History of Ambulance Company Number 139

CITATIONS AND CASUALTIES

The fact that some of the men of Ambulance Company 139 were cited, does not indicate that they were more courageous or devoted to duty than those not so mentioned. The work of the entire company showed an efficiency, and disregard for personal danger, of the very highest order. Many acts of individual heroism passed unnoticed. The following is an extract from General Order No. 82, October 14th, Hqs. 35th Division:

"The Division Commander takes pleasure in citing in General Orders, the following named officers and enlisted men for effective, efficient and courageous work during the six days' battle from September 26th to October 1st, 1918."

Private Glen B. Smith, M. D., Ambulance Co. 139, September 29th, near Chaudron Farm. For remaining under continuous shell and machine gun fire for a considerable time more than required by his orders, caring for the wounded under the most intense shell and machine gun fire.

Sergeant Junior Briggs, M.D., Ambulance Co. 139, September 29th, near Chaudron Farm. For remaining under continuous shell and machine gun fire for a considerable time more than required by his orders, caring for the wounded under the most intense shell and machine gun fire.

Private Lloyd Richmond, M.D., Ambulance Co. 139, September 29th, near Chaudron Farm. On account of artillery and machine gun fire, Private Richmond remained at his post and cared for the wounded until he was himself wounded by a shell which killed two other wounded men.

Sergeant Kenneth W. Pringle, M.D., Ambulance Co. 139, September 28th and 29th this non-commissioned officer, of his own accord and under extremely heavy shell fire, found and evacuated many wounded.

First Lieutenant Richard T. Speck, M.D., Ambulance Co. 139, September 30th, near Charpentry. For effective, efficient and courageous work in collecting wounded in the field north of Charpentry with detachment of mule drawn ambulances, under heavy artillery and machine gun fire and repeated aeroplane attacks.

First Lieutenant Bret V. Bates, M.D., Ambulance Co. 139, September 30th, near Charpentry. For efficient, effective and courageous work in the open field with a detachment of mule drawn ambulances under heavy artillery and machine gun fire.

Sergeant 1st Class Charles G. Rowland, M. D., Ambulance Co. 139, September 29th near Charpentry. While his company was on the march from Charpentry to Varennes, Sergeant Rowland stopped to attend a truck driver who had been struck by a shell. Disregarding all personal danger, he passed through a curtain of artillery fire and dressed the wounded man. During the four days at the dressing station, the work of Sergeant Rowland was of the highest order of efficiency.

The following men in the detachment of Ambulance Company 139, 110th Sanitary Train, for courage and devotion to duty under intense fire while acting as litter bearers on the morning of September 30th, 1918:

Casualties – Ambulance Company 139, during the five days in the Argonne with our own division, and the forty-eight hours attached to the First Division, came out of battle without a death. Private Lloyd Richmond, on the night of September 29th, while taking care of some wounded men under intense shell and machine gun fire at Chaudron Farm, was wounded in seven different places.

The following named men were gassed while attached to the First Division at Charpentry:

Lt. George Monteith, Sgt. Clarence Falconer, Pvt. Edward DeTalent, Pvt. Wilson Meyers, Lt. Bret V. Bates, Sgt. Ernest Stalcup, Pvt. Kenneth S. Brown, Pvt. Jesse Dennis, Pvt. Lester A. Brogan, Pvt. Jesse Casteel, Pvt. William Peterson, Pvt. Rollo C. Dugan.

THE STAY IN VAUBECOURT

On coming from the Argonne offensive on October 5th, the Sanitary Train moved to Vaubecourt, a city whose blocks of ruins told plainer than words the story of its bombardment in the earlier days of the war. But, complete as was the destruction of some parts of the city other parts escaped harm, and in this quarter we found a comfortable home in a large barn, well equipped with bunks.

The memory of our stay in Vaubecourt to most of us is not a pleasant one. Sick, tired, hungry, dirty, clothing torn and stained with mud and blood, and equipment lost, the men of our company certainly did not have the appearance of spic and span soldiers of Uncle Sam. A few hours of rest, with good food and plenty of soap and water did much to better conditions, but the effects of the previous days at the front were not at once thrown off. Sickness prevailed, hardly a man escaping it in some degree, and the number sent each day to the hospital was probably the largest at any time in the history of the company. Here for the first time in months, we heard the once famous sound of the bugle, the companies standing all calls.

But in the midst of this, there was one day of our Vaubecourt stay that stood out as one of the brightest in our experience. It was the day the news arrived that Germany, surrounded by an unbreakable band of fire and steel, and realizing the inevitable, had asked for peace terms. To us who had just emerged from the horrors of the Argonne, the news seemed like the first streak of morning light shining through the darkness. However, the constant rumbling of the distant artillery and the steady procession of aeroplanes overhead, kept us from becoming too optimistic. Yet the feeling seemed to remain that it was the beginning of the end, and that peace could not be far distant.

