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+Project Gutenberg's The White Road of Mystery, by Philip Dana Orcutt
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most
+other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
+whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of
+the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at
+www.gutenberg.org.  If you are not located in the United States, you'll have
+to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook.
+
+Title: The White Road of Mystery
+       The Note-Book of an American Ambulancier
+
+Author: Philip Dana Orcutt
+
+Release Date: March 19, 2019 [EBook #59102]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WHITE ROAD OF MYSTERY ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
+http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images
+generously made available by The Internet Archive)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+                       THE WHITE ROAD OF MYSTERY
+
+                          THE NOTE-BOOK OF AN
+                          AMERICAN AMBULANCIER
+
+
+[Illustration: AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE, SECTION XXXI
+_at 21 rue Raynouard, Paris_
+_The author is standing the seventh from the right_]
+
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+
+
+
+                             THE WHITE ROAD
+                               OF MYSTERY
+
+                          THE NOTE-BOOK OF AN
+                          AMERICAN AMBULANCIER
+
+                                   BY
+                           PHILIP DANA ORCUTT
+                    AMERICAN AMBULANCE FIELD SERVICE
+                             _Section_ XXXI
+
+
+                     _Illustrated with Photographs_
+
+
+                      NEW YORK: JOHN LANE COMPANY
+                   LONDON: JOHN LANE, THE BODLEY HEAD
+                                  1918
+
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+
+
+
+                            COPYRIGHT, 1918
+                          BY JOHN LANE COMPANY
+
+
+
+                           THE·PLIMPTON·PRESS
+                           NORWOOD·MASS·U·S·A
+
+
+
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+
+
+
+                                   TO
+
+                           SECTION THIRTY-ONE
+
+                      TO ALL OTHER SECTIONS OF THE
+
+                         AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE
+
+                         AND TO THOSE WHO HAVE
+                           MADE THEM POSSIBLE
+
+
+
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+
+
+
+                                Preface
+
+
+THE position of the ambulance driver at the front is much the same as
+that of the grouse in open season: every one has a chance to take a shot
+at him and he has no opportunity for retaliation. That is why so many
+drivers entered aviation or artillery at the expiration of their term of
+enlistment of six months.
+
+This transferring came to an end when the American Government took over
+the Ambulance Service. From then on, all drivers have been of necessity
+enlisted men. The old American Ambulance, later called the American
+Field Service, was a purely volunteer organization, and had no
+connection with any government. It was made up of American citizens who
+left civil life, paying their own expenses and furnishing their own
+equipment, and in many cases their ambulances. These men, feeling that
+America owed a debt to France, banded together to form the original
+American Ambulance Service, which they laid on the altar of their
+devotion to a true and great cause.
+
+By virtue of the nature of his work the ambulance driver must always be
+in the warmest places, and has a really unusual opportunity to observe
+by moving from sector to sector and battle to battle what few other
+branches of the service can see.
+
+I had the honor to be associated with Section XXXI of the American Field
+Service, and have endeavored to weave my simple tapestry from the
+swiftly-moving pictures of life “in the zone” and out of it, as they
+passed before me.
+
+                                                                P. D. O.
+
+BOSTON, _June, 1918_
+
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+
+
+                                Contents
+
+
+          CHAPTER                                           PAGE
+             I. THE WHITE ROAD OF MYSTERY                   19
+
+            II. IN ACTION                                   41
+
+           III. EN REPOS                                    87
+
+            IV. AT THE FRONT                               117
+
+             V. L’ENVOI                                    151
+
+                GLOSSARY                                   171
+
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+                             Illustrations
+
+
+                                                       PAGE
+             AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE, SECTION XXXI         4
+
+             A SAUCISSE                                  33
+
+             BRANCARDIERS LOADING AN AMBULANCE           57
+
+             AN ABRI                                     77
+
+             A DIVISION EN REPOS                         95
+
+             NORMAL TRAFFIC AT THE FRONT                131
+
+             TAKING A LOAD FROM THE ABRI                147
+
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+                                Prelude
+
+
+THE _sweet, clear notes of a bugle come faintly up to me through the
+cool air of morning, and as the sound dies away I hear the great guns
+begin their bombardment, the rumbling echoes merging into the matin
+chimes wafted across the valley from some small church as yet unscarred
+by Mars._
+
+_Reveille, the summons, calls man from his peaceful, prenatal slumber,
+rouses him and bids him prepare for what the world will send him. Man
+goes forth to meet the world, and struggles through his allotted time
+until the bells of God ring for him to fold himself in his soul and
+sleep._
+
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+
+
+
+                                   I
+
+                       THE WHITE ROAD OF MYSTERY
+
+
+A SHARP whistle cuts the tense silence. It is the signal to start. It
+marks the line which breaks the past from the future; it is the boundary
+between the Known and the Unknown, and the frontier where duty and
+service merge. For a second, as the motors race, there is
+commotion—quickly settling into a rhythmic whir. The men are in their
+seats with somewhat of an echo of that whir in their hearts. The
+lieutenant’s car rolls slowly out of the gate, followed by the _chef’s_,
+and in turn by the others of the section, and as the last car crosses
+the threshold there is a cheer from the friends gathered to bid us
+Godspeed,—for Section XXXI is born.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+WE are off. We do not know where we are going. After a number of
+interminable delays and halts we pass through the gates of the city, and
+leave behind the last vestige of the Known. Ahead of us the road
+stretches white in the sunlight—the white road of mystery leading on to
+adventure and redemption. We have ceased to be our own masters. We are
+units, cogs in the machine, infinitesimal pawns in the giant game, and
+move as the dust which rises from the car ahead—where we know not, why
+we know not,—and how we often wonder!
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+CONVOY formation allows, by the book, for an interval of twenty feet
+between cars when passing through cities, and for one hundred feet when
+in the country. The flesh, however, is weak. In cities it is rare indeed
+to see cars separated by more than a nose except in spasms, while in the
+country a matter of miles is unimportant. A convoy is like a pack of
+dogs on the hunt, racing pell mell up hill and down dale one minute, and
+crawling the next, with an occasional dog straying off and losing itself
+for an indefinite length of time.
+
+For example, we come to some small town where we are to have lunch. We
+arrive in a hurry and with much dust, the first few cars in close
+formation, nose to tail, the last a few miles in the rear. Suddenly the
+driver of the leading car, who has been admiring the scenery on the
+right of the road, sees the _chef_ standing on the left making frantic
+motions for him to stop. Perhaps the driver puts out his hand, perhaps
+he does not. At any rate, he applies the brakes and comes to a dead
+stop—for an instant. The driver of the second car may have been
+adjusting his carburetor or observing an aeroplane, or a peasant girl,
+or a map—the exact object is beside the question. He suddenly comes to
+earth when he finds his charge valiantly trying to climb over the car in
+front—more brakes. Of course there is a third car, and possibly a
+fourth, or more, which demand attention. The final result advances the
+leading car some feet, decreases the supply of spare radiators, and as a
+rule does not contribute to the general harmony.
+
+One or more cars must always have taken the wrong road, and lead a hare
+and hound chase for some minutes before the final roundup, leaving for
+clues numerous peasants who, when queried, always know just where it
+went. Of course, by the law of chance, some one of these has undoubtedly
+seen it, and the lost is eventually found.
+
+There was one particular member of our section who was a rover at soul,
+and led several interesting hunts. A little later in the season this
+same rover took a by-road and started through the Hesse Forest for
+Germany. Our whole pack was called out, and after an exciting chase he
+was finally caught and convinced of his error. Fortunately for both him
+and us the _chef_ has a sense of humor, and the section, in spite of our
+many innocent attempts to disintegrate it and take individual excursions
+to different parts of France, continues to be a unit.
+
+For five days we proceed thus, with the white road stretching out in
+front and the brown dust trailing behind. We stop to get gasoline, to
+eat, and to sleep. We begin to near the front, and pass through town
+after town of roofless houses, shattered churches, and scattered homes.
+Through fields dotted with wooden crosses with the tricolored ribbon,
+and pock-marked with shell-holes. We pass aeroplane hangars and
+batteries of guns. We see more _saucisses_ in the sky and soldiers on
+the ground. The hand of the Hun lies heavy on the land, and his poison
+breath scorches the grass of the fields. We see fewer civilians and more
+steel helmets, and yet the rumble of the guns is no louder. But there is
+a certain breath of power and energy in the air, and one feels himself
+waiting for something to happen.
+
+Something does—an infuriated bull charges Rover’s car and picks off one
+of his headlights. Rover reverses hastily and unhesitatingly into the
+car behind, while the farmer’s wife makes her appearance, drives off the
+bull, and saves Rover from extermination.
+
+Then, one afternoon, we arrive at our point of embarkation, so to speak.
+It is Bar-le-Duc, sixty kilometres from Verdun, and by virtue of its
+being the one city in many miles, the meeting place of the world, which
+is to say, of course, our sector of front—when _en repos_.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+BAR-LE-DUC, the old stronghold of the feudal dukes of Bar, nestling in
+the valley on the banks of the slow-moving Ornain, tributary to the
+River Marne, and with _la ville haute_ trespassing far onto one ridge,
+and the ruined castle frowning down from the other, is a town of
+memories and traditions which greets this war as but another chapter in
+the never-ending book of its history. It has two large and ancient
+cathedrals, the one crowning the upper city—now quite naturally in
+ruins, as the enemy, by this time a connoisseur in churches, makes
+frequent air raids. The chateau—considered quite modern as it is but two
+hundred years of age—has mellowed into the surroundings by now, and
+forms a sufficiently integral part of the beauty of the city to be
+likewise a target for our “considerate” neighbor.
+
+One evening, as the last rays of the sun glinted from its roof, it stood
+solid and strong,—ready to do battle with the elements for many
+centuries more, but while the city lay quiet in the cold moonlight of an
+August night, the sound of purring motors broke the silence from above.
+The _contre-avions_ crashed, and the yellow shrapnel broke in the sky
+often a mile from its invisible target, and never near enough to arrest
+the advance of the raiders, who suddenly shut off their motors and, as
+often before, swooped silently down on their motionless prey, and
+dropped their bombs. Then, turning on their motors, they climbed and
+glided over the city again and again until, having dropped their entire
+cargo, they flew off. But in the morning the chateau no longer stood
+proudly up from the river mist, and another buttress against the ravages
+of the elements had crumbled into untimely ruins.
+
+The main street of the town is denuded of its plate glass, and more
+houses crumble each time the enemy reports “military advantage gained”
+by an indiscriminate slaughter of the future crop of France’s defenders,
+and those heroic souls who bear them.
+
+The town is noted for its manufactures, its wines, and its _confitures_.
+As to the first-named I know little, but as to the merits of its wines,
+its _liqueurs_, and its _confitures_ I cannot say enough, nor can many
+thousands of others who seek out Bar-le-Duc as the one sanctuary from
+the mud and deprivations of the rest of their existence, and bask
+gloriously in the discomforts of its civilization for a few stolen
+hours.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+CONVOY formation again, the cars freshly washed and glistening in the
+sunlight,—for a few minutes, before the grey cloud of dust pouring from
+the cars in front settles on us again. We come to a turn. A large sign
+greets us, _Souilly—vers Verdun_, emphasized by a giant arrow pointing
+in the direction we take. We are instantly sure that this is to be our
+headquarters. Verdun is a name we have long wished to visualize. At the
+first stop we tell each other the great news. While we are grouped in
+the road a big grey limousine carrying three generals dashes past. Every
+one salutes, and by a miracle we are noticed and the salute is returned.
+Cheerful Liar at once informs us that they were Joffre, Petain, and—he
+is at a loss for the third name. We help him out—Hindenburg perhaps.
+
+But we are doomed to bitter disappointment. Thirty kilometres from the
+famous city we are given orders to park our cars in a pile of ruins
+formerly known as Erize—Erize la petite, and well named.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+ERIZE is, without exception, the dullest place beneath the sun—a small
+town, now a mass of crumbling ruins, holding not above two dozen
+civilians, who are, for the most part, still less interesting than the
+town. Of course, there are Grand’mère and Grand-père, no relation to
+each other, but so christened by us because they are the only two
+octogenarians here. Grand’mère is not properly from Erize. Her home is
+somewhere north of Verdun, in a town with an unpronounceable name and
+long since destroyed. She, herself, carries proudly on her wrinkled
+forehead a two-inch scar from shrapnel, and informs us tearfully that
+her two sons have died in action, “_pour la patrie_,” she concludes,
+with a faint smile.
+
+I met Grand’mère for the first time when I picked an unripe apple from
+an overburdened tree. The old woman appeared from the depths of a nearby
+building and advanced menacingly towards me, hobbling along on a cane,
+and pouring forth as she came an unintelligible tirade from which I
+gathered that the apple reposing guiltily in my hand was hers—not mine.
+A single _franc_ served to wreathe her face in smiles and to obtain
+undisputed claim to the apple and her good graces in the future. _Ira
+furor brevis est._ I afterwards learned that houses in Erize rent for
+fifty _francs_ a year, this including several acres of farm land.
+
+Grand-père, aged ninety-eight, I met near the temporary kitchen where
+the cook was giving him a cup of _Pinard_, which he drank eagerly, while
+Grand’mère gave him wise counsel, to which he replied as Omar Khayyam
+might have done.
+
+But they are the only characters of interest here. The fields
+surrounding the town have as their redeeming feature a system of old
+trenches, with much barbed wire and an occasional shell-fragment to
+reward the searcher. The German advance was stopped less than a mile
+from here, and the trenches have been used since for practice.
+
+The dugouts interest us particularly. We are later to become surfeited
+with them, but as yet they are still delightfully novel. The rumble of
+the guns can be heard plainly from here, and at rare intervals a
+_saucisse_ rises on the horizon, much to our joy and excitement.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+THE _saucisse_ is a balloon shaped like a sausage—hence its name. At the
+front they are in the sky by the hundreds on both sides to direct the
+fire of the artillery and to observe the enemy’s operations generally.
+They are consequently made the objective of the aeroplane, and many are
+brought down every day. The aeroplane dodges along from cloud to cloud,
+and when he is just over the _saucisse_ suddenly swoops down, and with a
+tic-tic-tic from his machine-gun the bag crumples up in a cloud of black
+smoke and flames, the observer jumps out with his parachute, and the
+aeroplane dashes off pursued by many shells.
+
+In the balloons the observers all have parachutes and usually make their
+escape, although often they have to spend a little time dangling from
+the limb of some tree.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+WE are told not to stray far, as the order to move may come at any
+moment. We take walks through the country, and always on returning find
+the section with “no news,”—but at last the order comes.
+
+
+[Illustration: A SAUCISSE]
+
+
+We have gotten our baggage ready, and are sitting around in the darkness
+smoking our pipes and thinking. Tomorrow we are going up to the lines. A
+big attack has been scheduled, and we are to take care of the wounded.
+It is to be our first work, and any fighting at all seems a “big attack”
+to us. We are a green section, fresh from Paris. We have never heard a
+shell whistle, and have been thrilled by the sound of guns twenty miles
+away. What will be our sensations face to face with the real thing? We
+are a bit nervous. There is some tension. We discuss the probable extent
+of the attack and debate as to its success. This leads us nowhere, and
+after we have pledged each other and the section “_Bonne chance_” in a
+glass of cognac from a bottle opened for the occasion, we turn in.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+IT is cold and chill, and a steady drizzle is oozing from the sky above
+into the earth beneath, and is making it soft and slippery. I awake,
+yawn, stretch sleepily, and gaze out into the grey dejection of the
+morning. I have been sleeping luxuriously on the floor of an ambulance,
+wedged in between two trunks and a duffle-bag.
+
+“Well, this is ‘_der Tag_’ for us,” I remark to a friend, who has spent
+the night on top of the two trunks.
+
+He stops eating my jam for an instant and agrees with me. Then, on
+second thought, he generously offers me some jam. I sit up and struggle
+for a few seconds with a piece of the bread we carry for nourishment and
+defence, spread some jam on it, get out a bottle of Sauterne (at the
+front wine is wine at all hours of the day and night), and we settle
+down to breakfast. Breakfast is a purely personal investment, as it
+officially consists of coffee—so called by courtesy—and bread. The
+French bread comes in round loaves a foot in diameter, and is never
+issued until four days old, and is often aged ten or more before we see
+it. Fresh bread, it is believed, would give a soldier indigestion.
+French officialdom believes the same evil of water, and provides each
+soldier with a quart a day of cheap red wine called, in the _argot_ of
+the trenches, _Pinard_. Breakfast over, we make our way to the barn, our
+official quarters, by means of stepping-stones previously laid from the
+car, and chat with the other members of the section.
+
+Today we are moving up into the zone of fire itself, and are somewhat
+excited. The entire section is to move to a little destroyed town,
+Ville-sur-Couzances. From there six cars are always to be on duty taking
+care of our first wounded. The _chef_ and the _sous-chef_ join us
+presently. They went up yesterday and were shown the _postes_, and
+consequently come in for a storm of questions. The _sous-chef_ tells us
+that today we shall hear them “whistle both ways.” We are thrilled. He
+asks us if we are ready. We are—even Rover. Then the lieutenant comes
+in. He speaks a few words to the _chef_. The _chef_ blows his whistle
+four times. It is the signal for assembly. He gives us a few
+instructions. We run to our cars. One whistle—we crank up. Two
+whistles—the leading ambulance painfully and noisily tears itself from
+its bed of mud. The others follow in regular succession, until the last
+car melts into the grey, cold mist. When shall we see Erize again?
+
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+
+
+
+                                   II
+
+                               IN ACTION
+
+
+VILLE-SUR-COUZANCES is also at this time the headquarters of Section
+XXIX, which has just lost two men, and Section LXIX, which is a
+gear-shift section,—we are quite proudly Fords. Section XIX, French,
+whom we are relieving, examines us critically, but makes no audible
+comments. To the six of us chosen for the first “roll” there is but one
+impatient thought. We hear “Napoleon”—a French private attached to our
+section for _ravitaillement_ because he could do nothing else—telling
+the cook and several unwilling assistants how to dispose of the field
+range. In the French manner, instead of ignoring him, the stove is
+discarded, and a Latin argument follows much to the amusement if not to
+the edification of the onlookers. This does not concern us, and as soon
+as we get the order to roll we are blithely off.
+
+It is only a few minutes’ run to Brocourt, where the _triage_, or front
+hospital, is located. This is like a giant hangar in shape, but, instead
+of the mottled green, blue, and grey _camouflage_ of the latter, it is
+brilliantly white with a red cross fifty feet square surmounting it.
+Despite this fact, it is bombed and shelled regularly by the “merciful”
+Hun. We pass through the shattered town, its church tower still
+standing, by a miracle, and pointing its scarred and violated finger to
+the heavens with the silent appeal—“Avenge!”
+
+The _sous-chef_, who is sitting beside me, tells me to put on my helmet
+and to sling my mask over my shoulder. From here on men “go west”
+suddenly, and in their boots. We pass over a short rise in sight of the
+German _saucisses_, and down a steep and long hill into Récicourt. Of
+that hill there is much to remember—but today it is just steep, and
+green, and has many trees by the roadside loaded down with much unripe
+fruit. Past the sentry, over the bridge which the Boche hit yesterday
+with an eight-inch shell—which failed to explode and bounced into the
+muddy river—and we are at the relay station. It is a barn with half the
+roof and a goodly portion of the walls missing. We use this to screen
+the cars from the eyes of raiding enemy aeroplanes, of which there are
+many.
+
+Two of us are at once assigned to run to the _poste de secours_, P 2,
+where just now we are to keep two cars, the other four remaining at the
+relay station. Again luck is with me, and I am in the first car to roll.
+Our run is entirely through the woods, in the Hesse Forest, and as the
+enemy will not be able to see us we rejoice—but we soon learn not to
+rejoice prematurely. There is hardly a man in sight as we struggle along
+through the mud, but beside the road everywhere, often spilling into it,
+lie piles of shells, 75’s, 155’s, and _torpilles_ by the thousand,
+apparently arranged haphazardly. The _torpille_ is a winged and
+particularly deadly shell, first cousin to the German _minniewerfer_,
+and differing essentially only in range. The _maréchal des logis_
+informs us encouragingly that the one lying in the middle of the road
+which we just ran over was a Boche which did not explode when it landed,
+and has not—yet.
+
+Everything is wrapped in the silence of the grave except for an
+occasional crash as some battery sends its message into Germany. We
+arrive at P 2, which is distinguished from the rest of the world by a
+foot square of white cotton and the universal red cross. There is room
+inside the gate—a log dyke against the mud—to park the cars: “Room
+sideways or deep,” as one member of the section described it as he
+watched his boots sink steadily into the mud.
+
+The _sous-chef_ calls us around him and gives us our detailed
+instructions, for he is going back by the first car. Suddenly, as we are
+listening to him attentively, there is a piercing _zz-chung_, and a 250
+lands within a hundred yards with a dull crash and a geyser of trees,
+dirt, and black smoke. We look at him inquiringly and he points to the
+_abri_. We nod and adjourn to it. A few more shells follow, then all is
+peaceful again, while the French batteries around us hammer away at the
+Germans in their turn. We take lunch on a rustic table under the trees
+and thoroughly enjoy having our tin plates rattled by the concussion of
+the guns, while a Frenchman explains to us the difference in sound
+between an _arrivée_ and a _départ_.
+
+Such is the initiation. Then while we, as yet mere amateurs, eat
+peacefully, relishing the novelty of the situation, and buoyed up by our
+first excitement, a short procession passes. It is a group of men
+carrying stretchers on which are what were men a few minutes before,
+who, standing within talking distance of us, were blown out of existence
+by the shells which whistled over our heads and, bursting, scattered
+_éclats_ and dirt on the steel roof that sheltered us. It is a side of
+the front which has not touched us deeply before, a side which in the
+first few days of the ordeal by fire impresses itself more and more on
+the novice, until he learns to temper the realization with philosophy
+and the so-called humor of the front. Then is the veteran in embryo.
+
+The ambulance sections are divided into two classes—gear-shift and Ford.
+The gear-shift sections are composed of Fiats, Berliets, or some other
+French car. They carry five _couchés_ or eight _assis_, and have two men
+to a car. The French Army ambulances are all gear-shift, and the
+gear-shift sections included in the American Field Service all
+originally belonged to the French Government. Before the American
+Government took over the Ambulance Corps, the American Field Service, in
+addition to sending out Ford sections as quickly as they were subscribed
+in America, had been gradually absorbing the French Ambulance System,
+relieving with its own men the French drivers who could then serve in
+the trenches, and including those sections among its own.
+
+The Ford sections carried three _couchés_ or four _assis_, and had one
+driver, although many sections had extra men to help out. A Ford section
+then, when complete, consisted of twenty ambulances, one Ford
+_camionnette_ or truck, which went for food and carried spare parts and
+often baggage, one French _camionnette_, a one-ton truck, which carried
+tools, French mechanics, and other spare parts, one large White truck
+with kitchen trailer, one Ford touring-car for the _chef_, and a more or
+less high-powered touring car for the lieutenant. The personnel was one
+French lieutenant, who was the connecting link between the organization
+and the government, and was responsible to the latter for the actions of
+the section; one _chef_, who was an American chosen by the organization
+from the _sous-chefs_ of one of the sections in the field; one or two
+_sous-chefs_, chosen by the _chef_ from the members of his or some other
+section; twenty drivers, often an odd number of assistant drivers, an
+American paid mechanic, and an odd number of French mechanics, cooks,
+and clerks.
+
+The lieutenant received the orders and was responsible to the army for
+their execution. The lieutenant gave the _chef_ his orders, and the
+_chef_ was responsible to him for their execution by the section. The
+_sous-chefs_ were the _chef’s_ assistants.
+
+The routine when at work is for a certain number of cars to be on duty
+at one time, the number depending on the work. The section is divided
+into shifts of the number of cars required. When on duty a man must
+always have his car and himself ready to “roll,” and when off duty,
+after putting his car in condition, must rest so as to be in shape for
+his next turn. When the work is heavy, the cars on duty are rolling all
+the time with very little opportunity for food or rest for the driver;
+consequently, for a man not to get himself and his car ready in this
+period of rest means that the service is weakened; and that, if other
+cars go _en panne_ unavoidably, it is possibly crippled—and lives may be
+lost. When the work is light, men are usually twenty-four hours on and
+forty-eight off; when moderate, twenty-four on and twenty-four off; when
+stiff, forty-eight on and twenty-four off, and during an attack almost
+steadily on. The longest stretch that my section kept its men
+continuously at work was seven days and nights in the Verdun sector
+during an attack, and we were compelled to cease then only because too
+few of our cars were left able to roll to carry the wounded.
+
+From headquarters the day’s shift is sent to the relay station, and from
+there cars go as needed to the _postes de secours_. The _postes_ are as
+near the trenches as it is possible for the cars to go, and some can be
+visited only at night. The wounded are brought to these by the
+_brancardiers_ through the _boyaux_, or communication trenches, and
+usually have their first attention here. After first aid has been
+administered, and when there are enough for a load, or there is a
+serious case, the car goes to the _triage_, stopping at the relay
+station, from which a car is sent to the _poste_ to replace the first,
+which returns to the relay station directly from the hospital.
+
+The hospitals also are divided into two main classes, the _triages_, or
+front hospitals in the zone of fire, and the H.O.E.’s, hospitals of
+evacuation, anywhere back of the fines. The hospital of evacuation is
+the third of the four stages through which a wounded man passes. The
+first is the front-line dressing station, the _abri_; the second, if the
+wound is at all serious, is the _triage_; the third, if serious enough,
+is the hospital of evacuation; and the fourth, if the soldier has been
+confined to the hospital for ten or more days, is the ten-day
+_permission_ to Paris, Nice, or some other place of his choice. Then
+these classes, in some cases, are subdivided into separate hospitals for
+_couchés_, _assis_, and _malades_.
+
+These subdivisions sometimes make complications, as in the case of one
+driver who was given what appeared to be a serious case to take to the
+_couché_ hospital. While on the way, however, the serious case revived
+sufficiently to find his canteen. After a few swallows he felt a
+pleasant warmth within, for French canteens are not filled with water,
+and sat up better to observe his surroundings and to make
+uncomplimentary remarks to the driver. Arrived at the hospital, the
+_brancardiers_ lifted the curtain at the rear of the car, and seeing the
+patient sitting up and smoking a cigarette, apparently in good health,
+they refused to take him, and sent the car on to the _assis_ hospital.
+Overcome by his undue exertion, the wounded man lay down again, and by
+the time the ambulance had reached the other hospital was peacefully
+dozing on the floor. The _brancardiers_ shook their heads, and sent the
+car back to the _couché_ hospital. Somewhat annoyed by this time, the
+_ambulancier_ did not drive with the same care, and the jolts aroused
+the incensed _poilu_, who sat up and began to ask personal questions.
+The driver, not wishing to continue his trips between the two hospitals
+for the duration of the war, stopped the car outside the _couché_
+hospital, and, seeing his patient sitting up, put him definitely to
+sleep with a tire tool, and sent him in by the uncomplaining
+_brancardiers_.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+WE spend a good part of our time in the _abri_. Just now the Boche
+appears to have taken a particular dislike to this part of the sector,
+for he is strafing it most unmercifully. We do not doubt at all that it
+is because we are here. The fact that there are six thousand French guns
+massed in the woods, so near together that you cannot walk a dozen feet
+without tripping over one, may, of course, have something to do with the
+enemy’s vindictiveness, but that does not occur to us.
+
+After taking an hour or two of interrupted sleep in the _abri_, we step
+out in the early morning to get a breath of fresh air and to untangle
+our cramped muscles. A shell or two whines in uncomfortably near, and we
+are convinced that the enemy knows our every move by instinct. When we
+sit in the _abri_ during the day, and there is never a second that we do
+not hear the whine of at least one shell overhead, and the intervals
+between shells striking near enough to shake the _abri_ and rattle
+_éclats_ on its steel roof grow less, we are convinced the Boche is
+searching for _our dugout_. When I am making a run to P 2, and, rounding
+Dead Horse Corner, start on the last stretch, and a shell knocks a tree
+across the road a hundred feet ahead, blocking us completely, and two
+more shells drop on the road by the tree, two more strike ten yards on
+our right, and another lands within fifteen feet on our left, there is
+no doubt in my mind that the enemy is after me.
