A STORY
of
THE 305th MACHINE GUN BATTALION
77th DIVISION
A.E.F.
By
HENRY W. SMITH
Chapter 5
La Panne
CHAPTER V
LA PANNE
"WHEN do we eat" amounted to a theme song
during our first days in La Panne. It was some time
before real American rations started flowing in with any
regularity. We had to look to the British Army for food
supplies and they were unable to cope with the situation.
A slice of bacon, hardtack and cold tea would constitute
a meal and, for a real spread, add to that a piece of
cheese. Marma-lade on a soda biscuit was often served as
dessert. Oh! the daintiness of it! Belts were pulled up a
couple of notches and uniforms hung loosely. About this
time corned willy, in other words, canned corned beef
made its appearance. Not bad at first, but repetition is
some-what wearying.
Drill started on
the Vickers machine gun, which is a water-cooled weapon,
with the names of many parts to be learned. It was also
necessary to have the correction of stoppages become
second nature. How we pounded away at that. Who will ever
forget -if the cocking handle stops in the number one
position, it is a sure sign of a bulged round or a split
case or whatever it was and the old cry "Clearing
plug, number two!" Remember? Do you recall the
operation of the gun? The gases follow the bullet up the
barrel, striking the muzzle attachment and driving the
recoiling portions to the rear, and the seat of ejection
- and the fuzzee spring - and the seer spring - and
repeat all commands - say "UP" when ready - and
ammunition, spare parts and gun all correct, sir - and
the "tile" of the tumbler. Does it all come
back to you? Day in and day out we repeated
"tile" of the tumbler until one day someone
blurted out to our English instructor, "Say, what in
hell is this "tile"? "Tile, tile,"
said he, "You mean you do not know what a tile is?
T-I-I-L, tile." We rolled over on the grass and
kicked up our heels. T-a-i-l is tail and we never again
said "tile". I mentioned before in this story
that these Englishmen did not speak our language. How we
recall those speed drills! It was on this spot,
"Mount Gun", and that spot, "Mount
Gun!" Out of Action, concealment - filling sand bags
- sneaking into action and sneaking out again - packing
the guns on mules and "capturing" villages! It
makes us dizzy to go over it all.
Then there were the
gas masks, flipping them on in 5 seconds and flipping
them off -carrying in the slung position and at the alert
and the English instructor - Sorry, sorry, I said Class
and not gas. There, again they fooled us. Our
instructions in the use and care of the masks were as
complete and thorough as the British could make them
after their years of experience in the war and the
history of gas in its various forms was traced for us
from the time it was introduced into the hostilities by
the Germans. At a distance of about two miles from La
Panne the British Army had erected a small gas house
through which we passed. Windows and doors were sealed
and after adjusting our masks, gas was released from
tanks. After we had the experience of remaining in this
strong concentration of gas the doors were opened to
dispel most of it. Before the room was com-pletely
cleared we were requested to remove our masks in order to
get a sniff of the gas and in this way learned to detect
the odor of chlorine, phosgene and lachrymatory gas, the
latter being commonly called tear gas and, as I recall,
it had an odor of new mown hay. It was calculated that
this gas, by reason of causing tears to flow, would make
a soldier remove his mask and in this way subject him to
the more deadly gases. At another time we had
demonstrated to us a cloud gas attack. This gas was
released in clouds into a breeze blowing directly at us.
At this time the Battalion showed the inherent trait of
the American soldier to think for himself. Instead of
standing fast and adjusting the gas masks for the purpose
of the test, the men walked quietly out of the wind and
allowed the gas to blow harmlessly by, much to the
chagrin of the British officers. We imagine that at
times they thought we were impossible and that we were
not properly impressed. In going to the gas field, one
afternoon, Major Nolan required us to hike the entire
distance with our masks adjusted and, while it was
something of an ordeal, it gave us much needed practice
in wearing the masks for long periods. Later we handled
the machine guns while wearing the masks and at other
times were required to wear them for as much as an hour,
becoming accustomed to conversing under that handicap. It
all helped to equip us for the long periods we were later
to be called upon to wear the masks in the front lines.
I might pause here,
for a moment, to say that the Battalion was under the
command of Major Daniel Nolan who had succeeded Major
Winnia, the original commander.
The fields of
France were intensely cultivated and we were required to
keep to the roads when executing close order formations.
