Home Again
On the morning of December 11th a number of the boys at the hospital
at Tours received orders to prepare for a trip to the coast. This was
the most welcome news that we could have heard and we hastily got our
personal belongings together. It was about 10 o'clock when we were
placed in ambulances and taken from the hospital. We were driven to
the railroad station about a mile distant, and there assigned to
quarters in an American hospital train.
This was the first American train I had been on since I arrived in
France, and it certainly was a great relief to me to know that we were
not to be crowded into one of those uncomfortable, stuffy and tiresome
French trains. The American hospital train furnished an excellent
example of American efficiency, and when contrasted with the French
trains. I could not but think how much more progressive our people are
than Europeans. We had everything that we needed, and plenty of it. We
enjoyed good beds, good food, and sufficient room to move around
without encroaching upon the rights and the good natures of others. We
pulled out of Tours with no regrets on what was our most enjoyable
train trip while in France. It was enjoyable for two reasons--first,
we were traveling in comfort and as an American is used to traveling,
and secondly, we were traveling toward home.
The trip down the Loire Valley followed practically the same route
that we took on our way from Brest to Tours. The scenes, of course,
were very much the same, except that the country now wore its winter
coat, while it was mid-summer on my previous trip.
We arrived in Brest on December 13th, and to our surprise, we learned
that President Wilson had just previously landed there, and the city
had gone wild with enthusiasm over him. A tremendous crowd gathered
at the station to greet him. Bands were playing and the occasion was a
gala one. Our train stopped about a quarter of a mile away from the
station, where the President greeted a mass of French people and
American soldiers. I regret very much that I was unable to get a view
of the President while he was at Brest; that was not my fortune. We
did, however, see his train pull out on its journey to Paris.
Soon after we arrived at Brest we were told that we would be taken
back on the "George Washington," the liner upon which President Wilson
crossed the Atlantic, and great was our joy. However, we were soon
doomed to disappointment, for orders were changed, and we were taken
to the Carry On Hospital, just out of Brest. The ride to the hospital
was a disagreeable one, as it had been raining and the streets were
muddy and wet. The ambulance rocked more like a boat than a motor car.
We were assigned quarters and given food. We met a number of boys in
the various wards who were awaiting their time of departure. We asked
them about how long it was after arriving at Brest before soldiers
were embarked for home, and they said the time varied all the way from
three to thirty days. That was not very encouraging and we were hoping
that in our case it would be three days. The very next morning,
however, a number of our boys received orders to get ready to depart.
I was not included among them, to my sorrow, and had no idea how long
I might be kept at Brest. It was only a day or two later when we were
made happy by the news that our time to depart had come. It was joyful
news and made our hearts beat with the joy that only a returning
soldier knows.
We were loaded on the hospital ship "La France," which is a beautiful,
four-funnel French liner, 796 feet in length. It was the third largest
liner in use in transporting troops at that time. We took our places
on the boat about noon, but the big ship laid in the harbor all
afternoon, and it was not until about sundown that she started to pull
out and we bade "good-bye" to "la belle France." One might think that
there was a lot of cheering when the boat pulled out on the eventful
afternoon of December 17, 1918, but there was not. Some of the boys,
it is true, cheered heartily. Most of us, however, were too full of
emotion to become wildly demonstrative. Our thoughts were on home, the
folks that are dear to us, and our beloved native land, and our
emotions were too strained for expression in cheers.
The vessel was manned by French, who treated us splendidly for the
first two days out. After that, however, they began to skimp on our
food and to give us things of poor quality. For instance, we were
given coffee without sugar or milk, cereals of poor quality without
even salt in them, and no fruit, though it was understood that fruit
was to be a part of our diet. The boys complained bitterly at this
treatment, and finally our officers, knowing that we were not being
properly fed, made an examination of the ship. They found several
hundred boxes of apples that were supposed to be for us, stowed away
in the hold. It had been the intention of the French in charge of this
boat to steal that fruit, evidently to sell it, at the expense of the
wounded American soldiers on this hospital ship, who had fought and
saved their country from the Hunnish hordes. We had been cheated and
overcharged for everything we purchased in France, and we knew it, but
it surely did hurt when we were thus treated by men whose homes we had
saved at the cost of our blood. I will say this: We did not hold this
kind of treatment against the French people as a whole, but to
individuals who are so unprincipled and so greedy that they are
willing to sacrifice the fair name of their people for a paltry gain.
I might add here that it was the smallness of some of the individual
"Y" workers that brought the Y. M. C. A. into such disrepute among
the American soldiers in France. This simply shows how important it is
for an individual to sustain the reputation of his country, or his
association, as the case may be, by honorable conduct.
After our officers uncached the horde of stolen apples in the ship's
hold, we were well fed and on the last two days of the journey had no
complaint to make on this score.
