Many, many times things come up in this make-shift life of ours over here which remind me of past experiences.

A meal served in an army mess brought back memories to Grant of a canoe trip in more peaceful days, and he wrote his sister, Marion, to tell her about it. 

Convois Autos.,
S.S.U. 647,
Par B.C.M.,
France.

Wednesday – Oct.30, 1918

Dear Sis:-

Marion Willard Everett

I’ve got a hunch tonight and am going to follow it out.

Do you recall a certain day a number of years ago that found you, Bick, Tib and myself afloat on the lake adjourning Lake Kaumbauniabikitchieagamock (or was it Long Lake?) in a canoe – and we stopped on a certain small picturesque little island, either on our way to or from Ely, and cooked a meal amid the rocks? Do you remember what we ate beside bacon? Wasn’t it beans and cocoa? Well tonight I carried my carcass and mess-kit to the kitchen to fall in the mess line. We were served bacon, beans and cocoa (plus hot biscuits, jam and butter). I escorted this layout carefully to the dug-out in which several of us sleep and keep warm and started to eat it beside our good hot Boche stove. One mouth full of beans a sip of cocoa brought the picture of which I am asking you as vividly as if it were yesterday to my mind. What could it have been if not the food? The more I think about it, however, I believe it was McMillan instead of Tib who made up the four. Hadn’t we just been in to get Bick or were we taking Mac into Ely when he left us? 

Many, many times things come up in this make-shift life of ours over here which remind me of past experiences. We always have bacon on hand over here and hardly a day passes but we get it in some form or other but, of course, nowhere near as good as that we used to fry over the open fire. We also have cocoa when we are fortunate enough to run on to a kind hearted Red Cross man to furnish it and the milk to go with it. The coffee we get is terrible partly because our cooks don’t know how to make it but mostly because the only good water we get is chlorinated and give the coffee a taste which I can’t stand. These are about the only articles in the food line which correspond to those we used to make ourselves. Our cooks can and do make delicious flap-jacks whenever we can get milk but they don’t taste like they did in the good old days when eggs and Vermont maple syrup were plentiful. A new delicacy has recently crept into style in our outfit – a piece of bread fried in bacon grease with a bit of sugar sprinkled on top to be eaten while hot. It tastes pretty good for a change. Fresh meat is as scarce as black and white whiskey over here.

Another thing which brought back old times was the pictures which mother sent of your Milnor[, North Dakota] trip. How natural you all look. I believe Dad and Mother are getting younger every day. Dad looks like a boy in his nice, new auto cap and Mother like a gay, young butterfly – the kind that makes the heart flutter, as Tib would say. And Connie – why doesn’t some big, good-looking, prosperous young business man have sense enough to grab her? Maybe she doesn’t want to bother with one but the more I think about it the more my respect for the male sex diminishes. As for you, my dear sister, I must confess that, in spite of the fact that I have Dot to take your place, I grow more and more jealous of Bill – “and there you have it,” in words of John Barty, champion prizefighter of England (Jeffrey Farnol’s Amateur Gentleman.”) Lest I wax sentimental I’m going to change the subject.

Poor old Bill! He certainly isn’t satisfied in Marseilles, one of the most beautiful cities in France, is he? I don’t know as I blame him much at that though I would gladly change places with him for awhile. One feels like an awful slacker to be back so far when such great doings are in process but rats! What difference does it make in the long run? Bill will be able to tell as many gruesome tales as any of us when it’s all over and that’s the really big thing of the war (?). If Bill’s imagination falls short I can steer him on to a couple of good pals of mine who can give him enough awfulness in 5 minutes to cover pages and pages in book form. This war is sure great on developing imaginative powers. I feel sorry for you all when we are cut loose upon civilization once more. 

Isn’t it a grand and glorious feeling to read the papers these days? Marshal Foch is right on the job. Sis, though I’m not as optimistic as some, I believe we’re going to be home by a year from Xmas. My heart almost explodes every time I think of it. Won’t we have some good times?

Now good-night. There’s something doing outside and I’ve got to go out and see what it’s all about.

Lovingly,

Grant.

P.S.:- Fritz is trying for our roads back here tonight but he’s a poor shot. 
GRW

P.S.:- Tell mother I was a mechanic for one month when yellow jaundice came along and saved my life. I am now a driver on my old car again (#11) and have been since returning from Paris. It’s a good car but I miss Johnnie for an aide. He’s driving a car of his own these days.
GRW

Took a shower-- the first since returning from Paris. Everybody has cooties!

