It was with a willing hand and a happy heart that we prepared to leave
Aulnois-Sous-Vertuzey, where we had spent a "weary waiting period" of
over three months, and when the evening of March 9th rolled around, we
were all packed up and "rearin' to go." All medical property, extra
clothing, etc., had been turned in, so that there was very little to
pack except the office records and our personal belongings. Of this we
were duly thankful.
We entrained at Lerouville at 2 o'clock on the morning of March 10th,
bound for St. Corneille, in the Le Mans area, riding as usual in box
cars. The trip was characteristic of French train service--SLOW--in fact
on the second day of the trip we only made about 12 miles the whole day.
We finally arrived at St. Corneille, a clean little French village, on
the 13th, and for the next three weeks "waited" some more. The only part
of the company who were busy was the office force, and they were
exceedingly so, for there were passenger lists to be made out, besides
innumerable other rosters and reports. Of course there were the usual
physical examinations, "cootie" inspections, and a "shot in the arm,"
and these things helped to occupy our time.
Our next lap toward home started on April 5th, and the next morning
found us at the immense camp of St. Nazaire, our Port of Embarkation.
What a thrill went through us as we looked out onto the ocean again,
especially when we knew that we were soon to cross the gang-plank, "the
bridge whose western end is America!" It must be said here that St.
Nazaire is a wonderfully efficient camp. For instance, each kitchen in
the camp can feed as many as ten thousand men in a little more than an
hour's time. At this camp we were examined and de-cootieized some more,
but our stay was short, and on April 12th we glued our eyes on the
bulletin board, which read "110th Sanitary Train embarks at 11:30 A. M.,
April 14th, U. S. S. Antigone." That was "the thrill that comes once
in a lifetime."
On the dock, before embarking, we were treated to hot chocolate, cookies
and tobacco by the "Y" girls. Then the time that we had been waiting for
for eleven months came, and we crossed the gang-plank "Homeward Bound."
On account of storms just off the coast, our start was delayed until 3
A. M. on April 16th, and when we awoke that morning we were almost out
of sight of land. Strange to say, there were no "heartaches" when "Sunny
France" faded away behind us, for ahead of us was "God's Country," the
land where mothers, fathers, wives and sweethearts were waiting for us.
That first day out was a memorable one for most of us. The sea was
rough, and that evening no one doubted but that every fish in the
vicinity of the ship went to sleep with his hunger entirely appeased.
Nothing more needs to be said. By the next morning the sea had calmed
down, and the remainder of the voyage was a delightful one, with clear
skies and bright sunshine. The "Y," Red Cross and Knights of Columbus
assisted a great deal in making the trip a pleasant one, by distributing
fruit, candy, magazines and books, and with a "movie" show every
evening. The men were allowed to take trips down into the engine room,
which was indeed an interesting and instructive sight.
Early on the morning of Sunday, April 27th, we steamed up Hampton Roads,
at Newport News, Virginia, and at about 10:30 once more planted our feet
on the soil of "Uncle Sam." The streets of Newport News were lined with
people as we marched from the dock to Camp Stuart, about five miles
away, and as one fellow remarked, "I saw more good looking girls on that
march than during my whole time in France." Here's to the United States
and her people, for there's no others like them.
The greater part of our four days at Camp Stuart was spent in getting
new clothing, for every soldier was newly outfitted from head to foot
before he left that camp. So it was a spic and span company that boarded
the train on Friday afternoon, May 2, bound for Camp Funston, our
demobilization camp. That is, there were about seventy of the company to
go to Camp Funston, for the company was separated at Camp Stuart, and
each man was sent to the demobilization camp nearest his home. The homes
of many of our replacements were in the East. The trip across the states
in that fast American train was an enjoyable one, especially so because
of the reception given us by the people at the cities where we stopped.
At each large city a Red Cross canteen entertained us with homemade
sandwiches, coffee and pie. Some entertainment.
Our trip across the States took us via West Virginia, Cincinnati,
Indianapolis and Chicago. Late on the afternoon of Sunday, May 4th, we
left Chicago for Kansas City, and it was then that our hearts started to
miss a beat now and then, for we were getting close to home. What a
sight greeted our eyes as the train drew into the station at Second and
Washington, Kansas City, Kansas. The station platform was a solid mass
of people, each one trying to pour out a larger amount of "greeting"
than anyone else. When the train finally stopped and we piled out--well,
no words can tell what that reunion meant. Each fellow and his folks
know. We stayed at Kansas City about four hours, and during that time,
besides visiting our folks, our mothers gave us a delightful breakfast
at the Masonic Temple, with a dance afterwards. Then we went on to Camp
Funston, stopping several hours at Topeka, where a number of the men
lived.
Our stay at Funston was short, but strenuous. We were not allowed to
leave our barrack, for there were a thousand and one different papers,
it seemed, that each man had to sign. Then, too, we turned in our pack,
and all other equipment except our clothing and personal effects.
It was a wonderful feeling when, on the morning of May 9th, 1919, just a
year to the day from the time we left Camp Doniphan for overseas
service, we marched up to the Personnel Office to receive our
discharges. We could hardly believe it was true. We filed in--soldiers,
and a few minutes later came out--civilians.
We're glad we served our country when she needed us, and we're glad
"it's over over there." It's just as many an A. E. F. man has said, "We
wouldn't take a million dollars for our experiences over there, but we
wouldn't give a nickel with a hole in it for any more like them."