+
+In reality, of course, the enemy has no idea where the _abris_ are
+located, and just now is simply taking a few chance shots at a likely
+corner—but every man _knows_ that every shell he hears is meant for him
+personally,—all of which goes to prove how egotistical we really are.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+AS one man remarked, “Our life out here is just one d— _brancardier_
+after another.” The _brancardiers_, or stretcher-bearers, include the
+musicians—for the band does not play at the front,—the exchanged
+prisoners who are pledged to do no combatant work, and others who
+volunteer for or are assigned to this work. These men are in the
+front-line trenches, where they bandage wounded men as they are hit, and
+carry them to the front _abri_, where the _major_, army doctor, gives
+them more careful attention. At the front _abri_ are other
+_brancardiers_, who then take charge of these men and load them into our
+cars. We arrive at the hospital, and _brancardiers_ there unload the
+ambulances and carry in the wounded. Inside the hospital other
+_brancardiers_ nurse the wounded, as no women nurses are allowed in the
+_triage_ hospitals.
+
+
+[Illustration: BRANCARDIERS LOADING AN AMBULANCE
+COPYRIGHT—INTERNATIONAL FILM SERVICE CO., INC.]
+
+
+A callous, hardened, dulled class of men, absolutely lacking in
+sentiment, yet doing a noble and heroic work. Who could do their work
+without becoming callous—or insane? We curse them often when they put a
+man in the car upside down or drop him, but we forget that when the
+infantry goes _en repos_, the _brancardiers_ stay at their posts, going
+out into No Man’s Land every hour to bring in a countryman or an enemy.
+When, standing by the car at P 3, I see two _brancardiers_ carrying a
+man up from the _abri_ and, after noticing that both his arms are
+broken, one in two places, that both legs are broken, that a bloody
+bandage covers his chest, and that the white band around his head is
+staining red, I see them drop him when a shell screams overhead, I curse
+them. But I forget that for the past two nights, with their _abri_
+filled with chlorine gas, these same men have toiled faithfully in
+suffocating gasmasks, bringing in the wounded, caring for them, and
+loading them on our cars. I forget that these men have probably not had
+an hour’s consecutive sleep for weeks and that it may be weeks before
+they have again; that it is months since they last saw a dry foot of
+ground, or felt that for a moment they were free of the ever present
+expectation of sudden death. It is something to remember, and it is to
+wonder rather how they do these things at all than why they seem at
+times a little careless or a bit tired.
+
+Would the _brancardier_ tell you this? When he sees you he asks after
+your comrades. He takes you in and gives you a cigarette and some
+_Pinard_ in a battered cup, and tries to find you a place to rest, all
+the time telling you cheerful stories and amusing incidents.
+
+The Staff is the brains of the army; Aviation, the eyes; the Artillery,
+the voice; the Infantry and Cavalry, the arms; the Engineers, the hands;
+the Transportation, the legs; the People behind it, the body; but the
+_Brancardier_ is the soul.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+THERE are sounds outside of a klaxon being worked vigorously. However,
+we have several dozing Frenchmen inside the _abri_ who are making
+similar noises, so nothing dawns upon our sleepy senses for some minutes
+while the owner of the klaxon searches for the _abri_. This is dangerous
+business, because on all sides are barbed wire, shell-holes, and other
+_abris_. Also, as this one is located in the corner of a graveyard,
+there is danger that the searcher will wander on and uproot a dozen or
+more wooden crosses in the search. At last he discovers the right one by
+falling down the pit we called stairs before the rain set in. A violent
+monologue arouses us from our dozing comfortlessness, and we learn that
+a car is wanted at P 2. I am next on call, so I slowly and painfully
+unwind myself from a support and two pairs of legs, and, with the man
+who rides with me, make my way into the outer darkness.
+
+We get the car and start off down the road with no lights anywhere, and
+pray that everything coming the other way keeps to its side of the road
+and goes slowly. There is always something coming the other way—and your
+way, a steady succession of _camions_ in the centre of the road, and of
+artillery trains on the side. The _camions_ are mostly very heavy and
+very powerful, and have no compunction at all about what they run into,
+as they know that it cannot harm them. The ammunition trains consist of
+batteries of 75’s, little framework teams with _torpilles_ fitting in
+small compartments like eggs, and other such vehicles in tow of a number
+of mules, with the driver invariably asleep. The traffic, however, in
+spite of the pitch darkness, would be endurable if it were not for the
+mud which often comes up to the hubs. It is a slimy mud, and if spread
+thinly is extremely slippery. On the roads it is rarely spread thinly,
+and when one gets out to push he often sinks in up to the knee. Then of
+course there is always the whine of _arrivées_ and _départs_ passing
+overhead, and the occasional crump of a German 77 or 150 landing near at
+hand.
+
+The French and the German gunners play a little game every night with
+supply trains and shells. The shells are trumps. The object is to see
+who can play the more “cards” without being trumped. An artillery train
+counts one, a _camionnette_ two, a _camion_ five—because it blocks the
+road for some time when hit, and gives the enemy time to trump more
+cards—two ambulances give a win, and if a gun is hit the enemy is
+disqualified. The game is very interesting—for the artillery.
+
+This modernized blindman’s buff is carried on at its best in the early
+hours of the morning before the game becomes too free-for-all to score
+carefully, and most of the cars are returned to the “pack”—out of the
+zone of fire—to wait for the next evening’s fun. At this time the roads
+are crowded, and the game is at its height. As the fun increases for the
+judges, however, it decreases for the players,—that is to say the
+“cards.” The prospect of being trumped is not a pleasant anticipation,
+although it keeps up the interest and prevents _ennui_. After an hour or
+so of sport the going becomes very bad, as there are always many horses
+killed, and when the fighting is at all severe there is no time to bury
+them. Then, too, the narrow gauge railway crossing the road every few
+rods is often hit, and left, like a steel octopus, with its twisted
+tentacles stretching out in all directions. These add to the sport
+hugely, and our chief consolation is to imagine the Boche over on his
+side having fully as bad if not a worse time than we.
+
+“This or the next?” inquires my companion in reference to a cross-road
+which appears on our right.
+
+Having no idea I answer, “This one,” and we turn. An unaccountable
+number of jounces greets us as we continue.
+
+“They must have strafed this road a good bit since our last roll,” my
+friend comments.
+
+The going is worse, and we stop to get our bearings. We shout and
+presently a form rises from the darkness. At any hour of the day or
+night it is possible to rouse by one or more shouts any number of men
+anywhere. You can see no one, as the world, for obvious reasons, lives
+underground in the rabbit burrows of _abris_, but when needed comes
+forth in force. This is very convenient, as often when driving at night
+one finds his car stuck in the middle of a new and large shell-hole, and
+help is necessary. We ask our location.
+
+“_Ah, oui, M’sieu, P-trois!_”
+
+We have come by error to the artillery _poste_ and must retrace our way.
+We exchange cigarettes with the friendly _brancardier_ and set off
+again. At last we get back on the right road, and after making another
+turn are nearing the _poste_. In the last gleams from a star-shell ahead
+we see something grey by the side of the road. As we are in the woods I
+take a quick look with my flash. It is one of our ambulances. My friend
+and I look at each other, and are mutually glad that it is too dark to
+see each other’s face. A careful survey of the surroundings yields
+nothing, and we press on—in silence. We jolt into the _poste_ with
+racing motor and wheels clogged with mud, and go down into the very
+welcome _abri_. Our friends there know nothing about the ambulance, so
+we hope for the best.
+
+Friendships at the front are for the most part sincere—but sometimes
+short.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+IT is about ten o’clock in the evening. We have been given a load at P 2
+and are returning to the hospital. We turn from the battered Bois
+d’Avocourt into the Bois de Récicourt, and passing through the Bois de
+Pommiers roll into the valley. We cross through the town, and when the
+sentry lifts the gate pull slowly up the hill towards Brocourt.
+Punctually at five-thirty this evening twelve shells whistled over
+Récicourt and struck the hill, but fortunately not the road.
+
+This hill makes a perfect target for the Boche, for if he falls short he
+hits the town, if he overshoots he will probably hit the hospital, and
+if he hits what he aims at he may get the road. Consequently there are
+intermittent bombardments at all hours of the day and night—preferably
+at night as there is more traffic on the roads. There is one time that
+the Boche never fails to greet us. That is five-thirty. Every day while
+I was there, as the hour struck, or would have struck had the clock been
+left to strike it, twelve shells whistled over Récicourt and knocked
+fruit from the orchard on the hill. If the Boche were sentimental, we
+would say it was the early twilight that made him do this, but as we
+remember Belgium we call it habit. There are several big _rôtis_ set up
+by the roadside like kilo-stones to remind us that to roll at
+five-thirty is _verboten_.
+
+For some unexplained and mysterious reason many of the German shells do
+not explode. Whether this is from faulty workmanship or defective fuses
+or materials we do not know, but it causes the _poilus_ much amusement.
+There will be the whine of an _arrivée_ and a dull thud as it strikes
+the ground, but no explosion. Every Frenchman present immediately roars
+with laughter and shouts, “_Rôti! Rôti!_”
+
+We crawl up the hill, the road luckily having escaped injury during the
+afternoon, and at length reach the hospital. Then, much lightened, we
+start back. Coasting slowly down the hill we have a perfect opportunity
+to observe the horizon.
+
+The sky tonight is softly radiant, a velvety black with myriads of
+brilliant stars in the upper heavens. Opposite us is another hill,
+crowned with trees which break gently into the skyline. Above these the
+sky flashes and sparkles in iridescent glory. The thundering batteries
+light up everything with brilliant flashes, and the star-shells
+springing up over No Man’s Land hang for an instant high in the air with
+dazzling brilliancy, and then fading, drift slowly earthward. The
+artillery signals (Verrey Lights, rockets carrying on their sticks one,
+two, three, and four lights) dart up everywhere. A raider purrs
+overhead, and golden bursts of shrapnel crack in the sky. All merge
+together, first one, then another standing forth to catch the eye for a
+brief second, the kaleidoscopic brilliancy lifting one up out of the
+depths of the mire to forget for a moment why these lights
+flare—treacherous will o’ the wisps leading men on to death—and one sees
+only the wonderful beauty of the scene: a picture impressed on the
+memory which makes all seem worth while. One sight of these causes the
+discomforts and dangers of the day’s work to fade, and they become a
+symbol—a pillar of fire leading on to the victory that is coming when
+Right shall have conquered Might, and the tortured world can again
+breathe freely.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+IT is night, and the chill mist has settled close to the ground. It is
+cold and damp, but the front is always cold and damp so no one comments
+on it. We are several feet underground and that augments the chill
+somewhat, but as here one lives underground he does not think of that.
+There is a little breeze outside, for the burlap that hangs at the foot
+of the stairs leading to the outer world quivers, and the lone candle
+flickers uncertainly, casting weird shadows from the black steel roof on
+the sleeping forms. The sides of the _abri_ are lined with bunks, wooden
+frames covered with wire netting, upon which lie sprawled
+_brancardiers_, _poilus_, and in one an American has managed to locate
+himself quite comfortably. The _abri_ is short, and the few bunks are at
+a premium.
+
+Two of our men are asleep,—one on the floor, another in a bunk. The rest
+of us wrap our coats around us and smoke pensively. We think of home,
+and wonder what our friends there are doing just now. It is August and
+slightly after midnight. The time difference makes it a few minutes past
+six in the States. At the seashore they are coming in from canoeing and
+swimming, sitting around before dinner, discussing the plans for the
+evening and the happenings of the day. At the mountains they are
+finishing rounds of golf or sets of tennis, and the pink and gold of the
+sunset is crowning the peaks with a fading burst of glory. Soon the
+fights of the hotel will shine brightly forth into the gathering gloom,
+and the dance music will strike up.
+
+Each tells the others just what he would be doing at the moment were he
+in the States, and comments. It is all done in an absolutely detached
+manner, just as one describes incidents and chapters in books. We think
+we would like to be home now, but we know that we would rather not. We
+are perfectly contented to be doing what we are doing, and do not envy
+those at home. Nor do we begrudge any of them the pleasant times they
+may be having. In fact, if we thought they were giving them up we would
+be miserable. One cannot think about this war for long at a time, and
+when one meditates it is to speculate on what is happening at home. One
+gloats over imaginary dances, theatres, and all varieties of good times.
+I have often enjoyed monologue discussions with my friends, or imagined
+myself doing any one of the many things I might have been doing. It is
+the lonesome man’s chief standby to five by proxy.
+
+Outside there is continually the dull thunder of the guns. They are
+evidently firing _tir de barrage_, for there is a certain regularity in
+the wave of sound that rumbles in on us. Perhaps the barrage is falling
+on the roads behind the enemy lines, cutting off and destroying his
+supply trains. Perhaps it is trying to sweep some of his batteries out
+of existence, or perhaps it is falling on his trenches, taking its toll
+of nerve and life. Again we can only conjecture. There is the continual
+whine of his shells rushing overhead, and the _crump-crump_ of their
+breaking in the near distance. Then the enemy starts a little sweeping
+of his own, and the _arrivées_ begin to fall in an arc which draws
+steadily nearer, until a thunder clap just outside and the rattling of
+_éclats_, dirt, and tree fragments on the roof, make you rejoice in your
+cover, and you chuckle as a _brancardier_ sleepily remarks, “_Entrez!_”
+You wonder curiously, and listen expectantly to see if the next will
+fall on you; then you doze again or say something to the man beside you.
+
+Inside there is an equal variety of sounds. There are _poilus_ snoring
+in seven different octaves, there is the splutter of the candle
+overhead, and from one corner an occasional moan from some wounded man,
+growing more frequent as the night wears on. We may not take him in
+until we have enough for a load. Soon there is the sound of feet on the
+stairs, and a _brancardier_ stumbles in leading a man raving wildly,
+with his head swathed in fresh bandages rapidly staining with the oozing
+blood. Some one moves, and he is seated and given a cup of _Pinard_ and
+a cigarette, which he accepts gratefully. We get ready to go out to the
+ambulance, but the doctor shakes his head—we have not a load yet. Some
+of the regulations perplex us; but it is not our business, so we light
+up our pipes again and snuggle down into our fur coats, dozing and
+listening to the whine of the shells outside and the moans inside. Then,
+after a while, another _blessé_ is brought to the door and the doctor
+nods. Two of us jump up, snatch our _musettes_, run to the car, and
+assist the _brancardiers_ in shoving in the third man, who is
+unconscious. Then we crank up, and after some minutes of manœuvring in
+the deep mud reach the road and start for the hospital.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+THE black of the night, split by the star-shells and the batteries, has
+given place to the grey of the dawn. All is still and quiet, with the
+rare crash of a battery or an _arrivée_ alone breaking the silence.
+There is no sign of the sun, and it will be some hours before it breaks
+through the early mist to smile upon us for a few brief moments before
+the never-ending rain envelops us again,—for it is the _mauvais temps_.
+
+After lying for two hours in one of the bunks in the _abri_, and vainly
+endeavoring to keep warm with two _blessé_ blankets, I arise stiffly and
+crawl out into the fresh air. The _blessé_ blankets are single blankets
+quartered and, as they are assigned for use in the ambulances and
+_abris_ for the wounded, often bring little visitors.
+
+
+[Illustration: AN ABRI]
+
+
+The air is clear and damp, and remarkably invigorating. A few deep
+breaths start the blood slowly moving through my veins, and I walk
+around in the mud, stretching my cramped limbs. There are the usual new
+shell-holes scattered about to make us first rejoice in our shelter and
+then look doubtfully at the all-too-thin layer of dirt on the roof
+between us and a direct hit. The Germans, when they take up a position,
+seem to think of it as permanent, dig their _abris_ often as deep as a
+hundred feet underground, and are absolutely safe in them except when a
+raiding party tosses a grenade down the stairs. Their officers’ quarters
+are particularly spacious, lined with cement, with the walls often
+papered, holding brass beds and other quite civilized comforts. A piano
+was found in one. It had been put in before the cement was laid, and
+they were unable to remove it when they retreated—even if they had had
+the time. The French, whether from laziness or because they expect soon
+again to be moving forward, waste little time on the dug-outs. The
+standard is a pit lined with sandbags, and covered by a conventional
+form of corrugated steel roof, with more sandbags and a little dirt on
+top of this. These protect from the _éclats_, or shell fragments, but
+form a death trap for all inside if there is a direct hit. If the side
+of a hill or a hollow is available it affords more protection. The one
+direct hit on our _abri_ at P 2 was luckily a “dud,” and caused no
+damage.
+
+I walk over to the pile of discarded equipment to see if anything
+interesting has been added during the night. This and the hospital are
+the two favorite places for souvenir hunters. At all the _postes_ and in
+the hospitals the rifles, bayonets, packs, belts, cartridges, knives,
+grenades, revolvers, shoes, and other equipment of the wounded and dead
+are put in a large pile, and the first to recover get the pick—after our
+selection. At the _postes_ these things are piled in the open, with no
+protection from the elements, and many are slowly disintegrating. This
+morning, of the new things there is of interest only one of the large
+wire-clippers, used by the _pionniers_ and scouts for passing through
+the enemy wire. But my friend has seen them first, so I waive all
+claims, and he tucks them carefully away in one of the several
+side-boxes with which the cars are equipped.
+
+The trees are twice decimated, but the birds have stayed, and now they
+are waking and, overflowing with high spirits, sing their message of
+good cheer. They answer each other from different parts of the wood, and
+by closing one’s eyes one seems to be in the country at home. Never has
+the song of birds seemed more beautiful or more welcome, and, gladdened,
+we listen while we may, before the slowly swelling thunder of the guns,
+beginning their early morning bombardment, drowns out all other sound.
+We go down again into the _abri_ and pray for a load soon to take us
+down to the hospital and breakfast at headquarters.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+WE have been ordered _en repos_, and after turning in our extra gas
+masks—we carry ten in the car for the wounded in addition to the two on
+our person—our _blessé_ blankets, and stretchers, we start in to load
+the cars with our friends, and our own baggage. As for some time our
+baggage has been lying _en masse_ in the “drawing-room” of Tucker Inn,
+as some humorous _conducteur_ styled the roofless pen in Récicourt,
+where our belongings were left while we were rolling, or in the
+surrounding _abris_, one could not be at all certain that he was putting
+the right things in the right duffles, and it was not surprising if a
+stray jar or two of _confiture_ most unaccountably found its way into
+one’s own duffle.
+
+The section in formation, we roll off with the sun shining brightly on
+grimy cars and drivers, down the roads, passing ruin after ruin, with a
+burst of speed past a corner in view of the German trenches, and we
+again begin to see familiar ground. The green hill back of Erize, with
+shadows of the woods and the scars of the old trenches, appears in the
+distance, and my friend looks at me and chuckles.
+
+Back in the same little town, parked in the same ruins with the same
+quietness, peace, and relaxation from the tenseness of the past days,
+which is so welcome this time, my friend and I walk into a little
+_estaminet_, pledge each other in glasses of French beer, and taking off
+our helmets for almost the first time in what seems an age, survey them
+and each other in placid contentment.
+
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+
+
+
+                                  III
+
+                                EN REPOS
+
+
+A BATCH of mail was given out the morning after our return. When we
+moved, our address seemed to have been lost, for only a few letters, of
+no interest to any one, managed to find us. We have been too busy to
+miss them, and when they arrived in a bunch there were no complaints.
+
+It is a wonderful thrill to get a letter from home, to read what those
+who mean all to one are doing, and to feel their personalities throbbing
+“between the lines.” We bridge for a brief moment the chasm of three
+thousand miles, and in revery gaze upon those persons, those places, and
+those things we have known. Our thoughts here are always in the past. We
+cannot think of the present, and we dare not think of the future, but
+there is always the past to live in,—the past of events and memories.
+
+We settle down to the same dull monotony as before. For a few days this
+is bliss, but it soon becomes tiring again. All work here is contrast.
+When we are at work, we work intensively, taking less rest than seems
+physically possible, and when _en repos_ we are plunged into the dullest
+monotony imaginable, with nothing to amuse or occupy us. This is true of
+every branch of active service.
+
+The few air raids are rather an anticlimax after the days that have just
+passed, especially as nothing falls near enough to cause us any
+annoyance. At Bar-le-Duc the Boche playfully drops a dozen bombs into
+the German prison camp, much to every one’s amusement; a mile from us he
+destroys a camp of Bulgarian prisoners, and we wonder at his
+hard-headedness and laugh. But the next night we hear bombs crashing in
+the distance, and in the morning learn from some men in another section
+passing through that it was Vadlaincourt, where the Huns flew so near
+the ground that soldiers in the streets shot at them with rifles. At
+that height the aeroplanes could not mistake their targets, and they
+retired only when the hospital was a mass of flaming ruins. There are no
+smiles at this. Another night the purring motors reveal outlined high
+against the stars a fleet of Zeppelins, bound we know not where, but, we
+do know, on a mission of death to the innocent.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+THE enemy aeroplane comes over us often. We have wondered why, but we
+now realize that while the Allies can get control of the air when they
+want it, to keep continual control would be too expensive in both men
+and machines. The anti-aircraft gun theoretically solves the problem.
+When an enemy machine appears, a battery of _contre-avions_ is notified
+and essays the destruction of the adventurer.
+
+It is pretty sport. A little white machine, sometimes catching the glint
+of the sun, dashes towards us at a great height. It is sighted, and then
+the high-pitched boom-booms of the _contre-avions_ start in, and the
+shrapnel breaks at varying distances around the machine like
+powder-puffs, which float along for some minutes. After a little of this
+harmless sport the Boche gets out of range, the guns cease, and the
+machine, having in the meanwhile disposed of some bombs or taken some
+photographs, dashes off, to be followed shortly by one or two Frenchmen.
+
+The practical value of the anti-aircraft guns is to keep the machines so
+high in the air that they can accomplish little, as the guns rarely
+score. At M——, where every day they have been shooting two or three
+hundred rounds at the machines which fly over the city, they are quite
+proud of their record, for once in one day they shot down three
+machines—two of their own and one German. They have been resting on
+their laurels ever since. It was a few examples like this which taught
+the French airmen to keep out of the sky while the _contre-avions_ were
+busy.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+“NAPOLEON” was so christened by us because, despite his sparrow-like
+form and manner, he considers himself the moving spirit of the army in
+general and of our section in particular. Because he knows nothing about
+automobiles, he styles himself an expert,—the mere fact that he is
+assigned as clerk to an ambulance section proves his claim. The one time
+he had the indiscretion to touch a car, he drove the lieutenant’s around
+the compound with the emergency brake set—after telling the _sous-chef_
+that he had driven cars for twenty years! One of the ambulances goes for
+_ravitaillement_ every day, carrying “Napoleon,” who disappears into
+mysterious buildings and returns with still more mysterious edibles,
+presumably for our delectation.
+
+On one trip the carburetor gave trouble and we stopped and cleaned it.
+While we were working we noticed “Napoleon” industriously turning the
+lights on and off, pumping the button on the dash. We said nothing, and
+when we had finished and started the car again he tapped his chest
+proudly, cocked his head, and said, “_Moi!_”
+
+In circumnavigating a large team in the centre of the road later that
+day I rubbed “Napoleon” off against a horse, and after that he snubbed
+me on every occasion.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+BEING at the cross-roads, all manner of men and things come through
+Erize. The never-ending stream of _camions_ passing each other as they
+go, layers deep with dust and grime, winds on steadily. There is great
+rivalry between the _camion pelotons_, and each has adopted an insignia
+painted on the sides of the cars to distinguish it from the others. As
+there are several hundred _pelotons_ the designs are many, interesting,
+and reveal much of the inner nature of the _poilu_. Every species of
+beast and fowl is depicted,—greyhound, stork, swallow, and other
+types,—as a monkey riding on a shell, a demon with trident pursuing a
+German, and then perhaps a child’s face, copied no doubt from the locket
+of one of the men.
+
+Soldiers go up cheering wildly, singing and shouting. They return
+silent, tired, covered with mud, and reduced in numbers. German rifles,
+bayonets, caps, buttons, cartridges, and other odds and ends are then
+offered for sale. In August a _poilu_ offered me a German rifle. I was
+examining it, and admiring the design, when I noticed the maker’s
+name,—the latest type German rifle had been made in New Jersey, U.S.A.
+
+In addition to these things, the _poilus_ have for sale many articles
+they have made themselves. The favorite is the _briquet_, or pocket
+lighter. This is made in all conceivable sizes and shapes, and operates
+by a flint and steel lighting a gasoline wick. This is why we use more
+gasoline _en repos_ than when rolling! The soldiers also take the
+_soixante-quinze_ shell-cases and carve and hammer them into vases. As
+many of the men were experts at work of this type “_avant la guerre_,”
+and as much local talent has appeared since, some of the specimens are
+very fine indeed, and command high prices in the cities.
+
+
+[Illustration: A DIVISION EN REPOS
+INTERNATIONAL FILM SERVICE CO., INC.]
+
+
+It is these laughing, playing, seemingly care-free soldiers who are the
+spirit of the war. Relieved from the tense struggle of life and death
+for a brief rest, their joyous nature blossoms forth in reaction from
+the serious affairs of their day’s work.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+THERE is nothing that so brings out the best in a man as to fight
+against terrific odds, to struggle in a losing fight with the knowledge
+that only by superhuman effort can the odds be equaled or turned. To
+work for an ideal is a wonderfully inspiring thing, but when the battle
+necessitates the risking or the sacrificing of home, happiness, and life
+it brings to the surface in those who persevere characteristics which
+lie dormant or concealed.
+
+An ideal must be worth while when millions of men gladly risk their all
+for its attainment, and those men who risk and sacrifice must have
+returned to them something for what they give. Whatever sort of creature
+he is on the surface, the fire test, if a man passes it and is not
+shrivelled in its all-consuming flame, must develop in him certain
+latent and hitherto buried attributes which are fit to greet the light
+of day. If he be lacking in worthy human instincts, the flame will
+destroy him, but if he passes through the test, he emerges a better
+man—how much better depends on the individual. At least, having once
+seen the ideal, he has something now for which to live and strive.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+THE world, judging from what it saw on the surface, flatly declared that
+France could never stand up under the strain; but what has happened has
+proved how little of the real worth of a nation or of a man is ever
+visible on the surface. There must always come the test, the fire which
+burns off the mask, the false surface beneath which mankind ever hides,
+and brings forth what is concealed—good or bad. The bad is swept away
+and the good survives.
+
+The French are a temperamental people, and consequently are most easily
+affected by circumstances. In former times the mass of the people were
+inclined to be demonstrative, insincere, somewhat selfish, and rather
+egotistical. These characteristics could never pass the tests, and now
+the true spirit of France, the Phœnix, is rising from the ashes of the
+past a freed and glorified being, radiant in the joy of accomplishment.
+From the torture she has endured, an understanding of the feelings and
+desires of others must be born which will banish the taint of
+selfishness forever. Those who do things are never egotistical—they have
+no time to talk, and France has been doing things these past years.
+Those who rub elbows with the elementals and sacrifice for each other
+and a cause can never be insincere again. And what harm is there in
+demonstration? The bad characteristics removed, this becomes merely an
+effervescence, a bubbling over of a joyous, unrestrained nature—Ponce de
+Leon’s true fountain of perpetual youth.
+
+The difference between the men who have served at the front and either
+seen or felt great suffering, and those who have not, is most marked.
