As you know, I jumped from the minor league (American Field Service) into the major (U. S. Army) on October 1st, 1917. After taking the leap we were sent to Soissons (Aisne) which was to be our home for some little time. Soissons was some town! The Boche had been there before us, but had left a great part of the city standing. With its hotels, cafés, tea rooms, stores, and bath house, we led the life of Riley.
Our camp lay just on the edge of the city on the bank of the Aisne river, and in the camp I had my first lesson in ditch digging, kitchen policing, drilling, rock breaking, and a few other like things.
Things went along pretty smooth for us until March 21, when there came the grand finale as far as Soissons was concerned. Up to that date we had had a few air raids, which would start the twins barking and us running for abris. The twins were a pair of “seventy-fives” in a field right behind camp.
On March 21 things began to pick up. All the morning I had been hauling rock and more rock, and along towards noon I was tired, dirty, and didn’t much care if school kept or not. I walked into our barracks and started some water boiling to remove my rock hauling makeup (as far as I know, that water is still boiling). Was lying on my bunk when the word came that we were to pack up our stuff and be ready to move at any moment. It was like a bolt out of a clear sky. “Be ready to move,” and we thought we were settled for the rest of the war!
It did not take long to roll up my blankets, to dump my stuff into my barracks bag, and to lug it all down to my truck. Started to roll my blankets after I got them to the camion, when there came a whistle, a bang, and a shower of dirt, stones, and twigs. A shell had landed on the other side of the river. Before I had time to collect my thoughts there came another whistle. This time I was under the truck ahead of the bang,—more dirt, rocks, and twigs. No wonder they were moving camp! There was a bridge dead ahead of me, about forty yards away. These two shells had just missed the end furthest from me, and I could see that if the bridge was the attraction I didn’t want to stick around. My blankets were still unrolled and I started at them again. Another whistle, another dive, and this time a regular downpour. This shell had landed on my side of the river just off the bridge. Right on its heels came another, and this one saw my exit. I started for camp on the run, but didn’t get far before there came a bang. The concussion floored me and when I picked myself together, saw a bunch of the boys gathered around something under a tree that had been hit.
The something was one of the boys wounded, in the leg. Why no one else was wounded, or no one killed, is a miracle, as that shell hit where every one seemed to be. No doubt hitting so high up the éclat was thrown over our head. The boy who was wounded is now in the States. His leg is now O. K., but he will always be lame.
