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MOVE TOWARD METZ, AND THE ARMISTICE

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

THE FIRST REPLACEMENTS

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Frank M. Allen

Wm. J. Armbrustmacher

Allen L. Barris

Frank E. Bellows

Chas. F. Blaker

Joseph J. Blandford

John R. Fulmer

Michael Harriston

Ernest P. Heidel

John E. Lancaster

Walter Lebeck

Stephen McCormick

Lester A. Brogan

Francis P. Cannon

James W. Coleman

John P. Feeney

Abraham H. Feinberg

John J. Fisher

Garland Freeman

George G. Crowley

Angelo Castaldi

Clarke Ellis

James R. McDonald

John Troode

Verne F. Crawford

Harry T. Douglas

Jesse M. Casteel

Vaughn James

James E. Johnston

August Lottner

Dewey T. Barbour

Fay A. Downing

Arthur E. Jones

Parker E. Saul

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

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

Albert J. Daley

Andrew J. Dolak

Dennis Duffy

Lester E. Eakin

John E. Evans

Howard C. Evert

Harry W. Fowler

Cornelius A. Gallagher

Augusts Giorgi

Walter F. Hess

Benjamin W. Kline

Edward Kletecka

Thomas G. Kuntz

Charlie Lulow

Elmer F. Lutt

Jess W. McKain

Clarence T. S. Murphy

Grigory Mukansky

FURLOUGHS

Grenoble

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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