+One evening I was in an _abri_ where some new recruits were wrangling
+over unimportant things, and showing their selfish character in every
+speech and act, when a desperately wounded man was brought in. After
+serving for some time in the trenches he had been given a few days’
+leave to see his family. He went back happily, thinking of the wife and
+the little children he was soon to see again. Having left the third-line
+trenches, he was walking through the woods down the _boyau_ which leads
+to the outer world, when a shell broke overhead. The _brancardiers_
+patched him up and brought him in with his head bound so that his eyes
+and mouth alone were visible. The doctor handed him a cup of _Pinard_
+and a cigarette, neither of which would he touch until he had offered it
+to the rest of us. I picked up his helmet which he had put down for an
+instant, although his eye never left it. There was a hole in it through
+which I could have rolled a golf ball.
+
+To illustrate the reverse—I was standing in a town a little ways back,
+waiting for a car to give me a lift up to the lines, when a kitten
+rubbed against my leg. I picked it up and started to play with it.
+Instantly a peasant—not too old to serve—rushed out and snatched the
+kitten from my arms:
+
+“_Ce nest pas à vous!_” was his comment.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+THE English can never be called a temperamental race, but even their
+stolid worth has needed much shaking up for the best in it to come to
+the surface. The example they have set since their awakening is one
+which any nation may well emulate, and it will be a proud people indeed
+which can ever equal the record they have made in this war for courage
+and devotion, never surpassed in the history of the world.
+
+The _poilu_ and the Tommy are of such opposite types that each
+completely mystifies the other. The Frenchman works himself up to a
+fanatical state of enthusiasm, and in a wild burst of excitement dashes
+into the fray. The Englishman finishes his cigarette, exchanges a joke
+with his “bunkie,” and coolly goes “over the top.” Both are wonderful
+fighters, with the profoundest admiration for each other, but each with
+an absolute lack of understanding of the other, intensified by the
+difference in language.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+THE varying characteristics of troops from different parts of the
+world—the allied countries, dependencies, and colonies—have led to their
+classification and assignment to the work best adapted to their
+temperament. The fighting troops are divided into two main classes
+called the “flying” and the “holding” divisions. There are some troops
+who are wonderful in a charge, but have no stamina or staying power to
+resist counterattacks or the wear of steady fighting. There are others
+who lack the initiative and dash, but who can hold on and resist
+anything. Then there are others who, while they are possessed of both
+qualities, are somewhat better suited for one class than the other. The
+Flying Divisions are used chiefly in the attacks, where a quick advance
+and desperate fighting must win the day. This completed, they go back
+_en repos_ again, while the Holding Divisions take their place to
+consolidate the ground won, and to resist the enemy’s attempts to regain
+it. The Flying Divisions have longer _repos_ but more violent fighting
+while they are on the line, and the Holding Divisions have shorter
+_repos_ but a less strenuous although longer stretch in the trenches.
+This has all been worked out from observation and experiment.
+
+For example,—in the early days of the war the Madagascans, French
+colored colonial troops, are given certain trenches to take. They take
+them with little delay, and are told to consolidate and hold them. This
+is all very well until supper fails to arrive. The soldiers wait
+impatiently for a short while, and then, ignoring the commands of their
+officers, evacuate their trenches, which are immediately occupied by the
+Germans, and go back for their meal. Supper finished, with no hesitation
+they return and in a wild charge recapture their trenches and several
+more.
+
+Other French troops in the Flying Division are the Algerians, who have
+done wonderful fighting throughout the war, and have suffered heavily.
+It is the boast of the Foreign Legion, which is classed as Algerian,
+that since its organization it has never failed to reach its objective,
+and even in this war it has made good its boast. In one attack the
+Legion entered thirty-five thousand strong and returned victorious with
+a remnant of thirty-five hundred men.
+
+The Algerians have a sense of humor all their own. An _ambulancier_ was
+carrying one of them down to the hospital. As he was only slightly
+wounded he was sitting on the front seat with the driver, leaving more
+room for the _couchés_ inside. One of the _couchés_ was a German. Half
+way to the _triage_ the Algerian made signs to the driver to stop. The
+driver looked inquiringly at the man who, with a broad grin, pulled out
+a long knife and pointed at the German. The driver naturally did not
+humor him, and the sulky Zouave refused to speak to him during the rest
+of the trip.
+
+Another Algerian came into the _poste_ one day. He had a great joke that
+he wanted us all to hear. He said that he had been given three prisoners
+to bring in, and was leading them down a road in a pouring rain, when he
+noticed the ruin of a house with the roof missing. He told the prisoners
+to go in there there—“where it would be drier,” and when they complied,
+stood on the outside and tossed grenades over the wall at them.
+
+The fact that the colonial troops of the Allies, especially those of
+Great Britain—the Canadians, Australians, and New Zealanders—fall
+practically without exception into the Flying Division because of the
+initiative, dash, and daring developed in them to such a degree, has
+given Germany, who has won more victories with poisoned pen than with
+the sword, an opportunity to stir up hard feeling with her propaganda
+between the colonies and their mother country.
+
+This propaganda claims that England has sacrificed her Colonials to save
+her own troops. Nothing could be farther from the truth. While the
+Colonials are in the Flying Division and the larger part of the English
+in the Holding Division, because of their famous bulldog tenacity, the
+English have lost a greater percentage of their men than any one of the
+colonies. The world has never seen such fighting as the troops of Great
+Britain have had to stand up under, and full credit is always given the
+Colonials for their share.
+
+The Canadians particularly have distinguished themselves. They share
+with the Foreign Legion alone the distinction of never having been given
+an objective they have not taken. When the order came for the attack on
+Vimy Ridge it read: _The Canadians will take Vimy Ridge at such and such
+an hour_, and they took it on the dot. With the Canadians must be put
+the Anzacs,—Australians and New Zealanders,—examples of what universal
+military training can do.
+
+Then there are the Indians, who never take a prisoner. By training and
+tradition they are great head-hunters, and enjoy nothing better than
+creeping out at night over No Man’s Land and waiting before the enemy’s
+trench until a sentry puts up his head to observe. A quick sweep of the
+curved knife, the head is secured, and the Indian returns with the
+feeling of “something accomplished, something done, has earned a night’s
+repose.” Their sense of humor has much in common with that of the
+Algerians—and of the Germans.
+
+Many of the heads, in all stages of curing, have been found in the
+knapsacks and equipments of these troops—when they were dead or
+unconscious. While conscious, the Indian will guard them with his life,
+feeling that they are legitimate souvenirs.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+THERE are three French medals which are given for service in this war,
+not to mention a number of lesser ones which are seen rarely. The most
+coveted of these is the Legion of Honour, a medal famous for some
+centuries both in war and peace. This is divided into several classes.
+There is the Grand Cross of the Legion of Honour, a very large medal
+worn over the right-hand pocket with no ribbon. This has been awarded to
+a few men of the greatness of Joffre and Petain. Then there is the grade
+of Commander of the Legion of Honour. This is a smaller cross worn at
+the neck. There are also the ranks of Officer and Chevalier. Both are
+small crosses on red ribbons, but the former has a rosette on the ribbon
+to distinguish it. These are awarded to officers only and are greatly
+prized.
+
+Two new medals were struck for the war,—the _Médaille Militaire_ and the
+_Croix de Guerre_. The _Médaille_ is a round medal on a yellow ribbon of
+one class only, and is awarded to officers and soldiers alike for actual
+bravery on the field. The _Croix de Guerre_ is a bronze cross on a green
+and red ribbon, and has three classes,—the _Croix de Guerre d’Armée_,
+which has a bronze palm on the ribbon, _de Corps d’Armée_, which has a
+bronze star on the ribbon, and _de Division_, which has a plain ribbon.
+They are awarded for different degrees of bravery or service to officers
+and soldiers alike, and may be won unlimited times. In aviation a
+_Croix_ with palm is given to an aviator for every enemy plane he is
+officially credited with downing. Thus Gynemer at the time of his death
+was privileged to wear fifty-five palms on his ribbon. For the benefit
+of such as he a silver palm is worn, representing five bronze, and a
+gold palm in place of ten bronze. Before this was allowed, Gynemer wore
+his ribbon with forty odd palms.
+
+In addition to these there are the colonial medals and a number of
+French decorations which have not strictly to do with the war.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+TONIGHT I am on guard. I have just taken a walk around the cars. It is
+the hour before the dawn, and the cold, grey mist hangs over all, robing
+the jagged ruins and harmonizing the rough outlines into something more
+human, while accentuating the stare of the vacant window-openings. There
+is the first crescent of the moon in the sky. Two companies of artillery
+have just passed along the road. The guns and caissons creak and rumble,
+and the men, preserving a sleepy silence, bend forward on their horses,
+their heavy sabres smacking against the horses’ sides, and their blue
+uniforms melting into the mist.
+
+The officer halts to water his horse, and we chat for a minute. The
+_contre-avions_ are after a raider headed for Bar-le-Duc, and I put out
+my lantern. We smile as the shrapnel bursts more than a mile from the
+machine. The officer speaks a few words of praise about his men, then
+vaults on his horse. We exchange “_bonne chance_” and he canters off
+down the road, disappearing in the blue-grey mist.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+A RUMOR creeps into camp that the next attack will be at V——. More
+rumors follow, supported by the increased traffic. We are on the main
+road to V——, and are keenly critical. We take out our maps and examine
+the outline of the front in the sector just as if we knew something
+about it. Would-be strategists hold forth in heated arguments, and many
+bitter debates follow. Those of us who have the early watch just at
+daybreak notice many companies of _soixante-quinzes_ rumbling by each
+morning, and observe that they take the left fork of the road. This is
+important, for the left road leads towards M——, which is really not in
+our sector. More argument follows, and ears are constantly strained to
+catch the first augmentation of the distant thunder of the guns, and to
+determine from which end of the sector it comes.
+
+Now all the officers admit that an attack is to ensue shortly, but they
+do not know when. We tune up our cars and get our baggage ready, as we
+may be called. The lieutenant receives some orders and warns us to be
+ready to move on a moment’s notice.
+
+The traffic is incessant now. _Camions_ with shells, barbed wire,
+_camouflage_ cloth, _torpilles_, and more shells rush by. Convoys pass
+filled with troops, cheering wildly, thirty-five hundred or more in an
+evening. The thunder is gradually intensified, and the sky flashes
+faintly in the distance like heat lightning. From a hilltop artillery
+rockets and star-shells can be seen in the far horizon. More troops keep
+going up, and the guns pound the line with unabated fury.
+
+It is evening, and we are formed in a circle listening to some story.
+The lieutenant walks up to us:
+
+“We move at seven in the morning,” he says laconically, and steps off.
+
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+
+
+
+                                   IV
+
+                              AT THE FRONT
+
+THIS time we have a different run. It is from Montzéville to Hill 239,
+and the wounded are brought in through the communication trench which
+leads to Mort Homme—the well-named Dead Man’s Hill. The road was once
+lined for a distance of perhaps a mile with towering poplars, evinced by
+the size of the stumps, but now not one of them is left higher than
+three or four feet. The road runs the entire distance across open
+meadows, and as what _camouflage_ there was has been shot away by the
+Boche in his search for two 220 batteries, which have long since moved
+on, the enemy _saucisses_ can regulate the traffic quite simply. The
+place has been shot up so much recently that there has been no time to
+repair the roads fully, and now there are long stretches temporarily
+patched with rough, broken stone, which makes bad going. Riding forward,
+one sees large German shells breaking on the road ahead like sudden
+black clouds, which disappear slowly and convey to the mind
+uncomfortable premonitions.
+
+Mort Homme comes suddenly and bleakly into view about two kilometres on
+our left,—a hill, not exceedingly high, commanding a great plain, it is
+imposing only in the memory of the rivers of blood that have flowed down
+its sides. Once—and looking at it one can scarcely believe it—this was
+covered with trees and vegetation like many another less famous hill.
+Now it is reduced to a mere sandpile, pitted with the scars of a million
+shells. After standing the continuous bombardment of both combatants for
+over a year, there is left not a stick of vegetation, nor an inch of
+ground that has not been turned over by shells many times. Crowned by
+the pink of the sunset, it stands there on the plain a great monument to
+the glorious death of thousands.
+
+The French lost many thousands of lives in their attempts to capture
+Mort Homme, and were very bitter, consequently, against its defenders.
+There was a large tunnel running through the hill, and when three sides
+had been captured and both ends of the tunnel were held, it was
+discovered that they had trapped there three thousand Germans. I talked
+with a man who walked through the tunnel the day after the massacre and
+he told me that it was literally inches deep in blood.
+
+Arrived at the _poste_, which is nothing more than a hole in the ground,
+we stand around while the _brancardiers_ load the car and exchange lies
+with any one who happens to be there. The Boche sends a dozen or more
+shells whining over our heads to break on the road or beside it, and
+near enough for every one to gravitate slowly towards the _abri_ in
+preparation for a wild dive should the next shell fall much nearer. One
+man asked me why they put stairs leading into an _abri_, as nobody ever
+thought of using them. When I asked him how else one would get out, he
+said he had never thought of that.
+
+There is nothing quite so uncomfortable to hear as the near whistle of a
+shell. The more one hears the sound the more it affects him. There is
+something in the sharp whine which seems to create despair and induce
+subconscious melancholy. There is a feeling of helplessness and
+powerlessness that is most depressing. The thunder of the guns or the
+crash of the bursting shells cannot be compared with the sound of this
+approaching menace. It is as if some demon from the depths of Hades were
+hurtling towards you, its weird laughter crying out, calling to you and
+chilling your blood. For the second of its passage a hush falls on the
+conversation, and the best jokes die in dry throats. But it is only for
+that second, and instantly laughter rings out again at some jest.
+Speculations or comments are made on the probable or observed place
+where it exploded, and all is the same except for that subconscious
+tenseness which, for the most part unrealized, grips every man while he
+goes about his work here.
+
+The first ordeal by fire is the easiest. It is then but a new and
+interesting sensation and experience. Later, after one has seen the
+effect and had some close calls, it is more of a nervous strain. The
+whine of a shell is very high-pitched, and after a time the sound wears
+distinctly on the nerves. It is a curious fact that, in spite of the
+philosophy developed, the longer a man has been under shell-fire the
+harder it is for him to stand it. By no means would he think of showing
+it, but he would not deny the fact. It is only the philosophy and
+callousness developed which keep the men from breaking down, and in many
+cases the strain on the nerves becomes so great that men do collapse
+under it. This is one of the forms of so-called “shell-shock.”
+
+The car loaded with _blessés_, we start back, driving more slowly this
+time, as precious lives are in our care and jolts must be avoided
+wherever possible. We find the road still more “out of repair” than when
+we went over it before, with a number of new shell-holes varying from
+two to ten feet in diameter, and much wood, dirt, and torn _camouflage_
+strewn about, and often a horse lying where it was hit, its blood
+coloring the mud in the gutter.
+
+Approaching the town of Montzéville one sees at first a
+wood—_ci-devant_—now a few blackened tree-trunks of spectre-like
+appearance against the grey of the evening sky. Behind these appears the
+town, a mass of jagged ruins, at that distance seeming to be absolutely
+deserted. In fact it is, except for the dozen odd men who live in two or
+three scattered _abris_ for some obscure purpose. An air of desolation
+and despair broods over the place, and God knows it has seen enough to
+haunt it.
+
+From Montzéville we ride on to Dombasle and Jouy, the hospital, and
+after handing over our more or less helpless charges to the tender
+mercies of the _brancardiers_, we return to the relay station at
+Montzéville to wait for our next roll, and to wonder what possible good
+those _poilus_ can be doing who sit all day so peacefully at the door of
+the _abri_ opposite ours, sipping _Pinard_ and smoking their cigarettes.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+THE soldiers at the front are always looking for the bright side of
+life, and after a little one gets to see humor in many more things than
+he would have believed possible at home. As an example, there seems to
+be little humor connected with a funeral, yet one of the times I saw the
+_poilus_ most amused was one day at P 4, our relay station, on such an
+occasion.
+
+There had been an intermittent bombardment, and we were sitting or
+standing inside the _abri_ waiting for it to let up. The _abri_ was
+located in the corner of a graveyard, and there was always the
+unpleasant feeling that the next rain might wash a few bones in on us.
+The _abri_ was small, very crowded, and, as it was several feet
+underground, none too well ventilated. Every one spent long stretches
+here, and brought his food with him. What was too poor to eat soon mixed
+with the mud on the floor, lending an unsavory odor to the atmosphere.
+Presently one of the Frenchmen went out to see if the bombardment had
+stopped. This is discovered by the same method one ascertains whether or
+not it is raining—if he gets wet the storm is not over. The bombardment
+was not over, and we waited. At last it seemed to have let up, only an
+occasional shell crashing into the woods across the road, and we went
+out to stretch and get a breath of air.
+
+The _poilus_ gathered our inquisitive friend from the surrounding
+shrubbery and trees and put him into several empty sandbags which they
+laid on a stretcher, carefully placing the head, which appeared to have
+been solid enough to withstand the shock, at the upper end. Another man
+carried a freshly-made pine-wood coffin. In high spirits, the assembled
+soldiers formed a procession and marched into the graveyard, singing
+alternately a funeral dirge and “Madelon,” the French “Tipperary.” This
+graveyard, not being on the firing-line itself, was rather a formal
+affair. The graves were laid out in neat rows, and each man had one all
+to himself with a wooden cross and his name on it. Of course
+occasionally the shells did a little mixing, but that was a jest of the
+Fates which disturbed no one, least of all those who were mixed.
+
+Arrived at the grave, the _poilus_ rolled in the fragments of our late
+friend and covered them with dirt.
+
+              “_Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note._”
+
+Then they came back, roaring with laughter and tossing the coffin in the
+air. The hero had expected the coffin and they had fooled him. Now they
+could use it again.
+
+The usual method of burial on the French front, where there is little
+time to attend to such matters, is to dig a ditch six feet wide, ten
+feet deep, and twenty feet long approximately. As each man is killed,
+time and circumstances permitting, he is divested of his coat and shoes,
+and his pockets are emptied. He is then thrown into the ditch and
+covered with a few shovelfuls of dirt. This system is all very well
+until new divisions relieve those in the trenches, and start digging
+ditches for their own men. As there are no marks to show the location of
+the old ones, they sometimes uncover rather unpleasant sights.
+
+The reputation we have gained at home of being cold-blooded and lacking
+in the finer senses is undeserved. While one is in it he cannot permit
+himself to realize or dwell on the horrors or they would overwhelm him
+and drive him insane. What is more natural than for the reaction to turn
+the matter into jest and joke, to permit it to glance from the surface
+without inflicting a wound?—“_C’est la guerre._”
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+PLUNGED suddenly from the commonplaces of peace into the seething
+cauldron of war, France has had to adjust herself. Every one without
+exception has lost many who were dear to him and much that he had
+considered essential. The homes and hopes of thousands have been
+blasted. Destruction, following in the wake of the invaders, has laid
+waste much of the land, in many cases irreparably.
+
+Entering the war a man is possessed of the greatest seriousness. He
+thinks of its causes, the results both immediate and future, and of the
+effect of each on him. He is stunned by what he believes himself to be
+bearing up under. Then, as he moves up into the zone, into service and
+action, and sees how others are affected, how much suffering and
+misfortune come to them, he merges his troubles with theirs, realizing
+the pettiness and insignificance of his own in the _tout ensemble_. He
+laughs, and from this laugh springs the philosophy,—“_C’est la guerre._”
+
+If a fly falls in his soup, if his best friend is blown to bits before
+him, if his home and village are destroyed, he calmly shrugs his
+shoulders, and remarks, “_C’est la guerre._”
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+THE roads at the front are cared for by a class of unsung heroes, the
+roadbuilders. Back of the lines German prisoners are often used for this
+work, but it is a rule of warfare that prisoners must not be worked
+under fire, and the Allies observe this as the other rules of civilized
+warfare. The roads are the arteries of the front, and during an attack
+the enemy does his best to cripple them. If he succeeds, the troops in
+the trenches, cut off from food, ammunition, and other supplies, are at
+his mercy. During one attack through which I worked, the Boche, whose
+hobby is getting ranges down to the inch and applying them as all other
+things in a definite system, put a 150 every ten yards down the more
+important roads.
+
+
+[Illustration: NORMAL TRAFFIC AT THE FRONT
+INTERNATIONAL FILM SERVICE CO., INC.]
+
+
+All work in the zone is done by three classes of workers, excluding the
+necessary military operations carried on by the troops in action. First,
+there are the German prisoners who do every kind of work out of the zone
+of fire. Then there are the French prisoners in the army, who have
+committed some military crime, from sneezing in ranks to shooting a
+colonel. Instead of serving time in a guardhouse, these are put in the
+front-line trenches and kept there unarmed to build up the parapet,
+attend to the drains, stop Boche bullets, and perform other functions.
+If, for instance, a French soldier sends a letter through the civil
+instead of the military mails, where the censorship is more strict, he
+receives a thirty days’ sentence. If these prisoners make a suspicious
+move they are shot by their own men. Second timers are rare, but many
+serve life sentences.
+
+Then there is the third class, a regular branch of the army, a
+subdivision of the engineers, termed _pionniers_. The engineers do the
+nastiest work in the army, and the _pionniers_ do the nastiest work in
+the engineers. It is their duty to see that the wire is properly cut
+before a charge, that the parapet is in repair and does not lack
+sandbags,—and it is in this class that the roadbuilders come.
+
+All along the roads lie piles of broken stone, which are continually
+replaced by loads from the rear. At intervals are placed _abris_ filled
+with roadbuilders who watch until a shell hits the road in their sector.
+Then, almost before the dirt settles, they rush out armed with shovels,
+and pile this rough stone into the hole and rush back again to shelter,
+to wait for the next shell, which is not long in coming. This rough
+patching is consolidated later when the sector quiets down, but does
+admirably for the time-being, as the mud and traffic push it rapidly
+into shape.
+
+Steam-rollers are then sent up to finish the work, but find themselves
+_persona non grata_ when left over night in the middle of a narrow and
+muddy road, with no lights showing. We _ambulanciers_ are not fond of
+the species at any time, as they seem to have a great affinity for
+six-inch shells. When disintegrated, any one of the numerous parts
+blocks our way. We are perfectly content to have the task left to the
+simple roadbuilder, who proves less of an obstruction after meeting a
+one-fifty.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+MANY undeveloped instincts lie dormant in the subconscious mind of man.
+In this war, where man has turned back the pages of civilization to live
+and act for a period of time as a glorified cave-dweller, a number of
+these unknown faculties have been discovered and developed.
+
+Many animals have the power of seeing in the dark, and all species can
+sense an unknown danger. These senses have been denied to civilized man,
+but the primitive life at the front has developed them and other
+instincts in those who live there so that it seems as if man might again
+become possessed of all his latent powers.
+
+A man going along a road has a conviction that if he continues he will
+be killed. He makes a wide detour to avoid the road, and a shell strikes
+where he would have been. Then again, men have premonitions that they
+will be killed in the next attack or battle. All this is coupled with
+absolute fatalism. They feel either that they are going to be killed or
+will live through everything, and whichever it is, they merely shrug
+their shoulders, remark, “_C’est la guerre_,” and permit nothing to
+alter their belief. Many say that the shell with their name on it has
+not yet been made, or if it has—“Why worry? We cannot escape it.” I
+carried one man, while doing evacuation work, who had served three years
+without a scratch, and when _en repos_ had fallen from an apple tree and
+broken his leg. He thought it a great joke.
+
+The _ambulancier_ has developed two of these instincts to quite a
+degree. The first is that he can always locate an _abri_, his or some
+one else’s, and disappear in it with astounding rapidity. The second is
+that he can keep the road with no lights. This has to be done almost
+entirely by instinct on many nights, and we find it usually safer to
+make a turn where the “inner voice” directs us rather than where we
+remember it should be. It is not remarkable, of course, that an
+occasional car falls into a ditch or a shell-hole, but astonishing
+rather how seldom this happens. While our Fords never attained any great
+speed in night driving, I rode once with a friend from another section
+in a Fiat, when he drove in pitch darkness faster than fifty miles an
+hour, taking every turn accurately and safely by instinct and luck.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+THE mud plays havoc with calculations, and we long to set our foot once
+again on dry land. All the water in France seems to have gone into mud.
+Water has never been a popular beverage here, and now it is even less
+so. One horrified _poilu_, who had observed me drinking a glass of
+water, asked if it did not give me indigestion. At the front there is
+good reason for this. With so many men buried in the ground and so many
+animals uninterred on it, all the springs are contaminated, and the
+germs of every disease lurk in the water.
+
+The French army provides a light red wine to take its place. This wine
+is little stronger than grape juice and is the _Pinard_ of the _poilus_.
+The government also provides tobacco which, to quote one _ambulancier_,
+cannot be smoked without a gas mask.
+
+The water in the streams is little better, and a bath in one of them
+gives more moral than physical satisfaction. One French artilleryman
+told me with great glee of seeing from his observation post a company of
+German soldiers marched down to a river for a bath. As soon as they were
+in the water he signalled the range to his battery, and they put a
+barrage between the bathers and their clothes.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+VERDUN is more than a name now—it is a symbol. France’s glorious fight
+here with her back to the wall has gone down in history as a golden
+page. The foe thundered at the gates and the gates held,—held for months
+while the fate of France hung in the balance, and then opening, the
+hosts of France poured out and drove the foe back mile by mile, bitter
+miles.
+
+The city does not boast an unscarred building, but these wounds do not
+bleed in vain. For every one here there shall be two across the frontier
+when the day of reckoning comes. An awe-inspiring silence broods over
+the littered streets. There are no civilians here now, but many
+soldiers, and as one walks an occasional cheer greets him,—“_Vive
+l’Amérique!_”
+
+The enemy has been driven back so far by this time that not more than
+half a dozen vengeful shells a day are directed towards the violated
+cathedral, its subterranean vaults blown open and exposed, its walls
+struck, its windows shattered, and its roof fallen. A walk through this
+city, divided by the peaceful Meuse, would convince one, if nothing had
+before, that this war is not in vain, and that no force should be
+spared, no rest taken until the nation which has perpetrated these
+million crimes be crushed, that it may never strike like this again.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+A BATTLE is made up of a number of attacks, and a push consists of a
+number of battles. Consequently, each attack is most important as it is
+one of the single stones out of which the wall of the push is
+constructed. The taking of A—— was a small attack in itself, but it was
+a part of the foundation on which was built the great August push at
+Verdun.
+
+Our section rolled into a town about four miles from A—— three days
+before the attack proper was scheduled to begin. We established our
+headquarters there, and our relay station and _poste de secours_ in the
+Hesse Forest, the latter just behind the third-line trenches.
+
+In the Champagne push the year before the French had not had nearly
+enough artillery support, and it had cost them many lives. It is
+something one hears spoken of rarely. To avoid a repetition of this
+disaster they had massed for this attack in one wood six thousand guns
+varying in calibre from the famous 75’s to several batteries of 380’s,
+mounted on a railroad a stone’s throw from our sleeping quarters.
+However, as we had no time for sleep, it made little difference. The 75
+is about a three-inch gun, and the 380, a sixteen approximately.
+
+Starting in three days before the attack, these guns began firing as
+steadily as they could without overheating. Very often in our front
+_abri_ it was impossible to write because of the vibration. One day,
+when we stopped in the woods to change a punctured tire, the car was
+knocked off the jack by the shocks several times before we could remove
+the tire, and at last we had to run in on the rim.
+
+Finally, just before the men were to go over the top, the barrage was
+set down in front of the trenches and the men climbed over the parapet,
+and started walking towards the enemy. It is always possible to tell the
+_tir de barrage_ by the sound of the guns. There is a certain regularity
+which is lacking when each gun is firing at independent targets, and the
+steady thunder gives one the feeling of a tremendous hammer smashing,
+smashing, irresistibly, each blow falling true and hard, and following
+one another with the regularity of the machines in a giant factory.
+
+A perfect barrage is impenetrable, with the shells falling so near
+together and with such short intervals of time between that nothing can
+survive it. The only possibility is the inaccuracy of some one or more
+guns which will put a number of shells out of the line and leave a break
+or opening.
