Twenty-four hours on duty――twenty-four hours off duty: that was the
schedule in the Verdun sector, based on all the cars being able to
run, but there was not a day or night that cars were not put out of
commission, which meant that the work of those who were running was
increased. Theoretically speaking that was the schedule; practically
speaking there was no schedule. Sometimes we were on duty thirty hours
at a stretch, though perhaps in that time we could snatch a little
sleep between runs; sometimes there was no sleep at all. The days were
bad, the nights were worse, and day or night, either on or off duty,
we were always under fire. Almost every time a man came back from post
he had an experience to tell――it seemed that on our runs we escaped by
a matter of seconds; shells were always hitting just behind us, in
front of us and around us. We saw bloodshed all the time. The
Twenty-third Psalm speaks of “the valley of the shadow of death.” That
describes the desolate land about where we were. Verdun will go down
in history as the slaughter house of the world. This was real warfare.
We were working hard all the time but we were buoyed up by the fact
that soon, almost any day, the big attack would take place and then we
would be sent back for a rest. The attack was to have taken place on
August first but was postponed from day to day so that more guns might
be moved into position, and more supplies, munitions and men moved up.
Every night on the road we saw that endless procession of supply
trucks, munitions, guns and men.
We were covering many posts――we were getting very tired even before
the attack took place. One night the General commanding a division at
Fort Houdrement asked for more cars to be stationed there and he was
informed that were no more cars to spare.
He asked “Why?” and was informed that all of our cars were out.
He asked “Where?” and he was informed of the various posts that we
were covering. He expressed great surprise. He thought we were merely
serving his division. We were serving an entire Army Corps.
Fort Houdrement was a bad spot and it was a hard road to travel to
reach there, but bad as it was there were other posts which most of us
came to dread more. I first saw Fort Houdremont in broad daylight.
Before that our cars had only gone there at night, because the road
was so exposed. That I first went there in daylight was not because of
bravery on my part or because of a desire to establish a precedent. It
was just the result of an accident.
I had turned in to sleep one night――or to sleep as much of the night
as might be possible. A couple of my friends had also lain down to
sleep. As we lay in the darkness under the shelter of the tent we
could hear the firing of the artillery all along the front. Then a
sudden gust of cool wind blew the flaps of the tent and we heard the
patter of rain above our heads. A thunder storm was coming on. The
sound of the thunder was mingled with the noise of the artillery. Our
tent was occasionally lighted by flashes of lightning and I could see
my companions lying awake on their cots. The rain came down in
torrents, the lightning became louder and the roar of the artillery
less distinct, until when the storm had reached its height the pouring
rain and the sound of the thunder drowned out the sound of the
artillery. And as we lay there one of my friends spoke up in the
darkness and said quietly: “Phil, it sounds as if God in Heaven is
still omnipotent.” And I said: “Yes, I am glad that God in Heaven is
still omnipotent in spite of the fact that the tent is leaking right
over my face.” Then I pulled the blankets over my head and dozed off
to sleep――but not for long.
I was soon awakened and told it was my turn out. It was still raining
hard and I could hear the thunder and see the flashes of lightning as
I bundled up and went out to my car and started out to find Fort
Houdremont. I had never been there. I merely had a general direction
as to where it was. It was a bad night for a ten-mile ride to a post I
had never been to. It was not quite midnight when I started. The roads
were slippery and crowded with traffic and progress was slow. About
four miles out traffic was blocked for over half an hour, part of
which time I dozed sitting at the wheel. Then once more motors began
to whirr, trucks were groaning, horses were pulling and tugging,
officers on horseback were shouting orders.
The procession moved on, getting nearer the battle, and along the road
we could see the flashes of fire from the artillery and the exploding
shells as they struck. On through the town of Bras, a desolate shell
wrecked place, then on about a half a mile beyond. There I saw a
chance to make time and gain ground by pulling out of the procession,
driving ahead and crowding into an opening further on. A large motor
truck loomed up in front of me. I turned sharply to escape being hit
and ran into a ditch. I was hopelessly stalled.
One of our cars, driven by Holt, came directly back of me. He stopped
to see if he could give me help. I told him it was impossible for us
to pull the car out. He saw that for himself and as he drove on he
shouted “Good-night” to me and I called back “Good-night” to him.
He could not have gone far when I saw a shell burst directly down the
road over which he had gone. I wondered how close a call he had. Next
day he told me he had jumped out of his car and was crouching in a
ditch when the shell struck.
I stood alongside of my car in the rain and mud, shells coming in
along the road as the procession of the night moved past me. Every one
had his work to do and must move on. Once four poilus paused long
enough to see whether they could help push my car out of the ditch,
but it was useless and they went on.
There was nothing to do but to wait for daylight; and it was a long
wait. During the night two horses were killed beside my car.
The dawn came on slowly, the rain stopped, the firing became less
intense. The procession of the night had disappeared I knew not where.
An empty ammunition wagon came clattering up the road, the driver
cracking his whip and urging the four horses to greater speed. When
the sun finally appeared I found myself alone in view of the enemy.
Alone, excepting for the two dead horses lying in the road. Then I
went for help.
I walked back to the town of Bras and if it looked forlorn at night it
looked even more so in the daylight. Places where some houses had once
stood were now merely marked by débris tumbled into the cellars――dead
horses were lying about. A French ambulance gave me a lift back to
Verdun and there I found one of our cars which took me back to our
cantonment, where I reported my difficulties. Stevenson called to
Hanna, who was off duty, and in his car we three drove back over the
road to where I had abandoned my ambulance.
I really was sceptical about finding anything more than a pile of
wreckage, but the car was still there and so were the two dead horses.
Before we proceeded to pull my car out with the aid of Hanna’s car, I
tenderly lifted an unexploded shell from under the rear wheel, carried
it over to the other side of the road and laid it down.
Then on to Houdrement――Stevenson riding with me and Hanna following in
his car. Reaching there, we walked up the side of a steep hill to the
dressing station and inquired for any wounded that might be there. I
was caked with mud from head to foot. A French officer smiled at my
appearance. I saluted and he extended his hand. The French officers
were usually quite as polite to us as if we were officers ourselves.
We found some wounded who would otherwise have been kept there until
darkness had set in. After that our Section covered the run to Fort
Houdremont in daylight with regularity; and in spite of the fact that
the road was exposed to view, most of us found the daylight run much
less nerve-racking than in the night.
“Do the boche fire on ambulances?” I have sometimes been asked.
“Certainly!” I have answered.