I
[Illustration: SAUCISSE ABOVE VERDUN]
_In the Hills of France,
June 23, 1916_
_Dear Mother_,--
Your two letters of May 23d and June 4th have both arrived in the
last week, but I have been too busy and too sleepy to answer them.
They have given us a very important work as well as a dangerous
one,--to evacuate the wounded about one and a quarter miles from the
first-line trenches,--and since we have been here, about a week, our
little ambulances (holding five wounded) have carried some hundreds of
men. We are quartered in a town about four miles away from the front,
which the Germans take pleasure in shelling twice a day. About fifteen
minutes ago, while we were at breakfast, they dropped two shells,
"150's," which landed four hundred yards away; but I seem so used to
running into danger now, that it hardly affects me at all. We got
here a week ago, on Friday, and on Saturday morning I made my first
trip to our _poste de secours_ on a French machine. The first part of
the drive is through the valley, where there is a beautiful winding
river, and some pretty old towns. There you begin an ascent for about
two miles on a road which is lined with French batteries and quite
open to the view of the Germans, who have a large observation balloon
only a mile or two away. Consequently the road is fired over all the
time, so you feel that a passing shell might at any moment fall on
you. Just this morning, about four o'clock, three shells went over my
machine and broke in a field near by. When one reaches the top of the
ascent, there is a piece of road, very rough and covered with débris
of all kinds--dead horses, old carts and wheels, guns, and confusion
everywhere. This road leads to an old fort where our wounded are, and
on this road the German fire is even worse. Well, this first morning,
just before we arrived, the Germans began a bombardment which lasted
five hours. The shells landed all around us, but we finally got in
safely. It was altogether the most awful experience I have ever been
through. We discovered a small tunnel holding three of our cars, and
here I waited five hours without any breakfast, hearing the roar of
the shells--they make a noise like a loud, prolonged whistle--and then
hearing the French batteries answer with a more awful roar, because
nearer. To add to the interest, two or three gas shells exploded near
us, which made our eyes water. Luckily we had our gas masks with us,
but we had got it in our faces before we could put them on. Meanwhile,
the wounded were being carried in from the first-line trenches by the
stretcher-bearers who, by the way, are some of the real heroes of the
war. The time came for us to go out into the open in order to let
the other cars get in after us. As you may imagine, it was an awful
moment for us; however, we went along slowly but surely, and finally
we got down the hill, away from all the noise and danger. It was worth
while, though, for we were carrying many wounded with us. For a week
we have been doing this work and are all still alive; and we have
to our credit about seven hundred wounded men. The French are, of
course, very appreciative of our work. I wish that I could describe
things more fully, but I am too much "all in." I am well in spite of
the excitement, but tired to death of the horrors, the smells, and
the sights of war. We will be here but a few days more and after this
will be given an easier place for a while; so you need not worry after
receiving this. I am glad to have gotten a taste of real war, though,
so as to know what it really means.
Your affectionate son,
MALBONE
(_Birckhead_)