There was a field, however, not far distant that was set
aside for our use in machine gun work and was designated
as the Battalion drill field. How well we recall the
small children in their mufflers and smocks who stood at
the side of the road and watched us march back and forth
each day. They would call Vive I'Amerique! Cigarette!
Cigarette ! Souvenir, etc. It was at the Battalion drill
field that the British demonstrated their skill in
putting four machine guns into action against us without
being detected. They did not entirely succeed, however,
as some of our men caught sight of them. We had to crawl
all over the place ourselves doing the same thing.
The village of La
Panne is about fifteen kilometers away from the town of
St. Omer which was in the British lines and not far
distant from Kemmel Hill. The hill changed hands several
times, from the Canadians to the Germans and back again
and it is a place that will live forever in the memories
of the troops who survived the fighting at that point. We
were not in the lines here but got the stories from
Canadian soldiers who occasionally brought horses from
the front to be rested and cleaned at a small remount
depot at the neighboring village of Nordausque. For days
on end we could hear the terrific cannonading. It was one
long, continuous rumble and, at times, especially at
night, it was enough to frazzle a man's nerves. Toward
evening the road to St. Omer, which ran through the
village of Nordausque, would become active with fresh
British and Canadian troops going up and weary troops
coming out. How we stood by the sides of the road and
watched the motorcycle couriers speed by, and columns of
artillery rumble along! Not far distant, over the hill,
there was an aeroplane field and we used to watch the
planes that had been up over the lines come winging to
earth like great, tired birds. There was indeed enough
here, more than enough to satisfy those of a romantic
turn of mind. We used to wonder when it would come our
turn to join the caravan.
For quite a while
Call to Quarters sounded at 8:45 with Taps at 9:00
o'clock. The M.P.s would make the rounds of the
Estaminets to start the stragglers back to billets. It
happened later that Call to Quarters was changed to 9:45
with taps at 10:00 o'clock and the Battalion received the
order before the M.P.s. When they started doing their
chasing at 8:45 as usual, we stood fast. The M.P.s
doubted us, as they naturally would, being M.P.s, when we
told them of the change and upon inquiring of their own
headquarters, they learned of the new order. How we
gloated, and stood around for an additional hour when we
would much rather have been tucked away.
One night, long after taps,
when only the steady snoring could be heard in the billets, a certain C
Company man started things going by coming in a very happy condition. He
picked his way over the men to his bunk and, while he was preparing for
sleep, he serenaded the bunch with his full rich tenor. The sergeant in
charge of the billet, who was nicknamed "The Beast", commanded him to "
pipe down", but requesting, commanding and threatening could not make
him refrain from his singing. He said that if the sergeant thought he
was noisy to wait until the rest of the gang came along. We did not have
long to wait until the strains of "Sweet Adeline" greeted our ears. One
of the group was a corporal quartered with us and we soon saw his huge
bulk in the doorway, outlined against the sky. We must give him his due
by saying he had quieted down and was not noisy. His bunk was well
across the billet and as he peered into the darkness he scratched his
head and wondered how he was going to make it. It did not take him long
to decide and he had consideration enough to take
off his hob-nailed shoes. Straightening up he said,
"Here I come men". Straight across the billet
he flew, landing on a foot here, a stomach there and then
again right in a man's face. The air was full of grunts,
shouts and curses but the bold bad corporal got to where
he wanted to go and did not waste any time corking off.
We could see the face of the enraged sergeant even
through the darkness.
For quite a while
after our arrival in La Panne it was often wondered how
the term "Sunny France" originated. Day after
day it rained. At times the sun broke through but it
seemed as though we would never have a full day of
sunshine and we sloshed around in mud with great clods of
the sticky French soil clinging to our shoes. The weather
was very fitful and in one day we could experience
changes ranging from a bleak winter's day to the bright
warmth of summer. It would be bitingly cold, moderate,
snow, turn to rain, blow a March gale, the sun break
through, only to disappear in a short time and black,
showery clouds whirl across the sky. It was anything but
comfortable and was very discouraging. Apart from a few
men contracting heavy colds and rheumatism, the health of
the men was surprisingly good. One C Company man was
confined to his billet with a bad case of rheumatism and
was finally removed to a hospital. Good old Frank Lawson,
our Chaplain, made his rounds of the billets regularly,
holding informal religious services on Sunday mornings
and there were, no doubt, many silent prayers for better
weather. To add to our woes, a detail returned to Calais
for our transport equipment, that is, horses, mules,
rolling field kitchens, limbers, G.S. (General Service)
wagons, etc.
