A STORY
of
THE 305th MACHINE GUN BATTALION
77th DIVISION
A.E.F.
By
HENRY W. SMITH
FOREWORD
THE intervening years since the World War have seen numerous histories published setting forth the record of the American divisions that took part in the struggle - including our own, the 77th. We of the 305th Machine Gun Battalion, which was an integral part of that famous Division, feel, however, that some word should be set down as a fitting memorial to the spirit of our old Battalion in the war and to give us something of a tangible nature that we may pass on to future members of our own families if nothing more. This is not intended to be an accurate, chronological history of the 305th Machine Gun Battalion, as data of that nature is a matter of record and is no doubt available to seekers of detail. Our story is more of a personal record, a human interest story, as told by members of the various companies comprising the Battalion. In general knowing practically nothing of things military at the outset the Battalion was molded into a fighting organization with an esprit de corps unsurpassed.
CHAPTER I
WE ARE BORN
T0 BEGIN at the beginning we take you back to August, 1917, and to Camp Upton on Long Island, not far distant from Yaphank. Few people, apart from the Long Island trainmen, ever heard of Yaphank before the War but to those of the old 77th Division it came to be a by-word, as well-known as Hoboken came to be known to the World. The first commanding officer of the Battalion was Major Winnia (later Colonel) who, with a nucleus of regular army non-commissioned officers established headquarters on 11th Street between 4th and 5th Avenues in Camp Upton. In order to ascertain what material he had to start with, the Major, it is reported, asked one of the bright sergeants what he knew about paper work whereupon the sergeant replied that he knew all about paper work as he had once been a printer in Chicago. The major naturally "hit the ceiling" and we understand that the sergeant never mentioned printing again.
Men called into the service commenced pouring into camp and the Battalion soon took shape. Many of us were not sent directly to the machine gun barracks but were sent to the various infantry regiments, later being transferred. Those who were transferred will never forget the send-off given us as we left the infantry barracks to trudge up 5th Avenue in camp with our belongings in a blanket to join the machine gunners. Windows and doors were crowded with infantrymen who shouted such pleasantries as: "Suicide Club! -Seven-Minute Men, etc." These were terms that were supposed to describe a machine-gunner, statistics at that time indicating that the average life of a machine-gunner was about seven minutes after he reached the trenches. The writer, one of those transferred from an infantry regiment, recalls sitting dejectedly in the mess hall of C Company when one of the old-timers strolled in. "What's your name, buddy? Where you from? Going to be with us permanently?" -were some of the questions to be followed by: "Boy, you're in luck. You may not know it but this is one Hell of a swell outfit. We got a real battlin' bunch here and you're goin' to like it. Say, this stuff ya hear about machine-gunners is the bunk. You're with a real outfit now and we got just as good a chance of coming back as the next guy." His little "pep" talk helped a lot and as you can see I was one of those who did come back or I would not be sitting here telling you about it. Some of our gang did not come back, though. No, they didn't come back.
There is no need to burden the reader with the daily routine of a soldier. Those were hectic days and it was a case of drill, drill, pull stumps and clean mules or reverse the order if you will. Mules! The bane of our existence. How they could kick!!! They would look around at you to get the range, then lash out with one hoof right at you. No guess work with them.
The winter of 1917 was one long to be remembered. Was it cold? You walked your post on guard with tears running down your cheeks. We had a lot of fun at that, what with one thing or another and C Company men smile broadly when the Battle of the Kitchen is mentioned. Never heard of the Battle of the Kitchen? That is how C Company came to be known as the Cleaver Club but, as Kipling would say, that is another story and we will have to tell you about it some other time.
Well, sir, to hurry along a little, we drilled and we drilled and on Washington's Birthday, 1918, the Division paraded down Fifth Avenue, New York City. The parade made a decided impression and it was the general feeling that we were ready. The 305th Machine Gun Battalion was the first unit to leave camp and we will never forget the look of consternation on the faces of the infantrymen as we marched by their barracks to the gate of the camp early in the morn-ing of March 27th, 1918. Reveille was blowing and as the doughboys rolled out to line up you never saw a more startled crowd. "Where are you birds going?" they yelled.
We were on our way to the great adventure.
Upon arrival at the gate of the camp instead of beholding the old Long Island Railroad coaches we knew so well, it was a distinct surprise to see a train of New York, New Haven and Hartford cars. Speculation as to our destination was rife and while we all imagined it meant a long ride, no one expected as long a ride as it turned out to be. Right here we showed indications of having absorbed some-thing of the real soldier and that was to keep our mouths shut and to wait and see what happened. Well, we rolled along through the old Long Island scenery right into the Sunnyside yards at Long Island City. Many thought it would be a change here to ferries for Hoboken but after the usual troop-train delay we started and found ourselves crossing the Hell-Gate bridge. Up through Connecticut we went and we recall with pleasure a short stop at New Haven. We, of course, were not permitted to leave the train. Looking down one of the streets we beheld a sign-New Haven Pie Baking Company. A young lady, employed at the bakery, saw the troop-train at the crossing. She was a girl with her heart in the right place for a soldier for she hurried into the pie plant and came up the street with pies nicely cut and, as she passed beneath the windows holding up the pies, everybody dipped in. Were we down-hearted? Not yet.
The train started on again and we were favored with a view of Massachusetts. We pulled into the yards at Worcester about 1 A.M. and the news of a troop-train passing through seemed to spread like wildfire. Every engineer in the yards tied down the whistle cord to give us a reception. It was anybody's guess where we would end up on this ride. We had been riding all day and well into the night as you can see and sleep was the one thing everybody wanted. We must admit that we were not crowded aboard the train but on the contrary had plenty of room, that is, until we tried stretching out for some much needed rest. We tried folding over the seats and it looked as though this was the real trick but the backs of the seats dipped for-ward and back and the idea was abandoned. Stretching out on the floor extending across the aisle of the car was about as good a way as any until someone came along the car and we soon learned that shin-bones do not make good stepping stones. The next day was bright and clear and we were still going. We were getting up north, pretty well, and here and there the landscape was still patched with snow. At Dover, New Hampshire, we saw a contingent of men with their bags, just going to camp. What veterans we were! Into the State of Maine we rode and finally to the City of Portland. Right down along the piers until finally the train stopped and our railroading in the United States was over for a while. The prow of our ship was there towering above us in all its wartime camouflage and it proved to be the good ship Megantic, a White Star liner. Not the largest ship afloat by any manner of means but a fine ship for all that. It carried us safely through submarine-infested waters and there will always be a warm spot in our hearts for that famous old ship. What a record she has!
CHAPTER II
WE SET SAIL
AFTER detraining at Portland we received some smart instructions to empty our pockets of matches. There were to be no matches carried aboard; danger of a lighted match disclosing our presence and position to the enemy. We knew by this time how to obey instructions and away went the matches. The blue barrack bags were loaded and we were ordered up the gang-plank. Some of the outfit were fortunate in being assigned to comfortable quarters in state rooms but with others it was down, down, down to compartment K just above the propeller shafts. There isn't anything so bad but what it could be worse and a number of the men further forward were bothered by a lot of rats. We were settled finally and returned to the deck. About this time a smoke seemed to be in order but what to do or matches. All we had you will remember were out on the dock but this did not prove to be any problem as we were able to buy matches on the ship. An English sailor in charge of the canteen had plenty for sale; with thousands of matches discarded on the pier. This sort of thing did not set well, we can assure you and we felt that we had been taken over the jumps right at the start.
The ship slowly glided out of the pier to the accompaniment of a long, deep-throated blast of the ship's horn and we felt that we were on our way at last, only to find that we had to wait awhile longer. Instead of going across directly we put into Halifax, Nova Scotia, there to wait over Easter to pick up the rest of the convoy. The liner Carmania with the 302nd Engineers and nurses came up the harbor and on Monday following Easter we moved out to start across the great Atlantic. In addition to the Megantic and the Carmania we had with us a ship loaded with Chinese coolies, and another ship loaded with animals (horses and mules). We had as convoy ship the British cruiser King Alfred.
Things were pleasant enough, the weather was glorious and best of all there wasn't much to do. Boat drills, a little guard duty and trying to cultivate a taste for oleo-margarine. Not many succeeded in getting over the oleo and, in a number of instances, it was used to grease hiking shoes. We didn't hit it off any too well with members
of the British crew and we found the best way to get along was to let them alone. Strange as it may seem they didn't speak our language, The mornings were pleasant and we can still hear the D Company quartet harmonize "Good Bye My Coney Island Baby". How that bunch could sing! Who can forget Bob Reilly's bass? Speaking of those balmy mornings brings to mind a scuffle or what would have been a scuffle. It was over in a moment and no one knew exactly what it was all about. A lad in C Company named.... well, maybe it is just as well that we do not mention his name, but he said something or did something to Bugler Bert Morgan, one of the quartet. Now Bert could take a lot of kidding but there is such a thing as rubbing a man the wrong way and he was off the deck-house in a flash, making a pass at our C Company man. We grabbed Bert and he cooled off when things were explained to him. We just mention this in passing as it served to bring this C Company boy to your attention. He was a lad from a remote part of New York State and we felt that he was a boy who had not had very much schooling and had not seen much of the world. He should not have been with us but more of him later.
Well, on we sailed. Instructions were to wear life belts at all times and to take to the life boats at six blasts of the ship's whistle. A crowd of the men were together one evening in one of the cabins having the usual rough house or talking soldiering which was usually the case and we had become careless with the life belts. Suddenly the ship's horn went off. Once -twice -thrice and a fourth time. Things were confusion by then with everybody making a wild leap for the life belts which had been carelessly strewn about. Four blasts and no more and all was serene again but for a few minutes there was plenty of excitement and we assure you the belts were never again where they should not have been. The days wore on with the King Alfred running way forward and at times dropping far astern but usually steaming along between the Carmania and the Megantic.
The cruiser engaged in target practice on several occasions, shooting at a target trailed from the stern of one of the ships. When first we heard the cruiser's guns there was some excitement as we were sure they were firing at a submarine. The target had the appearance of a periscope and it was interesting to watch the shots. We seemed destined to have an uneventful trip until one day we were brought to the realization that we were actually in the submarine zone. Things seemed peaceful enough with the King Alfred riding slightly astern of the two liners and about half way between them. Suddenly there was the sound of a terrific explosion and a cloud of spray and as the cruiser slowly settled by the stern, we realized that she had been hit. She settled almost to her rails but did not go down and we understand she limped into Belfast, Ireland, safely. We had picked up the destroyers by this time, and it was a sight to be remembered watching them roll and toss and turn as they darted back and forth crossing and recrossing our bow, circling about the ship with sailors sending and receiving messages by means of the wig-wag signaling flags. During this maneuvering, depth charges were dropped and to those of us who happened to be below decks it seemed as though every plate of the ship had been shaken loose. Some claimed they saw large oil spots on the surface of the water indicating that at least two submarines had been accounted for but we were never officially advised. One may have gained the impression that we were the sole outfit aboard, but we had with us Division Headquarters and the Military Police, perhaps eighteen hundred men in all. Due to the fact that the ship carrying the animals was rather slow, we were all held back, taking twelve days to make the crossing. It was indeed a scene of rare beauty as we steamed through the Irish Sea with the shores of Ireland and Wales discernible in the distance. It was sometime around daybreak when we noticed that the ship had slowed down considerably and that the steady, heavy pulsating of the powerful engines had ceased. Arriving on deck we found that we had entered the Mersey River and were almost opposite the landing stage in mid-stream at Liverpool. As the morning wore on commuters from Berkenhead, across the river, passed almost under our stern aboard the small ferries, a sight, which reminded us of our own Hudson with the commuters from Jersey. The people aboard the ferries waved to us in friendly fashion and it could be seen that they were surprised to see us. Not long after, there was friendly rivalry between our Battalion and the engineer regiment to see who would be the first to set foot on English soil. We do not know where the M.P.s were at this time. We did not pay as much attention to them then as we did later. We won the race with the engineers but we do not say so too loudly when the engineers are around. We might pause for a moment to pay our respects to the 302nd Engineer Regiment, our own engineers. They were later to prove themselves second to none in the A.E.F. and are held in high regard by all units of the Division. The entire regiment was decorated with the Croix de,Guerre by the French Government and we are proud to have served with this regiment.
Our stay at Liverpool was of short duration for we entrained later in the afternoon. We were at Liverpool long enough, however, to hear our first English expressions. Some ladies of the W.A.A.C. (Women's Auxiliary Army Corps) sold us ginger buns and coffee and when we inquired as to the cost, we were told just Tuppence Ha'penny. We of course were weighted down with American money but these English ladies did not know what coin was the equivalent of Tuppence Ha'penny. Someone came to the rescue and told us that our American nickel would take care of things nicely. Boarding the trains, we came in contact for the first time with foreign class distinction. We were loaded into 3rd class coaches, eight men to a compartment to sit bolt upright with our packs piled in the best way possible. We were in for an all night ride across England to Dover although we did not know our destination then. During the night the train was stopped and a trainman came along the roofs of the cars and with a few sharp blows of a hammer extinguished the lights, leaving us in total darkness. We were to learn that the train had been stopped and darkened due to the presence of a Zeppelin over England. Stopping at Nottingham about midnight we stepped from the train to the station platform long enough to be served coffee and what coffee. Let's not talk about it. Back aboard the train we were again shaken into place to resume our tiresome journey. It was a weary lot of soldiers that detrained at Dover. With eyes red-rimmed from want of sleep, our sea-legs still with us, hungry and very much in need of a good wash we were in no position to bowl over our friends of the British Army with anything like a natty appearance.
We lined up in a mechanical sort of way to be marched up a high hill to the citadel overlooking the English Channel. We felt that we would get a little rest here. But no! No, we were like Napoleon's men, they marched us up the hill and they marched us down again. We were in the British barracks just long enough to unsling equipment and to get a bite to eat. Filing into the mess rooms, we dipped into a large can of tea, yes, tea, and upon arriving at our places along rough plank tables supported by iron pipe legs a Limey (English) soldier slapped a grizzled piece of corned beef before us on the bare boards. If you inquire what we ate it with, we can only answer that fingers were made before forks. Did we eat that meat? We did! Did we sit down to eat it? We did not. That, however, was not anything to what we were coming to and it is a wonder we recall it at all. There wasn't much time to be lost here. They wanted us in France in the worst way and down the hill we went to board the boats that carried us to Calais, France. We were packed pretty well into those boats, with no room to sit down but it did not matter much as the trip was a short one of perhaps an hour and a half duration. It was uneventful except that many, perhaps most of us, were quite thrilled at the realization that we were actually crossing the English Channel, gradually drawing closer and closer to the great conflict that for so long had seemed so far away.
CHAPTER III
FRANCE AT LAST
SLOWLY the boat was warped into the quay at Calais. We were the first American troops to arrive at this port and believing we had General Pershing with us, the French people tried to give us a real reception. They had a band on hand that tried to play our National Anthem but we can't prove that is what they played. Somewhere someone snapped to attention and the word was passed along.
Their intentions were good and they were making a brave effort. Wherever one looked people were in mourning and it was rather de-pressing. We disembarked and the wonder of it all was that at last here we were in France. There was not much of an opportunity to do any day dreaming as there was too much to be done. A sergeant came down the line and spoiled everything. It was "Here, give this man a hand with the Captain's bedding roll" and we were back to earth. Trust a sergeant to take the joy out of life.
Swinging away from the quay a short hike carried us to a Rest Camp on the sand dunes not far distant from the city. The camp, for the most part, consisted of conical tents and crude wooden shacks. All tents were barricaded with sand bags to the tops of the walls of the tents, a height of perhaps three feet, for the purpose of protecting the occupants from the shrapnel spray that would result from bombs dropped from enemy aeroplanes or perhaps long range artillery fire. The latter was somewhat remote but air raids were not uncommon and we experienced one our second night there, which was Sunday. It was not learned what damage had been done but it brought to us a sense of our nearness to the actual scene of the war. The German Army was making a push for the Channel ports of Dunkirk and Calais and the British Army was sorely in need of reinforcements, especially machine gunners, which was the principal reason for our being rushed to this sector. Fortunately the lines held and we were able to add to our knowledge of warfare, as it was then being waged, during a period of training with the 39th Division of the British Army.
To go back for a moment to the rest camp, so called. By the time we reached France some of the Battalion had received English coins at Liverpool and to change these and what we had of American money, we lined up at the Y.M.C.A. hut where an exchange for French francs could be effected. The writer was well fixed, having arrived with a good old American five-dollar bill. Standing in line was a big British marine and he started the conversation. "Where are you chaps from?" he asked. To which we replied, not without pride, "New York City, and State principally. Ever been to New York?" "Oh, indeed," said he with his decidedly English accent, "I lived at Sixth Avenue and Seventeenth Street for about five years." It was like music to our ears to hear the old streets mentioned and how our minds traveled back to the sidewalks of New York.
In spite of all the new sights and experiences, a soldier must eat, and mess call was real music. We filed into one of the shacks used as a, mess hall and, as one of the boys described it, we were served with a "nice" meal of sand, tea and cheese, mostly sand. The wind blows in France during early Spring days the same as it does anywhere else and on those sand dunes, it was sand in your eyes, hair and food. Anyone who has eaten spinach that has not been well cleaned knows the sensation of closing one's teeth on grains of sand. A British officer entered the mess hall just prior to the completion of the meal and, rapping on a table for attention, announced that after the meal there would be dessert. Finishing his announcement he directed us to "Carry on!" This was the first English command we had heard and, while it may have had its effect on British troops, it was wildly received by the "Indians" from the States. From one quarter it was "After this there will be beer. Carry on!" From another quarter, "After this there will be Champagne. Carry on!" and numerous others. The British officer made a hasty exit and we can only imagine what his thoughts were. Our own officers knowing and understanding us, however, secretly enjoyed the proceedings and therefore, in the language of the soldier, everything was Jake. The camp was occupied by British soldiers but to a very much larger extent by Chinamen and their dress would have made Gunga Din look like Beau Brummel. They were a pretty filthy lot. It was spoken of as a Chinese prison camp but as to why these Orientals were prisoners has never been quite clear to us. Sunday morning a hike was made to a British Supply Depot some eight kilometers away where we were presented with steel helmets and gas masks. Entering a large tent, an English soldier, who seemed to be somewhat of an expert at judging the faces, shouted out the mask sizes. It was number four, number two, number three as fast as the men filed in and, with few exceptions, he seemed to hit it right off. The helmets were heavy at first but we soon became accustomed to them and what pals they were. They would shed rain water like a tin roof. If you wanted to sit down in a muddy road, you sat in your hat. If you wanted a candlestick in a billet or a dug-out, a few drops of wax on the top and your old tin helmet became a candlestick. In short, the old tin hats were used for many purposes.
Turning in for the night wasn't particularly pleasant as we had been issued salvage blankets instead of unrolling our blanket rolls and using our own. The blankets issued had no doubt been used by wounded men as blood stains were apparent and what with the odor of the delousing process it took a little effort to overcome our qualms and to crawl under them. We had several hours to ourselves to explore Calais, observing the customs of the people and noting a number of houses that had been wrecked by German bombs. Weary was no name for it when we finally stretched out on the board floors of the tents, a dozen men to a tent, feet to the center pole, to get some much needed rest in spite of the blood-stains and the damned odor.
Monday morning it was rise and shine bright and early for a tramp across the city to trains that were waiting to carry us out into Flanders Fields for our period of training. During our stay in France when the going was rough there were times when we longed to be back to our days in Upton, but there isn't a man of the Battalion who ever expressed a desire to see that camp on the beach at Calais, with its sand and its smells, and its Chinamen.
CHAPTER IV
40 AND 8 AND BILLETS
T was a cloudy, raw, miserable morning, with occasional showers, the day we departed from the camp at Calais to hike across the city to entrain. The narrow street echoed the sound of our heavy, hob-nailed field shoes as we clattered along at route step. All the sights of the ancient French city were intensely interesting and the French people viewed us with much curiosity for, as before stated, we were the first American troops to arrive at this port. As a matter of fact, our Division was the first division of the National Army to set foot on French soil. Arriving at the railroad yards we found the trains made up and everything in readiness. This was the first sight we had of the world famous French box-cars, the forty and eight as they were known, from the fact they would accommodate forty men or eight horses. The cars are about half the size of an American car' having a stationary wheel at each corner, whereas the American car is mounted on pivoting trucks. To get back to our story, we were ordered into the cars and when they were sufficiently filled as we thought to allow for sleeping room, a lot of fellows shouted, "Enough." Much to our surprise and chagrin more men were put into each car and still more until we were standing in a real subway jam. We could not imagine riding for a very long time situated like that and we were not being asked to do so as the ride was not longer than about eighteen kilometers, although it took several hours to complete the trip. Detraining at the small village of Audrique, we hiked perhaps eight or ten kilometers, arriving in the neighborhood of a small village which we later learned to be La Panne, a name long to be remembered by 305th Machine Gunners. Each company swung off on a different road leading to the billets of the village. I recall C Company quarters distinctly and the experience of the other companies was the same elsewhere in the village. The Company was halted in the road and an officer, jerking his thumb over his shoulder, said, "Fourteen men in here." "In where?" "Right in that barn and make it snappy." Painted on the buildings were the numerals 2 horses 14 men, or whatever number the farmer or peasant, as he is called, had room for. Well, for once the gang didn't make it snappy but ambled into the structure and took a look around. It was not very inviting-looking and it was some minutes before any effort was made to loosen up to get settled. The Company continued on, dropping a few here and a few there and the last billet, Number Ninety-one, I well recall, took what was left of the Company, about seventy-two men. The men were weary and hungry as it had been pretty much of a steady grind up to this time. They just sat on their packs and mooned around for a while, trying to absorb it all. Here they were in Flanders, in the billets about which so much had been written. Were we down-hearted? Yeah! I'll say we were; the morale was shot. We were to see the time, however, when billets were something to look forward to and we can all recall just waiting for the word "Go" to make a dash into the lousy old stables to pick out a favorable spot, one that was soft, afforded a good place to stow equipment and was under a section of roof that did not leak. I say "lousy stables" advisedly for we had gotten no further than the La Panne billets before one of the companies had cooties. I won't say which company because it would be denied. After a while we all had cooties so that this was something we did not have to take into consideration when we had a chance to get under any kind of roof. The most annoying things to contend with were rats and we had a choice selection. We soon learned that it was good policy to stay away from side-walls when laying out a bunk as the rats used to scamper along the walls. One night in Billet Ninety-one one of the rats sat up on a fellow's feet. The soldier drew his feet back gently and gave that animal a sudden kick into the air, only to have it come down on his chest. What a wild scramble was there, my countrymen. If a man placed a piece of hardtack in his overcoat pocket for a nibble later on in the evening, one could gamble on it that a rat would get the nibble first, in a number of instances, gnawing through the material of the coat. When it came to sleeping we soon learned, as all soldiers before us had learned, that sleeping with the face covered was the surest way of getting some sleep without being disturbed by rats when they ran over us during the night. Uncomfortable and unsanitary you say! Most certainly but, oh, how we needed that sleep!
T was a cloudy, raw, miserable morning, with occasional showers, the day we departed from the camp at Calais to hike across the city to entrain. The narrow street echoed the sound of our heavy, hob-nailed field shoes as we clattered along at route step. All the sights of the ancient French city were intensely interesting and the French people viewed us with much curiosity for, as before stated, we were the first American troops to arrive at this port. As a matter of fact, our Division was the first division of the National Army to set foot on French soil. Arriving at the railroad yards we found the trains made up and everything in readiness. This was the first sight we had of the world famous French box-cars, the forty and eight as they were known, from the fact they would accommodate forty men or eight horses. The cars are about half the size of an American car' having a stationary wheel at each corner, whereas the American car is mounted on pivoting trucks. To get back to our story, we were ordered into the cars and when they were sufficiently filled as we thought to allow for sleeping room, a lot of fellows shouted, "Enough." Much to our surprise and chagrin more men were put into each car and still more until we were standing in a real subway jam. We could not imagine riding for a very long time situated like that and we were not being asked to do so as the ride was not longer than about eighteen kilometers, although it took several hours to complete the trip. Detraining at the small village of Audrique, we hiked perhaps eight or ten kilometers, arriving in the neighborhood of a small village which we later learned to be La Panne, a name long to be remembered by 305th Machine Gunners. Each company swung off on a different road leading to the billets of the village. I recall C Company quarters distinctly and the experience of the other companies was the same elsewhere in the village. The Company was halted in the road and an officer, jerking his thumb over his shoulder, said, "Fourteen men in here." "In where?" "Right in that barn and make it snappy." Painted on the buildings were the numerals 2 horses 14 men, or whatever number the farmer or peasant, as he is called, had room for. Well, for once the gang didn't make it snappy but ambled into the structure and took a look around. It was not very inviting-looking and it was some minutes before any effort was made to loosen up to get settled. The Company continued on, dropping a few here and a few there and the last billet, Number Ninety-one, I well recall, took what was left of the Company, about seventy-two men. The men were weary and hungry as it had been pretty much of a steady grind up to this time. They just sat on their packs and mooned around for a while, trying to absorb it all. Here they were in Flanders, in the billets about which so much had been written. Were we down-hearted? Yeah! I'll say we were; the morale was shot. We were to see the time, however, when billets were something to look forward to and we can all recall just waiting for the word "Go" to make a dash into the lousy old stables to pick out a favorable spot, one that was soft, afforded a good place to stow equipment and was under a section of roof that did not leak. I say "lousy stables" advisedly for we had gotten no further than the La Panne billets before one of the companies had cooties. I won't say which company because it would be denied. After a while we all had cooties so that this was something we did not have to take into consideration when we had a chance to get under any kind of roof. The most annoying things to contend with were rats and we had a choice selection. We soon learned that it was good policy to stay away from side-walls when laying out a bunk as the rats used to scamper along the walls. One night in Billet Ninety-one one of the rats sat up on a fellow's feet. The soldier drew his feet back gently and gave that animal a sudden kick into the air, only to have it come down on his chest. What a wild scramble was there, my countrymen. If a man placed a piece of hardtack in his overcoat pocket for a nibble later on in the evening, one could gamble on it that a rat would get the nibble first, in a number of instances, gnawing through the material of the coat. When it came to sleeping we soon learned, as all soldiers before us had learned, that sleeping with the face covered was the surest way of getting some sleep without being disturbed by rats when they ran over us during the night. Uncomfortable and unsanitary you say! Most certainly but, oh, how we needed that sleep!
CHAPTER I
WE ARE BORN
T0 BEGIN at the beginning we take you back to August, 1917, and to Camp Upton on Long Island, not far distant from Yaphank. Few people, apart from the Long Island trainmen, ever heard of Yaphank before the War but to those of the old 77th Division it came to be a by-word, as well-known as Hoboken came to be known to the World. The first commanding officer of the Battalion was Major Winnia (later Colonel) who, with a nucleus of regular army non-commissioned officers established headquarters on 11th Street between 4th and 5th Avenues in Camp Upton. In order to ascertain what material he had to start with, the Major, it is reported, asked one of the bright sergeants what he knew about paper work whereupon the sergeant replied that he knew all about paper work as he had once been a printer in Chicago. The major naturally "hit the ceiling" and we understand that the sergeant never mentioned printing again.
Men called into the service commenced pouring into camp and the Battalion soon took shape. Many of us were not sent directly to the machine gun barracks but were sent to the various infantry regiments, later being transferred. Those who were transferred will never forget the send-off given us as we left the infantry barracks to trudge up 5th Avenue in camp with our belongings in a blanket to join the machine gunners. Windows and doors were crowded with infantrymen who shouted such pleasantries as: "Suicide Club! -Seven-Minute Men, etc." These were terms that were supposed to describe a machine-gunner, statistics at that time indicating that the average life of a machine-gunner was about seven minutes after he reached the trenches. The writer, one of those transferred from an infantry regiment, recalls sitting dejectedly in the mess hall of C Company when one of the old-timers strolled in. "What's your name, buddy? Where you from? Going to be with us permanently?" -were some of the questions to be followed by: "Boy, you're in luck. You may not know it but this is one Hell of a swell outfit. We got a real battlin' bunch here and you're goin' to like it. Say, this stuff ya hear about machine-gunners is the bunk. You're with a real outfit now and we got just as good a chance of coming back as the next guy." His little "pep" talk helped a lot and as you can see I was one of those who did come back or I would not be sitting here telling you about it. Some of our gang did not come back, though. No, they didn't come back.
There is no need to burden the reader with the daily routine of a soldier. Those were hectic days and it was a case of drill, drill, pull stumps and clean mules or reverse the order if you will. Mules! The bane of our existence. How they could kick!!! They would look around at you to get the range, then lash out with one hoof right at you. No guess work with them.
The winter of 1917 was one long to be remembered. Was it cold? You walked your post on guard with tears running down your cheeks. We had a lot of fun at that, what with one thing or another and C Company men smile broadly when the Battle of the Kitchen is mentioned. Never heard of the Battle of the Kitchen? That is how C Company came to be known as the Cleaver Club but, as Kipling would say, that is another story and we will have to tell you about it some other time.
Well, sir, to hurry along a little, we drilled and we drilled and on Washington's Birthday, 1918, the Division paraded down Fifth Avenue, New York City. The parade made a decided impression and it was the general feeling that we were ready. The 305th Machine Gun Battalion was the first unit to leave camp and we will never forget the look of consternation on the faces of the infantrymen as we marched by their barracks to the gate of the camp early in the morn-ing of March 27th, 1918. Reveille was blowing and as the doughboys rolled out to line up you never saw a more startled crowd. "Where are you birds going?" they yelled.
We were on our way to the great adventure.
Upon arrival at the gate of the camp instead of beholding the old Long Island Railroad coaches we knew so well, it was a distinct surprise to see a train of New York, New Haven and Hartford cars. Speculation as to our destination was rife and while we all imagined it meant a long ride, no one expected as long a ride as it turned out to be. Right here we showed indications of having absorbed some-thing of the real soldier and that was to keep our mouths shut and to wait and see what happened. Well, we rolled along through the old Long Island scenery right into the Sunnyside yards at Long Island City. Many thought it would be a change here to ferries for Hoboken but after the usual troop-train delay we started and found ourselves crossing the Hell-Gate bridge. Up through Connecticut we went and we recall with pleasure a short stop at New Haven. We, of course, were not permitted to leave the train. Looking down one of the streets we beheld a sign-New Haven Pie Baking Company. A young lady, employed at the bakery, saw the troop-train at the crossing. She was a girl with her heart in the right place for a soldier for she hurried into the pie plant and came up the street with pies nicely cut and, as she passed beneath the windows holding up the pies, everybody dipped in. Were we down-hearted? Not yet.
The train started on again and we were favored with a view of Massachusetts. We pulled into the yards at Worcester about 1 A.M. and the news of a troop-train passing through seemed to spread like wildfire. Every engineer in the yards tied down the whistle cord to give us a reception. It was anybody's guess where we would end up on this ride. We had been riding all day and well into the night as you can see and sleep was the one thing everybody wanted. We must admit that we were not crowded aboard the train but on the contrary had plenty of room, that is, until we tried stretching out for some much needed rest. We tried folding over the seats and it looked as though this was the real trick but the backs of the seats dipped for-ward and back and the idea was abandoned. Stretching out on the floor extending across the aisle of the car was about as good a way as any until someone came along the car and we soon learned that shin-bones do not make good stepping stones. The next day was bright and clear and we were still going. We were getting up north, pretty well, and here and there the landscape was still patched with snow. At Dover, New Hampshire, we saw a contingent of men with their bags, just going to camp. What veterans we were! Into the State of Maine we rode and finally to the City of Portland. Right down along the piers until finally the train stopped and our railroading in the United States was over for a while. The prow of our ship was there towering above us in all its wartime camouflage and it proved to be the good ship Megantic, a White Star liner. Not the largest ship afloat by any manner of means but a fine ship for all that. It carried us safely through submarine-infested waters and there will always be a warm spot in our hearts for that famous old ship. What a record she has!
CHAPTER II
WE SET SAIL
AFTER detraining at Portland we received some smart instructions to empty our pockets of matches. There were to be no matches carried aboard; danger of a lighted match disclosing our presence and position to the enemy. We knew by this time how to obey instructions and away went the matches. The blue barrack bags were loaded and we were ordered up the gang-plank. Some of the outfit were fortunate in being assigned to comfortable quarters in state rooms but with others it was down, down, down to compartment K just above the propeller shafts. There isn't anything so bad but what it could be worse and a number of the men further forward were bothered by a lot of rats. We were settled finally and returned to the deck. About this time a smoke seemed to be in order but what to do or matches. All we had you will remember were out on the dock but this did not prove to be any problem as we were able to buy matches on the ship. An English sailor in charge of the canteen had plenty for sale; with thousands of matches discarded on the pier. This sort of thing did not set well, we can assure you and we felt that we had been taken over the jumps right at the start.
The ship slowly glided out of the pier to the accompaniment of a long, deep-throated blast of the ship's horn and we felt that we were on our way at last, only to find that we had to wait awhile longer. Instead of going across directly we put into Halifax, Nova Scotia, there to wait over Easter to pick up the rest of the convoy. The liner Carmania with the 302nd Engineers and nurses came up the harbor and on Monday following Easter we moved out to start across the great Atlantic. In addition to the Megantic and the Carmania we had with us a ship loaded with Chinese coolies, and another ship loaded with animals (horses and mules). We had as convoy ship the British cruiser King Alfred.
Things were pleasant enough, the weather was glorious and best of all there wasn't much to do. Boat drills, a little guard duty and trying to cultivate a taste for oleo-margarine. Not many succeeded in getting over the oleo and, in a number of instances, it was used to grease hiking shoes. We didn't hit it off any too well with members
of the British crew and we found the best way to get along was to let them alone. Strange as it may seem they didn't speak our language, The mornings were pleasant and we can still hear the D Company quartet harmonize "Good Bye My Coney Island Baby". How that bunch could sing! Who can forget Bob Reilly's bass? Speaking of those balmy mornings brings to mind a scuffle or what would have been a scuffle. It was over in a moment and no one knew exactly what it was all about. A lad in C Company named.... well, maybe it is just as well that we do not mention his name, but he said something or did something to Bugler Bert Morgan, one of the quartet. Now Bert could take a lot of kidding but there is such a thing as rubbing a man the wrong way and he was off the deck-house in a flash, making a pass at our C Company man. We grabbed Bert and he cooled off when things were explained to him. We just mention this in passing as it served to bring this C Company boy to your attention. He was a lad from a remote part of New York State and we felt that he was a boy who had not had very much schooling and had not seen much of the world. He should not have been with us but more of him later.
Well, on we sailed. Instructions were to wear life belts at all times and to take to the life boats at six blasts of the ship's whistle. A crowd of the men were together one evening in one of the cabins having the usual rough house or talking soldiering which was usually the case and we had become careless with the life belts. Suddenly the ship's horn went off. Once -twice -thrice and a fourth time. Things were confusion by then with everybody making a wild leap for the life belts which had been carelessly strewn about. Four blasts and no more and all was serene again but for a few minutes there was plenty of excitement and we assure you the belts were never again where they should not have been. The days wore on with the King Alfred running way forward and at times dropping far astern but usually steaming along between the Carmania and the Megantic.
The cruiser engaged in target practice on several occasions, shooting at a target trailed from the stern of one of the ships. When first we heard the cruiser's guns there was some excitement as we were sure they were firing at a submarine. The target had the appearance of a periscope and it was interesting to watch the shots. We seemed destined to have an uneventful trip until one day we were brought to the realization that we were actually in the submarine zone. Things seemed peaceful enough with the King Alfred riding slightly astern of the two liners and about half way between them. Suddenly there was the sound of a terrific explosion and a cloud of spray and as the cruiser slowly settled by the stern, we realized that she had been hit. She settled almost to her rails but did not go down and we understand she limped into Belfast, Ireland, safely. We had picked up the destroyers by this time, and it was a sight to be remembered watching them roll and toss and turn as they darted back and forth crossing and recrossing our bow, circling about the ship with sailors sending and receiving messages by means of the wig-wag signaling flags. During this maneuvering, depth charges were dropped and to those of us who happened to be below decks it seemed as though every plate of the ship had been shaken loose. Some claimed they saw large oil spots on the surface of the water indicating that at least two submarines had been accounted for but we were never officially advised. One may have gained the impression that we were the sole outfit aboard, but we had with us Division Headquarters and the Military Police, perhaps eighteen hundred men in all. Due to the fact that the ship carrying the animals was rather slow, we were all held back, taking twelve days to make the crossing. It was indeed a scene of rare beauty as we steamed through the Irish Sea with the shores of Ireland and Wales discernible in the distance. It was sometime around daybreak when we noticed that the ship had slowed down considerably and that the steady, heavy pulsating of the powerful engines had ceased. Arriving on deck we found that we had entered the Mersey River and were almost opposite the landing stage in mid-stream at Liverpool. As the morning wore on commuters from Berkenhead, across the river, passed almost under our stern aboard the small ferries, a sight, which reminded us of our own Hudson with the commuters from Jersey. The people aboard the ferries waved to us in friendly fashion and it could be seen that they were surprised to see us. Not long after, there was friendly rivalry between our Battalion and the engineer regiment to see who would be the first to set foot on English soil. We do not know where the M.P.s were at this time. We did not pay as much attention to them then as we did later. We won the race with the engineers but we do not say so too loudly when the engineers are around. We might pause for a moment to pay our respects to the 302nd Engineer Regiment, our own engineers. They were later to prove themselves second to none in the A.E.F. and are held in high regard by all units of the Division. The entire regiment was decorated with the Croix de,Guerre by the French Government and we are proud to have served with this regiment.
Our stay at Liverpool was of short duration for we entrained later in the afternoon. We were at Liverpool long enough, however, to hear our first English expressions. Some ladies of the W.A.A.C. (Women's Auxiliary Army Corps) sold us ginger buns and coffee and when we inquired as to the cost, we were told just Tuppence Ha'penny. We of course were weighted down with American money but these English ladies did not know what coin was the equivalent of Tuppence Ha'penny. Someone came to the rescue and told us that our American nickel would take care of things nicely. Boarding the trains, we came in contact for the first time with foreign class distinction. We were loaded into 3rd class coaches, eight men to a compartment to sit bolt upright with our packs piled in the best way possible. We were in for an all night ride across England to Dover although we did not know our destination then. During the night the train was stopped and a trainman came along the roofs of the cars and with a few sharp blows of a hammer extinguished the lights, leaving us in total darkness. We were to learn that the train had been stopped and darkened due to the presence of a Zeppelin over England. Stopping at Nottingham about midnight we stepped from the train to the station platform long enough to be served coffee and what coffee. Let's not talk about it. Back aboard the train we were again shaken into place to resume our tiresome journey. It was a weary lot of soldiers that detrained at Dover. With eyes red-rimmed from want of sleep, our sea-legs still with us, hungry and very much in need of a good wash we were in no position to bowl over our friends of the British Army with anything like a natty appearance.
We lined up in a mechanical sort of way to be marched up a high hill to the citadel overlooking the English Channel. We felt that we would get a little rest here. But no! No, we were like Napoleon's men, they marched us up the hill and they marched us down again. We were in the British barracks just long enough to unsling equipment and to get a bite to eat. Filing into the mess rooms, we dipped into a large can of tea, yes, tea, and upon arriving at our places along rough plank tables supported by iron pipe legs a Limey (English) soldier slapped a grizzled piece of corned beef before us on the bare boards. If you inquire what we ate it with, we can only answer that fingers were made before forks. Did we eat that meat? We did! Did we sit down to eat it? We did not. That, however, was not anything to what we were coming to and it is a wonder we recall it at all. There wasn't much time to be lost here. They wanted us in France in the worst way and down the hill we went to board the boats that carried us to Calais, France. We were packed pretty well into those boats, with no room to sit down but it did not matter much as the trip was a short one of perhaps an hour and a half duration. It was uneventful except that many, perhaps most of us, were quite thrilled at the realization that we were actually crossing the English Channel, gradually drawing closer and closer to the great conflict that for so long had seemed so far away.
CHAPTER III
FRANCE AT LAST
SLOWLY the boat was warped into the quay at Calais. We were the first American troops to arrive at this port and believing we had General Pershing with us, the French people tried to give us a real reception. They had a band on hand that tried to play our National Anthem but we can't prove that is what they played. Somewhere someone snapped to attention and the word was passed along.
Their intentions were good and they were making a brave effort. Wherever one looked people were in mourning and it was rather de-pressing. We disembarked and the wonder of it all was that at last here we were in France. There was not much of an opportunity to do any day dreaming as there was too much to be done. A sergeant came down the line and spoiled everything. It was "Here, give this man a hand with the Captain's bedding roll" and we were back to earth. Trust a sergeant to take the joy out of life.
Swinging away from the quay a short hike carried us to a Rest Camp on the sand dunes not far distant from the city. The camp, for the most part, consisted of conical tents and crude wooden shacks. All tents were barricaded with sand bags to the tops of the walls of the tents, a height of perhaps three feet, for the purpose of protecting the occupants from the shrapnel spray that would result from bombs dropped from enemy aeroplanes or perhaps long range artillery fire. The latter was somewhat remote but air raids were not uncommon and we experienced one our second night there, which was Sunday. It was not learned what damage had been done but it brought to us a sense of our nearness to the actual scene of the war. The German Army was making a push for the Channel ports of Dunkirk and Calais and the British Army was sorely in need of reinforcements, especially machine gunners, which was the principal reason for our being rushed to this sector. Fortunately the lines held and we were able to add to our knowledge of warfare, as it was then being waged, during a period of training with the 39th Division of the British Army.
To go back for a moment to the rest camp, so called. By the time we reached France some of the Battalion had received English coins at Liverpool and to change these and what we had of American money, we lined up at the Y.M.C.A. hut where an exchange for French francs could be effected. The writer was well fixed, having arrived with a good old American five-dollar bill. Standing in line was a big British marine and he started the conversation. "Where are you chaps from?" he asked. To which we replied, not without pride, "New York City, and State principally. Ever been to New York?" "Oh, indeed," said he with his decidedly English accent, "I lived at Sixth Avenue and Seventeenth Street for about five years." It was like music to our ears to hear the old streets mentioned and how our minds traveled back to the sidewalks of New York.
In spite of all the new sights and experiences, a soldier must eat, and mess call was real music. We filed into one of the shacks used as a, mess hall and, as one of the boys described it, we were served with a "nice" meal of sand, tea and cheese, mostly sand. The wind blows in France during early Spring days the same as it does anywhere else and on those sand dunes, it was sand in your eyes, hair and food. Anyone who has eaten spinach that has not been well cleaned knows the sensation of closing one's teeth on grains of sand. A British officer entered the mess hall just prior to the completion of the meal and, rapping on a table for attention, announced that after the meal there would be dessert. Finishing his announcement he directed us to "Carry on!" This was the first English command we had heard and, while it may have had its effect on British troops, it was wildly received by the "Indians" from the States. From one quarter it was "After this there will be beer. Carry on!" From another quarter, "After this there will be Champagne. Carry on!" and numerous others. The British officer made a hasty exit and we can only imagine what his thoughts were. Our own officers knowing and understanding us, however, secretly enjoyed the proceedings and therefore, in the language of the soldier, everything was Jake. The camp was occupied by British soldiers but to a very much larger extent by Chinamen and their dress would have made Gunga Din look like Beau Brummel. They were a pretty filthy lot. It was spoken of as a Chinese prison camp but as to why these Orientals were prisoners has never been quite clear to us. Sunday morning a hike was made to a British Supply Depot some eight kilometers away where we were presented with steel helmets and gas masks. Entering a large tent, an English soldier, who seemed to be somewhat of an expert at judging the faces, shouted out the mask sizes. It was number four, number two, number three as fast as the men filed in and, with few exceptions, he seemed to hit it right off. The helmets were heavy at first but we soon became accustomed to them and what pals they were. They would shed rain water like a tin roof. If you wanted to sit down in a muddy road, you sat in your hat. If you wanted a candlestick in a billet or a dug-out, a few drops of wax on the top and your old tin helmet became a candlestick. In short, the old tin hats were used for many purposes.
Turning in for the night wasn't particularly pleasant as we had been issued salvage blankets instead of unrolling our blanket rolls and using our own. The blankets issued had no doubt been used by wounded men as blood stains were apparent and what with the odor of the delousing process it took a little effort to overcome our qualms and to crawl under them. We had several hours to ourselves to explore Calais, observing the customs of the people and noting a number of houses that had been wrecked by German bombs. Weary was no name for it when we finally stretched out on the board floors of the tents, a dozen men to a tent, feet to the center pole, to get some much needed rest in spite of the blood-stains and the damned odor.
