Evening star., 1918-07-28
Special Correspondence Of The Star.
WITH THE AMERICAN ARMY.

WITH THE AMERICAN ARMY.
MARINE FRONT. July II. 1918.
TIME little village of x Is
deserted Its inhabitants-the
old men and old women, the
girls and the boys who till the
beautiful soil of France. and
the children in arms-are gone. Tney
fed when the Germans began pouring
over the old trench lines to the north.
Now the village is safe, though Still
within the range of German sheiis
and gas. but the inhabitants have
been slow in returning. The Amerf-
can Army has passed through, going
north. and we have helped to dam the
German tide and push our wall for
ward.
When our wounded began coming
back in the little fleet of ambulanceS
medical unit. Cheyenne and other
Wyoming men. with tall. soft
spoken Texan for captain, found the
village as it as-deserted-and nail
ed the Red Cross flag on wooden
post outside the church.
X
This morning the writer walked
into the church, through the open
were lying there. From the stained
glass windows the colored lights were
falling on them. Lying on their backs.
sur men were staring at the glass.
Depicted in their patched design, the
Prince of Peace stood out against the
powerful sun of the morning, behold
ing the wounds and havoc of world
war.
At the altar two silver angels were
kneeling. one on either side. but there
was no fame in the Sunday candles
of the pious Inhabitants. Surmount-
ing the altar was a painting of the
virgin and Child. in an old-faShion,
and a bit crude. perhaps. but the
cracks and stains of age Softened by
the rich glow from the windows teem-
ing with light
Not a sound in the church. White
clad figures-our khaki-clad lieuten-
ants and captains hidden in long
aaprons-moved about from figure to
figure stretched out on blankets.
Outside there was the common COM
motion of men and guns and supplies
moving toward the front in thudding
big trucks. a-horse and a-foot.
Presently an ambulance drove up
and the stretcher bearers carried in
their four wounded. Three were
silent. The fourth was talking.
Just put a little piece of rag on it.
That's all that is necessary. Don't
want to Stay here. No, not even for
a day. I'm going back"
whats the matter with you?" the
doctor asked. The soldier held up a
bloody hand.
"Got a bit of shrapnel in one of my
fingers" he said, "and these fellows
say l have to stay here. But I'm
going back. and right away"
The doctor examined him. He
hathed the fingers and wrapped the
~ IL N,f1
fmpatiently, then out he started
You ought to stay here two days,
so that 1 can find out if there is any
infection. You must not go back"
said the doctor.
But / got to go back" the soldier
said.
So the two agreed that the Soldier
could go back into line, provided he
came back the next day for an exam
ination.
The writer stopped the wounded
man on the step outside and asked
him his name and address.
Merrill Corbett, St. Louis. No." he
replied.
I'll tell you," he said. I've been
days, and I've been wounded. But l
never seen a German. Well, I've got
to go back to capture me a German
for this"
And he went out.
*
Another told me his name was Prf-
vate Martin B. Webb of a54 South 18th
street, Philadelphia He enlisted April
10, few days after the declaration
of the war. II tried to enlist the same
day" he told me. but the recruiting
officer down in Wilmington. where
I was that day. didn't want to be dis
turbed from his afternoon nap"
Webb has been through the big fight
on this front. He was in a party
which cleaned up German machine
guns in Brussiares, and he told me
that he found one dead Saxon chain
ed to one of the guns he helped ST.
lence. Webb was hit in the hand by
shrapnel, and his injuries were slight.
He was cheerful and eager to get
back.
BY his side was lying Private Anton
Christianson of Hopper, Nebr.. near
Omaha, boy who came out with the
signal corps attached to a famous
brigade. and he went through with
them all the way to Chateau Thierry
He had escaped unhit, and breathed
only a little gas, but the gassing
brought on appendicitis and he was
on his way to the hospital.
Outside the church, on the bench,
was Private Harry Kester of New
Brighton, Pa, who told me about all