As the First World War entered its final weeks, the German government reached out to U.S. President Woodrow Wilson about a possible armistice. The Germans hoped to split the Americans away from their British and French allies and get easier terms. In his reply to the Germans, published in newspapers around October 24th, Wilson was resolute in his commitment to the Allied cause and would not hear of a separate peace. 
  

Thomas Woodrow Wilson (1856-1924)

Sunday, October 27, 1918:

Got 3 hours of sleep last night. Pretty good for me on post. Our guns cut loose this A.M. at 4 o’clock and a couple of big boys over back of us somewhere shook me out of bed. Sat in the dressing station until 6 A.M. when I got a call to Sommerance. Fritz raised hell in Fléville last night. Several new shell holes in the road and many newly killed horses.

Read Pres. Wilson’s reply to German plea for armistice. ’Tis a wonderful note though the last paragraph was sufficient. Hope there is no armistice until we have German militarism ousted. Don’t think it will be long now. What is the new German system going to amount to?

Took a shower bath this A.M. at headquarters -- the first since returning from Paris. Everybody has cooties!

Relief came at 1 P.M. Returned to camp and worked on car. Grady Chapman took my car back on post for this shift.

Monday, October 28:

Spent the day in cleaning up our dugout and person. Put a stove in our house and cut a pile of wood with Al LaFleur. Got letters from Dot and Mother dated Oct.1st. Not bad time at all. Wrote notes to both last night. The big noise which we all expect very soon up here is being delayed for some reason. Still massing artillery. New divisions up here are 77th, 80th, 2nd and 27th. The 42nd is the only division being relieved that we know anything about.

Played bridge this evening with Titchner against Burt and McCrackin. We lost. A man by the name of Stevens dropped in on me this eve. He hails from Ambler, [PA], knows Dot who told him to look me up. He is a nice, good boy from S.S.U. 554 now with the 2nd division -- just down from the Champaign. Took a walk with him later and had a good talk. Still more proud of 647 than ever.

...no sleep and just enough gas to make me very sleepy and dopey...

Convois Autos.,
S.S.U. 647,
Par B.C.M.,
France.

Sunday – Oct. 26, 1918

Dearest Mother:-

In compliance with Section order #46, I am writing you this note. The order calls for a letter but this is the best I can do now. Maybe I’ll be here tomorrow – if so I’ll write again.

Order #46 reads as follows:- In accordance with general orders from Hq. A.E.F. commanding officers of the units of A.E.F. are to be held responsible that enlisted men of their respective commands write home at least once a week.

I have just come in from 24 hours on post with no sleep and just enough gas to make me very sleepy and dopey so I’m afraid I can’t do much by way of a letter.

Tonight another big racket starts and the chances are that we shall all be called out again before morning so I must pull in for a bit of sleep.

Am enclosing a “Lettre de Félicitations” sent, I think, to all S.S.U. sections by General Pétain.  It makes a rather good souvenir.

Your letter of Oct. 1st reached me yesterday.  Pretty good time compared to the way mail has been coming during this push.

Expect we’ll be going forward again tonight.  Am very tired as is everyone else in the section but excitement keeps our minds off of such trivials.

Heaps of love,
Grant.

Apremont

And Grant's diary entry for this day:

Saturday, October 26:

Went up on post again this A.M. with Waldock for an aide and Kirkpatrick, Putnam and Gaynor as other drivers. Artillery activity is picking up on our front. Apremont is shelled every morning and night to endeavor to cripple operations on the railhead. No damage has been done so far. They are coming darn close to our mill, however. I prescribe another advance to spoil Fritz’s range on our home. Fléville is under almost constant fire. It’s an awfully good thing they moved our dressing station out and back to the farm because the old place has been hit twice and our nice little ambulance home is in ruins. 

