Saturday afternoon, November 3, the regiment marched up through the city and along the Boulevard de l’Ocean, St. Nazaire’s Riverside Drive. Then we remarked what we later became used to seeing, that the women seemed almost all to wear black, and practically every man was in a uniform.
The following afternoon, leave was given to visit the town. Hotels, restaurants and pastry shops did a rushing business, as did also the old women who kept the stands in the market square, selling postcards, souvenirs and all manner of trinkets. But the time spent ashore was not long, for we were called back to unload the ship that night, and marched out next day, our packs upon our backs, to a camp a short distance from the city.
At that camp we felt first that economical parsimony which the Old World must practice, in contrast to the extravagant abundance of our own land. The scanty wood allowance made the cooks suddenly mindful of the last stray splinters. Wash water was available only at certain specified times, and a squad of men must be gathered for a bath, in order that the water from the showers should not be wasted. No wonder, thought we, that the Frenchman drinks his eternal “vin rouge,” if water is so scarce.
But our stay at St. Nazaire was not long. There were a few days of diverse details, such as shifting boxes and equipment on the docks, leveling the drill grounds, and excavating for the big reservoir that was later to furnish the water supply for the camp. Saturday night the Second Battalion marched out of camp shortly after midnight, and boarded a train for the short ride northward to the town of Guer, in the department of Morbihan. That we were not full-fledged soldiers was evidenced by the fact that we made the trip in third-class passenger coaches and not in the box-cars which were ever afterwards to be our mode of transportation in France. But the stops were as frequent as they were in our later train rides, and it was not until the middle of the afternoon, Sunday, November 11, that we arrived at Guer.
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| Machine Gun Mounted for Air Craft | Three Sergeants in Romenoville’s Ruins | |
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| Three Corporals Ready to Hike | The Battery Clerk and the Courier |
CHAPTER II
Training at Camp Coetquidan
The trip up the long hill on which lay Camp Coetquidan was made in trucks. The distance was not more than two miles, but the steady upward climb fatigued the boys many evenings, when they returned from a supper at the Hotel de France, or at Mme. Legrey’s chocolate shop, or at one of the places that sprang up to supply the demand of the soldiers for food.