Monday morning it was rise and shine bright and early for a tramp across the city to trains that were waiting to carry us out into Flanders Fields for our period of training. During our stay in France when the going was rough there were times when we longed to be back to our days in Upton, but there isn't a man of the Battalion who ever expressed a desire to see that camp on the beach at Calais, with its sand and its smells, and its Chinamen.
CHAPTER IV
40 AND 8 AND BILLETS
T was a cloudy, raw, miserable morning, with occasional showers, the day we departed from the camp at Calais to hike across the city to entrain. The narrow street echoed the sound of our heavy, hob-nailed field shoes as we clattered along at route step. All the sights of the ancient French city were intensely interesting and the French people viewed us with much curiosity for, as before stated, we were the first American troops to arrive at this port. As a matter of fact, our Division was the first division of the National Army to set foot on French soil. Arriving at the railroad yards we found the trains made up and everything in readiness. This was the first sight we had of the world famous French box-cars, the forty and eight as they were known, from the fact they would accommodate forty men or eight horses. The cars are about half the size of an American car' having a stationary wheel at each corner, whereas the American car is mounted on pivoting trucks. To get back to our story, we were ordered into the cars and when they were sufficiently filled as we thought to allow for sleeping room, a lot of fellows shouted, "Enough." Much to our surprise and chagrin more men were put into each car and still more until we were standing in a real subway jam. We could not imagine riding for a very long time situated like that and we were not being asked to do so as the ride was not longer than about eighteen kilometers, although it took several hours to complete the trip. Detraining at the small village of Audrique, we hiked perhaps eight or ten kilometers, arriving in the neighborhood of a small village which we later learned to be La Panne, a name long to be remembered by 305th Machine Gunners. Each company swung off on a different road leading to the billets of the village. I recall C Company quarters distinctly and the experience of the other companies was the same elsewhere in the village. The Company was halted in the road and an officer, jerking his thumb over his shoulder, said, "Fourteen men in here." "In where?" "Right in that barn and make it snappy." Painted on the buildings were the numerals 2 horses 14 men, or whatever number the farmer or peasant, as he is called, had room for. Well, for once the gang didn't make it snappy but ambled into the structure and took a look around. It was not very inviting-looking and it was some minutes before any effort was made to loosen up to get settled. The Company continued on, dropping a few here and a few there and the last billet, Number Ninety-one, I well recall, took what was left of the Company, about seventy-two men. The men were weary and hungry as it had been pretty much of a steady grind up to this time. They just sat on their packs and mooned around for a while, trying to absorb it all. Here they were in Flanders, in the billets about which so much had been written. Were we down-hearted? Yeah! I'll say we were; the morale was shot. We were to see the time, however, when billets were something to look forward to and we can all recall just waiting for the word "Go" to make a dash into the lousy old stables to pick out a favorable spot, one that was soft, afforded a good place to stow equipment and was under a section of roof that did not leak. I say "lousy stables" advisedly for we had gotten no further than the La Panne billets before one of the companies had cooties. I won't say which company because it would be denied. After a while we all had cooties so that this was something we did not have to take into consideration when we had a chance to get under any kind of roof. The most annoying things to contend with were rats and we had a choice selection. We soon learned that it was good policy to stay away from side-walls when laying out a bunk as the rats used to scamper along the walls. One night in Billet Ninety-one one of the rats sat up on a fellow's feet. The soldier drew his feet back gently and gave that animal a sudden kick into the air, only to have it come down on his chest. What a wild scramble was there, my countrymen. If a man placed a piece of hardtack in his overcoat pocket for a nibble later on in the evening, one could gamble on it that a rat would get the nibble first, in a number of instances, gnawing through the material of the coat. When it came to sleeping we soon learned, as all soldiers before us had learned, that sleeping with the face covered was the surest way of getting some sleep without being disturbed by rats when they ran over us during the night. Uncomfortable and unsanitary you say! Most certainly but, oh, how we needed that sleep!
CHAPTER I
WE ARE BORN
T0 BEGIN at the beginning we take you back to August, 1917, and to Camp Upton on Long Island, not far distant from Yaphank. Few people, apart from the Long Island trainmen, ever heard of Yaphank before the War but to those of the old 77th Division it came to be a by-word, as well-known as Hoboken came to be known to the World. The first commanding officer of the Battalion was Major Winnia (later Colonel) who, with a nucleus of regular army non-commissioned officers established headquarters on 11th Street between 4th and 5th Avenues in Camp Upton. In order to ascertain what material he had to start with, the Major, it is reported, asked one of the bright sergeants what he knew about paper work whereupon the sergeant replied that he knew all about paper work as he had once been a printer in Chicago. The major naturally "hit the ceiling" and we understand that the sergeant never mentioned printing again.
Men called into the service commenced pouring into camp and the Battalion soon took shape. Many of us were not sent directly to the machine gun barracks but were sent to the various infantry regiments, later being transferred. Those who were transferred will never forget the send-off given us as we left the infantry barracks to trudge up 5th Avenue in camp with our belongings in a blanket to join the machine gunners. Windows and doors were crowded with infantrymen who shouted such pleasantries as: "Suicide Club! -Seven-Minute Men, etc." These were terms that were supposed to describe a machine-gunner, statistics at that time indicating that the average life of a machine-gunner was about seven minutes after he reached the trenches. The writer, one of those transferred from an infantry regiment, recalls sitting dejectedly in the mess hall of C Company when one of the old-timers strolled in. "What's your name, buddy? Where you from? Going to be with us permanently?" -were some of the questions to be followed by: "Boy, you're in luck. You may not know it but this is one Hell of a swell outfit. We got a real battlin' bunch here and you're goin' to like it. Say, this stuff ya hear about machine-gunners is the bunk. You're with a real outfit now and we got just as good a chance of coming back as the next guy." His little "pep" talk helped a lot and as you can see I was one of those who did come back or I would not be sitting here telling you about it. Some of our gang did not come back, though. No, they didn't come back.
There is no need to burden the reader with the daily routine of a soldier. Those were hectic days and it was a case of drill, drill, pull stumps and clean mules or reverse the order if you will. Mules! The bane of our existence. How they could kick!!! They would look around at you to get the range, then lash out with one hoof right at you. No guess work with them.
The winter of 1917 was one long to be remembered. Was it cold? You walked your post on guard with tears running down your cheeks. We had a lot of fun at that, what with one thing or another and C Company men smile broadly when the Battle of the Kitchen is mentioned. Never heard of the Battle of the Kitchen? That is how C Company came to be known as the Cleaver Club but, as Kipling would say, that is another story and we will have to tell you about it some other time.
Well, sir, to hurry along a little, we drilled and we drilled and on Washington's Birthday, 1918, the Division paraded down Fifth Avenue, New York City. The parade made a decided impression and it was the general feeling that we were ready. The 305th Machine Gun Battalion was the first unit to leave camp and we will never forget the look of consternation on the faces of the infantrymen as we marched by their barracks to the gate of the camp early in the morn-ing of March 27th, 1918. Reveille was blowing and as the doughboys rolled out to line up you never saw a more startled crowd. "Where are you birds going?" they yelled.
We were on our way to the great adventure.
Upon arrival at the gate of the camp instead of beholding the old Long Island Railroad coaches we knew so well, it was a distinct surprise to see a train of New York, New Haven and Hartford cars. Speculation as to our destination was rife and while we all imagined it meant a long ride, no one expected as long a ride as it turned out to be. Right here we showed indications of having absorbed some-thing of the real soldier and that was to keep our mouths shut and to wait and see what happened. Well, we rolled along through the old Long Island scenery right into the Sunnyside yards at Long Island City. Many thought it would be a change here to ferries for Hoboken but after the usual troop-train delay we started and found ourselves crossing the Hell-Gate bridge. Up through Connecticut we went and we recall with pleasure a short stop at New Haven. We, of course, were not permitted to leave the train. Looking down one of the streets we beheld a sign-New Haven Pie Baking Company. A young lady, employed at the bakery, saw the troop-train at the crossing. She was a girl with her heart in the right place for a soldier for she hurried into the pie plant and came up the street with pies nicely cut and, as she passed beneath the windows holding up the pies, everybody dipped in. Were we down-hearted? Not yet.
The train started on again and we were favored with a view of Massachusetts. We pulled into the yards at Worcester about 1 A.M. and the news of a troop-train passing through seemed to spread like wildfire. Every engineer in the yards tied down the whistle cord to give us a reception. It was anybody's guess where we would end up on this ride. We had been riding all day and well into the night as you can see and sleep was the one thing everybody wanted. We must admit that we were not crowded aboard the train but on the contrary had plenty of room, that is, until we tried stretching out for some much needed rest. We tried folding over the seats and it looked as though this was the real trick but the backs of the seats dipped for-ward and back and the idea was abandoned. Stretching out on the floor extending across the aisle of the car was about as good a way as any until someone came along the car and we soon learned that shin-bones do not make good stepping stones. The next day was bright and clear and we were still going. We were getting up north, pretty well, and here and there the landscape was still patched with snow. At Dover, New Hampshire, we saw a contingent of men with their bags, just going to camp. What veterans we were! Into the State of Maine we rode and finally to the City of Portland. Right down along the piers until finally the train stopped and our railroading in the United States was over for a while. The prow of our ship was there towering above us in all its wartime camouflage and it proved to be the good ship Megantic, a White Star liner. Not the largest ship afloat by any manner of means but a fine ship for all that. It carried us safely through submarine-infested waters and there will always be a warm spot in our hearts for that famous old ship. What a record she has!
CHAPTER II
WE SET SAIL
AFTER detraining at Portland we received some smart instructions to empty our pockets of matches. There were to be no matches carried aboard; danger of a lighted match disclosing our presence and position to the enemy. We knew by this time how to obey instructions and away went the matches. The blue barrack bags were loaded and we were ordered up the gang-plank. Some of the outfit were fortunate in being assigned to comfortable quarters in state rooms but with others it was down, down, down to compartment K just above the propeller shafts. There isn't anything so bad but what it could be worse and a number of the men further forward were bothered by a lot of rats. We were settled finally and returned to the deck. About this time a smoke seemed to be in order but what to do or matches. All we had you will remember were out on the dock but this did not prove to be any problem as we were able to buy matches on the ship. An English sailor in charge of the canteen had plenty for sale; with thousands of matches discarded on the pier. This sort of thing did not set well, we can assure you and we felt that we had been taken over the jumps right at the start.
The ship slowly glided out of the pier to the accompaniment of a long, deep-throated blast of the ship's horn and we felt that we were on our way at last, only to find that we had to wait awhile longer. Instead of going across directly we put into Halifax, Nova Scotia, there to wait over Easter to pick up the rest of the convoy. The liner Carmania with the 302nd Engineers and nurses came up the harbor and on Monday following Easter we moved out to start across the great Atlantic. In addition to the Megantic and the Carmania we had with us a ship loaded with Chinese coolies, and another ship loaded with animals (horses and mules). We had as convoy ship the British cruiser King Alfred.
Things were pleasant enough, the weather was glorious and best of all there wasn't much to do. Boat drills, a little guard duty and trying to cultivate a taste for oleo-margarine. Not many succeeded in getting over the oleo and, in a number of instances, it was used to grease hiking shoes. We didn't hit it off any too well with members
of the British crew and we found the best way to get along was to let them alone. Strange as it may seem they didn't speak our language, The mornings were pleasant and we can still hear the D Company quartet harmonize "Good Bye My Coney Island Baby". How that bunch could sing! Who can forget Bob Reilly's bass? Speaking of those balmy mornings brings to mind a scuffle or what would have been a scuffle. It was over in a moment and no one knew exactly what it was all about. A lad in C Company named.... well, maybe it is just as well that we do not mention his name, but he said something or did something to Bugler Bert Morgan, one of the quartet. Now Bert could take a lot of kidding but there is such a thing as rubbing a man the wrong way and he was off the deck-house in a flash, making a pass at our C Company man. We grabbed Bert and he cooled off when things were explained to him. We just mention this in passing as it served to bring this C Company boy to your attention. He was a lad from a remote part of New York State and we felt that he was a boy who had not had very much schooling and had not seen much of the world. He should not have been with us but more of him later.
Well, on we sailed. Instructions were to wear life belts at all times and to take to the life boats at six blasts of the ship's whistle. A crowd of the men were together one evening in one of the cabins having the usual rough house or talking soldiering which was usually the case and we had become careless with the life belts. Suddenly the ship's horn went off. Once -twice -thrice and a fourth time. Things were confusion by then with everybody making a wild leap for the life belts which had been carelessly strewn about. Four blasts and no more and all was serene again but for a few minutes there was plenty of excitement and we assure you the belts were never again where they should not have been. The days wore on with the King Alfred running way forward and at times dropping far astern but usually steaming along between the Carmania and the Megantic.
The cruiser engaged in target practice on several occasions, shooting at a target trailed from the stern of one of the ships. When first we heard the cruiser's guns there was some excitement as we were sure they were firing at a submarine. The target had the appearance of a periscope and it was interesting to watch the shots. We seemed destined to have an uneventful trip until one day we were brought to the realization that we were actually in the submarine zone. Things seemed peaceful enough with the King Alfred riding slightly astern of the two liners and about half way between them. Suddenly there was the sound of a terrific explosion and a cloud of spray and as the cruiser slowly settled by the stern, we realized that she had been hit. She settled almost to her rails but did not go down and we understand she limped into Belfast, Ireland, safely. We had picked up the destroyers by this time, and it was a sight to be remembered watching them roll and toss and turn as they darted back and forth crossing and recrossing our bow, circling about the ship with sailors sending and receiving messages by means of the wig-wag signaling flags. During this maneuvering, depth charges were dropped and to those of us who happened to be below decks it seemed as though every plate of the ship had been shaken loose. Some claimed they saw large oil spots on the surface of the water indicating that at least two submarines had been accounted for but we were never officially advised. One may have gained the impression that we were the sole outfit aboard, but we had with us Division Headquarters and the Military Police, perhaps eighteen hundred men in all. Due to the fact that the ship carrying the animals was rather slow, we were all held back, taking twelve days to make the crossing. It was indeed a scene of rare beauty as we steamed through the Irish Sea with the shores of Ireland and Wales discernible in the distance. It was sometime around daybreak when we noticed that the ship had slowed down considerably and that the steady, heavy pulsating of the powerful engines had ceased. Arriving on deck we found that we had entered the Mersey River and were almost opposite the landing stage in mid-stream at Liverpool. As the morning wore on commuters from Berkenhead, across the river, passed almost under our stern aboard the small ferries, a sight, which reminded us of our own Hudson with the commuters from Jersey. The people aboard the ferries waved to us in friendly fashion and it could be seen that they were surprised to see us. Not long after, there was friendly rivalry between our Battalion and the engineer regiment to see who would be the first to set foot on English soil. We do not know where the M.P.s were at this time. We did not pay as much attention to them then as we did later. We won the race with the engineers but we do not say so too loudly when the engineers are around. We might pause for a moment to pay our respects to the 302nd Engineer Regiment, our own engineers. They were later to prove themselves second to none in the A.E.F. and are held in high regard by all units of the Division. The entire regiment was decorated with the Croix de,Guerre by the French Government and we are proud to have served with this regiment.
Our stay at Liverpool was of short duration for we entrained later in the afternoon. We were at Liverpool long enough, however, to hear our first English expressions. Some ladies of the W.A.A.C. (Women's Auxiliary Army Corps) sold us ginger buns and coffee and when we inquired as to the cost, we were told just Tuppence Ha'penny. We of course were weighted down with American money but these English ladies did not know what coin was the equivalent of Tuppence Ha'penny. Someone came to the rescue and told us that our American nickel would take care of things nicely. Boarding the trains, we came in contact for the first time with foreign class distinction. We were loaded into 3rd class coaches, eight men to a compartment to sit bolt upright with our packs piled in the best way possible. We were in for an all night ride across England to Dover although we did not know our destination then. During the night the train was stopped and a trainman came along the roofs of the cars and with a few sharp blows of a hammer extinguished the lights, leaving us in total darkness. We were to learn that the train had been stopped and darkened due to the presence of a Zeppelin over England. Stopping at Nottingham about midnight we stepped from the train to the station platform long enough to be served coffee and what coffee. Let's not talk about it. Back aboard the train we were again shaken into place to resume our tiresome journey. It was a weary lot of soldiers that detrained at Dover. With eyes red-rimmed from want of sleep, our sea-legs still with us, hungry and very much in need of a good wash we were in no position to bowl over our friends of the British Army with anything like a natty appearance.
We lined up in a mechanical sort of way to be marched up a high hill to the citadel overlooking the English Channel. We felt that we would get a little rest here. But no! No, we were like Napoleon's men, they marched us up the hill and they marched us down again. We were in the British barracks just long enough to unsling equipment and to get a bite to eat. Filing into the mess rooms, we dipped into a large can of tea, yes, tea, and upon arriving at our places along rough plank tables supported by iron pipe legs a Limey (English) soldier slapped a grizzled piece of corned beef before us on the bare boards. If you inquire what we ate it with, we can only answer that fingers were made before forks. Did we eat that meat? We did! Did we sit down to eat it? We did not. That, however, was not anything to what we were coming to and it is a wonder we recall it at all. There wasn't much time to be lost here. They wanted us in France in the worst way and down the hill we went to board the boats that carried us to Calais, France. We were packed pretty well into those boats, with no room to sit down but it did not matter much as the trip was a short one of perhaps an hour and a half duration. It was uneventful except that many, perhaps most of us, were quite thrilled at the realization that we were actually crossing the English Channel, gradually drawing closer and closer to the great conflict that for so long had seemed so far away.
CHAPTER III
FRANCE AT LAST
SLOWLY the boat was warped into the quay at Calais. We were the first American troops to arrive at this port and believing we had General Pershing with us, the French people tried to give us a real reception. They had a band on hand that tried to play our National Anthem but we can't prove that is what they played. Somewhere someone snapped to attention and the word was passed along.
Their intentions were good and they were making a brave effort. Wherever one looked people were in mourning and it was rather de-pressing. We disembarked and the wonder of it all was that at last here we were in France. There was not much of an opportunity to do any day dreaming as there was too much to be done. A sergeant came down the line and spoiled everything. It was "Here, give this man a hand with the Captain's bedding roll" and we were back to earth. Trust a sergeant to take the joy out of life.
Swinging away from the quay a short hike carried us to a Rest Camp on the sand dunes not far distant from the city. The camp, for the most part, consisted of conical tents and crude wooden shacks. All tents were barricaded with sand bags to the tops of the walls of the tents, a height of perhaps three feet, for the purpose of protecting the occupants from the shrapnel spray that would result from bombs dropped from enemy aeroplanes or perhaps long range artillery fire. The latter was somewhat remote but air raids were not uncommon and we experienced one our second night there, which was Sunday. It was not learned what damage had been done but it brought to us a sense of our nearness to the actual scene of the war. The German Army was making a push for the Channel ports of Dunkirk and Calais and the British Army was sorely in need of reinforcements, especially machine gunners, which was the principal reason for our being rushed to this sector. Fortunately the lines held and we were able to add to our knowledge of warfare, as it was then being waged, during a period of training with the 39th Division of the British Army.
To go back for a moment to the rest camp, so called. By the time we reached France some of the Battalion had received English coins at Liverpool and to change these and what we had of American money, we lined up at the Y.M.C.A. hut where an exchange for French francs could be effected. The writer was well fixed, having arrived with a good old American five-dollar bill. Standing in line was a big British marine and he started the conversation. "Where are you chaps from?" he asked. To which we replied, not without pride, "New York City, and State principally. Ever been to New York?" "Oh, indeed," said he with his decidedly English accent, "I lived at Sixth Avenue and Seventeenth Street for about five years." It was like music to our ears to hear the old streets mentioned and how our minds traveled back to the sidewalks of New York.
In spite of all the new sights and experiences, a soldier must eat, and mess call was real music. We filed into one of the shacks used as a, mess hall and, as one of the boys described it, we were served with a "nice" meal of sand, tea and cheese, mostly sand. The wind blows in France during early Spring days the same as it does anywhere else and on those sand dunes, it was sand in your eyes, hair and food. Anyone who has eaten spinach that has not been well cleaned knows the sensation of closing one's teeth on grains of sand. A British officer entered the mess hall just prior to the completion of the meal and, rapping on a table for attention, announced that after the meal there would be dessert. Finishing his announcement he directed us to "Carry on!" This was the first English command we had heard and, while it may have had its effect on British troops, it was wildly received by the "Indians" from the States. From one quarter it was "After this there will be beer. Carry on!" From another quarter, "After this there will be Champagne. Carry on!" and numerous others. The British officer made a hasty exit and we can only imagine what his thoughts were. Our own officers knowing and understanding us, however, secretly enjoyed the proceedings and therefore, in the language of the soldier, everything was Jake. The camp was occupied by British soldiers but to a very much larger extent by Chinamen and their dress would have made Gunga Din look like Beau Brummel. They were a pretty filthy lot. It was spoken of as a Chinese prison camp but as to why these Orientals were prisoners has never been quite clear to us. Sunday morning a hike was made to a British Supply Depot some eight kilometers away where we were presented with steel helmets and gas masks. Entering a large tent, an English soldier, who seemed to be somewhat of an expert at judging the faces, shouted out the mask sizes. It was number four, number two, number three as fast as the men filed in and, with few exceptions, he seemed to hit it right off. The helmets were heavy at first but we soon became accustomed to them and what pals they were. They would shed rain water like a tin roof. If you wanted to sit down in a muddy road, you sat in your hat. If you wanted a candlestick in a billet or a dug-out, a few drops of wax on the top and your old tin helmet became a candlestick. In short, the old tin hats were used for many purposes.
Turning in for the night wasn't particularly pleasant as we had been issued salvage blankets instead of unrolling our blanket rolls and using our own. The blankets issued had no doubt been used by wounded men as blood stains were apparent and what with the odor of the delousing process it took a little effort to overcome our qualms and to crawl under them. We had several hours to ourselves to explore Calais, observing the customs of the people and noting a number of houses that had been wrecked by German bombs. Weary was no name for it when we finally stretched out on the board floors of the tents, a dozen men to a tent, feet to the center pole, to get some much needed rest in spite of the blood-stains and the damned odor.
Monday morning it was rise and shine bright and early for a tramp across the city to trains that were waiting to carry us out into Flanders Fields for our period of training. During our stay in France when the going was rough there were times when we longed to be back to our days in Upton, but there isn't a man of the Battalion who ever expressed a desire to see that camp on the beach at Calais, with its sand and its smells, and its Chinamen.
CHAPTER IV
40 AND 8 AND BILLETS
T was a cloudy, raw, miserable morning, with occasional showers, the day we departed from the camp at Calais to hike across the city to entrain. The narrow street echoed the sound of our heavy, hob-nailed field shoes as we clattered along at route step. All the sights of the ancient French city were intensely interesting and the French people viewed us with much curiosity for, as before stated, we were the first American troops to arrive at this port. As a matter of fact, our Division was the first division of the National Army to set foot on French soil. Arriving at the railroad yards we found the trains made up and everything in readiness. This was the first sight we had of the world famous French box-cars, the forty and eight as they were known, from the fact they would accommodate forty men or eight horses. The cars are about half the size of an American car' having a stationary wheel at each corner, whereas the American car is mounted on pivoting trucks. To get back to our story, we were ordered into the cars and when they were sufficiently filled as we thought to allow for sleeping room, a lot of fellows shouted, "Enough." Much to our surprise and chagrin more men were put into each car and still more until we were standing in a real subway jam. We could not imagine riding for a very long time situated like that and we were not being asked to do so as the ride was not longer than about eighteen kilometers, although it took several hours to complete the trip. Detraining at the small village of Audrique, we hiked perhaps eight or ten kilometers, arriving in the neighborhood of a small village which we later learned to be La Panne, a name long to be remembered by 305th Machine Gunners. Each company swung off on a different road leading to the billets of the village. I recall C Company quarters distinctly and the experience of the other companies was the same elsewhere in the village. The Company was halted in the road and an officer, jerking his thumb over his shoulder, said, "Fourteen men in here." "In where?" "Right in that barn and make it snappy." Painted on the buildings were the numerals 2 horses 14 men, or whatever number the farmer or peasant, as he is called, had room for. Well, for once the gang didn't make it snappy but ambled into the structure and took a look around. It was not very inviting-looking and it was some minutes before any effort was made to loosen up to get settled. The Company continued on, dropping a few here and a few there and the last billet, Number Ninety-one, I well recall, took what was left of the Company, about seventy-two men. The men were weary and hungry as it had been pretty much of a steady grind up to this time. They just sat on their packs and mooned around for a while, trying to absorb it all. Here they were in Flanders, in the billets about which so much had been written. Were we down-hearted? Yeah! I'll say we were; the morale was shot. We were to see the time, however, when billets were something to look forward to and we can all recall just waiting for the word "Go" to make a dash into the lousy old stables to pick out a favorable spot, one that was soft, afforded a good place to stow equipment and was under a section of roof that did not leak. I say "lousy stables" advisedly for we had gotten no further than the La Panne billets before one of the companies had cooties. I won't say which company because it would be denied. After a while we all had cooties so that this was something we did not have to take into consideration when we had a chance to get under any kind of roof. The most annoying things to contend with were rats and we had a choice selection. We soon learned that it was good policy to stay away from side-walls when laying out a bunk as the rats used to scamper along the walls. One night in Billet Ninety-one one of the rats sat up on a fellow's feet. The soldier drew his feet back gently and gave that animal a sudden kick into the air, only to have it come down on his chest. What a wild scramble was there, my countrymen. If a man placed a piece of hardtack in his overcoat pocket for a nibble later on in the evening, one could gamble on it that a rat would get the nibble first, in a number of instances, gnawing through the material of the coat. When it came to sleeping we soon learned, as all soldiers before us had learned, that sleeping with the face covered was the surest way of getting some sleep without being disturbed by rats when they ran over us during the night. Uncomfortable and unsanitary you say! Most certainly but, oh, how we needed that sleep!
CHAPTER V
LA PANNE
"WHEN do we eat" amounted to a theme song during our first days in La Panne. It was some time before real American rations started flowing in with any regularity. We had to look to the British Army for food supplies and they were unable to cope with the situation. A slice of bacon, hardtack and cold tea would constitute a meal and, for a real spread, add to that a piece of cheese. Marma-lade on a soda biscuit was often served as dessert. Oh! the daintiness of it! Belts were pulled up a couple of notches and uniforms hung loosely. About this time corned willy, in other words, canned corned beef made its appearance. Not bad at first, but repetition is some-what wearying.
Drill started on the Vickers machine gun, which is a water-cooled weapon, with the names of many parts to be learned. It was also necessary to have the correction of stoppages become second nature. How we pounded away at that. Who will ever forget -if the cocking handle stops in the number one position, it is a sure sign of a bulged round or a split case or whatever it was and the old cry "Clearing plug, number two!" Remember? Do you recall the operation of the gun? The gases follow the bullet up the barrel, striking the muzzle attachment and driving the recoiling portions to the rear, and the seat of ejection - and the fuzzee spring - and the seer spring - and repeat all commands - say "UP" when ready - and ammunition, spare parts and gun all correct, sir - and the "tile" of the tumbler. Does it all come back to you? Day in and day out we repeated "tile" of the tumbler until one day someone blurted out to our English instructor, "Say, what in hell is this "tile"? "Tile, tile," said he, "You mean you do not know what a tile is? T-I-I-L, tile." We rolled over on the grass and kicked up our heels. T-a-i-l is tail and we never again said "tile". I mentioned before in this story that these Englishmen did not speak our language. How we recall those speed drills! It was on this spot, "Mount Gun", and that spot, "Mount Gun!" Out of Action, concealment - filling sand bags - sneaking into action and sneaking out again - packing the guns on mules and "capturing" villages! It makes us dizzy to go over it all.
Then there were the gas masks, flipping them on in 5 seconds and flipping them off -carrying in the slung position and at the alert and the English instructor - Sorry, sorry, I said Class and not gas. There, again they fooled us. Our instructions in the use and care of the masks were as complete and thorough as the British could make them after their years of experience in the war and the history of gas in its various forms was traced for us from the time it was introduced into the hostilities by the Germans. At a distance of about two miles from La Panne the British Army had erected a small gas house through which we passed. Windows and doors were sealed and after adjusting our masks, gas was released from tanks. After we had the experience of remaining in this strong concentration of gas the doors were opened to dispel most of it. Before the room was com-pletely cleared we were requested to remove our masks in order to get a sniff of the gas and in this way learned to detect the odor of chlorine, phosgene and lachrymatory gas, the latter being commonly called tear gas and, as I recall, it had an odor of new mown hay. It was calculated that this gas, by reason of causing tears to flow, would make a soldier remove his mask and in this way subject him to the more deadly gases. At another time we had demonstrated to us a cloud gas attack. This gas was released in clouds into a breeze blowing directly at us. At this time the Battalion showed the inherent trait of the American soldier to think for himself. Instead of standing fast and adjusting the gas masks for the purpose of the test, the men walked quietly out of the wind and allowed the gas to blow harmlessly by, much to the chagrin of the British officers. We imagine that at times they thought we were impossible and that we were not properly impressed. In going to the gas field, one afternoon, Major Nolan required us to hike the entire distance with our masks adjusted and, while it was something of an ordeal, it gave us much needed practice in wearing the masks for long periods. Later we handled the machine guns while wearing the masks and at other times were required to wear them for as much as an hour, becoming accustomed to conversing under that handicap. It all helped to equip us for the long periods we were later to be called upon to wear the masks in the front lines.
I might pause here, for a moment, to say that the Battalion was under the command of Major Daniel Nolan who had succeeded Major Winnia, the original commander.
The fields of France were intensely cultivated and we were required to keep to the roads when executing close order formations. There was a field, however, not far distant that was set aside for our use in machine gun work and was designated as the Battalion drill field. How well we recall the small children in their mufflers and smocks who stood at the side of the road and watched us march back and forth each day. They would call Vive I'Amerique! Cigarette! Cigarette ! Souvenir, etc. It was at the Battalion drill field that the British demonstrated their skill in putting four machine guns into action against us without being detected. They did not entirely succeed, however, as some of our men caught sight of them. We had to crawl all over the place ourselves doing the same thing.
The village of La Panne is about fifteen kilometers away from the town of St. Omer which was in the British lines and not far distant from Kemmel Hill. The hill changed hands several times, from the Canadians to the Germans and back again and it is a place that will live forever in the memories of the troops who survived the fighting at that point. We were not in the lines here but got the stories from Canadian soldiers who occasionally brought horses from the front to be rested and cleaned at a small remount depot at the neighboring village of Nordausque. For days on end we could hear the terrific cannonading. It was one long, continuous rumble and, at times, especially at night, it was enough to frazzle a man's nerves. Toward evening the road to St. Omer, which ran through the village of Nordausque, would become active with fresh British and Canadian troops going up and weary troops coming out. How we stood by the sides of the road and watched the motorcycle couriers speed by, and columns of artillery rumble along! Not far distant, over the hill, there was an aeroplane field and we used to watch the planes that had been up over the lines come winging to earth like great, tired birds. There was indeed enough here, more than enough to satisfy those of a romantic turn of mind. We used to wonder when it would come our turn to join the caravan.
For quite a while Call to Quarters sounded at 8:45 with Taps at 9:00 o'clock. The M.P.s would make the rounds of the Estaminets to start the stragglers back to billets. It happened later that Call to Quarters was changed to 9:45 with taps at 10:00 o'clock and the Battalion received the order before the M.P.s. When they started doing their chasing at 8:45 as usual, we stood fast. The M.P.s doubted us, as they naturally would, being M.P.s, when we told them of the change and upon inquiring of their own headquarters, they learned of the new order. How we gloated, and stood around for an additional hour when we would much rather have been tucked away.
One night, long after taps, when only the steady snoring could be heard in the billets, a certain C Company man started things going by coming in a very happy condition. He picked his way over the men to his bunk and, while he was preparing for sleep, he serenaded the bunch with his full rich tenor. The sergeant in charge of the billet, who was nicknamed "The Beast", commanded him to " pipe down", but requesting, commanding and threatening could not make him refrain from his singing. He said that if the sergeant thought he was noisy to wait until the rest of the gang came along. We did not have long to wait until the strains of "Sweet Adeline" greeted our ears. One of the group was a corporal quartered with us and we soon saw his huge bulk in the doorway, outlined against the sky. We must give him his due by saying he had quieted down and was not noisy. His bunk was well across the billet and as he peered into the darkness he scratched his head and wondered how he was going to make it. It did not take him long to decide and he had consideration enough to take off his hob-nailed shoes. Straightening up he said, "Here I come men". Straight across the billet he flew, landing on a foot here, a stomach there and then again right in a man's face. The air was full of grunts, shouts and curses but the bold bad corporal got to where he wanted to go and did not waste any time corking off. We could see the face of the enraged sergeant even through the darkness.
For quite a while after our arrival in La Panne it was often wondered how the term "Sunny France" originated. Day after day it rained. At times the sun broke through but it seemed as though we would never have a full day of sunshine and we sloshed around in mud with great clods of the sticky French soil clinging to our shoes. The weather was very fitful and in one day we could experience changes ranging from a bleak winter's day to the bright warmth of summer. It would be bitingly cold, moderate, snow, turn to rain, blow a March gale, the sun break through, only to disappear in a short time and black, showery clouds whirl across the sky. It was anything but comfortable and was very discouraging. Apart from a few men contracting heavy colds and rheumatism, the health of the men was surprisingly good. One C Company man was confined to his billet with a bad case of rheumatism and was finally removed to a hospital. Good old Frank Lawson, our Chaplain, made his rounds of the billets regularly, holding informal religious services on Sunday mornings and there were, no doubt, many silent prayers for better weather. To add to our woes, a detail returned to Calais for our transport equipment, that is, horses, mules, rolling field kitchens, limbers, G.S. (General Service) wagons, etc.
There was no place available where animals could be placed under cover and they were tethered to a long rope stretched between poles and known as the picket line. Guard duty at this time was divided into three divisions; billet guard, limber guard and stable guard. Limber guard was comparatively easy as it entailed patrolling only the area where the limbers were placed for the night.
Billet guard required a man to make the rounds of all the billets twice from retreat to reveille to see that everything was in order and particularly to guard against fire that might perhaps smolder and burst into flame during the night. The billets were really tinder and, as they were filled with straw, a carelessly dropped cigarette stub or match could prove disastrous. During our entire time in La Panne, about six weeks, we never had any trouble in that direction. Wander-ing along, alone on the roads, unarmed, in the darkness, with no sound save the distant, ceaseless rumbling of the guns in the lines, was rather an awe-inspiring job. Billet guards were later doubled and it helped a good deal to have a companion. At a still later time guards were issued the British Lee Enfield rifles but nothing to put into them. About the first time the guards carried rifles, Captain Roelker, of A Company, was Officer of the Day. Making his rounds in the night, he was halted and identified. Peering through the darkness and not knowing the arms had been issued, he asked, "Are you men carrying rifles?" "Yes, sir." - "Ammunition?" -"No, sir." - "Well," he said, "I suppose a rifle would make a good club anyway." And how he laughed.
Stable guard was about the toughest job of the lot, not excepting Kitchen Police. Any man who has chased horses and mules all over the fields all night will admit that he earned his month's pay in one night. Tie the animals to the picket line with the best kind of a knot and they got loose just the same. It will always remain their secret. What a sweet job it was in an air raid. The animals would break in all directions, going positively wild. Incidentally, we learned about swearing from mule skinners, the drivers who handled the brutes all day. Add to the general excitement of catching frightened horses and mules, the roar of anti-aircraft guns, exploding shrapnel shells, the shrapnel dropping to earth, the steady hum, hum, hum of the German aeroplane somewhere in the sky, with countless searchlights penetrating the blackness trying to locate the plane at the ends of the long fingers of light and then suddenly the deafening roar of the released bombs from the German plane. Occasionally one was brought down but, generally, the steady hum growing fainter, ever fainter, would signify he had succeeded in getting away. The British troops used to say there is nothing like an air raid to get a man's wind up and we agree with them. All would become quiet again and we would get back to sleep but off in the dark soggy fields the stable guard would still be chasing horses.
There is nothing one can do in an air raid but lie and wait. Looking for shelter was of no use for a direct hit meant the end. It has been ably said that a bomb-proof shelter was bomb-proof until hit by a bomb. We had more than enough of air raids in La Panne as the Germans were constantly seeking to bomb an ammunition dump at Audrique. We watched with dread the rocket signals float into the sky. When a plane crossed the front line a rocket was fired and it was repeated at intervals all the way back so that by the time the galloping hum of the German plane came to our ears, all would be in readiness. It was during one of these raids that an anti-aircraft shell dropped through the house where Lieutenant Duddy of C Company was billeted. Fortunately is was a shell that, through some defect, was prevented from exploding. Crashing through the roof, missing the Lieutenant's cot by about six feet, it pierced the floors of the house and buried itself in the ground. It seemed to be an ill omen, however, as Lieutenant Duddy, a fine, upstanding man was later one of the first of C Company to make the supreme sacrifice.
The air raids continued to occur on clear nights and gradually we became indifferent to them. Fortune smiled upon us so far as the weather was concerned for as we approached the month of May we were favored with many days of sunshine. Our rations improved, too, and things at last seemed to be coming our way. It was at about this time that we began to learn who the champions of the Second line were. After the Company had been fed, if any food remained, the cooks shouted to line up for seconds as far as the remainder of the food would go. The cooks didn't have to do much shouting, as the line was generally pretty well formed and waiting. It seems that in every company it was the same bunch all the time. How they were able to consume the first helping so quickly and be waiting for more was a mystery. It apparently required rare skill to be first on the second line. In other words to be the first second if we make ourselves clear. "Second Hounds" we used to call them.
Earlier in our story we mentioned the lad from the backwoods who did not seem to know what it was all about. The Battalion was barely settled comfortably in La Panne when word came that he was missing. We were not particularly ex6ited about that but one afternoon a message was received from the British M.P. Headquarters at Calais that they had one of our men and requested that someone be sent for him. Two men made a hitch hike back to Calais and sure enough they had our little country boy. He had gone AWOL up to the British lines and from the information he was able to give had reached the support line trenches. Not being satisfied with that, he desired to go farther forward and, climbing out of that series of trenches, found his way above ground to the front line. He was taken back to Calais in an airplane and was therefore a couple of jumps ahead of the rest of the outfit. He was very much disturbed to think that he was being detained so long in France and said that he ought to be home getting in the crops. If he had a bicycle he would have gone home and when asked how he hoped to ride across the ocean on that, he said he would ride around it. A couple of the men tried to cut off the moustache he had raised but they found him to be a rugged boy. After the struggle was over he still had his moustache. There wasn't much time wasted on him, however, and he was sent away for observation. Each time he came back he was promptly sent away and the last we heard of him he had been returned to the States.
Our time was fully occupied during the day but after mess, at the end of the day, we had several hours of daylight and we crowded a good deal of fun into those hours. Saturday afternoons and Sun-days were usually leisure periods and we visited such nearby places as Recques and Licques. British soldiers were quartered at these places and at the Recques encampment the boys could buy ale. The road to Recques became well worn. At Licques we visited a British Y.M.C.A. canteen, where we listened to stories of the war and drank the hot chocolate tank dry much to the annoyance of the Tommies.
Apart from the fun we made ourselves, there wasn't much entertainment in La Panne and, therefore, when we received an invitation to a performance of the Tivolis we lost no time in being on hand. The theatre was an old barn over at Recques and the footlights were candles in tin can reflectors. The Tivolis, as they called themselves, was a group of British soldiers of all rank, apparently men who at some time had been identified with the theatrical profession and it was their duty to furnish entertainment for the soldiers. Ability in a theatrical way was not the only requirement; every man of the troupe had to show that he had been over the top at least once. The barn was darkened and, f or a couple of hours, we lost ourselves to the outside world. Who can forget such songs as "I Want a Cup of Cocoa" and "Good Bye"? A skit called "The Leftenant Colonel and his Batman" was a very funny bit. It was shortly after the show was over that we came face to face, on the road, with the Leftenant Colonel who was actually a captain and where but a few moments before we were laughing at his antics we had to snap into it with a smart salute.
There were two days that we liked to see come around and they could not come often enough for us. One was mail day and the other was payday. It was great to receive mail from home and to appreciate what letters meant to us one need only to see a lad who did not receive a letter. The folks at home were certainly loyal and faithful and when it comes to the old question of who won the war, we can give credit to them because they were right behind us all the time and never failed us. Pay day was something else, again, and in our mind's eye we can still see the old huddled groups in the barnyards watching the "galloping dominoes" and the old familiar cry "Come on my lucky lads, get your money down." We do not mean to imply that the entire Battalion put its pay into the great African game. Not at all, a lot of the men drank up their pay while others ate it, if you follow us.
Once, when things were not going so well, the officers took us to task about it and said we should be more like the Infantry regiments and sing while hiking. On the particular day we have in mind we sang all right. We can still see old Lieutenant (Foxy) Gorham as he was affectionately referred to. As he stood at the side of the road watching the Company swing out, he got the songs as soon as the command "Route Step" had been given. He was greeted with such songs as "All We Do Is Sign the Payroll" and "We'll Hoist Old Glory to the Top of the Pole" and "All Re-enlist in the Pig's Whiskers". He tried to retain his dignity but, being a regular "guy", he let out his old familiar guffaw. Those were the days!
We now come to a time that stands out in the memories of all old 305th Machine Gunners - of the entire Division for that matter. We refer to the Watten Hike or as we call it the Battle of Watten. Now, the town of Watten wasn't and for that matter is not today of any great importance so far as its size is concerned but it was the terminus of one long, hard hike on a beastly warm day and it is often referred to when men of the old Division get together. So far as our Battalion is concerned, we can still see that dogged determination as the men tramped, tramped, tramped steadily onward. Did they kick? Did they complain? Yes, we'll say they did but show us an American soldier who hasn't grunted and fumed. The old Battalion went along just the same though with nary a man falling out and they finished in great shape. The last long mile or so up to the town was a steady climb and coming, as it did, right at the finish, it was a heart-breaker. Without mentioning any names, we will tell you about this famous old Battle of Watten from the viewpoint of one of the men who happened to be called for K.P. that day. He was awakened by the guard at 3:00 A.M. and shortly thereafter reported for duty at the kitchen. There was plenty to be done and not to burden you with too many details, suffice it to say that the Company was fed, utensils cleaned up, dinner on the fire and we stood ready to pull out by 7:00 A.M. We had not proceeded more than about half a mile when the horses shied at something, swerving the kitchen into a rut and it parted at the point where the rear end containing the cooking food is attached to the limber by a hook and eye arrangement. As the rear portion up-ended the fire fell onto the road and the water rushed from the pots or dixies, as they were called. All hands made a leap for the pole and dragged it down to its horizontal position, coupling up again. The fire was shoveled up and a survey disclosed that there was enough water on the beans to keep them from burning. With a rapid march the kitchen force caught up to the Company and at the first brook the K.P.s filled the dixies with water. Every time the Company stopped for the usual ten-minute rest the kitchen force juggled the dixies. K.P.s and cooks were carrying full packs the same as the Company and it was not until about half the distance had been covered that permission was given to throw the packs on a limber. There was not much rest for the boys in the kitchens during the ten -minute stops.