Fléville

Fléville is lousy with artillery -- 75s, 155s and 210s. Every clump of bushed and every natural shelter the other side of Fléville bristles with howitzers and 155 rifles. Tonight the roads were so choked with guns and ammunition and we had a great deal of difficulty in getting our ambulances through. Speed left the farm for Sommerance this evening at 6:00. At 9 o’clock he hadn’t returned. We began to get worried. At 9:15 McCrackin and I went up to the ditch and barns and Fléville. Got but one patient. Things were quiet. Told Mac that I would run up to Sommerance on phone and were told that Speed had left there at 7:30 with three patients. I was just starting out when in pulled Speed. I sure was relieved because I never saw a darker night, and a heavier fog with just enough sneezing and tear gas on the roads to make things disagreeable -- and traffic! Speed had been held up all this time in traffic. Couldn’t do a thing against it. Never saw so many guns.

American artillery and ammunition

The naked cold eye of Fritz

Jack B. Kendrick

Born in Providence, Rhode Island, in 1895, Jack Boyce Kendrick was a car salesman in St. Albans, Vermont, before the war. Much like Grant Willard and others, Kendrick wanted to help the Allied cause in Europe and so applied early in 1917 to be an ambulance driver with the Norton-Harjes service. He served in N-H Section 11, and enlisted in the U.S. Army on September 12, 1917. Originally a sergeant first class, he was promoted to second lieutenant and took over command of SSU 649 just before the Armistice. He was decorated with the Croix de Guerre for his service in France.

In 1919 Kendrick was a relief worker for the Red Cross in the newly reconstituted country of Poland. Back in the States, he worked for the U.S. Customs Service. He died in 1966 at the age of 70 of prostate cancer.


Wednesday, October 23, 1918:

Was sleeping soundly this A.M. when Kendrick came in and woke me up saying, “Come up with me and take some pictures of dead.” Well, I was booked for post at 12:30 anyway so I dressed and we started up.

Got to St. Juvin (an advanced post) and found that the roads had been pretty well cleared of all dead. In the town was a long line of about 50 American dead ready to be buried, but we passed on up to the end of the village and started out upon a road unused by vehicles up to now because it is exposed to the naked cold eye of Fritz. We hadn’t gone far before we got cold feet and turned around. Four stretcher bearers came along bearing a dead body and they advised us “for God’s sake” to get the car off that road. Jack took a picture of them and we rode back into town stopping to take a picture of the long line of dead. Jack surely is strong for the gruesome. We talked with the chaplain who said they were getting things pretty well cleaned up until another push starts here. After taking a few more pictures of ruins, dead horses and the like we went back to the farm where we were to relieve the boys on post. 

St. Juvin, 2008

After dinner the rest of the relief came (Wilder, McEnnis, Signor) and the shift was made. We had an easy 24 hours on duty, the easiest I have had up on this front. Over Verdun way there is very heavy artillery firing and it is rumored that our boys are advancing to relieve the pressure on this sector. Anyway, there isn’t very much artillery action here now compared to what there was a few days ago. Many guns are coming up and I expect that we shall soon be in another push. No signs of the division being relieved so we are taking advantage of this present lull and are overhauling our cars five at a time. I expect to go in for repairs soon.

What can be the matter with those overhead when they will so sacrifice human lives when fresh men would be able to do better work with fewer casualties?

The 82nd Infantry Division, known as the 82nd Airborne Division since WWII, was one of the U.S. Army divisions that led the American offensives in WWI and paid the price. The toll is engraved on tombstones across the American cemeteries in France, Arlington and elsewhere. One source put the 82nd's causalities as 1,338 dead; 6,890 wounded; 8,228 total.

Sunday, October 20, 1918:

Ambulances at Fléville

Went on post this noon at Fléville. Luyx, McGinnis, G. Taylor and myself are driving the four duty cars. My aide is Grady Chapman, a hospital boy merely loaned to us. He’s alright and makes one of the best aides I have ever had. Before the car has pulled up at the dressing station he is out and by the time I am turned around and have the tail gate down he has the patients out and ready to load. A shell or two in our vicinity make him even speedier. He doesn’t like shells, strange to say.

Requisitioned a new room in Fléville to be used exclusively for ambulance men of our section -- thanks to Kendrick’s ingenuity and ambition. The room is in the old parish beside the church which are about the only two buildings in town not entirely demolished from shell fire. The house has been hit in several places so that our room was a mess of debris. A rather interesting feature of the room is the fact that an allied shell had come in through the window and burst within the room merely spattering the heavy stone walls with pieces and tearing up the floor pretty badly. We cleaned the room up placing a big box spring over the shell hole--moved in a good stove, blanketed the windows and had a very, very comfortable room.

