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Title: Father Duffy's story
Author: Duffy, Francis P.
Language: English
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[Illustration:
OFF FOR CAMP MILLS
]
[Illustration:
FUNERAL AT LUNÉVILLE. GROUP AT LEFT CENTER: GENERAL MENOHER,
GENERAL LENIHAN, SECRETARY BAKER
]
[Illustration:
OVERLOOKING BACCARAT
]
[Illustration:
GENERAL PERSHING CONFERRING D. S. C.’S
]
FATHER DUFFY’S STORY
[Illustration:
COLONEL DONOVAN IN FIGHTING TRIM AFTER ST. MIHIEL
]
FATHER DUFFY’S
STORY
A TALE OF HUMOR AND HEROISM, OF
LIFE AND DEATH WITH THE FIGHTING
SIXTY-NINTH
BY
FRANCIS P. DUFFY
CHAPLAIN, 165TH INFANTRY
WITH AN HISTORICAL APPENDIX BY
JOYCE KILMER
NEW [Illustration: Decoration] YORK
GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY
_Copyright, 1919,
By George H. Doran Company_
_Printed in the United States of America_
TO THE MEMORY OF OUR DEAD
THIS BOOK
IS REVERENTLY DEDICATED
PREFACE
On one occasion, after having had to swallow an exceptionally large
dose of complimentary eloquence, I stated that I was going to borrow
a title for my book from my favorite philosopher, Mr. Dooley, and
call it “Alone in Europe.”
The title that has been given it sounds almost as egoistic as that;
but there will be found in these pages other names than my own.
Indeed, objection may be made from a literary point of view that
the book bristles with names. I could not write my story otherwise.
I knew these men, and what they did, and my only regret is that I
have undoubtedly overlooked some, especially amongst replacements,
whose names and deeds should be mentioned. Battles are not fought by
commanding officers alone, not even by chaplains unaided; and the
men who do the fighting usually get little personal credit for their
valor.
My chronicle claims no merit save that of being true. The only
critics I had in mind while writing it were those who fought in
France. If they say that the pictures are true, I am content. The
diary style has been deliberately chosen because it permits the
introduction of incidents, and also lends itself to the telling of a
plain unvarnished tale.
Every Regiment in a combat division has a similar story, if any one
of its members has the knowledge and patience to tell it. “The Irish
69th” had naturally its own special flavor of race with the buoyant
spirits, the military _élan_, and the religious ardor that mark the
race. No picture of the regiment would be complete that did not give
a generous place to this phase of its life.
Happily, the Irish spirit has always managed to combine generous
tolerance with its fervors. As a result, there are no more
enthusiastic adherents of the Irish 69th than those of its members
who did not share in the blood or the creed of the majority.
As for myself, I liked them all. I am a very Irish, very Catholic,
very American person if anybody challenges my convictions. But
normally, and let alone, I am just plain human. My appreciation of
patriotism, or courage, or any other attractive human trait, is not
limited in any degree by racial or religious or sectional prejudice.
That was the spirit of our Army; may it always be the spirit of our
Republic.
Joyce Kilmer was to have written this book. I took over the task
after his death in battle. The manuscript he left had been hurriedly
written, at intervals in a busy soldier existence, which interested
him far more than literary work. I have taken the liberty of adding
his work, incomplete though it is, to my own; because I feel that
Kilmer would be glad at having his name associated with the story of
the Regiment which had his absolute devotion; and because I cannot
resist the temptation of associating with my own the name of one of
the noblest specimens of humanity that has existed in our times.