The men in the Infantry regiments seemed to be carrying unusual weight in their packs and eventually we passed a group that had fallen out. It was reported that several had actually died. An investigation later developed the fact that practically all of them were still clinging to knitted articles made by loving hands at home and orders were issued to discard everything that had not been sup-plied by the Government. There were many completely fitted toilet sets, razors of various makes and so on and what a neat pile it made in the Watten Woods. The British soldiers lost no time helping them-selves. It was a very trying march and we were fortunate in not being burdened with rifles and bayonets as were the Infantrymen. The day was drawing to a close when we reached the woods beyond the town of Watten. The companies pitched tents and were not long in getting settled. The job for the kitchen men was not quite so simple as the old familiar cry of "When do we cat?" was soon filling the air. Getting water fit to drink was always a problem in France and for several minutes we did not know where we were to get water for coffee. We were advised that we could get a supply about three- quarters of a mile down the road and by four men abreast carrying three dixies we were able to get enough water to serve a cup three- quarters full to each man. There was a kick at that but no one volunteered to make a trip for more water. The Company was fed at about nine o'clock and the K.P.s finished up at ten. It was indeed a long, weary day and at about the time they were ready to pitch their tent the platoon, to which the K.P.s in question were attached, received orders to pack up. Luck was with that platoon, however, as a messenger overtook the lieutenant in charge before we had gone more than a hundred yards through the woods, to advise him that the orders had been changed and to return. It was welcome news and it was a pair of tired, tired K.P.s that lay down in a pup tent that night. From three in the morning to ten at night is a long day. It was not to be a peaceful night, however, as Jerry came over on one of his usual air raids. Jerry, by the way, if we have not mentioned it before, was the enemy. Heinies, Boche, Huns and Krauts were other names, but to the Tommies, the enemy was Jerry and Jerry he remained. We learned the Germans were seeking to bomb an ammunition dump at St. Omer. Lying there in the woods we watched the play of the searchlights as they shone, for a moment, on the underside of the enemy plane like a huge gray bird. The plane would be held in the light for a m6ment only to be lost and the lights would resume their search. During all this there was the ceaseless bombardment of the anti-aircraft guns that we have described elsewhere. The enemy seemed to have met with some success on this raid as the bombs apparently found their mark, judging by the heavy blast off some-where in the distance and the red glare in the sky. Elements of the Battalion were deployed in battle formation, holding positions throughout the night and we were glad to see the sun the next morning.
The Battalion was assembled at an early hour and started its long march back to La Panne. Near Eperlecques we swung off into a field where we were subjected to the same show-down inspection that the infantry had undergone. All articles not issued by the Government were discarded and while many of us parted regretfully with things we had cherished, our packs were less cumbersome and the inspection was really a good thing. Later in our experience as soldiers we learned a good deal more about travelling light and we gave some sound advice to replacements who were chary about discarding surplus equipment because they were charged with it. "Ditch it" and "Give it the air" were popular expressions.
At last we were back in La Panne and as we flung ourselves into the straw of the old billets we had a feeling of being home. Not that home was actually like that, but it was the next best thing to it. During our night in the Watten Woods we had a vague feeling of being close to some real action and we learned that we had really been in reserve behind Arras, one of the most active points of the British lines at that time. Shortly after our return to La Panne the British Lee Enfield rifles were issued to the entire Battalion and for the first time many of the men found themselves face to face with the good old American Manual of Arms. Side arms had not been issued to us and up to this time our only weapons had been the machine guns and fists for minor local engagements. It did not take our outfit very long to master the manual and we doubt that the boys in the Infantry could have shown us up at the game. We did not feel comfortable with rifles, however, as we felt like fish out of water. Handling a rifle wasn't our game as we always thought in terms of a machine gun. We, of course, were operating under the British system which required every machine gunner to carry a rifle in addition to which an extra rifle was always kept at each machine gun emplacement. Practice on the ranges brought to light many excellent riflemen in each company.
We often wondered how long we were to remain in La Panne. A spirit of "Let's Go" seemed to run through the outfit. The day was not far distant when we were to move out of the old village never to return to it as we had done from Watten. It was well toward the end of May that we were to see elements of the 30th National Guard Division trudging into the area and not many days after that, we moved from the old village of La Panne that we had come to feel belonged to us. We hiked into another locality and the names of such places as Hardinghem, Hemelingen and Hamel come readily to mind. Our sojourn in this area was of short duration. Came the day when we turned in our British equipment to start one of the longest three-day marches of our career. Starting about mid-day, we tramped steadily throughout the long hot afternoon and when a halt was called along toward dusk we felt that we had done a good day's work. The halt however was only for mess and, with that over, we were on the way again. Gradually we settled into the grind, eyes becoming fixed on the rhythmic rise and fall of the hob-nailed shoes of the man ahead. The Battalion was leap-frogged, first one company leading and setting the pace and then another. If, perchance, the pace slackened it was "Pull over and let a good company get up there". Through the long hours of the night we pushed onward and, at times, we seemed to be going directly to the front as the flashing of the guns reddened the sky. It was, perhaps, somewhere around two o'clock in the morning when we forded a brook ankle-deep, to be halted in a field just beyond. It had been a long, dusty march and we pitched tents or bivouacked as we chose.
It was a weary, weary Battalion that flung itself to the ground that night, No one was called for guard duty and while that was wondered about, we did not ask questions. We found out about that later when one of the men, roused from his sleep, discovered that one of the officers was doing guard alone without disturbing the men. With a blanket wrapped about him he remained awake and was seen sitting by a small fire. That officer was First Lieutenant Allan E. Foster. He rode a horse the next day and got what sleep he could in the saddle. For three days we pounded the hard white roads of France without the loss of a man. We reached the village of Wamin eventually, where we pitched tents in a field with the boys of the 305th Infantry. After a short stay at Wamin, another hike carried us to the railhead at a place called Hesden. An advance detail had loaded our supply wagons and animals and it was not long before we were ordered into the box cars, the famous 40 and S's that we have already described. Now, forty men or eight horses is one thing, but with some of us it was twenty-two men in one end of the car and four horses in the other. It was something of a thrill sitting on the floor of the car doing fire guard with four animals blinking at you in the dim light of a lantern. If the train stopped suddenly, they lurched forward and one had visions of being trampled to death. The loading completed, the signal was given that everything was ready and, with a long screech as only a French locomotive can screech, the train moved out. We were off again to parts unknown.
CHAPTER VI
LORRAINE
SLEEPING in cramped positions due to the limited space in the cars was very uncomfortable but the journey was otherwise enjoyable, interesting and educational. At times the train made a good rate of speed while at other times it moved along at the usual troop train pace and we had plenty of opportunity to view the ever-changing scenery of the French countryside. It will be recalled that the German Army had advanced uncomfortably close to Paris and for that reason the train swung off in a wide are from that city. It was not the good fortune of most of us to visit Paris but we at least had the satisfaction of seeing the Eiffel Tower faintly outlined in the distance. There was much to hold our interest, the country was indeed picturesque and with the good nature and fun in the cars, the time did not drag. The train stopped frequently and French boys came up to the tracks offering for sale vin blanc in nicely sealed bottles. A number of sales were quickly consummated but when the train had moved on and the bottles were opened, much to the dismay of the purchasers they contained only water. This spoiled the business thereafter for any French boys offering the genuine article, for "You cannot fool all the people all of the time".
We saw several days fade into night and we continued to roll on toward our unknown destination, Most of us would say, off -hand, that the trip consumed three or four days but one of our boys with a flare for accuracy places the time at sixty hours. We had watched the direction in which we were going and a few sectional maps had been purchased. We guided ourselves by the names of the villages we passed through but soon we ran off the maps and as the tracks swung north, then south and again north, we soon gave up the task of trying to determine just where we were going and settled back to await eventualities. At last our old forty and eight came to a jolting stop and we were ordered to detrain. According to the sign on the station the name of the town was Charmes but so far as we could see there were no charms about the place. We were not there long enough to make a thorough investigation which was our usual practice upon arriving at a new town. I might add at this time that it never did take the 305th Machine Gun Battalion very long to get a place all lined up. It was often a race with the officers and usually the men won out. Perhaps it was because there were more enlisted men than officers or maybe it was due to the fact that officers had a certain dignity to maintain. I do not know.
It was an intensely hot day in June when we arrived at Charmes and our hike from the station, which consumed most of the afternoon, in the broiling sun with full regulation pack and cooties boring in, was anything but pleasant. We arrived at the village of St. Maurice where we found fairly clean, comfortable billets. A thing that stands out in the memory of one of the boys is that upon arriving in St. Maurice we found good beer, real home brew. He tells us that this was on the thirteenth of June. He goes on to say that on the fourteenth we rested but we have not been able to find out whether he means we rested from the rigors of the hike or set down the beer glasses for a rest.
The village of St. Maurice is in Lorraine, in the foothills of the Vosges Mountains and off in the purple haze we could see the mountains themselves. Lorraine was the scene of terrific fighting in the early years of the war but the sector had long since become quiet with no advance being attempted here by either the German or French armies. It was known as a rest sector and divisions of both armies, French and German, were brought here for a rest and reorganization. There was an exchange of shell fire daily, the projectiles exploding harmlessly in open fields with apparently no desire on the part of the opposing forces to do any real harm. The idea seemed to be, principally, that of keeping each other reminded that there was a war going on. A number of American divisions, however, received their first real taste of war in Lorraine. The American soldier could not long be satisfied with such inactivity and on several occasions started things going, much to the horror of the French. The Germans seemed to be willing to oblige our division with an idea of what a real active front was like and some of the men in our infantry regiments recall being caught in a box barrage, subjected to liquid fire and intensely bombarded with gas. It was real warfare to those boys on this supposedly quiet front. The boys in the artillery got a line on a church that the Germans were using for an ammunition dump. They brought up one of their six-inch howitzers at night, mounted it in no man's land, made short work of the ammunition dump and withdrew. An artillery gun so used is known as a pirate-piece. As for ourselves we had our own part to play and we will come to that shortly.
There is nothing like a good beef stew or perhaps a mess-kit full of beans to put a soldier on edge. The old mess cup filled with coffee instead of tea always reached the spot and we were now getting these things regularly as we were on American rations. We cannot complain about the food with which Uncle Sam supplied us. There were times when we went hungry but that was when we were in the lines and we could not be reached for certain very good reasons. It was in St. Maurice that we had issued to us American cigarettes of vari-ous brands along with tobacco furnished by the Washington, D. C., National Tribune Tobacco Fund. It was a treat to see the American tailor-mades as we called them. Who will ever forget the English brands that we have smoked; Gold Flakes - Woodbines - Red Hussars -Wild Rose and others. We also recall the boxes from the Red Cross Christmas Fund which we received in June. They were no doubt sent over for the previous Christmas and we fell heir to them.
The Battalion commenced to take on a war-like appearance as Colt .45 calibre automatic pistols and revolvers were issued and there was a nice feeling of security when the old "gats", as we called them, nestled against us hanging from our belts. There were not enough guns to enable the supply sergeants to issue one to every man so they compromised by giving guns to half of each company and ammunition to the remainder. We tried to decide who got the best of the bargain, those with the guns or those with the ammunition. We did not have immediate use for either so that by the time we did get into the lines the entire Battalion was pretty well equipped with guns and ammunition. It was something else to worry about as the pistols added a little more to the list of things to be cleaned. Incidentally our friends the Tommies abbreviated "small arms ammunition" to "S.I.I." How they got the sound of "I" from "A" is beyond us, but they speak the King's English and if it is all right with the King we suppose that is all there is to it.
Our introduction to the- Hotchkiss Machine Gun, the type used by the French Army, was very informal. One of the guns, mounted on its tripod, stood at one side of the wide entrance to the billet and eventually one of the men summoned up enough courage to ask what it was. The officer in charge explained that it was the new type gun we were going to use. Well, our first impressions were not particularly favorable and it was not a case of love at first sight. We thought we had a pretty good idea by this time as to what a machine gun should be and the idea of an air-cooled gun did not seem to fit into the picture. However, we closed in on the gun to tear it apart to find out what made the wheels go round and what made it tick. After some experimenting it was discovered how the guns were taken apart and the officers were plied with questions and pressed for the names of the various parts. They were as much at a loss for names as the men and as any books on the subject were in French, they were of no help. It was decided to give the parts names of our own choosing so long as it was clear just what we were talking about.
We do not know whether or not the French soldiers ever heard or were annoyed by the names selected but we guarantee that the Frenchmen would be very much upset if they beard the names we called the guns when anything went wrong. Slowly we warmed up to the old Hotchkiss guns and we came to have a real affection for them as there were very few stoppages, the bane of a machine gunner's existence.
We were not quartered in St. Maurice very long. Part of the Battalion moved out to the town of Moyen, some distance away, where they attended a school of instruction conducted by the French. The remainder of the Battalion proceeded to the town of Fontenoy, nearer the lines, where we received instructions and the benefit of the experience of gunners from the 42nd Division, men of our own army who were able to talk to us in a real American way. As we came to know more about the Hotchkiss gun and had fired it on the ranges, most of the men liked it better than the Colt or the Vickers. The gun would run hot but we overcame that to some extent by applying wet burlap.
Fontenoy was an agreeable little village as French villages go. It was occupied by civilians as were most of the villages in Lorraine which were not actually right in the front lines. The buildings showed the effects of the fighting in the early stages of the war. Many houses bad been wrecked by shelling and the pock-marked exteriors of many others gave mute evidence of intense machine gun and rifle fire. The 305th Infantry Regiment was quartered in Fontenoy and this afforded an opportunity to renew old friendships with the doughboys. Their part to play was most difficult. The men of the 305th Machine Gun Battalion appreciate, full well, how they played that part and they have our sincere and profound admiration.
We had our share of poor weather here in Lorraine and we often thought it would have been a good idea if we had been equipped with sabots (wooden shoes) as were the French people. It was like walking around in boats and there were times when a boat and a pair of oars would have been a good idea. Like all villages in France, Fontenoy had its manure piles and it was a standing joke that wealth in those villages was measured by the size of the manure pile under the front window. The Government had made extensive drafts on the farms for horses and it was a common sight to see a horse and a cow teamed together in harness. It seemed to be the custom throughout the country to hitch horses in tandem and it was also the practice in taking horses from place to place to have them follow in line by tying the halter of one to the tail of the one ahead. Yes, we saw lots of unusual things in France and we can still hear the "Gee! Haw!" of the peasants as they drove their horses along the road without the aid of reins.
Wash day in France was always amusing. The people did not have their own tubs at home. Therefore, every village was equipped with a huge basin around which a wide curb sloped to the water. As a rule the pools or basins had roofs over them and were usually situated at the side of a brook, the water being piped in at one end and flowing out at the other. Every French woman had a kneeling pad; usually a box with one side knocked out and the box filled with straw. The most important utensil however, was a paddle and how they wailed hell out of the clothes when they were soaped up. Wash boards, apparently, were unknown.
These public washing places were not always in the form of one large, circular basin, as we can remember one wash shed, at least, where there were about a dozen individual cement tubs probably twelve to fifteen feet long, by three feet wide and two feet deep. We halted for a time near this wash house and, as it was the first of its kind we had seen, it was thought to be a bathing place rather than a place to wash clothes. We all, no doubt, remember little Harry O'Beirn, that ray of sunshine in C Company. There being no civilians around, Harry stripped off his clothes and hopped into one of the tubs. He stood there soaping himself when a French woman put in an appearance with a basket of clothes on her hip. The gang yelled to Harry but being all soaped up and no place to go he had to stand where he was in the tub. Harry blushed a deep pink all over and we waited to see what would happen. The French woman advanced, smiled at the situation and, kneeling at one of the tubs, calmly proceeded with the washing, apparently forgetting that Harry existed. Seeing that she was not bothered, he finished his bath and had the laugh on the rest of the Company.
It is often strange how a thing of comparatively small moment will impress itself on one's memory. It may have been a certain individual, a billet or perhaps one of those long, straight stretches of road bordered with tall poplar trees that we remember but to me it was the church bells in Fontenoy. They seemed to have a certain peal that I have always remembered and with all of our experiences and hardships still vivid in my memory, I can still hear in my mind the Bells of Fontenoy.
Enemy airplanes soared high overhead almost daily and in order to warn us of their approach, buglers were stationed at certain vantage points. At the first sight of a plane the buglers sounded "Attention" which was the signal to seek cover and the roads became deserted. In this way there was no chance for photographs which would disclose the size of the force in an area. We were not permitted to look up as faces would show in a photograph. When the skies had cleared, "Recall" was sounded and activities were resumed. After a short stay in Fontenoy we moved on to the village of Glonville. A battalion of the 305th Infantry was also billeted in Glonville and we stood Retreat with them at which time the National Anthems of England, France and the United States were played. It was a picture to see the infantry battalion run through the manual of arms and to hear those rifle slings "sing". We were listening to a band concert one evening after Retreat when a bugle sounded "Attention". No concert ever ended more abruptly or a road cleared more quickly. Not long after, "Recall" sounded and the concert was resumed almost as quickly as it had ended. The German airplanes had us busy running in and out those days. The village of Azerailles was not far distant and a bomb, dropped on a kitchen at that place, took its usual toll in killed and wounded.
Our training went steadily forward and muscles became harder as we handled the Hotchkiss guns. Tripod and gun weighed approximately fifty pounds apiece and as the breech block of the gun was made of case-hardened steel, shoulders had to toughen up to with-stand the sharp square corners. Then, too, there were the boxes of ammunition with two hundred and eighty-eight rounds in a box. They were carried by leather handles which cut into the palms of the hands and the weight would seem to be pulling the very arms from their sockets when the boxes had to be carried a long distance. It was, indeed, a lovely war. We also received training in throwing hand grenades and we did not envy the doughboys as we watched them insert the detonators into the high explosive with which the grenades were filled, it being a very ticklish job. During our stay at Glonville we had a visit from two American girl entertainers who sang exceptionally well and it was a treat to see these young ladies from our own United States. We did envy the job of the sergeant whose duty it was to drive the car for them.
It seemed that, in spite of every effort to keep the enemy in ignorance of troop movements, they obtained such information some-how and we were very much surprised, one day, to see small balloons float over from the German lines. Attached to the balloons were small slips of paper bearing the message "Good Bye 42nd - Welcome 77th". The time was not far distant, however, when our Division was not quite so welcome and "Jerry" was glad to see the last of us. Their message of greeting seemed to make every man of the Division grasp his rifle a little tighter and, with grim determination, say to himself, "Old boy, you're going to be sorry you ever heard of us."
During all this time the lines were held by the 42nd or Rainbow Division and as we slowly moved forward, elements of that Division started withdrawing. Throughout the night their artillery regiments rumbled through and one could not help being impressed by the hardened, war-like appearance of the men as they rode silently by in the blackness of the night with the horses' hoofs clumping steadily on the hard roads, chains rattling and the heavy field pieces rumbling and jolting along. At other times motor lorries filled with troops would pass through but the occupants were not always silent and, as they caught sight of the guards on the roads there were many wise cracks hurled at the 77th men. The 42nd boys seemed to forget that most of the 77th was from the sidewalks of New York and there was a snappy retort for every sally from the lorries as they lumbered along. We had acquired the spirit of being second to none, as good, if not better than the best, and we took nobody's dust.
Moving day came 'round again for us and we moved further forward, establishing ourselves in the village of Vaxainville, slowly but surely edging our way nearer and nearer to the front lines. This was around the early part of July. As usual we made the hike at night and the orders were to wear overcoats, even though the weather was very warm. While they were uncomfortable at the outset, never the less, we were very glad to have them when we stopped for the regular ten-minute rest period for the air became chilly as the night wore on. Gas alarms became frequent in Vaxainville and we were often required to put on our masks in the billets. A lot of it was, no doubt, caused by jumpiness but we played it safe just the same. It was after one of these alarms or, shall we say, false alarms that we had a good laugh at the expense of one of the men. Things had quieted down and most of us had gone back to sleep. Along toward midnight we were awakened by shouts that seemed to be coming from the cellar but there was no cellar. It was found that the voice was coming from the interior of the mask of one of the boys who had evidently fallen asleep with it on.
A little distance from the village a brook threaded its way through the fields and at one place it reached a depth of three or four feet. A screen of brush had been erected around the spot and it afforded a fine place to take a swim which was very much appreciated and enjoyed, not to mention needed. On the Fourth of July a ball-game was arranged. It was quite a game and it is doubted if there ever was a game more full of action, not only on the part of the players but the spectators as well. Shells broke not more than a quarter of a mile away and they kept everybody alert, with one eye on the game, the other on the exploding shells and all hands ready to make a dive for shelter if they came any closer. There is no need to ask who won the game as it was just one of those things.
CHAPTER VII
WE TAKE POSITIONS IN THE LINE
THE TIME finally came for us to take our places in the line and under cover of darkness we moved out realizing that, at last, after our months of preparation, our goal was in sight and that we were to assume our parts in that greatest of dramas. Our positions were in what was known as the main line of resistance beyond which were merely petit posts of infantrymen. French soldiers were also in line and the troops of the Battalion were spread out through such towns at Pettonville, Montigny and Herbervillier while Battalion Head-quarters was located at Mervillier. Division Headquarters was at Bacarrat and the area was known as the Bacarrat sector.
Not only would it become monotonous and wearying to attempt a description of every machine gun emplacement but, frankly, from the viewpoint of the men in the ranks we were able to tell only what transpired in and about our own small niche. We will, however, mention just two or three.
One gun crew occupied what had been the pit of an artillery gun and close at hand, in the trench, was a crude hut made of a huge semicircular piece of heavy corrugated iron, known as elephant iron. This afforded shelter and sleeping quarters for the men of that particular gun. Some of the men slept on the ground in the hut while others had accommodations in rough wooden bunks overhead. No lights were allowed and with the door closed one can well imagine the condition of the atmosphere after a short time. There was a certain coziness about it, however, in fact real clubbiness and, after all, what a tired soldier wanted was just a "flopping" place. Guards took up positions in the trenches and we were launched on our career as a real front line combat outfit. It was all very quiet and weird and the horizon blue uniforms of the French soldiers in the darkness looked like the gray of the Germans which did not help things a bit. The night wore on with German rockets silently soaring into the black sky and occasionally somewhere in the distance the report of a rifle shot or the slow pump of a Chauchau gun would be heard. Suddenly the stillness of the night was broken by the rasping voice of a klaxon horn. The sound was repeated again and again and it could not be imagined what business would bring a motor lorry so far forward and why a Maxon was being blown so furiously on the roads that were devoid of traffic.
With a start the guard stationed at the door of the hut became conscious of the fact that what he supposed was a motor lorry on the road was really a gas alarm. Slipping into his mask, he flung himself against the door of the hut, kicking the door and shouting the alarm. Where but a moment before all was serene within, with only the breathing of the men to be heard, now all was confusion. It was almost a repetition of the scene on the boat except that on the boat it was a scramble for life-belts and this time it was the trusty gas masks. While it was a tense, serious moment at the time, looking at it in retrospect, we have been able to appreciate the humorous side of the incident. As a matter of fact, we could not detect any gas and the alarms were simply repeated from some point that had actually been gassed. In fairness to the men they did remarkably well in adjusting their masks after their sudden awakening and they really had them on in less time than it has taken us to tell about it. In spite of our training in regard to gas alarms we failed for a moment to get the meaning of the sound of the klaxon in the lines but it was simply another case of theory and practice. We had been instructed in many things behind the lines but the old adage, "Experience is the best teacher", seemed to hold true.
Our first hitch in the line was of short duration and while the enemy sent over a few shells at regular intervals, as previously explained, they exploded harmlessly in open fields. The stretches of guard duty during the long hours of the night furnished something of a thrill due to the uncertainty of what might happen at any moment. We moved back to Vaxainville for a breathing spell and upon returning to the lines the position occupied was in a former German concrete emplacement. There were well-constructed double tier bunks in quarters below ground and the solid concrete walls gave a fine sense of security. It was here that Butler of the Battalion Medical Detachment helped pass away the time in his own inimitable style. Standing between the bunks, he gave his usual fine exhibition of jigging, at the same time singing "The Darktown Strutters' Ball", a song popular at the time. You no doubt recall some of the words:
"I'll be down to git you wid a taxi, honey, I'll be down about half-past eight. Now, honey, don't be late, etc. etc."
Nothing seemed to be more absurd, in view of our situation, than to hear Butler sing that he would "be down to get you in a taxi" and when he reached the line about being down at half-past eight somebody said, "Willie, at half past eight you will be right here, so stop kidding yourself".
Herbervillier is a name we all no doubt remember but with the passing of the years it perhaps has become nothing more than a name to many of us. It may be a case of first impressions being lasting but there was something about Herbervillier that has stamped a picture of the town indelibly on my memory. There were no civilians in the town, of course, and every house, without exception, it seemed, had been ruined by shell-fire or bombs. The ruins stood like great, white ghosts in the moonlight, presenting an eerie spectacle. Of the church, all that remained standing was a steeple and parts of the Grotto. A statue of the Virgin Mary, only slightly chipped from the shelling, stood in the Grotto and it was really a very pathetic sight. The head of the figure was in a slightly downward position as though pondering the sorry mess of what had been the church now lying in a shattered mass at her feet. We later saw many villages more completely leveled than Herbervillier but somehow that village has made a lasting impression.
Passing up the main street of Herbervillier to the line of resistance, one gun section of C Company took up positions on each side of the highway not far distant from the edge of the village. In order to screen the road from the observation of enemy airplanes, pieces of burlap were stretched between poles placed at intervals along the road. The strips of burlap were perhaps three or four feet in width and were placed some fifteen or twenty feet above the road. It may be wondered how this would effectually obscure the roadway but it was simply a matter of viewing the highway at an angle from an airplane. The top edge of one piece of burlap would appear to be joined to the lower edge of a piece further along and in that way it had the appearance of one complete strip, hiding the traffic on the road. Most of this camouflage was in place when we took over the lines and it was intensely interesting. A simple and novel means of camouflage was an ordinary piece of wide mesh chicken wire with bits of green cloth tied at the intersections of the wire. During the day gun positions, not only machine guns, but artillery as well, were covered with this wire and viewed from above the pieces of green cloth blended with the surrounding grass and foliage. It was an easy matter to lift the wire from our guns at night, replacing it at dawn. We learned the value of camouflage and always concealed our positions whenever possible.
Where the road crossed the trench a tank trap had been dug. This was a huge hole cut into the road to a depth of about twenty feet and some thirty or forty feet in length. It was well concealed from above and the piles of earth that had been lifted out were covered with straw and resembled hay piles. Access to one of the guns was gained by passing through the tank trap. Two sentinels were on duty at each gun position in the trench and in case of trouble the gun crews could be summoned by jerking a wire running from the gun to a bell in the dug-out. At first a French soldier stood guard with an American soldier and it was rather lonesome for each as neither could speak the other's language. The Frenchmen stood like statues gazing steadily out through the barbed-wire, with their long thin bayonets towering above the parapet and it was remarkable how they could hold the same position so long. The American soldiers did just as good a job of watching no man's land but it had to be accompanied by a little dancing around and perhaps a quiet tune. During the daylight hours German snipers were on the job and the ping of a bullet and a little spray of dirt kicked up would serve as a reminder to the guard that he had become a little careless and had perhaps raised his head a little too high. Communication trenches seemed to run in all directions. The system of trenches was well known to the enemy and one night a German soldier, who was evidently out on a little scouting expedition all by himself, was suddenly discovered a short distance away. One of the boys saw him and immediately shouted an alarm whereupon the German dropped into a trench and made his escape. I well recall our first experience at night firing. Under command of Lieutenant Duddy, we took a gun down the trench some distance from our regular gun position, the Lieutenant setting the gun by compass. Each man had a chance to fire several strips. We had no idea what our target was but it was a real pleasure to crouch behind the gun and to watch it respond. The flash arrester had been attached to the muzzle but in spite of that the fire seemed to equal that of any artillery piece. The enemy did not reply or if he did we were not there to know about it. We did a quick job and were soon back to our permanent position. By the time all hands had a chance to run the gun it was quite hot and had to be carried by chain-mail gloves designed for that purpose.
Infantrymen were stationed at intervals along the trench, and in order to warn them that we were carrying a hot gun, we gave them the old cry of the mess boys on the ship, "Hot stuff coming through". They would crowd close to the wall of the trench to allow us to pass.
No man's land was extremely wide between the enemy and French trenches in Lorraine. It was found that the Germans were using part of a road running through no man's land at a certain time each night and an ambush patrol of Infantry supported by two guns from the Battalion were assigned the task of going out to lie in wait for the German party using that road. The patrol was organized and started on its precarious task at nightfall. All night we watched and waited for the rumpus to start but the hours slipped by and no sound from up ahead. In the morning somewhere around five or six o'clock the patrol came shuffling back. They were a bedraggled, weary, wet and hungry bunch. All night they had lain in the wet grass scarcely moving but, for some unknown reason, the enemy did not put in an appearance on the road.
It was the task of the Infantry to go out each night on wire patrols, that is, a party had to go out to make an inspection of the barbed wire to see that everything was in order and that no wire had been cut. Lanes cut in the wire would indicate a proposed attack or raid. The boys in the Infantry certainly did not relish getting out front at the wrong end of our guns. When they came up from the rear, the patrol was halted and a couple of the men would pay a visit to each gun emplacement as regularly as clockwork. Every night it was the same admonition, "Hey Machine Gun, we're goin' out front. If you guys see enything movin' out there, it's us. Give us a loud challenge and we'll answer promptly, but for the love of Pete what-ever you do, don't open up." It was the same story every night and you may be sure that we were extremely careful while they were out. Far be it from us to have had anything go wrong with those lads. Their job was hard enough.
A short description of the accommodations at this position, we feel, you will find interesting and if you exclaim, "Some war!" so did we. We would have been glad to have spent the summer there.
To the right of the road, as one faced the German lines, stood the remains of what had been a fairly good sized house, the entire structure having been demolished with the exception of one side wall that remained standing. It was beneath this pile of debris that the French had constructed a dug-out, the wreckage of the house forming good overhead protection and it had not been necessary to excavate to any extent because of that. Stepping down two or three steps one entered a long passageway leading to the part of the dug-out we used and a similar passage led to the quarters occupied by the French soldiers. It was necessary to assume a crouching position when walking through the passage as there was not much head-room. The dug-out itself had a slightly higher ceiling but we still had to bend our heads in order to avoid cracked skulls. The place was poorly ventilated, of course. As a matter of fact, the only air that got in came through the doorway leading to the passage over which hung a heavy blanket as protection against gas. Candle light illuminated the interior but at that it would take several minutes to become accustomed to the dimness after entering from the light of day. There were the usual bunks equipped with bed-sacks filled with straw and, while the sacks originally, no doubt, had been white, when we were there they were a nice shade of brown due to constant use and the accumulation of dirt. We can imagine what they were like at the end of the war. We were not spotless ourselves so that a little thing like dirt did not bother us. The dug-out was not very attractive but we did not have occasion to occupy it during the daylight hours. Things were too inviting outdoors. Part of the grounds had been an orchard and there were a couple of tables and benches erected in the shade of the trees. We were amply screened from observation of the enemy by the wall of the house that had not gone down with the rest. When the kitchen force brought up the rations, we served them on the tables and it was a real "Dutch Picnic". Some ingenious soldiers had stretched strong wire between several trees and by placing a bed-sack on the wire we had as nice a hammock as one could desire.
It was indeed most peaceful and restful drowsing away the time in the warmth of the sun. Of course the sun hatched out a fresh crop of cooties but a few more this way or that did not make much difference. For the more ambitious and athletic there was a chinning bar close by to work out on but I do not think it is a violation of confidence to say the chinning bar wasn't used much. We had a nice soft spot and we made the most of it while we could before the rougher times.
It was while we were stationed here that Sergeant Dudley's commission as Second Lieutenant came through and Lieut. Williams had an extra pair of bars which he pinned on Dudley's shoulders. The sergeant was very proud and happy even though the seat was out of his breeches but his promotion made no change in the man. He said that we could be as military as possible when any other officers were around but that when we were alone, it was to be "Dud" the same as ever. We lined up and gave Dudley his first salute which proved to be his last salute, so far as we were concerned, as Dudley was transferred to another machine gun battalion only to make the supreme sacrifice a short time later.
A good deal of care had to be exercised in Lorraine, possibly due to things being so wide open and when challenging, the guards were required to demand a password and countersign. These were changed daily and they were usually the names of two cities in France. It seemed to be a comparatively easy matter for spies to make their way behind the allied lines in Lorraine disguised as French or American soldiers but by the use of the password and countersign they could be readily apprehended as it was necessary to have the words when going from town to town throughout the area. Sometimes the words would slip from a man's memory which would cause some embarrassment. We recall the time when this happened to an officer, not only once but on two successive occasions. The officer in question came up from the rear with a patrol. When he arrived at our positions he was halted and the password and countersign were demanded but, much to his, chagrin, he could not recollect the words. It happened that Lieut. Dudley knew the officer, they having been to training school together, and the incident passed to the amusement of all concerned. The very next night, however, the same officer again put in an appearance with a patrol and again he did not have the password and countersign. He became quite annoyed this time saying that he had been stopped the previous night and that we should have known him. "I can't remember the damned words," he said, and we had to get the Lieutenant to help him out again.
It was not long before detachments of the 305th Machine Gun Company (Machine Gun Company of the 305th Infantry Regiment) pulled into our positions to relieve us. We were sorry to leave our summer garden but the best of friends must part.
Our stay in this sector had a steadying effect on us without our having realized it and, at least, we had become accustomed to shell-fire. It is not desired to create the impression that we had an utter disregard for enemy shells but that we had gained a knowledge of judging where they would break by the whistling of the shells as they sped through the air. One never hears the shriek of the shell that sends him west. It happens too quickly. There were rumors and more rumors as to where we would go next but what fun is there in having an army without rumors. One extremely persistent rumor had it that we were bound for Italy but another rumor said Chateau Thierry where a real battle was already under way. Incidentally we had our own name for Chateau Thierry which does not look well in print.
And so we withdrew from the lines in Lorraine.
As usual it was night when we pulled out to make a long, hard hike back to we knew not where. We did not have the assistance of moonlight and the white road was about the only thing we could see. Eventually that, too, became almost invisible as rain started falling and we were caught in a heavy thunder storm. The night became inky black and it was necessary to reach out and touch the pack of the man ahead to avoid walking on his heels and to follow in line. The going became so extremely difficult that the column was halted and we stood in the road taking the full force of the storm until the skies brightened sufficiently for us to proceed. It is not recalled at just what hour of the night we arrived at the small village of Gellacourt but it was welcome news to learn that we were almost at the end of our journey. Swinging off the main road, we plodded along a dirt road for perhaps a quarter of a mile to a group of one-story barrack buildings which were to be our homes for a while. Entering the bar-racks we found them furnished with double tier bunks filled with fresh straw. What a feeling of relief and comfort to be indoors, under a roof, our battle with the elements over temporarily. We lost no time unslinging soggy equipment, the webbing straps of which had been drawn taut and stiffened by the rain, and peeling off our soaked and steaming uniforms. As we crawled between our blankets on the straw that night, we did not have to call upon the top sergeants to sing us lullabys to put us to sleep.
CHAPTER VIII
WE LEAVE LORRAINE
GETTING a real bath was quite a problem and as the weeks camenand went, our prospects of a good scrubbing seemed to become more and more remote. It was not very long after our arrival at Gellacourt, however, that we were lined up with all our equipment and marched to Mervillier for an official bath and delousing. While we had heard of the delousing plants before, this was our first introduction to one. All our equipment with the exception of anything made of leather was placed in a net bag of large mesh and these bags were placed in a large cylinder or boiler which was then tightly closed and steam forced in under pressure. While this was taking place the men were scrubbing down the decks, as the sailors would say. After the bath the bags were taken from the delouser and it required just a shake or two to free the clothes of the dry steam and they were ready to be worn again. Shaking out the steam was very simple but trying to shake out the wrinkles was a different story. The wrinkles refused to be shaken loose and we discovered later that even a hot iron will not remove wrinkles put into a uniform by a delousing plant. From that time on it was hard to believe that this was the snappy battalion that had paraded down Fifth Avenue.
Gellacourt was still too close to the lines for us to have too much activity in the open during the daylight hours and no doubt the old-timers will recall our program. It is remarkable how the buglers ever escaped with their lives when they sounded first call at 4:45 A.M.
Most of the outfit was doing its best and most tuneful snoring at that hour. Setting-up exercises, washing up, policing the area, breakfast and drilling carried us through to nine o'clock when activities in the open ceased. From then until 3:30 P.M. our time was occupied with household duties, such as sewing on buttons-and ducking fatigue details. All good soldiers know that when you have not been grabbed for a detail, the wise course to follow is to fade. Fade right out of the picture and stay faded. Gold-bricking is something else. At 3:30 drilling was resumed and carried on until 5:30. Retreat sounded at 6:00 and mess call blew at 6:30. After that there wasn't much to do other than to drift over to Gellacourt, and it was not much of a place. Taps blew at nine or ten o'clock and as a general thing most of the men were in bed before that, as it was a long day. Of course we had our quota of stay-outs like all good outfits.
One evening, in Gellacourt, some Army entertainers put on their show for us from the tail-board of a truck and, on another occasion, we had our own division players with us, who were later to become known as the Argonne Players. Who can forget Harry Carroll and his female impersonations? MacManus and his famous ditties: "Clarence Fitzgerald", "Sweet Evening Breeze", "Primrose from Old Broadway" and "She Took Away My Identification Tags Because She Thought They Were Francs". Then there was that other boy with his violin, none other than Old Joe Raymond from our own Battalion. How he did play when he visited his old outfit with the show! Pincus is another name that comes to mind. How well we remember them although we are unable to recall their names.
There was a certain amount of curiosity to be satisfied whenever the old outfit had a breathing spell and, while one village was just about the same as another, there was always a desire to see what was around the bend of the road. There was a lure about Division Head-quarters town and, at the first opportunity, we had to have a look at Baccarat. It was probably little larger than the neighboring villages but it certainly held more than enough high ranking officers who had to be saluted right smartly. Any store that handled souvenirs did a land office business but the really busy place was a photographer's studio. The photographer at Baccarat had re-established himself amid the ruins of his home and what a fine opportunity it was for us to be able to send our pictures back home to the folks so they could see what grand and glorious soldiers we were. Where is there a soldier who didn't have his picture taken in Baccarat? Yep, we were there, smiling, scowling or just plain ferocious; singly, in pairs and in groups. We paid in advance and the photographer promised to send the pictures by mail when they were completed. This Frenchman was true to his word and, in due course the pictures arrived. Yes, sir! there we were, wrinkles and all. Maybe it would have been better if the photographer had not sent the pictures. Well, the girls at home thought they were great so we accomplished something.
While we were quartered at Gellacourt, orders were received calling for the return to the States of the senior commissioned and non-commissioned officer of each company. They were to be returned to help train men in divisions in the process of organization and, while at the moment, we envied the lucky ones, there really wasn't a man who wanted to leave the old Battalion. This was true of the men ordered home. They were somewhat jubilant at first but as the time for departure drew near they were reluctant to go. It was like losing a member of the family but, as the saying goes in the Army, "Orders are orders".
When elements of the 37th Division commenced pulling into the area, we knew that our days in Lorraine would soon be at an end. As usual we were having plenty of rain which turned the country-side into a sea of mud. The 37th men in our immediate neighborhood could not pitch tents because of the mud and they were accom-modated in the barracks we were in. Of course it meant sleeping on the floors for them and crowded things a bit but they were certainly grateful to be able to get away from the incessant downpour. Those fellows had troubles of their own. A great many of the horses they had received were stallions and it was a man-sized job handling those animals. Many of them had never known any more harness than a halter and it was a brutal job that particular 37th Division outfit was up against. Oh, well! it was not a pink tea for anybody. We all had our troubles. Take our own case. Weren't our mules bad enough? Look at the corporals and sergeants we had to contend with.
The early part of August we left our comfortable barracks at Gellacourt and, after a long, difficult hike through a terrific storm, we arrived at Gerbaiville. It was about 3:30 A.M. when we arrived and pitched our pup tents on the grounds of the Chateau, resuming our tussle with the weather. The next day was clear, however, and as the sun came out in all its warmth and glory the storm of the previous night soon became a thing of the past. We resumed our hike and our next stopping place was in a small orchard where we again pitched tents.
The following day was spent cleaning equipment of every description, machine guns, carts, harness, haversacks, pack-carriers, yes, and Lieut. Dunne (Tough Eddie to the old gang) had us down in the brook cleaning the kitchen and scraping the black crust off the bottoms of the dixies. Two minutes after they were placed over the fire they were black again but that was alright. It was at this time that Bill Wheatley, of C Company, was at the side of the road en-gaged in polishing up a cart when an elderly French lady came up to where he was at work. Incidentally, all these French ladies seemed to be elderly and I guess the young ones were in Paris. Well, the one of whom we are now speaking asked Wheatley a question. Now it was not the question that was important but the response, which was simply "Oui, Madame". Then ensued the greatest one-word conversation on record so far as is known. Wheatley could not understand French but when there was a pause or what he deemed the proper time he said "Oui" in more ways than it had ever been spoken before or has, since. He seemed to fit the word into the right place as it gave the French woman a fresh start each time. She probably went to her grave wondering what a peculiar sense of humor the American soldiers had when they almost died, laughing at an ordinary conversation.
The next day, with all equipment as clean as a hound's tooth (but the men in need of a bath) the long march was again taken up. The rest of the hike was uneventful. It was the usual pounding along the hard, white roads which never got any softer; in one end of a village; the occasional shout, by some French boy of "Vive L'Amerique"; out the other end of the village; up hill, down dale, hour after hour; finally arriving at a village with the American- sounding name of Blainville. We marched down to the railroad station and there, on the tracks, waiting for us - yep! you're right - our old friend the Forty and Eight. We did not lose much time in loading and, with a couple of shrieks from the engine for old time's sake, we were off again. But not to Italy.
CHAPTER IX
ON TO THE VESLE
THAT Italy rumor was about as strong as any we bad heard up to that time and it must have had its origin in some exceptionally large latrine. Newspapers we had seen carried casualty lists of certain of the divisions already engaged in the action in and around Chateau Thierry and, while at times there was some discussion among the men as to whether we would actually see a really busy front, coming as we did from the sidewalks of New York, we now felt morally certain that we were speeding toward the big show where we would not only be witnessing the performance but actually taking a very important part in it, A few pages back we said that in the Army "Orders are orders" but we will have to plead guilty and admit that they were not always obeyed to the letter. There were orders against keeping a diary and, if they had been strictly obeyed, Carsten Ludder, Lieut. Floyd Smith and some of the other boys would not now be able to submit helpful data enabling us to mention a few dates here and there with some authority for our assertions.
It was the Fifth of August when we finally shook the dust of Lorraine from our heavy, hob-nailed field shoes and as the train jolted out of the station there roared forth from those crowded cars the words of that old favorite, "Where do we go from here, boys, where do we go from here?" It did not matter much to that old outfit as it was simply a case of "Hail, hail, the gang's all here" * Let's go! and we went. The weather had settled and as the wheels clicked out their merry rhythm on the rails we crowded into the doorways of our side-door Pullmans and took in the sights. As night fell every man found his niche and settled into it although some of the boys may have first settled down to a little serious drinking before calling it a day. Along about midnight the train stopped for a few minutes at what was known as a "coffee stop" and there, stationed at the side of the tracks, were French soldiers with cans of coffee. Each man received about a quarter of a cupful, When big Jack Kane of C Company looked into his cup he went bellowing up to Lieut. Duddy about it. "Hey, Lieutenant," he roared, "what in hell are these frogs trying to pull off here? What kind of a cup of coffee is that for a man?" Duddy asked, in his quiet way, "Have you tasted it, Kane?"
"No!"
"Well, have a taste and, if you want more, I will see that you get it."
Kane put the cup to his lips and, as the coffee slid down, he went right back on his heels. "Boy!" Little did he know that the coffee was loaded with cognac enough to give one a permanent wave. "Coffee Camouflage", it was called and how we looked for coffee stops after that!
Everybody back aboard the train and we moved on in the direction of Paris although we were not aware of it at the time. The next day we passed through Bar Le Due which is quite a city and, as the train slowed down, we had high hopes of being dropped off somewhere nearby but no such luck for us. In our case, it seemed to be the idea that the smaller the village the better. We certainly got into some pokey little holes at times. The old locomotive dragging us along picked up speed and we soon saw Bar Le Due dropping from view. Later in the day we stopped at the city of Coulommiers where D Company detrained and marched to a nearby village. It was 5:00 P.M., August Sixth, when we pulled into the village of Mortcerf and the rest of the Battalion detrained. This proved to be the end of the train ride and all hands pitched in to unload the flat cars carrying our gun carts, kitchens, G.S. wagons and limbers. On a sign-post at the side of the road were the words "150 kilometers to Paris" and we had visions of some happy days in that city if we were to be in this vicinity very long but General Pershing had other ideas and he usually had his way.