There was no place
available where animals could be placed under cover and
they were tethered to a long rope stretched between poles
and known as the picket line. Guard duty at this time was
divided into three divisions; billet guard, limber guard
and stable guard. Limber guard was comparatively easy as
it entailed patrolling only the area where the limbers
were placed for the night.
Billet guard
required a man to make the rounds of all the billets
twice from retreat to reveille to see that everything was
in order and particularly to guard against fire that
might perhaps smolder and burst into flame during the
night. The billets were really tinder and, as they were
filled with straw, a carelessly dropped cigarette stub or
match could prove disastrous. During our entire time in
La Panne, about six weeks, we never had any trouble in
that direction. Wander-ing along, alone on the roads,
unarmed, in the darkness, with no sound save the distant,
ceaseless rumbling of the guns in the lines, was rather
an awe-inspiring job. Billet guards were later doubled
and it helped a good deal to have a companion. At a still
later time guards were issued the British Lee Enfield
rifles but nothing to put into them. About the first time
the guards carried rifles, Captain Roelker, of A Company,
was Officer of the Day. Making his rounds in the night,
he was halted and identified. Peering through the
darkness and not knowing the arms had been issued, he
asked, "Are you men carrying rifles?"
"Yes, sir." - "Ammunition?"
-"No, sir." - "Well," he said,
"I suppose a rifle would make a good club
anyway." And how he laughed.
Stable guard was
about the toughest job of the lot, not excepting Kitchen
Police. Any man who has chased horses and mules all over
the fields all night will admit that he earned his
month's pay in one night. Tie the animals to the picket
line with the best kind of a knot and they got loose just
the same. It will always remain their secret. What a
sweet job it was in an air raid. The animals would break
in all directions, going positively wild. Incidentally,
we learned about swearing from mule skinners, the drivers
who handled the brutes all day. Add to the general
excitement of catching frightened horses and mules, the
roar of anti-aircraft guns, exploding shrapnel shells,
the shrapnel dropping to earth, the steady hum, hum, hum
of the German aeroplane somewhere in the sky, with
countless searchlights penetrating the blackness trying
to locate the plane at the ends of the long fingers of
light and then suddenly the deafening roar of the
released bombs from the German plane. Occasionally one
was brought down but, generally, the steady hum growing
fainter, ever fainter, would signify he had succeeded in
getting away. The British troops used to say there is
nothing like an air raid to get a man's wind up and we
agree with them. All would become quiet again and we
would get back to sleep but off in the dark soggy fields
the stable guard would still be chasing horses.
There is nothing
one can do in an air raid but lie and wait. Looking for
shelter was of no use for a direct hit meant the end. It
has been ably said that a bomb-proof shelter was
bomb-proof until hit by a bomb. We had more than enough
of air raids in La Panne as the Germans were constantly
seeking to bomb an ammunition dump at Audrique. We watched with dread
the rocket signals float into the sky. When a plane crossed the front
line a rocket was fired and it was repeated at intervals all the way
back so that by the time the galloping hum of the German plane came
to our ears, all would be in readiness. It was during
one of these raids that an anti-aircraft shell dropped
through the house where Lieutenant Duddy of C Company was
billeted. Fortunately is was a shell that, through some
defect, was prevented from exploding. Crashing through
the roof, missing the Lieutenant's cot by about six feet,
it pierced the floors of the house and buried itself in
the ground. It seemed to be an ill omen, however, as
Lieutenant Duddy, a fine, upstanding man was later one of
the first of C Company to make the supreme sacrifice.
The air raids
continued to occur on clear nights and gradually we
became indifferent to them. Fortune smiled upon us so far
as the weather was concerned for as we approached the
month of May we were favored with many days of sunshine.
Our rations improved, too, and things at last seemed to
be coming our way. It was at about this time that we
began to learn who the champions of the Second line were.
After the Company had been fed, if any food remained, the
cooks shouted to line up for seconds as far as the
remainder of the food would go. The cooks didn't have to
do much shouting, as the line was generally pretty well
formed and waiting. It seems that in every company it was
the same bunch all the time. How they were able to
consume the first helping so quickly and be waiting for
more was a mystery. It apparently required rare skill to
be first on the second line. In other words to be the
first second if we make ourselves clear. "Second
Hounds" we used to call them.
