Toward the end of July we received orders that we were to move from
the Champagne region, but we did not know just where we were to be
sent. Early one morning, the order to move having come, we had loaded
our cars with tents, supplies, automobile parts, all the paraphernalia
of an ambulance section, and our personal belongings, and had formed
in a line on the main thoroughfare of the picturesque town of Louvois.
Stevenson drove up to the head of the procession, blew his whistle
once and every engine was started; he blew his whistle twice, and we
were off down the road in the direction of Epernay. The villagers of
Louvois were on the street to wave us “Au ’voir.” There were old men,
women and girls. The young men were all at the front.
Outside the town of Epernay we drew up alongside the road and waited
further instructions. Some thought we were going to Belgium, others
said we were going down into the Verdun sector. Our French Lieutenant,
Reymond, had gone on ahead in his car for orders. Presently he
returned and we learned that we were to drive in the direction of
Verdun.
Stevenson, at the head of the procession, blew his whistle and once
more all cars were started――soon we were rolling along the road.
At noon we reached Châlons, where we had luncheon in a café crowded
with French officers. By late afternoon we reached the outskirts of
the town of Vietry, and as we drove into the town we saw a squad of
German prisoners, under guard, marching along the road. If they
noticed that we were Americans, they showed no emotion even if they
felt any. At Vietry we were to spend the night. We were shown to a
large barn in which to sleep. Some Russian troops had occupied the
barn a short while before and the straw littered about looked rather
risky. As it promised to be a clear night some of us decided to sleep
out in the open field under the trees. The cows were less to be feared
than the straw in the barn or even the avions above.
[Illustration: The Last of Ambulance No. 4]
Having parked our cars, several of us strolled to the banks of the
historic Marne and were quickly splashing around in the refreshing
though muddy water. Then over to a café in the city for supper. The
supper developed into a banquet. It was the first time in a great
while that the entire Section and its French attachés had all sat
together at one time and everyone off duty. Singing commenced before
the meal was half over, and if not all harmonious it was at least
hearty. The darkness came on but no lights were made in the room on
account of danger from the avions, but the hilarity did not die out in
the growing gloom.
Roy Stockwell was obliged to sing several verses of a war song which
was called “Around Her Leg She Wore a Purple Ribbon,” in which every
one joined in the chorus, singing:
“Far away, far away,
She wore it for her lover
Who was far, far away.”
“Winnie” Wertz, the French cook, sang a pastoral song of peaceful life
on the farm after the war was over. One or two men tried to make
speeches but received scant encouragement. The singing continued till
late in the evening, when we wended our way back to the open field for
a night of peaceful sleep under the trees. As we walked through the
city on the way a quartette was lustily singing:
“Far away, far away,
She wore it for her lover,
Who was far, far away.”
No doubt the French inhabitants awoke to shrug a shoulder and
patiently mutter: “Oh, those terrible Americans.”
The next morning we were on our way to Bar le Duc, a picturesque city
nestled between high hills. At the top of one of these hills, as we
started the steep descent into the city, we passed a large convent
almost totally destroyed by avion bombs. Bar le Duc is always subject
to air raids and shows many marks of the war on its principal streets.
Again we stopped for the night and here I slept on the sidewalk with
my head against a sentry box so that no one would fall over me.
On to the town of Evres through a country, as we advanced, showing
more and more plainly the desolation and waste of the war. Through
towns deserted of all civilians, over roads dry in the midsummer sun
and unspeakably dusty from the continual travel toward the front. One
afternoon in Evres, Curtis and I dropped into the home of an elderly
French peasant woman for a lunch of delicious cottage cheese and a jug
of fresh milk. The peasant woman had a sad story to tell. Her husband
was dead; her son’s home in the village had been destroyed; he had
been taken prisoner and his wife had fallen victim to the advance of
Prussian kultur.
At Evres we waited to move on to Verdun and there we learned of the
great offensive that was soon to take place and we watched the
preparations for it on a vast scale. We were deeply impressed.