+
+Before the attack the officers all have their watches carefully
+synchronized, as a mistake of one minute may cost many lives. Walking
+ahead of their men, keeping them the right distance behind the solid
+wall of flame and steel, they wait until a certain minute when the
+barrage is lifted a number of yards and then advance to that distance.
+In the orders, the minute the barrage is to be lifted and the distance
+are given out beforehand; for to advance the soldiers too quickly would
+be to put them under fire from their own guns.
+
+In this attack the first wave passed over the destroyed wire, and on
+reaching the enemy’s front-line trenches could not distinguish them from
+the rest of the ground, and found no living thing there. The second-line
+trenches were little better, and they got their fighting at the
+third-line trenches. So perfect had the preparation and execution of
+this attack been that the Bois d’A—— was cleared of the enemy in
+thirteen minutes from the time the French left their trenches.
+
+The first wave is followed by the “butchers” (the English “moppers-up”),
+who kill all the wounded and the odd prisoners, it being impractical for
+a charging line to attempt to hold a few captives. Also another factor
+which makes this treatment of prisoners necessary, and which the Allies
+have learned by experience, is that unguarded men, once the first wave
+has passed over them, will take out a machine gun and catch the
+advancing troops between two fires. This happened a number of times
+before the simple expedient was adopted of requesting the prisoners to
+go down into an _abri_ where they would be “safer,” and then tossing in
+two or three grenades which kill and bury them at the same time.
+
+Of course the Boche was not idle in the meanwhile, and kept up a hail of
+fire from behind A—— Wood and Dead Man’s Hill, which did not fall until
+two days later, and we had the benefit of this back on the roads as we
+tore from the relay station to the _poste_, to the hospital, and back
+again, trying to take care of as many as we could of the countless
+wounded from the attack who were being brought in. French soldiers who
+had been in the war since 1914 said that they had never seen such fire.
+
+This run and the work through this attack were the most interesting of
+the experiences I had in the zone. We worked day and night, sleeping and
+eating at odd moments and with long intervals between, ceasing only when
+twelve of our cars had gone _en panne_, and half that number of drivers
+were in the hospital suffering from the new mustard gas which was
+showered on us in gas shells. We were tired indeed when relieved for a
+short period _en repos_.
+
+
+[Illustration: TAKING A LOAD FROM THE ABRI
+COPYRIGHT—INTERNATIONAL FILM SERVICE CO., INC.]
+
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+
+
+
+                                   V
+
+                                L’ENVOI
+
+
+AN American army is in France. Old Glory is proudly floating above an
+armed host which has come to stand shoulder to shoulder with the Allies,
+and do battle to prove that Right makes Might. We read in the papers of
+the ovations the troops receive, of the reviews, the presentations, the
+compliments, and the training, and our hearts beat proudly because we
+too are Americans. We are non-combatants, to be sure, and are members
+not of the American army but of the French; yet, we are serving in the
+same cause, and, we hope, doing our bit towards the final victory.
+
+We know that sooner or later the entire American Field Service is to be
+absorbed by the American army, but as to when this is to come, and in
+what manner, we are ignorant. We debate often now about these things,
+and wonder what effect the change is to have on us and on the section.
+Pessimist has picked up a rumor somewhere that we are to be turned out
+in a body, and that drivers who have been training at Allentown are to
+take our places. Cheerful Liar informs us that we are all to be made
+first lieutenants, and that the section is to serve with the American
+troops. “Napoleon” thinks that we are to be discharged, and that French
+drivers who “know their business” are to take our places. Some one else
+says that we are all to be put in the trenches. No one knows anything
+definite, and the _chef_ and _sous-chefs_ are besieged for information
+which they have not. The Assistant Inspector comes out to us and we know
+little more. American officers encountered in Bar-le-Duc can give us no
+information, and rumors, most of them originating in the section,
+contradict each other.
+
+One evening a large Pierce Arrow pulls up beside our cars, parked in a
+walnut grove. Three American medical officers step out with clanking
+spurs, and we are all attention. The _chef_ is called and we assemble.
+The officer in command makes a short speech. The section is to be taken
+over, he says, and those who remain must enlist as privates in the
+American army for the duration of the war. These men, having signed up,
+are then at the disposal of the Army, but will probably be kept in the
+Ambulance Service. The new officers are to be an American lieutenant,
+who will be our present _chef_, two sergeants, and a corporal. The
+section is to continue to serve with the French army, but may be
+transferred to the new American front.
+
+We form small circles and discuss the situation. All the freedom and
+romance are gone, but many are going to stay. The rest have chosen
+aviation or artillery, and one or two may return home. The old volunteer
+Ambulance Service is dead, but the days we have lived with it are
+golden, and nothing can ever take them away from us, or bring them back
+again.
+
+There is a little lump in each man’s throat as he turns in tonight, but
+from now on we serve America, and any sacrifice is worth that. And for
+the rest—“_C’est la guerre._”
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+THE participation of the United States in this war marks the time of
+this country’s coming of age, and the real beginning of its work as one
+of the great world powers. Up to the War of the Revolution the thirteen
+colonies had more than enough on their hands in managing their own
+affairs. In the throes of that war the country was born, and slowly
+grew, feeling its increasing power which was never quite secure until
+the Civil War was at an end. Then, year by year, reaching out over the
+two continents of America, guiding and helping our weaker brothers in
+their affairs, gave us a foundation of courage and experience in the
+adolescent period before we were ready to stand forth staunch in our
+beliefs and secure in our power to uphold them. That that time has come,
+and that the Old World, throwing down the gauntlet to the New, has found
+it unexpectedly ready, is shown by the presence of the Stars and Stripes
+on the battlefields of France. The mask of our isolation by the ocean,
+that time-worn excuse, has been rudely torn aside by modern inventions,
+and the affairs of Europe have become by their intimacy our own. In
+mingling with them as we were forced to do, one side was bound to
+transgress sooner or later—Germany did. And when Germany transgressed,
+America stepped across the bridge from youth to manhood, and picking up
+the iron gauntlet proceeded to settle the question by force of arms,—the
+one indisputable argument.
+
+This war is to make Democracy secure only in that it is the continual
+struggle between the new and the old, a struggle whose issue is certain
+before the start—civilization moves to the west.
+
+America is the vanguard of the European civilization moving westward. It
+has taken the sum of the civilizations of the earth to bridge the chasm
+of the Atlantic. America is the last section of the circle of the world,
+which completed, civilization moves back to its starting place. Power
+increases with civilization and, with each step civilization has taken,
+the conquests have been proportionate. Each has tried world conquest and
+failed, but each has come nearer and each time the world has been nearer
+ready to receive it. The present war is the attempt of a representative
+of the civilization of Europe to control the earth, and proving _per se_
+its unfitness to do so.
+
+Consequently, the relation of America to the War is that she is coming
+of age, and is at last ready to take her place among the great nations
+of the world as a power that can never again be disregarded, a mighty
+guardian of the Right.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+AMERICA has been aptly called the Melting Pot. Since 1620, when the
+Pilgrims established their permanent colony at Plymouth, people from the
+Old World have been flocking to this country and becoming “Americans.”
+Every country of the globe has sent its representatives—each a different
+metal to be merged with the others until the American should be as
+distinct a type as the Englishman or Frenchman. At first there was
+natural discord—each was a different metal in the melting pot, but as
+there was no heat, no fire, they could not amalgamate. Then came the
+first blast of national fire—the Revolution, and in that, the first
+great struggle for Liberty, was moulded from the composite alloys—the
+American. The American as he came from the mould of the Revolution was
+the foundation on which the country rests, and although the descendants
+of those Americans are too few in number now to be more than a flux for
+the steady stream of metal as it pours from the pot, they can at least
+preserve the standard that their forebears passed down to them as the
+Golden Heritage, and be examples to these new and untried metals.
+
+In the War of 1812 and in the Civil War the new metals were amalgamated
+and tempered with the old, but since 1864 there has been no fire hot
+enough to mould together the millions who have sought the United States
+as a home. There has been no sword over our heads. There has been no
+great impending disaster, no danger to the country as a whole of great
+loss of life or property, and our Liberty and our Honor have not been at
+stake as they are today.
+
+So it is now in this fierce blast from Hell’s furnace, the Great War,
+that the National fire is rekindled and each metal is slowly sinking its
+own individuality into the common form carefully stirred by the hand of
+the Almighty, and in the white heat, as the pure metal is tempered until
+it rings true and measures to the old standard, the slag is cast aside.
+Thus is America the Melting Pot.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+PARIS is the place where everything begins and ends. From here during
+the four years of war there has been the constant departure of men bound
+for the great adventure, and it is Paris that has received with open
+arms the greater bulk of the _permissionnaires_ and the _réformés_. Gay,
+very gay on the surface, but below the crust it is the saddest of all
+places. When a man is in great agony he laughs. It is so with the great
+city, and the laugh of delirium is a poor sham indeed.
+
+The shortage of necessities has also been a damper on the city. In
+Neuilly, a suburb of Paris, a man was carrying a bag of coal. A few
+paces behind him a well-dressed woman was walking home. The man dropped
+a piece of coal from his sack and the woman eagerly picked it up and
+placed it in her gold bag.
+
+The war hangs over all in a dismal cloud and is in the back of every
+one’s mind; although it is rare to hear it mentioned it is always before
+one. There is no Parisian who has not lost some one very dear to him or
+her, and nineteen out of every twenty women are in deep mourning. The
+social activities, therefore, are greatly curtailed, and the gay life is
+left only to the people of the street, the majority of whom have been
+driven to that life by the reaction of despair and sadness, and in
+lonesomeness seek the only companionship that they know.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+THE old chateau at 21, rue Raynouard, so kindly loaned to the American
+Field Service for its headquarters by the Comtesse de la Villestreux, is
+a place of traditions. The great Napoleon has walked here. Rousseau
+wrote part of his works here, and Franklin walked in the park daily
+while he was Ambassador to France.
+
+The park is the most extensive and beautiful within the fortifications
+of Paris, and contains the largest grove of chestnuts in the city. The
+water in the springs on the place was famous in the seventeenth century
+as the “_eaux de Passy_.”
+
+In the shadow of the Eiffel Tower, located on the banks of the Seine,
+the place breathes an atmosphere of rest and beauty and solidity,
+springing from the traditions of age. The men of the American Field
+Service, we who have had this place as the home to which we would return
+_en permission_, can never fully express our sincere gratitude to the
+Comtesse de la Villestreux and the other members of the Hottinguer
+family, who so graciously extended to us, Americans, the hospitality of
+their beautiful estate.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+A DREAM of a town, hot but not oppressive under the sun of the Midi,
+with quaint streets meandering through it, little blue tables set in the
+sunlight and a park filled with gay-colored soldiers and drab women, was
+my first impression of Bordeaux. Dilapidated _fiacres_ in tow of hungry
+horses transport one from place to place, and give the newcomer his
+first taste of the haggling, without which a Latin would be
+disconsolate.
+
+For all its quaintness and simplicity it is as much a “pay as you enter”
+city as the rest, and even in the park should one sit upon an iron seat
+instead of a wooden one there is an indemnity of two _sous_ extracted
+and a further _sou_ should the seat possess arms. A damsel in black then
+presents a ticket which entitles the possessor to hold down the seat as
+long as he comfortably can. The military may sit free, however, if they
+know it; but the new arrivals do not, and the park fund increases.
+
+Bordeaux on my return I found to be quite Americanized. The quiet
+uniforms of our soldiers were neutralizing the bright reds and blues of
+our ally. The little blue tables were often covered by a khaki arm, and
+many new signs proclaimed “American Bar,” those houses which had
+specialized in German beers before the war having painted “American”
+over the name of the Rhine country.
+
+There is a large American hospital here completely equipped and ready to
+receive and take good care of the flood that will soon be pouring in. An
+American private telephone line has been built to Paris by Americans,
+and with our gradual assimilation of the railway system of France we are
+“carrying on” well from here.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+THE American Ambulance, the American Field Service as it was in the old
+days, is dead. The spirit of _bonne camaraderie_ and intimacy which each
+member felt for the others; the time when, members of no army, we served
+with the French, on equal terms with the _poilus_ in the trenches and
+the officers on the staff; when, responsible to no one, we served the
+cause and the god Adventure, content with the past and with no thought
+for the morrow,—has passed. With the coming of army discipline and
+system, with governmental organization and routine, the old days are
+gone. We are sorry, selfishly, to see them go; but we cannot and would
+not have it otherwise. The Ambulance Service is now proudly enrolled
+under Old Glory, and is broader and greater than it ever could have been
+as a volunteer organization. We rejoice that it is so, and are proud
+that we have been a part of it. So, hail to the new United States Army
+Ambulance Corps! The men of the Old Ambulance salute you!
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+A LITTLE group of us stands together in the darkness, with the deck
+rising and falling beneath our feet. We are silent and pensive. The last
+lights of Bordeaux are fading in the mist, and with them France. The
+boat has been running up and down the wide harbor all day, and now in
+the darkness is making a dash for the open sea, hoping to outwit the
+enemy lurking in the depths.
+
+Up there, far to the north of those lights, the great guns thunder and
+the sky glimmers with star-shells. Men are fighting, and struggling, and
+dying, and laughing over their _Pinard_, but it is not for us. We have
+finished for a while. Of course we are coming back, but furlough is not
+offered often enough to be refused lightly. We feel a queer mixture of
+sadness, and happiness, and relief. The life has worked its way into our
+hearts, and the call to return rings in our ears. But the relief from
+the tenseness and the joy of anticipation of America and Home exceeds
+all else. The wind blowing across the waves starts somewhere in America,
+and we take deep breaths. Soon we shall be home, shall see our friends,
+and shall lead a life of luxurious ease again for a short space of time.
+
+We walk around the deck and then, taking out our pipes, settle down in
+our steamer chairs and puff thoughtfully. All is peace and quietness
+here, the spray breaking over the bow and the waves lapping against the
+sides. It is hard to realize that the earth is shaking in a cataclysm
+only a little north, but we know that this must be endured until the
+power of Germany is destroyed—that the world may be as peaceful as is
+the sea tonight.
+
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+
+
+
+                                GLOSSARY
+
+
+[_The meaning of the words as given in this Glossary is that which holds
+in the army at the front and sometimes conflicts with the meaning as
+given in the dictionary._]
+
+            ABRI                   _dug-out_
+
+            AMBULANCIER            _ambulance driver_
+
+            ARGOT                  _slang_
+
+            ARRIVÉE                _an enemy shell_
+
+            ASSIS                  _a wounded man able to
+                                     sit up_
+
+            BLESSÉ                 _wounded man_
+
+            BONNE CAMARADERIE      _good-fellowship_
+
+            BONNE CHANCE           _good luck_
+
+            BOYAUX                 _communication trench_
+
+            BRANCARDIER            _stretcher-bearer_
+
+            BRIQUET                _pocket lighter_
+
+            CAMION                 _truck_
+
+            CAMIONNETTE            _small truck_
+
+            CHEF                   _first lieutenant_
+
+            CONDUCTEUR             _ambulance driver_
+
+            CONTRE-AVION           _anti-aircraft gun_
+
+            COUCHÉ                 _a wounded man lying
+                                     down_
+
+            CROIX DE GUERRE        _war cross_
+
+            DÉPART                 _a shell fired towards
+                                     the enemy_
+
+            DUD                    _a shell which does not
+                                     explode_
+
+            ÉCLAT                  _shell fragment_
+
+            EN PANNE               _breakdown_
+
+            EN PERMISSION          _on furlough_
+
+            EN REPOS               _on a rest_
+
+            ESTAMINET              _café_
+
+            MAJOR                  _army surgeon_
+
+            MALADE                 _sick man_
+
+            MARÉCHAL DES LOGIS     _French petty officer_
+
+            MAUVAIS TEMPS          _rainy season_
+
+            MÉDAILLE MILITAIRE     _military medal_
+
+            MINNIEWERFER           _German trench mortar_
+
+            MORT HOMME             _Dead Man’s Hill_
+
+            MUSETTE                _haversack_
+
+            PELOTON                _section_
+
+            PERMISSION             _furlough_
+
+            PERMISSIONNAIRE        _man on furlough_
+
+            PINARD                 _wine_
+
+            PIONNIER               _a branch of the
+                                     Engineers_
+
+            POSTE DE SECOURS       _front dressing station
+                                     for wounded_
+
+            RAVITAILLEMENT         _provisioning_
+
+            RÉFORMÉ                _soldier discharged on
+                                     account of wounds_
+
+            ROLL                   _to drive_
+
+            RÔTI                   _shell which does not
+                                     explode_
+
+            SAUCISSE               _observation balloon_
+
+            SOIXANTE-QUINZE        _75 mm. shell_
+
+            SOUS-CHEF              _second lieutenant_
+
+            STRAF                  _to shell_ (literally,
+                                     _to curse_)
+
+            TIR DE BARRAGE         _barrage fire_
+
+            TORPILLE               _trench mortar shell_
+
+            VERBOTEN               _forbidden_
+
+            VILLE HAUTE            _upper city_
+
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+
+
+
+ ● Transcriber’s Notes:
+    ○ Missing or obscured punctuation was silently corrected.
+    ○ Typographical errors were silently corrected.
+    ○ Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation were made consistent only
+      when a predominant form was found in this book.
+    ○ Text that was in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_).
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's The White Road of Mystery, by Philip Dana Orcutt
+
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+
+<pre>
+
+Project Gutenberg's The White Road of Mystery, by Philip Dana Orcutt
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most
+other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
+whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of
+the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at
+www.gutenberg.org.  If you are not located in the United States, you'll have
+to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook.
+
+Title: The White Road of Mystery
+       The Note-Book of an American Ambulancier
+
+Author: Philip Dana Orcutt
+
+Release Date: March 19, 2019 [EBook #59102]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WHITE ROAD OF MYSTERY ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
+http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images
+generously made available by The Internet Archive)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+
+<div  class='figcenter id001'>
+<img src='images/cover.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
+</div>
+<div class='pbb'>
+ <hr class='pb c000' />
+</div>
+<div>
+  <h1 class='c001'>THE WHITE ROAD OF MYSTERY</h1>
+</div>
+
+<div class='nf-center-c0'>
+<div class='nf-center c000'>
+    <div>THE NOTE-BOOK OF AN</div>
+    <div>AMERICAN AMBULANCIER</div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div id='frontis'  class='figcenter id002'>
+<img src='images/i004.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
+<div class='ic002'>
+<p>AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE, SECTION XXXI<br /><span class='small'><i>at 21 rue Raynouard, Paris</i><br /><i>The author is standing the seventh from the right</i></span></p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<div class='pbb'>
+ <hr class='pb c002' />
+</div>
+
+<div class='nf-center-c0'>
+<div class='nf-center c003'>
+    <div><span class='c004'>THE WHITE ROAD</span></div>
+    <div><span class='c004'>OF MYSTERY</span></div>
+    <div class='c000'><span class='c005'>THE NOTE-BOOK OF AN</span></div>
+    <div><span class='c005'>AMERICAN AMBULANCIER</span></div>
+    <div class='c000'>BY</div>
+    <div><span class='c006'>PHILIP DANA ORCUTT</span></div>
+    <div>AMERICAN AMBULANCE FIELD SERVICE</div>
+    <div><i>Section</i> <span class='fss'>XXXI</span></div>
+    <div class='c002'><i>Illustrated with Photographs</i></div>
+    <div class='c002'>NEW YORK: JOHN LANE COMPANY</div>
+    <div>LONDON: JOHN LANE, THE BODLEY HEAD</div>
+    <div>1918</div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div class='pbb'>
+ <hr class='pb c002' />
+</div>
+
+<div class='nf-center-c0'>
+<div class='nf-center c003'>
+    <div>COPYRIGHT, 1918</div>
+    <div>BY JOHN LANE COMPANY</div>
+    <div class='c007'>THE·PLIMPTON·PRESS</div>
+    <div>NORWOOD·MASS·U·S·A</div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div class='pbb'>
+ <hr class='pb c003' />
+</div>
+
+<div class='nf-center-c0'>
+<div class='nf-center c003'>
+    <div><span class='sc'>To</span></div>
+    <div class='c000'>SECTION THIRTY-ONE</div>
+    <div class='c000'>TO ALL OTHER SECTIONS OF THE</div>
+    <div class='c000'><span class='sc'>American Field Service</span></div>
+    <div class='c000'>AND TO THOSE WHO HAVE</div>
+    <div>MADE THEM POSSIBLE</div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div class='pbb'>
+ <hr class='pb c003' />
+</div>
+<div class='chapter'>
+  <h2 class='c008'>Preface</h2>
+</div>
+<p class='c009'><span class='c004'>T</span>HE position of the ambulance driver
+at the front is much the same as that
+of the grouse in open season: every
+one has a chance to take a shot at him
+and he has no opportunity for retaliation.
+That is why so many drivers
+entered aviation or artillery at the expiration
+of their term of enlistment of six
+months.</p>
+<p class='c010'>This transferring came to an end when
+the American Government took over the
+Ambulance Service. From then on, all
+drivers have been of necessity enlisted
+men. The old American Ambulance, later
+called the American Field Service, was
+a purely volunteer organization, and
+had no connection with any government.
+It was made up of American
+citizens who left civil life, paying their
+own expenses and furnishing their own
+equipment, and in many cases their
+ambulances. These men, feeling that
+America owed a debt to France, banded
+together to form the original American
+Ambulance Service, which they laid on
+the altar of their devotion to a true and
+great cause.</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>By virtue of the nature of his work
+the ambulance driver must always be in
+the warmest places, and has a really unusual
+opportunity to observe by moving
+from sector to sector and battle to battle
+what few other branches of the service
+can see.</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>I had the honor to be associated with
+Section <span class='fss'>XXXI</span> of the American Field Service,
+and have endeavored to weave my
+simple tapestry from the swiftly-moving
+pictures of life “in the zone” and out
+of it, as they passed before me.</p>
+<div class='c011'>P. D. O.</div>
+
+<p class='c010'><span class='sc'>Boston</span>, <i>June, 1918</i></p>
+<div class='pbb'>
+ <hr class='pb c002' />
+</div>
+<div class='chapter'>
+  <h2 class='c012'>Contents</h2>
+</div>
+<table class='table0' summary=''>
+<colgroup>
+<col width='10%' />
+<col width='80%' />
+<col width='10%' />
+</colgroup>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c013'><span class='xsmall'>CHAPTER</span></td>
+    <td class='c014'>&nbsp;</td>
+    <td class='c015'><span class='xsmall'>PAGE</span></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c013'>I.</td>
+    <td class='c014'>THE WHITE ROAD OF MYSTERY</td>
+    <td class='c015'><a href='#ch01'>19</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr><td>&nbsp;</td></tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c013'>II.</td>
+    <td class='c014'>IN ACTION</td>
+    <td class='c015'><a href='#ch02'>41</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr><td>&nbsp;</td></tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c013'>III.</td>
+    <td class='c014'>EN REPOS</td>
+    <td class='c015'><a href='#ch03'>87</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr><td>&nbsp;</td></tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c013'>IV.</td>
+    <td class='c014'>AT THE FRONT</td>
+    <td class='c015'><a href='#ch04'>117</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr><td>&nbsp;</td></tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c013'>V.</td>
+    <td class='c014'>L’ENVOI</td>
+    <td class='c015'><a href='#ch05'>151</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr><td>&nbsp;</td></tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c013'>&nbsp;</td>
+    <td class='c014'>GLOSSARY</td>
+    <td class='c015'><a href='#glos'>171</a></td>
+  </tr>
+</table>
+<div class='pbb'>
+ <hr class='pb c002' />
+</div>
+<div class='chapter'>
+  <h2 class='c008'>Illustrations</h2>
+</div>
+<table class='table1' summary=''>
+<colgroup>
+<col width='88%' />
+<col width='11%' />
+</colgroup>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c014'>&nbsp;</td>
+    <td class='c015'><span class='xsmall'>PAGE</span></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c014'>AMERICAN FIELD SERVICE, SECTION XXXI</td>
+    <td class='c015'><a href='#frontis'>4</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr><td>&nbsp;</td></tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c014'>A SAUCISSE</td>
+    <td class='c015'><a href='#i033'>33</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr><td>&nbsp;</td></tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c014'>BRANCARDIERS LOADING AN AMBULANCE</td>
+    <td class='c015'><a href='#i057'>57</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr><td>&nbsp;</td></tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c014'>AN ABRI</td>
+    <td class='c015'><a href='#i077'>77</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr><td>&nbsp;</td></tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c014'>A DIVISION EN REPOS</td>
+    <td class='c015'><a href='#i095'>95</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr><td>&nbsp;</td></tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c014'>NORMAL TRAFFIC AT THE FRONT</td>
+    <td class='c015'><a href='#i131'>131</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr><td>&nbsp;</td></tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c014'>TAKING A LOAD FROM THE ABRI</td>
+    <td class='c015'><a href='#i147'>147</a></td>
+  </tr>
+</table>
+<div class='pbb'>
+ <hr class='pb c002' />
+</div>
+<div class='chapter'>
+  <h2 class='c008'>Prelude</h2>
+</div>
+<p class='c009'><span class='c004'>T</span>HE <i>sweet, clear notes of a bugle come
+faintly up to me through the cool air of
+morning, and as the sound dies away I hear
+the great guns begin their bombardment, the
+rumbling echoes merging into the matin
+chimes wafted across the valley from some
+small church as yet unscarred by Mars.</i></p>
+<p class='c010'><i>Reveille, the summons, calls man from
+his peaceful, prenatal slumber, rouses him
+and bids him prepare for what the world
+will send him. Man goes forth to meet the
+world, and struggles through his allotted
+time until the bells of God ring for him to
+fold himself in his soul and sleep.</i></p>
+<div class='pbb'>
+ <hr class='pb c002' />
+</div>
+<div class='chapter'>
+  <h2 id='ch01' class='c008'>I<br /> <br />THE WHITE ROAD OF MYSTERY</h2>
+</div>
+<p class='c009'><span class='c004'>A</span> SHARP whistle cuts the tense silence.
+It is the signal to start. It marks the line
+which breaks the past from the future;
+it is the boundary between the Known
+and the Unknown, and the frontier where
+duty and service merge. For a second,
+as the motors race, there is commotion—quickly
+settling into a rhythmic whir.
+The men are in their seats with somewhat
+of an echo of that whir in their
+hearts. The lieutenant’s car rolls slowly
+out of the gate, followed by the <i>chef’s</i>,
+and in turn by the others of the section,
+and as the last car crosses the threshold
+there is a cheer from the friends gathered
+to bid us Godspeed,—for Section <span class='fss'>XXXI</span> is
+born.</p>
+<hr class='c016' />
+<p class='c017'><span class='c004'>W</span>E are off. We do not know where
+we are going. After a number of interminable
+delays and halts we pass
+through the gates of the city, and leave
+behind the last vestige of the Known.
+Ahead of us the road stretches white in
+the sunlight—the white road of mystery
+leading on to adventure and redemption.
+We have ceased to be our own
+masters. We are units, cogs in the
+machine, infinitesimal pawns in the giant
+game, and move as the dust which rises
+from the car ahead—where we know
+not, why we know not,—and how we
+often wonder!</p>
+<hr class='c016' />
+<p class='c017'><span class='c004'>C</span>ONVOY formation allows, by the
+book, for an interval of twenty feet between
+cars when passing through cities,
+and for one hundred feet when in the
+country. The flesh, however, is weak.
+In cities it is rare indeed to see cars
+separated by more than a nose except in
+spasms, while in the country a matter of
+miles is unimportant. A convoy is like a
+pack of dogs on the hunt, racing pell mell
+up hill and down dale one minute, and
+crawling the next, with an occasional dog
+straying off and losing itself for an indefinite
+length of time.</p>
+
+<p class='c017'>For example, we come to some small
+town where we are to have lunch. We
+arrive in a hurry and with much dust, the
+first few cars in close formation, nose to
+tail, the last a few miles in the rear.