The task of unloading completed, the companies were formed and as night fell we found ourselves again on the march with that "150 kilos to Paris" sign dropping further to the rear with every step. We were in for another all night march. Obtaining drinkable water was a problem that was always with us and as we did not have a chance to replenish our supply since some time prior to boarding the train, there arose a general shout for water. From various parts of the column would come the yell, "We want water", and at times it was taken up in chorus in cadence with the step. A good deal of it was done for the devilment of it but many canteens were actually empty in spite of the fact that water was always sparingly used and throats were becoming parched, what with the heat of the marching and the dust kicked up by the troops. The officers remained silent, just forging ahead and their silence was ominous.
Late at night we passed through a sizeable town and, as the sound of the marching columns echoed through the silent streets, here and there windows and doors were cautiously opened and we were greeted by the familiar "Vive L'Amerique", when it was learned we were Americans. It is very difficult to locate some of our stopping places on the maps as the villages were so very small but A Company men no doubt recall camping over night near a place called Mourot and later hiking up a long hill to Boussois near Voisins. C Company finished the hike in the small hamlet of Coubertin and, upon making inquiry the next morning, learned that we were approximately eighty kilometers behind Chateau Thierry.
The first formation the morning following that all-night march took place at about ten o'clock and the principal if not sole item to be handled was the matter of shouting for water the night before. Some of the officers may have been lenient but speaking for the First Platoon of C Company, they took as sweet a dressing down from Lieut. Duddy as any we had ever listened to. We had it coming to us and it was a sheepish bunch of soldiers that ambled away to billets after we were dismissed.
It was while we were in this area that we saw our first United States hospital train filled with wounded and as we watched that train-load of bandaged men roll slowly by we knew that there was serious work for us not far away. Nor did we have long to wait. The men of the Battalion were held closely and after a day or two of resting, the sharp, staccato notes of the bugles sounding "Assembly" summoned the companies to formation. The commanding officers carefully selected half of each company, those men being ordered to roll packs and on the morning of the Ninth of August, 1918, we again turned our steps toward the front but this time it was to be indeed a real front. Little did we know that we were starting for that place now indelibly stamped on the minds of 77th men -The Hell Hole of the Vesle.
After several hours of steady marching we were ordered to fall out at the side of the road near a small village where, after a short wait, we were loaded aboard motor lorries which had rumbled up, driven by Animites. From their appearance they were just small Chinamen to us and we referred to them as "Chinks" and let it go at that. There were two on each truck and they were as good as nothing at all when it came to finding out from them anything about where we were going. Their lingo was certainly beyond us. We climbed in on top of our packs, making ourselves as comfortable as possible and presently we started.
The remainder of the Battalion, in fact, the rest of the entire division, got under way sometime later and it required three days of arduous travelling on foot for them to cover the distance we made in the trucks. For a while, as our trucks rolled and jolted along, we seemed to be the only truck train on the road but it was not long before we saw other columns of trucks loaded with infantry and machine gunners rolling along in the same direction we were going. Looking to right and left as far as the eye could see, all converging roads were crowded with long trains of trucks hurrying, hurrying forward. Speed and yet more speed seemed to be the predominant idea. Gradually faces became masked in gray as the gasoline fumes and the dust of the road swept in clouds over the men. Grimly silent we hurried forward. Divisions that had turned back the German hordes at Chateau Thierry and those that had kept up the incessant pounding had been pretty well cut up and when we took over the lines from the 4th Division, the necessity for our haste was evident. Those boys were sorely in need of relief.
Mile after mile slipped out from under the wheels of those motor trucks and we were not certain of our destination until at one point we made inquiry of two small French lads standing at the side of the road. With a limited knowledge of French, it was difficult to find out what we wanted to know but by pointing in the direction in which we were headed and at the mention of Chateau Thierry the boys understood and shouted, "Oui! Oui! Chateau Thierry, Oui!" What memories for those boys to carry with them through their lives!
In the late afternoon we came within sight of the Marne River -that stream that in times past had run red -and ere long we were crossing it on a wooden bridge constructed by engineers. The stone bridge had been blown up and there remained only a mass of debris on each embankment. Continuing on through the town, who can forget the scenes of destruction, devastation and desolation? On all sides there was plenty of evidence of what had taken place and we cannot but be proud of those fine American troops who participated in the action around Chateau Thierry for their indomitable will and courage.
The men of the Battalion following on foot reported that it was slow going for them as the entire Division train was on the road. It is said to have been about seven miles long, necessitating many stops. The men carried haversacks only and the nights were penetratingly cold. After a long hard march they also reached the Marne and many of the men went into the river for a swim but they did not stay in long, however, once the odor of that water entered their nostrils.
The trucks were moving forward more slowly as the roads had been well pounded by artillery fire and it was a rough ride but we kept on going and such names as Fere-en-Tardenoi, Sergy, and Bouresches come to mind. They were perhaps pleasant little villages before the war but were just so many piles of stones and mortar when we passed through them. The shell-torn road eventually had its effect and the truck in which the writer was riding limped to a stop at the side of the road. The remainder of the train soon passed from sight and we seemed to be stranded just about as completely as we would have been had we been in a disabled boat at sea. Those who knew something about engines tinkered with the machinery and when we were ready to start darkness had fallen. Slowly we picked our way through the blackness of the night and at last we stopped. There were no explanations given but the Animite drivers appeared to be making preparations for turning in for the night and Lieut. Duddy ordered the equipment lifted from the trucks to a corner of the yard around the ruins of a house just off the road. One of the men exploring through the house was suddenly confronted by two officers who demanded to know who we were and ordered us to withdraw. With much blustering and show of authority they ordered our man to take them to our commanding officer. I can still see Duddy's tall, erect figure in the darkness and again in his usual quiet way - "Gentlemen, whom have I the honor to address?"
One of the officers mentioned his name and said that he was a second lieutenant of the 305th Infantry, and went on to say that we had stopped at Regimental Headquarters and that Duddy would have to get his men out of there or we would all be shelled out by the enemy in the morning. Thereupon Duddy replied, "Well, don't get Yourselves excited. I am First Lieutenant Duddy of C Company, 305th Machine Gun Battalion. We stay here for the remainder of the night and we will be gone before anything can happen in the morning. Scatter men and make yourselves as comfortable as possible." Duddy outranked the other officers and how we gloated over the way he handled the situation.
When morning came, a runner found us and we joined the rest of the Battalion in Nestle Wood a short distance away. What a place! Where is there a man of the old Battalion who can forget the scenes in that bit of woods -with some of the dead still on top of the ground, others partially protruding from shallow graves, the debris of the battlefield and above all the infernal stench? It got into the nostrils, there to remain, and those hot, dry days of August only served to intensify the odor. Neither did the coolness of the night relieve the situation. Darkness increased the eerie aspect of the woods and the morning sun was indeed welcome. Chaplain Lawson held services there on Sunday, August 11th, practically every man of the Battalion attending, and as they sang "Nearer My God To Thee", the guns in the line up forward rumbled a strange accompaniment.
CHAPTER X
WE RELIEVE THE FOURTH DIVISION
LATE in the afternoon the order to roll packs was issued and not long thereafter the companies were formed and stolidly the men awaited further orders. Company commanders faced their men and the seriousness of the move we were about to make could be read in the faces of those officers. Gone was the barrier of rank and it was just man to man. One captain I have in mind spoke substantially as follows: "Unsling equipment a minute, men, I want to talk to you. I have just returned from a tour of inspection, going over the positions we are about to take over and I can assure you that in this sector it is real war. Every outfit that ever went into the lines has had its losses and without doubt we will have ours. We are going up into what is really the river bottom in the valley of the Vesle River and the enemy occupies strong positions in the hills across the river, completely dominating the area. There is no system of trenches and it will be a case of every man digging a hole for himself and keeping down well concealed by daylight. Those of you who become careless or take chances will be pretty sure to be hit, so be sure to keep your heads down and we will come out in good shape. We will go up there and do our best. What do you say?"
The men were standing in tense, silence but when that question was put to them, there roared forth from those throats one lusty shout, "Let's go!"
Blanket rolls, guns, tripods and ammunition were loaded aboard trucks and in light marching order, the companies started forward across fields in column of twos to that Hell Hole of the Vesle, where we suffered the tortures of the damned. In the gray and purple haze as the daylight faded that eleventh day of August, 1918, we stumbled forward across that shell-torn countryside with the forms of lifeless men and horses to be seen on every hand. We finally swung into a road and were brought from a column of twos to single file with a five-pace interval between men. Off to one side in the woods, amid a shower of sparks and a deafening roar, a heavy artillery gun belched forth its deadly cargo. Little suspecting a gun so close at hand, there was a tendency to duck but an M. P. stationed in the road assured us that it was one of our own artillery batteries firing. As we proceeded, the interval between men was increased to ten paces, then fifteen, and later to twenty-five, so that in the darkness it was almost impossible to see the man ahead. A motorcycle courier sped by, shouting: "Gas ahead", and presently the shout of "Gas!" came back from the head of the column. Gas masks were adjusted and as we approached a crossroad the order was passed back to "Double time, they are shelling the road." The heat and dampness of our faces steamed up the eye-pieces of the masks as we ran blindly forward and it was with the greatest difficulty that we managed to keep to the road, to say nothing of being able to keep the masks on under those unbearable conditions. After a few minutes that seemed like hours, we slowed down to a walk and we heard those welcome words from somewhere ahead, "Gas masks may be removed."
On toward the front we trudged in the darkness, through Chery Chartreuve until at last a stop was made at La Press Farm. The trucks carrying our equipment had arrived and as it was impossible for a man to recognize his own pack, it was a case of grabbing any pack with the hope of getting the right one the next day.
La Press Farm was as near as motor trucks dared to venture to the line and as the place was likely to be shelled at any moment, we had to work fast to unload so as to be clear of the place as quickly as possible. Then, too, there were worn, weary, battle-scarred troops of the 4th Division waiting for us to come up. From La Press Farm up through Mont St. Martin and down that long, gradual slope to Ville-Savoye under full pack with guns, tripods and ammunition boring into us, were long, heart-breaking miles and no doubt are still vivid in the memories of the men of the old Battalion. There were the usual rest periods but after each rest it seemed harder to get started again. Falling in after one of the rests, one of the boys shook the fellow at his side, who it was thought had fallen asleep, but to the consternation of our man after closer inspection, he discovered that he had been shaking a dead German soldier. And so it went. We had become case-hardened, like our guns and death did not mean much to us in those days.
That long stretch of road winding so peacefully down from Mont St. Martin to Ville-Savoye was in plain view of the German lines. It was certain death to venture on it during the daytime and we were to learn more about it later on but at the time we were making our way toward the river the lines were remarkably quiet. Of course, the Germans were still sending up their blue star signal, which, for the want of a better name we came to call their "All's well Rockets." Occasionally the sharp, spiteful cracking of a German machinegun would be heard and in response the usual slow pump of a Chau Chau gun. At times some infantryman would let go with his rifle but in general, as will be recalled, things were decidedly quiet. We entered Ville-Savoye which had been pretty well riddled, in fact, was in ruins, and a halt was made to await orders. The street we were on ran toward the river and if Jerry had opened up, there would have been the worst imaginable slaughter, as troops lay all over the place resting from the arduous hike. However, it was just a case of "Where ignorance is bliss", and we continued to rest comfortably on the stones. The Germans had a gun trained up that street from the hill across the river and the following night it was almost continually swept by a hail of bullets. A number of the boys of the 305th Infantry were killed as they attempted to get water from a pump at the head of the street. Why the enemy did not fire on that street the first night has always been somewhat of a mystery. They knew every inch of the territory and as fast as bridges were constructed they were blown down.
We were now but a very short distance from the actual front line and as we started forward ' instructions were issued to pass back commands in whispers. I believe it was just C Company that entered the lines through Ville-Savoye and we will always remember that stretch of ground from the village to the railroad in the cut beyond the river. There was no shelling at that particular time but there was something about the blackness, the stillness and the damp, stale gas smell of the woods that took hold of one. To my mind a line that seems to describe it was contained in a short poem of about eight lines printed on a scrap of paper that I had picked up from the road some distance back. It had to do with a no-report patrol and while I do not remember it all, one line ran, "It's the silence and the night and the smell of the dead that shakes a man to his soul."
It wasn't always the noise of a bombardment that was unbearable but that tomb-like silence that would settle over the lines, especially at night. It created a feeling that something was about to break at any moment. At the end of the street in Ville-Savoye a water pipe had been broken by shelling and for several yards we plodded through the soft ooze. In my mind's eye, it seems, that I can almost see every step of the way with every now and then a warning passed back from ahead, "Shell-hole on the right," "Ditch on the left," and so on.
We carried on down a spur of railroad track on which there were standing two old freight cars and finally, deep in a patch of woods, amid an entangled mass of barbed wire, we stood on the bank of the Vesle River. It was not very wide at this point and we started across on two planks that reached from each bank to a barrel anchored in the middle of the stream. Due to the spring in the planks we went shoetop deep in the water at each step and when almost across the stream, Lockwood, who had been carrying the trail end of a tripod, slipped off the plank and stood up to his arm-pits in the river. Lieut. Duddy reached down from the bank and assisted in pulling him out.
So far as the machine-gunners were concerned there was excellent discipline with instructions obeyed to the letter, and they were making a very good job of slipping quietly into the line but before long the Infantrymen were coming across the planks and there was a good deal of confusion for a few minutes. They did not seem to realize how close they were to the enemy and as it was almost impossible to distinguish anybody in the darkness, they just sang out at the tops of their lungs, "Hey, 5th Squad! Hey, 2nd Platoon! Hey, 4th Squad!" or whatever it happened to be. Just plain dizzy, we called them, but they were a great bunch, just the same.
Duddy was just about ready to eat someone and so was Lieut. Ed Gorham, wherever he was at the moment. Duddy ripped out an oath and said: "Let's get out of this quickly, men, or we will all be shelled out of here."
We continued on through the woods, stepping over a dead Jerry who lay across our path. Some of us stumbled over him and at last we came out into an open space; that is, open country on our left but to our right there was a patch of woods, which shielded us from the German lines. We followed the edge of the woods for perhaps a hundred yards to where it abruptly ended and turning sharply to the right we started directly for the railroad cut about fifty yards dead ahead. Just short of the cut, about six feet, there was a good-sized shell hole in which we stopped, a couple at a time, to catch our breath before making a leap over that last remaining six feet to go slipping and sprawling down the loose sand of the embankment to the tracks, some thirty feet below. We crossed the tracks to the forward bank and were a welcome sight to the handful of men waiting for us. Some of us were sitting on the rails to rest and one of the 4th Divi-sion men told Duddy to get his men off the tracks into the holes in the embankment. We soon found the reason for that a few minutes later when there was a burst of German machine-gun fire down the track to our left and the bullets whistled by with that familiar Zip! Zip! Zing! We questioned the 4th Division men as to where the enemy was located but the answer was "Dunno, buddy, we just got in this far and we haven't had time to get patrols out. We figure though, that it's all machine guns out there about three hundred yards."
Duddy ordered the guns set up at battle sight and said he would have more information in the morning. There was just a bare handful left of the company we relieved. After a few moments more to settle a few details, one of the 4th men said, "All set, men? Let's go!" and with a shout of "Best o' luck", they sped across those tracks and up the embankment with equipment consisting only of a very light combat pack, gas masks and helmets. We ourselves, learned something about travelling light in due course. It did not take long to effect the relief, the 4th Division men wasting no time in getting out of that hole, and then-it was our job.
CHAPTER X1
THE VESLE RIVER
MEANWHILE the other companies of the Battalion were relieving various positions in the line. Each unit had its own problems to contend with and accomplishing the relief was a precarious task in that sector. Lieut. Floyd Smith reports in his diary that A Company made its way through gas to the line and brought up in front of the ruins of the village of St. Thibaut with the Boche across the river. The line in this sector swung forward toward the enemy in an irregular pocket shape and due to the winding of the river, some units had to cross it at certain points to make the relief. Lieut. Smith in the brief memorandum he was able to make in his diary at the time, states that guns in his command were in a sunken road at St. Thibaut, describing it as an awful place with dead men and horses all around. The position was intensely shelled and it was impossible to move around in the daylight. The men of A Company, no doubt, recall the place very vividly and we dare say those who were fortunate enough to get out of it unscathed have often wondered how it was possible.
The name, St. Thibaut, is familiar to all of us and mention of it brings to mind a thousand and one pictures and sensations. We had made all possible haste to effect the relief during the darkness, but in spite of it all, the gray light of dawn was touching the hilltops at about the time we were all set and we looked forward to our first day on a real front with some of the best of the German Army opposing us. As the curtain of night was slowly lifted and the warm, bright sunlight spread across the land it was very much as though a weird tableau was being presented upon some huge stage. Those of us who were on the embankment of that railroad cut will have no difficulty recalling the wave-like appearance of the rails, the ends of which were bent upward, evidently by charges of dynamite. As far as the eye could see in each direction the rails had been destroyed and the enemy had made a thorough job of rendering that section of track utterly useless. There was a number of dead German soldiers lying between the rails while at the top of the opposite embankment one fellow was propped up in a sitting position against a tree and he was watched with a certain morbid curiosity as day after day he gave way and slumped nearer the earth. A short distance down the tracks there lay a number of soldiers covered with blankets but their uniforms were olive-drab, the same as ours.
Daylight meant activity and the command, "Stand to", was quickly flashed along the line. How it all comes back to mind when you raised your head just high enough for your eyes to clear the parapet of the railroad cut which formed a huge trench and took a long look out into no man's land, expecting at any moment to have a bullet skip off your helmet. Remember the feeling of having every eye in the German Army watching you - just you?
Well, that first morning wasn't so bad, things in general being rather quiet, but we were all more or less a little jumpy. The boys of the 305th Infantry were stretched along in line with us. When we saw them getting across the river the night before, there seemed to be no telling where they would be likely to end up but there they were right with us. Old reliables, somehow always in the right place at the right time. We had a fine opportunity here on the Vesle to watch those fellows work and who can forget the sight of them going out into no man's land on daylight patrols.
In crouching positions, feeling their way forward through the long grass and weeds, the enemy watching like hawks, allowed them to come just so far when they would open with a withering burst of machine-gun fire. When the firing ceased it was then that a man's heart would sink as he noted the scant few who had not been hit, get back to their feet to carry on with their almost hopeless task of feeling out the enemy and bringing back valuable information.
As the sun rose higher the heavy mustard gas lying in the pools of water in the ditches at the side of the tracks was vaporized, causing a shout of "Gas" and masks had to be worn for quite a few minutes. The afternoon's heat was sweltering. To add to our discomfort the place was alive with flies that sailed from the dead men onto our food and back again and when the Karo syrup cans were opened, around swarmed the yellow jackets. Then too we always had with us that nauseating odor of carrion men.
We were getting through the first day fairly well but, of course, we had to go through the twilight hours which meant "stand to" again, as anything was likely to happen during the dusk and the night time held its own terrors. The day, however, was not to be uneventful, as we of C Company received a blow that rocked every man of the Company. I refer to the death of Lieutenant Duddy. As will be recalled, we mentioned earlier in our tale that an enemy sniping machine-gun operated throughout the night on our left flank, firing directly down the tracks. The German gunners had just about started their activities for the night when the lieutenant was cut down in the twinkling of an eye, Lieut. Gorham catching him as he fell. It was almost unbelievable that Duddy was gone.
At the first opportunity his body was carried some distance back and Chaplain Lawson, of our own Battalion, and Father Halligan, Chaplain of the 308th Infantry Regiment, laid him away as best they could under very trying conditions. At about this time Williamson, of C Company, was also killed as he lay in a funk hole and the war had started to take its toll of our Battalion.
Now it is generally admitted, at least, by infantrymen and machine gunners, that there was only one of two places to be in - either in the front line or out of the lines completely. The long, tedious grind of coming up through the territory behind the lines that was constantly being shelled was particularly annoying to troops bound for the front line and once through, there was no desire to go over the roads until relieved. This was particularly true in the Vesle sector and anyone who had to cross the river on a couple of wet planks did not care to repeat the operation very often, but supplies had to be brought up and so with the darkness came calls for details. One detail of perhaps twenty men was called from positions in the railroad cut and retracing their steps through the dank, gas-filled woods and across the river, they arrived again in Ville-Savoye, but instead of the quiet street of the night before, Jerry was raking it at intervals with machine-gun fire and dropping in artillery shells to com-plete the work of pulverizing the town. Getting into Ville-Savoye was a combination of hop, skip and jump and tag, with Jerry doing the chasing. When a shell came whistling over, it was a case of making a wild dive into any kind of a depression available and what a thrill one fellow received when he landed in a hole on top of a couple of dead Germans. Out he came faster than he went in, if such a thing were possible.
The detail arrived at last in what had been the courtyard of the house, in the cellar of which Captain Luce had established his P. C. The wreckage of the house afforded fairly good protection, but later on, because of intense shelling, the place had to be abandoned. The Captain was deeply affected by the loss of Lieut. Duddy and to avoid further possible losses ordered the entire detail down into the dug-out. We did not need a second invitation, as several shells broke uncomfortably close. The supposition was that we were on a ration detail and we stood around expectantly waiting to hear the good word that the food would be brought in shortly. And then the captain spoke. Said he, "Men, there is an ammunition dump at Mont St. Martin and we may be needing plenty, so you fellows will have to bring it up."
AMMUNITION! And we were thinking of food. Mont St. Martin was a mile to the rear and away we went over that winding road. What a fine target if the eyes of the enemy could have penetrated the darkness. From time to time they sent up star shells and the old familiar "Hold it" rang out. Well, we got back to Mont St. Martin, grabbed the boxes of ammunition and returned to Ville-Savoye without mishap, but it was a perspiring crew that sat down to take a breath before starting back to the line. But wait, it was not to be that easy. The captain informed us that word had just been received that the rations had just been brought up as far as Mont St. Martin and as it was too late to call another detail, we would have to make another trip. So back we trudged. Returning again to Ville-Savoye with the sharp edges of boxes of canned goods cutting into shoulders, the Germans decided to send over a few shells. One, with that distinctive whine we all knew so well as a warning of a close hit, seemed to be rushing right at us and in less time than it takes to tell it, there was a shout of "Down!" and down we went, hit-ting the roadway just about the same time that the shell exploded. A quick check-up showed that no one had been hit, but the shell had landed not more than twenty feet ahead of us. The Germans evidently elevated their guns as further shots went a good way beyond us and we again arrived in Ville-Savoye with no damage done.
These trips had consumed most of the night, so that by the time the front line was again reached, daybreak was almost upon us and we wasted no time getting down from the reverse embankment and out of sight of the enemy. It had been a good night's work with no compensation for overtime.
Ville-Savoye was an excellent target for the enemy and we understand that Captain Luce was forced to change his Post of Command three times. During the time he was occupying the first dug-out the men with the captain at the time tell of hearing the melody, "Somewhere a Voice Is Calling", played on a piano while the town was being shelled. Each one was afraid to speak of hearing it, believing his mentality would be questioned. (Rohrich has mentioned the incident, also Jourdain and Magrath.)
The source of the music was investigated and a doughboy was found playing an old piano he had run across in the debris of what had been a house.
Another exceedingly warm day was dawning and we looked forward to more torture from the flies and yellow jackets as well as continued harassing from the enemy. Our first tour of duty in the front line of the Vesle sector showed us that France could be a real sunny place, but we were not in a position to enjoy it. Again came the order to "Stand to". The command was passed along for the infantry to fire five rounds slowly and the machine-gunners had to sit there withholding their fire and watching the infantrymen blaze away. Surprise effect was our watchword. It so happened, however, that when we had an opportunity to let go we do not know who was surprised-the enemy or ourselves. "Watch your front!" was ordered and as each man traversed a section of no man's land with his eyes it would seem as though there was a German soldier peering out from behind every bush. The gray light of dawn or dusk, no doubt, played tricks on our eyes and occasionally there would be a crack of a rifle from some of our own men, to be taken up here and there along the line by some of the more jumpy. We recall one evening when the whole line opened up, machine-gunners included. It was great while it lasted, but when the officers investigated to find out what started it, the best they could get was that someone had seen a light in the woods over in the enemy lines. A lot of it was perhaps due to a certain amount of nervous tension, but it showed that the boys were right on their toes all the time. There was plenty to keep on the alert about in that Hell Hole of the Vesle and we used to say Jerry threw over everything he had, including his old shoe. The place was bombarded regularly with all sizes and varieties of artillery shells, with gas shells mixed in and the long, drawn whine of projectiles high in the air indicated that the boys in the back areas, where our own artillery guns were located, were also getting a straffing, as it was known. One never could be sure from what angle would come that spiteful cracking from a well-concealed machine gun, the bullets kicking up the earth along the parapet and under cover of darkness a minnenwerfer, or, as it was called, a "Whiz-Bang", went into action seemingly not more than a couple of hundred feet out in front. The men who were up along that railroad cut will never forget that gun as it came into action against us each night with the ground-shaking crash of the shell that followed by seconds that terrifying whiz, giving rise to the name "Whiz-Bang". All along the line, in fact, it was the same story, as Lieut. Floyd Smith tersely put it in his diary, "The old iron is coming over. A number of infantry hurt. Hagar and Newbrand wounded." Under date of August 15th his entry reads: "Got mussed up by a shell at Dead Man's Curve. Bell killed. Roach wounded. Worst night I have ever spent." On the sixteenth he reports being sent to a field hospital where he found Chaplain Lawson on the next stretcher with a hole through his foot. This ended things for a while for Lieut. Smith and the Chaplain, and apparently things were fast and furious in their neck of the woods. It was misery in the daytime and the hours of darkness were filled with suspense as the enemy machine guns continued to crack spasmodically with an occasional burst of artillery fire thrown in for good measure, but there would always seem to come that time when it was just "Silence and the night and the smell of the dead."
The artillery regiments of the Division were getting in some fine work during all this time and at "Stand to" when the infantry called for a short barrage it was very satisfying and steadying to hear the thump of our guns immediately followed by the whistle and crash of the shells as they broke in regular order forward of the line. On one occasion, however, one battery fired short into our line getting in three or four shells before it could be stopped. Several packs lying about were ripped apart and the fact that no one was hurt can only be described as a miracle. Patrols were constantly being sent out to feel out the enemy and one afternoon orders were sent along the line to prepare combat packs and to stand by to go over the top at five o'clock. Just how the machine gunners were going to fare in keeping up with the infantry was a thought that flashed through our minds but the orders were to get ready to go over and we were going. There were many silent prayers offered that afternoon. The situation, however, did not exactly click in the mind of one of the sergeants and, taking the initiative, he summoned a runner and instructed him to report to Captain Luce to see if going over with the infantry met with the Captain's approval. It did not and the Captain came forward to the front line and told us so in no uncertain terms. The action was finally called off for everybody but we were all on the anxious seat for a while.
It seemed ages since we had seen anything of a hot meal and so far as a bath was concerned we had commenced to think that that was something we read about in books. We had heard lots of stories from the Tommies as to how they shaved even in the front line trenches but there on the Vesle River there was no time to be thinking about cutting whiskers and we were kept busy guarding against close shaves from Jerry. Most of us had lost track of the day of the week and when one asked for the time from a buddy lucky enough to still have a watch, the usual response was "What do you care, you're not going any place!"
Another thing that we had not heard for some time was a good rumor but in due course one filtered along the line and it was a dandy. From outfit to outfit floated the report that we were to be relieved shortly, and it turned out to be true. The time of the relief was all set for Wednesday night and while we have no way of knowing what information the enemy may have had regarding the relief, they certainly acted as though they had full knowledge as to what was about to take place. Starting early in the evening they stormed our lines for hours. A parachute light was dropped over Ville-Savoye, brilliantly illuminating the remains of the village and while the light slowly descended the village underwent another terrific artillery bombardment. The men in the back areas had our heartfelt sympathy. Any attempt to effect a relief was abandoned and we stood fast for another day. On Thursday night we withdrew from the front a squad at a time. Men from each company were stationed at various Points along the dark roads to check the squads as they came out and to direct the men back to the picket lines. The shelling was not as severe as it had been the previous night but the enemy pounded away at the roads with gas for miles to the rear, necessitating our wearing masks for a considerable distance especially where the roads dipped into hollows. After travelling many kilometers and not running across the kitchen or picket line, the first platoon of C Company decided to go no further until daylight and upon being put on their own by the sergeant, most of the men went into a field and were soon sleeping the sleep of the exhausted. It seemed no time at all before daylight was upon us and, although we were ragged and hungry, lying there on the broad of our backs, it was good to be alive; to be able to breathe the clear air once again and to be away from that incessant cannonading.
CHAPTER XII
A ROYAL RECEPTION AND A SHORT REST
IT WAS not long before things commenced to stir and we noticed soldiers making their way among us. They proved to be men of our own outfit who had not been in the line with us. It seems that when we had decided to stop the previous night it was at a point not more than about half a mile from where the remainder of the Battalion was encamped in the Dole Woods. As soon as we found that the companies were so close at hand there was a general move to be up and going as we were all anxious for a hot meal. We could not understand why restraining hands were laid on our shoulders and we were told to wait for the G.S. wagons which were said to be on their way to pick us up. It seemed somewhat ridiculous not to be permitted to walk such a short distance. What was a half a mile to us? Still every man who came out of the line had assigned to him one of the men who had not been up for the sole purpose of seeing to it that we did not move. We were not even permitted to lift a pack. Those old Packs had come to be regarded as part of us and when we moved it was only natural that they moved too. It was all quite strange but We did not have long to wait for the explanation. Reports were to the effect that we had experienced the most intense gas concentration in the history of the A.E.F. up to that time and as it was not known just how we had been affected the orders were that men just out of the line were to be kept as quiet as possible. I recall how engineers Working on the roads paused to have a look at us and we must have Presented quite a sight what with the dirt and growth of beards we were carrying.
Upon arriving in the woods where the kitchens were located there was general hand-shaking and congratulations from the boys waiting for us and the welcome warmed a man's heart. It was like Coming home. It was the 305th spirit, esprit de corps, if you will, that was there without our having realized its presence. Little did 'We know how much we had been hurt. Reporting to the Battalion Infirmary, I can still see Captain Preston actually with tears in his eyes as he ordered man after man evacuated for hospital treatment.
It was almost unbelievable to see men who had come out of the line, apparently in good condition, lying in stretchers with eyes bandaged with wads of cotton. It is also unbelievable that anyone would stoop so low as to take advantage of a man in that condition but that is what happened to Corporal Montgomery. Lying in the hospital, blinded by the gas, what little money he had with him was taken from under his pillow. There was a mere handful of men who came out of that hell hole of the Vesle who escaped that gassing.
A hot meal was served in borrowed mess-kits while our packs were opened and aired by men wearing rubber gloves. Twenty-four hours absolute rest was ordered and we didn't need a second invitation to stretch out on a blanket under a tree to inhale some fresh air. After that first hitch in the line on a really busy front. For a period of six or eight days we were quite comfortable, living in pup tents in the Dole Woods just out of range of the enemy's long range guns. Of course we had lots of flies to contend with. They were quite determined to make away with the food but they did not stand much chance against hungry soldiers.
Well, there has to be an end to everything and around the twenty-fourth of August our sojourn in the woods was terminated and once again we took up that long march back to the Vesle. We had the benefit of daylight for a while but darkness soon overtook us and another session of groping around in the woods and under-brush in the darkness was upon us. We would have given almost anything to be able to use a flashlight. It seemed that from every throat came the roar, "Put out that light!", when anyone tried to steal a smoke and a match flared for an instant. Recollect the night when the Italian division relieved us and we met them coming up with lanterns swinging under the limbers? That's getting ahead of the story, however, and we will come to that later on. During the time we were waiting in the woods for orders to go forward, Jerry got the range of some guns of the 304th Artillery and the gun crews had to abandon the guns temporarily. The men came tearing back through the woods apparently regarding it as a good joke or sporting event. The shrapnel started dropping from the sky and Pete Windolph of C Company received a nasty wound in the hand sufficient to send him to a hospital. The time arrived for us to move forward and we again faced the tedious task of feeling our way over shell holes and ruts to a position along the edge of woods which afforded a fine field of fire across the valley that sloped gently down to the river with the towns of St. Thibaut near the river and Bazoches further back up the opposite slope. There was nothing to do during the daylight hours but keep under cover and some of the squads constructed dug-outs which, perhaps, represented the most pretentious effort that we made in that direction. The less ambitious were satisfied with funk holes covered with boughs and a thick layer of dirt as protection from shrapnel. A direct hit meant over the hill anyway, so why waste energy? As it turned out later we were never in one spot long enough to give much time or thought to dug-outs.
Doing a little reconnaissance work or, which is more understandable, just plain snooping around to see what we could see, a party of us ran across the body of a 4th Division man who had probably been hit by a shell. We could only guess how long he had been there and suffice it to say we could not move him. He was directly across the valley but we had to make a long trip following the edge of the woods in a wide horseshoe curve, always keeping well in among the trees and underbrush. Picks and shovels were carried around and the task of covering the body was started but before we had gone very far the enemy, ever watchful, shelled us out. When the shelling ceased we returned and finished the job, which was not a pleasant one. Dog-tags, papers and pictures, which were scattered around, were gathered up and turned in to the company commander.
Surprise effect was the watchword with machine gunners and, therefore, we did not fire as much as we would have liked to, always withholding our fire for a suitable target. Most of the time we seemed to be just posing around as targets for the enemy and he always had an eye out for machine gunners. At times, however, we got in some good licks that hurt plenty. While we were in those positions within sight of St. Thibaut and Bazoches a battery of guns from C Company did some effective night firing. Two guns from the Third Platoon were mounted in shell holes out in the open valley while four guns from the Second Platoon went into action some distance away in the hills. The guns were set by compass by the officers and it was our understanding that we were all lined up on a ration or ammunition dump over in the German lines. We were set to go together at ten o'clock and if the Germans made it too hot for us in retaliation the orders were to abandon guns at two blasts from the lieutenant's whistle. Sand bags had been filled and banked around the positions as well as placed on the tripod legs for steadiness and it was a real workman-like job. The Second Platoon guns got going a little before those in the valley but we opened up shortly after and we must have touched a soft spot as Jerry sent up more distress signal rockets than we had any idea he possessed. Burlap bags, soaking wet, were stretched between two uprights in front of the gun to hide the flash but the force of the bullets dragged the uprights inward and they had be held by a man on either side. It was the writer's job to hold one of the sticks and as the muzzle of the gun was close to his ear there was not much else, other than the gun, that could be heard. In answer to the rockets that had been sent up, the German artillery started a searching fire up the valley. It was quite a thrill while it lasted, hanging on to the support for the wet bags and keeping a wary eye on the exploding shells creeping nearer. They raked the valley with precision and our guns were kept going until we knew that the next shell would be right on us and indeed we could hear it screaming directly at us. I do not know whether or not the lieutenant blew his whistle but I did hear Corporal Gregory yell "Beat it!", and beat it we did. Never in the big leagues has there been seen more perfect fall-away slides. The men scattered in all directions hitting the dirt wherever there was anything that looked like a hollow, doing it in nothing flat and less time than it is taking me to tell it. Wham! went the shell right where we had been or so we thought, and someone yelled, "There she goes!"
We got back to the regular position in the woods, soaked from perspiration but none the worse for the wear and nobody missing. About midnight Lieutenant Williams said, "Let's go out and see what happened to the guns." When we got out to the shell holes we found the old Hotchkiss girls sitting there waiting for us to come and get them. The shell had landed only a few feet away. Sand bags were emptied, clips were gathered up and the shell holes were put back the way they had been. In the morning, bright and early, German planes came buzzing around to find out where we had been and perhaps see what their artillery fire had done. Our barrage had been short but very sweet and somebody over in the German lines must have gotten an awful jolt. The enemy had fine command of the situation, however, as they were well hidden in the hills across the river and it was exceedingly difficult to root them out. The infantry boys did great work patrolling no man's land and making occasional smashes but it was almost a hopeless task to get across that valley and up the opposite slope. It was a job for the artillery to keep pounding away and they did just that. One battery, in particular, I have in mind, situated on a wooded hill behind us, kept up a steady fire all day long until the incessant booming became so monotonous and nerve racking that some of the fellows, looking back to where the noise was coming from, would say, "Aw! for the love of Pete, pipe down." If it bothered us what could it have been doing to the Jerries? But it turned the trick. Later in the day Captain Luce came striding across the fields and issued orders to pack up as we were going forward. The war wasn't over but Jerry decided that things were too hot. It didn't seem possible that we were going to be able to climb out of that hole that the 4th Division boys had turned over to us.
Sprague, of C Company, came up with a cart of hot chow. He was told that it was the Captain's order that he drive across the field to where the men were, but after taking a look at the ground he would have to cross, he told the detail to carry. He said he would not risk the horse across those holes and ruts and that we could tell the skipper he could go to hell and that, if we wanted the rations, the only way we would get them would be to carry them. Tilford said he would deliver the message and, to our surprise, he did. The Captain bit his lip and pulled his moustache and it looked bad for Sprague but the skipper had too much on his mind and must have forgotten the incident long before we got back to the picket line.
Down across the river we went and up the hills on the other side, through St. Thibaut and Bozoches which were just heaps of plaster and bricks with plenty of dead Jerries lying about and finally the signal was wig-wagged back that we had gained our objective. The land at the brow of the hill stretched away in a broad plateau and we started that advance that eventually brought us to the heights overlooking the Aisne Canal and River.
CHAPTER XIII
ADVANCE TO THE AISNE AND SOME RUMORS
THIS table-land apparently did not offer much in the way of protection but the same problem, no doubt, had presented itself to the Germans when they originally came through this territory and they solved it by making excavations about four feet wide and deep and perhaps twenty to thirty in length. There were any number of these holes so successfully hidden by the dry grass of the fields that it was several minutes before they were observed. They were well protected against shrapnel. When we had wondered where the Germans went when our artillery started warming up, these were, no doubt, the holes into which the Jerries scampered. Well, the enemy remembered all about these holes that they had left behind and when they stopped their retreat and had set up some artillery guns they naturally shelled the place. It didn't take us long to move right in and we were really quite grateful to Fritz for having provided for us in this way. Shelling, however, was always sure to get somebody and one hit was made between two infantrymen carrying a stretcher. We leave such pictures to your imagination.
Members of the Battalion will recall that it was here that an enemy airplane zoomed down at us with the machine gun roaring. He caught us flat-footed with our rompers at half-mast and came so low that we fired at him with side-arms on the chance that a lucky shot would bring him down. We did not get him and on the other hand no one in the Battalion was hit, to the best of my knowledge, which was one of those unexplainable happenings of the war. This open field was no place to be loitering, nor did we tarry as Jerry had to be followed up and we started again in the direction of a village named Perles. On, on we went with no opposition from the enemy and presently the smoke of the burning village of Villier en Prayere came into view.
Pushing on we eventually entered a wooded section, once again enjoying a false sense of security that the foliage afforded. If memory serves correctly, we remained here for a couple of days during which time the 302nd Engineers put through an emergency trench system and it is doubted if any trenches, anywhere, were ever dug with more speed and dispatch. Moving further forward and still under the cover of the woods we dropped into a system of German trenches. A shallow dug-out with a tin covering was immediately occupied by Murphy, Pavia, Traub and Zaccaro of C Company and it proved to be a fatal spot for them. It was sometime in the early afternoon when the enemy made a direct hit on that dug-out. Corporal Kelly was on his knees handing in rations at the time and, strange as it seems, it left him with only a slight case of shell shock. Almost at his fingers' ends the lives of the other four were snuffed out. Pavia lasted until nightfall but died before an ambulance could be brought up under cover of darkness. Still moving forward, positions were taken up on the heights overlooking the Aisne River. The Germans had made another stand at this point with another waterway to help them hold us at bay.
We of Company held well-distributed positions for a day or two when Lady Rumor fluttered around again with whispers of a relief. We were relieved sure enough but only by Jim Mahoney and that bunch of bandits from A Company which meant that the Battalion was not going very far away. Well, back we went to Vauxcere and those caves familiar to all of us. What a feeling of absolute security when you entered those holes under the hills! They were big enough to accommodate almost an entire company and I believe there were larger ones elsewhere around the town.
While riding along a road near Vauxcere, the mule Zachatelli of C Company was mounted upon was hit by shrapnel, dying later in the day, but Zach was uninjured. Capt. Luce was severely wounded in the hand by shrapnel. He was evacuated to a base hospital and did not rejoin the Company. As I recall it, our first replacements were received during our sojourn in the caves. As an initiation to the lines a detail from the contingent assigned to C Company was called upon to dig the hole to bury Zachatelli's mule and, of course, that was some hole.
With nothing in particular to do other than to keep out of harm's way we had a fine opportunity to watch the activity of the airplanes. The Germans had such supremacy of the situation that it was won-dered if the Allies had any planes. We found out, but that's an item for later pages. Another interesting sight was a battery of the big guns of the 306th Field Artillery Regiment that went into action in a sunken road not far distant. The guns were being handled with such precision that one gained the impression that those gun crews had done nothing else all their live but handle six-inch howitzers.
Old Dame Rumor was a busy old girl fluttering about from one outfit to another and sure enough she again paid us a visit at Vauxcere. This time it was a beauty. We were not only going to be relieved but the powers that be realized that the 77th had been kept in the lines for a long time and was going to be rewarded by a long rest at a big rest camp four kilometers from Paris. In what back yard did that originate? The date was now somewhere around the middle of September and, without doubt, the units of the Division were dirty, weary and fed-up, especially after the experience on the Vesle. Then, too the Division had been active almost without let-up from the time it landed in France. Rumors kept up the morale and, although the talk of the rest camp near Paris sounded a little too good, we were in a good condition to believe anything. Anyway, it was a pleasant thought. Consequently, when packs were rolled and we moved out of Vauxcere in the twilight of one of those September days we stepped along full of hope for a good rest, at least. One thing was certain and that was that we were being relieved. Came the darkness and at the same time we commenced to meet the relieving force, none other than the 8th Division of the Italian army. Just how the Italian troops fared after they took over the lines, I have never heard but when we met them on those dark roads they seemed to be going up for a picnic. Machine guns were packed on mules and, wonder of wonders, lanterns were lit and swinging beneath their limbers. Most of us knew nothing more than "Hello, friend", in Italian, which we worked overtime and you can imagine the surprise when a voice from the Italian column called out, "Anybody over here from Jersey City?" Another shouted, "If I ever get back to Pittsburgh, they'll never get me again." As we drew further away from the lines some of the Italians must have had time to take over and what a display their rocket signals made as they burst in the air. No doubt you recall twisting your neck to watch the fireworks. No one knew what it was all about but it seemed as though the Italians were in for a party the way they went up to the lines.
Hour in and hour out we trudged along and it seemed that we would never stop but the red glow in the sky and roar of the guns were not far behind which was something. At about one o'clock in the morning the hike came to an end in the usual place, namely, the middle of a dark piece of woodland. What did it matter? Were we not on our way to Paris?
The blackness of the woods made it next to impossible to find a place to bivouac for the remainder of the night or, as we called it, a "flopping place". Many of the men were satisfied to drop almost where they had stopped but this proved to be very unwise. In getting into the woods without being able to see where we were, we had traversed a woods road. We had barely settled down when the trans-ports started pulling in along the same road. While the ground was firm enough to walk on it was too soft for the supply wagons and limbers and the mule skinners commenced urging the animals on as only mule skinners knew how. In they came, with all their din and clatter and their nice, choice selection of profanity. Only mule skinners really knew how to swear. It seemed as though the transports were rattling in all night but we slept through all their racket.
The next morning, bright and early, what was our surprise to hear Major Peake acting as his own bugler. Who can forget the sight as he strode up and down the road? I can still hear him bellowing at the top of his lungs "The cooks will get up and start preparing breakfast. The stable crews will feed and water the horses. The horses are tired as well as the men. That's a command of execution and I want action." Heads came up from blankets all over the place to see what it was all about and as quickly disappeared beneath the blankets to smother a few pleasantries. What was said under those blankets will not bear repeating here. We might say, though, that the cooks did get up and the stable crews did feed and water the animals.
It has been mentioned that the date was the fourteenth of September and that we were in the Cohan Woods near the village of Caulonges. A pleasant surprise was in store for us here. In the afternoon we were paid and that was that. Chaplain Lawson had a lot of cigarettes and chocolate but there was no place to spend a cent. Little circles of men formed here and there and soon the little white dominoes were galloping again.
CHAPTER XIV
AGAIN ON THE MOVE
0UR STAY at this point was very short for, as we have said, we had to hurry on to the rest camp near Paris. A short hike from the Cohan Woods, if that is the correct name, brought us to waiting motor lorries and all night we rumbled along over those French highways on another comfortless ride. This terminated at a town the name of which I never knew but one of the D Company men mentioned it as Bourtnenville and further states that we arrived there on the 17th of September.
