"ONT fait preuve du plus brillant courage et du plus complet dévouement."(1)

The old General ceased reading from the Army Corps Citation and, stepping forward, said: --

"Gentlemen, as you carry no regimental standard, I have the honor of pinning the Croix de Guerre upon this car as representing the Section.",

IT WAS A "FLIVVER "!!

Just a plain "flivver" with an ambulance body the after overhang of which gave the outfit the graceful aspect of an overfed June-bug.

The following pages were not written for the instruction of the United States Army General Staff, although one might think, from the astonishing questions one is asked on returning from the maelstrom, that an ordinary Ambulance driver had the intimate ear of Generals Joffre and Nivelle, and had been consulted by them prior to most of their major operations. Neither is this a treatise on "How to Run an Ambulance Corps" ---A. Piatt Andrew and his able assistants can tell you all about that. This is merely the record of my intimate personal daily existence with the kindly "bunch" of twenty happy-go-lucky pirates, gathered from all parts of the United States, with whom I had the good fortune to be thrown for some ten months of the most interesting, and, I am almost tempted to say, the happiest, months of my life.

Judging from the letters received from home, the Field Ambulance Sections are supposed to spend their entire time breathing battle-smoke and gases; dodging shells and swabbing cars saturated with blood. As a matter of fact, some two thirds of the time is spent "en repos," where, apart from the few scheduled runs, the periodical washing of the cars, and the putting them in first-class repair, the drivers literally loaf.

The remaining third, however, is more or less strenuous. But even then, this depends upon what portion of the battle line the Division to which the Section is attached happens to be placed. Generally speaking, each Division has an Ambulance Section, though lately the French have modified this system to a certain extent, and one becomes part of a "groupement " which may include more than one Division. At Verdun we worked with four Divisions at various times, day and night, and at times under really intense fire. At other times, as on the Aisne, on the Somme, and in the Argonne, we worked even closer to the Boches than at Verdun, but there happened to be no really active fighting during those periods. Hence, when the front line is mentioned, it may often mean nothing of serious importance, and yet again it may mean the most appalling activity.

For instance, at the time of the unfortunate death of Richard Hall, of Section 3, and again on the occasion of the sad taking off of Kelly, of Section 4, these squads were working in what were thought for the moment to be quiet sectors. Yet Section 1, at Souville, and during the battle of Fleury, had nearly all of its cars hit, but not one man was even scratched. Such is the luck of the game!

When we four new recruits --- Roche, who was Captain of the Princeton Crew in 1911, Mason, hurdles at Harvard, 1908, Crane, also Harvard, and myself --- first made our appearance on the grounds of the big hospital at Neuilly, we were regarded with a certain amount of interest by the khaki-clad, swank-looking drivers who happened to be loafing about the yard at the time. The impression they made upon us was one of questioning doubt. One felt as though they were uncertain in their minds as to whether one had skipped the country with somebody's wad or his wife, or both.

As a matter of fact, I doubt if more than half the men go over to France from really altruistic motives, although later on France gets a sort of grip on you that is hard to explain, and one begins to want to stay and to "see it through." It is her wonderful steadfastness in the terrible vicissitudes through which she has passed. It is the unfailing cheerfulness of the people and the way they regard the War as a disagreeable duty to be performed. No heroics! No lamentations! They go about the bloody business as if it were part of the day's work.

All this does not get to one for a while, but it gradually sinks in; and few of the returning men I have seen were going home willingly. It was because of affairs, family, financial, or collegiate; and nearly every one hoped to be able to come back and be in at the finish. Indeed, several did come back during my stay, and since my return to America I hear of more who have felt the strong call. Life seems so banal after one has been a part, however humble, of history in the making. As I write, I know that if I had my way, I should be back there washing my old "Tin Lizzie" in some muddy horsepond, right now.

Well, after proving we were white, fairly healthy, and not palpable fugitives from the law, we were permitted to purchase uniforms, various sundries, and to join the other new recruits burrowing their oily way into the vitals of more or less dilapidated heaps of junk which we were told were cars that had been brought back from the front to be overhauled.

The following pages I have left in diary form, just as they were jotted down at irregular intervals. In reading them over, I can see the gradual development of the raw "freshman," in the presence of things that strike him as strange at first, until he reaches the more or less "fed-up " attitude of the average so-called veteran.

March 5, 1916. On board French Line

S.S. Rochambeau. Carrying three bundles, a bag, a bunch of rugs, and A. B.'s luncheon taken at the Holland House, I boarded the Rochambeau with some effort yesterday just as the whistle sounded, while I kissed various people good-bye. For a week I have been doing nothing else. This teary sob-stuff gets on one's nerves, particularly when one is scared to death anyhow. It's the least kind thing one person can do to another, to call his attention to various things that may happen to him on a sea trip. I met a number of nice people, --- a Frenchman, a priest, and a silk buyer; the latter wept most of the way out of New York Harbor, recalling "the wife" at home, and giving out a lot of maudlin stuff. I inquired how long he expected to remain abroad and he said, "Ten days"! Since then I have disliked him intensely. He kicks about the food too! I have not, as yet, met the other Ambulance men. There are about six, but they keep to themselves.

Thank Heaven, the bartender knows how to mix a dry martini. I've got a fine stateroom. The food is poor and scanty, but I expected that. The ship is shorthanded and very deep in the water, --even carrying freight piled high on the after deck. Only one good-looker aboard and the Captain has already nailed her --- curses! I've met a nice Englishman who is going back to his mother to die. He has lung trouble and prefers mother to his wife and family and Reading, Pennsylvania, as a place to finish off . His mother lives at Grenoble, in the Alps. One Frenchman ordered onion soup this morning for breakfast. Everybody left the table. I got a bully lot of farewell letters, gifts, and telegrams --- some from quite unexpected sources. It's nice to find one has so many friends, but why do they all give one shaving kits?

