CHAPTER XIII.
A BRITISH REST CAMP.
At 9 p. m., it was yet daylight. The boys were weary and tired as the troop train on the London and Southwestern railway pulled into a station, the sign-boards of which gave the name as Romsey. Orders to detrain were passed along.
All soldiers and packs were soon off the train; then, line-up as per usual, and march, first under a stone railroad bridge, through the town, soon to strike a highway leading out of the town.
The pack on the back got heavier every minute, but the march continued; one mile, two miles, then along the stretch of the third there appeared scenes of buildings and tents. Post-signs glared the information that Camp Woodley had been reached. There appeared to be many parts to the camp. Battery D did not stop at the first, nor the second, but halt was made at what was designated as C Camp.
It was a welcome order that allowed the troops to fall-out along the roadside as official parlance was started with the powers that ruled the destinies of C Camp. The vicinity was closely guarded by American M. P.'s., who proceeded to communicate stories, savoring the good, bad, and indifferent prospects of the abode that was to shelter the 311th for one night at least. "It's a rest camp", they said. The words sounded peaceful to the tired troops assembled. It required only one day, however, to find out that the only part of a soldier that got rest at a "rest-camp" was the stomach.
The hour was almost 10:30 when it was finally decided what area Battery D was to occupy for the night. C Camp was a tented camp, the tents being spacious enough to comfortably house about four army cots for a healthy soldier to rest his weary bones on. The cots, however, were missing. Battery D was marched down the main road of the selected area. Halt was made at the first tent. Twenty-six men were ordered inside. The remainder continued to the next tent in order where twenty-six more were registered for the night; and so on down the roster, until Battery D was under canvass.
The battery cooks and details were put to work immediately to prepare something to eat, but a majority of the soldiers either got tired waiting or else had such a hard job finding what was prepared that they wended their way through the tented city and after considerable wandering found the tent wherein they were to be one of the twenty-six registered for the night.
Twenty-six men and twenty-six packs in one tent. Crowding was more than a necessity; it was a torture, as was soon evinced when twenty-six men stretched themselves out on the board floor of the tent for the seeming purpose of sleeping. Extra blankets had been drawn from the quartermaster, which, combined with the blankets the soldier carried in his pack, furnished mattress and coverings for the sweet but hard repose. No blue-print diagram was furnished as to how the sleeping space was to be allotted in twenty-six portions; with the result that one fellow was awakened out of a sweet dream of eating pie and cake, to find his buddy's feet pushing him in the face.
Reveille sounded at C Camp Woodley at 7:20 o'clock on the morning of August 1st, when Battery D received its first taste of British mess. Details of varied description were furnished from the battery roster, while the battery spent most of the first day in camp trying to figure out the English system of mess. The outfit was assigned places at tables, by squads, in mess-tents. Two from each squad were delegated a committee to go to the kitchen and bring on the chow.
For breakfast the committee brought back an iron-bound kettle of oatmeal; another kettle of prunes and a quantity of bread. The system then was one of "help yourself and pass it on," which was all right for the fellow at the head of the table, but the fellows on the opposite end had to do the figuring.
The same procedure was followed at noon when slum was served. Night mess in England invariably was cheese and tea and jam, which was always good as far as it went. The entire 311th regiment was served from one kitchen. It was good fortune that the Americans had individual mess kits with them and that there occurred no sanitary inspections of said eating utensils while in C Camp where fifteen hundred mess kits were washed in a two by four bucket.
During the first day in an English camp many of the soldiers slipped past the M. P.'s and made their way to the town; a quaint market town and municipal borough, numbering almost 4,000 inhabitants, in the New Forest Parliamentary division of Hampshire. As far as sight seeing, the only thing of interest in the town was an old abbey. Cafes were numerous, while English ale signs were more numerous.
An American Y. M. C. A. was housed under canvas at Camp Woodley. The workers in charge prepared a royal entertainment, while the regimental band gave a concert the second night of the soldiers' stay in camp. Members of a Romsey dramatic club furnished the entertainment. Towards the close the band struck up, "The Star Spangled Banner," then, "God Save the King." The Romsey entertainers started to sing their National Anthem, while the Americans joined in with, "My Country 'Tis of Thee." All that was needed to complete the effect of the Babel scene was John J. Jlosky and Otto Skirkie to sing, "Down Where the Green River Flows."
Reveille for Friday, August 2nd, had been set for 7:30 a. m. All heads were awakened by the bugle at 6:45 o'clock that morning. No one in Battery D stirred. The impression was that the call was for another outfit. Six fifty-five found First Sergeant James J. Farrell going from tent to tent to find out the cause of the silence. Then there was great hustling to get out in line and many a woolen puttee was missing that morning.
