On the way back we stopped at Domremy, the town where Jeanne d'Arc was born, and saw the little church where she made her First Communion. In a park right across the way is an old house with the upper story done over, which is supposed to be her home. It is a museum with busts and pictures of her. I doubt if any of the original house is standing, for in the wall is a small, worm-eaten bit of timber covered over with wire netting, which is apparently all that remains of the original structure. The church is of the simple village type without anything of special interest, other than its historical association.
We made rapid time home and got back in time to brush off some dust before dinner. Peck told me to-night that I would be sent up in advance to start the mess at Chaumont. This probably means Saturday or Sunday.
Higgins broke his leg yesterday. Haberman, the man with the pneumothorax, is no better to-day. They had the priest in yesterday.
August 19th. How can I tell all that has happened in the past three days? I left Vittel two days ago in the ambulance with four sick men on stretchers and a nurse. We jogged along through pleasant country, via Neufchâteau to here, where we arrived at about three thirty p.m.—fifty-three miles or thereabout. The country is charming, but cold stone barracks like prison cells, a great bare court over which dust swirls in clouds, covering the clothes, hands and face—in five minutes boots and gaiters are white—it drifts through into the rooms, covering beds and furniture and clothes. And then a blazing, dazzling sun, fairly blinding as it is reflected from the white earth. Only one little scrap of green can be seen in the whole surroundings, and that is toward the west. We are in the new Artillery Barracks, which, since the beginning of the war, have been partially used as a hospital. We are taking it over in part from the French, with the understanding that later we will be in whole charge.
The country itself is beautiful. Situated as we are on the crest of a hill, by going outside the compound on the east and west is an extensive view, stretching away for miles over the valley on each side.
Well, I arrived here and all was chaos. We got some beds up, and I slept in a large cell alone, without a hook to hang anything on. No toilet or bathing facilities. Chaumont is two kilometers away, and if one were marooned on a desert island the isolation could not be greater. My job is the mess—always the mess. No kitchens except the general ones. No sinks, but I scratched around. We buy through the French. The endeavor is to keep down the prices.
The rest of the crowd turned up late last night, and we pulled off a good dinner in spite of many difficulties. Our same crowd is together again.
Captain Edmond Schwander, formerly an apothecary de première classe, is the Quartermaster in charge of the barracks. He is a real live proposition, and seems to be a mighty nice fellow.