+Suddenly the driver of the leading car,
+who has been admiring the scenery on the
+right of the road, sees the <i>chef</i> standing on
+the left making frantic motions for him
+to stop. Perhaps the driver puts out his
+hand, perhaps he does not. At any rate,
+he applies the brakes and comes to a dead
+stop—for an instant. The driver of the
+second car may have been adjusting his
+carburetor or observing an aeroplane, or a
+peasant girl, or a map—the exact object is
+beside the question. He suddenly comes
+to earth when he finds his charge valiantly
+trying to climb over the car in front—more
+brakes. Of course there is a third
+car, and possibly a fourth, or more, which
+demand attention. The final result advances
+the leading car some feet, decreases
+the supply of spare radiators, and as a
+rule does not contribute to the general
+harmony.</p>
+
+<p class='c017'>One or more cars must always have
+taken the wrong road, and lead a hare
+and hound chase for some minutes before
+the final roundup, leaving for clues
+numerous peasants who, when queried,
+always know just where it went. Of
+course, by the law of chance, some one
+of these has undoubtedly seen it, and the
+lost is eventually found.</p>
+
+<p class='c017'>There was one particular member of
+our section who was a rover at soul, and
+led several interesting hunts. A little
+later in the season this same rover took
+a by-road and started through the Hesse
+Forest for Germany. Our whole pack
+was called out, and after an exciting
+chase he was finally caught and convinced
+of his error. Fortunately for
+both him and us the <i>chef</i> has a sense of
+humor, and the section, in spite of our
+many innocent attempts to disintegrate
+it and take individual excursions to different
+parts of France, continues to be
+a unit.</p>
+
+<p class='c017'>For five days we proceed thus, with
+the white road stretching out in front
+and the brown dust trailing behind.
+We stop to get gasoline, to eat, and to
+sleep. We begin to near the front, and
+pass through town after town of roofless
+houses, shattered churches, and scattered
+homes. Through fields dotted with
+wooden crosses with the tricolored ribbon,
+and pock-marked with shell-holes.
+We pass aeroplane hangars and batteries
+of guns. We see more <i>saucisses</i> in the
+sky and soldiers on the ground. The
+hand of the Hun lies heavy on the land,
+and his poison breath scorches the grass
+of the fields. We see fewer civilians and
+more steel helmets, and yet the rumble
+of the guns is no louder. But there is
+a certain breath of power and energy in
+the air, and one feels himself waiting for
+something to happen.</p>
+
+<p class='c017'>Something does—an infuriated bull
+charges Rover’s car and picks off one of
+his headlights. Rover reverses hastily
+and unhesitatingly into the car behind,
+while the farmer’s wife makes her appearance,
+drives off the bull, and saves
+Rover from extermination.</p>
+
+<p class='c017'>Then, one afternoon, we arrive at our
+point of embarkation, so to speak. It is
+Bar-le-Duc, sixty kilometres from Verdun,
+and by virtue of its being the one city in
+many miles, the meeting place of the
+world, which is to say, of course, our
+sector of front—when <i>en repos</i>.</p>
+
+<hr class='c016' />
+<p class='c017'><span class='c004'>B</span>AR-LE-DUC, the old stronghold of
+the feudal dukes of Bar, nestling in the
+valley on the banks of the slow-moving
+Ornain, tributary to the River Marne,
+and with <i>la ville haute</i> trespassing far
+onto one ridge, and the ruined castle
+frowning down from the other, is a town
+of memories and traditions which greets
+this war as but another chapter in the
+never-ending book of its history. It has
+two large and ancient cathedrals, the
+one crowning the upper city—now quite
+naturally in ruins, as the enemy, by this
+time a connoisseur in churches, makes
+frequent air raids. The chateau—considered
+quite modern as it is but two hundred
+years of age—has mellowed into the
+surroundings by now, and forms a sufficiently
+integral part of the beauty of
+the city to be likewise a target for our
+“considerate” neighbor.</p>
+<p class='c010'>One evening, as the last rays of the
+sun glinted from its roof, it stood solid
+and strong,—ready to do battle with
+the elements for many centuries more,
+but while the city lay quiet in the cold
+moonlight of an August night, the sound
+of purring motors broke the silence from
+above. The <i>contre-avions</i> crashed, and
+the yellow shrapnel broke in the sky
+often a mile from its invisible target,
+and never near enough to arrest the advance
+of the raiders, who suddenly shut
+off their motors and, as often before,
+swooped silently down on their motionless
+prey, and dropped their bombs.
+Then, turning on their motors, they
+climbed and glided over the city again
+and again until, having dropped their
+entire cargo, they flew off. But in the
+morning the chateau no longer stood
+proudly up from the river mist, and
+another buttress against the ravages of
+the elements had crumbled into untimely
+ruins.</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>The main street of the town is denuded
+of its plate glass, and more houses crumble
+each time the enemy reports “military
+advantage gained” by an indiscriminate
+slaughter of the future crop of France’s
+defenders, and those heroic souls who
+bear them.</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>The town is noted for its manufactures,
+its wines, and its <i>confitures</i>. As to the
+first-named I know little, but as to the
+merits of its wines, its <i>liqueurs</i>, and its
+<i>confitures</i> I cannot say enough, nor can
+many thousands of others who seek out
+Bar-le-Duc as the one sanctuary from
+the mud and deprivations of the rest
+of their existence, and bask gloriously
+in the discomforts of its civilization for
+a few stolen hours.</p>
+
+<hr class='c016' />
+<p class='c017'><span class='c004'>C</span>ONVOY formation again, the cars
+freshly washed and glistening in the
+sunlight,—for a few minutes, before
+the grey cloud of dust pouring from the
+cars in front settles on us again. We
+come to a turn. A large sign greets us,
+<i>Souilly—vers Verdun</i>, emphasized by a
+giant arrow pointing in the direction we
+take. We are instantly sure that this
+is to be our headquarters. Verdun is
+a name we have long wished to visualize.
+At the first stop we tell each other the
+great news. While we are grouped in
+the road a big grey limousine carrying
+three generals dashes past. Every one
+salutes, and by a miracle we are noticed
+and the salute is returned. Cheerful
+Liar at once informs us that they were
+Joffre, Petain, and—he is at a loss for
+the third name. We help him out—Hindenburg
+perhaps.</p>
+<p class='c010'>But we are doomed to bitter disappointment.
+Thirty kilometres from the
+famous city we are given orders to park
+our cars in a pile of ruins formerly
+known as Erize—Erize la petite, and
+well named.</p>
+
+<hr class='c016' />
+<p class='c017'><span class='c004'>E</span>RIZE is, without exception, the dullest
+place beneath the sun—a small town,
+now a mass of crumbling ruins, holding
+not above two dozen civilians, who are,
+for the most part, still less interesting
+than the town. Of course, there are
+Grand’mère and Grand-père, no relation
+to each other, but so christened by us
+because they are the only two octogenarians
+here. Grand’mère is not properly
+from Erize. Her home is somewhere
+north of Verdun, in a town with an
+unpronounceable name and long since
+destroyed. She, herself, carries proudly
+on her wrinkled forehead a two-inch scar
+from shrapnel, and informs us tearfully
+that her two sons have died in action,
+“<i>pour la patrie</i>,” she concludes, with a
+faint smile.</p>
+<p class='c010'>I met Grand’mère for the first time
+when I picked an unripe apple from an
+overburdened tree. The old woman appeared
+from the depths of a nearby
+building and advanced menacingly towards
+me, hobbling along on a cane,
+and pouring forth as she came an unintelligible
+tirade from which I gathered
+that the apple reposing guiltily in my
+hand was hers—not mine. A single
+<i>franc</i> served to wreathe her face in smiles
+and to obtain undisputed claim to the
+apple and her good graces in the future.
+<i>Ira furor brevis est.</i> I afterwards learned
+that houses in Erize rent for fifty <i>francs</i> a
+year, this including several acres of farm
+land.</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>Grand-père, aged ninety-eight, I met
+near the temporary kitchen where the
+cook was giving him a cup of <i>Pinard</i>,
+which he drank eagerly, while Grand’mère
+gave him wise counsel, to which he replied
+as Omar Khayyam might have done.</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>But they are the only characters of
+interest here. The fields surrounding
+the town have as their redeeming feature
+a system of old trenches, with much
+barbed wire and an occasional shell-fragment
+to reward the searcher. The
+German advance was stopped less than
+a mile from here, and the trenches have
+been used since for practice.</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>The dugouts interest us particularly.
+We are later to become surfeited with
+them, but as yet they are still delightfully
+novel. The rumble of the guns can be
+heard plainly from here, and at rare
+intervals a <i>saucisse</i> rises on the horizon,
+much to our joy and excitement.</p>
+
+<hr class='c016' />
+<p class='c017'><span class='c004'>T</span>HE <i>saucisse</i> is a balloon shaped like
+a sausage—hence its name. At the
+front they are in the sky by the hundreds
+on both sides to direct the fire of the
+artillery and to observe the enemy’s
+operations generally. They are consequently
+made the objective of the aeroplane,
+and many are brought down every
+day. The aeroplane dodges along from
+cloud to cloud, and when he is just over
+the <i>saucisse</i> suddenly swoops down, and
+with a tic-tic-tic from his machine-gun
+the bag crumples up in a cloud of black
+smoke and flames, the observer jumps
+out with his parachute, and the aeroplane
+dashes off pursued by many shells.</p>
+<p class='c010'>In the balloons the observers all have
+parachutes and usually make their escape,
+although often they have to spend
+a little time dangling from the limb of
+some tree.</p>
+
+<hr class='c016' />
+<p class='c017'><span class='c004'>W</span>E are told not to stray far, as the
+order to move may come at any moment.
+We take walks through the country, and
+always on returning find the section with
+“no news,”—but at last the order comes.</p>
+<div id='i033'  class='figcenter id003'>
+<img src='images/i033.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
+<div class='ic002'>
+<p>A SAUCISSE</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p class='c010'>We have gotten our baggage ready,
+and are sitting around in the darkness
+smoking our pipes and thinking. Tomorrow
+we are going up to the lines.
+A big attack has been scheduled, and we
+are to take care of the wounded. It is
+to be our first work, and any fighting at
+all seems a “big attack” to us. We are
+a green section, fresh from Paris. We
+have never heard a shell whistle, and
+have been thrilled by the sound of guns
+twenty miles away. What will be our
+sensations face to face with the real
+thing? We are a bit nervous. There is
+some tension. We discuss the probable
+extent of the attack and debate as to its
+success. This leads us nowhere, and
+after we have pledged each other and the
+section “<i>Bonne chance</i>” in a glass of
+cognac from a bottle opened for the occasion,
+we turn in.</p>
+
+<hr class='c016' />
+<p class='c017'><span class='c004'>I</span>T is cold and chill, and a steady drizzle
+is oozing from the sky above into the
+earth beneath, and is making it soft and
+slippery. I awake, yawn, stretch sleepily,
+and gaze out into the grey dejection of
+the morning. I have been sleeping luxuriously
+on the floor of an ambulance,
+wedged in between two trunks and a
+duffle-bag.</p>
+<p class='c010'>“Well, this is ‘<i>der Tag</i>’ for us,” I remark
+to a friend, who has spent the night
+on top of the two trunks.</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>He stops eating my jam for an instant
+and agrees with me. Then, on second
+thought, he generously offers me some
+jam. I sit up and struggle for a few
+seconds with a piece of the bread we
+carry for nourishment and defence, spread
+some jam on it, get out a bottle of Sauterne
+(at the front wine is wine at all
+hours of the day and night), and we
+settle down to breakfast. Breakfast is
+a purely personal investment, as it officially
+consists of coffee—so called by
+courtesy—and bread. The French bread
+comes in round loaves a foot in diameter,
+and is never issued until four days old,
+and is often aged ten or more before we
+see it. Fresh bread, it is believed, would
+give a soldier indigestion. French officialdom
+believes the same evil of water,
+and provides each soldier with a quart
+a day of cheap red wine called, in the
+<i>argot</i> of the trenches, <i>Pinard</i>. Breakfast
+over, we make our way to the barn,
+our official quarters, by means of stepping-stones
+previously laid from the car, and
+chat with the other members of the
+section.</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>Today we are moving up into the zone
+of fire itself, and are somewhat excited.
+The entire section is to move to a little
+destroyed town, Ville-sur-Couzances.
+From there six cars are always to be on
+duty taking care of our first wounded.
+The <i>chef</i> and the <i>sous-chef</i> join us presently.
+They went up yesterday and were
+shown the <i>postes</i>, and consequently come
+in for a storm of questions. The <i>sous-chef</i>
+tells us that today we shall hear them
+“whistle both ways.” We are thrilled.
+He asks us if we are ready. We are—even
+Rover. Then the lieutenant comes
+in. He speaks a few words to the <i>chef</i>.
+The <i>chef</i> blows his whistle four times.
+It is the signal for assembly. He gives
+us a few instructions. We run to our
+cars. One whistle—we crank up. Two
+whistles—the leading ambulance painfully
+and noisily tears itself from its bed
+of mud. The others follow in regular
+succession, until the last car melts into
+the grey, cold mist. When shall we see
+Erize again?</p>
+<div class='pbb'>
+ <hr class='pb c002' />
+</div>
+<div class='chapter'>
+  <h2 id='ch02' class='c008'>II<br /> <br />IN ACTION</h2>
+</div>
+<p class='c009'><span class='c004'>V</span>ILLE-SUR-COUZANCES is also at
+this time the headquarters of Section
+<span class='fss'>XXIX</span>, which has just lost two men,
+and Section <span class='fss'>LXIX</span>, which is a gear-shift
+section,—we are quite proudly Fords.
+Section <span class='fss'>XIX</span>, French, whom we are
+relieving, examines us critically, but
+makes no audible comments. To the
+six of us chosen for the first “roll” there
+is but one impatient thought. We hear
+“Napoleon”—a French private attached
+to our section for <i>ravitaillement</i> because
+he could do nothing else—telling the cook
+and several unwilling assistants how to
+dispose of the field range. In the French
+manner, instead of ignoring him, the
+stove is discarded, and a Latin argument
+follows much to the amusement if not
+to the edification of the onlookers. This
+does not concern us, and as soon as we
+get the order to roll we are blithely off.</p>
+<p class='c010'>It is only a few minutes’ run to Brocourt,
+where the <i>triage</i>, or front hospital,
+is located. This is like a giant hangar in
+shape, but, instead of the mottled green,
+blue, and grey <i>camouflage</i> of the latter,
+it is brilliantly white with a red cross
+fifty feet square surmounting it. Despite
+this fact, it is bombed and shelled regularly
+by the “merciful” Hun. We pass
+through the shattered town, its church
+tower still standing, by a miracle, and
+pointing its scarred and violated finger
+to the heavens with the silent appeal—“Avenge!”</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>The <i>sous-chef</i>, who is sitting beside me,
+tells me to put on my helmet and to sling
+my mask over my shoulder. From here
+on men “go west” suddenly, and in
+their boots. We pass over a short rise
+in sight of the German <i>saucisses</i>, and down
+a steep and long hill into Récicourt. Of
+that hill there is much to remember—but
+today it is just steep, and green, and
+has many trees by the roadside loaded
+down with much unripe fruit. Past the
+sentry, over the bridge which the Boche
+hit yesterday with an eight-inch shell—which
+failed to explode and bounced
+into the muddy river—and we are at
+the relay station. It is a barn with half
+the roof and a goodly portion of the
+walls missing. We use this to screen the
+cars from the eyes of raiding enemy
+aeroplanes, of which there are many.</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>Two of us are at once assigned to run
+to the <i>poste de secours</i>, P 2, where just
+now we are to keep two cars, the other
+four remaining at the relay station. Again
+luck is with me, and I am in the first
+car to roll. Our run is entirely through
+the woods, in the Hesse Forest, and as
+the enemy will not be able to see us we
+rejoice—but we soon learn not to rejoice
+prematurely.  There is hardly a
+man in sight as we struggle along through
+the mud, but beside the road everywhere,
+often spilling into it, lie piles of shells,
+75’s, 155’s, and <i>torpilles</i> by the thousand,
+apparently arranged haphazardly. The
+<i>torpille</i> is a winged and particularly
+deadly shell, first cousin to the German
+<i>minniewerfer</i>, and differing essentially only
+in range. The <i>maréchal des logis</i> informs
+us encouragingly that the one lying in
+the middle of the road which we just ran
+over was a Boche which did not explode
+when it landed, and has not—yet.</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>Everything is wrapped in the silence
+of the grave except for an occasional
+crash as some battery sends its message
+into Germany. We arrive at P 2, which
+is distinguished from the rest of the
+world by a foot square of white cotton
+and the universal red cross. There is
+room inside the gate—a log dyke against
+the mud—to park the cars: “Room
+sideways or deep,” as one member of the
+section described it as he watched his
+boots sink steadily into the mud.</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>The <i>sous-chef</i> calls us around him and
+gives us our detailed instructions, for he
+is going back by the first car. Suddenly,
+as we are listening to him attentively,
+there is a piercing <i>zz-chung</i>, and a 250
+lands within a hundred yards with a
+dull crash and a geyser of trees, dirt,
+and black smoke. We look at him inquiringly
+and he points to the <i>abri</i>.
+We nod and adjourn to it. A few more
+shells follow, then all is peaceful again,
+while the French batteries around us
+hammer away at the Germans in their
+turn. We take lunch on a rustic table
+under the trees and thoroughly enjoy
+having our tin plates rattled by the
+concussion of the guns, while a Frenchman
+explains to us the difference in
+sound between an <i>arrivée</i> and a <i>départ</i>.</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>Such is the initiation. Then while we,
+as yet mere amateurs, eat peacefully,
+relishing the novelty of the situation, and
+buoyed up by our first excitement, a
+short procession passes. It is a group of
+men carrying stretchers on which are
+what were men a few minutes before,
+who, standing within talking distance of
+us, were blown out of existence by the
+shells which whistled over our heads
+and, bursting, scattered <i>éclats</i> and dirt
+on the steel roof that sheltered us. It is
+a side of the front which has not touched
+us deeply before, a side which in the first
+few days of the ordeal by fire impresses
+itself more and more on the novice, until
+he learns to temper the realization with
+philosophy and the so-called humor of
+the front. Then is the veteran in embryo.</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>The ambulance sections are divided
+into two classes—gear-shift and Ford.
+The gear-shift sections are composed of
+Fiats, Berliets, or some other French car.
+They carry five <i>couchés</i> or eight <i>assis</i>,
+and have two men to a car. The French
+Army ambulances are all gear-shift, and
+the gear-shift sections included in the
+American Field Service all originally belonged
+to the French Government. Before
+the American Government took over
+the Ambulance Corps, the American Field
+Service, in addition to sending out Ford
+sections as quickly as they were subscribed
+in America, had been gradually
+absorbing the French Ambulance System,
+relieving with its own men the French
+drivers who could then serve in the
+trenches, and including those sections
+among its own.</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>The Ford sections carried three <i>couchés</i>
+or four <i>assis</i>, and had one driver, although
+many sections had extra men to help out.
+A Ford section then, when complete, consisted
+of twenty ambulances, one Ford
+<i>camionnette</i> or truck, which went for food
+and carried spare parts and often baggage,
+one French <i>camionnette</i>, a one-ton
+truck, which carried tools, French mechanics,
+and other spare parts, one large
+White truck with kitchen trailer, one
+Ford touring-car for the <i>chef</i>, and a more
+or less high-powered touring car for the
+lieutenant. The personnel was one
+French lieutenant, who was the connecting
+link between the organization and
+the government, and was responsible to
+the latter for the actions of the section;
+one <i>chef</i>, who was an American chosen
+by the organization from the <i>sous-chefs</i>
+of one of the sections in the field; one or
+two <i>sous-chefs</i>, chosen by the <i>chef</i> from
+the members of his or some other section;
+twenty drivers, often an odd number
+of assistant drivers, an American paid
+mechanic, and an odd number of French
+mechanics, cooks, and clerks.</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>The lieutenant received the orders and
+was responsible to the army for their
+execution. The lieutenant gave the <i>chef</i>
+his orders, and the <i>chef</i> was responsible
+to him for their execution by the section.
+The <i>sous-chefs</i> were the <i>chef’s</i> assistants.</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>The routine when at work is for a
+certain number of cars to be on duty at
+one time, the number depending on the
+work. The section is divided into shifts
+of the number of cars required. When on
+duty a man must always have his car
+and himself ready to “roll,” and when off
+duty, after putting his car in condition,
+must rest so as to be in shape for his next
+turn. When the work is heavy, the cars
+on duty are rolling all the time with very
+little opportunity for food or rest for the
+driver; consequently, for a man not to
+get himself and his car ready in this
+period of rest means that the service is
+weakened; and that, if other cars go <i>en
+panne</i> unavoidably, it is possibly crippled—and
+lives may be lost. When the
+work is light, men are usually twenty-four
+hours on and forty-eight off; when
+moderate, twenty-four on and twenty-four
+off; when stiff, forty-eight on and
+twenty-four off, and during an attack
+almost steadily on. The longest stretch
+that my section kept its men continuously
+at work was seven days and nights
+in the Verdun sector during an attack,
+and we were compelled to cease then
+only because too few of our cars were
+left able to roll to carry the wounded.</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>From headquarters the day’s shift is
+sent to the relay station, and from there
+cars go as needed to the <i>postes de secours</i>.
+The <i>postes</i> are as near the trenches as it
+is possible for the cars to go, and some
+can be visited only at night. The
+wounded are brought to these by the
+<i>brancardiers</i> through the <i>boyaux</i>, or communication
+trenches, and usually have
+their first attention here. After first
+aid has been administered, and when there
+are enough for a load, or there is a serious
+case, the car goes to the <i>triage</i>, stopping
+at the relay station, from which a car
+is sent to the <i>poste</i> to replace the first,
+which returns to the relay station directly
+from the hospital.</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>The hospitals also are divided into two
+main classes, the <i>triages</i>, or front hospitals
+in the zone of fire, and the H.O.E.’s,
+hospitals of evacuation, anywhere back
+of the fines. The hospital of evacuation
+is the third of the four stages through
+which a wounded man passes. The first
+is the front-line dressing station, the <i>abri</i>;
+the second, if the wound is at all serious,
+is the <i>triage</i>; the third, if serious enough,
+is the hospital of evacuation; and the
+fourth, if the soldier has been confined
+to the hospital for ten or more days, is
+the ten-day <i>permission</i> to Paris, Nice, or
+some other place of his choice. Then
+these classes, in some cases, are subdivided
+into separate hospitals for <i>couchés</i>,
+<i>assis</i>, and <i>malades</i>.</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>These subdivisions sometimes make
+complications, as in the case of one
+driver who was given what appeared to
+be a serious case to take to the <i>couché</i>
+hospital. While on the way, however,
+the serious case revived sufficiently to
+find his canteen. After a few swallows
+he felt a pleasant warmth within, for
+French canteens are not filled with water,
+and sat up better to observe his surroundings
+and to make uncomplimentary
+remarks to the driver. Arrived at the
+hospital, the <i>brancardiers</i> lifted the curtain
+at the rear of the car, and seeing
+the patient sitting up and smoking a
+cigarette, apparently in good health, they
+refused to take him, and sent the car on
+to the <i>assis</i> hospital. Overcome by his
+undue exertion, the wounded man lay
+down again, and by the time the ambulance
+had reached the other hospital was
+peacefully dozing on the floor. The
+<i>brancardiers</i> shook their heads, and sent
+the car back to the <i>couché</i> hospital.
+Somewhat annoyed by this time, the
+<i>ambulancier</i> did not drive with the same
+care, and the jolts aroused the incensed
+<i>poilu</i>, who sat up and began to ask personal
+questions. The driver, not wishing
+to continue his trips between the two
+hospitals for the duration of the war,
+stopped the car outside the <i>couché</i> hospital,
+and, seeing his patient sitting up,
+put him definitely to sleep with a tire
+tool, and sent him in by the uncomplaining
+<i>brancardiers</i>.</p>
+
+<hr class='c016' />
+<p class='c017'><span class='c004'>W</span>E spend a good part of our time in
+the <i>abri</i>. Just now the Boche appears
+to have taken a particular dislike to this
+part of the sector, for he is strafing it
+most unmercifully. We do not doubt at
+all that it is because we are here. The
+fact that there are six thousand French
+guns massed in the woods, so near together
+that you cannot walk a dozen feet
+without tripping over one, may, of course,
+have something to do with the enemy’s
+vindictiveness, but that does not occur
+to us.</p>
+<p class='c010'>After taking an hour or two of interrupted
+sleep in the <i>abri</i>, we step out in
+the early morning to get a breath of
+fresh air and to untangle our cramped
+muscles. A shell or two whines in uncomfortably
+near, and we are convinced
+that the enemy knows our every move
+by instinct. When we sit in the <i>abri</i>
+during the day, and there is never a
+second that we do not hear the whine
+of at least one shell overhead, and
+the intervals between shells striking near
+enough to shake the <i>abri</i> and rattle <i>éclats</i>
+on its steel roof grow less, we are convinced
+the Boche is searching for <i>our
+dugout</i>. When I am making a run to P 2,
+and, rounding Dead Horse Corner, start
+on the last stretch, and a shell knocks
+a tree across the road a hundred feet
+ahead, blocking us completely, and two
+more shells drop on the road by the tree,
+two more strike ten yards on our right,
+and another lands within fifteen feet on
+our left, there is no doubt in my mind
+that the enemy is after me.</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>In reality, of course, the enemy has no
+idea where the <i>abris</i> are located, and just
+now is simply taking a few chance shots
+at a likely corner—but every man <i>knows</i>
+that every shell he hears is meant for
+him personally,—all of which goes to
+prove how egotistical we really are.</p>
+
+<hr class='c016' />
+<p class='c017'><span class='c004'>A</span>S one man remarked, “Our life out
+here is just one d— <i>brancardier</i> after another.”
+The <i>brancardiers</i>, or stretcher-bearers,
+include the musicians—for the
+band does not play at the front,—the
+exchanged prisoners who are pledged to
+do no combatant work, and others who
+volunteer for or are assigned to this work.
+These men are in the front-line trenches,
+where they bandage wounded men as they
+are hit, and carry them to the front <i>abri</i>,
+where the <i>major</i>, army doctor, gives them
+more careful attention. At the front
+<i>abri</i> are other <i>brancardiers</i>, who then
+take charge of these men and load them
+into our cars. We arrive at the hospital,
+and <i>brancardiers</i> there unload the ambulances
+and carry in the wounded. Inside
+the hospital other <i>brancardiers</i> nurse the
+wounded, as no women nurses are allowed
+in the <i>triage</i> hospitals.</p>
+<div id='i057'  class='figcenter id002'>
+<img src='images/i057.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
+<div class='ic002'>
+<p>BRANCARDIERS LOADING AN AMBULANCE<br /><span class='small'>COPYRIGHT—INTERNATIONAL FILM SERVICE CO., INC.</span></p>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p class='c010'>A callous, hardened, dulled class of
+men, absolutely lacking in sentiment,
+yet doing a noble and heroic work. Who
+could do their work without becoming
+callous—or insane? We curse them
+often when they put a man in the car
+upside down or drop him, but we forget
+that when the infantry goes <i>en repos</i>, the
+<i>brancardiers</i> stay at their posts, going
+out into No Man’s Land every hour to
+bring in a countryman or an enemy.
+When, standing by the car at P 3, I see
+two <i>brancardiers</i> carrying a man up from
+the <i>abri</i> and, after noticing that both his
+arms are broken, one in two places, that
+both legs are broken, that a bloody bandage
+covers his chest, and that the white band
+around his head is staining red, I see them
+drop him when a shell screams overhead,
+I curse them. But I forget that
+for the past two nights, with their <i>abri</i>
+filled with chlorine gas, these same men
+have toiled faithfully in suffocating gasmasks,
+bringing in the wounded, caring
+for them, and loading them on our cars.