Monday, October 21:

Were relieved this afternoon after a rather busy night without much excitement. This is as quiet as I have seen this front. The 82nd is now holding a very short portion of the front because of their great losses. An 82nd captain today told me that the 327th and 328th have but 800 men left. Think of that--out of 6000 originally! And this 800 are absolutely spent having advanced and advanced again and again for the 17 days that they have been here having just come from the St. Mihiel push. We are carrying many cases of utter fatigue and shell shock out of the 82nd these days. 

What can be the matter with those overhead when they will so sacrifice human lives when fresh men would be able to do better work with fewer casualties? Living in mud and slop, advancing faster than artillery can be brought up to support them, their morale is rapidly being shattered. Time and again they avow gone over in broad daylight with out a barrage only to be shot down by the Boche machine guns which literally fill every shell hole and clump of bushes. It’s terrible! And yet the 82nd will stay in here for 9 more days, acting as reserve for the 78th. Then instead of going for a good rest they will go immediately on to another front which they call a quiet sector, but there is no quiet sector that I know about now days.

We’ve got ‘em, Mother. Without a doubt we’ve got ‘em!

As I've mentioned before, Grant Willard's brother, Harold, known as "Tib," wanted to serve in France, but couldn't pass a physical exam. Suffering from varicose veins, he had had an operation that caused a blood clot to break loose and settle in his lungs, causing a pulmonary embolus. He nearly died. Disabled and in great pain for months, Tib never got to France, and his frustration was apparent in his letters.


Convois Autos.,

S.S.U. 647,

Par B.C.M.,

France. 

Saturday – Oct. 19, 1918

Dearest Mother:-

Since writing you yesterday three things of importance have happened – 1st, things are so quiet on the front today that only 6 of our cars were sent out on relief which means another good night’s sleep for me. 2nd, mail has arrived. 3rd, the enclosed Xmas package coupons were passed out, one to each man.

Grant's mom

The coupon explains itself pretty well. All I have to do is to name the article (I was going to say articles until I saw the dimensions of the box). It hardly seems like it was worth while fussing over such a small thing but it would contain a fruit cake or some hard-center chocolates either and both of which I hunger for. Whatever you do don’t send wearing apparel. Had to cut my luggage down yesterday to conform to new regulations. I sent socks, underwear, gloves, wristlets, helmets galore into salvage simply because I cannot carry so much junk. Got my sheep-skin coat while I was in Paris and that is really all I need.

I got your nice, long, snappy letter dated Sept. 23 this morning, one from Tib dated Sept. 21, one from Dad enclosing a bunch of clippings and several others from various sections of the world. I certainly do feel sorry for Tib but he is doing the only right thing. I hesitate writing to him telling of things on this side because I know how he must feel. But above all else he must not come to this side until he is entirely well and strong again. I hope he understands that.  I thought I was pretty strong when I came over here but this underground life gets me every time particularly during rainy weather when one is soaked through a good share of the time with no opportunity of getting dried out. A man with anything the matter with his lungs is in danger continually.

Willard home in Mankato

The general situation looks better every day as you read in the papers. Our particular situation right here is most interesting and something real big is bound to happen soon. We’ve got ‘em, Mother.  Without a doubt we’ve got ‘em! They are still scrapping up here like demons and it may take another year to completely round them up and we will have to pay a price for them but it’s worth it. So just hang on tight, little mother, while we take this last bump in high speed. We are going right through to the Rhine anyway, and maybe further but I don’t think that will be necessary.

With a heart full of love,

Sonnie.

82nd losing heavily in men, but pushing on.

Grant's good buddy Stuart Hugh Fraser (1892-1990) was born in London, raised in New York and moved to Brazil after the war. Through the Internet, I got in touch with Fraser's descendants in Brazil who kindly shared with me Fraser's own diary from the First World War--an interesting account of some 25 thousand words. It's fascinating to read about these places and events, now so familiar to me and you, as seen through different eyes. An excerpt is below.

First, Grant's diary:

Tuesday, October 15, 1918:

Went on post, with Savage as aide, at Fléville. St. Juvin now in our hands. We work three posts out of here -- the ditch, the barns and Sommerance. Very, very busy. 82nd losing heavily in men, but pushing on. 

Fraser had a close call when a piece caught him in the neck, but has proved to be nothing serious. He has gone into Paris for a good rest and convalescence. 

