History of Ambulance Company Number 139. Various
being an ideal town, it was at least a change from the monotony of camp life. Passes to town were liberal, and the men spent many pleasant evenings there, either at the picture shows or with friends whom they met after going to Doniphan.
The Y. M. C. A. deserves a great deal of credit for its work at Doniphan. "Y" Bldg. No. 59, used by the Sanitary Train and the 110th Engineers, was just a short distance from the train area, and in the evening immediately after Retreat a stream of men could be seen going in that direction. The "Y" furnished paper and envelopes, pen and ink, thus encouraging the men to write home oftener. Movies, at least twice a week, band concerts and boxing bouts were some of the means of entertaining the men, and there was always a full house. On Sundays the men were privileged to attend exceptionally interesting religious services, and the series of addresses given by Chaplain Reeder of the Engineers was well worth hearing.
Almost as soon as the company arrived at Doniphan, rumors filled the air about the Division leaving for overseas service, but nothing substantial developed until about the middle of March. Then orders were received that the Division was booked to leave, and the work preparatory to moving started in earnest. Everything, from the kitchen range to the Pierce-Arrow trucks, had to be prepared for shipment. Lumber was furnished, and the company carpenters were kept busy almost to the day of departure building crates and boxes. After being crated, each article had to be stenciled with the company designation, together with the weight and cubical contents, and the Division Symbol. Packing lists were prepared, which was no small task, and the main work preparatory to leaving was completed.
Not all of the men of the company left Camp Doniphan with the Division, for as is always the case in a large body of men, there were a few who were physically unfit. These men, nine of them, were left at the Casual Camp at Camp Doniphan, and were later assigned to recruiting or military police duty in various parts of the United States.
DEPARTURE FROM CAMP DONIPHAN
The day of May 8th, 1918, dawned bright and fair. The morning was spent in finishing up little odds and ends of work, and in rolling packs. At 1 P. M. "Fall in," the last one at Doniphan, sounded, and soon afterwards the Sanitary Train started its march to the railroad yards. Again it was hot and dusty, just as it had been when the company marched into camp, and it was with a feeling of relief that the troop train came into view. Pullman cars? No, the Sanitary Train couldn't be as fortunate as that, so the men had to be content with chair cars.
With seven months training behind them, the men of Ambulance Company 139 left Camp Doniphan for "Somewhere in France" with great anticipation, feeling that they were ready for any part that they might have to play.
On board the train, which left Doniphan at 3 P. M., the men amused themselves in reading and card games. There were a few details, such as sweeping the cars, kitchen police or serving the meals "de luxe" to the boys, but the old beloved guard detail was not left to the privates. It was graciously wished on the non-coms, who were forced to carry a "45 smoke wagon" on their belts, according to some General Order in the "blue book." We never learned whether they were to keep the boys from getting out or to keep the feminine sex from getting in.
At our first stop, El Reno, Okla., the four ambulance companies, which made up one train, "fell-out" for a little exercise, and after an hour or so of maneuvering, we climbed aboard again to journey nearer the Atlantic. We were by this time consulting time tables, watches and maps to decide over which route we must travel in order to pass through Kansas City, the home of most of the boys in the company. The first night of traveling passed slowly, and as the first tints of dawn were spreading over the eastern sky our train drew into Topeka. Shortly after daybreak the train left the Capitol city of Kansas, and headed down the Kaw Valley towards Kansas City. As the noon hour of May 9th was passing away the train pulled into the big Union Station, where mothers, fathers, wives, brothers, sisters, sweethearts and friends had been waiting for hours, with baskets overflowing with delicious meats, sandwiches, fruits and all the rarest and spiciest that a Mother's effort could put forth.
Again the "blue book" came into play, and we took a little sightseeing trip up Main Street. The bride of a certain Sergeant in the company tried to follow her "hero in hobs" but fell out after the first block. We did an about-face at 12th Street and double-timed back to the folks. After re-entering the coach, we leaned out of the window, pulled the Mother and sweetheart up to us, and for the time being were utterly unconscious of what went on around us or where we were. When the train slowly moved out of the station, we tried to smile as we said "Good-bye," and watched the handkerchiefs still waving when we rounded the corner and were out of sight.
We arrived at St. Louis about 12:30 the next morning, and were switched onto a siding, where we stayed until daybreak, when we continued our journey, crossing Illinois and Indiana. At Huntington, Ind., we again stopped and had setting-up exercises. Upon reaching Peru, Ind., we found Pullman cars awaiting us, and from then on we rode in style. Our next stop was at Salamanca, N. Y., where exercise was again on the program. From there we traveled through some of the most picturesque country of the east.
While on the train a humorous incident occurred. The officers heard from some underground source that "Snowball," our dark-complexioned porter, had been passing "Old Evans" around to the boys in a promiscuous fashion. And at the same time "Snowball" heard in the same way that the officer of the guard was going to make a search of his possessions for this precious "fire-water." The search was made, with Snowball looking on wild-eyed, and the officer detective was about to give it up, when he noticed a string leading out the window, and upon investigating found the poor half-dead soldier (bottled in bond) tied by the neck to the other end of the string.
The last night of riding brought us near to the eastern coast, and soon after daybreak on May 12th the train stopped at Jersey City. We slung our packs and pushed our way through the station to a ferry boat. From this point many of us had our first view of New York and the salt water. After loading on the ferry we were pulled out into the East River, where the boat remained for the greater part of the day. At last it moved on and we landed in Long Island City. Dragging our packs and barrack bags, we marched wearily to a Long Island train. A few hours' ride brought us to Garden City, and truly it was well named, for with its low, well kept hedges, its English gardens and its wild flowers growing everywhere, it looked like a garden city. From Garden City to Camp Mills was a weary hike but we finally reached there, and after eating supper, we crawled under our three O. D.s and slept.
During our five days stay at Camp Mills, some of the men were granted passes to New York City, but we left before all the men had a chance to visit that city of bright lights. The day before we departed we were given the last of our overseas equipment, including the pan-shaped steel helmet.
THE TRIP ACROSS THE ATLANTIC
After spending five chilly nights at Camp Mills, Long Island, and awaiting anxiously the orders to leave for France, we did not seem to mind the coolness of the night on May the 17th, for we were to leave the following day on the long expected trip across the Atlantic. Bright and early the next morning a passer-by could plainly see that something was about to happen. All were in gay spirits as they hurried here and there, gathering together the miscellaneous articles and other things, which make up a soldier's equipment. Packs were rolled, the camp tidied up, and our overseas boxes loaded on trucks. At last after everything was ready we fell in line and marched across the camp, to the train that would carry us to the ferry. The old world seemed to hold a different meaning for everyone that morning. We were about to step into the greatest adventure of our lives, and one that would never be forgotten. Groups of soldiers cheered us on all sides, and yelled that they would be with us soon. Some were from our own division, and we recognized many of our friends.
On arriving at the ferry, we took our place as close to the rail as possible, and waved to the passengers on passing boats. The ferry, filled to its full capacity, chugged down the East River to one of the many docks where, quietly waiting, was the big camouflaged boat that would complete for us the trip from our training camp in Doniphan to England.
The moment that we had been looking forward to for so long a time had at last arrived. We wound our way to the big warehouse and stopped in front of an iron door. Stacked on the floor were life-saving jackets and as each one passed through the door, he received a colored tag, and one of the life-preservers. The tag assured him