+I forget that these men have probably
+not had an hour’s consecutive sleep for
+weeks and that it may be weeks before
+they have again; that it is months since
+they last saw a dry foot of ground, or
+felt that for a moment they were free of
+the ever present expectation of sudden
+death. It is something to remember,
+and it is to wonder rather how they do
+these things at all than why they seem
+at times a little careless or a bit tired.</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>Would the <i>brancardier</i> tell you this?
+When he sees you he asks after your
+comrades. He takes you in and gives
+you a cigarette and some <i>Pinard</i> in a
+battered cup, and tries to find you a
+place to rest, all the time telling you
+cheerful stories and amusing incidents.</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>The Staff is the brains of the army;
+Aviation, the eyes; the Artillery, the voice;
+the Infantry and Cavalry, the arms; the
+Engineers, the hands; the Transportation,
+the legs; the People behind it, the
+body; but the <i>Brancardier</i> is the soul.</p>
+
+<hr class='c016' />
+<p class='c017'><span class='c004'>T</span>HERE are sounds outside of a klaxon
+being worked vigorously. However, we
+have several dozing Frenchmen inside
+the <i>abri</i> who are making similar noises,
+so nothing dawns upon our sleepy senses
+for some minutes while the owner of the
+klaxon searches for the <i>abri</i>. This is
+dangerous business, because on all sides
+are barbed wire, shell-holes, and other
+<i>abris</i>. Also, as this one is located in the
+corner of a graveyard, there is danger
+that the searcher will wander on and
+uproot a dozen or more wooden crosses
+in the search. At last he discovers the
+right one by falling down the pit we
+called stairs before the rain set in. A
+violent monologue arouses us from our
+dozing comfortlessness, and we learn that
+a car is wanted at P 2. I am next on call,
+so I slowly and painfully unwind myself
+from a support and two pairs of legs, and,
+with the man who rides with me, make
+my way into the outer darkness.</p>
+<p class='c010'>We get the car and start off down the
+road with no lights anywhere, and pray
+that everything coming the other way
+keeps to its side of the road and goes
+slowly. There is always something coming
+the other way—and your way,
+a steady succession of <i>camions</i> in the
+centre of the road, and of artillery trains
+on the side. The <i>camions</i> are mostly
+very heavy and very powerful, and have
+no compunction at all about what they
+run into, as they know that it cannot
+harm them. The ammunition trains consist
+of batteries of 75’s, little framework
+teams with <i>torpilles</i> fitting in small compartments
+like eggs, and other such
+vehicles in tow of a number of mules,
+with the driver invariably asleep. The
+traffic, however, in spite of the pitch
+darkness, would be endurable if it were
+not for the mud which often comes up
+to the hubs. It is a slimy mud, and
+if spread thinly is extremely slippery.
+On the roads it is rarely spread thinly,
+and when one gets out to push he often
+sinks in up to the knee. Then of course
+there is always the whine of <i>arrivées</i> and
+<i>départs</i> passing overhead, and the occasional
+crump of a German 77 or 150
+landing near at hand.</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>The French and the German gunners
+play a little game every night with supply
+trains and shells. The shells are trumps.
+The object is to see who can play the
+more “cards” without being trumped.
+An artillery train counts one, a <i>camionnette</i>
+two, a <i>camion</i> five—because it blocks the
+road for some time when hit, and gives
+the enemy time to trump more cards—two
+ambulances give a win, and if a
+gun is hit the enemy is disqualified. The
+game is very interesting—for the artillery.</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>This modernized blindman’s buff is
+carried on at its best in the early hours
+of the morning before the game becomes
+too free-for-all to score carefully, and
+most of the cars are returned to the
+“pack”—out of the zone of fire—to
+wait for the next evening’s fun. At this
+time the roads are crowded, and the
+game is at its height. As the fun increases
+for the judges, however, it decreases for
+the players,—that is to say the “cards.”
+The prospect of being trumped is not a
+pleasant anticipation, although it keeps
+up the interest and prevents <i>ennui</i>.
+After an hour or so of sport the going
+becomes very bad, as there are always
+many horses killed, and when the fighting
+is at all severe there is no time to
+bury them. Then, too, the narrow gauge
+railway crossing the road every few rods
+is often hit, and left, like a steel octopus,
+with its twisted tentacles stretching
+out in all directions. These add to
+the sport hugely, and our chief consolation
+is to imagine the Boche over on his
+side having fully as bad if not a worse
+time than we.</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>“This or the next?” inquires my companion
+in reference to a cross-road which
+appears on our right.</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>Having no idea I answer, “This one,”
+and we turn. An unaccountable number
+of jounces greets us as we continue.</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>“They must have strafed this road a
+good bit since our last roll,” my friend
+comments.</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>The going is worse, and we stop to get
+our bearings. We shout and presently
+a form rises from the darkness. At any
+hour of the day or night it is possible to
+rouse by one or more shouts any number
+of men anywhere. You can see no one,
+as the world, for obvious reasons, lives
+underground in the rabbit burrows of
+<i>abris</i>, but when needed comes forth in
+force. This is very convenient, as often
+when driving at night one finds his car
+stuck in the middle of a new and large
+shell-hole, and help is necessary. We
+ask our location.</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>“<i>Ah, oui, M’sieu, P-trois!</i>”</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>We have come by error to the artillery
+<i>poste</i> and must retrace our way. We
+exchange cigarettes with the friendly
+<i>brancardier</i> and set off again. At last we
+get back on the right road, and after
+making another turn are nearing the
+<i>poste</i>. In the last gleams from a star-shell
+ahead we see something grey by
+the side of the road. As we are in the
+woods I take a quick look with my flash.
+It is one of our ambulances. My friend
+and I look at each other, and are mutually
+glad that it is too dark to see each
+other’s face. A careful survey of the
+surroundings yields nothing, and we press
+on—in silence. We jolt into the <i>poste</i>
+with racing motor and wheels clogged
+with mud, and go down into the very
+welcome <i>abri</i>. Our friends there know
+nothing about the ambulance, so we
+hope for the best.</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>Friendships at the front are for the
+most part sincere—but sometimes short.</p>
+
+<hr class='c016' />
+<p class='c017'><span class='c004'>I</span>T is about ten o’clock in the evening.
+We have been given a load at P 2 and
+are returning to the hospital. We turn
+from the battered Bois d’Avocourt into
+the Bois de Récicourt, and passing through
+the Bois de Pommiers roll into the valley.
+We cross through the town, and when
+the sentry lifts the gate pull slowly up
+the hill towards Brocourt. Punctually
+at five-thirty this evening twelve shells
+whistled over Récicourt and struck the
+hill, but fortunately not the road.</p>
+<p class='c010'>This hill makes a perfect target for
+the Boche, for if he falls short he hits
+the town, if he overshoots he will probably
+hit the hospital, and if he hits what
+he aims at he may get the road. Consequently
+there are intermittent bombardments
+at all hours of the day and night—preferably
+at night as there is more
+traffic on the roads. There is one time
+that the Boche never fails to greet us.
+That is five-thirty. Every day while I
+was there, as the hour struck, or would
+have struck had the clock been left to
+strike it, twelve shells whistled over
+Récicourt and knocked fruit from the
+orchard on the hill. If the Boche were
+sentimental, we would say it was the
+early twilight that made him do this,
+but as we remember Belgium we call it
+habit. There are several big <i>rôtis</i> set up
+by the roadside like kilo-stones to remind
+us that to roll at five-thirty is <i>verboten</i>.</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>For some unexplained and mysterious
+reason many of the German shells do
+not explode. Whether this is from faulty
+workmanship or defective fuses or materials
+we do not know, but it causes
+the <i>poilus</i> much amusement. There will
+be the whine of an <i>arrivée</i> and a dull thud
+as it strikes the ground, but no explosion.
+Every Frenchman present immediately
+roars with laughter and shouts, “<i>Rôti!
+Rôti!</i>”</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>We crawl up the hill, the road luckily
+having escaped injury during the afternoon,
+and at length reach the hospital.
+Then, much lightened, we start back.
+Coasting slowly down the hill we have a
+perfect opportunity to observe the horizon.</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>The sky tonight is softly radiant, a
+velvety black with myriads of brilliant
+stars in the upper heavens. Opposite us
+is another hill, crowned with trees which
+break gently into the skyline. Above
+these the sky flashes and sparkles in
+iridescent glory. The thundering batteries
+light up everything with brilliant
+flashes, and the star-shells springing up
+over No Man’s Land hang for an instant
+high in the air with dazzling brilliancy,
+and then fading, drift slowly earthward.
+The artillery signals (Verrey Lights,
+rockets carrying on their sticks one, two,
+three, and four lights) dart up everywhere.
+A raider purrs overhead, and golden bursts
+of shrapnel crack in the sky. All merge
+together, first one, then another standing
+forth to catch the eye for a brief
+second, the kaleidoscopic brilliancy lifting
+one up out of the depths of the mire
+to forget for a moment why these lights
+flare—treacherous will o’ the wisps
+leading men on to death—and one sees
+only the wonderful beauty of the scene:
+a picture impressed on the memory which
+makes all seem worth while. One sight
+of these causes the discomforts and dangers
+of the day’s work to fade, and they
+become a symbol—a pillar of fire leading
+on to the victory that is coming when
+Right shall have conquered Might, and
+the tortured world can again breathe
+freely.</p>
+
+<hr class='c016' />
+<p class='c017'><span class='c004'>I</span>T is night, and the chill mist has settled
+close to the ground. It is cold and damp,
+but the front is always cold and damp so
+no one comments on it. We are several
+feet underground and that augments the
+chill somewhat, but as here one lives underground
+he does not think of that. There
+is a little breeze outside, for the burlap
+that hangs at the foot of the stairs leading
+to the outer world quivers, and the
+lone candle flickers uncertainly, casting
+weird shadows from the black steel roof
+on the sleeping forms. The sides of the
+<i>abri</i> are lined with bunks, wooden frames
+covered with wire netting, upon which lie
+sprawled <i>brancardiers</i>, <i>poilus</i>, and in one
+an American has managed to locate himself
+quite comfortably. The <i>abri</i> is short,
+and the few bunks are at a premium.</p>
+<p class='c010'>Two of our men are asleep,—one on
+the floor, another in a bunk. The rest
+of us wrap our coats around us and
+smoke pensively. We think of home, and
+wonder what our friends there are doing
+just now. It is August and slightly after
+midnight. The time difference makes it
+a few minutes past six in the States. At
+the seashore they are coming in from
+canoeing and swimming, sitting around
+before dinner, discussing the plans for the
+evening and the happenings of the day.
+At the mountains they are finishing rounds
+of golf or sets of tennis, and the pink and
+gold of the sunset is crowning the peaks
+with a fading burst of glory. Soon the
+fights of the hotel will shine brightly
+forth into the gathering gloom, and the
+dance music will strike up.</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>Each tells the others just what he
+would be doing at the moment were he
+in the States, and comments. It is all
+done in an absolutely detached manner,
+just as one describes incidents and chapters
+in books. We think we would like
+to be home now, but we know that we
+would rather not. We are perfectly
+contented to be doing what we are
+doing, and do not envy those at home.
+Nor do we begrudge any of them the
+pleasant times they may be having. In
+fact, if we thought they were giving them
+up we would be miserable. One cannot
+think about this war for long at a time,
+and when one meditates it is to speculate
+on what is happening at home. One
+gloats over imaginary dances, theatres, and
+all varieties of good times. I have often
+enjoyed monologue discussions with my
+friends, or imagined myself doing any
+one of the many things I might have
+been doing. It is the lonesome man’s
+chief standby to five by proxy.</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>Outside there is continually the dull
+thunder of the guns. They are evidently
+firing <i>tir de barrage</i>, for there is a certain
+regularity in the wave of sound that
+rumbles in on us. Perhaps the barrage
+is falling on the roads behind the enemy
+lines, cutting off and destroying his supply
+trains. Perhaps it is trying to sweep
+some of his batteries out of existence, or
+perhaps it is falling on his trenches,
+taking its toll of nerve and life. Again
+we can only conjecture. There is the
+continual whine of his shells rushing
+overhead, and the <i>crump-crump</i> of their
+breaking in the near distance. Then the
+enemy starts a little sweeping of his own,
+and the <i>arrivées</i> begin to fall in an arc
+which draws steadily nearer, until a
+thunder clap just outside and the rattling
+of <i>éclats</i>, dirt, and tree fragments on the
+roof, make you rejoice in your cover, and
+you chuckle as a <i>brancardier</i> sleepily
+remarks, “<i>Entrez!</i>” You wonder curiously,
+and listen expectantly to see if
+the next will fall on you; then you doze
+again or say something to the man beside
+you.</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>Inside there is an equal variety of
+sounds. There are <i>poilus</i> snoring in
+seven different octaves, there is the splutter
+of the candle overhead, and from
+one corner an occasional moan from some
+wounded man, growing more frequent
+as the night wears on. We may not
+take him in until we have enough for a
+load. Soon there is the sound of feet
+on the stairs, and a <i>brancardier</i> stumbles
+in leading a man raving wildly, with his
+head swathed in fresh bandages rapidly
+staining with the oozing blood. Some
+one moves, and he is seated and given
+a cup of <i>Pinard</i> and a cigarette, which
+he accepts gratefully. We get ready to
+go out to the ambulance, but the doctor
+shakes his head—we have not a load
+yet. Some of the regulations perplex us;
+but it is not our business, so we light up
+our pipes again and snuggle down into
+our fur coats, dozing and listening to
+the whine of the shells outside and the
+moans inside. Then, after a while, another
+<i>blessé</i> is brought to the door and
+the doctor nods. Two of us jump up,
+snatch our <i>musettes</i>, run to the car, and
+assist the <i>brancardiers</i> in shoving in the
+third man, who is unconscious. Then we
+crank up, and after some minutes of
+manœuvring in the deep mud reach the
+road and start for the hospital.</p>
+
+<hr class='c016' />
+<p class='c017'><span class='c004'>T</span>HE black of the night, split by the
+star-shells and the batteries, has given
+place to the grey of the dawn. All is
+still and quiet, with the rare crash of a
+battery or an <i>arrivée</i> alone breaking the
+silence. There is no sign of the sun, and
+it will be some hours before it breaks
+through the early mist to smile upon us
+for a few brief moments before the never-ending
+rain envelops us again,—for it
+is the <i>mauvais temps</i>.</p>
+<p class='c010'>After lying for two hours in one of the
+bunks in the <i>abri</i>, and vainly endeavoring
+to keep warm with two <i>blessé</i> blankets,
+I arise stiffly and crawl out into the fresh
+air. The <i>blessé</i> blankets are single blankets
+quartered and, as they are assigned for
+use in the ambulances and <i>abris</i> for the
+wounded, often bring little visitors.</p>
+
+<div id='i077'  class='figcenter id004'>
+<img src='images/i077.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
+<div class='ic002'>
+<p>AN ABRI</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p class='c010'>The air is clear and damp, and remarkably
+invigorating. A few deep breaths
+start the blood slowly moving through
+my veins, and I walk around in the
+mud, stretching my cramped limbs.
+There are the usual new shell-holes
+scattered about to make us first rejoice
+in our shelter and then look doubtfully
+at the all-too-thin layer of dirt on the
+roof between us and a direct hit. The
+Germans, when they take up a position,
+seem to think of it as permanent, dig their
+<i>abris</i> often as deep as a hundred feet
+underground, and are absolutely safe in
+them except when a raiding party tosses
+a grenade down the stairs. Their officers’
+quarters are particularly spacious, lined
+with cement, with the walls often papered,
+holding brass beds and other quite civilized
+comforts. A piano was found in
+one. It had been put in before the cement
+was laid, and they were unable to remove
+it when they retreated—even if they
+had had the time. The French, whether
+from laziness or because they expect
+soon again to be moving forward, waste
+little time on the dug-outs. The standard
+is a pit lined with sandbags, and covered
+by a conventional form of corrugated
+steel roof, with more sandbags and a little
+dirt on top of this. These protect from
+the <i>éclats</i>, or shell fragments, but form a
+death trap for all inside if there is a direct
+hit. If the side of a hill or a hollow is
+available it affords more protection. The
+one direct hit on our <i>abri</i> at P 2 was
+luckily a “dud,” and caused no damage.</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>I walk over to the pile of discarded
+equipment to see if anything interesting
+has been added during the night. This
+and the hospital are the two favorite
+places for souvenir hunters. At all the
+<i>postes</i> and in the hospitals the rifles,
+bayonets, packs, belts, cartridges, knives,
+grenades, revolvers, shoes, and other
+equipment of the wounded and dead are
+put in a large pile, and the first to recover
+get the pick—after our selection. At
+the <i>postes</i> these things are piled in the
+open, with no protection from the elements,
+and many are slowly disintegrating.
+This morning, of the new things
+there is of interest only one of the large
+wire-clippers, used by the <i>pionniers</i> and
+scouts for passing through the enemy
+wire. But my friend has seen them first,
+so I waive all claims, and he tucks them
+carefully away in one of the several side-boxes
+with which the cars are equipped.</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>The trees are twice decimated, but
+the birds have stayed, and now they
+are waking and, overflowing with high
+spirits, sing their message of good cheer.
+They answer each other from different
+parts of the wood, and by closing one’s
+eyes one seems to be in the country at
+home. Never has the song of birds
+seemed more beautiful or more welcome,
+and, gladdened, we listen while we may,
+before the slowly swelling thunder of the
+guns, beginning their early morning bombardment,
+drowns out all other sound.
+We go down again into the <i>abri</i> and
+pray for a load soon to take us down
+to the hospital and breakfast at headquarters.</p>
+
+<hr class='c016' />
+<p class='c017'><span class='c004'>W</span>E have been ordered <i>en repos</i>, and
+after turning in our extra gas masks—we
+carry ten in the car for the wounded
+in addition to the two on our person—our
+<i>blessé</i> blankets, and stretchers, we
+start in to load the cars with our friends,
+and our own baggage. As for some time
+our baggage has been lying <i>en masse</i> in
+the “drawing-room” of Tucker Inn, as
+some humorous <i>conducteur</i> styled the
+roofless pen in Récicourt, where our belongings
+were left while we were rolling,
+or in the surrounding <i>abris</i>, one could
+not be at all certain that he was putting
+the right things in the right duffles, and
+it was not surprising if a stray jar or two
+of <i>confiture</i> most unaccountably found its
+way into one’s own duffle.</p>
+<p class='c010'>The section in formation, we roll off
+with the sun shining brightly on grimy
+cars and drivers, down the roads, passing
+ruin after ruin, with a burst of speed
+past a corner in view of the German
+trenches, and we again begin to see
+familiar ground. The green hill back of
+Erize, with shadows of the woods and the
+scars of the old trenches, appears in the
+distance, and my friend looks at me and
+chuckles.</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>Back in the same little town, parked in
+the same ruins with the same quietness,
+peace, and relaxation from the tenseness
+of the past days, which is so welcome this
+time, my friend and I walk into a little
+<i>estaminet</i>, pledge each other in glasses
+of French beer, and taking off our helmets
+for almost the first time in what
+seems an age, survey them and each
+other in placid contentment.</p>
+<div class='pbb'>
+ <hr class='pb c002' />
+</div>
+<div class='chapter'>
+  <h2 id='ch03' class='c008'>III<br /> <br />EN REPOS</h2>
+</div>
+<p class='c009'><span class='c004'>A</span> BATCH of mail was given out the
+morning after our return. When we
+moved, our address seemed to have been
+lost, for only a few letters, of no interest
+to any one, managed to find us. We have
+been too busy to miss them, and when
+they arrived in a bunch there were no
+complaints.</p>
+<p class='c010'>It is a wonderful thrill to get a letter
+from home, to read what those who mean
+all to one are doing, and to feel their
+personalities throbbing “between the
+lines.” We bridge for a brief moment
+the chasm of three thousand miles, and
+in revery gaze upon those persons, those
+places, and those things we have known.
+Our thoughts here are always in the
+past. We cannot think of the present,
+and we dare not think of the future, but
+there is always the past to live in,—the
+past of events and memories.</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>We settle down to the same dull
+monotony as before. For a few days
+this is bliss, but it soon becomes tiring
+again. All work here is contrast. When
+we are at work, we work intensively,
+taking less rest than seems physically
+possible, and when <i>en repos</i> we are plunged
+into the dullest monotony imaginable,
+with nothing to amuse or occupy us.
+This is true of every branch of active
+service.</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>The few air raids are rather an anticlimax
+after the days that have just
+passed, especially as nothing falls near
+enough to cause us any annoyance. At
+Bar-le-Duc the Boche playfully drops a
+dozen bombs into the German prison
+camp, much to every one’s amusement;
+a mile from us he destroys a camp of
+Bulgarian prisoners, and we wonder at
+his hard-headedness and laugh. But the
+next night we hear bombs crashing in the
+distance, and in the morning learn from
+some men in another section passing
+through that it was Vadlaincourt, where
+the Huns flew so near the ground that
+soldiers in the streets shot at them with
+rifles. At that height the aeroplanes
+could not mistake their targets, and they
+retired only when the hospital was a
+mass of flaming ruins. There are no
+smiles at this. Another night the purring
+motors reveal outlined high against
+the stars a fleet of Zeppelins, bound we
+know not where, but, we do know, on a
+mission of death to the innocent.</p>
+
+<hr class='c016' />
+<p class='c017'><span class='c004'>T</span>HE enemy aeroplane comes over us
+often. We have wondered why, but we
+now realize that while the Allies can get
+control of the air when they want it, to
+keep continual control would be too
+expensive in both men and machines.
+The anti-aircraft gun theoretically solves
+the problem. When an enemy machine
+appears, a battery of <i>contre-avions</i> is
+notified and essays the destruction of the
+adventurer.</p>
+<p class='c010'>It is pretty sport. A little white
+machine, sometimes catching the glint
+of the sun, dashes towards us at a great
+height. It is sighted, and then the high-pitched
+boom-booms of the <i>contre-avions</i>
+start in, and the shrapnel breaks at
+varying distances around the machine
+like powder-puffs, which float along for
+some minutes. After a little of this
+harmless sport the Boche gets out of
+range, the guns cease, and the machine,
+having in the meanwhile disposed of
+some bombs or taken some photographs,
+dashes off, to be followed shortly by one
+or two Frenchmen.</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>The practical value of the anti-aircraft
+guns is to keep the machines so high in
+the air that they can accomplish little, as
+the guns rarely score. At M——, where
+every day they have been shooting two
+or three hundred rounds at the machines
+which fly over the city, they are quite
+proud of their record, for once in one
+day they shot down three machines—two
+of their own and one German.
+They have been resting on their laurels
+ever since. It was a few examples like
+this which taught the French airmen to
+keep out of the sky while the <i>contre-avions</i>
+were busy.</p>
+
+<hr class='c016' />
+<p class='c017'><span class='c004'>“N</span>APOLEON” was so christened by us
+because, despite his sparrow-like form and
+manner, he considers himself the moving
+spirit of the army in general and of our
+section in particular. Because he knows
+nothing about automobiles, he styles himself
+an expert,—the mere fact that he
+is assigned as clerk to an ambulance
+section proves his claim. The one time
+he had the indiscretion to touch a car,
+he drove the lieutenant’s around the
+compound with the emergency brake
+set—after telling the <i>sous-chef</i> that he
+had driven cars for twenty years! One
+of the ambulances goes for <i>ravitaillement</i>
+every day, carrying “Napoleon,” who
+disappears into mysterious buildings and
+returns with still more mysterious edibles,
+presumably for our delectation.</p>
+<p class='c010'>On one trip the carburetor gave trouble
+and we stopped and cleaned it. While
+we were working we noticed “Napoleon”
+industriously turning the lights on and
+off, pumping the button on the dash.
+We said nothing, and when we had finished
+and started the car again he tapped
+his chest proudly, cocked his head, and
+said, “<i>Moi!</i>”</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>In circumnavigating a large team in
+the centre of the road later that day I
+rubbed “Napoleon” off against a horse,
+and after that he snubbed me on every
+occasion.</p>
+
+<hr class='c016' />
+<p class='c017'><span class='c004'>B</span>EING at the cross-roads, all manner
+of men and things come through Erize.
+The never-ending stream of <i>camions</i> passing
+each other as they go, layers deep
+with dust and grime, winds on steadily.
+There is great rivalry between the <i>camion
+pelotons</i>, and each has adopted an insignia
+painted on the sides of the cars
+to distinguish it from the others. As
+there are several hundred <i>pelotons</i> the
+designs are many, interesting, and reveal
+much of the inner nature of the <i>poilu</i>.
+Every species of beast and fowl is depicted,—greyhound,
+stork, swallow, and
+other types,—as a monkey riding on a
+shell, a demon with trident pursuing a
+German, and then perhaps a child’s
+face, copied no doubt from the locket of
+one of the men.</p>
+<p class='c010'>Soldiers go up cheering wildly, singing
+and shouting. They return silent,
+tired, covered with mud, and reduced in
+numbers. German rifles, bayonets, caps,
+buttons, cartridges, and other odds and
+ends are then offered for sale. In August
+a <i>poilu</i> offered me a German rifle. I was
+examining it, and admiring the design,
+when I noticed the maker’s name,—the
+latest type German rifle had been made
+in New Jersey, U.S.A.</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>In addition to these things, the <i>poilus</i>
+have for sale many articles they have
+made themselves. The favorite is the
+<i>briquet</i>, or pocket lighter. This is made
+in all conceivable sizes and shapes, and
+operates by a flint and steel lighting a
+gasoline wick. This is why we use more
+gasoline <i>en repos</i> than when rolling!
+The soldiers also take the <i>soixante-quinze</i>
+shell-cases and carve and hammer them
+into vases. As many of the men were
+experts at work of this type “<i>avant la
+guerre</i>,” and as much local talent has
+appeared since, some of the specimens
+are very fine indeed, and command high
+prices in the cities.</p>
+
+<div id='i095'  class='figcenter id002'>
+<img src='images/i095.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
+<div class='ic002'>
+<p>A DIVISION EN REPOS<br /><span class='small'>INTERNATIONAL FILM SERVICE CO., INC.</span></p>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p class='c010'>It is these laughing, playing, seemingly
+care-free soldiers who are the spirit of the
+war. Relieved from the tense struggle of
+life and death for a brief rest, their joyous
+nature blossoms forth in reaction from the
+serious affairs of their day’s work.</p>
+
+<hr class='c016' />
+<p class='c017'><span class='c004'>T</span>HERE is nothing that so brings out
+the best in a man as to fight against
+terrific odds, to struggle in a losing fight
+with the knowledge that only by superhuman
+effort can the odds be equaled or
+turned. To work for an ideal is a wonderfully
+inspiring thing, but when the battle
+necessitates the risking or the sacrificing
+of home, happiness, and life it brings to
+the surface in those who persevere characteristics
+which lie dormant or concealed.</p>
+<p class='c010'>An ideal must be worth while when
+millions of men gladly risk their all for
+its attainment, and those men who risk
+and sacrifice must have returned to them
+something for what they give. Whatever
+sort of creature he is on the surface,
+the fire test, if a man passes it and is not
+shrivelled in its all-consuming flame, must
+develop in him certain latent and hitherto
+buried attributes which are fit to greet the
+light of day. If he be lacking in worthy
+human instincts, the flame will destroy
+him, but if he passes through the test, he
+emerges a better man—how much better
+depends on the individual. At least, having
+once seen the ideal, he has something
+now for which to live and strive.</p>
+
+<hr class='c016' />
+<p class='c017'><span class='c004'>T</span>HE world, judging from what it saw
+on the surface, flatly declared that France
+could never stand up under the strain;
+but what has happened has proved how
+little of the real worth of a nation or of
+a man is ever visible on the surface.
