Immediately upon our arrival in the village of Benney we were billeted
in haymows, which is the customary home for the American soldier in the
country of France. These "billets," as they have been called by the men,
are usually located in the haymows of the French homes. The French
peasant's home usually consists of one large building, in which the
entire family, including horses, cattle and pigs, is housed. While it
seems strange to us, who are not accustomed to this manner of living,
they are quite comfortable compared to pup tents in a wet, soggy forest,
and especially at the end of a long hike by night with full equipment.
Benney was, we believe, the dirtiest village we have been in to date, so
consequently the next day we had to clean up the manure piles and refuse
left by the populace of this village. The village had, at one time, been
occupied by the Hun armies, who left their customary destructive
earmarks upon it. Those who remain consist mainly of women, children and
men too old for work. It can therefore be easily understood why its
streets were dirty and conditions in general were neglected.
We spent four days in the village, our duties being to clean up the
streets. We had become quite proficient with shovels and push-brooms, by
reason of previous experience, and strangely enough the men usually
chose this duty in preference to the daily duties of kitchen police and
guard. Most of us were badly in need of a bath, as all soldiers
generally are, and upon investigating discovered an old swimming hole
which we soon Americanized by taking a plunge every day during our short
stay there. We were entertained two evenings by the French movies while
here.
It was evident to us that a large troop movement was taking place, and
from the many precautions taken to avoid observation, it appeared that
the movement was of more than usual importance. Troops were marched only
at night and no lights of any kind were permitted, even smoking being
barred outside of cover. Kitchens were covered and mess lines were being
divided into sections so that Boche planes could see but a few men at a
time. We were told that we must get under cover and stay there whenever
hostile planes were about. No drilling was done and every effort made to
keep every evidence of the presence of troops hidden from observation.
All this could mean but one thing--a big attack was being prepared and
we would undoubtedly be in it. We were curious to know just when and
where it would be, but we had to be content with guessing, for the
secret of the St. Mihiel drive was well kept.
Leaving Benney, we hiked a distance of 13 kilos to a little village
called Haussonville, arriving there at 3:30 A. M. We had a very sloppy
march and passed our kitchen truck, stuck in the ditch by the roadside.
Of all trucks, this should have been the one to pull through, judging by
the yearning in the region of our stomachs. Immediately upon our arrival
in Haussonville we were billeted in a large barn and "hit the hay" for a
few hours. We were soon awakened by the glad news that our kitchen had
arrived, was in action and that we would have breakfast at 10. The name
Haussonville stands out prominently in the minds of the boys, for we
recall, with a shudder, that this is where we caught our first real
batch of cooties.
Dinner was served at 3, and after this meal we again rolled pack and had
hopes of leaving this unwelcome company at 8 P. M., but did not until
three hours later. At last under way, we hiked 14 kilos with full packs
and reached our next destination, a salt factory a few kilos from Nancy.
Though much fatigued by our night journey, we were somewhat encouraged
to find a soft pine floor upon which to rest our weary bones, and with
the aid of a few salt sacks, which we found, soon made ourselves as
comfortable as possible under the existing conditions. After the
customary late breakfast and dinner, orders were received to resume the
hike as soon as it became dark.
Darkness found us again trailing the rock roads amid a steady downpour
of rain. The night grew darker and darker, until it was impossible for
the men in ranks to see each other. This however, was nothing unusual
and all went well until we suddenly found ourselves lost in the streets
of Nancy. It was a fine night for ducks, which might have enjoyed the
next three hours, but as soldiers it was far from pleasant wandering
around the town aimlessly, first up one street and then down another,
with a soggy pack upon our backs. At last, righting ourselves, we left
the city just as it was getting dawn, and continued our course.
Seemingly endless lines of artillery regiments on their way to form the
reserve for the St. Mihiel drive, passed us along the road with their
caissons and guns of all sizes. Later an impressive sight greeted us as
we marched along. Dawn was breaking in the east, but the northern
horizon was lighted by flares from the muzzles of hundreds of Allied
guns, the intermittent flashings of which indicated to us that the great
drive was in progress. Tired, hungry and foot sore, we pitched tents a
little later in the woods safely concealed from enemy observation.
Thus ended the long-drawn-out hike. We knew now why we had been marched
every night and subjected to seemingly unnecessary hardships. Not a man
regretted the experience, and all proud that they helped form a cog in
the mighty machine which straightened the St. Mihiel salient, and marked
the first American triumph over the Hun.