I do not know what took place with the other companies of the Battalion but Lieut. Gorham, at the time in command of C Company, halted the outfit on the road and warned the men to keep out of estaminets until they could be inspected. We felt that this was a good smart piece of work on the part of Lieut. Gorham to enable the officers to make sure of their supply first. They probably got tired of having the enlisted personnel guzzle up all the available liquid refreshments before they could get around to them. No doubt, the officers were sometimes out of luck as there were certainly more enlisted palates to be wet down than there were commissioned palates. During our ride to this town there came over us a realization that Dame Rumor had played us a low down trick and hopes of the rest camp near Paris faded as we could see that what we had really been doing was paralleling the front line. We could see the flashes of the guns in the lines against the night sky.
One often wondered what other divisions of the Army were doing but there was no opportunity to find out and we were too busy with our own troubles.
In the course of a day or so or, more accurately, around the eighteenth or nineteenth of September, we moved out of Bourtnen-Ville or Bourswa or whatever the name was but the movement was veiled in the utmost secrecy. The only thing we were sure of was that we were not going anywhere near Paris. When we were about all set to start, Novak, of C Company, was nowhere to be found and, naturally, we had suspicions that he had gone over the hill. That, however, was uncharitable as Novak later proved himself a good, steady soldier who could not be stampeded. He was found fast asleep under a wagon when a Frenchman started to back it out. It was just a case of too much vodka. With an embarrassed grin he pulled on his pack and we were off. What lay ahead for us? No rest for the weary-we were heading back to the lines again for another strike at the enemy but what part of the line? Not that it made much difference, it was a rotten game at best. Another all-night hike and that steady tramp of hob-nails on those hard, white roads. That clanking of harness chains, the clump of horses hoofs and the rumble of the transport following on. How it all comes back, even now, years after.
At last the column was halted at the end of a long, steady grade and we were again in a dense woods. Flynn, of C Company, reeled in his tracks and went out cold. However, after some good, solid sleep, he was himself again; as good as new. French troops had occupied the area and had left the ground in such an unsanitary condition that it was a precarious job picking out sufficient space to spread blankets. Those French soldiers should have had Major Peake for a commanding officer.
During a brief stay at this point various members of the Battalion went further forward on inspection tours and, before long, the entire outfit moved forward. Presently we were passing the ruins of that church at La Chalade that stands out in the memories of all 77th Division men. On we went with dense woodland on every hand and it was not long before we were going down, down, down into dug-outs deeper than anything we had seen before. The town of St. Menenhold, we heard, was a few miles away. In the light of the next day we gazed upon the impenetrable forest all around us. We learned that this was the famed Argonne Forest and that we were in the support lines.
It may have been the support or any other place but at the moment it was just a quiet and peaceful forest scene. There did not appear to be any wild life to relieve that dead silence. Running in all directions were those deep ravines with their densely wooded slopes, which were to prove so trying later. During the daytime, in the sunlight, this forest land was a pleasant picture but at nightfall when the shadows deepened and the surrounding country became a black mass, one's imagination would certainly play tricks.
There were those, of course, who knew what this was all about but to the average man in the ranks it was indeed a mystery. Probably a move to put the 77th in the woods out of the way, there to be forgotten but what about that artillery that was being brought up and placed almost hub to hub? Certainly that was not being placed in dead storage. No, when the time arrived for those guns to speak, they would speak in no uncertain terms, as we of the 305th Machine Gun Battalion well remember.
This had been a quiet sector for a long time and we could not help but wonder what we were to be called upon to do. No army had fought through this forest and, if that is what we were to do, how in Heaven's name could we get through that mass of entangled underbrush and trees and at the same time clear that forest of the enemy concealed there. Well, THEY DIDN'T THINK WE'D DO IT BUT WE DID.
CHAPTER XV
THE ARGONNE
0NE EVENING, as the time drew near to go forward, each officer addressed his men and explained the problem that lay ahead. The type of terrain we were to attack through was described and we were told of the gigantic push to be made from the English Channel to the Swiss border. It would probably mean the end of the war. We could, of course, appreciate what an enormous undertaking it was as we had a fair idea of the front lines from our experience in other sectors. One officer, a newcomer, said he had not been in action before and did not believe that we had seen any real fighting. It made us wonder where we had been all the time and we felt like throwing him into a creek.
We had been fairly comfortable and certainly well-protected in those deep dug-outs but the night of September 25th was upon us and the order was everybody out. We started moving forward along a woods road and in the darkness, looking down into those ravines, we could see electrically lighted dug-outs of the French many feet below. It was around ten o'clock when the first low rumble of the barrage started. It was unceasing and at about this time we noticed that all was not well with one of the men of C Company. The first sign came when he refused to carry his pack. He was relieved of it and an officer ordered that his belt and pistol be taken from him. We soon came upon small detachments of French hurrying out of the lines we were to take over. As they came across the gullies our man mistook their uniforms for the gray of the enemy and started calling for his pistol and raving for us to do something. It was realized that he had broken under the strain and was sent back. No need to mention his name. Suffice it to say that he reached a base hospital where he received good care and returned to the Company, at the end of the war, fully recovered
We pressed steadily forward with the barrage constantly increasing until at midnight, as will be recalled, it was at full tilt. It is almost impossible to describe the thunder and roar of the artillery barrage as guns large and small pounded away all night on the German front line positions, nor is it necessary to attempt a description of the bombardment for the men who were there. Little wonder that men cracked under it. At one time, during our hike to get into position, we fell out in the ditch at the side of the road to allow the engineers to go forward to complete the work of cutting barbed wire entanglements. Gas masks had to be worn but I am not so sure that there actually was gas present. The atmosphere was heavy with smoke from the guns and smell of powder and along with the heavy fog that lay over the land we were pretty well blanketed. The Germans responded with their own artillery, to some extent, and one shell, landing a short distance back from the edge of the embankment against which we were sitting, just about shook our teeth loose.
At daybreak we found ourselves at the jumping off place in the French front line trenches waiting to go over the top when the barrage lifted at the zero hour which was set for six o'clock. This point may have been officially known as Abri-du-Crochet or La For de Paris or some such name but, to us, it was just a scene of wild and utter desolation. Looking ahead, perhaps a mile distant, could be seen the tree line of the forest but in between -that territory known as no man's land, where had been the much talked of German concrete trenches and concrete machine gun emplacements dubbed pill boxes -might be likened to a huge pot of porridge that had been violently stirred by a giant hand. The scene was one difficult to adequately describe with its great yawning craters and debris of every kind, nor did we fully realize the degree of destruction and havoc of the barrage until we actually started moving across that terrain. What thoughts ran through our heads and what prayers were silently offered as watches were nervously consulted during those last few minutes before the zero hour. It seemed an age but the hands at last pointed to six and, as the barrage lifted -WE WERE OFF. The boys from the sidewalks of New York had started a job that was to make history. The first army through the sticky mud of the Argonne where armies in times past had been slowed up and stopped. It was impossible for us, with our heavy equipment -machine guns, tri-pods, ammunition, extra rations, to say nothing of our own packs -to keep up with the infantry. Slowly and laboriously we struggled along up hill and down dale in and out of those great holes made by airplane bombs as well as the artillery shells. At times, when barbed wire and coils of spring wire barred our way, we would fling our equipment over to the far side, dragging ourselves through as best we could. Fortunately for us the enemy had been blasted out and had no time to get artillery set to any extent. A few shells were thrown back at us, however, but caused no damage. We were very thankful that the shelling was light as we were plenty busy trying to make headway without playing hide and seek with exploding shells.
With still quite some distance to go the rattle of rifle fire could be heard in the forest as the infantry regiments contacted the enemy who, by this time, was making a stand under cover of the dense woods and was offering stiff resistance. The entire Division, we have been told, was in the line at the jump off and immediately following, in support, was the 78th Division who had their hands full later on trying to catch up to us to make a relief. As we struggled across no man's land, there was much speculation as to what we would do for artillery support. Every once in a while someone would grumble, "A hell of a chance the artillery has of getting over this" or "We're sure S.O.L. for the heavy stuff". Well, somebody else had also thought about that, no doubt, before it had occurred to us, and we had reckoned without the 302nd Engineers. Those fellows followed right up with picks, and shovels flying and when they encountered those deep holes that you could drop a house into, they just built a bridge across. After we had finally gained the edge of the woods, it seemed no time before the 75's were banging away. It was not as easy for the artillery as it may sound. The engineers helped but the artillerymen had a lot of hard work to do themselves and their orders were to get the pieces forward. If horse power could not do it then man power would. As to machine gunners, orders were to hold every inch of ground taken by the infantry. We stumbled and struggled along and, with dysentery to add to our woes, life was none too sweet at that time.
One thing in our favor was the weather At the outset it was not raining. That came later. Once it started, there did not seem to be any let-up and of course rain meant mud with a capital "M" in the Argonne. Well, along in the afternoon we dropped into what remained of the German communication trenches with the devastation of that first bombardment of the Argonne drive left behind. The short rest in the trenches with its protecting walls was, indeed, very welcome but the war was still on and in a few minutes the order was passed back, "Everybody up", and we were at it again. We had finally reached the tree line that had seemed so far away in the early hours of the morning. The enemy was making a desperate stand and the infantry regiments were up against it as they moved cautiously forward seeking expertly hidden targets. Everything was confusion and everybody seemed to be lost. The Third Platoon of C Company, winding its way along the trenches, soon came out into a ravine and by keeping well up along the forward slope managed to keep out of range of exploding shrapnel shells which were dropping lower down in the ravine. Apparently the Germans could not get the proper trajectory to get them up on the slope. It was in this ravine, near a German cemetery which the men of the Platoon will recall, that Nadel received the frightful wound that resulted in the loss of his left arm and later cost him his life. Again the call was for Kirk who tied that arm fast with first-aid kits but could have amputated it with nothing more than a pair of scissors. Nadel had to be taken back which meant another struggle and, what with dysentery and his crippled condition, he was helpless, as helpless as any infant. Those assigned to the task of taking him back, among them Kirk, were exhausted before reaching the first-aid station and had to summon aid from the Engineers.
As to the rest of the Platoon, it continued on along the ravine, circling around the hill to the right into another ravine and was, at last, halted on the forward slope. Lost? Yes, sir, there the gang sat, with Lieut. Parker in command, looking across at a whole hillside of abandoned German shacks which were the fronts of the dug-outs extending back into the hill. One sign indicated a commanding officer's quarters, another, the beer stube or saloon, and so on. It was all too much for Sidney Rust and he had to have a look into those dug-outs. Everybody yelled to keep out but that intrepid explorer had to have his curiosity satisfied. He was doing just what the Germans expected more of us to do and, within a few, minutes, that familiar whine was heard as a German shell came hurtling over. Wham! another and another, right into their old quarters. Need we tell you how long it took Rust to get off that hill?
CHAPTER XVI
ROUGH GOING
AS WE understood it, the part to be played by the Platoon was that of liaison machine gun patrol between the 77th and 35th Divisions but there we sat with no one in sight and unable to reach anybody by runner. We later learned that Germans in the woods back from the brow of the hill could have cleaned us out if they had come forward and poked a gun down at us. We commenced to dip into iron rations and it looked like a long stay. Late the next afternoon an infantry officer, followed by his men, came up the ravine. He said they were the attacking battalion of the 305th Infantry and were just getting through. Where had we been and how in hell did we get there so fast? Evidently, we were ahead of the infantry. The infantry officer was able to be of assistance to Parker and we soon were retracing our steps. We swung over to the right and, no doubt, got somewhere near where we were supposed to be but we couldn't prove it. What we were sure of, was that we were in an awful mess, facing an enemy we could not see and, at times, we could not be positive that we were facing the enemy. He sometimes seemed to be behind us but, at any rate, we were heading in the right direction. The enemy was now putting up stiff resistance, all was confusion and everybody seemed to have no idea where we were. Lieut. Gorham's platoon was practically cut to pieces about the second day and the exasperating part of it was that there were no real targets for us in the dense woods but, on the other hand, we were always fine targets for the Jerry machine gunners. On Friday, September twenty-sixth, Lieut. Floyd Smith held a position on a hill near Camp Bismarck with heavy shelling all day. Machine guns were holding up the advance, the infantry losing a good many. Sergeant Lewis, Pierson, Wicht and Morris of A Company were wounded.
At all points the Battalion was faced with difficult situations but they were met with determination and fortitude and obstacles were swept aside. On September twenty-seventh Fred Harris, of B Company, had the harrowing experience of seeing the rest of the men of his gun crew make the supreme sacrifice, leaving him to carry on alone. Lieut. H. 1. Duff, who was assigned to the Company just prior to the start of the advance on September twenty-sixth, was in command of the crew which, in addition to Harris, consisted of Lloyd 0. Jackson, Frick and two ammunition carriers whose names are not recalled. They had pushed on into a ravine in the face of a devastating fire by the enemy. As Harris says, "They were giving us everything they had". It was hell on earth as they started up the hi in the face of machine gun fire, German hand grenades, known as potato mashers, trench mortars and snipers. The screeching of the men who were hit was blood curdling. When the brow of the hill was attained, the enemy, as usual, could not be seen because of the thick underbrush and trees. Every man flattened himself against the ground taking advantage of any depression in the ground. Lieut. Duff ordered Harris to set up the gun and, with Jackson doing the loading, a sweeping fire was directed at the tree-tops hoping to stop the snipers. The gun had not been in operation more than a few moments when the two ammunition carriers were killed and a shift in position was ordered by Lieut. Duff. It proved to be- a very disastrous move as Frick was wounded and Jackson and the Lieutenant were killed instantly. Harris was alone. Alone, not only with a cumbersome machine gun, but with thoughts of his buddies racing through his brain and wondering when his turn would come "to join the innumerable caravan". He dragged the gun and tripod into a clump of bushes and waited with grim determination to avenge his comrades but there was no one in sight. Another officer, going for-ward, directed Harris to B Company Headquarters and a report was made to Capt. Turnbull.
On Saturday, the twenty-eighth, Lieut. Smith was still on the hill but on the twenty-ninth it was over the top again. The enemy was reported as running but they checked the advance at Abri-Du
Crochet. That was probably a clump of bushes and, no doubt, similar to Binarville which was simply a name painted on a board nailed to a tree. It was indeed a tedious task struggling through that tangled undergrowth day in and day out, cautiously feeling out the unseen enemy. At times stubborn resistance would hold the advance for several days until flank movements would, eventually, dislodge the machine gun nests doing the damage.
October first found A Company in a very hot place. Kennedy and McAuliffe were killed and Sgt. Duffy was wounded and lay out in the woods all night. We can still recall Major Harris, of the infantry, with his broken arm in a sling and carrying on, refusing to go back. Lieutenant Stockton, of A Company, with a head wound, insisted on staying in the game. Well, as we have said before, day in and day out we kept at it and the rain, which had set in, made matters worse. Then, too, we were encountering those deep ravines that gave us plenty of trouble going down but infinitely more trouble coming up. All this time we were carrying, carrying, carrying machine guns, tripods, ammunition, spare parts, rations, not to mention our packs, side arms, gas-masks and, last but by no means least, a few pounds of mud on each foot. The men in the infantry regiments had started with combat packs and how they shivered and shook in the wet woods without blankets. However, there was not much chance for any comfort for, although we had full packs, they were not always opened. At times the best one could do was to draw feet and legs up under the slicker and with the steel helmet pulled down over one's face, lay there in the rain all night and take it.
On one occasion, when the resistance was particularly stubborn, the gun section to which the writer belonged together with the infantrymen we were supporting, were ordered to draw back about a hundred yards to enable an artillery battery to put on a point blank barrage to dislodge some machine gun nests. When the infantry petty posts out ahead received the word, they simply slung rifles over their shoulders and got back. The messenger bringing the word was late so that before we could get our thousand and one things together, the barrage started. We managed to get the gun and tripod dismounted and were running back when it was discovered that our number three man did not have the ammunition. Corporal Kelly roared through the woods, "Wanner, go back and get that ammunition." To which Wanner very politely yelled back, "To hell with it, there's more where that came from." Wanner was a cheerful soul in a sour sort of way and many a funk hole we dug together. One night he woke me up to do my trick of the guard and his greeting was, "Smitty, we're surrounded!" "The hell you say," said 1. "Well, listen, boy," said he, "I'll sit here with you and wait and see what happens." Soon there was the plop of a rifle and it wasn't up ahead but behind us. "Did ya hear it?" "Yep! What do we do now?" "I dunno," said he, "it's your job, I'm going to sleep." Well I sat there and listened to that occasional crack and could visualize a crowd of Jerries standing around looking down at us but in the morning everything was lovely and just as we had left it. Just the same, it was good to see the daylight. Old boy Wanner sitting in the hole said he was tired carrying his gas-mask on his chest so he reached up and hung it on a twig growing a couple of feet out of the .ground. In a few minutes the gas-mask fell into the hole. "That's damn funny," he said, but when he looked at the strap he found that a sniper had picked it off the twig for him. Lucky the shot wasn't through the box respirator.
Slowly but surely we inched our way forward, but we paid dearly for it at every thrust. On one occasion when we were held up by the murderous fire of the enemy guns, there appeared among us none other than General Wittenmeyer, commander of the brigade. "Old Silver King", as he was called by the boys in the Infantry. Without helmet or gas mask he stood bolt upright in that entangled under-brush and ordered the Infantry to take more interval in the skirmish line and called upon the machine gunners to go forward with the attack. The old general must have had a charmed life or the left hind paw of a rabbit under his belt, the way he stood there and practically invited the entire German army to take a pot-shot at him. Nothing happened to him and it was just sheer good luck. The line started forward but that was as far as it went. Machine guns opened at us at such a short distance ahead that it was, to use a homey expression, almost as though they were spitting in our faces. There was barely time to throw ourselves to the ground and we did so with such speed and dispatch we fairly bounced. Once down we stayed down while that withering fire sizzled over us. Things quieted eventually and the slow process of feeling out the enemy again started.
On one occasion the Second Platoon of C Company had taken up positions to fire a barrage over the heads of our Infantry so that they could advance. The time had almost arrived for the firing to start when Harry O'Beirne rushed up breathless with a message to get to the platoon to stop the barrage, as the latest information received was to the effect that the enemy was falling back and the firing would have been right into our own infantry making the follow-up.
Later we got the story when O'Beirne had enough breath to talk. It seems that he had been coming up with the ration cart when a colonel asked him what outfit he was going to. When it was learned that he was a 305th Machine Gun man the colonel said that he would guard the ration cart and for Harry to get up as fast as he could to stop the barrage. Harry went back and got the chow wagon-all in the day's work.
There is another incident that might be called the story of the disappearing logs. Wanner and I had dug a funk hole and as there was a pile of nicely quartered logs the Germans had left behind, we decided to use them to cover the hole as protection against our old enemy-shrapnel. We carried logs from the pile to the hole, but we did not seem to be getting anywhere. Wanner wanted to know where I was putting the logs and I asked him where he was putting those he carried over. Then we found out. Corporal Kelly and Frank Doyle, two good, smart Irishmen, had taken those logs and erected breastworks around the end of the hole we had dug and then to cap the climax, placed the machine gun on its tripod in the hole with it nose sticking over the top. There was the hole we were going to sleep in turned into a fine machine-gun emplacement. We had a few choice remarks to make about it, as can be imagined, but there was a war going on and we had orders to fire a half-hour's barrage. Doyle hopped onto the saddle and started letting her ride, while Wanner slammed in the clips of ammunition as fast as the gun would take them and I kept an eagle eye out for stoppages. We had just one which was caused by a missing round, but after signaling Frank to re-cock the gun, away we went.
It is hard to say how we found time to do it but somehow we could see our rivals, Mike Lambert and Jimmy McManus, a short distance away, getting a few "put-put-puts" and a stoppage. They worked like Trojans to keep their old blunderbus going, but it was surely cutting up that day. We were watching to see Frank Doyle get tumbled off the seat any moment, but there he sat and I doubt if there was ever a cooler gunner. Wanner stopped to put on his mask, as the gas in the hole became too much for him. When we stopped firing, Frank said to take a look at the nice job we did and there ahead, caused by our bullets clipping off branches, was a fine, long tunnel bored through the woods. That left us sitting at the head of it and anyone could have fired along that opening and bumped us off with ease. The interesting part of it all was that upon close examination it was disclosed that the logs Kelly and Doyle had piled up in front were full of lead and we no doubt would have been push-ing up daisies had they not been there.
Over where some of the A Company men were with Floyd Smith, as we have mentioned, Kennedy and McAuliffe were killed. Smith wrote:
"Wednesday, October 2nd: We bury the boys along the road, also several of the infantry. We move to the left and dig in. Everyone nervous.
"Thursday, October 3rd: The Boche are making a hard stand. Stockton wounded; also the Chaplain. Sergeant Goerse killed. Our own artillery fire got them.
"Friday, October 4th: We are still in support and can't go ahead. Get some shelling.
"Saturday, October 5th: [evidently referring to the infantry] The battalion is lost and we take positions next to them. Steep hill. Boche on other side and we throw things back and forth all day. Everyone stays close to a hole.
"Sunday, October 6th: Still on the hill. Marine major orders at-tack and infantry loses 265 men in a few minutes. Bad day. My platoon lucky. Hear Achilles loses several.
"Monday, October 7th: Lieut. Lewis brings up some guns. Sent back one team gassed. Have a brush with the Boche. Mail from home. Hear we will be relieved.
"Thursday, October 10th: We follow the Boche. They pepper us with trench mortars. Very exciting and several infantry hurt. We surely dig.
"Friday, October 11th: Boche has beat it again. We follow through the woods. Get lost and run onto a mine. Very lucky. Several of the infantry hurt."
So it went. Day by day we penetrated deeper into the forest in the teeth of those German machine guns and then we heard about some outfit of the Division that had run into trouble up ahead-but it was a matter for the other brigade, the 154th, to handle and we had nothing to do with that. The world has come to know it as the "Lost Battalion" but we had no such romantic name for it. To us it was simply that some of our buddies had gotten into a jam and no one can realize what that meant better than the men of the 77th Division, who fought every step of the way through the entire length of the Argonne Forest, battling not only the German Army but the mud and those deep ravines.
No story would be complete without a word about the first-aid men, those fellows with the red-cross brassards on their arms, who were up where the going was tough. Their's was no easy task getting through the undergrowth to tend the wounded. I recall one fellow whose name I never learned. He sat on the edge of our funk hole during a lull, just about at the end of his rope. His partner had been killed and he was handling the entire job alone but he was putting up a grand fight and no cry of "First Aid" went unanswered. He was one lad who was entitled to a D. S. C. and he carried no weapons. There wasn't anything cheerful about the Argonne, but here and there we managed to get a laugh. We were advancing on one of the good roads when a halt was called to await orders. Part of the platoon went to each side of the road and as luck would have it, the guns were mounted and pointed up the road instead of being placed on the ground. Again it was our old friend Wanner. He decided it was a good time to take off his cootied underwear and to put on a clean suit he had in his pack. He was standing there naked when Generals Alexander and Wittenmeyer came striding along. We were handed the usual question by General Alexander, "Do you know who I am?" We had the right answer. Then he addressed himself to Wanner but it would take more than a mere major general to rattle that bird. "What's the idea?" said the General, or words to that effect. "Cooties, Sir; had to get some relief," said Wanner unabashed, "clean underwear in my pack, so I decided to put it on." "Well, get further under the trees; you can be seen by aeroplanes." The General suddenly swung around to Corporal Mike Lambert. But Mike was equal to the occasion. "Mounted for action or just resting?" demanded Alex. "Mounted for action, Sir." "What range have you got on those guns?" "Battle sight, Sir," said Mike, and the day was saved. If he had said something like eighteen hundred yards up in the dense foliage of the Argonne, we would all have been in the hoosegow. As a matter of fact, Mike did not know what was on the guns any more than he knew what day of the week it was.
The Germans had things fixed up quite comfortably in the Forest and the Schwabenplatz, in the heart of the woods, was a nice, restful spot, but we did not have time to linger. I can also recall those houses built of small branches and the interior trim of hard wood. One of the bright spots came when we were drawn back for a day or two at which time we had a chance to shave and had an official bath in tents. The water was supplied through small galvanized iron pipes punctured every couple of feet and as one of the boys explains it, after you got your head well soaked you were told that you had your quota of water and you were rushed out to put on your clothes. But it was good to get any kind of wash. Pete Windolph, of C Company, said at the outset that he would not shave until we were finally relieved. He kept to his word, but before he could shave he had to use a pair of scissors, as he had a particularly heavy beard.
This proved to be only a respite and the next day we were moving forward again, but the going was easier and apparently the enemy was going back fast. Lieut Floyd Smith said, "Saturday, October 12th: Out of the woods and advance to Aire River. We are away out in front of the infantry. Thompson wounded by shell. Locate Cloke [probably an infantry officer] in Marcq and move there. Sunday, 13th: Sergeant Pearsall comes up with two guns. We get vegetables from Boche garden and send them to kitchen. Will eat anyway. Monday, 14th: Lots of shelling. Several land in yard. Three come through roof. We wonder if cellar is deep enough. Tuesday, 15th: We fire a barrage on St. Juvin. Take it and get 350 prisoners. The enemy shells Marcq something awful."
It seemed almost unbelievable when we first observed open country ahead and what a relief to leave the darkness of the forest behind. We of C Company, emerged at what had been the tiny village of La Bezone, just a group of three or four old shacks and how lonely and desolate there at the northern end of the Argonne Forest. What a rugged road we had come through since the jump-off on September 26th, and the only division to come through the heart of the woods. The woodsmen from the sidewalks of New York.
CHAPTER XVII
IN THE OPEN AT LAST
IT WILL be recalled that the open, rolling country was dotted with small patches of woods and part of C Company, under Sergeant Bill Russell, moved forward and took positions in one of those patches with part of one of the infantry regiments. We had not eaten for some time and when the infantry officers succeeded in having some food brought up for their men, Russell tried to get us in on it. He told the officers that as we were operating with them that they should arrange for feeding us and, said he, "If we are not fed by the infantry, I'll take my men out of here." We gave him the horse laugh for that one, or what is now known as the Bronx cheer. "His men." Where would he have taken us? Well, I suppose we couldn't blame him for trying but it was a laugh hearing him try to bulldoze the infantry lieutenants. Incidentally, Russell, as usual, had the best funk hole in the woods -beneath a huge rock. The writer and his old battery mate, Wanner, dug a two-man funk hole and spread our shelter halves over it to keep out the rain. After doing guard duty, I slipped into the hole and tried to tell Wanner that the rain was seeping in but I couldn't get any response so gave it up. In the morning we found that we were in the hole the wrong way and I had been talking to Wanner's feet. He could have kicked my head off or I, his, but there was no restless sleeping in those days. Once you put your head down, you just went dead.
After a day or so in those machine gun positions in the woods we moved around in the direction of Grand Pre and in the ditch at the foot of a hill we were caught in a box barrage laid down by the enemy. Fortunately the rain made the ground so mushy the shells threw up mud and stones, having gone into the ground so deeply. Several German prisoners carried stretchers with American wounded and those Jerries were certainly horrified when their own shells came whistling over. Rust, of C Company, as usual, had to investigate a disabled and abandoned American truck and again found himself the target of German artillery and once again was lucky enough to get away unhurt.
Day in and day out the weary grind had continued so that no one seemed to know very definitely anything about dates. If anyone were to inquire, the answer would have been, "What do you care?" Well, it seems we had moved along to the sixteenth of October. During one of our breathing spells back in the woods a dense fog fell and, taking advantage of this, we were permitted to build a bon fire. The warmth of that fire certainly felt good. Such things may seem like trifles but they were big items to that weary, wet, hungry and cootie-tormented crowd of soldiers. Faces were haggard and muscles ached but the old pep once again took possession when we realized we were being relieved. This was no rumor for there they were, coming up through the woods, the various elements of the famous 78th Division, known as the Lightning Division. They had been following in support right behind us. Some of our fellows yelled to them, "Where have you birds been so long?" and they yelled back, "You guys were going too fast f or us. We would have relieved you long ago but we couldn't catch you." It was their job now and we were going back for a well-earned rest but, brother, the word "rest" in the army has a funny meaning. Ask any soldier. Anyway, it was away from the tension of the front line and that meant a good deal.
Back we trudged through the rain. Yes, it always seemed to be raining. We left the front on the eighteenth of October and a couple of days later were in the fairly comfortable Camp de Croix Gentin near Florent. It was while we were at this camp that we had our first overseas service stripe sewed on our sleeves, which marked the completion of six months in France and what a tough six months! I remember a little lady in Florent who was kept busy sewing on the stripes, for which, strange as it may seem, she charged practically nothing, explaining that her son was a soldier and she knew what it meant to him to have all his stripes sewed on. Once again the Battalion was together but not the same number that went over the top with the first wave on the morning of September twenty-sixth. Men of each company looked for familiar faces in the other three companies and were doomed to sad disappointments.
The one-story French barracks were equipped with rough wooden cots, some double-decked, but we could sleep on anything and it was dry and comfortable indoors. Many of the men, however, were miserable for several days with dysentery. The weather had settled and the surrounding trees of the woodland, in their fall dress, were a riot of color while underfoot lay a thick carpet of leaves. How fortunate, we thought, to be quartered in such an ideal spot for a much- needed rest and we looked forward to happy days of dreaming, crap games, poker, perhaps a little horseshoe pitching and above all, furloughs to some pleasant leave area. We settled in at Camp de Croix Gentin for ten days and, as one fellow puts it, enjoyed a rest by cleaning machine guns and drilling. One afternoon a corps ordnance inspector, a colonel, made an inspection of the machine guns and a spare barrel which had been carried in a fine leather case all through the Argonne, without being used, was condemned as unfit ' It looks as though the French put over a fast one that time. Well, it was squads east and squads west up and down the road. In addition, we took the machine guns to a range for target practice, which was a little strange. While pasting up targets after firing, ricochets from the guns of other companies still firing sung around and the business of repairing targets promptly ceased as it was too late in the game to be taking any chances especially with bullets from the guns of our own Battalion.
One morning, while at calisthenics, Major Peake congratulated Lieutenant Winslow Williams for the manner in which the men were snapping into attention. We tipped off the Lieutenant that the Major was coming and we were set for anything. He said, "Lieutenant, it does the heart of an old soldier good to see the men snap into attention." We might mention that Lieut. Williams blushed to the roots of his hair and took time out for a good laugh. The Major was not there then. Trained as we were with the British system, the Major bawled us out, on another occasion, for not knowing the American drill. He told us that we would find the drill in the book and advised us to read it. What he failed to do was to produce the book.
At night shows were put on by each company in the Foyer du Soldat, or French Y.M.C.A., and Harry O'Beirn, for C Company, sang his old stand-by, "When You and I Were Young, Maggie". Harry started out too high and had to start over on a lower note. During our stay in the rest camp we were favored with a call from our old friends, the Argonne Players, with Joe Raymond and his orchestra.
It came time for the long-looked-for passes for three-day furloughs to a leave area. The writer was fortunate, or so he thought ' to be among the first three in C Company. Complete new outfits were issued and, as it turned out, that is all we did get out of it. All we had to do was to keep ourselves clean and await the order to move out. At the show in the Foyer du Soldat, that night, Adjutant Ellis said that those going on leave would be held over a day. The next night it was the same thing but it was explained that it was not to be taken that the leaves were called off, simply that transportation was not ready. The third night we were told that all furloughs had been called off and then -
CHAPTER XVIII
THE BEGINNING OF THE END
AN ALL-NIGHT hike back through the Argonne and, as Lieut. Smith says, "Thursday, October 31st: Back to the old crossroads. Take a position outside St. Juvin and shoot steadily for five hours. Lose eight men. Friday, Nov. 1st: In St. Juvin again. Shoot some more and the Boche does not reply."
Leaving our comfortable quarters at Camp de Croix Gentin to march the entire length of the Argonne under cover of darkness with a realization of what was at the end of the trail would certainly not put a man in the lightest of moods and it was especially saddening to those men who were prepared to go on leave as they pictured their new uniforms being dragged through the mud of the battlefields. We resigned ourselves to the task with the thought in mind that the sooner we started at it again the sooner it would be over. We trudged along one of the few roads in the forest, thankful that we did not have to make our way up and down those heartbreaking ravines. A sunken road running down toward St. Juvin was strewn with many Jerries, machine guns and equipment, mute evidence of the fierce struggle that took place there. It was here, at St. Juvin, that Lieutenant Andre, of our Battalion, fought gallantly with his men, winning a citation and the Distinguished Cross. We did not relieve any troops as divisions holding the lines drew to the right and left, making room for us to take over our sector. As daylight came upon us and we picked out familiar landmarks, it could be seen that we were back where we were when relieved. During the early hours of the morning of November first the artillery regiments put over a barrage and at the zero hour we once again started forward, little knowing that we were actually starting down the home-stretch that would bring us to the finish of the war.
Under Lieutenant Parker the Third Platoon of C Company veered over to the right of St. Juvin, skirting the positions of the D and A Companies' guns. Those Companies were firing a barrage on Champignuelle, a town across the valley, and they were doing a mighty fine job. Ask any D or A Company man, even now, years later, if he recalls the barrage and a satisfied smile will spread across his face. We of C Company, under Parker, were working our way along the side of a hill when the Lieutenant stopped us and then lined up the Platoon in squad columns. He then started us down the valley in the direction of Champignuelle. We had not gone very far when Captain Dollarhide came striding up the valley. "What are you doing, Lieutenant?" he inquired. "We are preparing to take that town," replied Parker. "Aw, hell, call it off, Lieutenant," said Dollarhide, "I have been in that place all morning and there is no one there." Was Parker's face red!
Swinging forward again, our way lay along the long slope of a hill that was being raked by enemy machine gun fire which was holding up the advance. It was along this slope that Frank Doyle ran afoul of mustard gas in a shell hole which later put him out of action. As the machine gun fire swept the hillside we were forced to throw ourselves to the ground and flatten out as much as possible until the firing let up. While in this prone position, Greenyear said he had been hit but he looked alright until he shoved his foot out sidewise along the ground and the blood, streaming from his foot, had already stained the outside of his shoe a dark muddy crimson. When the Germans withheld their fire for an instant, according to a prearranged plan, a dash was made for a designated shell hole some few feet further up the hill. From where we had been lying it could not be seen that the shell hole was already occupied and there were a couple of surprised soldiers as we slid head first into that hole on top of them. Cutting away Greenyear's puttee and shoe, it was found that a bullet had gone through his instep and he was hastily bandaged with first-aid packs. Fortunately he had a clean pair of socks with him, one of which was drawn on over the bandage. Looking cautiously over the edge of the hole, a doughboy with a stretcher over his shoulder was discovered some distance down the hill. He came up to the hole and said his partner had run out on him when the firing started and he could handle only one end of the stretcher. Frazee, from the One-pound Platoon of the 305th Infantry Regiment, who was also in the hole, volunteered to take an end of the stretcher if we would let his outfit know where he had left the ammunition he was bringing up. Some day we may be able to do that. Greenyear was placed in the stretcher and, as he was lifted, he raised himself on an elbow and, waving to us he said, "Well, so long fellows, the best of luck to you."
"So long, Archie," we replied. "You lucky son of a so and so. You will never come back to this mess again." And he never did.
Off to our left a German ammunition dump at the edge of Champigneulle had been fired and was making quite a bombardment.
Fred Harris, of B Company, recalls that his gun crew had taken up position sometime during the night of October thirty-first and that Lieut. Jones, in command of the gun, gave orders to go over the top at five o'clock on the morning of November first. The names of all the men in the squad do not come to mind but those handling the gun were Fitzpatrick, Siff, Henry J. Jones and, of course, Harris. Everyone was tense as the zero hour was awaited and, when at last the signal to go over was given, the gun crew started forward in the face of terrific shell fire. There came that swish and explosion, comparable to the death-dealing lightning bolt and the war ended for Henry J. Jones. It was broad daylight and in open country but the crew pushed steadily forward although it was slow progress as the men were forced to crawl like worms in the grass as German machine gun fire swept the ground. As the men squirmed into a shell hole Siff was hit. He was dragged in and, as he was found to be bleeding profusely, Lieut. Jones asked Fitzpatrick to take him back to a first- aid dressing station. Fitzpatrick carried him back across the open fields. The command was, again, forward and those of the gun crew left crawled laboriously out of the shell hole. Perhaps fifty feet directly ahead three German soldiers struggled out of their machine gun nest. A rifle spoke instantly from a group on the right; one German pitched forward lifeless. The others were taken prisoner.
Continuing forward from shell hole to shell hole along the side of the hill, C Company men finally dropped into a ravine and were thankful for the protection it afforded. It was not long before there was a shout and up the ravine from the left came a dozen Jerries with their hands raised above their heads. Suspecting a trick there was a general shout to get guns mounted and to be on the alert but it was just a case of these war-weary fellows surrendering and calling "quits". Some of our fellows, who could speak German, asked them why they were clinging to the black bread it could be seen several were holding under their arms. They replied that their officers had told them all kinds of stories about what would happen to them if taken prisoner and that it behooved them to hang on to any food they had. Our men told them to throw it away as they would probably get better food than we were able to get in the line. The prisoners were started for the rear with the war over so far as they were concerned and we again started forward. With our heavy equipment on our shoulders we laboriously climbed the hill out of the ravine. An officer of the 306th Infantry, after watching us for a few minutes as we struggled up the hill, turned to his men and told them that they ought to be ashamed of themselves for kicking about the load they had to carry. He told them to take a look at the machine gunners who were carrying a real load, what with our heavy guns and equipment, and we were not complaining. What heroes we were! It just so happened that we needed all our energy to get up the hill and did not have wind enough to do anything else. We would suggest that the infantry officer stay around the machine gunners for a while for some real, plain and fancy kicking.
The enemy was unable to withstand the relentless pressure of the Division, falling back so rapidly, offering practically no resistance that the advance became quite a foot race. Far off, across the valley, so far away that the explosions could not be heard, there could be seen, along the slopes of the distant hills, the exploding shells of a barrage being poured into the German lines. Just after emerging from a patch of woods and crossing an open field, an enemy airplane flew low over us dropping hand grenades. Instinctively we scattered in all directions but it raised the ire of Captain Dollarhide who said he would shoot the man who was the first to break the next formation. He also threatened the first one who asked to be sent back to the picket line. It so happened that the Captain was the first one to go back, suffering from the strain and exposure. Crossing bridges erected under the most trying conditions by our reliable 302nd Engineer Regiment, we pushed on through Verpel and then to Thenorgues, names we do not have to consult histories to recall. Wounded German soldiers who could not keep up with the retreat were found waiting for us in one of those villages. Debris was scattered all along the route and, at one point, a German long-range field piece had been blown off the road and, together with the entire team of eight horses, lay half submerged in a large puddle at the side of the road.
It is not recalled just when we loaded our equipment on the machine gun carts but it might be mentioned that the gun teams had been almost exhausted trying to keep up under the weight. Runners offered to relieve the gunners but Capt. Dollarhide would not permit it, saying he wanted his runners fresh when the advance stopped. The attack continued, the various battalions of the infantry leap-frogging each other to keep it going and we found ourselves moving through Buzancy where the houses were burning on each side of the road when we passed through.
Continuing along, the heavy hum of many airplanes was heard and, to our amazement, there appeared what could only be described as a cloud of bombing planes. A quick count disclosed over four hundred in the squadron and, at last, the supremacy of the air appeared to have been gained by the Allies. As the bombing squadron flew into the haze ahead it could be seen to be dividing into smaller units and spreading out. Very faintly, in the distance, the sound of some of the bombing could be heard and it must have filled the Germans with consternation when that armada swept across the skies. In order to check the advance, bridges had been demolished which had to be hastily replaced by the engineers and, at one point, a mine on each side of the road had blown away most of it leaving a piece at the crown just wide enough for the passage of machine gun carts. The limbers had to swing off into the marshland of the valley.
Just short of St. Pierremont we were held up temporarily by the enemy so, as it could not be foretold how much of a stand would be made, it was necessary to dig in. A Company took up positions in a railroad cut and were shelled all night. On Monday, November fourth, Lieutenant Smith, making a notation in his diary under shell fire, reports the loss of nine horses and three men. It was at about this time that Magrath and Jourdain of C Company were wounded. Rubin, one of C Company's mule skinners, came along the line bemoaning the fate of his mule. It seems that the Boche started to concentrate on the woods where he had tethered the mule and fearing that things were getting too hot, the mule was shifted, unfortunately, right into the path of a shell, which cut the animal in two.
During this advance machine gunners did not have any chance to do any firing and it was exasperating to be a target for the enemy without an opportunity to reciprocate. Earlier in the advance, around St. Juvin, A Company had been firing steadily and prisoners going back said the machine gun fire had been fearful.
The hold-up at St. Pierremont kept us there overnight. It was not the plan of the enemy to offer stiff resistance here, however, but to get back across the Meuse River and we looked forward to a siege similar to our Vesle River experience. On the night of November second C Company lay along a road with guns mounted on the forward embankment. Sidney Rust, who as we have mentioned, was always salvaging and looking for the best protection, found a semicircular piece of elephant iron and, with much effort, succeeded in turning it on its ends so that he could sleep beneath it. It was the last salvaging job that Rust did, for out in front of that shelter, on the morning of November third, a shell made a direct hit. We laid Rust away in the hole made by the shell that killed him; the last man of C Company to make the supreme sacrifice. Death in those days caused us only a moment's pause. It only served to fire us with a greater determination to square the score with the enemy.
Once again we pressed northward toward the Meuse River and it was a satisfying sight to see hundreds of German prisoners being marched to the rear. Rumor had it that not far ahead lay a village with white flags flying from the chimney tops indicating the presence of civilians and, while at first we were inclined to disbelieve the story, it was not long before the actual sight met our eyes and we entered La Besace, the first village in which we found civilians. Any large piece of white rag that could be found was floating above the house tops to mark the location of the village so that it would not be shelled. We learned that the Germans, upon leaving, gave their word that they would not bombard the village but they shelled pretty close to it and it was on the road at the edge of the village that Lieutenant Agler was killed. As the shells crashed around the outer rim of the village the villagers retreated into the houses almost in a panic. The small population consisted of women, old men and very small children and it is quite possible that the fathers of some of those children may have been German. Life had been anything but pleasant during the years the Boche had occupied the village and it could be detected that these poor French people were uncertain whether or not to be afraid of us. It developed that the Germans, upon departing, had impressed it upon the villagers that if life had been hard under German rule, they would see just how bad it could be when the Americans came. It was not long, however, before the people realized what they had to fear from this "wicked American army" composed of men in whose minds there was always thoughts of mothers, wives, sweethearts and sisters at home in God's country.
We might mention that it was raining. It seemed to be raining always and the few streets of La Besace were rivers of mud. We stood in the doorways as elements of infantry regiments sloshed through, hurrying forward to contact the enemy. Several of us had crowded into a small shack attached to one of the houses in which several women were living. One of them entered the shack to saw up some wood with a big saw only a man would be expected to handle. Sergeant Herman Eckert, chilled to the bone, took the saw from the woman and, in no time, had enough wood cut to last some time; in addition, he got his blood in circulation. Naturally the women were filled with consternation. They had been accustomed to doing such work for German officers and they were amazed and mystified to see a soldier working for them. It was just about unbelievable to those people who had been so in the habit of doing an officer's bidding and living in squalor and misery.
That night A and C Companies, in command of Lieutenants Floyd Smith and Simons placed the guns of the Companies, about twenty-four in number, in position just outside of the town to lay down a barrage on a red rocket signal from the infantry. The order was to dig in but, as each spade-full of earth was lifted out, the hole filled with water and it was given up as a bad job. We lay in the rain all night waiting for the signal that never came and in the morning guns were dismounted. Back in the village again the people knew they had nothing to fear from us and when the ration cart came up with cans of steaming hot coffee it was our turn to be surprised as the villagers brought out cognac to be put into the coffee. Throughout the years they had successfully kept it hidden from the Germans. Any horses that had been killed meant meat for these people and it was amusing to see them go to work carving steaks,
It was while all this activity was going on that suddenly the sound of galloping hoofs was heard and, coming down the road, could be seen a French officer followed by a bugler, both in shining new equipment. Straight down the center of the road they came at a hard gallop making a wonderful picture. The peasants rushed to the middle of the road to touch the uniforms of these French soldiers, the first they had seen for so long. Apparently they wanted to convince themselves that the soldiers were actually of this world. In a trice all thoughts of the Americans were out of the minds of the villagers and cries of Vive la France! echoed down the road as the soldiers disappeared from view. The women, standing in the doorways, murmured Vive la France almost as a prayer as tears glistened in their eyes.