March 8. Nothing doing yesterday. Met most of the Ambulance men, --- nice fellows, --- R. T. Roche, the aforesaid Captain of Princeton Crew in 1911, Austin B. Mason, of Boston and of hurdles fame at Harvard, 1908, and William Dwight Crane, of New York and Harvard. Cargo mostly ether and oil; also munition. There is a --- heavy roll, --- racks on table; many dishes broken; tramp steamer caused excitement, likewise hot air about possible German raider. The boys are trying to get up a concert with a "busted" piano and no one to sing. Just met an American Ambulance man. Was in the Pont-à-Mousson Section and got Croix de Guerre. He used to do newspaper work. He is now with a "bunch" from Pittsburgh backed by a rich woman who wishes to drive her own car at the front. She's got a swell chance! He is beginning to get weary of his crowd. They only have one car in "White" and they expect to operate as an Individual Unit! ! ! !

March 9. Still no news as to how the fight went at Verdun. Expected surely some information from Eiffel Tower; but if the Captain has received any, he is keeping it dark. More German-raider scares, when passing several freighters. I have met a nice old Italian returning from America where he was buying horses for his government. One of his sons already has been killed in the battle of Trentino. Another son also is at the front. He does all kinds of sleight-of-hand tricks. The sea has calmed down again, and the weather is fine.

Funny how people act in these raider rumors --- women get excited, men pretend to be very calm and joke nervously about being marooned on a desert island à la Robinson Crusoe. The only one I'd like to be marooned with seems to have made a date with some one else. The old Italian has great respect for the Germans, says they are, the best business men ---not bright, but very efficient. He thinks that neither side has as yet been even moderately weakened and looks for the war to last at least two years more. Almost every one else thinks a year should end it.

March 10. At last news from Verdun. French still holding. Also news of British and Russian gains. Several ships (Allies) sunk; and one German boat reported escaped from internment at Bordeaux. This aroused some uneasiness, as that is our destination. I have given all my books to the sick Englishman, as he says he can't get anything but French literature at Grenoble. Met a returning French officer ---Comte de Portanier de la Rochette. He has been ten months in the trenches without so much as a scratch. Has been on an eight days' leave in the United States! Met a former Philadelphian, by name Josiah Williams, a doctor, who has been in the war since the start. He is a graduate of the University of Pennsylvania, class '88. Was in the battle of the Champagne tending first poste de secours. Very interesting. He thinks the French have them licked now. Knows Drs." Billy" White, "Jim" Hutchinson, and used to know Dr. Pepper.

March 11. Quite rough. De la Rochette says that in the Champagne battle, when they captured German trenches, he, himself, found seven dead Germans chained to their machine guns. Head winds and seas will make us a day late at least. The silk merchant is seasick, so we've had a respite on "the wife back in the States" stuff. I've met a young woman of uncertain vintage who is on her way to Monte Carlo. Spends her time knocking American efforts to help France; says the Ambulance men only go over for notoriety's sake. I let her rave on, and when she was all through, bid her good-night, remarking that I was doing that myself. I hope it taught her a lesson.

March 12. The Catholic priest and some of his friends announce that they will not attend the concert because little "blondy" collected the money. The ladies are rabid. One went to the priest and told him she understood that his job included being charitable to sinners as well as others. Priest very sheepish and presented a French novel for the auction! The little blonde, of course, is a professional; but she has done more than any one else in the way of getting up things for the wounded. The sea is so calm that several people I had not seen before turned up on deck. Imagine being in an 8 x 10 hole for eight days. Passed several tramps. Boats have been swung out and most people expect to sleep for the next two nights more or less fully dressed. We are now in the War Zone. We hold the auction and concert to-night.

March 14. Anchored at the harbor 'mouth, and came up late. After much red tape got off boat. They caught one suspect --- a German Jew.

"Taisez-vous,
Méfiez-vous,
Les oreilles ennemies vous écoutent."

This sign is everywhere posted, on trains, etc. Bordeaux little changed except for lack of autos. Women on all tram cars, and conductors on trains are women. There is quite a movement of troops, and trains are crowded. The reserves are all in the old red pants and caps, the new war pale blue being only used at the front. The new metal helmet is almost a replica of the Old pikemen's casques, only enameled a pale dull blue-gray, and the comb is applied instead of being all of one piece. It is very light and of tough steel.

It is spring in the south. Cherry blossoms and buttercups, and everywhere the. vineyards are being tended and the fields sown. Farther north it is still only ploughing time.

At Poitiers we saw the first train-load of German prisoners; most of them were thoroughly satisfied to be out of the war. I must admit, though, that the tales of their being starved were not borne out by these men. They looked quite healthy. We also saw a train of Red Cross cars carrying wounded to the south for recuperation. Only the slightly injured, however. It seemed almost like returning to one's home to see the familiar towns again, Tours, Blois, and the rest. The curious, hazy atmosphere of France, the tiny villages nestling about their castles like chickens around the mother hen, and, above all, the familiar poplars. Paris is very quiet and dark; but there are plenty of cabs and taxis, and food is as good as ever.

