An engineers’ squad was formed, consisting of Corporal Pond, Privates Bowra, Dolan, Dunn, George, Overstreet, Potter, Foster and Vavrinek, who were mastering the intricate mysteries of trench digging and camouflage, in order to do skillfully the construction of the battery’s gun positions in the field. In conformance, too, with the new mode of warfare to be met, a machine gun crew was picked, including Corporal Buckley and Privates Berney and McCarthy.
Upon returning from a day at the range December 19, the battery was greeted with the news that the regiment was under quarantine and confined to camp on account of a few cases of spinal meningitis discovered that day. That ended the passes to Rennes, and the evening and Sunday visits to Guer, St. Malo and other neighboring villages. The weekend passes to Rennes had been much sought for. One left camp Saturday afternoon and returned Sunday night, making the 40-kilometre trip in two to four hours, depending on the success with which the diminutive engine that pulled the train made the ascent of the hills en route. On one occasion it could not make the grade on either the first or second attempt, sliding back down hill each time. Finally the boys all jumped off, and without the burden of their weight and aided by their pushing, the engine, puffing hard, made the top, bringing forth hearty American cheers, to the bewildered amusement of the handful of French passengers.
Rennes, the ancient capital of Brittany and haunt of the famous Du Guesclin, held much of historic interest. Being also a wealthy city, manufacturing and commercial, and containing at that time big hospitals, from which convalescent Russian, Serbian, Greek and Italian, as well as French soldiers walked about the streets, it held a great deal more of present interest to these Americans.
Guer, with its “epiceries,” which extended their stock of merchandise according to American tastes; its cafes, and its restaurants, attracted many visitors from camp Saturday and Sunday afternoons. St. Malo, over the hill in the opposite direction, the “Chateau” on the way thither, and the collection of places about the “Bellevue,” at the entrance to camp, furnished sustenance nearer at hand. Cider—2 sous a glass and 6 sous a bottle—was popular and cheap; “vin rouge” and more select and expensive drinks were also plentiful. The meals were chiefly omelets and French fried potatoes. One could never be sure about the meat, what it was or whether one could eat it, although there was not the dire scarcity or absolute lack of it that met us later near the battle front. The bread to be had was exceedingly good, as was also the jam, which was, however, extremely high-priced—4 or 5 francs for a large can—and the hungry appetites that an army meal did not nearly satisfy after a hard, cold day’s work were appeased with this simple fare on many evenings.
But the visits to these places of refreshment which the quarantine ended were not greatly missed. For the Christmas packages had begun to arrive. There were not so many soldiers in France then that restrictions need be placed upon soldiers’ mail. Consequently the packages from home were many, and contained all manner of good things. They commenced to flow in a week or two before the holiday, and continued to arrive long afterwards. Best of all, however, on Christmas day, were the letters from home telling that our first letters from France had been received and read.
Christmas morning we heard, instead of the usual reveille march, a special Christmas selection of the band, “Adeste, Fideles.” After breakfast—bacon, beans, doughnuts, bread and coffee—the battery gathered about the Christmas tree in the mess shack. Holly and mistletoe, from the neighboring woods, decorated the walls. At one side was a brilliant imitation of a hearth. Santa Claus (alias Corporal Pond) handed out the packages which the men of the battery had contributed to his pack the evening before and also a package of cigarettes to each man, the gift of Captain Robbins. Later in the day were distributed boxes of candy, a pound box for each man, which were the gift of Major and Mrs. Judah. During the morning Major Redden passed through the barracks, and his greetings for the day were returned heartily and vociferously.
At 3:30 was served dinner, an array of turkey, mashed potatoes, dressing, gravy, apple pie and cocoa that more than extinguished a man’s appetite. In the evening the band played. The infectious rhythm of “Allah’s Holiday” and similar pieces drew the men from their letters, card-games, magazines, etc., and soon the street was filled with a singing, dancing throng of soldiers. Soon all, soldiers and band, paraded to the officers’ quarters. Nothing would satisfy them but Major Redden’s appearance and a speech from him. This he gave, to the delight of all the men. Then he passed out cigars till they were gone, and ended with regrets that there were not more and a hope that another Christmas would see all of them home in the midst of all comfort.
The New Year was introduced in true military fashion. The band played the old year out. At one minute before midnight, “Taps” was blown. Then, immediately, “First Call” announced the new year, and “Reveille” ushered in 1918.
With the new year began our preparations for service at the front. At 8:30 New Year’s day, the regiment was inspected by Colonel Reilly in its field equipment of steel helmets, woolen helmets, packs, side-arms and rubber boots. Our “tin derbies” had been issued the evening before, and were just beginning to furnish the unfailing fascination of revealing their long list of varied uses: candle-stick, camp-stool, market-basket, cymbals, wash basin, etc.
There was no turkey on this holiday, but the menu was pretty nearly as good as on preceding fete-days: Roast beef, mashed potatoes, creamed carrots, lettuce salad, apple cobbler and coffee. In the packages from home were ample additions to the battery mess in the form of candy, cake, cookies and occasionally cocoa. The three stoves, at each end and in the middle of the long shack, formed the centers of parties limited in size to the number who could squeeze into the warm circle. The others, engaged in reading letters from home or writing in reply, sat or lay on their cots, iron beds with steel springs, furnished with mattress, pillow and plenty of blankets. On the shelf between the windows and on the row of hooks below, were arranged each man’s belongings. Electric lights cast some glow from the beams above, but reading or writing demanded the aid of a candle at one’s side. Save when the rain, falling heavily, dripped through the roof, so that certain unlucky men had to stretch their shelter-halves as awnings over their cots, the quarters were comfortable enough, so comfortable that at a later date, in some muddy gun-pit, we looked back with longing upon the winter months at Coetquidan.