On December 24th at 10 a.m. some far sighted individual shouted "Land"
and what a welcome word it was. Columbus, watching from the deck of
the Santa Maria, was not more happy when he first set eyes upon the
faint outline of the new world than we were as the dim blue shoreline
began to rise upon the horizon. There was a mad rush to the deck and
everybody who could get out was soon watching over the rail. It was
not long before the Statue of Liberty came into full view and there
was joy in our hearts for we knew that at last we were home.
In a very few minutes our ship stopped and a pilot was taken aboard to
guide the great vessel safely into the harbor. Next we were greeted by
a yacht that steamed out beside us carrying a great sign, "Welcome
Home." It was the 24th of December, and this boat carried a large
Christmas tree, typical of the season.
As we entered the harbor, we were given a wonderful welcome. It seemed
as though every whistle in the great city of New York had been brought
into action to make noise on our account. Certainly every boat in the
harbor from the smallest tug to the trans-Atlantic liners was blowing
a blast; and the noise, though of an entirely different character, was
as deafening as that of a battle. Every window of all the great
buildings that make up that wonderful skyline of New York was filled
with patriotic citizens waving a welcome to us. It was a great sight
and one that the boys will never forget. It seemed so good to see our
own people again--our pretty girls, our fond fathers, our dear
mothers, our elderly folks, and even our street gamins. It gave us a
feeling that we would like to take them all in our arms, for they were
ours and we were theirs. I knew, of course, that there would be none
of my folks to meet me, as my home is in California, but it did me
good to see the other boys meet and greet their mothers, fathers,
sisters and sweethearts.
We started disembarking at 2 o'clock in the afternoon. I was on the
top deck and did not get off until 9 o'clock, being among the last to
leave the ship. We were taken on a ferry to Jersey City, where we were
entertained and given food. Later in the evening we were taken to Camp
Merritt, New Jersey, by train. It did seem good to ride on a real
American train, on American soil, and among our countrymen. We arrived
at Camp Merritt at 11 o'clock at night and I was taken to the
hospital. I was assigned to a ward and after getting comfortably fixed
was given a real American meal, and you may be sure that it was
thoroughly enjoyable. We had to stay in the barracks the next day to
undergo a physical examination and for the further purpose of taking
precautions against the persistent cooties--some of the boys having
encountered them on the boat.
The spirit of Christmas was everywhere manifest, and certainly I could
have had no Christmas present better than to arrive in America on
Christmas eve. The Red Cross brought us boxes of good things to eat
and Christmas presents, and the people entertained us wonderfully.
They took us on automobile rides in their private cars, to dinners, to
theaters, etc. Their hospitality was of the real American sort and it
was deeply appreciated by the boys.
At the very first opportunity after reaching camp, I sent a telegram
to my parents in Sacramento, telling them that I had arrived safely. I
received an answer saying that all at home were well, that same day,
and it was a welcome message. It was the first word I had heard from
home since I had been gassed and wounded in October. I had been
transferred from place to place so frequently that my mail never quite
caught up with me. It kept following me around, and I did not get all
my letters until some weeks after I arrived home.
I was in Camp Merritt for a month and five days, and during that time
I had an excellent opportunity of seeing New York. I made several
trips to the metropolis and enjoyed seeing the points of interest of
that great city.
While at the camp I met Harry Nauman, a Sacramento boy, and greatly
enjoyed the pleasure of his company. From my folks I heard that James
Brenton, my room mate at college, was also there. I looked him up and
was fortunate in finding him. We spent three or four pleasant days
together before we departed for California.
On the first day of February, I left the camp and was sent to the
Letterman Hospital in San Francisco. The trip across the continent was
uneventful, except for the last one hundred miles of the journey. At
Sacramento I again saw my folks after a year in the service and my
father and mother accompanied me to San Francisco, making the ride
most enjoyable as Dad related all the local happenings during the long
time that I was away. I spent several days in the Letterman Hospital
and was then honorably discharged from the service.
I have endeavored to relate in a general way many of my experiences. I
have not told all. Some of the more gruesome occurrences I have left
untold, not believing that any good would come of their repetition.
I can honestly say that I am glad that I went to war and that I fought
for my country. The experience was of untold value to me, as it gave
me a broader and more serious view of life. Notwithstanding all the
horrors of war, if called upon again, I would willingly go. I am ready
to serve my country any time it calls. We have a wonderful country
and a wonderful people. I realize that now more than I did before we
went to war. My rather limited observations lead me to believe that we
are far ahead of any European country. If Americans live for America,
if they put country above self, if they obey the laws and become
acquainted with all the wonders of their own land, this nation will
make even greater progress in the future than it has in the past. The
war brought out a wonderful spirit; let our spirit in times of peace
be just as patriotic.
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