CHAPTER II

Voyage-France-Training.

The next morning, Sept. 24, 1917, as the boys came on deck, all that could be seen were the ships of the convoy. Early in the morning one of the transports developed engine trouble and returned, but the others, the Henderson, and Antillus, as well as our boat, the Finland, 12,870 tons, 14 knots and having four 4′′ guns aboard, continued on.

The transports were accompanied by the Tanker Maumee, the cruiser San Diego, and three destroyers. Guards were posted at different stations throughout the transport, some fellows even being assigned to the "crow's nest." Orders were issued that nothing was to be thrown overboard during the day, because if the men on a submarine for instance, orange peelings on the water, they would know that a ship was not a great distance away. At night no one was allowed to smoke, and all lights were to be kept out, unless absolutely necessary. In that case, they were to be covered in such a way that no light could be seen by submarines.

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Lifeboat drill was given every day, everyone proceeding to his own boat, without running or disorder. We were then assigned positions in the boats and told where to row in case of leaving the ship. We were each issued life-preservers, which we had to carry with us continuously.

September 25th found many of the boys at the railing of the ship, not caring whether the ship sank or not. Others played cards, read, etc. In the afternoon the usual boat-drill was held. When time came to "dine," each battery was given a certain time to go. Several times during the day a destroyer left for a few minutes to investigate something that was sighted in the distance. Everything was to be reported that was sighted, even a soap-box, for who could tell but that soap-box was a mine?

The food was very poor, usually, and consisted of rice, prunes, fish or "horse"-meat, with coffee like mud.

On September 26th, a sailor on the San Diego was washed overboard. Like a shot another sailor was in the water after him. A boat put out and took the two men aboard the cruiser, and she continued on

her way.

September 27th found most of the boys over their sea-sickness, having found their sea-legs. Our Battery-barber, Daniel Gray, opened up his shop on deck, and many of the boys took advantage of it. About noon a ship was sighted and like a flash a destroyer went to it, circled around twice and returned with the information that it was a boat running from Holland to America.

On September 28th, 1917, we were informed that we had entered what was known as the war-zone, and so a number of extra guards were posted. An observation-balloon went up on the San Diego to watch for submarines, etc. Of course, the usual army rumors were in circulation such as: "a school of submarines were waiting for us a few miles ahead," and, "at Wall St. betting was ten to one we didn't get there." We were told that because of the fact that the captain of our transport had taken so many Allied troops safely to France from Canada, the Germans had put a large sum of money up for the submarine crew that could get him.

About 10.30 on the morning of September 29th, the destroyers chased an object said to have been a submarine, but which proved to be

a tramp steamer. In the afternoon a fire and a life-boat drill was held, followed by calisthenics on the promenade-deck, that being the only time, with the exception of going to meals, that we were allowed there.

On Sunday, September 30th, services were held in the wells of the transport, by Chaplain Stackpole. Most of the fellows attended.

We had now been abroad one week, which was, in the opinion of most of the fellows, one week too long.

October 1st, we were said to be a few hundred miles from the coast of Spain. During the afternoon another tramp ship was sighted. After dark an entertainment was given in the wells by several boys of the regiment. Our Battery was represented by John E. Collins of Andover in songs,' and Royal K. Hayes of Dracut, in readings. The Regimental band gave a number of selections which the boys enjoyed very much.

On October 2nd, the life-boats were lowered to the railing, and orders were issued that life-belts must be, not only carried, but worn, at all times.

October 3rd, found us in very rough seas. We were told that we were now in the Bay of Biscay, with only a few more days sailing. Every morning we were told to get up an hour earlier because we were then in very dangerous water, and the submarines do most of their work either at sunrise or sunset.

On October 4th, we were met by destroyers from France of the U. S. Navy, so those that were with the cruiser turned back, no doubt to meet another convoy.

On Friday, October 5th, at about 9.45 A. M. land was sighted, and a short time afterwards we passed Belle Isle, the famous submarine base. Naval planes came to meet us, circling around the transports, and then going to land. We anchored and waited for high tide. During the afternoon we set sail again, up the Loire River into St. Nazaire in Brittany, getting in about 6 P. M. (ship time). Then we saw the French people, soldiers in their blue uniforms, a few Americans with them, a number of civilians dressed mostly in black, and a large number of children giving us, in their own quaint way, a welcome. We also saw German prisoners for the first time. Hundreds were working at the docks. They looked at us in amazement, as if to say, "How did you get by our submarines?" The large number of Ford machines running around surprised us, for we thought we had seen the last in America.