PARIS, March 16. To-day I met A. Piatt Andrew --- bully fellow --- much younger than I expected. He's the "whole show" out at Neuilly. Other fellows are very nice too. Several start for the Front to-morrow, so the Equipment Department is very busy. I had to see half a dozen officials, French and American, to get viséd. We are to take our driver's exams to-morrow, and I ordered clothes. At Maxim's for dinner, I sat next to a party of sad-rich American Jews who were lionizing a fat English Jew in uniform. It was pathetic. Just as they were ordering the proverbial "wine," a crippled French aviator came in. The whole restaurant did him silent homage. The Aviation Corps of all the armies are by all odds the biggest heroes. The whole cafe, therefore, drank various toasts to him, and the fat Jews just faded from sight.

Just now the Neuilly Hospital is being cleared of its wounded as much as possible. It looks as if they expected a big Ally offensive as soon as the Verdun battle is over.(2) There are very few wounded in Paris at present. Most of the Ambulance men are at the Front. They have organized a new special fifteen-day corps for emergencies. It is now at Verdun. I hope I get a chance, although, of course, the turns go more or less by seniority. The food is fair at the hospital --- all eat at long tables. There is an immense staff of nurses, doctors, and orderlies, and the place is much larger than I expected. Also it has a much higher standing with officialdom than I had been led to believe. For instance, in getting our residence permit, the moment we entered the court we were passed ahead of a large crowd who were awaiting their turns. The same thing occurred at the tailor's.

The first growl I've heard over war burdens was from a taxi-driver, who explained why his engine was "missing," by the fact that all the expert mechanicians were at the Front and they sent him out these days with an unrepaired " sale comme ça! . . . "(meaning more besides). The only things that never change in Paris are the "cocottes" at Maxim's. They are ever the same.

March 18. Busy days, these. I am still "chasing" all around the city after various necessary papers. I passed auto exam. O.K. We are sleeping in a big barnlike room under the roof. They call it "the Zeppelin apartment." Only one cold shower. You have to warm your own shaving-water. Only one toilet for eighty men. Cots are nice, warm, and clean. It is hard to sleep, on account of the continual coming and going. I got called at 2 A.N. last night. A trainload of wounded arrived from the Vosges; one French General among them. We were not taken along, as we have not yet received our uniforms and would not be allowed within the Station without them.

The fellows got through at 7. Some of the new ones looked pretty sick from their first experience with the smell of gangrene and dysentery. All washed their teeth and one man had a cut treated. This is very necessary. Several of the internes have contracted gangrene and tetanus at intervals.

I talked to one man who had to be operated on seven times in the stomach. He had drains in him for weeks. Then hernia followed and he was operated on for that. He is an amusing bird. He walks about bent up like an old man. After telling me all the harrowing details, he added: "And they gave me a medal for it! I'd rather they'd given me a new stomach!"

The French Government has taken charge of the hospital now, and they say the rules are much more rigid, and the " étiquette militaire" much more pronounced. The old men "kick" when they come back from the Front, where everything goes! They say the place no longer feels like the club it formerly was.

I saw to-day the stuff captured from the Germans, now at the Invalides. As I entered, a military funeral came out. It must have been some high official. Looking into the German cannon muzzles gave one a rather sinking feeling, as the same types of weapons will be firing at us shortly. The workmanship was very good in the guns, but rather coarse (as compared to the French) in the aeroplanes.

March 19. 1 had some fun to-day. I put on the uniform and, for a time, felt like an awful ass strutting about the streets in it, but it gets one a lot of privileges: half price at theaters, half price for such drinks as you are permitted, i.e., wines, beer, but no "hard" liquor, except between 11 A.M. and 2 P.M. and 5 and 9 P.M., and one must not be seen in uniform on the terraces of cafés. All drinks must be taken indoors. Also etiquette has it that, if any sort of spree is contemplated one must dress in civilian clothes.

Incidentally, as the "cocottes" scorn any one not in uniform and are not permitted any alcoholic liquors whatever, the whole system works very well in keeping the men straight.

The fun referred to above was due to the fact that our uniform is almost identical with that of the English officers, unless one is close enough to note the Red Cross insignia on the cap and buttons. Hence you can strut along the Boulevard and be steadily saluted by all the raw "Tommies," of whom there are legions. At first it nearly took my breath away; but I managed to pull a solemn face and to salute stiffly back, although I started to use the left hand and I heard one of them remark about it. By the way, one of our drivers back from the Verdun battle tells me that the French, within a couple of days of the start on their big drive, had at least a million men massed there, and that the "Germs" had no more chance of getting through than the Republican Party at home has next fall.

Dr. Gros gave us a talk on general behavior. He said one must obliterate all one's personal desires, and work for the good of France and France alone; not for personal glory, dodging shells, and that sort of thing. One is supposed to take extreme care of one's self and of one's machine, and not to take it into dangerous places unless so ordered. For instance, there are definite rules in Paris as to Zeppelin raids. The moment the warning is given, each car, in the parking space at the hospital, must be placed at a hundred-feet interval from every other car, --- more if possible, --- so that not many will be injured. Men must then come indoors in order not to be hurt. When either civil or military calls come from the struck district of the city, cars must not proceed in caravan order, but must assume intervals not less than a hundred yards apart, so that not more than one car can be struck. No lights are to be used unless specifically permitted by French authorities. All dormitory lights must also be extinguished.

March 20. I worked all day in the garage. At 7 P.M. we received notice that a train of "blessés " was due at La Chapelle at 4 A.M. I got more or less sleep and went out in the "padded cell"; and found more cars than were needed, but helped to fill them. The main trouble is that each ambulance and set of ambulances have different methods of holding the stretchers, which the new men must find out for themselves. It is a trifle hard on the wounded, as they get jostled about much more than if all the holders were alike. The American Ambulance men have been so careful in handling the wounded, that now everything waits until they arrive to carry them from the train to the various corps of ambulances. There is here, at present, a new Canadian Corps with some very good McFarland cars.

