Shortly after the incidents narrated in the foregoing chapter, I, with
several others, among them Jot and Sam, was granted a leave of absence
of fifteen days to visit our homes. This, we believed, meant that we
were soon to be sent to France where, from the first, we desired to be.
When we reached the little village near our homes, we were curiously
viewed by the people, who up to that time had seen little of the
present day soldiers in khaki. We were hospitably treated by our
people, and those who knew us gathered around to ask questions, as is
the habit of New England folks.
On our arrival home, it is needless to say, we were greeted with
hearty enthusiasm. Neighbors flocked in to see us, and Aunt Josie
expressed her interest and love, after the usual manner of New England
self-contained matrons, by a big dinner. Even Muddy was treated with
affection and, for the first time in his home experience, was not
considered as being “under foot” and in the way.
“How straight you are!” said Aunt Joe. “I declare I think you have
grown an inch, and you were a big hulking fellow when you went away
from here.” Six months of military discipline had certainly left its
impress upon all of us. Jot had filled out in chest and shoulders and,
though not so tall and “bulking” as I, as Aunt Joe called it, was a
fine-looking soldierly youth, lithe and active. Even Sam’s rather
rotund form, was reduced to soldierly proportions.
“Gosh!” said his father anxiously, “you ain’t got any belly hardly at
all. Hev’ they been starvin’ you?”
“No, Dad, we have all we want to eat in camp, and we have the wust kind
of appetite after one o’ them drills. I guess you don’t know what they
do to a feller down here to take the fat off him and the kinks out of
him?”
“Yes, I do, Sam,” responded his father; “guess I’ve been trained a lot
myself.”
“Did y’ ever go through the settin’ up drill?” asked Sam.
“Yes, Sam, I have set up nights a lot, but I never had to drill it. I
got sort of used to it when I was courtin’.”
“I guess, Dad, you don’t understand; now I will give the orders and
drill you.” And then Sam put his father through enough of the physical
exercise to show him what he meant and until Uncle Jim smiled to see
him puff.
The months of drill had certainly improved us physically. The
difference between slouching country boys and soldierly youth, was
written all over each of us.
Muddy, too, had his receptions; and even Bill Jenkins who was again
working on the farm, said: “Well, he’s a pretty good dog, and will do
well enough now that he’s been trained.”
My aunt was a proud woman when she took Jot and me to church with her,
and introduced us to the new minister. The old church where my mother
and father had worshipped was filled, and we were greeted on every
side by friendly people, especially by the teachers and members of the
Sunday School to which Jot and I had been constant attendants when at
home.
One of the young ladies of the class was Miss Emily Grant, of whom, in
former times, I had been an ardent, though shy admirer. She introduced
both Jot and me to a visiting friend, Miss Rose Rich, whom she had
brought home with her from a Massachusetts boarding school.
Jot, usually so reticent, showed his approval of her, by saying: “Isn’t
she fine? Her father is a doctor and she is going to take up Red Cross
work.”
The friendliness of the two was observable to others besides myself.
Miss Grant said to me, “Rose seems much taken with your friend.”
“He is the smartest noncommissioned officer,” I replied, “in the
training camp. He’s top sergeant, and that means something, I can tell
you.”
I told Uncle Jim about Colonel Burbank and what he said about my
father. And Uncle Jim said, “Seems to me I heard your father mention
him. I wonder if it was him that your father brought from between the
lines badly wounded durin’ the Winchester fight? Shouldn’t wonder if it
was.”
But I had never heard about it.
When Jot and I had visited, for the last time, the familiar scenes
of the farm, and he had petted and talked to the horses and cows, we
left our home for the camp again. A boy never realizes what a home
means to him until he is leaving it, possibly forever; for I had a dim
perception of what was possibly before me.
Several friends, besides my aunt and uncle, were at the station to bid
us good-bye. Among them were Emily Grant and Rose Rich.
With the usual leave takings and waving of handkerchiefs from friends,
the engine puffed, the train clanked out from the station, and we were
off.
Back at camp we entered upon another course of training in company,
regimental and battalion drill, with bayonet exercises, machine-gun
fire, and the digging of trenches, as a preliminary to participation in
modern warfare.
An old Civil War veteran, who had viewed our preparations, said to me,
“If Grant had had these machine guns and other arms, he could have made
the Rebs howl and ended the war in short order. Why, there is as great
a difference between the equipments of this new army and our old Union
Army as there is between a stage coach and an express train.”
Jot had been transferred to our regiment, at his request, and became
first sergeant of a company. At one of our meetings at the Y. M. C. A.
he said to me, “Don’t say anything about it, but I think that we are
likely to break camp soon and go to France.”
“What makes you think so?” I asked.
“Well,” he said, “they have been making shipping lists for the
regiment; and then the furloughs they have been giving, and other
little things make me think so.”
