From Brest to Langres
Before our train pulled out of Brest we were ordered out of our
crowded compartments in the French railroad coaches for the purpose of
bringing in traveling rations. These consisted of canned bully beef,
canned jam, canned beans and bread. The bread that was given to us
here was made into enormous loaves--the largest that any of us had
ever seen. The loaves were sixteen or eighteen inches wide, from two
and a half to three feet long and eight or nine inches high. They were
American-made and were white and wholesome. The outside crust was hard
but palatable and the inside was soft and flaky like home-made bread.
We afterwards learned that these loaves had been baked weeks in
advance and that they were kept fresh and palatable by the use of a
chemical. Each compartment of eight men was given three of these large
loaves which, together with a number of cans of beans, bully beef and
jam, were to keep us supplied with food until we reached Langres, in
eastern France, which was our destination. We had previously
learned--on our trip overseas--to conserve food, and none of this
supply was wasted. We stored it away in our cramped quarters and saw
that it got proper care.
As we sat in the train waiting for it to start, we looked out upon the
bay of Brest and saw numerous tugs busy along the waterfront. They
were all engaged in war work of some kind. We also saw more American
troops being landed at the wharf, just as we were landed a few days
previous, and we knew their thoughts and feelings. In the air there
were several airplanes and dirigible balloons giving needed protection
to the ships that were entering the harbor.
While we were still in the yards of Brest, we also saw for the first
time in France, numerous Chinese coolies, who were doing with their
labor their part toward winning the war. They worked on the railroad
tracks in large gangs. To the Eastern boys who were not acquainted
with this class of Chinese laborers, they were quite a curiosity, but
to the Western boys, the sight was nothing unusual. The coolies,
however, were not dressed in the customary Chinese clothes, as in
California, but were in a garb more like that which American laborers
wear. They had on overalls, loose blouses or jumpers, heavy leather
shoes and straw hats.
We pulled out of Brest about 10 o'clock in the morning. The train was
made up of about twenty-five or thirty of those small and
uncomfortable French coaches, and it moved very slowly. To one used to
the fast first-class American trains, this French train seemed
exceedingly slow, unaccommodating and tiresome. We first climbed
gradually up the hills, overlooking the bay, and were furnished with a
wonderful view. We could see far out to sea, and were in part
compensated for the lack of comforts to which an American is
accustomed when traveling, by the beauty of the scenery, and the many
strange and interesting sights that were constantly meeting our eyes.
Soon after we left the ocean we came to a fertile farming section, in
which crops of various kinds, such as grains, fruits, garden truck,
etc., were grown. We had known that the farms in European countries
are small, especially those of France, as compared with farms in
America, but it was necessary for us to see the actual size of these
small farms to realize how diminutive they are. As in the vicinity of
Brest, mentioned in a previous chapter, the cultivated areas ranged in
size from a half acre to two and a half acres. Rarely we would see a
place as large as five acres, but that was the exception. No fences
separated these farms, but the boundaries were marked by hedges and
occasionally a low stone wall. In these small fields cultivation is
not practiced as in this country, but the land is tilled in narrow
strips. The numerous different textures of the soil, accounted for the
large number of strips. Each strip was planted to a crop to which it
was best suited.
The highways through this farming section are kept in excellent
condition. They are built of rock and give the impression from the
train window that a motor trip through France would be a delight. Rows
of trees are planted along all the highways, the poplar tree
predominating, but other trees being used frequently as well. The
by-roads are of dirt but appear to be kept in good condition. They
also have trees planted along them; this seems to be a characteristic
of France, and readers will recall that in all war pictures where
these roads have been shown, the rows of trees are always there. This
is an excellent feature and one that California with its rapidly
increasing mileage of concrete roads, might well follow.
Very few automobiles were seen on these highways, except those engaged
in war transportation. Of course at the time that I made my
observations, the country was engaged in war, and in peace times no
doubt more automobiles belonging to civilians are in use. It is a
fact, however, there are comparatively few automobiles among the civil
population of France. Only the very rich own them. The masses of the
people do not possess them, as in America. The civil population either
walk along these highways or travel in horse-drawn carts and wagons.