When we got through at 7 A.M. we were told that another train would arrive at 5 P.M. Therefore we worked in the garage for a while, then went to bed until 4.30. The first load of wounded were in good condition. They smelt very little, and were self-controlled. A reason why the American Ambulance men now carry most of the wounded is because two men already have been, killed by the French brancardiers letting them fall; and many have been seriously injured in being bumped about the head by careless handling. The cause really lies in their lack of understanding of the different mechanical appliances to hold the stretchers. The average Frenchman left in this employ is very dull.(3)

I have been surprised at the average small stature of the French soldiers, but they say it is a good thing in the trench warfare. Fred Dawson turned up from the Vosges to-day.

March 21. We broke the record for speed last night. We got 129 men out of the cars in nineteen minutes. I happened to draw the officers' car, and being better fed, some of them were heavy to move, but they were clean and were free from odor. One had his back broken: the trench had caved in on him; but they expect to save him, as he is not paralyzed. We got through at 11 P.M. I drove with an ass of a Belgian who tried to tell me all about his Pierce-Arrow! How E. would laugh!

March 23. I met Miss Townsend, of Bryn Mawr, Pennsylvania, to-day. She is a nurse here. She greeted me as a long-lost friend. Another squad arrived from the Front with three cars for us, poor "boobs," to take to pieces and put together again. They are all going back, worse luck, so no vacant places yet. Parsons is going into the Aviation Corps. There are quite a number now who have gone from our Corps. Two new men arrived to-day, so I don't feel quite such a "freshman." I was complimented by the head of the mechanical department on quick and accurate work and was put in charge of a lot of fellows disassembling a "flivver."' So far so good.

March 24. Raining. A "bunch" from Section No. 1 came down and had to be entertained. Ewell, the machinery boss, asked me to a Sunday luncheon. He says his 'wife was a Philadelphian and would enjoy talking about the old town. I went in with him and Fenton and had tea at Gros with Mrs. Ewell and a Miss Elliott from Savannah, a very nice girl.

March 25. A man in the private ward next to us died last night. Most of his brains were shot away. Another is expected to die shortly.

One "blessé" had a curiously tragic experience. He saw a friend looking over the trench parapet with his arm drawnback, holding a bomb ready to throw. Thinking he wanted the fuse lit, he did so, expecting the fellow to throw the bomb. But the man, not knowing the fuse was lit, did n't throw it and was blown to atoms. The man who lit the fuse, of course, was injured; that is how he happens to be here. The poor fellow was terribly depressed by the tragic result of his blunder.

They expect a big drive soon. The men have been issued a new kind of knife. It is like a brass-knuckle with a blade about eight inches long sticking out from the middle. The regular equipment for charging now consists of two dynamite cartridges, six bombs, a knife, and a revolver: no guns at all.

I met a rather nice little French girl last night. There is a young Englishman in one of the hospitals, she told me, who has no arms, no legs, is stone blind and stone deaf. He can only feel and talk, and all he does is to beg to be killed. She says a friend of hers who nursed a man, blind and without arms, is going to marry him because she thinks it is her duty, although she does not care for him. She is not pretty; but as the man is blind it will not matter, she says. Such cases are not rare.

March 27. We had a funny time yesterday. We were all "canned" for the day because so many were late for roll-call (8.30). Every one of us was up and about, but we didn't know Budd, the Squad Lieutenant, was ready to call the roll. So instead of being permitted the usual afternoon passes, we were all told that we'd have to remain in until 7.30. Some kicked like steers because they had luncheon and dinner engagements. I had both, but said nothing, and the result was that I made a hit with Budd, who took me out to supper at the Bal Tabarin and introduced me to a lot of what he calls his "Paris Squadarettes." He is really a very decent chap. They tried to teach me pool, which was somewhat amusing!! I took revenge on Budd this morning. I pulled him out of bed at 7 A.M. and rolled him on the floor. The usual weekly switch occurred between Neuilly and Juilly to-day. Five Fords here, by the way, are gifts of Johnny Fell --- Mrs. Alexander Van Rensselaer's son.

I worked in the garage this A.M. and lunched with Ewell and his wife at their apartment. I met an Englishman named Vaughn; he is very rich, and has given himself and his car to the War Department. He is a sort of officer's chauffeur. He says they have already got the submarine that sank the Sussex. It seems that "subs " have learned how to cut the Channel net; so Havre, Boulogne, and Calais are closed. The "Germs" have invented a method of seeing under water, some of them no longer employ periscopes, but the English, he says, are capturing them rapidly. The latest method, after sinking or netting a " sub," is to raise and repair it, and then operate it under its own number and colors. In this way many German "subs" have caught their own boats!! Also several German warships. Fears are being expressed by the Allies that America will get into the war over this latest Sussex outrage. What they hope is that we will break off diplomatic relations, thus enabling the English blockade to become really effective.