+There must always come the test, the
+fire which burns off the mask, the false
+surface beneath which mankind ever
+hides, and brings forth what is concealed—good
+or bad. The bad is swept away
+and the good survives.</p>
+<p class='c010'>The French are a temperamental people,
+and consequently are most easily affected
+by circumstances. In former times the
+mass of the people were inclined to be
+demonstrative, insincere, somewhat selfish,
+and rather egotistical. These characteristics
+could never pass the tests, and now
+the true spirit of France, the Phœnix, is
+rising from the ashes of the past a freed
+and glorified being, radiant in the joy of
+accomplishment. From the torture she
+has endured, an understanding of the
+feelings and desires of others must be
+born which will banish the taint of selfishness
+forever. Those who do things
+are never egotistical—they have no time
+to talk, and France has been doing things
+these past years. Those who rub elbows
+with the elementals and sacrifice for each
+other and a cause can never be insincere
+again. And what harm is there
+in demonstration? The bad characteristics
+removed, this becomes merely an
+effervescence, a bubbling over of a joyous,
+unrestrained nature—Ponce de
+Leon’s true fountain of perpetual youth.</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>The difference between the men who
+have served at the front and either seen
+or felt great suffering, and those who
+have not, is most marked. One evening
+I was in an <i>abri</i> where some new recruits
+were wrangling over unimportant things,
+and showing their selfish character in
+every speech and act, when a desperately
+wounded man was brought in.
+After serving for some time in the trenches
+he had been given a few days’ leave to
+see his family. He went back happily,
+thinking of the wife and the little children
+he was soon to see again. Having left
+the third-line trenches, he was walking
+through the woods down the <i>boyau</i>
+which leads to the outer world, when a
+shell broke overhead. The <i>brancardiers</i>
+patched him up and brought him in
+with his head bound so that his eyes and
+mouth alone were visible. The doctor
+handed him a cup of <i>Pinard</i> and a cigarette,
+neither of which would he touch
+until he had offered it to the rest of us.
+I picked up his helmet which he had put
+down for an instant, although his eye
+never left it. There was a hole in it
+through which I could have rolled a
+golf ball.</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>To illustrate the reverse—I was standing
+in a town a little ways back, waiting
+for a car to give me a lift up to the lines,
+when a kitten rubbed against my leg.
+I picked it up and started to play with
+it. Instantly a peasant—not too old
+to serve—rushed out and snatched the
+kitten from my arms:</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>“<i>Ce nest pas à vous!</i>” was his comment.</p>
+
+<hr class='c016' />
+<p class='c017'><span class='c004'>T</span>HE English can never be called a
+temperamental race, but even their stolid
+worth has needed much shaking up for
+the best in it to come to the surface.
+The example they have set since their
+awakening is one which any nation may
+well emulate, and it will be a proud
+people indeed which can ever equal the
+record they have made in this war for
+courage and devotion, never surpassed
+in the history of the world.</p>
+<p class='c010'>The <i>poilu</i> and the Tommy are of such
+opposite types that each completely mystifies
+the other. The Frenchman works
+himself up to a fanatical state of enthusiasm,
+and in a wild burst of excitement
+dashes into the fray. The Englishman
+finishes his cigarette, exchanges a joke
+with his “bunkie,” and coolly goes
+“over the top.” Both are wonderful
+fighters, with the profoundest admiration
+for each other, but each with an
+absolute lack of understanding of the
+other, intensified by the difference in
+language.</p>
+
+<hr class='c016' />
+<p class='c017'><span class='c004'>T</span>HE varying characteristics of troops
+from different parts of the world—the
+allied countries, dependencies, and colonies—have
+led to their classification
+and assignment to the work best adapted
+to their temperament. The fighting
+troops are divided into two main classes
+called the “flying” and the “holding”
+divisions. There are some troops who
+are wonderful in a charge, but have no
+stamina or staying power to resist counterattacks
+or the wear of steady fighting.
+There are others who lack the initiative
+and dash, but who can hold on and resist
+anything. Then there are others who,
+while they are possessed of both qualities,
+are somewhat better suited for one class
+than the other. The Flying Divisions
+are used chiefly in the attacks, where a
+quick advance and desperate fighting
+must win the day. This completed, they
+go back <i>en repos</i> again, while the Holding
+Divisions take their place to consolidate
+the ground won, and to resist the enemy’s
+attempts to regain it. The Flying
+Divisions have longer <i>repos</i> but more
+violent fighting while they are on the
+line, and the Holding Divisions have
+shorter <i>repos</i> but a less strenuous although
+longer stretch in the trenches. This has
+all been worked out from observation and
+experiment.</p>
+<p class='c010'>For example,—in the early days of the
+war the Madagascans, French colored
+colonial troops, are given certain trenches
+to take. They take them with little delay,
+and are told to consolidate and hold them.
+This is all very well until supper fails to
+arrive. The soldiers wait impatiently
+for a short while, and then, ignoring the
+commands of their officers, evacuate their
+trenches, which are immediately occupied
+by the Germans, and go back for
+their meal. Supper finished, with no
+hesitation they return and in a wild
+charge recapture their trenches and
+several more.</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>Other French troops in the Flying
+Division are the Algerians, who have done
+wonderful fighting throughout the war,
+and have suffered heavily. It is the boast
+of the Foreign Legion, which is classed
+as Algerian, that since its organization
+it has never failed to reach its objective,
+and even in this war it has made good
+its boast. In one attack the Legion
+entered thirty-five thousand strong and
+returned victorious with a remnant of
+thirty-five hundred men.</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>The Algerians have a sense of humor
+all their own. An <i>ambulancier</i> was carrying
+one of them down to the hospital.
+As he was only slightly wounded he was
+sitting on the front seat with the driver,
+leaving more room for the <i>couchés</i> inside.
+One of the <i>couchés</i> was a German. Half
+way to the <i>triage</i> the Algerian made
+signs to the driver to stop. The driver
+looked inquiringly at the man who, with
+a broad grin, pulled out a long knife and
+pointed at the German. The driver
+naturally did not humor him, and the
+sulky Zouave refused to speak to him
+during the rest of the trip.</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>Another Algerian came into the <i>poste</i>
+one day. He had a great joke that he
+wanted us all to hear. He said that he
+had been given three prisoners to bring
+in, and was leading them down a road
+in a pouring rain, when he noticed the
+ruin of a house with the roof missing.
+He told the prisoners to go in there there—“where
+it would be drier,” and when they
+complied, stood on the outside and tossed
+grenades over the wall at them.</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>The fact that the colonial troops of
+the Allies, especially those of Great Britain—the
+Canadians, Australians, and
+New Zealanders—fall practically without
+exception into the Flying Division
+because of the initiative, dash, and daring
+developed in them to such a degree, has
+given Germany, who has won more victories
+with poisoned pen than with the
+sword, an opportunity to stir up hard
+feeling with her propaganda between the
+colonies and their mother country.</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>This propaganda claims that England
+has sacrificed her Colonials to save her
+own troops. Nothing could be farther
+from the truth. While the Colonials are
+in the Flying Division and the larger
+part of the English in the Holding Division,
+because of their famous bulldog
+tenacity, the English have lost a greater
+percentage of their men than any one of
+the colonies. The world has never seen
+such fighting as the troops of Great
+Britain have had to stand up under, and
+full credit is always given the Colonials
+for their share.</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>The Canadians particularly have distinguished
+themselves. They share with
+the Foreign Legion alone the distinction
+of never having been given an objective
+they have not taken. When the order
+came for the attack on Vimy Ridge it
+read: <i>The Canadians will take Vimy
+Ridge at such and such an hour</i>, and they
+took it on the dot. With the Canadians
+must be put the Anzacs,—Australians
+and New Zealanders,—examples of what
+universal military training can do.</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>Then there are the Indians, who never
+take a prisoner. By training and tradition
+they are great head-hunters, and
+enjoy nothing better than creeping out
+at night over No Man’s Land and waiting
+before the enemy’s trench until a
+sentry puts up his head to observe. A
+quick sweep of the curved knife, the head
+is secured, and the Indian returns with
+the feeling of “something accomplished,
+something done, has earned a night’s
+repose.” Their sense of humor has much
+in common with that of the Algerians—and
+of the Germans.</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>Many of the heads, in all stages of
+curing, have been found in the knapsacks
+and equipments of these troops—when
+they were dead or unconscious. While
+conscious, the Indian will guard them
+with his life, feeling that they are legitimate
+souvenirs.</p>
+
+<hr class='c016' />
+<p class='c017'><span class='c004'>T</span>HERE are three French medals
+which are given for service in this war,
+not to mention a number of lesser ones
+which are seen rarely. The most coveted
+of these is the Legion of Honour, a medal
+famous for some centuries both in war
+and peace. This is divided into several
+classes. There is the Grand Cross of
+the Legion of Honour, a very large medal
+worn over the right-hand pocket with no
+ribbon. This has been awarded to a few
+men of the greatness of Joffre and Petain.
+Then there is the grade of Commander
+of the Legion of Honour. This is a smaller
+cross worn at the neck. There are also
+the ranks of Officer and Chevalier. Both
+are small crosses on red ribbons, but the
+former has a rosette on the ribbon to
+distinguish it. These are awarded to
+officers only and are greatly prized.</p>
+<p class='c010'>Two new medals were struck for the
+war,—the <i>Médaille Militaire</i> and the
+<i>Croix de Guerre</i>. The <i>Médaille</i> is a round
+medal on a yellow ribbon of one class
+only, and is awarded to officers and
+soldiers alike for actual bravery on the
+field. The <i>Croix de Guerre</i> is a bronze
+cross on a green and red ribbon, and
+has three classes,—the <i>Croix de Guerre
+d’Armée</i>, which has a bronze palm on the
+ribbon, <i>de Corps d’Armée</i>, which has a
+bronze star on the ribbon, and <i>de Division</i>,
+which has a plain ribbon. They are
+awarded for different degrees of bravery
+or service to officers and soldiers alike,
+and may be won unlimited times. In
+aviation a <i>Croix</i> with palm is given to
+an aviator for every enemy plane he is
+officially credited with downing. Thus
+Gynemer at the time of his death was
+privileged to wear fifty-five palms on his
+ribbon. For the benefit of such as he a
+silver palm is worn, representing five
+bronze, and a gold palm in place of ten
+bronze. Before this was allowed, Gynemer
+wore his ribbon with forty odd
+palms.</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>In addition to these there are the
+colonial medals and a number of French
+decorations which have not strictly to do
+with the war.</p>
+
+<hr class='c016' />
+<p class='c017'><span class='c004'>T</span>ONIGHT I am on guard. I have
+just taken a walk around the cars. It is
+the hour before the dawn, and the cold,
+grey mist hangs over all, robing the
+jagged ruins and harmonizing the rough
+outlines into something more human,
+while accentuating the stare of the vacant
+window-openings. There is the first
+crescent of the moon in the sky. Two
+companies of artillery have just passed
+along the road. The guns and caissons
+creak and rumble, and the men, preserving
+a sleepy silence, bend forward
+on their horses, their heavy sabres smacking
+against the horses’ sides, and their
+blue uniforms melting into the mist.</p>
+<p class='c010'>The officer halts to water his horse,
+and we chat for a minute. The <i>contre-avions</i>
+are after a raider headed for Bar-le-Duc,
+and I put out my lantern. We
+smile as the shrapnel bursts more than
+a mile from the machine. The officer
+speaks a few words of praise about his
+men, then vaults on his horse. We exchange
+“<i>bonne chance</i>” and he canters
+off down the road, disappearing in the
+blue-grey mist.</p>
+
+<hr class='c016' />
+<p class='c017'><span class='c004'>A</span> RUMOR creeps into camp that
+the next attack will be at V——. More
+rumors follow, supported by the increased
+traffic. We are on the main road to
+V——, and are keenly critical. We take
+out our maps and examine the outline
+of the front in the sector just as if
+we knew something about it. Would-be
+strategists hold forth in heated arguments,
+and many bitter debates follow. Those
+of us who have the early watch just
+at daybreak notice many companies of
+<i>soixante-quinzes</i> rumbling by each morning,
+and observe that they take the left
+fork of the road. This is important, for
+the left road leads towards M——, which
+is really not in our sector. More argument
+follows, and ears are constantly
+strained to catch the first augmentation
+of the distant thunder of the guns, and
+to determine from which end of the
+sector it comes.</p>
+<p class='c010'>Now all the officers admit that an
+attack is to ensue shortly, but they do
+not know when. We tune up our cars
+and get our baggage ready, as we may
+be called. The lieutenant receives some
+orders and warns us to be ready to move
+on a moment’s notice.</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>The traffic is incessant now. <i>Camions</i>
+with shells, barbed wire, <i>camouflage</i> cloth,
+<i>torpilles</i>, and more shells rush by. Convoys
+pass filled with troops, cheering
+wildly, thirty-five hundred or more in
+an evening. The thunder is gradually
+intensified, and the sky flashes faintly in
+the distance like heat lightning. From
+a hilltop artillery rockets and star-shells
+can be seen in the far horizon. More
+troops keep going up, and the guns pound
+the line with unabated fury.</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>It is evening, and we are formed in a
+circle listening to some story. The lieutenant
+walks up to us:</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>“We move at seven in the morning,”
+he says laconically, and steps off.</p>
+<div class='pbb'>
+ <hr class='pb c002' />
+</div>
+<div class='chapter'>
+  <h2 id='ch04' class='c008'>IV<br /> <br />AT THE FRONT</h2>
+</div>
+<p class='c009'><span class='c004'>T</span>HIS time we have a different run.
+It is from Montzéville to Hill 239, and
+the wounded are brought in through the
+communication trench which leads to
+Mort Homme—the well-named Dead
+Man’s Hill. The road was once lined
+for a distance of perhaps a mile with
+towering poplars, evinced by the size of
+the stumps, but now not one of them
+is left higher than three or four feet.
+The road runs the entire distance across
+open meadows, and as what <i>camouflage</i>
+there was has been shot away by the
+Boche in his search for two 220 batteries,
+which have long since moved on, the
+enemy <i>saucisses</i> can regulate the traffic
+quite simply. The place has been shot
+up so much recently that there has been
+no time to repair the roads fully, and
+now there are long stretches temporarily
+patched with rough, broken stone, which
+makes bad going. Riding forward, one
+sees large German shells breaking on the
+road ahead like sudden black clouds,
+which disappear slowly and convey to
+the mind uncomfortable premonitions.</p>
+<p class='c010'>Mort Homme comes suddenly and
+bleakly into view about two kilometres
+on our left,—a hill, not exceedingly
+high, commanding a great plain, it is
+imposing only in the memory of the
+rivers of blood that have flowed down
+its sides. Once—and looking at it one can
+scarcely believe it—this was covered with
+trees and vegetation like many another
+less famous hill. Now it is reduced to a
+mere sandpile, pitted with the scars of
+a million shells. After standing the continuous
+bombardment of both combatants
+for over a year, there is left not a
+stick of vegetation, nor an inch of ground
+that has not been turned over by shells
+many times. Crowned by the pink of
+the sunset, it stands there on the plain a
+great monument to the glorious death
+of thousands.</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>The French lost many thousands of
+lives in their attempts to capture Mort
+Homme, and were very bitter, consequently,
+against its defenders. There
+was a large tunnel running through the
+hill, and when three sides had been captured
+and both ends of the tunnel were
+held, it was discovered that they had
+trapped there three thousand Germans.
+I talked with a man who walked through
+the tunnel the day after the massacre and
+he told me that it was literally inches deep
+in blood.</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>Arrived at the <i>poste</i>, which is nothing
+more than a hole in the ground, we stand
+around while the <i>brancardiers</i> load the
+car and exchange lies with any one who
+happens to be there. The Boche sends
+a dozen or more shells whining over our
+heads to break on the road or beside it,
+and near enough for every one to gravitate
+slowly towards the <i>abri</i> in preparation
+for a wild dive should the next shell
+fall much nearer. One man asked me
+why they put stairs leading into an <i>abri</i>,
+as nobody ever thought of using them.
+When I asked him how else one would
+get out, he said he had never thought of
+that.</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>There is nothing quite so uncomfortable
+to hear as the near whistle of a shell.
+The more one hears the sound the more
+it affects him. There is something in
+the sharp whine which seems to create
+despair and induce subconscious melancholy.
+There is a feeling of helplessness
+and powerlessness that is most depressing.
+The thunder of the guns or the crash
+of the bursting shells cannot be compared
+with the sound of this approaching
+menace. It is as if some demon
+from the depths of Hades were hurtling
+towards you, its weird laughter crying
+out, calling to you and chilling your
+blood. For the second of its passage a
+hush falls on the conversation, and the
+best jokes die in dry throats. But it is
+only for that second, and instantly
+laughter rings out again at some jest.
+Speculations or comments are made on
+the probable or observed place where it
+exploded, and all is the same except for
+that subconscious tenseness which, for
+the most part unrealized, grips every man
+while he goes about his work here.</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>The first ordeal by fire is the easiest.
+It is then but a new and interesting sensation
+and experience. Later, after one has
+seen the effect and had some close calls,
+it is more of a nervous strain. The whine
+of a shell is very high-pitched, and after
+a time the sound wears distinctly on the
+nerves. It is a curious fact that, in spite
+of the philosophy developed, the longer
+a man has been under shell-fire the harder
+it is for him to stand it. By no means
+would he think of showing it, but he
+would not deny the fact. It is only the
+philosophy and callousness developed
+which keep the men from breaking down,
+and in many cases the strain on the nerves
+becomes so great that men do collapse
+under it. This is one of the forms of so-called
+“shell-shock.”</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>The car loaded with <i>blessés</i>, we start
+back, driving more slowly this time, as
+precious lives are in our care and jolts
+must be avoided wherever possible. We
+find the road still more “out of repair”
+than when we went over it before, with
+a number of new shell-holes varying from
+two to ten feet in diameter, and much
+wood, dirt, and torn <i>camouflage</i> strewn
+about, and often a horse lying where it
+was hit, its blood coloring the mud in the
+gutter.</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>Approaching the town of Montzéville
+one sees at first a wood—<i>ci-devant</i>—now
+a few blackened tree-trunks of spectre-like
+appearance against the grey of the evening
+sky. Behind these appears the town,
+a mass of jagged ruins, at that distance
+seeming to be absolutely deserted. In
+fact it is, except for the dozen odd men
+who live in two or three scattered <i>abris</i>
+for some obscure purpose. An air of desolation
+and despair broods over the place,
+and God knows it has seen enough to
+haunt it.</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>From Montzéville we ride on to Dombasle
+and Jouy, the hospital, and after
+handing over our more or less helpless
+charges to the tender mercies of the
+<i>brancardiers</i>, we return to the relay station
+at Montzéville to wait for our
+next roll, and to wonder what possible
+good those <i>poilus</i> can be doing who sit
+all day so peacefully at the door of the
+<i>abri</i> opposite ours, sipping <i>Pinard</i> and
+smoking their cigarettes.</p>
+
+<hr class='c016' />
+<p class='c017'><span class='c004'>T</span>HE soldiers at the front are always
+looking for the bright side of life, and
+after a little one gets to see humor in
+many more things than he would have
+believed possible at home. As an example,
+there seems to be little humor
+connected with a funeral, yet one of the
+times I saw the <i>poilus</i> most amused was
+one day at P 4, our relay station, on
+such an occasion.</p>
+<p class='c010'>There had been an intermittent bombardment,
+and we were sitting or standing
+inside the <i>abri</i> waiting for it to let
+up. The <i>abri</i> was located in the corner
+of a graveyard, and there was always
+the unpleasant feeling that the next
+rain might wash a few bones in on us.
+The <i>abri</i> was small, very crowded, and,
+as it was several feet underground, none
+too well ventilated. Every one spent
+long stretches here, and brought his food
+with him. What was too poor to eat
+soon mixed with the mud on the floor,
+lending an unsavory odor to the atmosphere.
+Presently one of the Frenchmen
+went out to see if the bombardment
+had stopped. This is discovered by the
+same method one ascertains whether or
+not it is raining—if he gets wet the
+storm is not over. The bombardment
+was not over, and we waited. At last
+it seemed to have let up, only an occasional
+shell crashing into the woods
+across the road, and we went out to
+stretch and get a breath of air.</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>The <i>poilus</i> gathered our inquisitive
+friend from the surrounding shrubbery
+and trees and put him into several empty
+sandbags which they laid on a stretcher,
+carefully placing the head, which appeared
+to have been solid enough to withstand
+the shock, at the upper end. Another
+man carried a freshly-made pine-wood
+coffin. In high spirits, the assembled
+soldiers formed a procession and marched
+into the graveyard, singing alternately
+a funeral dirge and “Madelon,” the
+French “Tipperary.” This graveyard,
+not being on the firing-line itself, was
+rather a formal affair. The graves were
+laid out in neat rows, and each man had
+one all to himself with a wooden cross
+and his name on it. Of course occasionally
+the shells did a little mixing, but
+that was a jest of the Fates which disturbed
+no one, least of all those who were
+mixed.</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>Arrived at the grave, the <i>poilus</i> rolled
+in the fragments of our late friend and
+covered them with dirt.</p>
+
+<div class='lg-container-b c018'>
+  <div class='linegroup'>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>“<i>Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note.</i>”</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<p class='c019'>Then they came back, roaring with
+laughter and tossing the coffin in the air.
+The hero had expected the coffin and they
+had fooled him. Now they could use it
+again.</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>The usual method of burial on the
+French front, where there is little time to
+attend to such matters, is to dig a ditch
+six feet wide, ten feet deep, and twenty
+feet long approximately. As each man
+is killed, time and circumstances permitting,
+he is divested of his coat and
+shoes, and his pockets are emptied. He
+is then thrown into the ditch and covered
+with a few shovelfuls of dirt. This system
+is all very well until new divisions
+relieve those in the trenches, and start
+digging ditches for their own men. As
+there are no marks to show the location
+of the old ones, they sometimes uncover
+rather unpleasant sights.</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>The reputation we have gained at home
+of being cold-blooded and lacking in the
+finer senses is undeserved. While one is
+in it he cannot permit himself to realize
+or dwell on the horrors or they would
+overwhelm him and drive him insane.
+What is more natural than for the reaction
+to turn the matter into jest and joke,
+to permit it to glance from the surface
+without inflicting a wound?—“<i>C’est la
+guerre.</i>”</p>
+
+<hr class='c016' />
+<p class='c017'><span class='c004'>P</span>LUNGED suddenly from the commonplaces
+of peace into the seething
+cauldron of war, France has had to adjust
+herself. Every one without exception
+has lost many who were dear to him and
+much that he had considered essential.
+The homes and hopes of thousands have
+been blasted. Destruction, following in
+the wake of the invaders, has laid waste
+much of the land, in many cases irreparably.</p>
+<p class='c010'>Entering the war a man is possessed of
+the greatest seriousness. He thinks of its
+causes, the results both immediate and
+future, and of the effect of each on him.
+He is stunned by what he believes himself
+to be bearing up under. Then, as he
+moves up into the zone, into service and
+action, and sees how others are affected,
+how much suffering and misfortune come
+to them, he merges his troubles with
+theirs, realizing the pettiness and insignificance
+of his own in the <i>tout ensemble</i>.
+He laughs, and from this laugh springs
+the philosophy,—“<i>C’est la guerre.</i>”</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>If a fly falls in his soup, if his best
+friend is blown to bits before him, if his
+home and village are destroyed, he calmly
+shrugs his shoulders, and remarks, “<i>C’est
+la guerre.</i>”</p>
+
+<hr class='c016' />
+<p class='c017'><span class='c004'>T</span>HE roads at the front are cared for
+by a class of unsung heroes, the roadbuilders.
+Back of the lines German prisoners
+are often used for this work, but
+it is a rule of warfare that prisoners must
+not be worked under fire, and the Allies
+observe this as the other rules of civilized
+warfare. The roads are the arteries
+of the front, and during an attack the
+enemy does his best to cripple them. If
+he succeeds, the troops in the trenches,
+cut off from food, ammunition, and other
+supplies, are at his mercy. During one
+attack through which I worked, the
+Boche, whose hobby is getting ranges
+down to the inch and applying them as
+all other things in a definite system, put
+a 150 every ten yards down the more
+important roads.</p>
+<div id='i131'  class='figcenter id002'>
+<img src='images/i131.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
+<div class='ic002'>
+<p>NORMAL TRAFFIC AT THE FRONT<br /><span class='small'>INTERNATIONAL FILM SERVICE CO., INC.</span></p>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p class='c010'>All work in the zone is done by three
+classes of workers, excluding the necessary
+military operations carried on by the
+troops in action. First, there are the
+German prisoners who do every kind of
+work out of the zone of fire. Then there
+are the French prisoners in the army,
+who have committed some military crime,
+from sneezing in ranks to shooting a
+colonel. Instead of serving time in a
+guardhouse, these are put in the front-line
+trenches and kept there unarmed to build
+up the parapet, attend to the drains, stop
+Boche bullets, and perform other functions.
+If, for instance, a French soldier
+sends a letter through the civil instead
+of the military mails, where the censorship
+is more strict, he receives a thirty
+days’ sentence. If these prisoners make
+a suspicious move they are shot by their
+own men. Second timers are rare, but
+many serve life sentences.</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>Then there is the third class, a regular
+branch of the army, a subdivision of the
+engineers, termed <i>pionniers</i>. The engineers
+do the nastiest work in the army,
+and the <i>pionniers</i> do the nastiest work in
+the engineers. It is their duty to see
+that the wire is properly cut before a
+charge, that the parapet is in repair and
+does not lack sandbags,—and it is in
+this class that the roadbuilders come.</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>All along the roads lie piles of broken
+stone, which are continually replaced by
+loads from the rear. At intervals are
+placed <i>abris</i> filled with roadbuilders who
+watch until a shell hits the road in their
+sector. Then, almost before the dirt
+settles, they rush out armed with shovels,
+and pile this rough stone into the hole
+and rush back again to shelter, to wait
+for the next shell, which is not long in
+coming. This rough patching is consolidated
+later when the sector quiets down,
+but does admirably for the time-being,
+as the mud and traffic push it rapidly
+into shape.</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>Steam-rollers are then sent up to finish
+the work, but find themselves <i>persona non
+grata</i> when left over night in the middle
+of a narrow and muddy road, with no
+lights showing. We <i>ambulanciers</i> are not
+fond of the species at any time, as they
+seem to have a great affinity for six-inch
+shells. When disintegrated, any one
+of the numerous parts blocks our way.
+We are perfectly content to have the
+task left to the simple roadbuilder, who
+proves less of an obstruction after meeting
+a one-fifty.</p>
+
+<hr class='c016' />
+<p class='c017'><span class='c004'>M</span>ANY undeveloped instincts lie dormant
+in the subconscious mind of man.
+In this war, where man has turned back
+the pages of civilization to live and act
+for a period of time as a glorified cave-dweller,
+a number of these unknown faculties
+have been discovered and developed.</p>
+<p class='c010'>Many animals have the power of seeing
+in the dark, and all species can sense an
+unknown danger. These senses have
+been denied to civilized man, but the
+primitive life at the front has developed
+them and other instincts in those who live
+there so that it seems as if man might
+again become possessed of all his latent
+powers.</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>A man going along a road has a conviction
+that if he continues he will be
+killed. He makes a wide detour to avoid
+the road, and a shell strikes where he
+would have been. Then again, men have
+premonitions that they will be killed in
+the next attack or battle. All this is
+coupled with absolute fatalism. They
+feel either that they are going to be
+killed or will live through everything, and
+whichever it is, they merely shrug their
+shoulders, remark, “<i>C’est la guerre</i>,” and
+permit nothing to alter their belief.
+Many say that the shell with their name
+on it has not yet been made, or if it has—“Why
+worry? We cannot escape it.” I
+carried one man, while doing evacuation
+work, who had served three years without
+a scratch, and when <i>en repos</i> had fallen
+from an apple tree and broken his leg.
+He thought it a great joke.</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>The <i>ambulancier</i> has developed two of
+these instincts to quite a degree. The
+first is that he can always locate an <i>abri</i>,
+his or some one else’s, and disappear in
+it with astounding rapidity. The second
+is that he can keep the road with no
+lights. This has to be done almost entirely
+by instinct on many nights, and
+we find it usually safer to make a turn
+where the “inner voice” directs us rather
+than where we remember it should be.