The carts are different from any that we see in America. Frequently
they are heavily constructed with wheels of from six to eight feet in
diameter. They are fitted with brakes, which are used on the grades.
They have a long body, that is, long for a cart, and this is laden
with the varied products of the small farms which are in this way
taken to market. Most frequently these carts are drawn by one horse,
though it is not unusual to see two or three horses hitched to one
when the load is heavy. When more than one horse is used, the animals
are not hitched abreast, but tandem. The wheel horse is hitched
between two long heavy shafts and his duty seems to be largely that of
steering the unwieldy conveyance, while the front horse or horses do
most of the pulling. The harness is heavy and the rear horse is
protected from sores that might be caused by rubbing, by a heavy and
well padded saddle and a heavy girth. It was a common sight to see a
woman driving one of these carts and guiding the wheel horse and
handling the brakes, while boys were either driving or leading the
leaders. These strange and cumbersome rigs, so different from any that
we had ever seen before, interested and amused us.
The crops in the section through which we passed on our first day out
of Brest appeared to be good. They gave me, a Californian with
considerable farming experience, the impression that agriculture has
been very carefully studied by the French. Occasionally we would see
small tracts lying fallow, apparently to give the land a needed rest,
while other tracts were being cultivated. On some of the small farms
it was haying season. We were surprised as we noted the methods of the
French farmer in this particular branch of husbandry. The hay was cut
mostly by women and children with scythes. An American mower probably
had never been seen there. It seemed like a tremendous waste of human
energy to see these women and children doing such hard manual labor in
the field, when a modern mower would cut the entire field in a very
short time. It seems to me there should be a field for the sale of
American mowers and other modern American farm machinery in the rural
districts of France. While the farms are so small that the individual
farmer could not, perhaps, afford to buy a mower, still, several
farmers could go in together and buy one, or the community as a whole
could buy one, for the common use of all who needed it. Here is
something that the French and American Governments might get together
on, for surely the French want to conserve the energy of their women
and children who now do this hard work, and the Americans want a wider
market for their modern farm equipment. It must be said, however, that
the women of the French peasantry who were doing this hard work,
appeared strong and healthful, and were enured to this difficult
labor, no doubt, through many generations of this hard farm life.
We noticed as we got away from the coast, that there was a change in
the style of dress of the peasants. We no longer saw the round hats
with the ribbon streamers hanging down behind, so familiar in the
rural districts around Brest. The dress of the peasants, farther in
the interior, was more like that of the laboring classes of America.
The men and women both wore serviceable clothes of dark material, but
few of them wore anything on their heads. Sabots were worn instead of
leather shoes. The women wore a sort of an Arctic sock over the
stockings; the men frequently wore no socks at all. Occasionally the
sabots would be several sizes too large for the wearer, but were made
to fit by stuffing straw in them. This must have been rather
uncomfortable, but the French peasantry seemed not to mind it at all.
While the horse is the principal draft animal in France, oxen are
also used by some farmers. Most Western boys have seen teams of oxen,
as they are still in use in some of the mountain districts of
California, or at least they were still in use up to a few years ago;
but to the Eastern boys an ox team was a new and interesting sight,
and there was much comment upon it.
The first large city at which we stopped after leaving Brest was
Nantes. This is a popular and ancient city, famous for the edict of
Nantes, and more famous still, perhaps, because of the revocation of
that edict by Louis XIV, which led to disastrous religious wars.
Nantes is also famous as the birthplace of Jules Verne, whose "Twenty
Thousand Leagues Under the Sea," became an actuality during the world
war. It is a city of about 150,000 and is an important industrial
center, having extensive shipyards, factories, wharves, etc. It is on
the right bank of the Loire River, about thirty-five miles from its
mouth and is one of the chief ports of entry of France.
Nantes has a very interesting history and it contains many ancient and
famous edifices. It was not our privilege, however, to see any more of
the city than the views afforded from the train, for we stopped here
but a short time. It was there that we got our first taste of French
coffee, which is very different from that made and served in America.