March 28. I had to go out in No. 42 to Juilly with Fenton(4) to fit a front axle on an old 74 (Daimler). Mac got a "skid" while carrying a hundred litres of gasoline out there, and bent the steering-gear. Parsons, an old hand, then took the wheel and tried to run her into Juilly. The gear locked when they got going fast and the car was ditched. Mac was thrown thirty feet and landed on his nose. A Frenchman landed on the roof of the car, but was n't hurt and neither was Parsons. We made the fifty-kilometer trip through Paris to Juilly in an hour and a quarter in the Ford, including a blow-out which we fixed in fifteen minutes. The return trip in the dark we did in one hour, although we had to relight the oil lamps four times --- not being allowed to use the acetylenes. But we broke a spreader, hitting an island on the Boulevard! Two new men were taken out by Eno, whose job is to test out the raw recruits. Some job! Van was driving, tried to take a curve sharply, never having handled a Ford, and capsized completely. One man was shot clear, but Eno and Van remained under the car, which continued to run upside down for a couple of minutes. Neither man was hurt, but Eno said he thought the motor would never stop. He knew it was bound to catch fire, and be said he never spent such a rotten five minutes. We fixed the car, righted it, and it ran all right, except for a smashed dashboard and a dished hind wheel.

Some of the men here have had most interesting careers. Budd was in the United States Army, then auto salesman, cowpuncher, and, when the war started, had to work as a waiter in a café until he could cash an American check. Aten is an explorer. Has been with Dr. Hiller, of the University of Pennsylvania, to Borneo; and also in the Arctic. Mason and Crane leave for the Front to-morrow. They happened to be the first men on the list of those who arrived on the same day I did.

March 29. A call came for La Chapelle for 1 A.M. We did a little diplomatic social stunt by inviting the Canadian Ambulance to 11 o'clock supper. It worked very nicely.

One hundred and forty-four wounded arrived from the Bois-des-Corbeaux in front of Verdun; mostly badly injured, many from liquid fire. I got back at 6 A.M.

I was told this morning that I might have the choice of joining the famous No. 2 Section --- the so-called " Pont-à-Mousson " --- but that they were now in retreat away back of the lines; or I might go with Roche to No. 1, formerly the Dunkerque Section, but which is now north of Amiens at the junction of the British and French lines., This, they think, will be the "big bet" when the English offensive begins. So I took a chance on that. Andrew said he thought I had chosen wisely, even though, so far, this Section has not been particularly in the limelight. They say No. 1 and No. 4 (north of Toul) are likely to see the most action; but, of course, it's any one's guess. We leave on April 1st, according to present arrangements. I got a finger infected yesterday from working in the garage and getting a cut, and then carrying wounded; but they will fix me up in time to leave, they say. All bandaged now, hence "bum" writing. Oddly enough, Mrs. Hunter Scarlett (Miss Edith Townsend of Philadelphia, that was) fixed the bandages for me beautifully.

Ferguson(5) came back from Verdun today with his head all bandaged. He acquired some sort of skin affection from sleeping in some dirty place. They all call him the "grand blessé," and he gets all sorts of attention on the street!

April 1. CAPPY. The last twenty-four hours have been more full of kaleidoscopic changes than any I have ever spent. Sitting here at Cappy within a mile of the front lines, with the incessant rumbling of the guns, the barking of the mitrailleuses and the shriek of the great shells, in my ears, the world seems unreal.

It is a beautiful warm sunny day. An old lady in a little shop here has just sold me a couple of perfect brioches and some chocolate. We are waiting for a couple of men to carry back to Méricourt where we have our barracks. The railroad trip to Amiens was interesting, inasmuch as we saw such enormous movements of supplies, guns, and troops, including the most remarkably colored armored trains with big six- and eight-inch cannon and aeroplane guns. They look about the same as the figured walnut stock of a fine shot-gun, the theory being that the mixed coloring is imperceptible in the fog or semi-darkness. We also passed many troop-trains, English, South African, and Australian.

At Amiens, which is the British Headquarters at present, we were met by three Section 1 men and lunched with them. Then we proceeded to Méricourt-sur-Somme, which is at the junction of the British and French lines. We saw two observation balloons and hundreds of camions along the road. Guns everywhere, soldiers everywhere, and long lines of tents on the hills. Met the "bunch"; all good sorts; and we were shown our bunks in an old tumble-down farmhouse. We sleep on straw on which we place our blankets. The place is said to be clean, although one of the men was down with "gale," a sort of mange, and left to-day for Amiens for treatment. We go to a pump for washing; but though it is cold now it will be warm enough soon. The food is better than in Paris. An old Zouave cooks it. It is the regular army ration: soup, meat, one vegetable, sweet coffee, and vin ordinaire; luncheon and dinner about the same. Breakfast, bread, coffee and "confiture." I slept to the rumble of the guns.

I have met Herbert P. Townsend, of New York, our chief; very nice and courteous and helpful. In the morning I was told all about the Section. We are attached to the Sixth Army. It is composed of the Colonials (Zouaves, Foreign Legion, Tonkinois, etc.), the one which always leads the attacks. It is considered the best for charges. Just now it is doing little, being to a certain extent "en repos," although defending about six to ten miles of line.

From the canal of the Somme, the dividing line between the English and French, is cast around a great arc running northwest to southeast. This Section has made a big hit with the French; and the French Lieutenant in charge is a mighty good fellow. We went to the farthest point the' Ambulance can go along a road where the canal on one side has nothing to keep one from skidding into it. The road is full of shell holes and newly blown down or pierced trees. Men are killed there constantly, but the Germans only shell it when they know of an important movement. Individuals, or even individual autos, are not considered worth bothering with. It was about 4 P.M. on a bright afternoon, and the Germans could see us plainly as we went along. There was a terrific blast and discharge right out of a clump of bushes across the canal, and we found it was a huge eight-inch English naval gun which had been previously concealed. She fired right out over our heads; but I was not particularly startled, as I was so busy driving and watching the road. Then a German aeroplane came by, and all along the line the antiplane guns began to pop, studding the sky with puffs of fleecy white. It was a beautiful sight, although there is always some danger from the bits of falling shrapnel. The French Lieutenant at the advance post at Éclusier ordered me to take the car around a corner of the wood out of sight, and to walk back, which I did. He then let me pick up a few relics such as "75" empty cases, and the men sold me a couple of German "77" obus noses (time fuses). I came back after collecting the "tin Derby" of the Médecin Chef who had been killed on the day before, because he exposed himself above the trench in order to bring back a dead soldier. He was criticized for doing it. In fact, anything foolhardy of that character, instead of being eulogized, is rather considered as reflecting on the intelligence of the man who does it.