I wish to thank Major Meaney, Major Bootz, Captain Allen, Lieutenants
Harold Allen and Thomas C. P. Martin, Sergeant Major O’Connell and
the Company Clerks for data for this book; Sergeant William Halligan,
Privates John F. McLoughlin and Arthur Shea, Mr. Paul Shea, and
Father John B. Kelly for assistance in preparing the manuscript for
publication; and Sergeants T. C. Ranscht and R. L. Clarke for the
maps that appear in this volume.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I PREPARATIONS AT HOME 13
II IN TRAINING ABROAD 36
III THE LUNÉVILLE SECTOR 60
IV THE BACCARAT SECTOR 85
V THE CHAMPAGNE DEFENSIVE 119
VI THE BATTLE OF THE OURCQ 158
VII AFTER THE BATTLE 207
VIII THE ST. MIHIEL OFFENSIVE 232
IX THE ARGONNE OFFENSIVE 261
X WITH THE ARMY OF OCCUPATION 306
HISTORICAL APPENDIX BY JOYCE KILMER 331
APPENDICES 355
REGIMENTAL RECORD
DECORATIONS, 165th INFANTRY
OFFICERS WHO SERVED IN THE 165th INFANTRY
CITATIONS, 165th INFANTRY
OFFICERS OF NEW YORK CHAPTER “RAINBOW” DIVISION
BOARD OF TRUSTEES OF THE 165th INFANTRY
WOMAN’S AUXILIARY TO THE 165th INFANTRY
ILLUSTRATIONS
COLONEL DONOVAN IN FIGHTING TRIM _Frontispiece_
PAGE
FRANCIS P. DUFFY, CHAPLAIN, 165TH INFANTRY 22
GENERAL LENIHAN, LIEUTENANT GROSE, COLONEL MITCHELL,
FATHER DUFFY, MR. GEORGE BOOTHBY OF THE “Y,”
AND JUDGE EGEMAN OF THE K. OF C. 142
MAP OF THE BATTLEFIELD OF THE OURCQ 181
AT QUENTIN ROOSEVELT’S GRAVE. THE CENTRAL FIGURE
IS COLONEL MCCOY 238
MAP OF THE ST. MIHIEL SALIENT 245
MAP OF THE BATTLE OF THE ARGONNE 295
OPERATIONS MAP: 165TH INFANTRY, 1917-1919 354
FATHER DUFFY’S STORY
FATHER DUFFY’S STORY
CHAPTER I
PREPARATIONS AT HOME
RECTORY, CHURCH OF OUR SAVIOUR, BRONX
_June_, 1917
War with Germany was declared on April 6th, 1917. Immediately the
National Guard Regiments, knowing that they would be the first to be
called from civilian occupations, began campaigning for recruits.
Ours was conducted with little noise or speech making. An Irish
Regiment has its troubles in time of peace, but when the call to arms
was sounding we knew that if they let us we could easily offer them
an Irish Brigade for the service. We were more occupied with quality
than with numbers. The one bit of publicity we indulged in was to
send round our machine-gun trucks through the city streets with
the placard, “Don’t join the 69th unless you want to be among the
first to go to France.” That was the only kind of men we wanted—not
impressionable youth who would volunteer under the stimulus of a
brass band or a flood of patriotic oratory. The old-timers were told
to bring in friends who had the right stuff in them. The Catholic
Clergy were asked to send in good men from the Parish athletic clubs.
The response was immediate. Every night the big reception rooms
were packed with men taking the physical tests. The medical staff
had to be increased at once to meet the situation and officers and
enlisted men were impressed into the service for taking the minor
tests. These tests were rigid. Nobody was taken who fell below the
standard in age, height, weight, sight or chest measurement—or who
had liquor aboard or who had not a clean skin. Many of those who were
turned down for underweight or imperfect feet were readily accepted
in other Regiments which had more difficulty in getting men. And when
we received contingents from those regiments later on I often had to
listen to the humorous reproach, “Well, I got in in spite of the lot
of you.”
Amongst the sturdiest and brightest of our recruits were two young
men who had recently been Jesuit Novices. I amused one Jesuit friend
and, I am afraid, shocked another by saying that they were exercising
a traditional religious privilege of seeking a higher state of
perfection by quitting the Jesuits and joining the 69th.
We came back from Texas less than a thousand strong. Of these we
could count on 500 for a new war, which left us 1,500 to go to meet
the number then fixed for an Infantry Regiment—2,002. We were not
long in reaching that number. Lieutenant Colonel Reed telegraphed the
War Department for permission, pending the proposed increase of a
Regiment to 3,600, to establish a waiting list, but the application
was refused. In the latter days we were turning away 300 a week,
sending them to other Regiments.
Our 2,000 men were a picked lot. They came mainly from Irish County
Societies and from Catholic Athletic Clubs. A number of these latter
Irish bore distinctly German, French, Italian or Polish names. They
were Irish by adoption, Irish by association or Irish by conviction.
The 69th never attempted to set up any religious test. It was an
institution offered to the Nation by a people grateful for liberty,
and it always welcomed and made part of it any American citizen who
desired to serve in it. But, naturally, men of Irish birth or blood
were attracted by the traditions of the 69th, and many Catholics
wanted to be with a regiment where they could be sure of being able
to attend to their religious duties. About 5 percent of the 2,000
were Irish neither by race nor racial creed.
69TH REGIMENT ARMORY
_July_ 20th, 1917
Frank Ward O’Malley of the New York _Sun_ has written up in his
inimitable style a little scene from life in an Irish regiment. The
newcomers are not yet accustomed to the special church regulations
relieving soldiers of the obligation of Friday abstinence. Last
Friday the men came back from a hard morning’s drill to find on the
table a generous meal of ham and cabbage. The old-timers from the
Border pitched into this, to the scandal of many of the newer men
who refused to eat it, thus leaving all the more for the graceless
veterans. After dinner a number of them came to me to ask if it
were true that it was all right. I said it was, because there was a
dispensation for soldiers. “Dispensation,” said a Jewish boy, “what
good is a dispensation for Friday to me. I can’t eat ham any day of
the week. Say, Father, that waiter guy, with one turn of his wrist,
bust two religions.”
