| Chapter 1 |
To the Trenches With packs, rifles and full equipment including picks and shovels we fell in line of two abreast and began our march to the front. I wondered how many of us, now strong, virile and healthy, would return from this "Valley of Death." We marched up the road, thickly congested with traffic, in darkness and perfect silence, least Boche aviators would locate us and use aerial bombs and machine guns. Large, heavily loaded motor trucks, ammunition trains, wagons, cannon, machine guns, carts, ambulances and hundreds and hundreds of tired troops moved in a solid never ending mass, silently and as quickly as possible. It was indeed a wonderful control of traffic carried out successfully. In such movements to have disobeyed orders would possibly have meant death. Steadily advancing with our gas masks in alert positions we soon came upon the first of our big guns, almost blinding us with its flash and deafening us with its roar. One after another of these monsters we passed cleverly camouflaged with brush and foliage. We were soon forced to halt and fall out to rest on each side of the road. Half a mile ahead of us the Huns were shelling the French town of Beney, through which we had to pass. Every few seconds we heard the awful whizzing and moaning sound of the enemy's huge shells followed by the heavy dull explosion that shook the very ground over which we passed! It was a sight that night calculated to weaken the heart and courage of the strongest. As I lay there, near my pack in the darkness of the night, my thoughts drifted back to home and mother. Soon again we continued the hike over fields covered with shell holes of greenish liquid, across the open country, through woods and swamps of sticky black mud, slipping and sliding, almost losing our balance under the heavy weight of our packs that seemed to increase the further we went. Gas alarms were continually given and with our gas masks adjusted we could scarcely see ahead of us, consequently lost the column breaking through the gas zone. It was hell, every inch of it, as we advanced into the "Valley of Death." I carried a little French card and handkerchief in my gas mask that eve to be mailed to mother. These little tokens of love were lost on that battlefield in the darkness of that night while hurrying to adjust my mask. Onward we plodded, through mud and drizzling rain, carrying over a hundred pounds on our backs. Thoroughly exhausted, our feet were swollen and blistered, our bones all stiff and aching. Finally commands were given to halt and rest a while. There, in the woods, wrapped in my shelterhalf and with one hand on my "30-30" close by my side, I dozed off while the roar and explosion of the giant shells continued around us. It was my first night on the front. I woke the next morning with food for thought, but no time for thinking. We remained in this sector of St. Mihiel for a few days, digging and fixing up dugouts and weaving brush mats for the support of the trench walls. Often we found ourselves rushing to these places of protection to escape the shrapnel scattering in all directions. On the night of October 6th we were given orders to move at once. Soon we were returning on the road to our rest place on the hillside and while marching along, passed other troops on their way to replace us. We were in better spirits in anticipation of a change. |