, Mother bringing 
 
 The pail of milk; to hear her singing; 
 
 That sight, that sound once more before the tomb; 
 
 W T hen Mother filled the pail, foam light as silk, 
 
 And Willie took a good, long drink of the warm, sweet milk. 
 
 203 
 
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