The fact that the Hun was at last, not asking, but begging for a cessation of hostilities, in the name of her people, gave us renewed spirits. We were further cheered by the fact that the entire Sanitary Train had been commended for its work in the Argonne by our own Divisional Commander, as well as by the Commanding General of the division that relieved us. The work in battle had been without fault, but at this time we were informed that discipline was very lax, and instead of the much needed rest, we were put through a period of training which lasted until the division relieved a division of French in a sector north of Verdun.

THE VERDUN FRONT

While at Vaubecourt we received word that we were to go to the front again, and that news surprised us not a little, because of the fact that we had only been out of the Argonne some two weeks.

On October 15th, the division occupied a new sector east of Verdun, extending from near Fresnes to Eix. As usual, Ambulance Company 139 took position near the front lines, to evacuate the division. On October 16th, headquarters of the company was located at Fontaine Brilliante, a very beautifully situated triage near Somme-Dieue. This triage evidently had been a most busy place during the great drive on Verdun in 1916. Immense Red Crosses were painted on the tops of the various buildings, and two very ingenious Red Crosses were constructed upon the hillside, of small red and white stones. These were placed there to protect the triage from Boche airplanes.

Immediately upon arrival at Fontaine Brilliante, Lt. Monteith, with a detachment of twenty-six men, started to the front and established a dressing station at Deramee. Two cooks were with the detachment, and a kitchen was set up in the same building with the dressing station. Rations were drawn from the first battalion of the 110th Engineers and it was not a rare thing to have hot cakes for breakfast. In the kitchen was a wire cage which could be locked, and which looked for all the world like a large rat trap. One night the cooks had written several letters to their wives and put them into this cage and locked it. The rats, which had already carried away some very sizable articles, including dippers, frying pans and what-nots, got the letters out of the cage in some magic way that night, and to this day those two cooks are marveling at the cleverness of French rats.

Litter and ambulance posts were placed at Tunis, Bellvue Farm and Joffre. There were a few camps near, which were merely billeting places for soldiers in reserve, and for supply organizations of the line troops. They were all in easy shelling distance for the Germans, in fact, Deramee was so close to the lines that one could hear the report of the guns an instant before the shells would come over.

The forts around Verdun were very interesting. There were two within two kilometres of Deramee, one named Fort Deramee, and the other Fort Roselier. These forts were situated on points commanding a view of all the surrounding country. They were neatly concealed from aerial observation, and one might easily walk squarely into one before he noticed it. They were most formidably constructed of reinforced concrete, and were built deep into the ground. Some were encircled by a moat over which were heavy draw bridges, and beyond the moat a mass of barbed wire entanglements encircled the entire defense. There were over forty of these forts around Verdun, all garrisoned by the French. A look at these mighty bulwarks told at once why the Germans could not pass.

On October 8th, another section to the north, extending to Vaux, was taken over by the division, and another dressing station, in charge of Lt. Vardon with fifteen men, was established at Vaux. At first dependence was placed upon four G. M. C. ambulances of Ambulance Co. 138 to do all of the evacuating, but later S. S. U. 526 was assigned for this work. All cases were taken to Field Hospital 139, at Fontaine Brilliante.

Some mention of the old battlefield near Vaux must be made. Fort Vaux was taken by the Germans after a fierce and uninterrupted cannonading lasting from March 12th to April 9th, 1916. Fort Avocourt and the Mort-Homme also succumbed to the terrific onslaught of the Hun on April 10th. After five months of furious fighting, in which the Germans lost over a half million men, the French retook these important positions. Just back from the dressing station an eighth of a mile is a famous hill of the Verdun battle. A look at this barren hill filled one with awe, for there isn't a tree, not even a stump, standing, and not a square foot of ground that has not been torn by shell fire. The ground is simply pulverized. There are helmets (French and German), old rifles, cart wheels, unexploded shells, clothing and most everything in the line of war equipment lying around on the ground, just as it was left after that terrible struggle. Bones of every part of the human body could be found in almost any numbers. One could pick up a helmet with a skull in it, or a shoe with the bones of a foot in it. Standing at the bottom of this hill, one could look up at the head of the valley and see a German battery, sitting just as it had been deserted after her defeat in 1916. The wood that was brought in from the fallen timber was literally filled with shrapnel.

The Vaux detail, when not busy, spent most of its time seeing the many interesting places, even though at times it was a bit dangerous. From the hill back of the dressing station one could see the Germans shelling Ft. Douamont, two miles away. A very strange impression it left on one, too. First the report of the German guns would be heard, and in an instant the shell would burst near the fort, throwing dirt and rock high into the air. Then the sound of the shell, which had already bursted, could be heard going through the air.