Earlier in our
story we mentioned the lad from the backwoods who did not
seem to know what it was all about. The Battalion was
barely settled comfortably in La Panne when word came
that he was missing. We were not particularly ex6ited
about that but one afternoon a message was received from
the British M.P. Headquarters at Calais that they had one
of our men and requested that someone be sent for him.
Two men made a hitch hike back to Calais and sure enough
they had our little country boy. He had gone AWOL up to
the British lines and from the information he was able to
give had reached the support line trenches. Not being
satisfied with that, he desired to go farther forward
and, climbing out of that series of trenches, found his
way above ground to the front line. He was taken back to
Calais in an airplane and was therefore a couple of jumps
ahead of the rest of the outfit. He was very much
disturbed to think that he was being detained so long in
France and said that he ought to be home getting in the
crops. If he had a bicycle he would have gone home and
when asked how he hoped to ride across the ocean on that,
he said he would ride around it. A couple of the men
tried to cut off the moustache he had raised but they
found him to be a rugged boy. After the struggle was over
he still had his moustache. There wasn't much time wasted
on him, however, and he was sent away for observation.
Each time he came back he was promptly sent away and the
last we heard of him he had been returned to the States.
Our time was fully
occupied during the day but after mess, at the end of the
day, we had several hours of daylight and we crowded a
good deal of fun into those hours. Saturday afternoons
and Sun-days were usually leisure periods and we visited
such nearby places as Recques and Licques. British
soldiers were quartered at these places and at the
Recques encampment the boys could buy ale. The road to
Recques became well worn. At Licques we visited a British
Y.M.C.A. canteen, where we listened to stories of the war
and drank the hot chocolate tank dry much to the
annoyance of the Tommies.
Apart from the fun
we made ourselves, there wasn't much entertainment in La
Panne and, therefore, when we received an invitation to a
performance of the Tivolis we lost no time in being on
hand. The theatre was an old barn over at Recques and the
footlights were candles in tin can reflectors. The
Tivolis, as they called themselves, was a group of
British soldiers of all rank, apparently men who at some
time had been identified with the theatrical profession
and it was their duty to furnish entertainment for the
soldiers. Ability in a theatrical way was not the only
requirement; every man of the troupe had to show that he
had been over the top at least once. The barn was
darkened and, f or a couple of hours, we lost ourselves
to the outside world. Who can forget such songs as
"I Want a Cup of Cocoa" and "Good
Bye"? A skit called "The Leftenant Colonel and
his Batman" was a very funny bit. It was shortly
after the show was over that we came face to face, on the
road, with the Leftenant Colonel who was actually a
captain and where but a few moments before we were
laughing at his antics we had to snap into it with a
smart salute.
There were two days
that we liked to see come around and they could not come
often enough for us. One was mail day and the other was
payday. It was great to receive mail from home and to
appreciate what letters meant to us one need only to see
a lad who did not receive a letter. The folks at home
were certainly loyal and faithful and when it comes to
the old question of who won the war, we can give credit
to them because they were right behind us all the time
and never failed us. Pay day was something else, again,
and in our mind's eye we can still see the old huddled
groups in the barnyards watching the "galloping
dominoes" and the old familiar cry "Come on my
lucky lads, get your money down." We do not mean to
imply that the entire Battalion put its pay into the
great African game. Not at all, a lot of the men drank up
their pay while others ate it, if you follow us.
Once, when things
were not going so well, the officers took us to task
about it and said we should be more like the Infantry
regiments and sing while hiking. On the particular day we
have in mind we sang all right. We can still see old
Lieutenant (Foxy) Gorham as he was affectionately
referred to. As he stood at the side of the road watching
the Company swing out, he got the songs as soon as the
command "Route Step" had been given. He was
greeted with such songs as "All We Do Is Sign the
Payroll" and "We'll Hoist Old Glory to the Top
of the Pole" and "All Re-enlist in the Pig's
Whiskers". He tried to retain his dignity but, being
a regular "guy", he let out his old familiar
guffaw. Those were the days!
We now come to a
time that stands out in the memories of all old 305th
Machine Gunners - of the entire Division for that matter.
