“Raising Hell Down at Epernay”
Sir Philip Sidney, for whom I believe I was more or less hopefully
named, gained immortal fame by giving his last drop of water to a
dying comrade on the field of battle. I desire to mention that I gave
my last cigarette to a perfectly live stretcher bearer while under
shell fire. For twenty-four hours I had been stationed at the dug-out
in the canal bank in front of the Esperance farm; the place where I
had been the first time I went to post. Several time since I had gone
there and now felt quite at home in those surroundings.
During the last twenty-four hours shells had been coming in with a
fair regularity. The Germans were endeavoring to drive out a battery
which evidently had given them some annoyance. In a comparatively
short period I counted more than a hundred shells, shrieking over my
head, striking and bursting a hundred yards in front of me, throwing
the earth in every direction, the rocks and pieces of shell spattering
around close to where I stood. Several trees were cut down by the
bombardment and they fell like so many twigs.
I had been alone during those twenty-four hours and had begun to
realize that waiting for a run was quite as trying as the run itself,
particularly as I could observe that when I did start I would be
obliged to pass uncomfortably close to the corner where the shells
were hitting. Toward the end of the afternoon some wounded came
straggling in. After twenty-four hours under whistling shells I was
glad to start back to Ludes and to a cigarette.
I spent the early evening at the little Swiss chalet. About nine
o’clock I received a call to carry two wounded officers back to the
town of Epernay. It was a beautiful, cool, moonlight evening and I
enjoyed the prospect of the peaceful drive away from the sound of the
war, not realizing that there was a rather interesting evening in
store for me. I drove across the Marne into the town of Epernay at
about eleven o’clock and took one of the wounded officers to the
principal hospital there. The other officer I was instructed to take
on to another hospital, located at the top of a hill on the outskirts
of the town. Epernay is an old town and the streets are narrow,
winding, and quite as confusing as Boston, particularly when driving
at night without lights.
As I pulled up the hill out on an open road in sight of the hospital,
I saw a flash of light in the sky, followed by a sharp report――then
there was a shower of lights much like rockets followed by a series of
reports. As I stopped the car in the hospital grounds and was
assisting stretcher bearers to lift out the wounded officer, I could
hear the droning of several aeroplanes overhead but could not see
them. Hospital aides, half dressed in white trousers, and in bare
feet, were crowded in the doorway. Everyone understood what was
happening. The Germans had come over in numbers for one of their
periodical raids.
Incendiary bombs were now dropping down in the heart of the town where
I had just passed. Church bells were ringing as a warning for all
civilians to take to their caves――a warning which seemed quite
superfluous. There was a terrific explosion, followed by a burst of
flames which lighted up the sky. A building had been set on fire.
Standing beside my car, I took off my fatigue cap and substituted my
steel helmet, which I always carried with me when not actually wearing
it. Steel helmets have saved many lives. The bombardment became more
furious as time went on――bombs were dropping on various parts of the
city. Several powerful searchlights began to sweep the heavens and two
broad shafts of light crossed, and in the cross they held in view a
German plane. It was flying low and not far overhead from where I
stood. The two searchlights followed the movement of the plane and
held it in the cross while the anti-aircraft guns opened fire. I could
see the shells bursting underneath the plane but none hit and quickly
the plane flew out of range and disappeared from sight. But the
raiders continued the bombardment.
Having waited for some time for the firing to cease I decided to start
back for post at Ludes. Unless there was very good reason for not
doing so, we were expected to return to post as soon as we had
finished the errand which had taken us away. To drive back it was
necessary for me to return through the heart of the town were the
bombs had fallen and were still falling. So far as possible I kept on
the “shady” side of the street out of the moonlight, pausing at every
corner for a moment. Sometimes there would be a deafening crash near
by. I would stop――put my head down and my arms over my face, then
would drive quickly into the next street. I passed the postoffice just
after it was hit――pieces of shutters, doors and glass were littered
about the street and I feared for punctured tires. I drove on a short
distance, turned around and went back, pausing in front of the
demolished building, but could hear no sound. The street was
absolutely deserted. As I continued my drive over the deserted streets
the only sign of humanity I would see was an occasional soldier with
his gun standing in the comparative shelter of a doorway.
Before leaving the town I stopped for a moment at the hospital where I
had first been and an officer who could speak a little English asked
me to stay all night in the “cave.” “It is a bad night to be out,” he
said. The invitation was alluring, but I decided to push on to Ludes.
To get out of the town I must recross the bridge over the Marne, close
to the railroad station, and I had been informed that raiders were
making a particular effort to hit the station. As I shot out across
the bridge in the broad moonlight, in full view from above, I could
see some freight cars burning. I wished that some friend were sittting
beside me, but I often wished that on these lonely nerve-racking night
drives.
When I drew out into the open country I felt no inclination to turn on
my lights, for I had heard of a staff car just a short while before
driving over the same road. The driver had turned on his lights. The
target was seen from an aeroplane――a bomb was dropped with accurate
aim, demolishing the car and killing all the occupants.
Reaching Ludes some time in the middle of the night, I stepped over
the form of Curtis, who, curled up in his blankets, was asleep on the
floor. He awoke and sleepily inquired: “Who’s there?” I told him.
“Anything going on?” he inquired still sleepily.
“Seem to be raising hell down at Epernay,” I told him quietly, so as
not to awaken anyone who might be sleeping.
“That so?” muttered Curtis, and with no more show of interest went
back to sleep.
The next day I learned that many houses had been destroyed. Five
wounded soldiers had been killed in the hospital where I had been
invited to spend the night.