While there were not many casualties through Vaux, over seven hundred came through Deramee. The division had just been filled up with men who had not been in France over a month or so, and who had not trained longer than that in the States. The trenches of Verdun, which were always filled with water and mud, seemed to be too much for them, and many cases of influenza and pneumonia developed.

We had many gas cases, too, at Deramee. In one day a hundred and six gas patients came through the dressing station. It was mostly mustard gas, and the patients would come in by the ambulance load, temporarily blind and feeling miserable. We could only bathe their eyes with a sodium bi-carbonate solution, and use the sag-paste freely. During this rush the only available ambulances were those of the S. S. U. 526, and the drivers of that unit not being familiar with the roads, Corporals O'Dowd and Bailey were kept busy guiding them around. We worked well after midnight on that particular day before all the patients were evacuated. The total number of gas patients numbered well over two hundred.

A sergeant and three men were stationed at Bellevue Ferme, a relay station between Derame and Vaux. This station was situated on a hill only a short distance from Verdun, and one could get a splendid view of the old battered city from this place. There were eleven big naval guns down below Bellevue on a narrow gage railway, and they surely made some music when they fired. They drew fire from the Germans, too, but no sooner would the Germans locate them than they were moved along the track to another place.

Verdun was very close to the different stations, and many of us visited the silent old city. One had only to take one look at that city to realize that one of the mightiest struggles of human history took place for its possession. Petain, the great French leader, won an immortal place among military leaders for the defense of that city in 1916, and a glance at the battlefield would convince one absolutely that he meant those words "On ne passe pas." The cathedral in Verdun was badly damaged; fourteen holes in one side of the building were counted and the roof had three big gaps in it, and while the cathedral can be repaired, yet its shell marks will be there forever. Another interesting thing connected with Verdun is its underground city, capable of accommodating forty-two thousand, and absolutely shell proof. The Germans shelled Verdun regularly, dropping shells on certain crossroads and buildings at exact intervals. One couldn't tarry in one place in that city, even if he cared to, because an M. P. would firmly suggest "move along."

We were on the Verdun front when Austria capitulated, and were almost fighting for newspapers in order to get the details. The question in everyone's mind during our last days at Verdun was "How long will Germany hold out?" We left Deramee on November 6th, having been relieved by the "Wildcats," a division of soldiers not soon to be forgotten, and we little knew that we had been on our last front.

MOVE TOWARD METZ, AND THE ARMISTICE

After a siege of about three weeks, our company was relieved from duty in the sector north of Verdun, and we were all preparing for a good long rest, and best of all, a thorough delousing at the hands of the official "Cootie-cooking-brigade." As later developments will show, we realized none of our anticipations, at least not at Erize-la-Grande.

The sector which we had just left was famous for at least three of the war's most deadly weapons, viz. – Cooties (most of them wearing service stripes), prize rats and German gas. The combined efforts of the three made life hardly worth living at times, and a sigh of relief was breathed when at last the task was at an end.

The village of Erize-la-Grande compared favorably with all other villages in which we had been billeted, especially as regards street scenes and sleeping quarters. These had evidently been constructed during the dark ages, but whether those who inhabited them were afraid of light or fond of darkness remains a secret.

On the night of November 7th, the wild cry arose that the war was over! We were used to all manner of reports, though none quite as stunning as this, and in a few minutes excitement was at its height. An optimistic M. P. was heard shouting, "It's over, so help me, God!" and a little later the same spirit was evidenced by the doughboys along the roads, who were joyfully proclaiming the end by shooting up flares and yelling, "Fini la guerre." By this time it was a settled fact that the war really was over, that nothing remained to be done but the shouting, and that this was the proper time to shout. What happened during the next few hours, gentle reader, will be left to your imagination. It was a grand and glorious feeling, and not long afterwards we found out that just about the entire A. E. F. and practically all the folks at home were also celebrating.

The next morning we awoke to the real situation, and found that the cause of the whole thing originated from a certain German White Flag party which was on its way to meet Marshal Foch. The German high command had ordered the cessation of hostilities along a certain part of the line in order that these peace plenipotentiaries might reach the great French Marshal and learn from him, personally, how peace terms could be had. Things began to move pretty fast now, and there was a great deal of speculation as to what the Boche would do. The next day the official communique reported that Foch had very generously allowed them seventy-two hours in which to accept or reject the iron-clad terms of an armistice. Meanwhile, the entire western front was the scene of one of the greatest Allied offensives of the war.

In the midst of all these things, orders were suddenly issued to move at once toward the front, and Sunday morning, November 10th, found us packed up and moving. All along, the roads were lined with American troops. Mile after mile of supply wagons, artillery, machine gun battalions and infantry were slowly but surely wending their way to Berlin. This looked very different from peace. We learned afterwards that the 35th Division was to make a direct frontal assault upon Metz, while other troops were to engage in a flanking movement. As Metz was the most strongly fortified position the Germans held, it can readily be seen that the 35th would have had a pretty stiff job. It seemed certain that in a day or two we would enter the offensive against this powerful fort, and we were well aware of what this movement would call for.