I soon found that a rumor of the same purport was all around camp. Like
most youngsters, I was hungry for a change; so when the top sergeant
ordered us to be ready to move within a few hours, I was glad at the
prospect of the change to some other place. Yet I thought of submarines
and other scarey unpleasant possibilities, that night, before I slept.
The order came at last--it was on Sunday--for an army has no days more
sacred than duty. Though we were not supposed to know where we were
going, we all guessed--the Yankee birthright--and guessed France. Our
outfit consisted of two suits of _Olive Drab_, canvas leggins, two
woolen shirts, woolen underwear and stockings, two pairs of garrison
shoes, a Mackinaw short overcoat, a belt, three blankets, and a
comforter, all of which were carried in our packs. On top of the pack
roll was the haversack, containing our kits, which consisted of a
long handled aluminum fold pan with removable cover, in which were a
knife and fork and spoon; two oblong cases for meat, hard bread, sugar
and coffee. The ammunition belt was hung to this pack, and a canteen
nesting in the cup hung from it. There was also a barrack bag belonging
to our outfits, but this was carried by motor truck to the station.
This I remember to my sorrow, as did others in similar cases, for I
did not see it again until our arrival in France, though it contained
goodies from home, and chocolates. Others did not see their cigarettes
and tobacco again until long after.
At dark, with our packs strapped upon our backs, we moved to the
station and were embarked on board of ordinary passenger cars--a
noncommissioned officer at the doors of each car to see that none went
out and that no one not belonging there went in. Each commissioned
officer had a list that showed the place of each man and saw that he
_stayed_ there.
The next morning we found our train at a big New York terminal, and had
our breakfast--of sandwiches and hot coffee that had been prepared for
us the day before.
From there we were embarked on a ferry boat. Our company was on the
top deck where we could see the tugs, steamers and ferry boats, busily
moving on the stream, as we swung up the broad Hudson to the piers
where several big transports lay.
Sailing lists of every man’s name in order of formation had been made
in duplicate, one for our officers and another in the hands of the
embarking officer. So he knew just how many of us there were, and had
already designated a berth for each man.
The railroad transport officer met us with the inquiry: “Is Company
---- of ---- Regiment on this boat?”
“Yes, sir!”
“Colonel Burbank?”
“Here, sir!”
“Good. Disembark at once, sir. Your transport sails in half an hour.
Form your men on the dock opposite the freight clerk.”
“Yes, sir!”
“A loading detail of ten men!”
“Yes, sir!”
We disembark; but before the first company could be formed a
transportation officer without saying by your leave marched us on
board. He is the supreme officer on the dock--no matter if the general
commanding be present the officer is the boss.
Along the deck we went in column and on board the huge transport.
“Your sailing list, sir!”
“Yes, sir.”
“Are you formed in order of list?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good! Load the company, Mr. Blank.”
The clerk, with a lieutenant by his side with a duplicate list, calls
out, “First Sergeant Smith.”
“Here, sir.”
The sergeant is handed a ticket, goes up the gangplank where he meets
another sailor who sends him below; there he meets another sailor who
sends him still further below, and so on until he is at the bottom of
the ship where the bilge water smells. The others follow until the ship
is stowed with a human freight of three thousand five hundred men.
Every man has his bunk of collapsible iron tubing which stand in tiers
three high, with a passage way between. Later on, the top sergeant gets
a second class room. No dogs allowed; but I smuggled Muddy in under my
big coat.
We were all on board by night, and slept in our new quarters, but were
surprised to awake in the morning and find our ship still at the dock.
We were allowed to go ashore for exercise on the dock, and the ship
routine began. Our canteens were ordered to be filled but not to be
used except in an emergency.
Before daylight, next morning, we swung out into the river and down
into the broadening harbor, to the sea. We were all allowed on deck.
As I stood viewing the scene on every side, of brilliantly lighted
cities and towns, Jot came up, touched me on the shoulder and, with a
sweep of his hand, said, “Don’t it put you in mind of that verse in
the Bible,--‘Gazar and her towns and villages, unto the river of Egypt
and the great sea and the border thereof?’” Then, as we waved an adieu
to the Statue of Liberty he added, “We are the vanguard of the army
to make good the meaning of that Statue that France has prophetically
placed there. We go to deliver France and the world.”
The land began to fade as daylight brightened. The broad sea spread
out before us and with it a possible broader vista of life’s great
drama and of the freedom of men as yet unborn, whose destinies we were
perhaps carrying across the sea.
The naval officers were in supreme command of all on board and we
soldiers were put to ship routine at once.
“It looks to me,” said Sergeant Nickerson, “like a huge job to feed all
of us in this one dining room.”
“But it isn’t our business,” I replied, “so long as we get the grub.”