The command again was forward and we resumed our march over those last few miles that took us to the Meuse River and the end of the war. It has been mentioned that B Company moved on to the Chamblage Farm, D Company pulled into Raucourt while A and C Companies moved into Autrecourt, a good-sized town near the river. Of course there were civilians in most of these towns. A Company cooks had salvaged some cabbages from a German garden along the way and, in an alley-way of one of the houses on the main street, they were boiling a fine cabbage soup. My, how good it smelled! To those men who were fortunate to get some of it, it was probably the finest soup they had ever tasted before or since.
Two guns of C Company were carried on down through the main street of Autrecourt toward the river to a point a considerable distance from the town where they were set up on each side of the road to help take care of a possible counter-attack by the enemy' Lieut. Williams, who was in command, was not sure of the proper location for the guns and returned to the town for more explicit data but he was too sick to return to the positions that night. Those in the gun squads remained at the forward positions all night in command of Sgt. Bender. German shells dropped in fairly close and shrapnel rained on the tin roof of the shed in which we had taken refuge. The next morning the gun crews were drawn back into the town. A Company moved down to cover the engineers who were endeavoring to construct a bridge across the river and a lively fight ensued with the enemy across the river. It was at this point that Lieutenant Floyd Smith attempted to get across the river on the debris of the old bridge. The Lieutenant, after falling into the river, gained the opposite embankment alone and his subsequent gallant action won for him the Distinguished Service Cross and Citation which were presented to him years later. We are happy to be able to include here Lieutenant Smith's story of his heroic action in his own words.
Detroit, Mich.,
Dear Alfred: June 18th, 1934.
1 hope you will pardon the long delay in answering your kind letter of last month. The truth of the matter is that I had mislaid my 77th Division history and did not want to write until 1 had some dates and facts before me. I did not receive the pamphlet which you forwarded at an earlier date. However, I am outlining the facts as I remember them.
The events in question happened at Villers Devant Mouzon on Nov. 7th, 1918. Our Division history give the following account of some of the action:
"When the Meuse River was reached . . . leading elements of the Division pushed up to the river, preparatory to a crossing. The river was found unfordable and it was necessary to await the erection of bridges. It was here that a detachment of the 302nd Engineers displayed great bravery in their efforts to place a passageway over the stream. Attempt after attempt was made in the face of German machine gun fire to build a bridge at Villers. Parties carrying material suffered most. No sooner would they make their appearance than a Boche automatic or sniper would open fire, causing them to take cover in the woods bordering the river. Finally a covering party of machine gunners, infantry and artillery was called to protect the engineers while they proceeded with their work. The operation was completed late in the afternoon and two platoons from the 305th Infantry were pushed to the other side of the river."
This is my version of what happened and is refreshed somewhat by a personal diary.
On the day in question, November 7th, 1918, a Colonel of Infantry met me in Remilly early in the morning and asked me to help the 302nd Engineers with my platoon of machine guns. At that time there were no infantry in the town proper. I went down to the designated spot at Villers Devant Mouzon with Sgt. Pearsall to make a reconnaissance. There we found a company of Engineers behind the diked-up bank of the Meuse. An officer and a couple of men had been shot and they reported that every time they attempted to build a bridge they were fired upon by the Germans. I then sent for my machine guns and placed them to the right of the Engineers and in some shrubbery there. At that time there was little or no firing from the other side. The old bridge bad been blown up and there was still a lot of debris in the river. The water itself was below the Germans and hidden from their sight. After some delay, Sgt. Smith, since deceased, and myself decided to go across the river on the debris and try to locate the Germans. We started across with a two-by-four between us to cover the gaps. About half way across the wreckage started floating away and I found myself marooned alone in the middle of the river. I could only go forward so I went to the opposite bank. There I found a ditch alongside a road that lead from the old bridge. There were no Germans in the ditch and it was protected, so I crawled up a ways to look around. When I stuck my bead up I found myself exactly opposite and about ten feet from a German machine gun with two men there. These men surrendered as soon as they saw me. Then I saw between 50 and 75 Germans dug into shallow fox holes behind a line of willows that were parallel to the river. I then went back to the river bank with the two prisoners and sat them up on the bank to keep their own men from firing. Then I yelled to Sgt. Pearsall to fire on the willows with his guns. When we started firing the Germans found that they did not have enough protection and they started running back for cover.
I remember that there was some dandy shooting that day and that we got most of the enemy. After we started firing, the Engineers put planks across very quickly and finished the bridge. I turned the prisoners over to Private Kerstein, who gave them to the 302nd Engineers to take back. After the bridge was built the infantry came up and dug in. Later in the day and the rest of that night the Germans shelled that spot with great abandon. That, Alfred, is my recollection of what happened.
Sincerely,
FLOYD T. SMITH.
WAR DEPARTMENT
THE ADJUTANT GENERAL'S OFFICE
Washington
September 24, 1934. In reply Refer to AG 201 Smith, Floyd T. (8-3-34) Ex Capt. Alfred Roelker 165 Broadway New York, N. Y.
Dear Sir:
Reference is again made to your letter of June 25, 1934, with which you enclosed a copy of a letter from Lt. Floyd T. Smith, formerly a member of Company A, 305th Machine Gun Battalion, 77th Division, and requested information relative to the possibility of an award of the Distinguished Service Cross.
I take pleasure in informing you that, by direction of the President, under the provisions of the Act of Congress approved July 9, 1918, and the Act of Congress approved May 26, 1928, Lt. Smith was awarded the Distinguished Service Cross by the War Department on September 14, 19:34, in recognition of his extraordinary heroism in action at Villers-de-Mouzon, France, November 7, 1918.
Very truly yours,
JAMES F. McKINLEY, Major General,
The Adjutant General,
By W.
JWK-H-221
DETROITER, WAR HERO, GIVEN HONOR CROSS
Washington, Sept. 27-A belated distinguished service cross for extraordinary heroism at Villers-de-Mouzon, France, November 7, 1918, was today awarded by the War Department to Lieutenant Floyd T. Smith of 13570 Turner Avenue, Detroit.
The citation follows:
"When the Meuse River was reached it was found unfordable, thereby making it necessary to construct a bridge. Lieutenant Smith, in charge of a platoon of four machine guns, sighted two guns to support the engineers building the bridge.
"He then crossed the river alone under heavy machine gun fire on the partially completed bridge in order to locate the enemy.
"He advanced on the supposed location of enemy machine gun nests and fired upon them with a rifle. Two of the enemy surrendered and several others fled.
"Holding his prisoners at the bridgehead, he continued to fire on the retreating enemy until the bridge was completed and the patrols had crossed."
At that time Smith was a second lieutenant. He was later advanced to first lieutenant.
A short distance back from Autrecourt an ambulance loaded with wounded became mired in a shell hole of mud and everybody lent a hand to lift the bus out. There were several A Company men in the ambulance who told us that things were pretty hot up ahead. On the eighth of November Lieut. Smith, with his platoon or what was left of it, were back in Purron where the enemy shells killed a few civilians. It was stated that the rest left and gave A Company men everything in town. The nights of the ninth and tenth were spent in a cow stable and on the tenth the Boche put three holes through the roof of the building some of the men were in, Sergeant Mahoney being hit by tile thrown by one of the shells.
During the night, in the woods back of Autrecourt, the C Company ration cart came up with hot food and the regulation supply of first class rumors about the end of the war being close at hand. They were laughed off, as usual, as we could foresee another long, drawn-out session getting across the Meuse River and thoughts of the Vesle River again came to mind. Trench cards were distributed by the kitchen man and a number of us handed them in to be mailed home bearing the message that we were well. This was on the ninth and when the folks back home received the cards they naturally started worrying about what had taken place from the ninth to the eleventh of November. There were two days there that had to be accounted for.
C Company swung over left from Autrecourt and guns were mounted in the underbrush at the edge of the woods overlooking a broad sweep of the valley down to where the river had flooded the lowlands. Dimly discernible in the distance could be seen Sedan. We commanded a fine field of fire but the positions were precarious as it meant keeping guns dismounted in the daytime and staying down in the, damp underbrush with as little activity as possible. We had been warned against taking a short cut across a small, open spot in the woods as it was sure to draw fire but our old friend, Wanner, probably thought he was immune. He disregarded the warning and won a nice black eye for himself from the fist of Sergeant Prior.
Then came the morning of the ELEVENTH. So far as we were concerned it started out to be just another morning in the lines when, to our astonishment, there appeared, out in the open, Charlie Hover, Acting Company Clerk. He was proceeding along the edge of the woods yelling at the top of his lungs for Sergeant Russell. We could hardly believe our eyes. Was the man mad? "Hover, you this, that and the other thing, come in out of there I" Everybody was yelling frantically but Hover calmly waved us back and kept on. In a few moments came the booming voice of Sgt. Russell giving us the message that Hover had brought. "DISMOUNT ALL GUNS, MEN, AND DO NO FIRING UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES UNTIL FURTHER ORDERED."
So, at eleven o'clock, came the end and, to us, Hover has always been the "Man who stopped the war".
It was not easy to believe and, for several minutes, there was
uncertainty as to just what to do. After what we had been through it required some nerve to stand up in the face of the enemy in daylight. A man almost had to pinch himself to realize that the war was over and he was still in one piece.
An armistice had been signed but it had always been our understanding that an armistice was just a temporary halt and it was possible that we would be called upon to continue. An old, ruined barn down in the valley was designated as the gathering place and the night of the eleventh was spent on the dry boards of what remained of the floors. An estimate of the number of the original men of C Company places the figure at thirty-eight and, of this number, many had been back to the hospital wounded, gassed or sick so that, of the men who left Camp Upton, there was a mere half dozen on the line at the finish who were lucky enough to come through unscathed. The same no doubt holds true for the other companies of the Battalion.
Almost as soon as the hostilities ceased, different kinds of guns took command of the situation. They were the Chow Guns or rolling kitchens and they surely started to roll. The rattle of chains and rumble of wheels came from all points and clouds of smoke that cooks had all along been desperately struggling to keep down, now floated merrily skyward and what a treat to get some hot food. It was always good to see the kitchen crew anyway and after coming out of the line there was something "homey" about milling around the kitchen.
CHAPTER XIX
WE LEAVE THE FRONT FOR THE LAST TIME
THE AFTERNOON of the eleventh wore on. How strange it was not to hear the rumble of some distant barrage. At night a battery of tripods was placed in position with the guns on the ground along-side and all night we stood guard but on the morning of the twelfth we folded the tripods for the last time in what had been the front line. A copy of Stars and Stripes, the official A.E.F. newspaper, had been brought up and we were happy to see that our Division was not included in the list of divisions making up the Army of Occupation. The old 77th Division was pretty well worn out by the time the war ended and it would have been a heart-breaking march going into Germany.
Packs were rolled and the long march to the rear was started, still not quite thoroughly convinced that the war was really over. The peasants shouted Finis la guerre! and we shouted back at them but we were not particularly enthusiastic. Not far behind the lines in a valley, a French regiment of cavalry was waiting to go forward. They presented a very striking appearance in new accoutrement with sleek, carefully groomed animals.
It was a long, weary march over shell-torn roads back to St. Pierremont and, if memory serves, we pulled in somewhere around midnight. Anything with a roof over it had been used to shelter horses and mules and finding a flopping place was a problem, although we were not too fastidious in our crumby condition at that time. It was here that Lockwood proved himself to be a real buddy. When we crowded into one of the stables I recognized his voice calling my name. It sounded as though he were looking for a companion to go on a detail but, instead, he said, "Don't unroll your pack but take off your clothes and crawl in here." He was up on a platform about four feet above the floor and had a dozen blankets. It seems that he had been back guarding some equipment and nearby was an engineer regiment. When the engineers pulled out, blankets were left behind and, like a good soldier, Lockwood did a good salvaging job. I shall never forget that night's sleep. It was the one clean spot in that billet.
It was here that we gained some idea of the way our ranks had been depleted when we saw the number of replacements awaiting us. In the neighborhood of fifty men were assigned to each company. Many of them were from the Middle West, principally Wisconsin. When we had a chance to get a good look at them in the daylight we found them to be a well set-up, good-looking group. They had not seen any action but had received good training and would have given a good account of themselves if the war had continued.
During the three or four days we spent in St. Pierremont we took the first step back to cleanliness and civilization. The engineers of our Division had installed shower baths in the best of the buildings left standing and had covered shell-torn walls with shelter halves. After a steaming hot bath and new underwear issued, we commenced to get something of the feel of being men again instead of animals. To a person who was not in the Army in France it will probably seem peculiar to dwell on such trifles as a bath and clean underwear but to cootie-bedeviled soldiers just out of the lines it was a real treat and of great moment.
The rest of four days helped immensely and as we again started back from St. Pierremont we were prepared to do a little sightseeing as we trudged along instead of slinking forward expecting to be blown into Kingdom Come at the next step. Rumor had it that we were going back to a training area where the discipline would be stiffer than any we had seen.
The countryside which, but a short time before, had seen the German Army beaten back step by step across its fields now stretched away peacefully and would have been very pretty indeed had it not been for the battle-scarred earth and riddled villages which rose up like spectres. We retraced our steps back to the town of Buzancy where we stopped long enough to have leather jerkins issued to us and we found them very satisfactory in every way. They were a little bulky at first, worn beneath the blouse, but they soon took shape and surely kept out the wind. Somewhere along the line we were issued Bolo knives in tin scabbards. They were supposed to be part of a machine gunner's equipment but, as the war was over, it was not known why they were issued. The only thing we did with them was to throw them at the barn doors, trying our skill at having them enter the door, point foremost, similar to knife throwers in the circus. Who can ever forget those Bolo knives? There is no point in mincing words; they were junk and the Government was handed something when they were purchased. No one shed any tears when we turned them in.
Continuing our march to the rear and skirting the Argonne we passed through such places as Cornay, Fleville and Chattel Chehery. As we looked at the towering trees and shadows of the forest, silent and gloomy and yet so majestic, it was difficult to visualize the struggle that had taken place there in that tangled underbrush.
Entering the village of Lochere, at the edge of the forest, our march came to an end and we remained there for four days. This little group of buildings was just another of the devastated villages in the war zone but it will remain in the minds of the 305th Machine Gunners as the scene of the famous hollow square formation of the Battalion. It was here that Major Peake unburdened himself of another of his choice speeches after the four companies had been drawn up facing inward in the form of a hollow square. Astride his horse, he bellowed, "This town is dirty and you men will see to it that you do not make it any dirtier. You men have been defecating all over France. It will have to be stopped so that when we leave this village it will be cleaner than when we came into it." Those may not have been his exact words but we are sure of the word, defecating. In fairness to the officers of the Battalion it must be said that the companies were never allowed to leave a mess behind but had to police up.
About half a mile across the fields lay the town of Les Ilets where the puff of locomotives could be seen and the screech of whistles reached our ears. We awaited the day when we were to march over and board trains for our destination but, after several days had elapsed, there floated forth the rumor that the French could not furnish transportation and that we were in for a nine day hike.
The report proved to be correct and once again we took to the road. Marching fifty minutes and resting ten, we carried on hour after hour, day in and day out over a period of at least nine days with the exception of Sundays, when we had a day off. Perhaps one of our longest marches was accomplished on Thanksgiving Day. Starting at about six o'clock in the morning, it was not until some-where around nine o'clock at night that we pulled into billets at Tremont, weary and wet, having marched through a pouring rain all day. In the middle of the day, when most people were sitting down to turkey dinners at home in the States, we were eating corned willy and hardtack and leaning over the mess kits so as to keep out the water running from our helmets. Lieut. Simons had ordered the cooks to make up a beef stew for supper but when mess call sounded at about ten o'clock, in Tremont, many of the men had taken off their wet clothes and were asleep and warm in the hay. Others, too tired to eat, said, "The hell with it," and, as a result, those who piled out received mess kits brimming full with plenty of seconds. The writer does not mind admitting that he dined that night in Tremont. The next day, November 29th, we were on the road again.
To attempt to recall each day would be too much of a task and, we fear, would also prove to be somewhat monotonous. We might mention that at the close of the twenty-ninth we were in Bettancourt which was about a kilometer distant from the city of St. Dizzier. It was here that Wanner and Winkle were picked up by the M.P.s on a trumped-up charge but they were released the next day when it was learned that Winkle's brother was a major. Wanner let us know in unequivocal terms what he thought of M.P.s. Little did he know that he would one day join them, but we will tell about that later.
CHAPTER XX
GILLANCOURT
0UR STAY in Bettancourt was of short duration and, ere long, the Battalion was swinging over the white roads with Bettancourt and St. Dizzier fading from sight in the rear. Steadily we reeled off the kilometers arriving at last at Gillancourt which, as it turned out, was home to us for two months and shares a place with La Panne in our memories. The date was the fourth of December and from then on, for a month, it rained every day but that did not interfere to any extent with our daily drills. When an order was read at Retreat one evening calling for volunteers to accept clerical positions without being transferred out of the Division area, a number of men took the opportunity to get out of the mud. Most of the men who volunteered did not return to the States with the Battalion and a number did not return with the Division. The billets in Gillancourt were fairly comfortable and some of the men were able to get themselves nicely settled in rooms with some of the peasants. One of those so fortunate was Finton Timothy, of B Company, who lived with the village carpenter, M. Hoogany, and little did Tim dream at the time that, years later, it would again be his good fortune to visit Gillancourt and call upon M. Hoogany and his daughter. No, children, he didn't marry the daughter. It was very gratifying to him to find that he was not forgotten and he was accorded a royal welcome.
Beaucoup Sam Stewart, our Y.M.C.A. man, put forth every effort to make things pleasant. He had one of the one-story French barracks fixed up as a combination Y hut and theatre. It was here that we again saw our old friends, the Argonne Players. We also recall hearing our own Lee Ayres who could sing with the best of them. Sam always tried to get as much as possible for the men and his slogan was "Beaucoup for the Boys" which usually turned out to be a bar of chocolate for a squad but that was all right. Groups clubbed together for special feeds at the houses of the peasants and the dinners generally were built around chicken, which had been purchased earlier in the day. The story goes that Major Peake was very much incensed because chicken was not served at the officers' mess. He raised particular hob with the Headquarters cooks about it and roared, "If my men can get chicken why can't the officers?"
It was sometime in January 1919, that the news of the death of former President Theodore Roosevelt reached us. The Battalion marched to the drill field for a memorial service. I can see the picture quite clearly in my mind's eye and it impressed me as being a fine sight but, oh, how wrong I was. The guides were ordered out ahead and, as the outfit swept toward the Major in Battalion Front, he turned his back on us and roared, "Take 'em back and come up again, that's rotten."
Speaking of the Major naturally brings to mind our Battalion Adjutant, Lieutenant Ellis. The story is told of how he tried to get by the guards one night wearing a garrison cap, which was non-regulation in France. The guard held him off until the corporal and then the sergeant of the guard had been summoned. It was explained to the Adjutant that it was most difficult to recognize him dressed as he was, whereupon he replied that he was only testing the guard and was pleased to find them so alert. On another occasion he tried to take a rifle from one of the guards and he found himself in a ditch with a mouse on his eye.
One evening there was quite a commotion in the entrance to one of the C Company billets. A D Company guard was trying to place Flynn under arrest. He and McLean had been out together and were trying to get back to quarters very quietly, the time being after taps. McLean got away but the guard followed Flynn into the billet. We did not think so much of the D Company guard for being so insistent and told him so, but he said he had no choice in the matter as the Adjutant had turned out the guard and that he was standing out in the road waiting for Flynn to come out. We persuaded Flynn to go with the guard and the next morning Lieut. Gorham got him out of the guard house bright and early. Lieut. Gorham gave the entire Company a nice little talk at Reveille, saying, in part, that we had been together long enough to look out for each other and not to run away and desert a buddy who was getting into a jam. In so many words he told us to have our fun but not to get caught.
After the rainy period the weather turned very cold and snow covered the countryside. The afternoons were taken up with athletics in which every man took some part. Boxing gloves had been supplied and the outstanding exhibition was the match between Hughie Cuff and Salvation Nell.
During our stay in Gillancourt General Alexander reviewed the Division and Capt. Downing, who had recently been assigned to C Company, agreed to get the entire Company drunk for Christmas if we put over a snappy review. Needless to say the Captain was stuck. He was as good as his word and, after a fine Christmas dinner of roast pork, which he paid for, there was provided all the beer the outfit could drink. The skipper proceeded to fade out of the picture so that he could honestly say he did not see anything that took place.
Many of the incidents that occurred in Gillancourt have slipped from our memories with the fleeting years, but most of us will recall with a touch of sentiment the day we bid our faithful old Hotchkiss machine guns a fond farewell and also the day we turned in our Colt automatics that had hung so patiently on our hip bones - those trusty old weapons that we had cleaned and cleaned and cleaned some more. Never again were we to hear the command "Raise Pistol". The day also arrived when we turned in the Bolo knives but there was no wailing or shedding of tears. One day, however, before the pistols were to be turned in, an inspection was held by an Ordnance Inspector. He did not like what he saw with the result that the afternoon was spent cleaning pistols. The writer was one of the very few who were excused. When my turn came to be inspected, I put on a very snappy exhibition of the Manual of the Pistol as set down by General Pershing, wherever such things are set down. The Colonel said, "Return pistol, soldier. There is one man whose pistol I know is clean by the way he does the manual." It was very fortunate for me that he did not take a squint down the barrel, for a great big rust spot would have winked back at him. It was just the old army game and the Colonel fell for it.
Lieutenant Parker happened to be in command of the Company at that time and, as Ed Zwisler, our First Sergeant, was away in the hospital, with no definite information as to whether or not he would return, Lieut. Parker promoted Sgt. Russell to the grade of First Sergeant. That night there was a party. Just how it all came about I am unable to say as I was not at the party, but I was in formation at Reveille the next morning. Russell was there, too. He had also been to the party. Someone had taken a piece of charcoal and had drawn in the diamond under his sergeant's chevron and, not satisfied with that, had underscored it with several black lines. Apparently when Russell found what had happened he tried to rub it off and it smeared into the cloth. In addition to that, he was sporting a shiner and, with his shock of black, touseled hair and flushed face, he was quite a sight. When Lieut. Parker came down to take the Company, Russell did sort of a half right face and reported the Company, tossing off one of his famous salutes with the fingers of his glove going in all directions, after which, he scurried around to the rear and kept out of sight, which was a good thing for all concerned, as it was next to impossible to look at him without laughing. Well, he continued as First Sergeant until one day, as he stood talking with Capt. Downing, Private Mushkin approached and asked if he might speak with the Captain without the First Sergeant's permission. Almost before the Captain could speak, Russell said, "I thought I told you that you could not speak to the Captain!" Drawing back his fist he knocked Mushkin into the road. When Downing recovered from his astonishment he said very quietly, "You're under arrest, Sergeant." After a court martial, Russell was reduced a grade and transferred to B Company. In the meantime Ed Zwisler had returned from the hospital and, when he got his old job back, an awkward situation was cleared up.
We had a lad named Lacey, who showed up at the billet after having imbibed a bit too freely. He was blubbering and nursing a black eye. He said McGee had no right to do it and who did he think he was and so on but, after sitting there for a while and bawling, he said, "Aw, hell, I guess I had it coming", and he went back to rejoin the party. Of course we can't prove that all these black eyes came from the same source.
Sickness broke out in A Company and they were marched up to the edge of the town and placed in quarantine in a French barrack. In C Company, Morrell was carried out of the billet with spinal meningitis. He had been in the same billet with the kitchen force so, therefore, they were quarantined and the rolling kitchen and all utensils were condemned. A new kitchen and equipment were ordered and a volunteer kitchen force was called for. Some of the new re-placements from Wisconsin, among them Charlie Herbert and Hillenbrand, did such a good job that the officers retained them for the officers' mess. Morrell had been gone some time when it was reported that he had died and, as mail arrived for him, it was marked deceased and held in the Orderly Room. One afternoon a group was standing in the road when someone said, "Is that Morrell coming or am I seeing things?" Sure enough there he was, plodding along with a full pack on his back. Naturally when he came up he inquired about the surprised look, whereupon one of the boys exclaimed, "Morrell, you're dead. If you don't believe it wait until you see your mail." Morrell got a good laugh out of it but admitted that he would have been dead if he had not been in the army. He had been given four injections of serum at a cost of sixty dollars for each injection. He said that if he had been home there would have been no chance of getting the serum and he would not have had the money to pay for it.
There came a call from Battalion Headquarters one evening for a couple of men from each company and Charlie Levers and Wanner reported from C Company. Later that evening a dejected figure entered the billet and sat down on his bunk. Slowly and reluctantly equipment was gathered together and blankets rolled. After watching the proceeding for several minutes the question was finally put to Wanner, "What's up?" With scorn and disgust in his voice, Wanner replied as he gazed sadly around the room, "I'm a G.D. M.P. But they tell me I am going to be a wagoner," he quickly added, "so that it won't be so bad." And so Wanner went out of our lives and we have not seen him since.
The weeks slipped by and we seemed no nearer to going home than we had ever been to it. The day came at last, however, for us to shake the dust of Gillancourt from our clothes and, on the evening of February ninth, 1919, bed sacks were emptied and the billets cleaned out. What a collection of candlesticks fashioned from tin cans! Reveille was set for two A.M. but very little sleeping was done in the cold billets that night. Shortly after two the companies were on the road and formed but we were ordered back to do a little further policing.
CHAPTER XXI
PRECIGNE -WE SEE GENERAL PERSHING
IT WAS four when the order to move was finally given and we started for the railhead at Bricon, twelve kilometers away. The weather was bitterly cold and the road was a solid sheet of ice so that it was not long before the Battalion had lengthened out to almost half a mile. Slowly we made our way, slipping and sliding, and comparatively few were able to hold their feet for the entire route. Bricon and the box cars came into view at last and, to finish off our hike, we pulled into a field, swinging from column into company front formation knee-deep in snow. Jam sandwiches and hot chocolate were served by the Y.M.C.A.
The floors of the cars were covered with straw and, in view of the intensely cold, bleak weather we had been experiencing, the time we would spend aboard the train was looked forward to with some trepidation. Once loaded aboard the cars, they were not uncomfortable, which was probably due to animal heat. With the usual shrieks from the locomotive's whistle and a series of jerks, we rolled out of Bricon with no idea of where we were going but in good spirits. Once again we were viewing France from our side door Pullmans. On the eleventh of February we pulled slowly through the city of Angers. For a brief moment we thought that we had arrived at our destination but we should have known better. Angers was too large a city for us and, while the train was moving slowly, it kept rolling. We soon discovered that Angers was not for us. About midday the train stopped out in the country at a small station with not a soul to be seen. This was more like it.
The sign bore the legend, Pince-Precigne, indicating that the small station served both villages, but they were nowhere to be seen. The weather was ideal. Only two days by train from Gillancourt and yet there we were on the hike to Precigne with perspiration running down and overcoats hanging from packs. A march of about three kilometers brought us to the village of Precigne and its timid population. Here again the people seemed to be somewhat fearful of American troops. It was either because they had no idea of what we were like or had been made nervous by troops that may have been there before us. It did not take the men long to dispel any misgivings and, later, those who were billeted right in the village enjoyed numerous pleasant gatherings with the villagers.
B and C Companies continued through the village, swinging to the left along a road we later learned led into Sable, where Division Headquarters was established. About half a mile out from the village B Company entered the grounds of a large chateau. C Company's hike ended about a mile further on where quarters were taken in another chateau and outbuildings. The luck, at this time, seemed to be with B Company which no doubt had the best accommodations of the Battalion. A large modern garage on the grounds accommodated quite a number of men while others occupied stalls in the stable. The sanitary conditions, however, were of the best as it had been years since horses had been bedded in those stalls. Building operations had been under way when the war started, in 1914, and the shacks and tools of the workmen were still on the grounds as they had dropped them to take up arms. The lawn in front of the chateau was used by the Battalion in preparation for the inspection and review by General Pershing.
Some of the buildings occupied by C Company were very old, one, in particular, having been built in 1732, and the hand-hewn rafters and beams were held together by dowels. It was not long before the outfit was comfortably settled and Sable was easily accessible to the men of C Company. Of course the orders, as usual, were to keep out of Sable but that didn't mean a thing and everybody went trooping into town as often as they liked. Strange as it may seem, there was one dutified numbskull in C Company who approached Capt. Downing for a pass into town, stating that, as most of the men had been in, he wondered if he couldn't have a pass. The Captain said that it was out of bounds and was horrified to learn that the men had disregarded his instructions. It was a good act and there were no heads chopped off. Captain Downing had been with the Company but a very short time, having joined the outfit after the Armistice and, when he left in advance of the Company to return to the States, it was mutually, deeply regretted. It was not easy for him to say goodbye and he said that it had been a real pleasure to command the Company. Certainly we liked him.
The political prisoners in the jail in Precigne made a good deal of noise in the evenings, as they shouted through the bars, which livened things up. In addition, the men of the Battalion, quartered in the village, had some lively evenings of their own making. During one of the sessions a small Ford truck ended up in somebody's manure pile but we do not have the details or the names of the original cast As we understand it, it all led up to an amusing skit entitled "The Sergeant Major's Revenge". Cy Copper became a member of C Company at about that time. There was also an amusing sketch put on by C Company, those participating wearing any kind of costume they could get together. Harry O'Beirn, who was pintsized, himself, did a riotous turn with a donkey. Things kept moving pretty well, what with having group pictures made of the various units of the Battalion and one thing or another to pass away the time. The men selected to go to Sable on an engineering detail had a pretty good time with a minimum of work and a little "gold bricking" thrown in. Some of the men, unfortunately, were transferred to more distant points and did not rejoin.
After much drilling and brushing up the day finally arrived when we were to march forth to see and be seen by the big boss, himself none other than General Pershing. In high spirits, we hit the road at about seven A.M. to go about twelve kilometers to a field outside of the village of Soilsmes. The entire Division pulled into place and we commenced running up waiting time on the meter. Capt. Downing straightened up C Company and let it go at that, but Capt. Turnbull had B Company doing "Right Dress" every hour on the hour. After standing all day, with just a bacon sandwich to sustain us, the General put in an appearance at three or four o'clock in the afternoon, but nobody bawled him out for being late. What a picture he made as he mounted his big black horse with white trappings! Every inch the soldier, he set a fine example. After looking us over generally he made a personal inspection with each company commander. Head and eyes were kept to the front if we never had held them there before. The General said that we were a fine looking body of boys but told the skipper that the shoes looked somewhat dry and to keep plenty of dubbing on them. He didn't seem to realize that we had sloshed through puddles from a rain the previous night and that, after waiting all day for him, the mud had a fine chance to dry. We just couldn't get one hundred percent. Capt. Downing's only worry was whether or not he had been in step with the General. Pershing stopped before Pete Windolph and inquired concerning his wound. Pete's chest was swelled up and he gloated that of all the men in the Army, the Chief bad to speak to him.
Underbrush separating the field we were in from an adjoining one had been cleared out by the engineers during the day and, as Pershing gave the command, "Pass in Review", the Division moved forward into the next field which, apparently, had been plowed. We can only imagine what our lines looked like as we went ankle-deep in soft earth. When we had passed the reviewing line and the order was double time, the men in the infantry regiments, trying to keep rifles on shoulders, were floundering and falling in all directions. Sometimes bayonets came down first into the ground and it was a wonder somebody wasn't hurt. The job was over at last and we were glad to swing back toward our billets. We had covered most of the distance when a motorcycle courier overtook the Battalion and we fell out at the side of the road. After a short conference, we were told that outfits with ten or more kilometers to march were to be carried in motor lorries. That was a hell of a time to be telling us. The lorries were on the way to pick us up and the officers gave us our choice of waiting or marching in. We of C Company elected to push on and we were pretty well through mess when we heard the trucks go roaring through with the companies that had waited.
CHAPTER XXII
HOME - THE BATTALION PASSES INTO HISTORY
AFTER many show-down inspections where even the corned willie and shoe laces did right dress, the Battalion, with mingled feelings of happiness and sadness, took leave of friends in Precigne and moved up to Sable for the last train ride in France. This time, however, it was not 40 Homme or 8 Chevaux, but big U. S. cars with U. S. Navy kitchen cars in the middle of the train. It was overnight to Brest and Camp Pontenezen with that huge sign "Come on You Yanks, Beaucoup Seconds". The stay at Brest was of short duration with nobody talking out of turn for fear of being whisked off to a labor battalion. Anyway, that is what was supposed to have happened, and we were too far along the trail to test it out. The old pack had been rolled and unrolled so often we thought that we were pretty good at it but we can't forget that final inspection after which the pack had to be rolled in three minutes.
Time seemed to move so slowly but, at last, and almost unbelievably, the Battalion was aboard the Aquitania. Steadily the shore line of France dropped down below the horizon and soon there was nothing but the old ocean again. This time it was indeed express speed compared to the trip to Liverpool and, best of all, no submarines to worry about. A few short days and then -New York harbor and the excited cheering from those aboard the Welcoming Home boats that encircled the transports - the Statue of Liberty and old, familiar scenes unchanged during the time we had been out of the world, so to speak. A matter of minutes and, at last, Pier 56, N. R., and so to Camp Mills out on the Hempstead plains. Things were moving quickly now and it was no time at all before we were back in New York City for that glorious parade up Fifth Avenue and, ere long, Camp Upton. How strange it seemed, this old camp that had watched us creep in our soldier infancy. Now it was peopled by strangers who were not interested in us, particularly, and somehow there was a feeling that the old camp had slipped from us and that we didn't belong.
With heartfelt goodbyes and warm handclasps the 305th Machine Gun Battalion, 77th Division, A.E.F., passed into history. So, my buddies, we come to the end. Walking through the gateway of old Camp Upton for the last time, thoughts drifted back overseas and, as we said at the beginning of this story, some of our gang did not come back. No, they didn't come back.
. . . THE END . . .
The Medical Detachment
By CHARLES V. LEWIS
LTTLE has been said of the work of the "Medicos" attached to the Battalion except in jest. While it is true they did not shine outwardly in drill formations and on the line of march, yet, in their own field, their accomplishments were such that they always gained and kept the respect of all with whom they came into contact.
Our own little Detachment is no exception. It consisted of one commissioned officer, a captain and fourteen enlisted men - a sergeant first class, a sergeant, a private first class and eleven privates.
The history of our Medical Detachment dates back to June, 1917, at Fort Benjamin Harrison, Indiana. Fort Benjamin Harrison was used as a training center for the Medical Department where officers and enlisted men received their basic and military training prior to assignment to definite organizations and units. Skeleton units of enlisted men are called cadres and are intended to train recruits. It was here that Dr. Willard D. Preston who was to become the Bat-talion Surgeon met with Whitey Lindner, Arthur Baldwin, Willie Christian and Johnny Butler. These men formed the enlisted cadre as did Joe Mickle, Homer "Nigger" McGee, Harry Sneff, Bill Russell, Pop Schaeffer, Sgt. Goldstein, Sgt. Lafferty and others for the other companies of the Battalion.
Captain Preston and his men arrived in Camp Upton shortly before the arrival of the draftees, begging your pardon, selective service men. Following closely on their heels came Clarence King, Max Hershkowitz, Sid Hyman, Kossin, Romeo Nichols and Charlie Lewis, as well as one or two others whose names do not come to mind.
It is interesting to note the qualifications of the men who were destined to take care of the health of the Battalion. Captain Preston relinquished a lucrative practice in Attica, N. Y., where he held positions of County Physician of Wyoming County, surgeon for the Erie Railroad as well as affiliations with the leading hospitals in Buffalo and Batavia. That, dear friends, is giving up something by way of an income in order to serve his country in the time of its need. The answer was, possibly, that he had an attack of "war fever" for the reason that he had seen prior service in the Philippines and never got it out of his system. It should also be stated that, at that time, he had a wife and two small children. Lindner came from 14 somewhere in New Jersey" and was an electrotyper; Baldwin was a chiropractor from Fort Wayne Ind.; Willie Christian was supposed to be a deputy sheriff from the hills outside Richmond, Va.; Johnny Butler, a chauffeur from Richmond, Va.; King, a shoe salesman from Boston, Mass.; Hershkowitz, Hyman and Kossin were licensed dentists practicing in New York City; Nichols, a dirt farmer from the "hillbilly area" in West Virginia, and Charlie Lewis owned a drug store in Brooklyn, N. Y.
Hyman and Kossin had applied for a commission before being selected" by Uncle Sam and, in a short time after arrival in camp, their commissions came through and they went to Camp Gordon as First Lieutenants. King turned to being an amateur detective and remained behind as a witness in a supposed spy case which he claimed to have unravelled. That is another way of not going overseas.
That is the way the personnel of the Detachment remained until a few days before we went overseas. At that time the Battalion received men from outside to fill in the vacancies that existed according to the tables of organization. The companies received their "filler ins" from Cortland, Tioga and other counties in Central New York, but the Medical Detachment, to be different, received theirs from Camp Devens, Mass. What men they were! Orlowski, Kizarsky, Kalnek, Keawalsky and a couple of others with about the same basic training. They first had to understand you and then the next step was to understand them, but, bless their hearts, could they "yeat" bread. Nothing else mattered to them. In civilian life they were factory workers and farmers and that is where they should have remained.
The story of how Butler and Christian enlisted in the Army should be told. It seems that, at this time, they were both in the ranks of the then unemployed and went on a binge in Washington, D. C. While strolling along, they observed that famous wartime poster captioned "Uncle Sam Needs You!". It had a patriotic effect upon them and, when sobered up, why, they just found themselves members of this man's army.
In December, 1917, under the supervision of the Division Surgeon, written and oral examinations were held for promotion to the grade of Sergeant, Medical Department. This was open to all Medical Department personnel in the Division. Lindner, Baldwin and Lewis participated and all three were successful. That makes it one hundred percent. Either our candidates were good or the examinations were easy. At any rate, we now have three sergeants. Christian was appointed private first class by Captain Preston and also became his orderly.
The duties of the Detachment, while in Camp Upton, were mainly routine. Morning sick call was the most important. It was their duty and function to see that the men of the 305th Machine Gun Battalion remained in good health for the reason that only the healthy were eligible to become cannon fodder. This was done with the aid of crowbar needles shooting all kinds of injections, experimental and otherwise, and the administration of those dear old standbys, iodine and compound cathartic pills-C.C. pills to you. What wonders these two items! Remember the fractures, fallen arches, sore throats, etc., that were cured by them? Many a man came to the infirmary for some "pills" and did not want any of those damn C.C. pills. He didn't get them - but ask the wise guy what he did get. They forgot Charlie Lewis was a pharmacist and knew his pills. Yes, they would then come back and ask for the dear C.C. pill again. Personal inspections once a month but more about that later. Inspections of the barracks, quarters and mess halls. Instruction to the companies on first aid and the use of the first aid pack. To separate the able-bodied men who preferred bunk fatigue to squads right, details, and stump pulling expeditions from those actually indisposed was quite a problem at times. A sore back or muscle is not being sick but just being a softie and this hardening process is just training. While the men of the Detachment pulled a couple of stump roots it was not part of their training. They just weren't sissies. They did some drilling, mainly a hike out beyond the vision of the barracks to a nice shady tree and there enjoyed a smoke and felt sorry for the rest of the Battalion for the hard work they had to do. It was very sad.
Nothing special, other than routine, happened in camp. There was a slight epidemic of mumps and we lost two men on account of pneumonia. For the severe winter of that year we were most fortunate. No history can be complete without some mention of the Cleaver Club. It happened shortly after midnight on a Saturday. It was a cold night. The curse of drink had its effect. The drinkers wanted food. The soldier on guard did not approve of it. Kitchen knives, cleavers and blows of the pelvic bone of the steer cut the air. Result: the guard woke up Charlie Lewis for first aid. Due to the absence of Captain Preston, Captain McKibbin, of the 306th Machine Gun Battalion, its surgeon was sent for and gave Charlie Lewis his first real experience in first aid. It took something like twelve stitches on the scalp to stop the bleeding of one of the injured. No, the man did not die. The net result of that episode was two men sent to the hospital, a flock of court martials and one man dishonorably discharged from the service.
Going over on H.M.S.S. Megantic first started its real work in the rendition of first aid. Quite a number of the warriors of the Battalion buckled in the knees, lost their appetites, gave up whatever they had or what they should have had over a small matter of fresh, invigorating sea air that was coupled with only a few waves that did no more than lift the boat out of the water, wash the decks and break the chinaware. The Detachment rendered first aid as best it could -which, modestly, was nobly done -but when some of them wanted to have their hands held because they thought they were going to die, well, that was expecting too much of a purveyor of C.C. pills. It simply wasn't dignified.
The Detachment, being a part of Headquarters, was the first to board the boat. When they got on board they kept on going, going and going right down to the bottom of the boat where the ship's sweat is simply ship's sweat and where rats are rats. The first shall be last and the last shall be first. Our dignity was lost.
In the training area the Detachment really had an easy time of it. The men were in good health, took to their training seriously and morning sick call was at a minimum. It was a long walk to the infirmary.
Then came the now famous battle of Watten. It was the first real march with a full pack and equipment as well as personal belongings. Farewell to the fancy sweaters, mufflers and socks that Sister Susie made. That extra baggage took its toll but not so bad that it couldn't be properly handled by the first aiders, as we were now called. It was a grand lesson not to carry a piano in your pack.
The Detachment was now split up, two or three men going with each of the companies; Nichols had charge of the water wagon and Sgt. Lindner at Headquarters with Captain Preston.
An added duty of the Detachment was that one of its members had to be part of the advance party in selecting new sites for billeting for the purpose of making a chemical analysis of the water for its fitness for drinking and cooking purposes. No water could be used unless so passed upon. Water was delivered by the horse-drawn water cart and stored in Lyster bags and then only after proper chlorination. Who wants some freshly chlorinated water?
On the Baccharet Sector another change in the status of the personnel occurred. The Division Surgeon held another examination but this time for promotion to the grade of Sergeant First Class. Charlie Lewis made it. With this new rating he earned the title of "Doc", became the First Sergeant and came back to Headquarters from Company D. Incidentally, Charlie Lewis, with his new rating, became the highest-paid non-com in the Battalion. Shortly thereafter Baldwin made it and, since only one was permitted by the table of organization, he was transferred to the second echelon in charge of a prophylactic station. Boys will be boys.
Those famous all-night marches caused no end of trouble for the Detachment. During the marches, someone, every now and then, couldn't take it and would fall out. A medico would stay with them and trail behind if necessary. After the march, with everyone pretty tired, the work of the Detachment really began. It was then the cry of "First aid!" was really heard. The noble warriors of the Battalion would be having quite a little trouble with their feet. Improper fitting of shoes and Sister Susie's socks would cause many a bad blister. All they had to do was call "First aid!" and rest. The Detachment men would respond to the call, render first aid, and, often, had no rest because it was time to be on the march again. This was particularly true after the early marches. The tables were now turned and the Detachment men were busier than the rest of the Battalion.
While it is true we carried no rifles as the rest of the Battalion did, yet our packs were equally as heavy and cumbersome. We had to march step for step with them and lost out on the rest between marches. Were we now being appreciated? We certainly were! There was no more jesting about painting one's throat with iodine as a cure for all ailments.
It was also now part of our work to see that proper latrines and pits were built and, upon leaving an area, to supervise the proper coverage of these openings so as to prevent any disease from being contracted, particularly from flies. This also included disposal of the remains of the mess, if a mess kitchen was available, and of the tin cans, if not.
There is no need of going into details of the work of the Detachment during actual combat. Anywhere any of the companies went, two or three of the medicos were there with them, with the same risks of exposure, discomforts and danger, doing their duties as best they could with the result that they won the everlasting gratitude and goodwill of the Battalion.
Two items of interest should, however, be mentioned.