+It is not remarkable, of course, that an
+occasional car falls into a ditch or a shell-hole,
+but astonishing rather how seldom
+this happens. While our Fords never
+attained any great speed in night driving,
+I rode once with a friend from another
+section in a Fiat, when he drove in pitch
+darkness faster than fifty miles an hour,
+taking every turn accurately and safely
+by instinct and luck.</p>
+
+<hr class='c016' />
+<p class='c017'><span class='c004'>T</span>HE mud plays havoc with calculations,
+and we long to set our foot once
+again on dry land. All the water in
+France seems to have gone into mud.
+Water has never been a popular beverage
+here, and now it is even less so. One
+horrified <i>poilu</i>, who had observed me
+drinking a glass of water, asked if it did
+not give me indigestion. At the front
+there is good reason for this. With so
+many men buried in the ground and so
+many animals uninterred on it, all the
+springs are contaminated, and the germs
+of every disease lurk in the water.</p>
+<p class='c010'>The French army provides a light red
+wine to take its place. This wine is little
+stronger than grape juice and is the
+<i>Pinard</i> of the <i>poilus</i>. The government
+also provides tobacco which, to quote
+one <i>ambulancier</i>, cannot be smoked without
+a gas mask.</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>The water in the streams is little better,
+and a bath in one of them gives more
+moral than physical satisfaction. One
+French artilleryman told me with great
+glee of seeing from his observation post
+a company of German soldiers marched
+down to a river for a bath. As soon as
+they were in the water he signalled the
+range to his battery, and they put a
+barrage between the bathers and their
+clothes.</p>
+
+<hr class='c016' />
+<p class='c017'><span class='c004'>V</span>ERDUN is more than a name now—it
+is a symbol. France’s glorious fight
+here with her back to the wall has gone
+down in history as a golden page. The
+foe thundered at the gates and the gates
+held,—held for months while the fate of
+France hung in the balance, and then
+opening, the hosts of France poured out
+and drove the foe back mile by mile,
+bitter miles.</p>
+<p class='c010'>The city does not boast an unscarred
+building, but these wounds do not bleed
+in vain. For every one here there shall
+be two across the frontier when the day
+of reckoning comes. An awe-inspiring
+silence broods over the littered streets.
+There are no civilians here now, but
+many soldiers, and as one walks an
+occasional cheer greets him,—“<i>Vive
+l’Amérique!</i>”</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>The enemy has been driven back so far
+by this time that not more than half a
+dozen vengeful shells a day are directed
+towards the violated cathedral, its subterranean
+vaults blown open and exposed,
+its walls struck, its windows shattered,
+and its roof fallen. A walk through this
+city, divided by the peaceful Meuse, would
+convince one, if nothing had before, that
+this war is not in vain, and that no force
+should be spared, no rest taken until the
+nation which has perpetrated these million
+crimes be crushed, that it may never strike
+like this again.</p>
+
+<hr class='c016' />
+<p class='c017'><span class='c004'>A</span> BATTLE is made up of a number of
+attacks, and a push consists of a number
+of battles. Consequently, each attack is
+most important as it is one of the single
+stones out of which the wall of the push
+is constructed. The taking of A—— was
+a small attack in itself, but it was a part
+of the foundation on which was built
+the great August push at Verdun.</p>
+<p class='c010'>Our section rolled into a town about
+four miles from A—— three days before
+the attack proper was scheduled to begin.
+We established our headquarters there,
+and our relay station and <i>poste de secours</i>
+in the Hesse Forest, the latter just behind
+the third-line trenches.</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>In the Champagne push the year before
+the French had not had nearly enough
+artillery support, and it had cost them
+many lives. It is something one hears
+spoken of rarely. To avoid a repetition
+of this disaster they had massed for this
+attack in one wood six thousand guns
+varying in calibre from the famous 75’s
+to several batteries of 380’s, mounted on
+a railroad a stone’s throw from our sleeping
+quarters. However, as we had no
+time for sleep, it made little difference.
+The 75 is about a three-inch gun, and the
+380, a sixteen approximately.</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>Starting in three days before the attack,
+these guns began firing as steadily as they
+could without overheating. Very often
+in our front <i>abri</i> it was impossible to write
+because of the vibration. One day, when
+we stopped in the woods to change a
+punctured tire, the car was knocked off
+the jack by the shocks several times
+before we could remove the tire, and at
+last we had to run in on the rim.</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>Finally, just before the men were to
+go over the top, the barrage was set
+down in front of the trenches and the
+men climbed over the parapet, and started
+walking towards the enemy. It is always
+possible to tell the <i>tir de barrage</i> by the
+sound of the guns. There is a certain
+regularity which is lacking when each
+gun is firing at independent targets, and
+the steady thunder gives one the feeling
+of a tremendous hammer smashing,
+smashing, irresistibly, each blow falling
+true and hard, and following one another
+with the regularity of the machines in a
+giant factory.</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>A perfect barrage is impenetrable, with
+the shells falling so near together and
+with such short intervals of time between
+that nothing can survive it. The only
+possibility is the inaccuracy of some one
+or more guns which will put a number of
+shells out of the line and leave a break
+or opening.</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>Before the attack the officers all have
+their watches carefully synchronized, as a
+mistake of one minute may cost many
+lives. Walking ahead of their men, keeping
+them the right distance behind the
+solid wall of flame and steel, they wait
+until a certain minute when the barrage
+is lifted a number of yards and then
+advance to that distance. In the orders,
+the minute the barrage is to be lifted and
+the distance are given out beforehand;
+for to advance the soldiers too quickly
+would be to put them under fire from
+their own guns.</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>In this attack the first wave passed
+over the destroyed wire, and on reaching
+the enemy’s front-line trenches could not
+distinguish them from the rest of the
+ground, and found no living thing there.
+The second-line trenches were little better,
+and they got their fighting at the third-line
+trenches. So perfect had the preparation
+and execution of this attack been
+that the Bois d’A—— was cleared of the
+enemy in thirteen minutes from the time
+the French left their trenches.</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>The first wave is followed by the
+“butchers” (the English “moppers-up”),
+who kill all the wounded and the odd
+prisoners, it being impractical for a charging
+line to attempt to hold a few captives.
+Also another factor which makes this
+treatment of prisoners necessary, and
+which the Allies have learned by experience,
+is that unguarded men, once the
+first wave has passed over them, will
+take out a machine gun and catch the
+advancing troops between two fires. This
+happened a number of times before the
+simple expedient was adopted of requesting
+the prisoners to go down into an
+<i>abri</i> where they would be “safer,” and
+then tossing in two or three grenades
+which kill and bury them at the same
+time.</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>Of course the Boche was not idle in
+the meanwhile, and kept up a hail of
+fire from behind A—— Wood and Dead
+Man’s Hill, which did not fall until two
+days later, and we had the benefit of this
+back on the roads as we tore from the
+relay station to the <i>poste</i>, to the hospital,
+and back again, trying to take care of as
+many as we could of the countless
+wounded from the attack who were being
+brought in. French soldiers who had been
+in the war since 1914 said that they had
+never seen such fire.</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>This run and the work through this attack
+were the most interesting of the experiences
+I had in the zone. We worked
+day and night, sleeping and eating at odd
+moments and with long intervals between,
+ceasing only when twelve of our
+cars had gone <i>en panne</i>, and half that
+number of drivers were in the hospital
+suffering from the new mustard gas which
+was showered on us in gas shells. We
+were tired indeed when relieved for a
+short period <i>en repos</i>.</p>
+
+<div id='i147'  class='figcenter id002'>
+<img src='images/i147.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
+<div class='ic002'>
+<p>TAKING A LOAD FROM THE ABRI<br /><span class='small'>COPYRIGHT—INTERNATIONAL FILM SERVICE CO., INC.</span></p>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<div class='pbb'>
+ <hr class='pb c000' />
+</div>
+<div class='chapter'>
+  <h2 id='ch05' class='c008'>V<br /> <br />L’ENVOI</h2>
+</div>
+<p class='c009'><span class='c004'>A</span>N American army is in France. Old
+Glory is proudly floating above an armed
+host which has come to stand shoulder
+to shoulder with the Allies, and do battle
+to prove that Right makes Might. We
+read in the papers of the ovations the
+troops receive, of the reviews, the presentations,
+the compliments, and the training,
+and our hearts beat proudly because
+we too are Americans. We are non-combatants,
+to be sure, and are members
+not of the American army but of the
+French; yet, we are serving in the same
+cause, and, we hope, doing our bit towards
+the final victory.</p>
+<p class='c010'>We know that sooner or later the entire
+American Field Service is to be absorbed
+by the American army, but as to when
+this is to come, and in what manner,
+we are ignorant. We debate often now
+about these things, and wonder what
+effect the change is to have on us and on
+the section. Pessimist has picked up a
+rumor somewhere that we are to be
+turned out in a body, and that drivers
+who have been training at Allentown are
+to take our places. Cheerful Liar informs
+us that we are all to be made first lieutenants,
+and that the section is to serve with
+the American troops. “Napoleon” thinks
+that we are to be discharged, and that
+French drivers who “know their business”
+are to take our places. Some one else
+says that we are all to be put in the
+trenches. No one knows anything definite,
+and the <i>chef</i> and <i>sous-chefs</i> are besieged
+for information which they have
+not. The Assistant Inspector comes out
+to us and we know little more. American
+officers encountered in Bar-le-Duc can
+give us no information, and rumors, most
+of them originating in the section, contradict
+each other.</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>One evening a large Pierce Arrow pulls
+up beside our cars, parked in a walnut
+grove. Three American medical officers
+step out with clanking spurs, and we are
+all attention. The <i>chef</i> is called and we
+assemble. The officer in command makes
+a short speech. The section is to be taken
+over, he says, and those who remain must
+enlist as privates in the American army
+for the duration of the war. These men,
+having signed up, are then at the disposal
+of the Army, but will probably be kept
+in the Ambulance Service. The new
+officers are to be an American lieutenant,
+who will be our present <i>chef</i>, two sergeants,
+and a corporal. The section is to continue
+to serve with the French army, but
+may be transferred to the new American
+front.</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>We form small circles and discuss the
+situation. All the freedom and romance
+are gone, but many are going to stay.
+The rest have chosen aviation or artillery,
+and one or two may return home. The
+old volunteer Ambulance Service is dead,
+but the days we have lived with it are
+golden, and nothing can ever take them
+away from us, or bring them back again.</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>There is a little lump in each man’s
+throat as he turns in tonight, but from
+now on we serve America, and any sacrifice
+is worth that. And for the rest—“<i>C’est
+la guerre.</i>”</p>
+
+<hr class='c016' />
+<p class='c017'><span class='c004'>T</span>HE participation of the United
+States in this war marks the time of
+this country’s coming of age, and the real
+beginning of its work as one of the great
+world powers. Up to the War of the
+Revolution the thirteen colonies had more
+than enough on their hands in managing
+their own affairs. In the throes of that
+war the country was born, and slowly
+grew, feeling its increasing power which
+was never quite secure until the Civil
+War was at an end. Then, year by year,
+reaching out over the two continents of
+America, guiding and helping our weaker
+brothers in their affairs, gave us a foundation
+of courage and experience in the
+adolescent period before we were ready
+to stand forth staunch in our beliefs and
+secure in our power to uphold them.
+That that time has come, and that the
+Old World, throwing down the gauntlet
+to the New, has found it unexpectedly
+ready, is shown by the presence of the
+Stars and Stripes on the battlefields of
+France. The mask of our isolation by
+the ocean, that time-worn excuse, has
+been rudely torn aside by modern inventions,
+and the affairs of Europe have
+become by their intimacy our own. In
+mingling with them as we were forced to
+do, one side was bound to transgress
+sooner or later—Germany did. And
+when Germany transgressed, America
+stepped across the bridge from youth to
+manhood, and picking up the iron gauntlet
+proceeded to settle the question by
+force of arms,—the one indisputable
+argument.</p>
+<p class='c010'>This war is to make Democracy secure
+only in that it is the continual struggle
+between the new and the old, a struggle
+whose issue is certain before the start—civilization
+moves to the west.</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>America is the vanguard of the European
+civilization moving westward.
+It has taken the sum of the civilizations
+of the earth to bridge the chasm of the
+Atlantic. America is the last section of
+the circle of the world, which completed,
+civilization moves back to its starting
+place. Power increases with civilization
+and, with each step civilization has taken,
+the conquests have been proportionate.
+Each has tried world conquest and failed,
+but each has come nearer and each time
+the world has been nearer ready to receive
+it. The present war is the attempt
+of a representative of the civilization of
+Europe to control the earth, and proving
+<i>per se</i> its unfitness to do so.</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>Consequently, the relation of America
+to the War is that she is coming of age,
+and is at last ready to take her place
+among the great nations of the world
+as a power that can never again be disregarded,
+a mighty guardian of the Right.</p>
+
+<hr class='c016' />
+<p class='c017'><span class='c004'>A</span>MERICA has been aptly called the
+Melting Pot. Since 1620, when the Pilgrims
+established their permanent colony
+at Plymouth, people from the Old World
+have been flocking to this country and
+becoming “Americans.” Every country
+of the globe has sent its representatives—each
+a different metal to be merged
+with the others until the American
+should be as distinct a type as the Englishman
+or Frenchman. At first there
+was natural discord—each was a different
+metal in the melting pot, but as there
+was no heat, no fire, they could not
+amalgamate. Then came the first blast
+of national fire—the Revolution, and in
+that, the first great struggle for Liberty,
+was moulded from the composite alloys—the
+American. The American as he came
+from the mould of the Revolution was
+the foundation on which the country
+rests, and although the descendants of
+those Americans are too few in number
+now to be more than a flux for the steady
+stream of metal as it pours from the pot,
+they can at least preserve the standard
+that their forebears passed down to them
+as the Golden Heritage, and be examples
+to these new and untried metals.</p>
+<p class='c010'>In the War of 1812 and in the Civil
+War the new metals were amalgamated
+and tempered with the old, but since 1864
+there has been no fire hot enough to
+mould together the millions who have
+sought the United States as a home.
+There has been no sword over our heads.
+There has been no great impending
+disaster, no danger to the country as a
+whole of great loss of life or property,
+and our Liberty and our Honor have
+not been at stake as they are today.</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>So it is now in this fierce blast from
+Hell’s furnace, the Great War, that the
+National fire is rekindled and each metal
+is slowly sinking its own individuality
+into the common form carefully stirred
+by the hand of the Almighty, and in the
+white heat, as the pure metal is tempered
+until it rings true and measures to the
+old standard, the slag is cast aside. Thus
+is America the Melting Pot.</p>
+
+<hr class='c016' />
+<p class='c017'><span class='c004'>P</span>ARIS is the place where everything
+begins and ends. From here during the
+four years of war there has been the constant
+departure of men bound for the
+great adventure, and it is Paris that has
+received with open arms the greater bulk
+of the <i>permissionnaires</i> and the <i>réformés</i>.
+Gay, very gay on the surface, but below
+the crust it is the saddest of all places.
+When a man is in great agony he laughs.
+It is so with the great city, and the laugh
+of delirium is a poor sham indeed.</p>
+<p class='c010'>The shortage of necessities has also
+been a damper on the city. In Neuilly,
+a suburb of Paris, a man was carrying a
+bag of coal. A few paces behind him
+a well-dressed woman was walking home.
+The man dropped a piece of coal from
+his sack and the woman eagerly picked
+it up and placed it in her gold bag.</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>The war hangs over all in a dismal
+cloud and is in the back of every one’s
+mind; although it is rare to hear it mentioned
+it is always before one. There is
+no Parisian who has not lost some one
+very dear to him or her, and nineteen
+out of every twenty women are in deep
+mourning. The social activities, therefore,
+are greatly curtailed, and the gay
+life is left only to the people of the street,
+the majority of whom have been driven
+to that life by the reaction of despair and
+sadness, and in lonesomeness seek the
+only companionship that they know.</p>
+
+<hr class='c016' />
+<p class='c017'><span class='c004'>T</span>HE old chateau at 21, rue Raynouard,
+so kindly loaned to the American Field
+Service for its headquarters by the Comtesse
+de la Villestreux, is a place of traditions.
+The great Napoleon has walked
+here. Rousseau wrote part of his works
+here, and Franklin walked in the park
+daily while he was Ambassador to France.</p>
+<p class='c010'>The park is the most extensive and
+beautiful within the fortifications of
+Paris, and contains the largest grove
+of chestnuts in the city. The water
+in the springs on the place was famous
+in the seventeenth century as the “<i>eaux
+de Passy</i>.”</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>In the shadow of the Eiffel Tower,
+located on the banks of the Seine, the
+place breathes an atmosphere of rest and
+beauty and solidity, springing from the
+traditions of age. The men of the American
+Field Service, we who have had this
+place as the home to which we would
+return <i>en permission</i>, can never fully
+express our sincere gratitude to the Comtesse
+de la Villestreux and the other
+members of the Hottinguer family, who
+so graciously extended to us, Americans,
+the hospitality of their beautiful estate.</p>
+
+<hr class='c016' />
+<p class='c017'><span class='c004'>A</span> DREAM of a town, hot but not
+oppressive under the sun of the Midi,
+with quaint streets meandering through
+it, little blue tables set in the sunlight
+and a park filled with gay-colored soldiers
+and drab women, was my first impression
+of Bordeaux. Dilapidated <i>fiacres</i> in tow
+of hungry horses transport one from
+place to place, and give the newcomer
+his first taste of the haggling, without
+which a Latin would be disconsolate.</p>
+<p class='c010'>For all its quaintness and simplicity
+it is as much a “pay as you enter” city
+as the rest, and even in the park should
+one sit upon an iron seat instead of a
+wooden one there is an indemnity of
+two <i>sous</i> extracted and a further <i>sou</i>
+should the seat possess arms. A damsel
+in black then presents a ticket which
+entitles the possessor to hold down the
+seat as long as he comfortably can. The
+military may sit free, however, if they
+know it; but the new arrivals do not,
+and the park fund increases.</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>Bordeaux on my return I found to be
+quite Americanized. The quiet uniforms
+of our soldiers were neutralizing the
+bright reds and blues of our ally. The
+little blue tables were often covered by
+a khaki arm, and many new signs proclaimed
+“American Bar,” those houses
+which had specialized in German beers
+before the war having painted “American”
+over the name of the Rhine country.</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>There is a large American hospital here
+completely equipped and ready to receive
+and take good care of the flood that will
+soon be pouring in. An American private
+telephone line has been built to Paris by
+Americans, and with our gradual assimilation
+of the railway system of France we
+are “carrying on” well from here.</p>
+
+<hr class='c016' />
+<p class='c017'><span class='c004'>T</span>HE American Ambulance, the American
+Field Service as it was in the old
+days, is dead. The spirit of <i>bonne camaraderie</i>
+and intimacy which each member
+felt for the others; the time when, members
+of no army, we served with the
+French, on equal terms with the <i>poilus</i>
+in the trenches and the officers on the
+staff; when, responsible to no one, we
+served the cause and the god Adventure,
+content with the past and with no
+thought for the morrow,—has passed.
+With the coming of army discipline and
+system, with governmental organization
+and routine, the old days are gone. We
+are sorry, selfishly, to see them go; but
+we cannot and would not have it otherwise.
+The Ambulance Service is now
+proudly enrolled under Old Glory, and
+is broader and greater than it ever could
+have been as a volunteer organization.
+We rejoice that it is so, and are proud
+that we have been a part of it. So, hail
+to the new United States Army Ambulance
+Corps! The men of the Old
+Ambulance salute you!</p>
+<hr class='c016' />
+<p class='c017'><span class='c004'>A</span> LITTLE group of us stands together
+in the darkness, with the deck rising and
+falling beneath our feet. We are silent
+and pensive. The last lights of Bordeaux
+are fading in the mist, and with them
+France. The boat has been running up
+and down the wide harbor all day, and
+now in the darkness is making a dash
+for the open sea, hoping to outwit the
+enemy lurking in the depths.</p>
+<p class='c010'>Up there, far to the north of those
+lights, the great guns thunder and the
+sky glimmers with star-shells. Men are
+fighting, and struggling, and dying, and
+laughing over their <i>Pinard</i>, but it is not
+for us. We have finished for a while. Of
+course we are coming back, but furlough
+is not offered often enough to be refused
+lightly. We feel a queer mixture of sadness,
+and happiness, and relief. The life
+has worked its way into our hearts, and
+the call to return rings in our ears. But
+the relief from the tenseness and the
+joy of anticipation of America and Home
+exceeds all else. The wind blowing across
+the waves starts somewhere in America,
+and we take deep breaths. Soon we shall
+be home, shall see our friends, and shall
+lead a life of luxurious ease again for a
+short space of time.</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>We walk around the deck and then,
+taking out our pipes, settle down in our
+steamer chairs and puff thoughtfully. All
+is peace and quietness here, the spray
+breaking over the bow and the waves
+lapping against the sides. It is hard to
+realize that the earth is shaking in a
+cataclysm only a little north, but we
+know that this must be endured until
+the power of Germany is destroyed—that
+the world may be as peaceful as is
+the sea tonight.</p>
+<div class='pbb'>
+ <hr class='pb c002' />
+</div>
+<div class='chapter'>
+  <h2 id='glos' class='c008'>GLOSSARY</h2>
+</div>
+<p class='c020'>[<i>The meaning of the words as given in this Glossary is
+that which holds in the army at the front and sometimes
+conflicts with the meaning as given in the dictionary.</i>]</p>
+
+<table class='table2' summary=''>
+<colgroup>
+<col width='46%' />
+<col width='53%' />
+</colgroup>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c021'><span class='sc'>Abri</span></td>
+    <td class='c022'><i>dug-out</i></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c021'><span class='sc'>Ambulancier</span></td>
+    <td class='c022'><i>ambulance driver</i></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c021'><span class='sc'>Argot</span></td>
+    <td class='c022'><i>slang</i></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c021'><span class='sc'>Arrivée</span></td>
+    <td class='c022'><i>an enemy shell</i></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c021'><span class='sc'>Assis</span></td>
+    <td class='c022'><i>a wounded man able to sit up</i></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c021'><span class='sc'>Blessé</span></td>
+    <td class='c022'><i>wounded man</i></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c021'><span class='sc'>Bonne camaraderie</span></td>
+    <td class='c022'><i>good-fellowship</i></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c021'><span class='sc'>Bonne chance</span></td>
+    <td class='c022'><i>good luck</i></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c021'><span class='sc'>Boyaux</span></td>
+    <td class='c022'><i>communication trench</i></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c021'><span class='sc'>Brancardier</span></td>
+    <td class='c022'><i>stretcher-bearer</i></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c021'><span class='sc'>Briquet</span></td>
+    <td class='c022'><i>pocket lighter</i></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c021'><span class='sc'>Camion</span></td>
+    <td class='c022'><i>truck</i></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c021'><span class='sc'>Camionnette</span></td>
+    <td class='c022'><i>small truck</i></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c021'><span class='sc'>Chef</span></td>
+    <td class='c022'><i>first lieutenant</i></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c021'><span class='sc'>Conducteur</span></td>
+    <td class='c022'><i>ambulance driver</i></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c021'><span class='sc'>Contre-avion</span></td>
+    <td class='c022'><i>anti-aircraft gun</i></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c021'><span class='sc'>Couché</span></td>
+    <td class='c022'><i>a wounded man lying down</i></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c021'><span class='sc'>Croix de guerre</span></td>
+    <td class='c022'><i>war cross</i></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c021'><span class='sc'>Départ</span></td>
+    <td class='c022'><i>a shell fired towards the enemy</i></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c021'><span class='sc'>Dud</span></td>
+    <td class='c022'><i>a shell which does not explode</i></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c021'><span class='sc'>Éclat</span></td>
+    <td class='c022'><i>shell fragment</i></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c021'><span class='sc'>En Panne</span></td>
+    <td class='c022'><i>breakdown</i></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c021'><span class='sc'>En Permission</span></td>
+    <td class='c022'><i>on furlough</i></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c021'><span class='sc'>En Repos</span></td>
+    <td class='c022'><i>on a rest</i></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c021'><span class='sc'>Estaminet</span></td>
+    <td class='c022'><i>café</i></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c021'><span class='sc'>Major</span></td>
+    <td class='c022'><i>army surgeon</i></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c021'><span class='sc'>Malade</span></td>
+    <td class='c022'><i>sick man</i></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c021'><span class='sc'>Maréchal des logis</span></td>
+    <td class='c022'><i>French petty officer</i></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c021'><span class='sc'>Mauvais temps</span></td>
+    <td class='c022'><i>rainy season</i></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c021'><span class='sc'>Médaille militaire</span></td>
+    <td class='c022'><i>military medal</i></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c021'><span class='sc'>Minniewerfer</span></td>
+    <td class='c022'><i>German trench mortar</i></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c021'><span class='sc'>Mort Homme</span></td>
+    <td class='c022'><i>Dead Man’s Hill</i></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c021'><span class='sc'>Musette</span></td>
+    <td class='c022'><i>haversack</i></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c021'><span class='sc'>Peloton</span></td>
+    <td class='c022'><i>section</i></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c021'><span class='sc'>Permission</span></td>
+    <td class='c022'><i>furlough</i></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c021'><span class='sc'>Permissionnaire</span></td>
+    <td class='c022'><i>man on furlough</i></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c021'><span class='sc'>Pinard</span></td>
+    <td class='c022'><i>wine</i></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c021'><span class='sc'>Pionnier</span></td>
+    <td class='c022'><i>a branch of the Engineers</i></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c021'><span class='sc'>Poste de Secours</span></td>
+    <td class='c022'><i>front dressing station for wounded</i></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c021'><span class='sc'>Ravitaillement</span></td>
+    <td class='c022'><i>provisioning</i></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c021'><span class='sc'>Réformé</span></td>
+    <td class='c022'><i>soldier discharged on account of wounds</i></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c021'><span class='sc'>Roll</span></td>
+    <td class='c022'><i>to drive</i></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c021'><span class='sc'>Rôti</span></td>
+    <td class='c022'><i>shell which does not explode</i></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c021'><span class='sc'>Saucisse</span></td>
+    <td class='c022'><i>observation balloon</i></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c021'><span class='sc'>Soixante-quinze</span></td>
+    <td class='c022'><i>75 mm. shell</i></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c021'><span class='sc'>Sous-chef</span></td>
+    <td class='c022'><i>second lieutenant</i></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c021'><span class='sc'>Straf</span></td>
+    <td class='c022'><i>to shell</i> (literally, <i>to curse</i>)</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c021'><span class='sc'>Tir de barrage</span></td>
+    <td class='c022'><i>barrage fire</i></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c021'><span class='sc'>Torpille</span></td>
+    <td class='c022'><i>trench mortar shell</i></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c021'><span class='sc'>Verboten</span></td>
+    <td class='c022'><i>forbidden</i></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c021'><span class='sc'>Ville haute</span></td>
+    <td class='c022'><i>upper city</i></td>
+  </tr>
+</table>
+
+<div class='pbb'>
+ <hr class='pb c002' />
+</div>
+<p class='c010'>&nbsp;</p>
+<div class='tnbox'>
+
+ <ul class='ul_1 c002'>
+    <li>Transcriber’s Notes:
+      <ul  class='ul_2'>
+        <li>Missing or obscured punctuation was silently corrected.
+        </li>
+        <li>Typographical errors were silently corrected.
+        </li>
+        <li>Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation were made consistent only when a predominant
+        form was found in this book.
+        </li>
+      </ul>
+    </li>
+  </ul>
+
+</div>
+<p class='c010'>&nbsp;</p>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's The White Road of Mystery, by Philip Dana Orcutt
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+</pre>
+
+  </body>
+  <!-- created with ppgen.py 3.57c on 2019-03-19 22:00:25 GMT -->
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author	nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org>	2025-02-09 12:47:45 -0800
committer	nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org>	2025-02-09 12:47:45 -0800
commit	4a3ee5944bba7b0ebde88a029be66346a070c83d (patch)
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