“But it may be everybody’s business if they don’t get it; and that’s
what I am thinking about.” The difficulty was solved in this way. The
men were marched to the room, and ate standing in line or at long
tables. As fast as one batch was fed, another took its place. By the
time breakfast was over, lunch began. It was a sort of endless chain
made up of men, moving on schedule time.
Men began to growl--growling is a soldier’s safety valve, and his
privilege ever since soldiering first began.
“Sure,” said Pat Quinn, “it’s ating tactics we are being drilled in.
Ye’s open ye’s mouths so many toimes and then swallow--one toime and
three motions!”
“What are you growling about?” said Private Shaw. “There’ll likely be
another motion on this ship soon, so that you can’t swallow at all!”
So with rough jokes and gibes we ate our first breakfast on board ship.
Then ship drill began. Each man was assigned to a boat or raft, and we
learned the ship calls. When the bugle sounded “Assembly” every man
was to go on deck and take his place at his boat or raft. At “Abandon
Ship,” the boats and rafts were supposed to be got into the water.
“Quarters” meant every man below, to his bunk.
We go through the motions--only--of getting the boats and rafts over
the side of the ship. When our instructor said that a raft was safer
than a boat, but that we were never to climb onto one, but hang on with
both hands, we were skeptical about it.
“He wants to keep a boat for himself,” said Sam. “That is what he is
preaching it for.”
We knew, however, that the safety of all on board might depend upon our
efficiency at this drill.
With boat drill--mornings and afternoons--scrubbing decks, eating, and
seasickness, our time was pretty fully occupied. I was dreadfully sick
for a time, and did not care whether a submarine sunk us or not, but
got over it before long. It was very close below decks, where we were
mostly confined, and a hardship to those accustomed to the free air.
Our company was so fortunate as to be detailed as extra deck watch,
and a group of us were on duty at all hours, day and night. It was
an autocratic job--we were “_It_.” We could refuse to take orders or
answer questions from even the colonel! Our post for this duty was a
little box of a pen where, with fine binoculars, we kept watch for
submarines. I liked the duty; it was a change and much like guard duty.
Before entering the danger zone we got detailed instructions against
lights. Every match and flashlight on the ship had to be given up, and
all hatches were closed at twilight. Even illuminated wrist watches
were forbidden on deck at night.
One day a submarine was actually sighted. I was on duty in the watch
box with several of my company, when I saw something sticking out of
the water like a small flag staff.
“Submarine!” I yelled excitedly. Just then “bang!” went the forward
deck gun and the periscope disappeared. Soon it was seen again at
another quarter and another gun banged at it. Sam took up his rifle to
shoot at it, but was restrained, though he declared he could put a
bullet through it. Then “bang” went another of our guns, and we were
told that she was sunk, but I doubted it.
“Shucks!” growled Sam, “how can we shoot a Boche if we have to wait for
orders? He will get away from us, before we can get them!”
There was no excitement, though a young lieutenant rushed around
saying, “Be calm, men! be calm!” But some of us thought he was not
living up to his own orders.
Soon after this Colonel Burbank sent for me to come to his cabin. After
several kind inquiries about my folks, especially my father, he said,
casually, “Sergeant Nickerson, I learn, has lived at your home? What do
you know about him or his people?”
I told him all that I knew about him, and said, among other things,
that he had told my mother that Nickerson was only a part of his name.
And I interspersed with this information not a little praise of Jot, to
camouflage the fact that I didn’t actually know much about him.
The purpose of these inquiries the colonel did not, of course, reveal.
I was not a little surprised, however, when he said: “He looks like
a German officer I once knew. I infer, from what you have told me,
that he does not talk much about himself or his business. It’s a very
soldierly quality!”
As I went to my quarters below decks this remark was buzzing in my head
like a bumble bee in a haying field. As the colonel had not instructed
me to the contrary, I informed Jot, when I again saw him, about the
colonel’s remarks--all except the last one, about the German officer.
Jot stood for a moment, as though in thought, and then said, “It will
do no harm to tell you that I can speak a little German which I learned
from my father and his people. The first words I ever spoke were
German; but mother didn’t like it.” Here he stopped as though he had
already said too much, then, putting his hands affectionately on my
shoulders, added, “Does it really make any difference to you, David,
who my father was, when you know me so well?” And I knew that it would
be useless to ask him further questions on that subject.
We soon began to meet ships and fishing craft, mine sweepers, and
tankers, which showed that we were nearing the coast. Next came a point
of land like a cloud on the horizon, and then the top of a lighthouse
appeared.
Was it France or England? It was France.
We learned that we were the first American transport to land at this
port.
Entering a narrow channel which widened out into a broad harbor, we
were safe in France!
“No one lands until ordered to do so by the commander of the port,” was
the next order.
It was not until the next day that the colonel, and some other officers
were ordered ashore to see the port commodore; then, after some more
waiting, we were told to get ready for landing. Shortly after, we saw
the lighters coming up on which we were to disembark.