We refer to the Watten Hike or as we call it the Battle
of Watten. Now, the town of Watten wasn't and for that
matter is not today of any great importance so far as its
size is concerned but it was the terminus of one long,
hard hike on a beastly warm day and it is often referred
to when men of the old Division get together. So far as
our Battalion is concerned, we can still see that dogged
determination as the men tramped, tramped, tramped
steadily onward. Did they kick? Did they complain? Yes,
we'll say they did but show us an American soldier who
hasn't grunted and fumed. The old Battalion went along
just the same though with nary a man falling out and they
finished in great shape. The last long mile or so up to
the town was a steady climb and coming, as it did, right
at the finish, it was a heart-breaker. Without mentioning
any names, we will tell you about this famous old Battle
of Watten from the viewpoint of one of the men who
happened to be called for K.P. that day. He was awakened
by the guard at 3:00 A.M. and shortly thereafter reported
for duty at the kitchen. There was plenty to be done and
not to burden you with too many details, suffice it to
say that the Company was fed, utensils cleaned up, dinner
on the fire and we stood ready to pull out by 7:00 A.M.
We had not proceeded more than about half a mile when the
horses shied at something, swerving the kitchen into a
rut and it parted at the point where the rear end
containing the cooking food is attached to the limber by
a hook and eye arrangement. As the rear portion up-ended
the fire fell onto the road and the water rushed from the
pots or dixies, as they were called. All hands made a
leap for the pole and dragged it down to its horizontal
position, coupling up again. The fire was shoveled up and
a survey disclosed that there was enough water on the
beans to keep them from burning. With a rapid march the
kitchen force caught up to the Company and at the first
brook the K.P.s filled the dixies with water. Every time
the Company stopped for the usual ten-minute rest the
kitchen force juggled the dixies. K.P.s and cooks were
carrying full packs the same as the Company and it was
not until about half the distance had been covered that
permission was given to throw the packs on a limber.
There was not much rest for the boys in the kitchens
during the ten -minute stops.
The men in the
Infantry regiments seemed to be carrying unusual weight
in their packs and eventually we passed a group that had
fallen out. It was reported that several had actually
died. An investigation later developed the fact that
practically all of them were still clinging to knitted
articles made by loving hands at home and orders were
issued to discard everything that had not been sup-plied
by the Government. There were many completely fitted
toilet sets, razors of various makes and so on and what a
neat pile it made in the Watten Woods. The British
soldiers lost no time helping them-selves. It was a very
trying march and we were fortunate in not being burdened
with rifles and bayonets as were the Infantrymen. The day
was drawing to a close when we reached the woods beyond
the town of Watten. The companies pitched tents and were
not long in getting settled. The job for the kitchen men
was not quite so simple as the old familiar cry of
"When do we cat?" was soon filling the air.
Getting water fit to drink was always a problem in France
and for several minutes we did not know where we were to
get water for coffee. We were advised that we could get a
supply about three- quarters of a mile down the road and
by four men abreast carrying three dixies we were able to
get enough water to serve a cup three- quarters full to
each man. There was a kick at that but no one
volunteered to make a trip for more water. The Company
was fed at about nine o'clock and the K.P.s finished up
at ten. It was indeed a long, weary day and at about the
time they were ready to pitch their tent the platoon, to
which the K.P.s in question were attached, received
orders to pack up. Luck was with that platoon, however,
as a messenger overtook the lieutenant in charge before
we had gone more than a hundred yards through the woods,
to advise him that the orders had been changed and to
return. It was welcome news and it was a pair of tired,
tired K.P.s that lay down in a pup tent that night. From
three in the morning to ten at night is a long day. It
was not to be a peaceful night, however, as Jerry came
over on one of his usual air raids. Jerry, by the way, if
we have not mentioned it before, was the enemy. Heinies,
Boche, Huns and Krauts were other names, but to the
Tommies, the enemy was Jerry and Jerry he remained. We
learned the Germans were seeking to bomb an ammunition
dump at St. Omer. Lying there in the woods we watched the
play of the searchlights as they shone, for a moment, on
the underside of the enemy plane like a huge gray bird.
The plane would be held in the light for a m6ment only to
be lost and the lights would resume their search. During
all this there was the ceaseless bombardment of the
anti-aircraft guns that we have described elsewhere. The
enemy seemed to have met with some success on this raid
as the bombs apparently found their mark, judging by the
heavy blast off some-where in the distance and the red
glare in the sky. Elements of the Battalion were deployed
in battle formation, holding positions throughout the
night and we were glad to see the sun the next morning.