I carried a few sick (not wounded) back to the hospital at Villers-Bretonneux. One had pneumonia, another syphilis. The doctors say that the latter has increased forty per cent since the passage of the Germans through Northern France in the first big advance to Paris.

The night brought a heavy bombardment, the heaviest since the Section has been here (three weeks). We climbed the hill after dinner to watch it --- a wonderful sight --- mixture of a thunderstorm and Fourth of July; the incessant rumble of the guns with the great flashes lighting up the sky for miles, coupled with the beautiful blue-and-white flare bombs which hung in the heavens for half a minute or more at a time, making everything bright as day; then the range rockets from the observation forts indicating by colored lights whether the batteries were shooting too high or low or too much to right or left.

And above shone the calm stars looking down on a world gone mad.

April 2. We expected to be called out during the night, but when we reached the first lines this morning, we found that the expenditure of thousands of dollars' worth of shells by both sides had resulted, in our Sector of about six miles or more of line, in only two or three carloads of wounded --- eight or twelve men! This was out of all proportion, it seems to me, to the effort made. Of course, there were a few dead, and there may have been a larger proportion of losses by the Germans, as it was they who made the attack.

The country is zigzagged with secondary and tertiary trenches and bristles with barbed-wire entanglements, but all around and in every direction the peasants are tilling the fields and the crops are growing. As I sit here now, in our garden at Méricourt, two old women are planting radishes and other early vegetables. Dandelions and violets are in blossom and above my head are the white buds of an apple tree. Yet an observation balloon is in the sky, aeroplanes buzz to and fro, and dominating even the twitter of the birds and the buzz of the insects is the steady rumble of the never-ceasing guns.

We had a physical inspection this afternoon; one man got sent back for treatment, and two for the mange, the same as the first man who had to go to the hospital. It is not really the mange, but a sort of thing akin to it. It looks like hives and is contracted in the trenches. The cure is scrubbing with stiff-bristled brushes until the skin bleeds and then washing with sulphur, which hurts like fire; but one is cured in about five days ---until one' catches it again.

April 3. I spent the night at our advanced post at Cappy. The town is in ruins. There was no call for the trenches, the night was too clear. I awoke about 4 A.M., thinking it was late because I heard the birds chirping; and found it was only the rats squeaking. The place is full of them. They walk over you at night, but nobody cares. We sleep on the stretchers, which are quite comfortable. The town is shelled every day at intervals. The "Germs" threw a few shrapnel into it this morning, but it did no damage. We ducked around the corner when one whistled close overhead, but it fell in a field beyond. We came back here to Méricourt for breakfast. The country is full of quail and hares, but no one bothers them and they are very tame. There is considerable aeroplane shelling; but the "Germs" are so high up it is almost impossible to hit them. All the soldiers with whom I talk are keen for the war to cease, and every one hopes it will be over before another winter. I hear that we may move away from here, and go into "repos" with the Sixth Army for about a month, prior to the big attack in the Champagne, but, of course it is only a rumor.

April 5. 1 watched the twenty-first "Suicide Club" practicing hand-grenade throwing this morning. Magoun(6) and I noted where the things were thrown, with the idea of picking up a few "fusées" afterwards. The grenades are pear-shaped, with a little sort of trigger and a ribbon with a button. The button is placed between the third and little fingers exactly as one would spin a top; then you throw, and as the missile leaves the hand, the pull of the ribbon and button relieves the spring which in turn relieves the contact point, so that when the grenade lauds it explodes. Now and then they don't land right, so Magoun later picked up a couple of unexploded ones and offered me one. I declined and told him he had better let them alone. Just as we were arguing, up came a file of men with shovels to bury the unfired grenades. When they saw Magoun with two in his hands they nearly had a fit; said he was crazy, and to prove it they told us to get in a near-by trench and they'd show us. We all crawled in, and an expert then recocked the little spring and threw the grenade. She went off with a bang that shook the trench!

Oddly enough, that evening we got a call to carry two "blessés" just as we were sitting down to dinner. It was my turn to go, so I trailed down to the " poste de secours," minus dinner. Found one man with his face blown off and another one with his feet blown off. They told me he had been injured "fishing" in the canal. It appears that they threw hand-grenades in and collected the dead fish which floated up to the surface: a nice, sporting thing to do! I must say I could n't feel very sorry for them. The same night we heard a heavy explosion close to our farm and supposed it was an incoming obus. Shortly after, a call came and we collected three more poor fools hurt, and three dead, from fiddling with hand-grenades. It occurred in the back room of the café in which we eat. I made it a point to rub it into Magoun, who is a kid just out of college. That day, in our Sector, the French lost more men through their own carelessness than from Boche activity.