It was furnished to us by the French Government. At first it was
distasteful to us, but after drinking it a few times we became used to
it and later on we really liked it.
We were now in the rich valley of the Loire, one of the most
productive and one of the most famous in France. It is not nearly so
large as the Sacramento Valley, in California, nor as fertile, yet its
fame extends around the world. It is drained by the Loire River, which
is the longest river in France, being more than 600 miles in length,
and being navigable for ships as far as Nantes and for river boats
for more than five hundred miles of its length.
In the valley of the Loire we began to see the beautiful vineyards of
France. In this district the farms as a rule were a little larger than
those we saw on our way from Brest to Nantes, and consequently the
hedges were less numerous. It was an exceedingly picturesque scene
that met our eyes as we rolled along in the slow train. One noticeable
fact was that each little vineyard was of a different shade of green
from that of its nearest neighbors, due perhaps, to a different
variety of plant, or to a variation of soil. There seemed to be no two
of just the same shade. It was also in the Valley of the Loire that we
saw considerable fruit production. Orchards were more numerous here
than on the coast. They were planted to most of the deciduous trees
with which we of California are familiar, although prunes seemed to
predominate.
While we were traveling through this valley we were greeted with some
familiar sights and sounds. These were the American box car and
locomotive and the sound of the whistle of a U. S. A. train. We
greeted the American rolling stock as companions, and were truely glad
to see them. We could easily distinguish between the sound of the
whistle of an American locomotive and that of a French engine, the
American whistle being deep and the French shrill. It may seem strange
to think that I comment upon such a small matter as a locomotive
whistle, but when one is in a foreign land, amid foreign scenes and
sounds, a familiar sound is good to hear, even though it is as
unmusical as a deep blast of an American-made locomotive.
Our next stop at a place of importance was at Tours--historic Tours.
This is a city of more than 100,000 inhabitants and is one of the most
interesting cities in France.
I spent several weeks here in a hospital after being gassed on the
Metz front and I will speak in more detail of this city in a later
chapter.
At Tours we were given more freedom than at any previous stop, and
here our officers bought chocolates, tobacco and fruit and distributed
them among the men. These dainties were the first we had since leaving
Brest and were surely appreciated.
After leaving Tours we continued to wind through the Valley of the
Loire along the Loire River, and I must say that the vineyards and
orchards between Tours and Orleans, our next stop, were the prettiest
that I saw in all of France. In this particular part of the valley the
trees and vines are exceedingly prolific, as compared with trees and
vines in other parts of France. They are not, however, as prolific as
those of California. The trees do not attain as large a growth as
those of this State and the vines are less vigorous. The fruit is
neither as large nor does it have the quality of ours. The 1918 fruit
crop was a large one, as measured by French standards, but yield per
acre, I am sure, would be small as compared with the yield per acre of
a first class Sacramento river orchard. The difference of the quality
and the yield as compared with our fruits, is undoubtedly due to the
fact that for centuries the lands of the Loire have been cultivated,
while our lands are new and contain all their natural richness. The
vineyards are planted differently from ours. The vines are four feet
apart one way and eight feet apart another, while ours are usually
planted eight or ten feet apart each way. Having been reared on a
California vineyard, I was naturally very much interested in the
vineyards of France, and I examined those that I had the opportunity
of visiting very carefully. I inspected some of the grapes that were
pronounced first class by French vineyardists, and found them to be
very inferior to California grapes. The berries were smaller and they
contained less juice.
The farther we traveled into the interior of France, the more
interested the people became in us. In other words, the nearer we came
to the scene of action, the greater was the enthusiasm of the French
people over our arrival. While we excited but small interest in the
small towns on the coast, as we got closer to the front, there were
delegations of women and children at the station waving to us at every
small or large town through which we passed. Cries of "Vive
L'Amerique" were more frequent, and we had hopes that the persistent
"donnez moi" would be heard less frequently, but it was not. We never
ceased hearing it as long as there were French children around.
We arrived at Orleans late in the evening of the third day of our
trip, and here we received a very hearty welcome from the American Red
Cross, as we did at Tours. The station at Orleans was more like an
American station than any that we had yet seen in France. It was large
and equipped with several tracks, as are most American stations.
