| Chapter 1 |
There were thirteen transports and 9 torpedo boat destroyers in our convoy. Over our ships, flying in circles, were two hydroplanes and in front of the convoy, on watch, floated a large observation balloon. The pale moon showing between the moving clouds reflected a semi-yellow glow on the phosphorus-coated waters below. It was a wonderful sight to lay on the spars and rigging above the upper deck and watch the massive ships plunging against the huge, rough, angry waves of the Atlantic! I did some deep thinking before I turned in to my bunk. Visions of a pale sweet face, drawn with circles of sorrow from a mother's suffering heart; a pair of soft brown eyes, slowly faded into oblivion as the waves of the Atlantic rocked me to sleep! The following day we began our lifeboat drills with instructions in case of a submarine attack. We had two daily drills, one being held at a certain known hour, while the other was a surprise called at any time. At the sound of a ship's siren we were signaled to assemble in certain groups at designated stations. From these stations we march to our liferafts. Military law is stern. All things are done in cadence, silence and perfect order. Even though a ship be sinking, no man can rush to his raft without an order. Watches and guards are stationed at all points on board. The throwing of cigars, papers and such like overboard was strictly forbidden, as "subs" can easily trace a path. The third day out I was appointed orderly by my Captain and allowed a pass to any part of the transport. I immediately took advantage of the opportunity and was soon looking over and examining the electrical and mechanical powers of the massive vessel, along which lines I always took great interest. It was some boat, one of the three largest in the world. Up in the wireless room the operators were listening to the voices of the air. On Sundays our Catholic priests in army uniforms offered up the Holy sacrifice of Mass! How wonderful it all was! Of course, we expected a submarine attack at any moment. I remember being on a lower deck one afternoon, when suddenly I was startled by the shrill shriek of the ship's siren, followed instanlty by the quivering of her massive structure as her heavy guns boomed forth. Orders were given in loud commands to rush to our life stations then march to our liferafts! As if answering our signals of distress, at once came similar sounds from the other ships followed by firing of guns in rapid succession. It was a moment of great excitement, great anxiety, as well as wonderful sights. The flashes between the firing guns, the continual signals of distress, the explosion of shells sending columns of water a hundred feet into the air, were moments of rare sublimity. Just ahead of us had been sighted a "short round tube". Evidently a sub had been lying in wait. Continuing our journey, on September 2nd, at midnight, could be seen the lighthouses scattered along the distant shores of France and at dawn the following morning I had my first view of the land for which I left my home and country to fight for - "Noble France". As we approached, dimly outlined in the mist were rugged peaks and rocks, surrounded by small inlets of water. In places large waves dashed against tall cliffs of solid rock. The background formed a picture of hills on which appeared a few scattered farm houses, fields of grain and grazing lands. We soon arrived at Brest, a western seaport of France, which is a wonderful natural harbor. Everybody was enthusiastic and felt good, having made the trip without a mishap. Hundreds of bright colored flags from our ship hung streaming in the sea breeze celebrating, as it were, the safe arrival of another contingent of brave Yanks, America's pride! We crowded on a small boat and steamed towards the large American pier still under construction. Our band was playing the French and American anthems and as we passed fishermens' boats, old men and little boys waved their hats in joy. We landed and as I stepped for the first time on the reddish-brown soil of France, I felt that our task had been half-way filled in the winning of the war. Yes, France had called and the sons of America had answered. It was a national debt we owed, for in the grim days of the Revolution, when our own proud America was gripped in the chaos of a war for freedom, she sent a call to France for help and Lafayette bravely answered: "America, we are here." Such glorious words will forever bind France to the heart of the American nation. At the wharf we were met by a detachment of Military Police who conducted our march through Brest out to the camp grounds. As we passed through Brest everything looked so queer and odd in contrast to our American cities. The streets were narrow. Stone houses and shops were covered with queer, undiscernible French signs. Little children ran around waving and yelling to us. Grey-headed fathers took off their hats in deep respect, while women in wooden shoes and long black gowns, which they wore for some dear one they lost in war, profoundly saluted us. We soon arrived at camp near the same grounds on which Napoleon the Great had mobilized and trained his vast army for the Franco-Prussian war. Here too, at the Pontanzean Barracks he had established his army headquarters. The French government now use these as military barracks in the training of their troops. As the work of construction at the camp was not sufficiently advanced to furnish large tents or barracks, we soon pitched our pup tents for the first time, realizing more fully what hardships were in store for us. As General Sherman once said, 'War is hell", and we were beginning to feel we had the hell before us, but like true American boys, born of noble ancestry, when duty calls we responded to the last man. It rained every day of the week we remained here. As a result we had to crawl into our little pup tents through mud and water. French peasant girls came around the camp selling us grapes, fresh ripe fruit, nuts and wine. On the night of September 1Oth orders were issued to march back into Brest to load box cars with provisions for our regiment. |