I have been put in charge of the gasoline, oil, and tire supplies. Not a particularly cheerful job, as it cuts me out of a good deal of motoring. I must be at the Store between 7.30 and 9 A.M. and between 5 and 7 P.m. The "Germs" made a little coup last night, capturing about sixty French and a small outpost trench. The regiment which suffered the loss is now expected to retaliate in kind.

April 7. Collecting war trophies seems to be the chief recreation. It reminds me somewhat of the old marble days when one traded a clouded agate for two glass ones. A German "77" aluminum "fusée" is more prized than one made entirely of brass. The "105's " and "150's" are still rarer, and the Austrian "360's" are the best of all. Then, they trade hand-grenades and swap all sorts of other odds and ends. They also make various little trinkets, like inkstands, match-cases, vases, out of the "75's. " If the men worked as hard on keeping their cars tuned up as they do making souvenirs, this would be the best Section ever.

I have been switched on to Victor White's car. He is an artist, and quite a good one, and they let him off for a week or so occasionally to paint war pictures. With true artistic temperament, he leaves his car in a rather sketchy condition, and I spent most of yesterday on my back under it cleaning the gasoline line. His brake does not hold, nor does the high gear, so chasing "blessés" with it is no merry jest.

April 9. Being "Chow" yesterday I spent the day fixing White's car. ("Chow" means the man who sets the table and waits for the day. Each takes it by turns, but as we eat everything out of the same plate with the same fork and knife, there is no great strain upon the "Admirable Crichton" on duty). April 7th was a busy day. After I started this diary I was called out at 4 P.M. for four "couchés" at the front lines, Barraquette-Faucaucourt. The Médecin Chef there lives in what used to be a drain under the main road, between Brussels and Amiens. The "Germs" are within eight hundred yards and a battery of "75's" keeps going steadily on the left side of the road. On the right are some big mortars which fire occasionally. The place is pockmarked with shell-holes. I got four "assis" the first time. I got back just before dinner, and was called again to the aeroplane section at Moreuil. Missed dinner, but ate with one of the "brancardiers" at Villers-Bretonneux. He is a funny little guy. I meet him all the time carrying wounded. He has the Croix de Guerre with a star.

I got back at 10.30 P.M. The car was stalled four times! Pitch black: gasoline tank full of dirt. I could n't take it down in the dark, so simply disconnected pipe to carburetor and pumped air through it with tire pumps. Had to do it several times, as dirt kept accumulating and I did not dare keep wounded waiting. Winsor(7) had one die on him the same night. I got back to bed about 11 P.M. and was just going to sleep when a call came from Barraquette again. The wretched car would hardly run and it was brutally cold, but, of course, it had to be done. After passing Proyant, lights are ordered out. The "Germs" make a point of shelling any moving light on the chance of catching a convoy or reinforcements. I got through all right by aid of the star shells, although challenged by the sentry. I had forgotten to get the password, but he looked me over and said it was O.K.

Upon reaching Barraquette I found one contagious "couché." There was heavy shelling. I got to Villers-Bretonneux at 12.30, with engine running badly. A half-hour of red tape before they would take in my man. The Médecin Chef was out, and the concierge had to chase all over the village to find him. Then he wanted me to take him to Amiens; but I told him the car couldn't make it; so he took him in finally.

Coming home alone was poor fun. Two more stops to blow the dirt out. I got here at 3 A.M., and had to be up at 6.30 to set the table, being "Chow." It's a great life, though; I would n't miss it for worlds. We have a lot of fun on the side; play baseball and a funny sort of adaptation of tennis with a hoop. At night we play roulette for centime stakes, and occasionally we fish for pike with a sort of trident made out of old Ford brake rods. We swim now and then when it's warm.

Old Rapp, the mechanic in charge of the shop, is a regular character and an awfully good fellow. We have lots of fun with him. We teach him every possible sort of fantastic English swear words as English, and he repeats them like a parrot. We tell him some of the most fearful things are words of greeting, and now and then he springs them on an Englishman or a new recruit, and the effect naturally is rather startling to the uninitiated. I gave some essence and cigarettes to one of the 26th to-day and in return he fixed my legging. He turned out to be an expert saddle-maker!

Sunday, April 10. I went the round (Barraquette) but found no wounded, and came back and took a walk with Edwards(8) and Underhill.(9) Saw a very interesting lot of English canal-boat hospitals up the river. I stopped in to ask after A.B.'s brother, but he is not with that Section. I witnessed a rather impressive religious service on one of the gun-boats on the canal. The pulpit, flanked by machine guns, and the altar, lighted by an automobile headlight, looked quite dramatic. The priests' army uniforms are the best-looking of any. Black, with red edgings cut in regular cavalry or artillery style, with black and red fatigue caps and gold insignia. The first time I saw one I thought he must be General Joffre at the very least.

In the afternoon Woolverton(10) had a funny experience. He was asked by an officer at Chuignes to take him and his orderly to Villers-Bretonneux. On the way they passed some quail, so the officer ordered the car stopped and they got out with army rifles (! !) to shoot at them. If they had hit one there would have been no bird left. Incidentally it was Sunday and out of season as well; thus they were breaking about a dozen laws and Ambulance rules. Meantime some English motor-lorreys came along and all stopped to watch the shooting. In fact, the war ceased to exist for about an hour! Woolverton thought the story too good to keep and told it at dinner, and got severely called down, of course, by the lieutenant. We now call him the Big Game Hunter.

A German aeroplane was brought down by the English to-day amid cheers from the onlookers. New French aeroplane sheds have been erected between here and Villers-Bretonneux. A lot of big English guns turned up to-day and are now along the line back of Chuignes to Barraquette. A big army of Russians also is said to be here, as well as Serbians and Italians.