At about 2:30 Sunday afternoon we halted at a small village named Cousances, expecting to move on at any time. Here it was reported that the Kaiser had abdicated, and that all Germany was in a state of revolution, but we had heard this same thing at least a dozen times before, and so thought nothing of it. The entire front from the Channel to the Vosges was ablaze, with the Yanks near Sedan, the capture of which village by the Germans in 1871 marked the triumph of Bismarck. History was about to repeat itself. The British in Flanders were rapidly driving the Hun from Belgium, while in the Champagne the French were making such advances as they had never made before. Apparently Foch had chosen Berlin for the Allied objective.

While these events were in progress, a German courier, laboring under great difficulty, was carrying messages from the Allied Headquarters to the German General Headquarters, at Spa, in Belgium. Only a few hours remained for the Hun to arrange his answer. German propaganda was at an end, and that of the Allies consisted of cold steel from the heavies. One by one Germany's allies had deserted her, until now she stood alone facing the ever increasing strength of the strongest and noblest armies of the world. Her armies were almost demoralized. At home her people were terrorized at the thought of having their Fatherland invaded, and were demanding that the war be ended. For over four years they had waited behind a curtain of lies and outrages, only to see it lifted and defeat staring at them. Such were a few of the conditions which confronted the German High Command at Spa, while Foch, with his gallant armies smashing on, calmly waited for one of two short words – Yes or No.

At Cousances, stowed away in an old dismantled factory, we were waiting for this important answer. As was mentioned before, we had expected to continue our march, but orders had evidently been changed to wait for the German answer. On Monday morning, November 11th, the famous "drum fire" was plainly audible, and again things didn't sound at all peaceful. Having had a little previous experience around Cheppy and Charpentry, we realized what the acceptance or rejection of the terms would mean. There was no noticeable let-up in the firing. The suspense was becoming acute. Either they would sign it or reject it. In case the former should happen, it would only be a matter of waiting our turn at the gang-plank; should the latter occur, the Lord only knew what would happen. Visions of a gang-plank and tug-boats changed into visions of litters loaded with wounded, and the loud cheers of Yanks bidding farewell to Gallant France changed into the shriek of gas and high explosive shells.

But the old saying, that it is always the darkest just before dawn, held. Almost before any of us realized it the guns were quiet. We listened again, but not a sound could be heard. We realized that they were advancing rapidly, but that it was hardly possible for them to be out of sound this soon. At this time the British troops were at Mons, the French armies were across the Belgian line from the Meuse to the Oise, and American armies were advancing from Sedan to the eastern forts of Metz. France was almost clear of the invader. The liberation of Belgium had begun. The whole German army was in disorderly retreat, and there needed only a little more time to transform that retreat into the greatest rout of all military history.

We were convinced of the signing of the armistice only when we read the following memorable telegram, which, although heard the world over, probably meant more to each one of the Allied soldiers than to the whole world:

"The Armistice is signed and becomes effective November 11th at 11 o'clock. At this hour, or before, hostilities and the advance must cease. Hold the lines reached and notify exactly the line reached at that hour. No communication with the enemy will take place."

THE FIRST REPLACEMENTS

The first replacements were a part of the first replacement company consisting of 500 officers and 2500 men, to sail overseas. While at Ranspach, thirty-six men were received to bring the strength up to 122 men. They all came originally from Camp Greenleaf, Ft. Oglethorpe, Georgia, located in Chickamagua Park, near Lookout Mountain and Missionary Ridge. It was here that the future members of Ambulance Co. 139 received their first military training, among which, too important to forget, were the duties of kitchen police, guard duty and company fatigue, the three delights of a soldier. The winter of '17 and '18 will be remembered for a long time by many of the men, especially because of the sticky mud and bitter cold nights, although the days were usually sunshiny and warm.

Along towards the last of May a few men were picked from each of the Ambulance and Field Hospital companies and sent to Camp Forest, also in Chickamagua Park, and formerly the home of the old Sixth Infantry. There they were placed in a recruit company and after a week of daily inspections both physical and of equipment, finally received orders to roll packs and leave. Every man, fully equipped, left camp and marched to the town of Lyttle, to entrain Decoration Day, May 30th, 1918. It was an impressive scene to see all those well trained, healthy young fellows drawn up in company front awaiting the order to climb aboard the five comfortable Pullman trains and start for France. The regimental band was also there, playing popular pieces as if to cheer the men up, but judging by the looks of their clean, smiling faces, it was plain to see that they were going forth, eagerly to do their bit.