The first was what may be termed the Battalion's most serious setback f rom a point of health and efficiency. This was caused by the wave of dysentery, which was common to the entire area, and, unquestionably, due to improper temporary burials, particularly of animals. Who is there that will ever forget that stench? The hard part of it was the lack of available medical supplies to cope with the situation and the inability to obtain them. Some of the men lost as much as twenty pounds, not to forget that they were all non-effective as far as service with their companies was concerned. Equally unfortunate was the fact that they could not be evacuated to the rear as some of them may be lost to their outfits forever. First, the lead and opium pills ran out, then the paregoric pills ran out, followed by anything else that could possibly be used to ease the situation. Finally, in desperation, Captain Preston ordered men to kitchens, if and when they were available, to get some burnt toast in the hope that the charcoal present would be of some help. Sometimes it did help, but more often it did not.
The other item to be mentioned concerns sex morality. We all know about the sudden physical inspections occurring once a month. We also know of the temptations that came across one's path. The net result was that no enlisted man of the Battalion contracted any disease that would shock the senses of any of the folks back home. Bear in mind that the enlisted personnel amounted to 732 in number. Compare with that the same number of men in civilian life, and then be proud of that record. No, the Medical Detachment cannot claim credit for it even though they administered the prophylactic treatments. The number of treatments were remarkably few and, while they may have been efficient, one could not continually beat the inspections. No, the answer is, and was, that the men, as a whole, felt it their duty to their country and self-respect to remain clean and efficient.
Sgt. Lewis was wounded on October third, 1918, and was lost to the Battalion for the rest of the war. He was replaced by Sergeant First Class Gilman, from the Division, who remained with the outfit until after the Armistice, when Sgt. Baldwin replaced him on his return to the outfit. Butler was wounded shortly before the Armistice and was returned to the outfit.
Captain Preston was ordered back home by the demand of the population of Wyoming County upon the War Department as being essential. We must not forget that an epidemic of influenza was raging in the States at that time and, due to the number of physicians in the Army, the medical service was fairly well crippled. This may have been a good break for the Captain but his absence was felt by the Battalion. Who is there that did not like the old "Doc"? His work and esteem must have reached home ahead of him for, when he ar-rived there, he received a promotion to the grade of Lieutenant Colonel. There was nothing honorary about this rank for he was last paid and discharged as such. After all, the pay does count.
Nothing but routine work occupied the attention of the Detachment after the signing of the Armistice. The old conditions were again maintained. The companies still had to drill - they now called it discipline -and the Detachment watched them.
Nothing eventful happened en route back home or in camp awaiting discharge, except in that famous parade up Fifth Avenue, Lieutenant Colonel Preston and Sergeant First Class Lewis put on the uniforms they had discarded and marched with the Battalion.
Thus endeth the history of the Medical Detachment of the 305th Machine Gun Battalion, 77th Division, A.E.F., with no apologies and no regrets.
... THE END ...
Company A
These are a series of letters written by Clay Feeter’s great uncle Norman Feeter, youngest bro to grampa Alburtus Carley Feeter before and during the time Norm was serving as a soldier in WWI. Eventually all three Feeter brothers served in WWI and in fact their absence from home may have been a reason great gramps Frank B. Feeter had to sell his valuable farm and farmland in Cuyler, between Truxton and DeRuyter, NY; all three of his boys were gone to war. Most letters are addressed to “Stone,” Clay’s grandfather in Cortland County, upstate NY; Gramps was known as Stone because when he was little he often rolled rocks down hills.
Note: my comments are made in [ ].
Letters transcribed and submitted by,
Mr. Clay Feeter
July 4th, 2004
From
Pvt. Norman L. Feeter
Co. A, 305 M.G. B’n.
Am. Ex. Force
B.E.F
Wed. Night [prob. Early 1918]
Dear Stone, -- I don’t know as I can write much tonight for it is nearly time for the light to go out and then too, I am not feeling very fine. I have a nice cold on my lungs, a bad condition here. With so much exposure it may easily become worse. You probably have read that Maurice Ryan of our Cortland bunch has been sent back dead. Pneumonia picked him off. It was funny to-day, a lieutenant asked for Ryan some one said, “He isn’t here.”
Yes Stone, this is a great life, not hard but far from all pleasant. You get pretty sick of some of it, especially the needles. We had one today, a nice jab in the arm and then they squirt a little goozulem in there.
We had one about ten days ago that mad me sick, a lot of us puked and loafed around but this one doesn’t seem so bad. Besides being sick your arm will be as sore as a boil and ached like a meat ear [huh?]. But as I say, this one isn’t taking hold as bad.
You will be interested to know that I have already had a little leave. I got off Sat. at 11 A.M. and had until Sunday night at 1:30, took an L [?] down to Ma quire’s [?] office, and then went out for some lunch. Then I tried to call Woodbridge. I rang six times at the Custom House. Then that place closed so I went to the N.Y. Produce Exchange and worked there half an hour. Still no answer. Then on the way to the Erie I stopped in at the Hudson Terminal and made a crush [rush?] on the operator. Ma quire was with me he makes quite an impression on a girl. She did her best but we could not get Wondar [?]. So we went on to Jersey City and I went into the station and called once more before going on the train. I had a real tender visit with the operator and she pounded until she finally got the house but Bonny was in Newark.
I left word for her to call up Park Ridge. At 7:30 she did so, said she would come right over so I jumped a train and met her in N.Y. We spent the night and following day in Park Ridge and I left her at her train in Jersey City about nine bells Sunday night.
Sat. Morning.
Quite a speck of time has elapsed since I started this brief note but I may as well begin here as start a brand new one. I left off talking about my day off. Twas wonderful Stone. I was happier than ever before and thought I could be satisfied for a long long time but after a day I had the same of longing.
Stone, there’s some thing in the air, uneasiness beyond all measusre. I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if I have seen you for the last time before the war ends. Perhaps I will meet you “over there.” I only hope I will have one more leave and I think I will next week end if I am here that long. I’m afraid we will not see Camp Upton another week but how I do hope. If I have a day or two I think I will be married. It will be away from family and friends but we can’t help that. The time is so short and maybe there will be none at all.
Your letter was fine and it did me all sorts of good. I know you hate to leave home considering the circumstances and I sincerely hope you will not have to. Remember me to Nan, give her my love and best wishes for life-long happiness. I will be glad to hear from her but she had better put on the return address.
You spoke about boxes of eats. Yes, the fellows can keep all they get and they are mighty glad to get them. We have enuf such as it is but a little variety from home is a wonderful treat. The boys all write home for things but I thot I wouldn’t for they might think we were under-fed and that’s not the case.
Thursday I fired the old machine gun, fired two rounds. You get everything all set and then hold it with both hands just as tight as possible. You pull the trigger and she begins and keeps on just as long as you hold the trigger back. You can’t imagine how the bullets fly and the rate that the empty cartridge shells come out. I liked it and would like to do it every day. What a wonderful thing it would be to shoot woodchucks with. Imagine four or five hundred bullets going thru him in a minute.
We have had practically the same work the old fellows had now. I understand that they have actually fired only once.
Oh say, a little mater of business to speak about, I have my insurance made out to you, $10,000.00. I did so far I wanted it split up a little and prefer to have you handle it. I could not have it made out to a friend, it has to be to some member of the immediate family. If I get married in the meantime I will then have it changed over to Bonny but if I do not I trust you to give her 5000 of it. You may think that strange but she deserves every bit of that or even more. It is not her fault that we haven’t a home now, I have held it up because I had no means of furnishing a home and since that the case she deserves everything I can possibly do for her. If you do not go over I hope you will always have an open door for her and a hand when she is in need.
“They say the average life of a m. gunner in action is seven minutes, some say longer and some say three seconds. I don’t know nor care what it is, it doesn’t worry me a bit”
-Great Uncle Norman Feeter during machine gunnery training prior to shipping off to France, early 1918
I sincerely hope she never will come to that but we can’t always tell. Remember Stone, five thousand dollars for her, the rest you may have or do what you like with it. I also have one hundred in a gineva [?] bank. You may have that as compensation for handling the business. Of course, there will be no business I if come back but you know I am in a dangerous way. The machine guns are deadly. They are the devils of the battle field. An army cannot advance against the fire of them for one gun could mow down thousands of them. So the enemy always turns their first fire and artillery on them. They say the average life of a m. gunner in action is seven minutes, some say longer and some say three seconds. I don’t know nor care what it is, it doesn’t worry me a bit.
Yesterday I was on Kitchen Police for the first time. It’s a rotten job and I hat it, wash pots and pans and grease all day and not much but hands to do it with. Had to begin at four a.m. I would not have it again for a long time for there are 172 in our company, there are 4 K.P’s, a day and they are drawn in order. It also happened that I was fire guard last night from 9 to 12, the latest I’ve been up any night in camp.
Our 1st lieutenants went into N.Y. last night to be married. He’s a tough guy but I like him.
I wish you could see our equipment. You’ve no idea of what it consists of, so much in so little space and the harness [?] you have to carry it. You may have seen pictures of soldier tags but I never saw any as complete as ours is. We have everything, even tents and identification tags. These tags we are to wear always. They are metal and bear our name and number.
I have a nice little flash flight that my girlie sent me. She has also sent me two boxes of eats and stuff to wear. That cap from Mr. Merton came here to me but I can’t wear it, we have trench caps that we always have to wear.
We are not having any drill to day, we have, inspection and they let an awful lot of the men go on pass so they rest of us aren’t doing much. Everybody here was from N.Y.C. before we came so they give them short passes but quite often.
Stanley Hathaway, the fellow Dell Holmes was looking for that morning, is in this company. He is a good scout and we chum together most of the time. DeMond, the man whom you saw there in the Y.M.C.A uniform is our third partner. Hathaway has gone to the city today, telegraphed for his girl to come from Harrisburg Pa., to meet him there. He doesn’t expect to see her again. They would be married too but she has been married once, to please her family when she was very young she married a man 21 years her senior. Now she has left him but has not got her divorce yet.
“The army is dong wonders for him. He’s really good looking but no one would ever think so from seeing him as we did in Cortland”
-Norm Feeter on his hometown friend, last name Shaw
A lot of the fellows were sent from this company. Herb Turner and Stan Mynard went to some other part of the camp long ago. Shaw was taken to the ammunition train. He was rather slow about getting onto things and as they worked us so they couldn’t have a slow man here. He was over for a few minutes last night, the first time I’ve seen him in uniform. I never saw a uniform so becoming to a man in my life. He looks clean now, says he is getting along find and when they went out for rifle practice he hit the bulls eye 8 times our of 10 at 300 yards. That’s some shooting. The army is dong wonders for him. He’s really good looking but no one would ever think so from seeing him as we did in Cortland.
I think often of you at home. I wake up and think of what you are doing at that time and so it goes all day long. I would like to make a visit, maybe I can but no body knows. It looks doubtful.
You probably have my clothes by this time. I wish you would send me by return mail the old shaving brush I sent with them. The one that was issued to me is no good. If I get that one it will be fine, if I don’t it wont be any loss. Help your self to any thing you want from my trunk.
I don’t know as there is anything more to say now so I will draw the curtain. Take good care of yourself, the family and if I go over I hope you will keep in touch with my girlie.
When you write do not say any thing that censorers [sic] might object to, be very cautious about that.
Forever sincerely,
Norm.
Upton [Camp Upton, NY. Named after famous Civil War brigade commander of regiments from Little Falls and other areas of NY; Upton committed suicide several years after the Civil War ended]
Mar 27 [1918]
Dear Stone, -- We leave here to night but it’s indefinite when we cross [the Atlantic]. We will be in some other place for some time but may not be able to write from there. All is so uncertain. We have equipment on our back to last a year.
Dearest love to each and ever one.
Norm
I will be safely across when this is delivered to you
I write this to Stone because I think he can let you know without you worrying too much.
March 27 – PM.
Dear Stone, We’ve just had mess and I’m trying to swipe time enuf to jot a line. We expect to leave here any minute, ready to sail for old France.
Break gently this news to the dear folks at home. Try not to let them worry. I know how to take care of my self and nothing can happen to me. I’m sorry not to have seen you all once more before going away but it has to be this way. It will be a long time before I see any service, we will train for six of eight months over there. I wish you could see the cartridges we have been given. About like the outside of this [he has drawn a picture of the machine gun bullets he will be firing shortly].
We will be given revolvers when we get there. I would like to shoot a [can’t make words out] with one of them. I would smash him.
Well Stone, I send dearest love to my dear father and mother, brothers and sisters. Always know I am safe and some day I will surely be back to you some day and we will all be happy.
Always with love to you and know, let all know that the happier they keep the safer I will be. With love and kisses to all, to Anna [our gramma; Alburtus’s soon to be wife], Isabelle [oldest bro John’s wife to be] and everybody.
Yours forever
Norm
I didn’t expect to have time to write this.
When this reaches you you will know I have arrived safely.
[This letter written from England on YMCA letterhead that reads “On Active Service With the British Expeditionary Force,” but Norm has crossed our the word British]
Personal
Dear Stone, -- first as I am closing Nans [who is Nan? Probably my gramma, Anna Feeter] letter I happen to think that I might tuck a word in for you, one that I would not want to send home.
That is in regard to my insurance in case I get picked off. I told you about the $5000 that I would want my girlie to have for I feel that she deserves it. The other $5000 I think would best go to father and mother, have them spend it and be comfortable. My little money besides will be yours and any of my other trunk.
I must leave you now for tis pretty dark. I hope to empty several machine guns into the Kaisers puss. I little dreampt [his spelling] that I would be over here before seeing you again when I shook your hand in Cortland at 11:48 P.M. on the night of Feb. 26. Meet me there when I come back.
Wishing you the best of every thing for all time.
Every sincerely,
Norm
For Stone
Personal
Note: This time on the YMCA letterhead Norm has not only scratched out the word British on the top line that reads “With The British Expeditionary Force” but he has handwritten in “American” above the scratch out “British.”
April 30, 1918
Dear Nan [I think this is Anna Feeter, Clay’s grandmother], Sunday night six nice letters were given to me and among them was the one from you. That was our first mail on this side so you can just imagine how welcome it was.
This is a great world Nan and a great life we boys are living. The experience cannot be described, to know what it is one has to go thru it. I will not attempt to give you even a brief account here. I can better tell you later if I do live to tell the tale.
I also had a dear letter from my little girlie, the dearest one ever written. She was going to visit me in Camp Upton the following Sunday and told me what train to meet. She didn’t know I would not be there, we didn’t ourselves although we knew some thing was up a day or two before we left. Had I known sooner we would probably have been married. No one can ever know how much I care for her Anna, what I would do or sacrifice for her. If anything should happen that I do not come back I trust that you and Stone will always make her welcome and happy at your home, do for her everything that you would want to do for me, for what’s mine is hers. She sent me everything imaginable while I was I camp and she felt badly because I would not take her money too. No better, truer, more generous and deserving person ever lived, she is worthy of everything good and I only hope I can sometime make her perfectly happy and contented. That’s what I have to live for.
Anna, the happiness I wish you and Stone is beyond all limits. I think of you often, of the happiness that might be and of the bitter waiting that will be if Stone is taken away, for your sake, his own and for the folks at home. He’s too good to be taken away into the army.
We have had just a few days of comfortable weather, now it is cold and rainy again, our feet get wet and cold but we have good comfortable bunks and eats, I am feeling find and will always be all right if one of those pesky little shells doesn’t make a line for me.
We must get shoes germans, the more I see and hear of them, the more I feel that it is up to us to crush their powers. They are terrible, terrible.
Remember me to all the folks at home (including your own folks) but do not let them read my letter. I hope you are all well and I look forward to being with you. Tell Stone to write to me and I hope you will too. I did not receive the sugar and do not know for sure that I ever will but I thank you just exactly as much. I would love some if it now and it would go pretty fast if I had it.
It is getting so dark that I can hardly see my paper so I will say good night for this time.
Ever sincerely yours,
Norm.
Pvt. Norman L. Feeter
*Co. A, 305 M.g. B’n. Am. Ex. Force B.E.F.
Via N.Y.
In France
Warland
Independence Day [1918]
Dear Stone and Nan,--
Over thousands of miles of lands and sea I send a blessing to you, may that day which has been so sacred to you be ever a remembrance of happiness, may your lives ever be spent as one with an utmost recompence for your devotion to each other. My wishes for you, I cannot express them for they are beyond words. I just feel them and I trust that you can realize how great they are. Every happiness to you dear brother and sister, may the word regret never be known to you.
Yesterday was a day that will live forever in my mind for more than one reason, perhaps the greatest of which I will tell you about when I am again with you. Then too it was early yesterday morning that fourteen letters were passed on to me, including one from each of you. That was really my first news I had head that you were to be married in the latter part of June but nothing further. Then came this word from you directly, stating the exact date. Wasn’t it strange that I should receive the word on the same day that the ceremony occurs? I thought of you constantly, wondering and wishing. Our time is five hours ahead of you so I had to take that into consideration too. At every minute of the day I was seeing you, always glad for your [?can’t make out word].
Nothing could be harder for me to miss than being with you at that time but we all know just how it was and I was always hoping that the absence of brothers would in no way detract from the merriment of the day. I hope Bonny was with you, if she was, I was. I had three of the dearest letters ever written from her yesterday and she said she expected to be present.
Your letters were a source of great relief, happiness and sort of consolation for me. I had written to Stone long long ago with few plans and favors in case I happen to be, in case it happens that I don’t come back. Not a word had I received during this long long time and I was really worried. But your letters were identical in the one big matter to me, she [Bonny] will always have warm hearts to go to, no matter what circumstances may ever arise when will always have a place to go and find welcome. What she is to me and always will be, I doubt if any one can ever know quite so well as you two.
I must leave you for the time being but will hold this and add a little more when I have an opportunity.
A later date.
I know how you feel Stone about entering the service. How many times I have thoughts of you and of what it would man if we could stand side by side in the face of this great conflict. We could fight together, help each other, protect each other and keep away dull moments. No one would I rather fight beside but I’m glad you are not here. Your Nan girl needs you and the farm needs you. Do not feel that you are not doing your part, we could not wind out here if you were not doing so well. I have often thought how hard it must be for you and the Dear Chile [?] to keep up the spirits of the homefolks. I wish they might easily keep cheerful. Won’t they buy a car—
There I left you again, in the middle of a sentence. The army is a funny life, you don’t know from one minute to the next what you’re going to do and do not know how suddenly you are going to change your plans or course of direction. But it’s interesting, fascinating and luring[?]. I don’t mind in the least taking a good long hike over some sprightly land in utter darkness, carrying a message. I feel safe as can be as long as I have a powerful seven shooter hanging on my hip, ready to spit forth its full contents just as fast as I can move my finger. I’d love to take the old fellow home with me but don’t suppose I can.
The other letter from A.C. [probably Army Corps] came to day with another from Muz [probably his mom, Ella Mae (Loucks) Feeter] and one from Libba [his sister/our great aunt Elizabeth]. I want to answer each and every one but I wonder if the folks at home realize how difficult it is to sit down and gather up your mind long enough to write one whole sentence. I often have to read it over to get the idea again.
The little picture you made was a corker. It explained everything and in case I should slip off the edge of a balloon and strike there some where I would know right where to begin cultivating or swinging the hoe. You ought to be drawing for the movies.
[Here in the letter Norm has drawn two panels of cartoons. In the top panel, he entitled “En Americk” he writes “Stone”, “Bang,” depicting his bro/our gramps back home shooting a woodchuck with the family rifle as the chuck emerges from its hole. The bottom panel Norm has entitled “In Frauncia,” depicting him shooting “Un Alleman” (French for “German” soldier) as the enemy emerges from his hole. In both cases the middle part of each panel shows a dead woodchuck and a dead German. Norman really has changed his tone since those early couple letters written before leaving American soil, and is likely suffering from some kind of battle fatigue. He and his wife Bonny never had children. Wonder if the War had anything to do with it.]
Well – I’ve puttered with that and will endeavor to write a little more. Even when everything is seemingly tranquil It’s hard to collect.
“They have a few “made in America” mowing machines and very few rakes, everything else here was patented by Moses.”
-Norm on France’s outdated farm implements
Now you are haying it. I feel strong and would like nothing better than to mowing up a load of it now. If you could only see these Frenchmen haying. They have a few “made in America” mowing machines and very few rakes, everything else here was patented by Moses. Can you imagine their old scythes with a straight stick for a handle like this [Norm draws three types of old fashioned farm tools], and a hoe of this type, weighs a ton, and an axe.
These just give you and idea. I threw off a load of hay for an old fellow one day, had a five tined straight backed seven foot fork, the most awkward thing even hung up.
What gets me is the way they live tho, the houses and barns all one. When they clean the stables everything is piled between the buildings and the street highway (there are no homes in the country, all live in town). But as I say everybody has it there and it’s some right as you enter the village. Of course I am not witnessing these rights all the time but have done so many times.
I said you would be haying now, you are probably sailing over the highways of America if the sun shines as bright there as it is here. I’m glad you have the car, I think it will mean a lot of pleasure for you all and it will be especially fine for Jack while he is recovering. I didn’t know he had been so terribly sick until he was on his way to recovery for those letter reached me before some that were previously written. I do not let my self worry for I know I could do no good.
Do you ever go swimming now Stone? I have inched in twice this summer, but it was quite sometime ago and the water was thick with chills. I shook like a honey bees wings but I liked it.
I told you that I had taken out insurance. A policy should have been sent on. Anything else that I may have will be accounted for by papers in my trunk.
Well, brother and sister, I must close this and get it ready to send out when they collect mail. I think of you all many many times each day and am conceited enough to feel that you think of your brothers in the ranks accordingly too. I send dearest love to all and if Bonny is with you and within phone reach give my love to her too, tell her I want to see her. Again I wish you every possible happiness and contentment. I am going to do my beset here and do it absolutely fearlessly. I know I can do our share, while I would like to be brushing sides with you through it all yet I’m glad everything is just as it is for I feel that it’s all for the bst. They need you there, they need me here. I was conscripted into the service but I’m glad I’m here.
Write when you can for your letters mean much to us fellows. Happiness, utmost happiness to you always.
Ever sincerely your brother
Norm
In this final letter Norm wrote the letterhead now reads “On Active Service with the American Expeditionary Forces”
Dec. 22, 1918
Dear Nan, -- Thousands of miles away you may be in church now. Here it has seemed but little like Sunday, for we have just finished our afternoon football practice. We had quite a work out and I have an extra large thumb to show for it. But that’s nothing. I don’t know why I play as I do for I resign absolutely as a candidate for the divisional team they are picking out. I cannot seem to get into it as I did a few years ago. The affects of old Jerry’s gas do not seem to pass off as I would like to see them and then too I had a mice little attack of influenza the second time I went to the hospital. Concerning that I have never written to the home folk for it would only have caused them so much more unnecessary worry. I was pretty sick when I first came down with it but it cleared up quickly [this was the time when some 18 million people died of flu around the world].
I still have considerable cough for that reason I realize more than ever how foolish I was to come on this trip. The lieutenant asked me if I would try out and I told him I just as soon try. First thing I knew they told me a truck was waiting for me, to get my full equipment ready to go. So here I am. I’m living like a lord (in comparison with the way we used to live) and the shack we sleep in has a little stove in it.
Rain, it rains here every day and you just cannot imagine such mud, a thick paste every where you go and in many places it comes half way to your shoe tops. I think I can safely say I haven’t had dry feet since I left the hospital, only as they get dry during the night. In the morning on goes the wet shoes. But you know we do not mind it, we’re used to it now and if I don’t have stiff joints in after years then I never will regret this.
Only the one delivery of mail here. I had since Sept., two letters from Bonny, one from Muz, one from dad and one from Libba coming that day. Mother is her letter said it was hard to keep up courage with Elizabeth sick in N.Y., Carley in a hospital, John out but a short time from his terrible sickness and at that time I was confined. I’m all right now and I wish I could fix it so no one would ever worry a minute about me.
But how I have wondered about Carley and Elizabeth, and are they alright now? That’s the question that is on my mind. How sincerely I hope they are. I cannot bear to think of their being seriously sick. Elizabeth didn’t mention in her letter. How often I have wondered about Neil too, if he was taken ashore into the battles.
I can only hope that he is well and happy. No one can ever know how thankful I am that neither of my brothers ever reached this side. When we would be pretty weary I used to think the more we do the less others will hae to do, and that one thought kept up my courage. Can you imagine how a fellow would feel when he saw the shells falling thick and fast along the line and he knew his brother was there? If you can then you know why I’m glad they were in America.
Only three days before Christmas, and they will pass quickly. I fully expect to be here at that time and we are going to contribute five francs apiece to the mess fund in order that we may have a little extra to eat that day. I don’t know what it will be but a change will go good. And incidentally, my money is running very low for I haven’t had any pay since July.
Libba [the oldest Feeter sister]said she would ba in N.Y. at Christmas time and expected to be home for New Years day, and I sincerely hope both and and Carley may be there too. Won’t it be a happy meeting if you all gather around the home table again. As I think of it all Nan, it seems to me that father and mother have had the hardest battles of all. They care more for us than we care for ourselves and they have suffered for ever discomfiture that they know we were encountering. So often I think of the part dear little Marian [the youngest Feeter sister] has played too, the only one there to comfort them during these many long weeks and months. She used to be my “little” sister, only a girl in every way. In a letter I had from you long ago you told me she had changed so completely, had grown into womanhood.
I presume we will all find many changes in each other but there mustn’t be too many for, as I look back, it seems as if you were all about perfect when I left you.
If Carley has not been already mustered out I hope he will be shortly, and Nan, you know there is no end to the happiness I wish you both. I hope too that John will soon be released from the service. Probably Neil has considerable time to serve yet. On Christmas day I will be thinking of you all wishing you a bright and merry time, and I trust that each day of the New Year may bring glad tidings to each and every one of you. Kindly remember me to your family with wishes for health and happiness, wishes that their every wanting may be granted.
I send love to you, your husband and all those I left behind.
Norm
We all are longing to get back to God’s country.
Order of Battle of the 305th MG Battalion:
2nd Army Corps
77th Division (Upton) - Major General George B. Duncan, commanding; Major W. N. Haskell, Adjutant-General
153rd Brigade Infantry - Brigadier General Edward Wittenmayer
305th Infantry Regiment
306th Infantry Regiment
305th Machine Gun Battalion
154th Brigade Infantry - Brigadier General Evan M. Johnson
307th Infantry Regiment
308th Infantry Regiment
306th Machine Gun Battalion
152nd Brigade, Field Artillery - Brigadier General Thomas H. Reeves
304th Field Artillery Regiment
305th Field Artillery Regiment
306th Field Artillery Regiment
302nd Trench Mortar Battery
Engineer Troops - 302d Regiment
Signal Troops - 302d Battalion
Division Units - 77th Division Headquarters Troop; 304th Machine Gun Battalion
HENRY JAMES JONES
Yaphank
305th Machine Gun Battalion
Henry James Jones. Photo from the Veterans of Foreign Wars post at Medford.
Henry James Jones
305th Machine Gun Battalion
Private 1st Class
Yaphank
Henry James Jones was one of eight children born to John and Maria Jones of Yaphank. Their home was on the hill overlooking Mill Road, just west of the Veteran's Place. The Jones' seventy-five acre farm ran from Mill Road to Gerard Road on the north side and past Carman's River on the west. Growing up, Henry attended the one room schoolhouse in Yaphank.
In October of 1917, Henry Jones was drafted into the 77th Division of the United States Army. He did not have to travel far: the newly erected Camp Upton was only minutes away. After months of training, Jones was assigned to the 305th Machine Gun Battalion, which was part of the 77th Division. The unit proudly marched down 5th Avenue in New York City on Washington's Birthday. His was the first unit to leave Camp Upton for France.
On March 29, 1918, the troops embarked on the ship, Megantic, a White Star Liner. Twelve days later, the battalion arrived at Liverpool in England. The men then boarded trains to Dover, overlooking the English Channel.
The men were hurriedly loaded onto a boat; after crossing the Channel, they arrived at Calais, France. From there, they were sent to La Panne for additional training.
The 305th Machine Gun Battalion was assigned to the 39th Division of the British Army. The 39th had the job of preparing the battalion for combat, which included training the Americans in such things as gas mask procedures and using the Vickers Machine Gun.
Members of the British 39th Division teaching the Americans to work with machine guns.
After completing their training, the battalion moved to the Lorraine Sector. This was a relatively quiet sector, and the men were able to prepare for the combat they would soon see. The machine gunners were issued Colt 45 automatic pistols and spent time in the trenches. They began to work with a French machine gun called a Hotchkiss. It took some time, but the men became accustomed to and grew to like this gun that they would take into combat. The men also quickly learned the sound of the Klaxon Horn, which was used to warn them of a gas attack.
On August 5, the men of the 305th packed into railroad cars. As the train rolled away, the cars roared with the words of an old song, "Where do we go from here, boys, where do we go from here?" The young men soon learned that "here" was the "hell hole of Vesle," as it became known to many.
The next day, Jones and his battalion were loaded onto trucks and transported to the front. They reunited with other elements of the 77th Division en route to a place called Chateau Thierry. The 77th was relieving the badly depleted United States 4th Division, which had pushed the Germans across the Vesle River.
On August 11, nearly all the men attended a church service where, somewhat prophetically, the men sang, "Nearer My God to Thee." After this, the men made their way to the river in valley of the Vesle. The Germans occupied strong positions on the hills across the river. As daylight faded, the men pressed on, passing the lifeless forms of men and horses. When they approached the river, they set up their machine guns. No system of trenches existed, so each man dug a hole to conceal himself from the enemy.
Despite being well concealed, Jones' battalion suffered casualties from German machine guns the next day. For four days, the troops endured constant machine gun strafing, artillery fire and dreaded gas attacks. Some men described the mustard gas as smelling like crushed onions. On August 16, the 305th Machine Gun Battalion got some relief from the repeated gas attacks: other members of the 77th Division were sent in so Jones' battalion could recuperate.
A week later, the 305th was sent back to the line to prepare for the push to drive the Germans out of the valley. The push began when the 77th artillery began to blast the hills occupied by the Germans. Jones, as part of Company B, went "over the top," as the barrage ended. The Company crossed the river and made its way up the hill. They settled into the trenches formerly occupied by the Germans, and kept the enemy away.
The men were pulled out of the line on September 14 to prepare for an advance that many hoped would end the war, the Battle of the Argonne Forest. This would be the greatest battle of the war. The Argonne Forest was thirty-nine miles of heavily wooded deep ravines, abrupt ridges, and thick underbrush. This was a place that Julius Caesar went around and Napoleon avoided; now, however, the Americans were planning to go straight through this ominous forest.
On September 25, Jones' battalion set out to relieve weary French troops. After waiting in trenches, the Americans began their advance at six o'clock, zero hour. Jones and Company B, weighed down with machine guns, tripods, ammunition and backpacks, found it difficult to keep up with the infantry. Nevertheless, they crossed "no man's land" and ventured into the infamous Argonne forest.
The Americans saw some of the fiercest fighting of the war in the Argonne. Forced into a ravine by devastating enemy fire on September 26, Company B made their way out only to face deadly machine gun fire, hand grenades, trench mortars and snipers. Many members of the company lost their lives that day. Fred Harris, a friend of Jones, was the only survivor of the squad that he was leading. Despite such losses, the battalion continued to press deeper into the Argonne. Finally, after weeks of fighting, they pushed the Germans out of the forest.
The 305th Machine Gun Battalion finally got relief on October 18, when the 78th Division arrived. As the men of the 305th gathered at a camp near Florent, they were shocked to see how many of their friends and fellow soldiers did not make it out of the Argonne Forest. For ten days, the men spent their time at camp cleaning the machine guns and drilling. They received new uniforms and got some much-needed rest. The men were in high spirits, feeling like the war was nearly over. In the evenings, each company took turns entertaining the rest of the battalion by putting on shows or singing songs. The men eagerly anticipated receiving three-day passes before returning to the front, but then news came that all leaves and furloughs were cancelled. The men took this news hard; they were being sent back into the line for what would be the last push of the war.
Marching through the night, the men made their way back through the Argonne Forest to their last positions. The road was littered with dead German soldiers, machine guns and other equipment, all evidence of the terrible struggle that had taken place.
On the night of October 31, Company B took its position near the top of the hills outside St. Juvin. Henry Jones was assigned to the machine gun with a friend, Fred Harris, and two other men, Privates Fitzgerald and Siff. At five o'clock the next morning, November 1, their Lieutenant gave the order to go over the top.
The gun crew went over in the face of terrible shellfire. Crawling along the ground, they made their way forward. In an instant, Jones was killed when a shell hit near the squad. Clement J. Burger also of Company B, made this notation in his diary.
November 1, 1918
In the morning of we met the enemy (at Champsuelle) and proceeded to dig in. Our gunner Henry Jones was killed when a shell fell in our midst at 6:00 am.
Machine gun firing at two Germans who are attempting to set up a machine gun on the road to Champigneulle.
305th Machine Gun Battalion, 77th Division. St. Juvin, Ardennes, France. Nov. 1, 1918
This final push did, however, end the war: the Armistice was signed on November 11, 1918.
Henry James Jones was buried in an isolated grave outside of St. Juvin. His body was later moved to the Meuse-Argonne American Cemetery at Meuse, France, in 1922.
Aerial view of the Meuse-Argonne American Cemetery and Memorial.
In June of 1930, Henry's mother, Maria Jones, visited her son's gravesite as part of the Gold Star Mothers Pilgrimage, a U.S. government program that paid the travel expenses for mothers and widows whose sons and husbands were killed overseas during the war. The Jones family had the option of returning his body to America, but they chose to leave him alongside his comrades in France.
Gravesite of Private 1st Class, Henry James Jones.
The Jones family placed a monument to Henry in the Yaphank Cemetery. The monument was made from a stone at Yaphank Lake. As a young boy, Henry Jones was fond of jumping off this stone into the lake. His family thought it to be a tribute to his memory. Shortly after the war ended, the Veterans of Foreign Wars post in Medford named their post in honor of Henry James Jones.
The Jones family continued to live in Yaphank. Henry's father John served Brookhaven Town for over forty years as a polling place inspector. He also served the Yaphank school district as a trustee or clerk for more than forty years. Many "old-timers" still remember his son Tobe (David), who operated an apple orchard on Mill Road.
My name is Clement J. Burger
Rank Private First Class (1695866)
Company B 305 Machine Gun Battalion
American Expeditionary Force
In case of accident, notify:
Mrs. Clement J. Burger
44 Buffalo Ave
Brooklyn N. Y.
March 28, 1918
Left Camp Upton Just as the bugle blew for 6:00 am. We marched away from the barracks, boarded the train at the station and bid goodbye to camp Upton at 6:55 am.
March 29, 1918 - Good Friday
Passed through Haverhill at 6:20 am. Arrived at Portland Maine, the port of embarkation. At 10:00 am, boarded the British Transport S. J. Megautic and sailed at 3:00 pm.
March 30, 1918
Docked 3:15 at Halifax, awaiting other ships and convoy.
April 1, 1918
Sailed from Halifax 4:00 pm.
April 12, 1918
Arrived Liverpool 5:00 am. Left Liverpool 4:00 pm.
April 13, 1918
Arrived Dover 6:00 am. Rested at Fort Dover and had breakfast. Sailed from Dover 12:00 noon and arrived Calais, France 2:00 pm, and went to Rest Camp #6 and remained there till 12:00 noon April 15.
April 15, 1918
Left Rest camp #6 at 12:00 noon, and arrived La Paune at 3:30 pm about a mile from Nordausque.
May 28, 1918
Left La Paune 2:00 pm, arrived Bonniuques 5:00 pm.
May 30, 1918
Left Bonniuques 7:30 am. Arrived Hermeliugen 12:00 noon.
June 1, 1918
Left Hermeliugen 7:20 am. Arrived Le Hamel 12:30 pm.
June 6, 1918
Left Le Hamel 1:00 pm.
June 7, 1918
Arrived Leyinghem 1:00 am, a forced march of about 20 miles. Left Leyinghem 8:00 am. Arrived at St. Maudville 6:00 pm, a hike of 18 miles.
June 8, 1918
Left St. Maudeville 9:35 am. Arrived at Mamin 4:00 pm, a distance of 9 miles.
June 10, 1918
Left Mamin, 6:00 pm and hiked to Hesdin arriving there at 7:15 pm, a distance of 3.5 miles. Boarded a train and left Hesdin at 9:20 pm.
June 13, 1918
Arriving at Chatel from Hesdin, a distance of over 600 miles at 6:00 am. Left Chatel at 7:30 am and hiked into St. Maurice a distance of 15 mi.s, arriving there at 4:45 pm.
June 17, 1918
Left St. Maurice at 9:20 pm.
June 18, 1918
After walking through wilderness, arrived at Fontenay at 1:00 am June 18.
June 19, 1918
Left Fontenay at 6:15 am June 19 to go to machine gun school at Frambois, arriving there at 10:15 am, a distance of 9 miles.
June 24, 1918
Left Frambois at 2:45 pm in lorries, and arrived at Reberry at 4:45 pm. Took positions in trenches at midnight that night, my first day in reserve trenches. Also spent rest of week there till Sunday June 30th.
July 1, 1918
We pulled out at 9:30 pm and took up a position behind Aucuvillers at 2:00 am.
July 10, 1918
Relieved by Company D at 11:30 pm.
July 11, 1918
Left trenches at 2 am. Stopped one day at Reberry and continued on to the Rest Camp outside Galincourt, arriving there at 10:30 am.
July 16, 1918
Went to Baccarat on pass.
July 20, 1918
Went to gas chamber at Aquail.
July 22, 1918
Left Rest Camp at 8:30 pm. Arrived at position (in trenches) outside Reberry 10:30 pm.
August 3, 1918
Relieved in trenches by Machine Gun Company 147 Regiment 37 Division, 11:30 pm.
August 4, 1918
Left trenches 12:45 am, and hiked to Badmenil a distance of about 7 miles, arriving there 4:10 am. Left Badmenil 8:45 pm and hiked to Haddonville (just outside Gerbevillers) a distance of 13 miles.
August 5, 1918
Arriving Haddonville at 4:00 am.
August 8, 1918
Left Haudonville Aug 1:30 pm and arrived at Blaiville at 5:00 pm, a distance of 11 km. Entrained there acting as Machine Gun guard for Company A and B of 302 Engineers. Train left Blaiville at 8:30 pm.
August 9, 1918
Arrived at St. Simeon at 5:00 pm. Hiked to Chaufry a distance of 1 km, and camped there for the night.
August 10, 1918
Left Chaufry 11:00 am and arrived Maux 4:00 pm a distance of 13 km. Left Maux at 8:00 pm.
August 11, 1918
Arrived at Charle, 12:45 am, a distance of nearly 35 km. Left Charle, 10:30 pm, and after hiking 25 km, pulled into a field outside of --______ on Aug 12, 11:30 am.
August 12, 1918
Left this spot at midnight and hiked to a woods beyond Sergy, a distance of 21 km, arriving there at 9:00 am, Aug 13.
August 13, 1918
Left the woods 10:30 pm and arrived in reserve lines between Mont Notre Dame and Chuyon Aug 14, 4:00 am, a distance of 8 km.
August 21, 1918
Moved up to front lines behind Vesle river at 10:00 pm.
August 25, 1918
Relieved in front lines 1:00 am, and immediately started back near Nesles, in the rear of the sector arriving there at 4:00 am, a hike of about 10 km. (casual-ties: reserve line 2 gassed 1 wounded, front lines 1 killed and none wounded)
August 27, 1918
Left this woods 9:30 am and hiked about 6 km to a point in a woods not far from Fere-en-Jardenois and encamped there at noon.
August 29, 1918
Left this spot and went to hospital to try to get a cure for scabies on but hospital refused us and were turned back to the Company. Hospital was about 3 km away at Ville-sur-Fue.
Sept 2, 1918
Company left this woods on Sept 2 at 6:00 pm and took up position in support lines at 1:00 am Sept 3 somewhere near the last location a bit to the left and a bit up front.
Sept 4, 1918
Left support lines at 6:00 pm and gave chase to Jerry arriving at a position at 5:00 am, Sept 5.
Sept 5, 1918
Took up a position near ______ Sept 5 at noon. Some drive. Shifted to front lines that night and dug in.
September 6, 1918
Started to place machine guns preparatory to an attack at 4:30 pm, and was wounded doing so at 5:00 pm. Continued on until guns were placed, then received first aid in front.
September 7, 1918
At 3:00 am, walked to Regiment Headquar-ters, leaving there in ambulance at 10 am. After receiving A.T.S at a dressing station finally landed at American Red Cross Hospital #110 at Coingy 12:30 pm.
September 8, 1918
Evacuated this hospital at 11:00 pm and boarded American Red Cross Train for Paris.
September 9, 1918
Arriving at a station called La Chappelle at 9:00 am, and went by ambulance to Neuilly, American Red Cross Hospital #1.
September 16, 1918
Made a trip around Paris in a bus.
September 17, 1918
Left main building and went into an annex merican Red Cross Hospital 101 at #2 Bed du Chateau. Visited Paris almost daily.
September 27, 1918
Discharged from American Red Cross Hosp-ital 101 at 11:00 and went to Assistant Provost Marshall's office in Paris to get orders. Stayed overnight at YMCA Hotel.
September 28, 1918
Left Paris at 8:00 am.
September 29, 1918
Arrived Toul at 7:00 am. Left Toul at 6:30 pm and arrived Maisons at 7:00. Put up overnight
September 30, 1918
In the morning at 9:00 am, hiked 6 km to a replacement camp at 1st Army Corps outside the village.
October 3, 1918
Left the replacement camp at 11:00 pm and boarded a train at Maisons leaving there at 2:00 pm.
October 4, 1918
Arrived at St. Dizier at 9:00 am. Left St. Dizier by train at 8:30 pm.
October 5, 1918
Arrived at Les Estilles at 2:00 am. Slept in barn there till 11:00 am, then started out in a lorry for my Company. Lost in woods trying to locate my Company and finally picked up by Storch in G.S wagon and landed in picket line at 9:00 pm.
October 12, 1918
Left this picket line on at 1:00 pm, and rode 14 km in G.S to Company's old picket line arriving there at 6:00 pm.
October 13, 1918
Left the next morning at 9:00 am, and arrived at Company quarters in wood at 4:00 pm, a distance of about 15 km. Pulled up into support lines at 6:00 pm.
October 15, 1918
Left the support lines, being relieved by the 78 Division at 6:00 pm and pulled back 3 km until Company assembled there.
October 16, 1918
The next morning we marched 14 km to a German Rest Camp in the forest arriving there about 2:00 pm.
October 17, 1918
Not being able to put the entire Company under roof we pulled out the next morning Oct 17 at 9:00 pm and went to another small German camp about 3 km away.
October 20, 1918
At 9:00 am we pulled away from this place and hiked 18 km to a French Rest Camp M Florent, arriving there about 3:00 pm.
October 30, 1918
Left this camp at 2:00 pm, and hiked to a place in the woods about 4 km from Marq, arriving there at 10:00 pm, a distance of about 21 km.
October 31, 1918
Took up position outside St. Juviu at 9 pm
November 1, 1918
In the morning of we met the enemy (at Champsuelle) and proceeded to dig in. Our gunner Henry Jones was killed when a shell fell in our midst at 6:00 am.
November 2, 1918
The attack opened at daybreak, and we went over the top with the machine gun on our back, advanced 10 km and stopped for the night on the main road to Buzancy.
November 3, 1918
We were relieved of front line duty and hiked over the fields to a RR cut in the hills made by a railroad outside of St. Pierremont.
November 4, 1918
Remained here all day.
November 5, 1918
At 4:00 am, we again started over the top with machine guns, and clearing the woods and fields we finally landed in a position outside La Basace and mounted guns all night.
November 6, 1918
We pulled out at daybreak and pulled back a bit only to start forward at noon, and arrived outside of the town of Flaba and put up for the night there. The 5th & 6th it rained all the time and we had no sleep whatsoever.
November 7, 1918
Left Flaba and pushed up forward and anchored in a barnyard outside of Antrucourt. Left this barnyard and moved up front further.
November 10, 1918
At 7:00 pm, billeted in a German Hospital outside Antrucourt.
November 11, 1918
Reported that armistice started at 11:00 am. No one has any faith in rumors(s) and it took us a long time to grasp the situation we were in.
November 12, 1918
Relieved by French Division and pulled out of the front line at 11:30 am, hiked 17 km to St. Pierremont, arriving there at 7:00 pm.
November 13, 1918
Left St. Pierremont at 2:00 pm.
November 14, 1918
Arrived Beaumont at 9:00 am, and arrived at front line at Luzy a distance of 4 km, at 1:00 pm.
November 18, 1918
Left Luzy at 9:30 am and arrived Beaumont 1:00 pm, a hike of 9 km.