Two "Germ" prisoners were captured at Cappy. The way they catch them is to creep out at night with an automobile pistol and hold up the observation posts. Any "poilu" who "pulls the stunt" gets ten days' holiday and the Croix. One man has fifty days' leave coming to him already. The first-line trenches are practically deserted except for sentinels.

The French have succeeded in placing, in addition to the machine guns, a number of "75's" right in the first line! --- only two hundred yards from the "Germs " in spots. The General Staff has moved to Villers-Bretonneux. Huge amounts of supplies are coming in and numbers of large ambulances (French army). The Fourth English Army across the canal is also being heavily munitioned, and the Second French Army has come up to back up the Junction of the Fourth English and our Sixth. It looks as if something were in the wind. The new French canalboat ironclads are about finished, too. They are right back of our quarters here at Méricourt. They carry machine guns, anti-aero guns, and one big six- or seven-inch naval gun in a turret. They are only about a hundred feet long, very low freeboard, and draw about three feet of water. The "Germs" have a hard time spotting them, as they keep moving up and down the canal.

April 11. We had a busy night last night. French aeroplanes raided Péronne. Boche shrapnel made wonderful fireworks; but nothing was hit. Then a Zeppelin tried to drop bombs on Villers-Bretonneux, but got spotted by the search-lights and retired. Then the "Germs" shelled Cappy. Woolverton and Bowman(11) were stationed there for the night, and a shell ("77") fell through the roof. They and the "brancardiers" beat it for the cellar. No, one was hurt.

Raining to-day. The roads are awfully slippery. Some of the "brancardiers" at Cappy pulled a joke on the Médecin Chef; they hung one of the men across the pole with which they bring in the dead and marched solemnly into the "poste de secours." There the corpse came to life and asked for coffee!

April 14. I spent last night at the advance post at Cappy. There was only about a half-hour of shelling. The crescendo whistles always sound worse than they are. Most of the "77's" and "105's" fell to the north of the town, seeking the big English naval guns.

All sorts of jobs fall to the lot of an American Ambulance man! To-day, I posed with Victor White, the Irish artist, for the French artist, Tardieu. He has a Legion of Honor and other medals and is very well known. White took the part of a French "blessé," and I was the Ambulance man helping him to the car. The picture is to be used as a poster for the advertisement of a "movie" of our Section, recently taken to be shown in America.

April 15. I am back at Cappy again, although it's not my turn. The weather has been so bad that half the cars are in the repair shop. Also, several men are going away on the usual six days' furlough granted every three months. Things are quiet so far. The big French mortar shakes the house at about fifteen-minute intervals, but the Germans are not replying. There was heavy firing late in the afternoon; more rifles and mitrailleuses shooting than I have yet heard. Many wounded are coming in. I carried three hit through the lungs by mitrailleuse; one lived only an hour after I brought him back from Éclusier.

Bright moonlight made the slippery canal bank easier to negotiate than usual, although it is always a ticklish business, as one cannot use lights, being in plain view and only two kilometers from the Germans. The poor fellow could n't breathe, but did not think he was going to die. The surgeons naturally let him be and looked after the others --- which irritated him. I asked if they could n't give him morphia or something, but they said they had none to spare on a dying man. He passed away about two o'clock in the morning. I then started back to Cérisy with three "couches" --- two badly wounded. I had to rout out the hospital authorities, as all were asleep.

I got there at 3 A.M., and got back to Cappy at 4. All lights were out as usual. I slept till 7, then took four more down to Méricourt. Some work! I found after the moonlight Éclusier trip that all the bolts on the steering-post had loosened! If I had gone much farther I must have lost control and probably have gone into the canal! I fixed it up by moonlight with the aid of an electric torch, and got back here at Méricourt for breakfast.

April 17. I took the Médecin Divisionnaire to Fontaine-Cappy, the most advanced post of all, where we are not allowed to go except with a "big guy." I am now waiting for him. He is making an inspection of the front trench, "brancardiers," and the rest. On his return they brought in another d---d fool. This one had injured himself by making souvenir rings. He poured some liquid aluminum in a casting which had water in it and it blew his eyes out! I took him to Cérisy. There have been a large number of casualties among the souvenir-makers and the hunters; and, as often the shells have not exploded entirely, many hands and eyes are injured in working on them.

Some of our men have had accidents on account of bad roads. End(12) and Nelson(13) each smashed wheels, skidding into trees, while Imbrie(14) I turned completely upside down, but was unhurt. The car was empty at the time.

April 19. Rain, rain, rain, nothing but rain and mud. The roads are frightful. F---- is back, cured of the "gale." The doctors say it is a regular germ and is caught in the trenches and is transferred by blankets, clothes, rats, etc. Another fellow of the squad has it now. "Vic," the fox terrier which we got for protection against the rats, is more scared of them than we are. He hides in the beds at night! Woolverton had his jacket-pocket eaten off last night by rats which were after some chocolate he had in it.

A number of the "blessés" we carry, I have noticed, are marked with the fleur-de-lys, meaning that they have been at one time convicts. The Government, shortly after the outbreak of the war, gave prisoners of this kind the choice of entering the army --- which most of them did. They are nicknamed "les joyeux," as they are only too happy to be free, and they are exceedingly reckless, as a mention or Croix de Guerre carries with it a reduction of sentence.

Woolverton leaves to-morrow and is kind enough to take this section of my diary back for me. Please take care of it, as I want to preserve a personal record of the Big War, even if my part in it is less in size than the proverbial nit on a gnat's nut!

Chapter Four

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