While we were traveling through this valley we were greeted with some familiar sights and sounds. These were the American box car and locomotive and the sound of the whistle of a U. S. A. train. We greeted the American rolling stock as companions, and were truely glad to see them. We could easily distinguish between the sound of the whistle of an American locomotive and that of a French engine, the American whistle being deep and the French shrill. It may seem strange to think that I comment upon such a small matter as a locomotive whistle, but when one is in a foreign land, amid foreign scenes and sounds, a familiar sound is good to hear, even though it is as unmusical as a deep blast of an American-made locomotive.
Our next stop at a place of importance was at Tours—historic Tours. This is a city of more than 100,000 inhabitants and is one of the most interesting cities in France.
I spent several weeks here in a hospital after being gassed on the Metz front and I will speak in more detail of this city in a later chapter.
At Tours we were given more freedom than at any previous stop, and here our officers bought chocolates, tobacco and fruit and distributed them among the men. These dainties were the first we had since leaving Brest and were surely appreciated.
After leaving Tours we continued to wind through the Valley of the Loire along the Loire River, and I must say that the vineyards and orchards between Tours and Orleans, our next stop, were the prettiest that I saw in all of France. In this particular part of the valley the trees and vines are exceedingly prolific, as compared with trees and vines in other parts of France. They are not, however, as prolific as those of California. The trees do not attain as large a growth as those of this State and the vines are less vigorous. The fruit is neither as large nor does it have the quality of ours. The 1918 fruit crop was a large one, as measured by French standards, but yield per acre, I am sure, would be small as compared with the yield per acre of a first class Sacramento river orchard. The difference of the quality and the yield as compared with our fruits, is undoubtedly due to the fact that for centuries the lands of the Loire have been cultivated, while our lands are new and contain all their natural richness. The vineyards are planted differently from ours. The vines are four feet apart one way and eight feet apart another, while ours are usually planted eight or ten feet apart each way. Having been reared on a California vineyard, I was naturally very much interested in the vineyards of France, and I examined those that I had the opportunity of visiting very carefully. I inspected some of the grapes that were pronounced first class by French vineyardists, and found them to be very inferior to California grapes. The berries were smaller and they contained less juice.
The farther we traveled into the interior of France, the more interested the people became in us. In other words, the nearer we came to the scene of action, the greater was the enthusiasm of the French people over our arrival. While we excited but small interest in the small towns on the coast, as we got closer to the front, there were delegations of women and children at the station waving to us at every small or large town through which we passed. Cries of "Vive L'Amerique" were more frequent, and we had hopes that the persistent "donnez moi" would be heard less frequently, but it was not. We never ceased hearing it as long as there were French children around.
We arrived at Orleans late in the evening of the third day of our trip, and here we received a very hearty welcome from the American Red Cross, as we did at Tours. The station at Orleans was more like an American station than any that we had yet seen in France. It was large and equipped with several tracks, as are most American stations. Orleans is full of interest, but we were not permitted to stop there long. We continued on our journey all night and the next day were out of the Valley of the Loire and into a hilly section. While the scenery was attractive, there were fewer cultivated areas and the soil was less productive. We now began to see more of the American war activities in France. We saw tented cities that had been built for troops in record time; we saw camps where American soldiers were being drilled; and we saw great quantities of American implements of war such as airplanes, ammunition, light and heavy artillery, etc. In this region we also passed three hospital trains coming from the front with American soldiers who had been wounded, and we knew we were getting very near the fighting. We also noticed a decided difference in the French inhabitants. We detected a deeper interest in the war among these people who were so near the battle line than in those farther away, and we noted that not a young man was to be seen among the civilians in eastern France—they were all at the front fighting to save their homes from the ruthless Hun.
At 4 o'clock in the afternoon of the fourth day after we had left Brest, we arrived at Langres, which was our destination, so far as train travel was concerned. It was a great relief to leave those crowded compartments in that uncomfortable train. The distance from Brest to Langres by the route we traveled probably does not exceed six hundred miles, yet it took us four days and three nights to make the distance. A first class American train would cover the same distance in about sixteen hours. At times our train moved so slowly that a man could get out and keep up with it by running along the side. There were no conveniences on the train, such as American travelers are accustomed to. For instance, there were no toilets, and the train would stop every three or four hours at some small station where latrines were provided for our use. No one knows how miserable we were on this trip, and the only thing that kept the boys from complaining was the fact that the country was new to us and strange sights and scenes made us forget our discomfort. Still, we did not have things as bad as some of the American boys, who were compelled to travel across France in box cars.
We were all glad to stretch our legs at Langres, and after we were given a little refreshing exercise, we were loaded on motor trucks and taken to our barracks, located in a stone building formerly used as a convent.
The city of Langres is beautifully situated. It is on a hill that rises from a plateau. It is a city of great antiquity, dating from the time of the Romans. There can be no doubt but that its original location was selected because of its strategic position, as it is on the summit of a ridge and commands the situation in every direction. In mediaeval times it was a stronghold for the feudal lords and in modern times it is still of importance as a fortress. The city is surrounded by a defense wall, built hundreds of years ago, and around the outside of the wall was a moat, wide and deep. In feudal days this moat was part of the defense works and it was kept filled with water. It was dry when we visited and has been so for many years, as a moat would be but as slight obstructure in modern warfare. But it made the city well nigh impregnable in the mediaeval days before gunpowder was invented and when most fighting was of the hand to hand kind. We entered the city through an arched gate and crossed the moat on a bridge which could be drawn up in case of attack. At present the gate is always kept lowered, but it could be drawn up if necessary. It was easy to picture in the mind's eye as we looked at these relics of former days, the feudal barons of the age of chivalry, sallying forth from this ancient stronghold on their steeds to make war or to plunder and prepared to retreat behind this moat and wall where they would be safe in the event that they were opposed by superior forces. I could not but think, as I stood upon this historic ground, that we ourselves were making history and that the fight that we were then preparing to make, while less romantic than the skirmishes of the feudal barons, was vastly more important to the welfare of the world.