That night, when we looked at the captain of the transport, his relief at having safely landed his cargo of human lives, was very evident. All the way across he was never seen to smile but that night he wore

a big smile and his eyes shone brightly, seeming to say, "Well, that's another trip to my credit and another bit towards defeating the Huns."

We stayed aboard that night, and the next day, October 6th, we unloaded our barrack-bags, officer's trunks, etc. In the afternoon we went for a march to the camp to which we had been assigned. This march was very acceptable to all. We had been aboard the boat so long that it did us good. That night a certain percentage of the boys were given a few hours leave from the boat.

On October 7th we took our rolls, and marched to our camp, where we found other American troops, among them the Marines, some Engineers and Ambulance men, and a unit from the University of California. Details began immediately, and the next day a number were detailed to help unload the transport Pennsylvania. All along the beach were hundreds of boxes containing Ford ambulances which had not been put together.

The next few days were spent in drilling. The rain poured down making us all feel miserable. Even our barracks leaked, so a number of the boys pitched their pup-tents inside, but this did not prevent our sleeping in puddles.

Another day was spent unloading transport. Fords and parts of Baldwin Locomotives were among the things taken off. Then details began on a reservoir to which we were taken in trucks. This proved very hard work, due greatly to the small amount of food we received at that time.

On Sunday, October 14th, a great many of the boys were given passes to visit St. Nazaire, while those who didn't went to the Y. M. C. A. to write letters, etc. During the day three hundred and fifty Ford Ambulances, driven by Americans, left for the front. In the afternoon our battery baseball team played the Marines and succeeded in defeating them.

On October 15th we worked again at the reservoir. We went home early so that we might carry out the order that all men must take a bath. Everyone was checked off after he had taken his bath. The water was ice-cold, and those who did not catch cold, felt the better for it.

The next day we again worked on the reservoir. We wondered why we had to do it, and were informed that until a larger number of troops arrived, we, who were already there, must be engineers, stevedoors, or whatever was needed. After returning from work at night we were issued automatic pistols.

On October 17th we marched to the depot at St. Nazaire and

entrained. After travelling for thirteen hours in box cars, better known as “Sidedoor Pullmans," we arrived at Guer, where we got into French trucks and were taken to Camp Cœtquidan, called by Napoleon the Camp of Death, because of the number of men he lost there, through sickness. It was about sixty miles from St. Nazaire, and about twenty miles from Rennes. We rolled in our blankets at midnight. About four A. M. we heard the booming of guns, so we thought we must be near the front, but we found it was French guns firing out on the

camp range.

When we heard the whistles for us to get up, we thought the army had gone to pieces for it was almost half past seven in the morning! After breakfast some mail that came over with us was given out and then we looked over the camp. At one end was the 101st F. A. which had left Boxford just a short while before us. We saw hundreds of Germans working on stables, etc., and also a number of French Infantry. At several places we could purchase bread and jam for a few cents. At the conclusion of our inspection, it was the general opinion that the camp had not been remodelled much since Napoleon left.

Drills began immediately on the famous French "75's," and on October 24th the battery fired its first shot on the range. The 103rd F. A. had now arrived and had barracks near ours. At night we were allowed to go to the edge of the camp where there were stores and cafes. We never saw so much mud before in all our lives. Everywhere there seemed to be mud. One fellow said, "Who ever called this country 'Sunny France'? I should call it 'Muddy France'."

The prisoners thought we were English in disguise, because, they said, we "could never get by their submarines."

A Private in the United States Army gets more pay than a French Lieutenant. Prices began to advance rapidly, the people, no doubt, getting the idea that we must be millionaires.

On October 25th we were lined up and inspected by General Pershing, accompanied by several American and French Generals with their staffs.

On October 28th Mass was celebrated, and at the rudely constructed altar worshipped American, French, and even Germans, watched by guards with fixed bayonets. Services were held for those of the other creeds in one of the barracks.

We had now received a large number of French horses, and here our troubles began. The horses were put in pairs, and three pairs were hitched to each gun or caisson*. Perhaps the driver of the "lead" pair was formerly a clerk, the "swing" driver a painter, and the "wheel" a