The Battalion was
assembled at an early hour and started its long march
back to La Panne. Near Eperlecques we swung off into a
field where we were subjected to the same show-down
inspection that the infantry had undergone. All articles
not issued by the Government were discarded and while
many of us parted regretfully with things we had
cherished, our packs were less cumbersome and the
inspection was really a good thing. Later in our
experience as soldiers we learned a good deal more about
travelling light and we gave some sound advice to
replacements who were chary about discarding surplus
equipment because they were charged with it. "Ditch
it" and "Give it the air" were popular
expressions.
At last we were
back in La Panne and as we flung ourselves into the straw
of the old billets we had a feeling of being home. Not
that home was actually like that, but it was the next
best thing to it. During our night in the Watten Woods we
had a vague feeling of being close to some real action
and we learned that we had really been in reserve behind
Arras, one of the most active points of the British lines
at that time. Shortly after our return to La Panne the
British Lee Enfield rifles were issued to the entire
Battalion and for the first time many of the men found
themselves face to face with the good old American Manual
of Arms. Side arms had not been issued to us and up to
this time our only weapons had been the machine guns and
fists for minor local engagements. It did not take our
outfit very long to master the manual and we doubt that
the boys in the Infantry could have shown us up at the
game. We did not feel comfortable with rifles, however,
as we felt like fish out of water. Handling a rifle
wasn't our game as we always thought in terms of a
machine gun. We, of course, were operating under the
British system which required every machine gunner to
carry a rifle in addition to which an extra rifle was
always kept at each machine gun emplacement. Practice on
the ranges brought to light many excellent riflemen in
each company.
We often wondered
how long we were to remain in La Panne. A spirit of
"Let's Go" seemed to run through the outfit.
The day was not far distant when we were to move out of
the old village never to return to it as we had done from
Watten. It was well toward the end of May that we were to
see elements of the 30th National Guard Division trudging
into the area and not many days after that, we moved from
the old village of La Panne that we had come to feel
belonged to us. We hiked into another locality and the
names of such places as Hardinghem, Hemelingen and Hamel
come readily to mind. Our sojourn in this area was of
short duration. Came the day when we turned in our
British equipment to start one of the longest three-day
marches of our career. Starting about mid-day, we tramped
steadily throughout the long hot afternoon and when a
halt was called along toward dusk we felt that we had
done a good day's work. The halt however was only for
mess and, with that over, we were on the way again.
Gradually we settled into the grind, eyes becoming fixed
on the rhythmic rise and fall of the hob-nailed shoes of
the man ahead. The Battalion was leap-frogged, first one
company leading and setting the pace and then another.
If, perchance, the pace slackened it was "Pull over
and let a good company get up there". Through the
long hours of the night we pushed onward and, at times,
we seemed to be going directly to the front as the
flashing of the guns reddened the sky. It was, perhaps,
somewhere around two o'clock in the morning when we
forded a brook ankle-deep, to be halted in a field just
beyond. It had been a long, dusty march and we pitched
tents or bivouacked as we chose.
It was a weary, weary Battalion that flung itself to the
ground that night, No one was called for guard duty and
while that was wondered about, we did not ask questions.
We found out about that later when one of the men, roused
from his sleep, discovered that one of the officers was
doing guard alone without disturbing the men. With a
blanket wrapped about him he remained awake and was seen
sitting by a small fire. That officer was First
Lieutenant Allan E. Foster. He rode a horse the next day
and got what sleep he could in the saddle. For three days
we pounded the hard white roads of France without the
loss of a man. We reached the village of Wamin
eventually, where we pitched tents in a field with the
boys of the 305th Infantry. After a short stay at Wamin,
another hike carried us to the railhead at a place called
Hesden. An advance detail had loaded our supply wagons
and animals and it was not long before we were ordered
into the box cars, the famous 40 and S's that we have
already described. Now, forty men or eight horses is one
thing, but with some of us it was twenty-two men in one
end of the car and four horses in the other. It was
something of a thrill sitting on the floor of the car
doing fire guard with four animals blinking at you in the
dim light of a lantern. If the train stopped suddenly,
they lurched forward and one had visions of being
trampled to death. The loading completed, the signal was
given that everything was ready and, with a long screech
as only a French locomotive can screech, the train moved
out. We were off again to parts unknown.