Mail has been coming to us regularly and I have gotten much of it, but have lost all track and have written nothing except in this book since leaving Paris. We expect to be hauled out of here soon. 

Here, Stuart Fraser gives his own recollections of that day:

Stuart Hugh Fraser

"My last day on active service, the 14th October, I left Apremont at sunrise with two other cars. The German shelling had been, and still continued to be, heavy, so much so that just before reaching Pleinchamp Farm, south of Fleville, the supply and ammunition trains were ordered to wait. Once clear of the supply trains the ambulances had the road to themselves. We had instructions to bring our wounded into Pleinchamp Farm where larger ambulances would pick them up for transportation to the Field Hospital. However the big ambulances got jammed in the traffic and never got up to the farm that day. 

"The Germans were methodically shelling the farm. Half the dressing station personnel had disappeared, and altogether it seemed a most risky place to bring helpless wounded. But orders were orders, and there was no one there to cancel them, so that ended the matter. It would have been much better if we had left our wounded in any other place, but we had no choice. After my second trip I left the farm and there were ten stretcher cases lying in the courtyard, waiting for the big ambulances to bring them back. Coming back with another load, I saw all our work was done in vain. Broken pieces of stretches, bloody canvas and mutilated bodies marked the spot where the wounded had been before the shell had burst on them. Over against the wall and seated on a pile of wood, two wounded Germans were stoically sitting. They must have seen the demolition of the American wounded, but their faces were dumbly expressionless. From the leg of one the blood was dripping and oozing through his shoe. The other had a body wound. Although weak, he could have gotten into the lee of the house, but he wasn´t strong enough to help his companion, so evidently had decided to stay with him. I felt sorry for the poor blighters, so with the help of an orderly got them inside the barn, which was really no protection if a shell hit it. 

Entering Sommerance

"I worked Sommerance in the afternoon. The road was in very bad shape and was being shelled steadily. On the crest of the hill before dipping into the village, I passed a reserve line of infantry lying in their holes, waiting for the word to push ahead, and in the meantime getting a dose of shrapnel and high explosives from the German batteries. It was a long line of steel helmets and brown uniforms, no faces showing, each man playing possum for all he was worth. Down in Sommerance the Germans were mixing in gas shells with high explosive. The aid station was in the charge of a Jewish doctor from New York named Goldstein. From all accounts he had done splendid work with the wounded and gassed. For two days and nights he had been constantly on the job and late that afternoon he was evacuated after collapsing from strain and gas.

"On my last trip I saw the usual dust and smoke clouds rising up from the neighborhood of Pleinchamp Farm. On reaching the road twining off to the farm, a shell exploded on it about fifty yards from me. Instead of turning in I kept straight ahead on the main road with the idea of getting my three stretcher cases to the field hospital, but a hundred yards or so further I ran into the blocked traffic which was still not allowed to go any further. As it would take an hour or so to pick my way through, and also as I had orders to stop at the Farm, I decided to go back before being missed. A shell hit in the field behind one of the buildings, throwing up a geyser of soft earth. I felt resigned to anything turning into the narrow road. 

Fraser in 1918

"I got my patients out and into the farm building and returned to the car to have a look at the motor. I was bent over the engine, and Grover Taylor was talking to me, having just arrived. A shell exploded behind the car, the concussion of it taking me off my feet and sending me up against the wall of the barn. At the same time my throat felt as if a mule had kicked it. I gulped a couple of times to make sure I could swallow and then I knew I wasn´t badly damaged. Somebody grabbed me, and another chap cheerfully called out, “Don´t bother with him, he´s done for!” I can remember the words to this day, also my answer, “Like hell I am!” He thought my throat was properly cut. I laid down in the barn, but I didn´t fear the shells so much now, for after one close call I figured there were no more shells left with my name on them. 

