_July 22 at Pont-à-Mousson_
On Thursday, the 22d, we had a quiet day. In the evening several of
us stepped across to the house where Smith and Ogilvie lived, to have
a little bread and cheese before turning in. They had brought some
fresh bread and butter from Toul, where duty had taken one of them,
and these being our special luxuries, we were having a good time.
Coiquaud was at the Bureau and two or three of our men were in or
about the _caserne_. There were nine of us at the house at the fork of
the road, which, no doubt, you remember. Suddenly as we sat round the
table there came the shriek of a shell and a tremendous explosion.
The windows were blown in, the table thrown over, and all of us for
a second were in a heap on the floor. The room was full of smoke and
dust. None of us was hurt, happily, except Holt, who had a cut over
the right eye, and who is now going about bandaged like one of our
_blessés_. We made a scramble for the cellar, the entrance to which
is in a courtyard behind the house. As we were going down the stairs
there followed another shell, and quickly on top of that, one or two
more, all very near and pretty heavy. We stayed in the cellar perhaps
ten minutes, and then, as I was anxious to know how things were at
the _caserne_, I went up and, letting myself out into the street,
ran for it, seeing vaguely as I passed fallen masonry and _débris_.
The moon was shining through the dust and smoke which still hung a
little thick. When I got to the _caserne_, the first thing I heard was
Coiquaud crying, "_Oh! pauvre Mignot!_" and I was told that the poor
fellow had been standing, as was his wont, in the street, smoking a
pipe before going to bed. He was chatting with two women. Lieutenant
Kullmann's orderly (I think they call him Grassetié) was not far
away. The same shell which blew in our windows killed Mignot and the
two women, and severely wounded Grassetié, who, however, was able to
walk to the _caserne_ to seek help. He was bleeding a good deal from
several wounds; had one arm broken; his tongue was partially severed
by a fragment which went through his cheek. He was taken immediately,
after a rough bandage or two had been put on, to try to check the loss
of blood from his arm, where an artery appeared to be severed, to
Ambulance N{o} 3 at Pont-à-Mousson, whence he was afterwards taken to
Dieulouard and to Toul. He will probably recover.[11] A boy, the son
of our _blanchisseuse_, who was wounded at the same time, will, it
is feared, die. As I was told that Mignot still lay in the street, I
went out again, and saw him lying, being examined by gendarmes, on the
pavement. He seems to have been killed instantaneously. The contents
of his pockets and his ring were taken from the body by Coiquaud and
handed to me: they will, of course, be sent to his wife. He leaves
two children.... Poor Coiquaud, who had shown great courage, became
a little hysterical, and I took his arm and led him back to the
_caserne_. When we all, except those who had left with Grassetié and
some who had taken Mignot's body to Ambulance N{o} 3 (there was such
confusion at the time and I have been so constantly occupied since I
don't yet know exactly who took that service), collected at the Bureau,
our jubilation at our own escape--if the shell had travelled three
yards farther it would have killed us all--was entirely silenced by the
death of Mignot, for whom we all had a great affection. He served us
well, cheerfully from the beginning, honestly and indefatigably. He was
a good fellow, possessing the fine qualities of the French workman to
a very high degree. A renewed bombardment broke out about this time,
and we went down to the cellar. A shell striking the roof of one of our
houses knocked in all our windows. I think we may all honestly confess
that by this time our nerves were rather shaken. I was specially
anxious about the cars in the barn, including the Pierce-Arrow and the
Hotchkiss. One shell falling in the midst of them would have crippled
half our cars--and if an attack on Bois-le-Prêtre had followed...! Our
telephone wires were broken, so we were isolated. Lieutenant Kullmann
and I decided, after consultation with all our men who were present,
to report the situation to the _médecin divisionnaire_. So long as our
men kept in the cellar they were safe enough. The Lieutenant and I left
in the Peugeot brought by him to the Section, our leaving chancing
to coincide with the arrival of four or five fresh shells. It was
nervous work driving out; fragments of tiles and of shells--the latter
still red-hot--fell about us but without hitting us. After seeing the
_médecin divisionnaire_ we returned to the _caserne_ and spent the rest
of the darkness in the cellar. From time to time more shells came, but
soon after daybreak the firing ceased.
[11] He died soon after.
In the morning we were very anxious for a while about Ogilvie. He had,
unknown to the rest of us, gone to sleep at Schroder's and Buswell's
room, and in the night two more shells struck his house, one of them
penetrating right through to the cellar, making complete wreckage
there. Some of us spent a little time looking in the _débris_ for his
body.
You would have been very moved if you could have been present at poor
Mignot's funeral. We did what we could for him to show our respect, and
I concluded I was only carrying out what would be the wishes of the
American Ambulance by authorizing the expense of a better coffin and
cross than he was entitled to in his grade in the army.
At eight in the evening as many men as were off duty went to
Pont-à-Mousson to attend the funeral. A short service was read in the
chapel of the Nativité. There were four coffins: Mignot's, covered with
a flag and with many flowers, and those of three civilians, killed
on the same evening. It was a simple and impressive ceremony: the
dimly lighted chapel, the dark forms of some twenty or thirty people
of Pont-à-Mousson, our men together on one side, the sonorous voice
of the priest, made a scene which none of us can forget. Colonel de
Nansouty, Commandant d'Armes de Pont-à-Mousson, and Lieutenant Bayet
were present; and when the little procession was formed and we followed
the dead through the darkened streets and across the Place Duroc, they
walked bareheaded with us. At the bridge the procession halted, and
all but Lieutenant Bayet, Coiquaud, Schroder, and the writer turned
back, it being desired by the authorities that only a few should go to
the cemetery. We crossed the river and mounted the lower slope of the
Mousson hill. Under the trees in the cemetery we saw as we passed the
shattered tombs and broken graves left from the bombardments, which
even here have made their terrible marks. In a far corner, well up on
the hillside, the coffin of Mignot was laid down, to be interred in the
early morning. We walked quietly back in company with Lieutenant Bayet,
and were at last free to rest, after so many hours of unbroken strain.