November 19, 1918
Left Beaumont at 7:15 am and arrived Buzancy at 12:15 pm, a distance of 17 km.
November 20, 1918
Left Buzancy at 9:30 am and arrived Chatel Cherry at 3:00 pm, a distance of 17 km.
November 21, 1918
Left Chatel Cherry at 9:00 pm and arrived Tour de Paris at 3:30 pm, a distance of 16 km.
November 22, 1918
Left Tour de Paris at 10:00 am and arrived Locheres at 1:00 pm, a distance of 9 km.
November 23, 1918
Went to Les Islettes to be deloused, a trip of 14 km there and back to Locheres.
November 25, 1918
Hiked 12 km to Le Claon where the fight-ing men of the division were reviewed and D.S.C. medals were awarded.
November 26, 1918
At 8:00 am the battalion left Locheres and hiked 21.5 km to Grigny, arriving there at 2:00 pm.
November 27, 1918
Left Grigny at 7:30 am and arrived Belval 10:00 am, a distance of 7.5 km.
November 28, 1918 Thanksgiving Day
Left Belval at 8:30 am and arrived Tremont at 5:00 pm. Think of it, Thanksgiving Day and hiking 33 km, and having canned corned beef and hardtack for your dinner.
November 29, 1918
Left Tremont 8:10 am, and hiked 17 km to Brettencourt, arriving there at 1:00 pm.
November 30, 1918
Rested in Brettencourt, went on pass to St. Dizier.
December 1, 1918
Left Brettencourt at 9:00 am and arrived at Valleret at 4:00 pm, a hike of 27.5 km.
December 2, 1918
Left Valleret at 8:00 am, and hiked 9.5 km to Dom Martin le Franc, arriving there at 12:45 pm.
December 3, 1918
Left Dom Martin at 8:40 am and arrived Doulaincourt 1:00, a distance of 18 km.
December 4, 1918
Left Doulaincourt 9:00 am, hiked 20 km to Gillencourt arriving there at 3:00 pm.
December 13, 1918
Left Gillencourt at 6:00 am and rode in a G.S Wagon to Bricon arriving there about 7:45. The train left Bricon 8:00 pm.
December 14, 1918
The train arrived Aix Les Bains at 4:00 pm Dec 14. Quartered in Hotel Europe.
December 17, 1918
Visited Chainbery.
December 23, 1918
Left Aix Les Baines at 8:55 pm and arrived Bricon at 2:00 am Christmas Day.
Dec 25, 1918 - Christmas Day
Left Bricon at 6:45 am and hiked to the Company area at Gillancourt, a distance of 12 km arriving there at 9:00 am Christmas day.
February 9, 1919
Left Gillancourt Sunday Feb 9th at 4:00 am and hiked 12 km to Bricon, arriving there at 7:15 am. Boarded train and left Bricon at 10:00 am.
February 11, 1919
Arrived at a station called Pince-Precigne at 11:30 am. Detrained and finally leaving station at 12:30 am and hiked to Precigne 4 km away, where we were billeted in a Chateau belonging to some French Count.
February 24, 1919
Reviewed by General Pershing on a field near Solesmes about 13 km from Precigne. Hiked there and back.
March 8, 1919
Went to athletic meet at Parci by auto truck, Meet won by (us) 305 Machine Gun Battalion.
March 15, 1919
Went to Division meet at Parci.
March 21, 1919
Due to heavy cold confined to quarters.
April 5, 1919
Marked duty on Sat April 5.
April 14, 1919
Left Precigne at 10:00 am and started on our way to the seaport. After hiking 9 km to Sable, arriving there at 12:30 am. We finally entrained and left at 3:25 pm.
April 15, 1919
Arrived at Brest at 10:30 am, after a restless night on a train. Hiked 5 km to Camp Ponetauzen, arriving there at 1:30 pm. Deloused and had final embarkation inspections, finally getting that long looked for command "Homeward Bound".
April 18, 1919
Hiked from camp back to Brest on Friday April 18. Good Friday at that. Took a lighter out to our transport, the giant Cunnard SS Asquitania. Sailed from Brest at 5:00 pm, and started in a race to New York with SS Leviathan which left Brest at the same time, with units of the 42nd Division.
April 24, 1919
Had a great trip across, finally seeing Scotland Light at 7:00 am April 24th. Started up the channel and anchored in The Narrows till 11:00 am. Got started again and went slowly up the bay and river, finally docking at 2:00 pm. Went ashore and boarded a ferry boat leaving pier 54 at 6:00 pm, and landing at Long Island City at 6:45. Boarded a LIRR train and left the station at 7:05 pm arriving at Camp Mills at 8:00 pm. Went to barracks about a mile from the RR station. Thus it completes my one and only trip as a member of the American Expeditionary Force from Home to Home.
May 6, 1919
Paraded in New York on before 2 million people.
May 9, 1919
Mustered out of the service.
Transcribed from the original notebook, some of the names of towns are best guesses, as alternative spellings or slang names may have been used. These are still under study. I haven't been able to find all the places listed on the maps I have available.
C. D. Russell, Dec 1996
----------------------------------------
Bank Acct.
Balance Feb 2 - 1918 113.02
37 FJ Burger 2/2 20.-
38 --..-- 2/6 Cash 10.-
39 Loeser 2/6 Dec Bill 30.22
40 A & S 2/12 Jan Bill 10.59
41 LI.SW. 2/16 12.-
42 Loeser 2/16 Jan Bill 21.18
43 FJ Burger 3/1 20.-
F Erbo 3/2 check 78.33
45 A & S 3/8 --..-- 22.89
Balance 17.78
191.35 191.35
----------------------------------------
Salary and Monies received in France
May 6 Mar &
April Salary 9.50 55.75
June 15 Govt Refund 5.-- 28.50
June 28 May Salary 6.30 33.50
July 21 June Salary 6.30 35.50
Aug 2 Mrs Haug 5.-- 25.--
Sept 15 Miss Osborne 100.--
Sept 16 Red Cross 45.--
Oct 21 July Salary 7.54 43.--
" 21 Mr Hayman 5.-- 27.50
" 27 Check 25.-- 13.75
Nov 24 Aug Sep
Oct Salary 44.70 243.50
Dec 12 Nov Salary 14.90 81.--
13 Subsistance
Money 7.-- 38.--
895.78
Jan 10 Dec Salary 14.90 81.--
15 Xmas present
from Kaul 2.--
19 St Benedicts
Xmas Present 3.-- 16.35
20 Check 25.-- 135.--
Feb 6 Mrs Elwell 1.-- 1127.50
7 Salary Jan 14.90 81.--
Mar 10 Salary Feb 14.90 81.--
--Building and Loan Assn
Jan 1 - 1918 654.76
Jan Div 18.19
March 6 20.--
July 1, 1918 692.95
July Div 20.??
Sept 11- 40.--
Jan 1 - 1919 753.14
Jan Div. 21.39
Feb 26 30.--
----------------------------------------
date from time dist mode destination
** FLANDRE **
4/13 Dover 2:00 ? mi ship Calais
4/13 Calais 3:30 7 mi Hike La paune rst cmp #6
5/28 La paune 3:00 6 mi Hike Bonniques
5/30 Bonniques 4:30 10 mi Hike Hermeliugen
6/1 Hermeliugen 5:10 12 mi hike Le Hamel
6/1 Le Hamel 12:00 20 mi fmarch Leyiughem
6/7 Leyiughem 10:00 18 mi hike St Maudville
6/8 St Maudville 6:25 9 mi hike Mamin
6/10 Mamin 1:15 3.5 mi hike Hesdin
6/10 Hesdin 60:00 600 mi train Chatel
** LORRAINE **
6/13 Chatel 9:15 15 mi hike St. Maurice
6/17 St. Maurice 3:40 7 mi hike Fontenay
6/19 Fontenay 4:00 9 mi hike Frambois M.G. School
6/24 Frambois 2.00 ? mi lorries Reberry trenches
7/1 Reberry 4:30 10 mi hike beh Ailevillers
7/1 Ailevillers 2:00 4 mi hike Girancourt rst camp
7/16 on pass ____ ? km ____ Baccarat
7/20 gas chamber ____ ? km ____ Aquail
7/22 Girancourt 2:00 ? km hike os. Reberry trenches
8/4 Reberry 3:25 7 mi hike Badmenil
8/4 Badmenil 7:15 13 mi hike Haddonville
os. Gerberviller
8/8 Haddonville 3:30 11 km hike Bainville aux Miroirs
8/8 Bainville 20:30 ? km train St Simeon
** LOCATION ? **
8/9 St Simeon 0:25 1 km hike Chaufry
8/10 Chaufry 5:00 13 km hike Maux
8/10 Maux 16:45 35 km hike Charle
8/11 Charle 13:30 25 km hike ______
8/12 ______ 9:00 21 km hike Sergy
8/13 Sergy 5:30 8 km hike M Notre Dame/Chuyon
8/21 Mt Notre Dame ?:00 ? km hike front lines-Vesle Rvr
8/21 Vesle River 3:00 10 km hike Nesles
8/27 Nesles 2:30 6 km hike Fere-en-Jardonois
9/2 F-en-Jardenois 7:00 18 km hike Support lines
9/29 Hospital ____ ? km ____ 3 km Ville-sur-fue
9/4 Support lines 11:00 ? km hike Where wounded
9/7 where wounded 8:30 ? km hike Coigny RC Hosp
9/8 Coigny 10:00 ? km train Paris
** ILE DE FRANCE **
9/28 Paris 23:00 205 km train Toul
** LORRAINE **
9/29 Toul 0:30 ? km hike Neuves-Maisons
10/3 Maisons ?:00 6 km hike outside Maisons
10/3 os. Maisons ?:00 6 km hike Maisons
10/4 Maisons 19:00 60 km train St Dizier
10/4 St Dizier 5:30 ? km train Les Estilles
** LORRAINE **
10/5 Les Estilles 10.00 ? km lorry picket line
10/12 picket line 8:00 ? km G.S wagon German rest cmp
10/16 Ger rest camp ?:00 3 km hike sm German rest cmp
10/20 sm Ger rst cmp 6:00 18 km hike French rest camp
10/30 French rst cmp 8.00 21 km hike 4km from Marq
10/31 os. Marq ?:00 ? km St Juniu
11/1 St Juniu ?:00 ? km met enemy Champsuelle
11/2 Champsuelle ?:00 10 km advance main rd to Buzancy
11/3 rd to Buzancy ?:00 ? km hike St Pierremont
11/5 St Pierremont ?:00 ? km advance La Basace
11/5 La Basace ?:00 ? km advance Flaba
11/7 Flaba ?:00 ? km advance Autrucourt front line
11/10 Autrucourt ?:00 ? km hike German hospital
11/12 German Hosp 7:30 17 km hike St Pierremont
11/13 St Pierremont 18:00 ? km hike Beaumont
11/14 Beaumont 4:00 4 km hike Luzy front line
11/18 Luzy 3:30 9 km hike Beaumont
11/19 Beaumont 5:00 17 km hike Buzancy
11/20 Buzancy 5:30 17 km hike Chatel Cherry
11/21 Chatel Cherry 6:30 16 km hike Tour de Paris
11/22 Tour de Paris 3:00 9 km hike Locheres
11/23 Deloused --____ 7 km ____ Les Islettes
11/25 award DSC's ____ 12 km ____ Le Claon
11/26 Locheres 6:00 21.5 km hike grigny
11/27 Grigny 2:30 7.5 km hike Belval
11/28 Belval 8:30 33 km hike Tremont
11/29 Tremont 4:50 17 km hike Brettencourt
11/30 on pass ____ ? km ____ St. Dizier
12/1 Brettencourt 7:00 27.5 km hike Valleret
12/2 Valleret 4:45 9.5 km hike Dom Martin le Franc
12/3 Dom Martin 4:20 18 km hike Douliancourt
12/4 Doulaincourt 6:00 20 km hike Girancourt
12/13 Girancourt 13:45 ? km G.S wagon Bricon
** LOCATION ? **
12/14 Bricon 20:00 ? km train Aix les Bains
12/17 visited ? km ____ Chainbery
12/23 Aix les Bains 29:00 ? km train Bricon
** LORRAINE **
12/25 Bricon 2:15 12 km hike Girancourt
2/9 Girancourt 3:15 12 km hike Bricon Co area
** FLANDRE/ARTOIS **
2/9 Bricon 9:30 train Pince Presigne
French Count's Chateau
2/24 Pershing Review ____ 13 km ____ Solesmes
3/8 athletic meet ____ ? km ____ Parci
3/15 Division meet ____ ? km ____ Parci
4/14 Precigne 2:30 9 km hike Sable
4/14 Sable 18:15 ? km train Brest
** BRETAGNE **
4/15 Brest ? km Camp Pontauzen
4/18 Camp Pontauzen ? km Brest
Uncle Anthony 6/17 9/21PP 12/18PA 1/16
Acrivides 7/17P 8/7 9/18 10/30 12/20PA 12/28 4/6P
Ida Altic 5/26 7/21 9/1 9/21PP 10/13 12/16 12/17PA 1/10 1/10 2/6 3/23 3/10
Antoinette 2/25 3/17 3/20 4/24 5/20 5/31 6/30 7/5P 7/29 8/11 9/8 9/14 9/19PP 10/28 11/24 12/15PA 1/1 1/5 1/13 2/15 3/20
Miss Baudy, Baccarat 9/22
St Benedicts 5/26 12/29
A J Bier 5/2 7/31 9/1 9/21PP 12/17PA 1/31P 3/10 3/27 3/27
H J Bischoff 10/9 12/17PA 1/5 1/22 2/10 2/20 2/21 3/12 3/18 3/19 4/2 4/9
Borer 4/24 7/9 8/17 9/21PP 12/5 12/15PA 1/17 1/26 3/11 3/27
Brklyn Eagle 3/20
Clement (Burger) Jr 7/17P 9/19PP 9/24PP 12/15PA 8/8 10/16 1/2 1/31 3/1P 3/3X 3/21 4/6P
Mom 5/12 8/11 9/19PP 12/10 12/15PA 12/17PC 1/3X 1/31 4/6
Pa 5/23 6/10 7/19 8/5 9/10 9/19PP 10/24 12/15PA 12/17X 1/3X 2/6
Joe Burmel 5/20
Carigg 7/19 8/29 9/25 10/9 12/20PA 3/14P
Catherine 6/22 9/2 9/19 10/13 10/22 12/15PA 12/18 1/2X 1/3X
Clara 5/19 6/10 6/17 7/4 7/16 7/17P 7/29 8/28P 9/19PP 9/20 10/20 0/28 10/29 12/6 12/15PA 1/3 1/5 1/9 1/20 2/26 3/1P 4/6P
Mrs Clemens 6/20P 7/15 9/23PP 11/14 12/28N.R.
Miss Annie Corc. 8/16 9/15 10/22X 9/24PP 12/17PA 1/26 4/6P
Bob Crowell 8/16H 9/1 9/25 11/3 11/19 12/7 12/17PA 1/21 3/27
Mrs Crowell 6/14 8/21 9/21PP 12/17PA 12/19 4/6P
Lill Crowell 4/2 10/23 11/18PA 12/10P 12/18 4/6P
Mrs A Y Day 6/4 7/15 8/21 9/21PP 9/23 11/17 12/15PA 12/23 1/15 2/14 3/7
Ed Dwyer 6/23B 7/18 9/10 12/18PA 4/6P
Miss Martha Eason 7/31 9/24PP 12/20PA
Ellis 6/25B 9/24PP 12/20PA 4/6P
Phil Eck 6/23B 9/23PP 12/20PA 4/6P
Miss Eunice Shea 6/17 8/9 9/24PP 10/20P 10/26 12/17PA 2/22
Ed & Laura 5/31 9/21PP 11/10 12/19PA 12/29 4/6P
Edythe 5/25 8/26 9/21PP 10/22 12/18PA 3/27
Mrs Elwell 5/5 6/11 7/6 9/21PP 10/20 12/18 1/2 1/12 1/12 1/18PA 2/15
Lou Ferber 6/21 7/26 7/29P 9/5 9/5 9/21PP 11/18 12/21 12/21PA 1/4 1/15 1/27 2/18? 2/21 3/20 4/13
Gavin 6/30? 9/21PP 10/11 12/16 12/16PA 2/4 2/4 3/1
Mrs Gehesitz 11/18
F. Gilchrist 4/26 6/4 6/16 7/19 9/19PP 12/16PA 1/3 2/25 2/25 3/19
Grover 6/4 7/17 8/26 9/19PP 12/16PA 1/31P 4/6P
Bill Guthy 7/24P 9/24PP 12/21PA
Morgan Hayes 7/15 7/24 8/2 12/29 1/16
Aunt Della & Arthur Hav. 12/6 12/19PA 4/6P
Hayman 6/17 8/31 9/21PP 10/20 12/16PA 1/31P 4/6P
J J Hickey 7/17P 8/8 9/18 11/17P 12/20PA 4/6P
Hole 5/25 7/12 8/21 9/21PP 12/2 12/2 12/16PA 12/29 1/27 2/20
Johnson 8/16B 9/24PP 12/17PA
Aunt Kate 5/26 6/15 7/15 9/19PP 10/22X 12/17 12/18PA 4/6P
Rev Kaul 5/25 7/14 8/21AM 9/21PP 12/17PA 1/10 1/15 2/16
Mrs Kirby 6/17 8/23 9/23PP 10/22 12/18PA
Ben Kruegler 6/21B 9/24PP
F Lang 7/24P 9/24PP 12/20PA 1/15
Mrs Lang 4/21 6/18 7/9 7/21 9/8 9/8 9/21PP 10/21 11/29 11/28 12/18PA 12/19 1/2 4/6P
Mrs Laughey 4/21 5/8 5/19 6/20 6/27 6/30P 7/5 8/2 8/28P 9/19PP 10/21 12/15PA 3/1
Chaplain Lawson 1/7 2/23
Ray Liver 2/2P 2/2 2/6 2/13 2/16 2/20 2/20 2/23 2/28P 3/3 3/3 3/3 3/3 3/6 3/9 3/10 3/14 3/14 3/14 3/14 3/16 3/19 3/21 3/21 3/21 3/22 3/26 3/29 4/2 4/6P 4/7 4/11 4/12 4/16 4/21 4/28 4/30 5/3 5/5 5/8 5/11 5/12 5/14 5/16 5/18 5/19 5/23 5/26 5/27 5/27 5/27 5/31 6/4 6/5 6/10 6/10 6/10 6/16 6/19B 6/21H 6/23B 6/28 7/2 7/6 7/9 7/11 7/11 7/11 7/11 7/11 7/11 7/14 7/17 7/21 7/25 7/29 7/31 8/2 8/8 8/8 8/8 8/17 8/17 8/17 8/20 8/16B 8/19 8/24 8/25 8/28 9/1 9/4 9/8 9/12 9/14 9/17 9/19PP 9/19 9/20 9/21 9/21 9/21PP 9/21 9/22? 9/24 9/24PP 9/26 9/28 10/7 10/8 10/8 10/8 10/8 10/11 10/16 10/19 10/20 10/22 10/22 10/23 10/28 10/28 10/28 11/16 11/19 11/24 11/26 11/26 12/5 12/10 12/14PA 12/15 12/17PC 12/17 12/17 12/17 12/17 12/19 12/21 12/22 12/23 12/30 12/30 12/30 1/1 1/2 1/4 1/7 1/10 1/10 1/10 1/10 1/13 1/15 1/15 1/16 1/19 1/22 1/25 1/27 1/27 1/27 1/28 1/30 1/31 1/31 1/31 2/12 2/18 2/18 2/18 2/24 2/24
C Lucke 7/26 9/24PP 12/20PA 4/6P
Frank P Lucke 7/24P 9/11 9/24PP 10/26 12/19PA
Frank Jr 5/31 9/19PP 12/14PA 1/3X 1/15 2/28 3/1 4/6P
Aunt Mary 6/19 7/14 12/17PA
Mary Miller 4/6P 4/26 5/18 7/6 9/19PP 9/22 10/23 12/16PA
McCormack 2/13 2/18?
Wm. McDermott 9/2 10/11 12/6 12/20PA 2/5 3/1
McKenna 6/20B 7/17 8/28 9/21 12/2 12/18PA 12/29 1/30 2/22 12/2
Maude 5/15 8/27 9/24PP 10/20P 12/20PA 4/6P
Myrtle 4/24 7/8 8/7 8/7 9/12 9/19PP 10/8 10/9 12/5 12/30 1/15PP 3/7 3/10 3/19 3/20
Josie O'Byrne 12/29
Mike Oneil 12/14PA
Otto 6/23B 9/24PP 9/27 12/5 12/16PA 4/6P
Kath Regan 12/19 12/20PA 4/6P
Rossen 4/21 7/8 9/14P 9/24PP 12/15PA 3/14
Miss Eunice Shea 7/26 8/13 9/19PP 10/26 12/17PA 1/25
Simon 6/22 9/21PP 12/16PA 4/6
Sinclair 9/24PP 12/17PA
Miss Osborn 10/10 12/6 12/17 2/10 10/25 1/24 1/24
Sist Stanislaus 6/22 7/23 9/1 9/21PP 10/23 12/17PA 1/15 2/16
Rev Trauckle 7/17P 8/28 9/24PP 10/25 12/16PA 4/6P
Capt Trumbull 9/22
Turner 4/21 6/30 12/28 2/21 3/3 6/4 letter returned 10/9
Warren 6/20P 9/23PP 12/17PA 3/1P
Will & Della 9/21PP 12/19PA
Williams 6/17 9/23PP 9/29 10/23 10/28 12/18PP 12/19 1/14 1/14 1/14 2/15
date recd ans
Ray 3/31
Ray 4/4, 7, 11, 28, 30
Ray 4/22 5/19 5/19
Ray check 5/3
Ray 5/4, 6, 12, 19, 22, 26
Ray check 5/14
Ray 5/29
Ray 6/2
Ray 6/4
Ray 6/6
Ray 6/19
Ray 6/10
Ray 6/11
Ray 6/16
Ray 6/18
Ray 6/19 7/17 7/17
Ray 6/23 7/17 7/17
Ray 6/30 7/29 7/29
Ray 7/1 7/29 7/29
Ray 6/27 7/31 7/31
Ray 7/28 8/17 8/28
Ray 7/14 8/19 8/19
Ray 7/16 8/19 8/19
Ray 7/21 8/19 8/28
Ray 7/5 8/25 8/25
Ray 7/7 8/25 8/25
Ray 7/16 8/25 8/25
Ray 7/11 8/25 8/25
Ray 7/25 8/26 9/1
Ray 8/5 9/1 9/1
Ray 8/6 9/1 9/1
Ray 8/8 9/1 9/1
Ray 7/31 10/9 10/11
Ray 9/21 10/9 10/11
Ray 9/21 10/9 10/11
Ray 9/18 10/16 10/17
Ray 8/25 10/17 10/17
Ray 8/28 10/17 10/17
Ray 8/29 10/17 10/17
Ray 9/1 10/17 10/17
Ray 9/4 10/17 10/17
Ray 9/6 10/17 10/17
Ray 9/9 10/17 10/17
Ray 9/12 10/17 10/17
Ray 9/15 10/17 10/17
Ray 9/16 10/17 10/17
Ray 9/28 10/21 10/20
Ray 9/29 10/23 10/23
Ray 10/2 10/25 10/28
Ray 10/2 10/25 10/28
Ray 10/3 10/26 10/28
Ray 10/3 10/25 10/27
Ray 10/6 10/28 10/22
Ray 10/8 11/5 10/16
Ray 10/2 11/16 11/19
Ray 10/3 11/16 11/19
Ray 10/19 11/16 11/19
Ray 10/9 11/16 11/19
Ray 10/27 11/16 11/19
Ray 10/23 11/23 11/24
Ray 10/29 11/23 11/24
Ray 11/4 12/5 12/5
Ray 11/6 12/8 12/10
Ray 11/21 12/9 12/10
Ray 11/17 12/11 12/15
Ray 11/19 12/11 12/15
Ray 11/12 12/26 12/28
Ray 11/24 12/26 X
Ray 11/26 12/26 X
Ray CC 11/27 12/26 noans
Ray 12/2 12/26 X
Ray Xmas Pkg 12/26 X
Ray 12/11 12/30 1/1
Ray 12/4 1/3 1/4
Ray 12/8 1/3 X
Ray 12/5 1/7 1/7
Ray 12/21 1/15 1/16
Ray 12/23 1/15 1/16
Ray 12/24 1/15 1/16
Ray 12/13 1/18 1/19
Ray 12/15 1/18 1/19
Ray 12/17 1/18 1/19
Ray 12/20 1/18 1/19
Ray 12/26 1/18 1/22
Ray 12/29 1/18 1/22
Ray 12/30 1/18 1/22
Ray 1/1 1/23 1/25
Ray 1/2 1/23 1/25
Ray 8/11 1/26 1/25
Ray 8/14 1/26 1/25
Ray 1/3 1/26 1/30
Ray 1/8 1/26 1/30
Ray 1/10 1/26 1/30
Ray 1/19 2/3 2/16
Ray 8/17 2/6 2/6
Ray 8/19 2/6 2/6
Ray 8/20 2/6 2/6
Ray 1/12 2/6 2/6
Ray 1/14 2/6 2/6
Ray 1/15 2/6 2/6
Ray 1/17 2/6 2/16
Ray 1/22 2/13 2/16
Ray 1/24 2/17 2/16
Ray 1/26 2/17 2/20
Ray 1/28 2/19 2/20
Ray 1/31 2/22 2/23
Ray 2/2 2/23 2/3
Ray 2/5 2/25 2/3
Ray BC 2/7 2/25 2/3
Ray 2/5 2/25 2/3
Ray 2/9 2/28 2/3
Ray 2/12 2/28 2/3
Ray 2/16 3/6 3/6
Ray 2/18 3/6 3/6
Ray 2/24 3/12 3/14
Ray 2/19 3/16 3/19
Ray 2/26 3/17 3/19
Ray 2/28 3/17 3/19
Ray 3/3 3/17 3/19
Ray 3/15 4/2 4/7
Ray 3/23 4/10 4/11
Mom card 4/19 5/19 no ans
Pa 1 4/20 5/19 5/23
Clara 1 4/17 5/19 5/19
Mrs Laughley 4/20 5/19 5/19
Clara 2 4/28 6/17
Antionette 1 4/28 5/31
Ida Altic P 4/30 5/26
Frank jr 1 5/5 5/31
Ed 1 5/7 5/31
Joe Bumel 5/4 5/12 5/20
Antionette P 5/10 7/15P
Harry Altic P 5/10 X
Mrs Laughey 2 5/19 6/20
Antionette 2 5/20 6/20
Mrs Laughley 3 5/25 6/30
Turner P 5/30 6/29 6/30ret
Gavin 1 6/5 6/29 6/30
Clara 3 5/27 7/2 7/4
Mary Miller 1 5/27 7/2 7/6
Pa P 6/4 7/2 7/19
Mrs Laughley 4 6/4 7/2 7/5
Morgan Hayes 1 6/24 7/2 7/15
Pa P 6/8 7/4 X
Pa 2 6/9 7/4 X
Pa P 6/10 7/4 X
Mrs Elwell 1 6/11 7/4 7/6
Pa P 6/11 7/12 X
Pa P 6/12 7/12 X
Aunt Kate 1 6/16 7/12 7/15
Gilchrist 1 6/16 7/12 7/19
Mrs Lang 1 6/18 7/17 7/21
Clara 4 6/23 7/17 7/17
Clara 5 6/30 7/29 7/29
Antionette 3 6/30 7/29 7/29
L Ferber 1 7/1 7/29 7/29
Mrs Laughley 5 6/27 7/31 8/2
Morgan Hayes 2 7/24 8/2 8/2
E E Hole 1 7/12 8/19 8/21
Lill Crow. 1 7/12 8/19 8/21
Father Kaul 7/14 8/19 8/21
A Y Day 1 7/15 8/19 8/26
Clara 6 7/16 8/19 8/28P
Grover 1 7/17 8/19 8/26
Miss Annie* 9/15
McKenna 1 7/17 8/19 8/28
Ed Dwyer 1 7/18 8/19 9/10
A J Bier 1 7/21 8/19 9/1
Bob Crowell 1 8/4 8/19 9/1
Ida Altic 1 7/21 8/23 9/1
Sst Stanislaus 1 7/23 8/23 9/1
Wm McDermott 1 7/29 8/23 9/1
H Bischoff* 9/29
Mrs Laughley 6 7/28 8/23 8/28P
Catherine 1 7/7 8/25 9/2
Clara 7 7/11 8/25 X
Pa 3 8/6 9/1 9/10
Ma 1 8/11 9/1 X
Antoinette 4 8/11 9/1 9/14
Hick 1 8/8 9/1 9/18
Myrtle 1 8/7 9/2 9/12
Acrivides 1 8/7 9/2 9/18
Leo M & Edythe* 8/28
HJ Bischoff 1 9/29 10/8 10/9
Carigg 8/30 10/9 10/9
Aunt Della 9/25 10/12 12/6
Clara 8 8/14 10/16 10/20
Mrs Laughley 7 9/4 10/16 10/21
Clara 9 9/16 10/16 X
Sister St 2 9/17 10/16 10/23
Mary Miller 9/22 10/16 10/20
Catherine cd 8/13 10/17 10/22
Ruth K 1 8/23 10/17 10/22
Maude 1 8/27 10/17 10/20
Pa 4 8/27 10/17 10/24
Clara* card 8/27
Kindler 1 8/28 10/17 10/25
Hayman 1 8/31 10/17 10/20
Lou F 2 9/5 10/17 10/21
Clara 10 9/6 10/17 X
Mrs Lang 2 9/8 10/17 10/20
Antoinette 5 9/8 10/17 10/20
Hickey 2 9/8 10/17 11/17
FP Lucke 1 9/11 10/17 10/26
Williams 1 9/29 10/17 10/25
Clara 11 9/25 10/21 10/28
AY Day 4 9/23 10/21 11/17
L Ferber 3 9/27 10/21 X
H Otto 1 9/27 10/21 12/5
Eunice Shea cd 9/25 10/21 10/23
Clara cd 9/27 10/21 X
Antoinette 6 9/30 10/25 X
Eunice Shea 1 8/9 10/26 12/5
Miss Eunice Shea 8/20 10/26 10/26
Borer 9/17 10/27 12/5
Miss Osborne 10/25 10/29 12/6
McDermott 10/11 10/29 12/6
Ida* P 10/2
Clara 12 10/7 11/5 12/6
Ma 2 10/7 11/5 12/10
Myrtle 2 10/8 11/5 12/6
Gavin 2 10/11 11/5 12/16
Ida Altic 2 10/13 11/16 12/16
Mom* 10/17
Aunt Kate 2 10/20 11/16 12/17
Mrs Elwell 2 10/20 11/16 12/18
Clara 13 10/20 11/16 12/15X
Catherine 2 10/13 11/16 12/18
Mrs Crow'l 1 10/22 11/16 12/19
Eunice Shea 2 10/26 11/16 X
Joe Wil'ms 2 10/23 11/17 12/19
Mrs Gehesitz 10/24 11/17 11/18
Bob Crowell 11/3 11/18 11/19
Ida Altic P 10/27 11/18 X
L Crowell X P 10/30 11/24 12/10
Myrtle 10/31 12/5 X
Myrtle 11/4 12/5 X
Kath R 10/31 12/6 12/19
Joe Williams 11/23 12/9 X
Osborne 12/1 12/7 12/7
F Lucke 11/17 12/11 12/17PA
L Ferber 11/18 12/11 12/21
Kirby X P 11/20 12/11 12/18
Cath X P 11/29 12/11 X
Acrivides 10/30 12/26 12/28
Mrs Clemens 11/4 12/26 12/28
Ed Altic 11/10 12/26 12/29
Josie O'B CC 1 11/24 12/26 12/29
Ida Altic CC 11/24 12/26 no ans
Antoinette 11/24 12/26 1/1
Catherine* P 11/24
Clem Jr CC 11/27 12/26 no ans
Pa & Ma CC 11/29 12/26 no ans
Mrs Lang 11/28 12/26 1/2
St Ben CC 11/29 12/26 12/29
Frank W CC 11/30 12/26 no ans
Clara CC 12/1 12/26 no ans
Mrs Elwell 12/1 12/26 1/2
Eunice Shea 12/2 12/26 12/29
McKenna 12/2 12/26 12/29
Mary Miller CC 12/5 12/26 no ans
Bob Crowell 12/7 12/26 1/2
Chas Turner 12/9 12/26 12/28
Morgan Hayes 12/10 12/26 12/29
Hole* 12/2
Lou Ferber 12/4 12/27 1/4
H Bischoff 12/27 1/27 1/5
Mrs Clemens 11/29 1/3 12/25X
Clara 12/8 1/3 1/5
Antoinette 12/8 1/3 1/5
Miss Shea* P 12/14
Mrs Day 12/23 1/15 1/15
Aunt Agnes CC 12/24 1/15 1/16
Fred Lang CC 12/25 1/15 1/15
Frank 12/26 1/15 1/16
Myrtle* 12/30
Morgan Hayes 1/11 1/16 1/16
Eunice Shea P 1/14 1/18 1/25
Clara 8/19 1/19 1/26
Frank 8/15 1/23 no ans
McCormack 1/18 1/25 no ans
Miss Anne 9/15 1/26 1/26
Mrs Laughley* 1/5
Borer 1/7 1/26 1/26
Clara 1/9 1/26 X
Herman Bischoff 1/22 1/30 2/2
McCormack 1/31 2/5 2/13
Ida Altic 1/10 2/6 2/6
Mrs Elwell 1/12 2/6 2/15
Antoinette 1/13 2/6 2/15
Williams 1/14 2/6 2/15
Ftr K&Sistr 1/15 2/6 2/16
Miss Osborn 1/24 2/13 2/16
Clara 1/27 2/17 2/20
Hole 1/27 2/17 2/20
L Ferber 1/29 2/19 2/21
H Bischoff 2/10 2/19 2/20
Eunice Shea 1/30 2/21 2/22
McKenna 1/30 2/21 2/22
Warren L BC 1/31 2/23 3/1P
Mrs Laughley BC 1/31 2/23 3/1
Gavin 2/4 2/25 3/1
McDermott 2/6 2/25 3/1
Clem Jr BC 2/5 2/25 3/1
Frank Jr 2/9 2/26 3/1
Clara BC 2/11 2/28 3/1
Turner 2/21 3/1 3/3
McCormack 2/18 3/1 no ans
Mrs Day 2/14 3/6 3/7
Myrtle 2/16 3/6 3/7
Gilchrist 2/25 3/17 3/19
Antoinette* 2/25
A J Bier* 3/10
Borer* 3/11
H Bischoff* 3/12
Lou Ferber* 3/20
H Bischoff* 4/2
PP picture postcard
PA package
CC Christmas card
BC birthday card
John Acrivides
311-7th Ave
New York City
Geo Aeser
Watervliet Arsenal
Watervliet, NY
Mr Ed Altic
18 Race Ave
Lancaster, Pa
Harry R Altic Jr
2110 Abercom St
Savannah, Ga
Miss Ida Altic
616 Barnard St
Savannah, Ga
Mme Baudy Photographic
Baccarat
1284 + 1285
A J Bier, Room 616
Woodward Building
Washington DC
Photo Biofix
23 Boulevard Poissonniere
Paris
Mr Bischoff
c/o Hoffman La Roche
440 Washington St
New York City
Sgt Herman J Bischoff
Base Quartermasters
Base Section #1
APO 701 A.E.F.
H P Borer
427 - 45th St
Brooklyn, NY
Brooklyn Daily Eagle
53 Rue Chambron
Paris
Mrs Peter Brown
124 Ruby St
Lancaster, Pa
Jos A Bumel
Hdq Co 4th MG Bn
2nd Div, AEF
Dr A J Burger
496 Decatur St
Brooklyn, NY
Mrs Clement J Burger
44 Boffalo Ave
Brooklyn, NY
Pvt Victor Burger
Base Hospital
Co C
Camp Upton, L.I.
Sgt Paul R Carigg
I.M.B.N.A.
A.S.D.T. No. 8
APO 717, AEF
Sgt Paul R Carigg
304th Ldry Co
APO 673
Mrs Ruth W Clemens
"Kistland Farm"
Central Point near
Medford, Oregon
Miss Annie L Corcoran
482 Hancock St
Brooklyn, NY
Mrs Crowell
(Bob, Lill)
227 Ocean Parkway
Flatbush, Brooklyn
Sgt Wm R Crowell
White Enlisting Staff
301st Stevedoring Regt
APO 701 AEF
Sgt Wm R Crowell
HDQ Co
801 Stev Bat J.C.
Saint Nazaire
Mrs A Y Day
819 N Front St
Reading, Pa
Mr Ed Dwyer
c/o Norton Lilly Co
Produce Exchange
N Y City
Miss Martha Eason
R #9
Lexington, Ky
Philip Eckelcamp
C/O John Scholl & Brs
Reade St, NYC
Mrs Elwell
(Powers Hotel)
Osburn Hotel
Rochester NY
Mrs Elwell
1819 N Franklin st
Phila
Mr Louis Ferber
182 Maison St
Brooklyn, NY
Mr John J Gavin
42 Broadway
New York City
Mrs Gehesitz
2044 Pacific St
Brooklyn, NY
F Gilchrist
273-6th Ave
Brooklyn, NY
Mrs Arthur D Haight
Vinland Ave RFD No 2
Haverhill, Mass
Morgan Hayes
Paris & Co
New York?
Mr John J Hickey
847 Herkimer St
Brooklyn, NY
E E Hole
162 E 32nd St
New York City
Right Rev Msgr A F Kaul
St Anthony's Rectory
Lancaster, Pa
Mrs Kirby
1019 Kenmore Pl
Brooklyn, NY
Chas E Korton
1872 Fulton St
Brooklyn, NY
Mrs H Lang
1310 N 29th St
Philadelphia, Pa
Mrs James A Laughley
2 Maxwell St
Haverhill, Mass
Chaplain Lawson
55 Washington Square
N Y City
G.C. Lindburgh
124 Wade St
Jersey City, NJ
Frank P Lucke
1353 Park Pl
Brooklyn, NY
Miss Myrtle Matlach
261 W 128th St
New York City
Miss Myrtle Matlach
2386 Eighth Ave
New York City
Pvt J W McCormack
Hdq
4th Prov Trg Regt
APO 762
Pvt W J McDermott
I.M.B.
27 W. 43rd St
NYC
Mr Wm M McKenna
856 Herkimer St
Brooklyn, NY
George Miller
49 Yale St
Medford, Mass
Miss Mary Miller
1912a Atlantic Ave
Brooklyn, NY
Lou Nieman
549 Chauncey St
Brooklyn, NY
Miss Edna Osborne
YMCA Petrograd Hotel
33 Rue Caumartin
Paris
Miss Katherine Regan
40 Franklin St
Haverhill, Mass
Sister Stanislaus
Sacred Heart Academy
Lancaster, Pa
Jos Theiner
Co E 106th Inf
Fred Trust
320 Field Artillery Band
American E.F.
Chas Turner
21st recruit Co
Camp Hancock
Augusta Ga
Chas Turner
Co B 316 MG Bn
APO 791
W C Walsh
Msgr St Charles Newark
38 Eckert Ave
Newark, NJ
W C Walsh
366 Seymour Ave
Newark, NJ
tel 8634 Waverly
Jos E. Williams
888 Herkimer St
Brooklyn, NY
Oh, I know we're rough and rowdy,
And we come from God knows where:
some from trenches, some from billets,
some with cooties in our hair.
But you welcome us and greet us
with a cheery little smile
That puts the "L" in life again
and makes it seem worthwhile.
You walk with us and talk with us;
Believe the things we say,
(and that's a pretty tough, old
proposition, by the way);
And you treat us just like equals,
and you make us feel like men,
And the only unkind thing to do
Is to send us back again.
Dedicated to my nurse
1 Package Dec 21
1 Package Dec 21
Apron for Ray 40F
2 Pictures Ray 90F
Apron for Clara 18F
1 package Dec 21
Apron for Cath 15f
1 Cigarette case Victor 8.-
Cover for Ma 25F
1 pkg Dec 21
1 thimble Aunt Mary 8.-
2 Joan of Arc Laura O. 12.-
1 Calendar Ma & Pa L 3.-
2 paper cutters 10.-
1 pencil Frank 8.-
1 ash tray Pa 7.50
Arrived Jan 15
Match Box 2 for Joe Williams
Powder puff 2
Ed & Lous ash tray 6F.
Pearl cross 12 Father Kaul
Ash tray 2F Mrs Elwell
Apron 25F. Antoinette
A 15F.
To Strip Hotchkiss Gun
1. Cock gun and press trigger slightly
2. Remove feed block cocking pin
3. Remove feed block
4. Strip feed block in making pressure upon feed block pin spring
5. Remove handle block pin
6. Remove handle block and return spring
7. Remove pistol grip
8. Remove the trigger & its spring
9. Remove the piston & breech block
10. Separate the piston from the breech block
11. Remove the locking handle
12. Remove the striker from the breech block
13. Remove the extractor & its spring
14. Remove the ejector
15. Push the barrel lock handle as far back as it will go and with the barrel wrench turn counter clockwise to remove the barrel During the opening of the breech
1. The withdrawal of the striker
2. Unbolting the breech
3. Extraction of an empty shell
4. Ejection of this shell
5. First half feeding with helping of the upper cases
6. Locking of the piston at the same time compression of the return spring
Locking the breech
1. Unlocking the piston
2. Introduction of cartridge
3. Second feeding with helping of lower cases
4. Bolting the breech
5. Percussion and in the same time extension of return spring
?Antoinette
?Aunt Agnes
?Aunt Mary
?Aunt Kate
?Catherine
?Ed & Laura (Altic or Dwyer?)
?Maude
?Will & Della
Acrivides, John
Aeser, Geo
Altic, Harry R Jr
Altic, Mr Ed
Altic, Miss Ida
Baudy, Mme Photographic
Benedictus, Saint
Bier, A J
Bischoff, Mr
Bischoff, Sgt Herman J
Borer, H P
Brown, Mrs Peter (Aunt?)
Bumel, Joseph A
Burger, Mrs F J (Mom)
Burger, Clement Jr
Burger, Dr A J (Uncle?)
Burger, F J (Pa)
Burger, Pvt Victor
Burger, Mrs Clement J (Clara)
Carigg, Sgt Paul R
Clemens, Mrs Ruth W
Corcoran, Miss Annie L
Crowell, Mrs (Lill?)
Crowell, Sgt Wm R (Bob?)
Day, Mrs A Y
Dwyer, Mr Ed
Eason, Miss Martha
Eckelcamp, Philip
Ellis, ?
Elwell, Mrs
Ferber, Mr Louis
Gavin, Mr John J
Gehesitz, Mrs
Gilchrist, F
Guthy, Bill
Haight, Arthur D & Aunt Della
Hayes, Morgan
Hayman, ?
Hickey, Mr John J
Hole, E E
Johnson, ?
Kaul, Right Rev Msgr A F
Kindler, ?
Kirby, Mrs
Korton, Charles E
Kreugler, Ben
L..., Warren (Uncle?)
Lang, Fred
Lang, Mrs H
Laughley, Mrs James A
Lawson, Chaplain
Lindburgh, G.C.
Liver, Ray
Lucke, Frank P
M.., Leo & Edythe
Matlach, Miss Myrtle
McCormack, Pvt J W
McDermott, Pvt W J
McKenna, Mr William M
Miller, Miss Mary
Miller, George
Nieman, Lou
O'Byrne, Josie
Oneil, Mike
Osborne, Miss Edna
Otto, H
Regan, Miss Katherine
Rossen, ?
Shea, Eunice
Simon, ?
Sinclair, ?
Stanislaus, Sister
Theiner, Joseph
Trauckle, Rev
Trumbull, Capt
Trust, Fred
Turner, Charles
W..., Frank Jr
Walsh, W C
Williams, Jos E.
PHOTOS
1 Ray 10/19
2 Ma & Pa 10/19 to Ray
3 Mrs Laughley 10/20
4 Mrs Lang 10/20
5 Mrs Elwell 12/18
6 Antionette
7 Rev Kaul
8 Sister Stanislaus 10/23
9 Hayman 10/20
10 Myrtle 12/5
11 Aunt Kate 12/17
12 Myself
$2/50