 

"At sunset I went back in my ambulance, not driving this time, to the Field Hospital. The traffic was loosening up a bit and moving forward, but even so progress was very slow. I recall now a dead German half on and half off the road, countless wheels having passed over his legs and flattened them out into the mud. American bodies on the road were always removed to one side, but the German dead were spurned by horses feet and artillery caissons until they formed part of the mud on the road. At the field hospital the ambulances converged from all parts of the sector into one solid slow-moving stream. They picked their way along in the darkness, delivered their loads at the big tents and departed for more. Lieut. Smith was with me in order to keep me identified with my outfit, as otherwise I would have been detached from 647. After entering one of the tents I again thanked my lucky stars that I wasn´t badly wounded, for the place was crowded with stretcher cases, all waiting patiently for the one doctor and two or three orderlies to give them some attention. There were no lights except a portable gas torch in the hands of an orderly, and by this light the others did the dirty work. The standing wounded formed a line, and talk along this line was more animated. The stretcher cases strewn all about were for the most part silent. Over in a corner a German intermittently wailed and let out a stream of his own language and was promptly cursed into silence by all and sundry. His, in all that terrific tent-full of wounded, was the only voice with a note of complaint in it.

Outside, just on the other side of the canvas, were the very audible sounds of picks and shovels turning over the earth. This was the burial squad, and I have no doubt that some poor chaps in that tent heard their graves being dug. The doctor came down the line of standing wounded, each man exposing his wound for his inspection and hurried treatment. He came to me and sprinkled some powder on my throat and told Lieut. Smith the cut would be healed in three weeks with further attention. In the meantime an orderly had pulled out my shirt, caught up the slack of my tummy and stuck an injection needle into it. This was the anti-tetanus serum, which consisted of a whole test-tube full of the liquid per person. I was now through for the night, and Lieu. Smith said he would be back in the morning and take me to Bar-le-Duc, and from there I was to go to Paris and report at the ambulance hospital. The tent smelled badly so I pushed into the open air. At the entrance was a huge pile of useless equipment taken from the wounded and thrown into the discard. It consisted of knapsacks, gas masks, small arms, belts, old clothes, etc. I crossed the road which was choked with ambulances and found my way to one of the cook shacks where the day shift was sleeping. One of the fellows got up and gave me one of the blankets belonging to one of the men on night duty. I spent a comfortable night but didn´t sleep much as the reaction after the day´s events kept my mind active."

Ambulances in Fleville

Back to Grant's diary:

Wednesday, October 16:

Still very busy. Had a close call last night at the barns beyond the ditch when a flying piece of shell or rock clipped the knuckles on my left hand. Hap was fired on by machine guns yesterday, but wasn’t touched. Still raining and miserable. No more casualties in our section. Feel rotten with a bad cold. We all have them.

Thursday, October 17:

Reported that the 82nd is soon to be relieved. Maybe tonight. Am now back at camp having been relieved last night. Am sitting beside a nice fire in what we choose to call our reading room in the mill. Boche mines have started exploding in this district and we are wondering when this place is going up in smoke. Four went off last night in Chatel and this morning another tore up the road near the hospital. Wow, what an explosion it was! Things are very quiet up front now (2 P.M.) We have St. Georges and are near Imécourt. Grandpré has to fall now as we have the place flanked. This means that the Boche are now out of the woods and hills on to the plateau where the cavalry and tanks can cut loose at them.

We have no shelter except a bank behind which we all took refuge this evening when they shelled us heavily. I shook for the rest of the night.

On October 8, 1918, as Grant Willard and his comrades were evacuating the wounded from the fighting, a Tennessee soldier named Alvin C. York (1887–1964) and thirteen others were ordered to infiltrate behind the German lines to take out a nest of machine guns hindering the American advance. Most of his party was killed by the Germans. Armed only with a rifle and pistol, York managed to take 32 machine guns, kill 28 German soldiers and capture 132 others. Due to his bravery he became one of the most decorated American soldiers in World War I.


Sunday, October 13, 1918:

The Argonne is a hilly place.
This sign says: "Brakes! Rider: Step!"

Went on post in the woods with Johnnie as an aide. McEnnis and Al LaFleur drove the other two cars. We relieved Soles and Titchner. This post is in the Bois de Cornay overlooking Cornay and Marcq. Just north of Marcq there is heavy fighting going on and our dressing station is right in the center of much artillery. We have no shelter except a bank behind which we all took refuge about 9 P.M. this evening when they shelled us heavily. I shook for the rest of the night. No too much work up here. Had rather be very busy than idle in such a place.

Monday, October 14:

A wild rumor came out last night that all artillery would stop at 4 o’clock this morning and an armistice granted. At five minutes to 4 according to Johnny’s watch, a most terrific allied barrage broke lose. Wow, what a racket! It continued all through the day and we worked like sin all through the day. 

