After a siege of about three weeks, our company was relieved from duty
in the sector north of Verdun, and we were all preparing for a good long
rest, and best of all, a thorough delousing at the hands of the official
"Cootie-cooking-brigade." As later developments will show, we realized
none of our anticipations, at least not at Erize-la-Grande.
The sector which we had just left was famous for at least three of the
war's most deadly weapons, viz.--Cooties (most of them wearing service
stripes), prize rats and German gas. The combined efforts of the three
made life hardly worth living at times, and a sigh of relief was
breathed when at last the task was at an end.
The village of Erize-la-Grande compared favorably with all other
villages in which we had been billeted, especially as regards street
scenes and sleeping quarters. These had evidently been constructed
during the dark ages, but whether those who inhabited them were afraid
of light or fond of darkness remains a secret.
On the night of November 7th, the wild cry arose that the war was over!
We were used to all manner of reports, though none quite as stunning as
this, and in a few minutes excitement was at its height. An optimistic
M. P. was heard shouting, "It's over, so help me, God!" and a little
later the same spirit was evidenced by the doughboys along the roads,
who were joyfully proclaiming the end by shooting up flares and yelling,
"_Fini la guerre_." By this time it was a settled fact that the war
really was over, that nothing remained to be done but the shouting, and
that this was the proper time to shout. What happened during the next
few hours, gentle reader, will be left to your imagination. It was a
grand and glorious feeling, and not long afterwards we found out that
just about the entire A. E. F. and practically all the folks at home
were also celebrating.
[Illustration: AMBULANCE COMPANY 139, CAMP HOEL, KANSAS CITY, KANSAS.]
[Illustration: WOUNDED FROM THE ARGOXNE AT CHEPPY.]
[Illustration: DRESSING STATION AT CHEPP.]
The next morning we awoke to the real situation, and found that the
cause of the whole thing originated from a certain German White Flag
party which was on its way to meet Marshal Foch. The German high command
had ordered the cessation of hostilities along a certain part of the
line in order that these peace plenipotentiaries might reach the great
French Marshal and learn from him, personally, how peace terms could be
had. Things began to move pretty fast now, and there was a great deal of
speculation as to what the Boche would do. The next day the official
communique reported that Foch had very generously allowed them
seventy-two hours in which to accept or reject the iron-clad terms of an
armistice. Meanwhile, the entire western front was the scene of one of
the greatest Allied offensives of the war.
In the midst of all these things, orders were suddenly issued to move at
once toward the front, and Sunday morning, November 10th, found us
packed up and moving. All along, the roads were lined with American
troops. Mile after mile of supply wagons, artillery, machine gun
battalions and infantry were slowly but surely wending their way to
Berlin. This looked very different from peace. We learned afterwards
that the 35th Division was to make a direct frontal assault upon Metz,
while other troops were to engage in a flanking movement. As Metz was
the most strongly fortified position the Germans held, it can readily be
seen that the 35th would have had a pretty stiff job. It seemed certain
that in a day or two we would enter the offensive against this powerful
fort, and we were well aware of what this movement would call for.
At about 2:30 Sunday afternoon we halted at a small village named
Cousances, expecting to move on at any time. Here it was reported that
the Kaiser had abdicated, and that all Germany was in a state of
revolution, but we had heard this same thing at least a dozen times
before, and so thought nothing of it. The entire front from the Channel
to the Vosges was ablaze, with the Yanks near Sedan, the capture of
which village by the Germans in 1871 marked the triumph of Bismarck.
History was about to repeat itself. The British in Flanders were rapidly
driving the Hun from Belgium, while in the Champagne the French were
making such advances as they had never made before. Apparently Foch had
chosen Berlin for the Allied objective.
While these events were in progress, a German courier, laboring under
great difficulty, was carrying messages from the Allied Headquarters to
the German General Headquarters, at Spa, in Belgium. Only a few hours
remained for the Hun to arrange his answer. German propaganda was at an
end, and that of the Allies consisted of cold steel from the heavies.
One by one Germany's allies had deserted her, until now she stood alone
facing the ever increasing strength of the strongest and noblest armies
of the world. Her armies were almost demoralized. At home her people
were terrorized at the thought of having their Fatherland invaded, and
were demanding that the war be ended. For over four years they had
waited behind a curtain of lies and outrages, only to see it lifted and
defeat staring at them. Such were a few of the conditions which
confronted the German High Command at Spa, while Foch, with his gallant
armies smashing on, calmly waited for one of two short words--Yes or No.
At Cousances, stowed away in an old dismantled factory, we were waiting
for this important answer. As was mentioned before, we had expected to
continue our march, but orders had evidently been changed to wait for
the German answer. On Monday morning, November 11th, the famous "drum
fire" was plainly audible, and again things didn't sound at all
peaceful. Having had a little previous experience around Cheppy and
Charpentry, we realized what the acceptance or rejection of the terms
would mean. There was no noticeable let-up in the firing. The suspense
was becoming acute. Either they would sign it or reject it. In case the
former should happen, it would only be a matter of waiting our turn at
the gang-plank; should the latter occur, the Lord only knew what would
happen. Visions of a gang-plank and tug-boats changed into visions of
litters loaded with wounded, and the loud cheers of Yanks bidding
farewell to Gallant France changed into the shriek of gas and high
explosive shells.
But the old saying, that it is always the darkest just before dawn,
held. Almost before any of us realized it the guns were quiet. We
listened again, but not a sound could be heard. We realized that they
were advancing rapidly, but that it was hardly possible for them to be
out of sound this soon. At this time the British troops were at Mons,
the French armies were across the Belgian line from the Meuse to the
Oise, and American armies were advancing from Sedan to the eastern forts
of Metz. France was almost clear of the invader. The liberation of
Belgium had begun. The whole German army was in disorderly retreat, and
there needed only a little more time to transform that retreat into the
greatest rout of all military history.
We were convinced of the signing of the armistice only when we read the
following memorable telegram, which, although heard the world over,
probably meant more to each one of the Allied soldiers than to the whole
world:
"The Armistice is signed and becomes effective November 11th at 11
o'clock. At this hour, or before, hostilities and the advance must
cease. Hold the lines reached and notify exactly the line reached at
that hour. No communication with the enemy will take place."