The day was destined to be a rough one. It was raining at reveille call and still raining when call was sounded at 9:30 o'clock for a hike. The hike was started and continued for three miles, so did the rain. The longer the soldiers walked the faster it rained. The scenery was beautiful through the stretch of pleasantly situated country in the rich valley of the Test. Picturesque English homesteads, set amid hedges and roses, with moss-overgrown thatched roofs, dotted the wayside. At a cross-roads the battery halted for rest. Along the road came a baker's wagon. There was a raid on its gingerbread cookies. The bakerman reaped a harvest of good American quarters for every three cookies he handed out.
Drenched through slicker, et al. the soldiers retraced their step to Camp Woodley, the beauties of the flowery countryside being lost to a majority by the far-soaking rain. When Lieut. Hugh Clarke dismissed the watery battery admonition was added for everybody to change to dry clothing. But, alas, the advice was far better than expedient. The only clothes the soldiers possessed at the time were wet on their backs. Their extra uniform and clothing was in their barrack-bags, which had not been seen since leaving Camp Meade. No fire was available. The only open course was to let the clothes dry on the back. The boys of Battery D spent a very lonely afternoon, sitting in the tents, with wet clothes. And, it continued raining on the outside.
When the battery drew individual rations, consisting of one can of corned-beef; a hunk of cheese; a box of hard bread and a can of jam, at 9:30 o'clock, Saturday morning, August 3rd, the sun was shining and the day was waxing warm. Under full pack the command started for the seaport of Southampton.
Romsey is seven miles Northwest of Southampton by the London and Southwest railway, but the 311th did not take the L. & S. W. The hob-nail limited was the official troop train and the route covered nine miles by winding road.
It was on this hike that "Corona" became lost. David B. Koenig, the battery clerk, was the chaperon of "Corona." But he could not carry her all the way, so the boys took turns at carrying the precious thing. During one of the rest-halts, however, some one left poor little "Corona" lay by the roadside. When her disappearance was discovered it was necessary for Lieut. Clarke to hike back several miles and find the lost. "Corona" was the battery typewriter.
Southampton was reached at 12:30 o'clock. Stop was made at the British rest camp at the Commons where refreshments, in addition to the cheese and jam rations, were secured at the British Y. M. C. A. canteen. At 2 p. m. that day it started to rain and at 2:15 the regiment resumed its march and reached the docks at 3:15 o'clock.
It was a regiment of tired soldiers who sat on their packs in the big warehouse pier at Southampton waiting for word to go up the gang-plank of the vessel that was to take them across the English Channel.
"The King Edward" was the name of the channel-going vessel that drew alongside the pier late in the afternoon. It was a cute-looking boat, just big enough to transport Battery D across the channel in comfort. At 6:30 p. m., Battery D and 1200 other members of the 311th were loaded on the King Edward. Everybody had a pleasant time. No space went to waste, whatever. Some tried to sleep during the long night that ensued while standing against a post and others tried to strap themselves to the ceiling with their cartridge belts. In general the scene was like unto a large meat-cooler in a butcher shop, with the exception that the ship furnished life-preservers instead of meat-hooks and the temperature was the extreme of zero.
Convoyed by several destroyers with piercing search lights, which scanned the same waters that held the dead of the Hospitalship Walrilda, which was torpedoed in the English Channel while conveying wounded back to England, the King Edward started on its dash across the channel at 8:30 p. m., on the night of the day that the Walrilda met its fate.
The troops huddled together in the small hatches of the King Edward did not have much thought where they were or whither bound. They did not recall at the time that they were passing the Isle of Wight and the spot in the English Channel that witnessed the defeat of the Armada in the same month, back in the year 1588.
Sufficient unto the night was the misery thereof. Sea sickness came over quite a few, which was duly abetted by the stifling air. Those near the hatch-ways were fortunate in getting to the deck rails when their inner recesses were most severely tempest-tossed. Those who were hemmed in on all sides by human forms, who lay stretched on the stairs, in hallways, benches and wherever there was an inch of space, had a difficult time when they attempted to find a passage way through the closely matted carpet of humanity.
Col. C. G. Mortimer, the regimental commander, came down from his station on the deck and found it well-nigh impossible to get through the corridor of the forward saloon.
Through the hours of the long night the King Edward was convoyed across the channel at a speed nearing 25 knots an hour. Early morning of Sunday, August 4th, drew the King Edward near the shores of Northern France. At 2 p. m. the ship approached a harbor, but it was not until daylight that those on board could see a sign on a warehouse of a pier, bearing the name Cherbourg.