Orleans is full of interest, but we were not permitted to stop there
long. We continued on our journey all night and the next day were out
of the Valley of the Loire and into a hilly section. While the scenery
was attractive, there were fewer cultivated areas and the soil was
less productive. We now began to see more of the American war
activities in France. We saw tented cities that had been built for
troops in record time; we saw camps where American soldiers were being
drilled; and we saw great quantities of American implements of war
such as airplanes, ammunition, light and heavy artillery, etc. In this
region we also passed three hospital trains coming from the front with
American soldiers who had been wounded, and we knew we were getting
very near the fighting. We also noticed a decided difference in the
French inhabitants. We detected a deeper interest in the war among
these people who were so near the battle line than in those farther
away, and we noted that not a young man was to be seen among the
civilians in eastern France--they were all at the front fighting to
save their homes from the ruthless Hun.
At 4 o'clock in the afternoon of the fourth day after we had left
Brest, we arrived at Langres, which was our destination, so far as
train travel was concerned. It was a great relief to leave those
crowded compartments in that uncomfortable train. The distance from
Brest to Langres by the route we traveled probably does not exceed six
hundred miles, yet it took us four days and three nights to make the
distance. A first class American train would cover the same distance
in about sixteen hours. At times our train moved so slowly that a man
could get out and keep up with it by running along the side. There
were no conveniences on the train, such as American travelers are
accustomed to. For instance, there were no toilets, and the train
would stop every three or four hours at some small station where
latrines were provided for our use. No one knows how miserable we were
on this trip, and the only thing that kept the boys from complaining
was the fact that the country was new to us and strange sights and
scenes made us forget our discomfort. Still, we did not have things as
bad as some of the American boys, who were compelled to travel across
France in box cars.
We were all glad to stretch our legs at Langres, and after we were
given a little refreshing exercise, we were loaded on motor trucks and
taken to our barracks, located in a stone building formerly used as a
convent.
The city of Langres is beautifully situated. It is on a hill that
rises from a plateau. It is a city of great antiquity, dating from the
time of the Romans. There can be no doubt but that its original
location was selected because of its strategic position, as it is on
the summit of a ridge and commands the situation in every direction.
In mediaeval times it was a stronghold for the feudal lords and in
modern times it is still of importance as a fortress. The city is
surrounded by a defense wall, built hundreds of years ago, and around
the outside of the wall was a moat, wide and deep. In feudal days this
moat was part of the defense works and it was kept filled with water.
It was dry when we visited and has been so for many years, as a moat
would be but as slight obstructure in modern warfare. But it made the
city well nigh impregnable in the mediaeval days before gunpowder was
invented and when most fighting was of the hand to hand kind. We
entered the city through an arched gate and crossed the moat on a
bridge which could be drawn up in case of attack. At present the gate
is always kept lowered, but it could be drawn up if necessary. It was
easy to picture in the mind's eye as we looked at these relics of
former days, the feudal barons of the age of chivalry, sallying forth
from this ancient stronghold on their steeds to make war or to plunder
and prepared to retreat behind this moat and wall where they would be
safe in the event that they were opposed by superior forces. I could
not but think, as I stood upon this historic ground, that we ourselves
were making history and that the fight that we were then preparing to
make, while less romantic than the skirmishes of the feudal barons,
was vastly more important to the welfare of the world.
Situated as it is upon an eminence, a view that is beyond description
is to be obtained from Langres. From the ramparts one may see the
upper valley of the Marne with its checkerboard of farms of various
hues; the Vosges; and on a clear day the white peak of Mont Blanc, one
hundred and sixty miles distant.
In strong contrast with the way in which ancient warriors entered
Langres, we were loaded onto motor trucks and taken up the steep and
winding way that led to the gates of the city by means of the most
modern way of transportation. Our eyes were fastened on the oddities
of this strangely interesting city as we wound through the streets,
some of which were narrow, others wide, past well kept parks and
buildings older than most of the modern governments, and we were
filled with a sort of reverence for this historic spot as we took our
places in the barracks made ready for us.