Our hospital is now one left by the Boche. Never a more complete outfit. Dugouts way back in the hill big enough for hundreds of patients. Good building and officers’ quarters, shower baths, tubs and good beds. The place, apparently, was left in a hurry as there was much medicine and bandages. Their bandages are paper -- absorbent paper. We have carried many American patients who had been captured by the Boche in their counter attacks, dressed by their doctors and then left behind when they were forced back. All report the best of treatment while in their hands and their wounds were well dressed. 

Many prisoners are coming in continually -- mostly old men and a good share are from [Württemberg] with their “Furchtlos und trew" (Fearless and loyal) insignia on their belts. Many, many souvenirs are being collected. Everything -- firearms, flashlights, helmets, gas masks, posters and signs of all kinds. Half our equipment is Boche.

Today the French troops entered the outskirts of Grandpré. The Americans are fighting for St. Juvin and Landres. If Vouziers is in French hands we will soon flank Grandpré. The Americans are surely meeting stiff resistance on this front and although they are slowly progressing they are losing heavily from Boche machine gun fire.

We were relieved tonight and were more than grateful for same.

Stayed in bed all day. Not feeling well. We all have bad colds. Still raining.

Wild reports in the papers and wilder rumors among the troops.

"Friendly fire" is not a phenomenon that first occurred during the Vietnam War. It's probably been a factor in warfare since the beginning of the modern era when weapons advancements began outstripping military tactics. In this diary entry, Grant mentions grumblings from American soldiers about their own being killed or wounded by American gunfire.

On this day Grant had to drive 50 miles to Bar-le-Duc for supplies. Today that trip would take an hour and a half, but along the muddy war-torn roads of 1918, it took him all day to get there and back again.

Saturday, October 12, 1918:

We now hold Cornay definitely and are fighting for Marcq. On the other side of the river we are on the outskirts of Sommerance and still going. The 82nd is meeting stiff resistance and are losing heavily but progressing nobly. Great deal of complaint about our own barrages catching our own men. Doe-boys blame the artillery, the artillery blames the infantry for advancing ahead of schedule.

I took the camionette into Bar-le-Duc for supplies today. Took me all day against heavy traffic. 

Much peace talk! Wild reports in the papers and wilder rumors among the troops. However, most of us feel sure there will be no peace. Unconditional surrender is the only solution of this mess. Germany wants a chance to retire to her border, entrench and then say, “To hell with your indemnities and peace terms.” Fight ’em, kill ’em, slaughter ’em until they go down on their knees, I say. Chief Foch should deal out their old peace terms and armistices.

Dead everywhere. As many American as Boche.

Grant's first full day back at the front and he was thrust into the thick of the fighting. Very exciting diary entry...

Friday, October 11, 1918:

The 326th [infantry regiment] walked into Cornay last night after a very heavy barrage and found the place vacated. The Boche have withdrawn about 5 km and the Americans are now crossing the river Aire north of Cornay and fighting out of Fléville on the other side of the river. Our dressing stations on this side have moved over and this morning Kendrick and I tried to find them.

Bridge across the Aire at Apremont

We drove into Cornay, being the first vehicle to enter the place since its capture by the Americans. We drove on through the place and tried to cross the river into Fléville, but found the bridge blown up. We decided to get out as we ran into a bunch of infantry and they told us we were too far forward and that the road we were on was mined. Back through the town we tore, but nothing happened so we stopped to look around a bit.

Dead everywhere. As many American as Boche. We stopped to examine a big Boche 2 ton struck in the road. The magneto had been taken out and the motor damaged generally by the driver before he left it, apparently. We mahocked some tools as souvenirs and beat it. Forded the river at Chatel, passed through a deserted village and started for Fléville. We were almost there when we were stopped and asked to pick up a couple of wounded alongside the road. We put them in the car and started back with them. We got off the road, stopped at a dressing station and found ourselves in the 1st division territory. On we went and on and on over terrible roads. We saw tanks in bushes and in holes; one had run into the corner of a house where a Boche had evidently been operating a machine gun to good advantage judging from the dead lying around. The driver of the tank was still in his machine, but the gunner was nowhere to be seen. Hope the poor devil got away alright. Then we passed troops marching double time along the road.

Disabled American tank

“Is this the way to the rear?” we shouted. They looked at us in amazement and said nothing. Then we came to a town.

“Is this the way to the rear?” we asked again.

“Hell, no,” came back. “We just took this town an hour ago.”

“What division?” Jack asked. “32nd.”

Holy smokes! Further and further from home with four badly wounded men --two 82nd men, one 1st division and one 32nd. Well, we followed directions and turned right. We ran into gas and then suddenly came on to infantry firing from the ditch along side the road.

American artillery under camouflage

Good lord! You should have seen me push that bus along. I gave her every inch the throttle could stand. And then -- we came to a main road in good condition. Maybe we didn’t tear. No need to stop and enquire the way. We just went the opposite way from which the doe-boys [sic] were shooting. Then we came to a dressing station and left all our men there. The Lieutenant in charge said they had just moved up and that we had run along behind the reserve line. We beat it back to camp unscratched, but pretty scared. Six cars then went up to Fléville to help out the panic. I went up in Henry’s car and came back with one load before I went to bed. But when I came back they were moving the camp up to Apremont so I helped move camp.

American and German dead are lying everywhere in terrible positions.

Still a bit weak from jaundice, Grant finally caught up again with SSU 647 on October 9, 1918. He found them outside the town of Varennes-en-Argonne, which was pretty much destroyed by the battle between the retreating Germans and the advancing Americans. In and around the town today you can visit memorials to soldiers from Pennsylvania and Missouri who died there.

Before the Great War, Varennes' most famous hour came in June 1791 when a fleeing King Louis XVI, Queen Marie Antoinette and their immediate family were captured trying to escape over the border into Belgium. It was said Louis was discovered because of his resemblance to his image on a coin.

From the moment he rejoined his unit, Grant was on the move until the Armistice was signed a month later. Suddenly, after four years of stalemate and war of attrition, armies were out of the trenches and on the move again. 



Varennes-en-Argonne, October 2008

Wednesday, October 9, 1918:

Left this morning in the staff car on top of a lot of luggage to find our section. Passed through many ruined villages and American traffic such as I have never seen before. About 11 o’clock we suddenly ran onto 647’s camp. Wow, what a relief! The boys never looked better. We fell on their necks and kissed them all. We are living in a tent just outside of Varennes[-en-Argonne] near the field hospital and cross roads jammed with traffic night and day.

Fritz tries for this corner with big stuff about twice a day. He has come uncomfortably close to our tent several times--once showering us with mud. It is typical October weather--continual rain and the mud is terrific. The Boche have only been out of here a few days and our boys are gradually pushing them out of the Argonne up onto the flats. Tanks are being used in the level places and French and American cavalry are waiting in large numbers to rush Fritz when we once get him in the open.

Tank being towed past ambulances

Our section is working night and day, every car and every man -- even the cooks. Our posts are continually changing being any place along the roads where the wounded can be dressed. The 82nd relieved the 28th yesterday and is now going forward with loses in considerable numbers. It is reported that they can only hold up a few days longer.

4 P.M. Titchner just came in and reported his car ruined by a shell. He was in the car when the first one punctured a tire and the radiator. He was in the ditch when the second blew his car to bits. Lucky, eh? No one hurt.



Thursday, October 10:

Al LaFleur had a close one last night. Was loading his car when a shell landed close, killing the man they were loading and only skinned Al’s knuckles. Not very lucky. 

Apremont

Took Henry Signor’s car this A.M. and with Sherman as an aide went to Apremont. Apremont has been in our hands two days. The dressing station is in an old mill which is the only whole building in town. The water run electric power wheel was running when the Americans took the town and electricians are afraid to stop it for fear the place will blow up. It is quiet up here now though several shells have come in pretty close. We make trips from here to Châtel[-Chéhéry] -- a town about 7 km up the road.

4:30 P.M. - The Americans are now trying to take Cornay and the noise is terrific. The 325th is trying to storm the place for the second time. Cornay is about 4 km beyond Châtel and a very important place because it is on the highest hill overlooking the Argonne and the plateau beyond. The Boche are resisting strongly. Châtel falls in the line of the counter-barrage and Rority just came in showing us where a piece of shell had cut across his leather coat going through two books which he had in his breast pockets. Close call! 

I have had no very close calls personally. The road between here and Châtel has not yet been cleared of dead and the trip up is gruesome to say the least. American and German dead are lying everywhere in terrible positions -- some without heads and some with half a body.