POLO GROUNDS
_July_ 25th, 1917
A great day for Ireland. Everybody aboard and up the river to 152nd
Street and then to the Polo Grounds. Baseball Game as benefit for the
69th, between Giants and Cincinnatis, thanks to the generosity of our
good friends, Harry Hempstead, John Whalen, Herbert Vreeland, and
John J. McGraw. A fine game—plenty of people, plenty of fun, and best
of all, plenty of money for the exchequer, which, after an ancient
venerable custom, is going to have an ecclesiastical chancellor. Mr.
Daniel M. Brady, the Godfather of the regiment, had procured the
signature of President Wilson on a baseball which he auctioned off
during the game. I asked him if he had arranged for a purchaser. “I
have selected one,” he said. “Is he aware that he is going to buy
it?” I asked. “He will be informed at the proper time,” said Mr.
Brady with a smile. “How much is he going to pay for it?” “Well, I
don’t consider $500.00 too much to pay for the privilege.” So after a
certain number of bids, real or fictitious, the ball was knocked down
at $500.00 to Mr. James Butler, who accepted the verdict smilingly
and was allowed the privilege of handing the ball back to me. I am to
auction it in Paris for the French Orphans’ Fund. So Mr. Brady says,
though I wish I had his confidence that we shall ever get to Paris.
ARMORY
_August_ 5th, 1917
Father John Kelly had me meet Joyce Kilmer this evening. Nothing of
the long-haired variety about him—a sturdy fellow, manly, humorous,
interesting. He was a little shame-faced at first, for he had told
Father Kelly that he was going to join up with the 69th and he is now
in the 7th. “I went to the Armory twice,” he said, “but failed to
find the recruiting officer.” I told him that if we could not have
him in the 69th the next best place was the 7th, but he still wants
to return to his first love, so I shall be glad to arrange it. If
he left the whole matter up to my decision he would stay home and
look after his large family and let men with fewer responsibilities
undertake this task, at least until such time as the country would
have need of every man. But he is bound to do his share and do it at
once, so there is no use taking off the fine edge of his enthusiasm.
He is going about this thing in exactly the same spirit that led him
to enter the Church. He sees what he considers a plain duty, and he
is going ahead to perform it, calm and clear eyed and without the
slightest regard to what the consequences may be.
I shall be glad to have him with us personally for the pleasure of
his companionship, and also for the sake of the regiment to have a
poet and historian who will confer upon us the gift of immortality.
I compared him with the old lad that one lot of Greeks sent to
another to stir them to victory by his songs; and he wagged a pair of
vigorous protesting legs at me to show he was no cripple. So I tried
him with a quotation from a poet that no poet could ever resist; and
with some reservations about the words “Grey Bard” I managed to drive
my compliment home:
For not to have been dipt in Lethe’s lake
Could make the son of Thetis not to die;
But that grey bard did him immortal make
With verses dipt in dews of Castaly.
ARMORY
_August_ 18th, 1917
We are still full of excitement at our selection from among the
National Guard Regiments of New York to represent our State in the
selected 42nd or Rainbow Division which is to go abroad amongst the
very first for active service. It is an undeniable compliment to the
condition of the Regiment and we are pleased at that as well as at
the prospects of carrying our battle-ringed standards to fly their
colors on the fields of France. Our Regimental organization has been
accepted intact—it is no composite Regiment that has been selected;
it is the 69th New York. Our ranks however are to be swelled to the
new total of 3,600 men by the transfer of enlisted men from the
five other city Regiments of Infantry. We would have been glad to
have done our own recruiting as we could easily have managed; but
these are the orders. We shall give a royal Irish welcome to our new
companions in arms. They are volunteers like ourselves and fellow
townsmen, and after a little feeling out of one another’s qualities
we shall be a united Regiment.
Already we have received the contingent from our old friends in the
7th—handed over to us with a large gesture of comradeship which that
old Regiment knows so well how to make. The departing body of 320 men
were escorted by the remaining officers and men, and passed through
their guard of honor to our Armory floor. Our 2,000 lined the walls
and many perched themselves on the iron beams overhead. They cheered
and cheered and cheered till the blare of the bands was unheard in
the joyous din—till hearts beat so full and fast that they seemed too
big for the ribs that confined them, till tears of emotion came, and
something mystical was born in every breast—the soul of a Regiment.
Heaven be good to the enemy when these cheering lads go forward
together into battle.
CAMP MILLS
_September_ 1st, 1917
We are tenting tonight on the Hempstead Plains, where Colonel Duffy
and the Old 69th encamped in 1898, when getting ready for service in
the Spanish War. It is a huge regiment now—bigger, I think, than the
whole Irish Brigade ever was in the Civil War.
We have received our new men transferred from the 12th, 14th,
23rd and 71st N. G. N. Y. Our band played them into Camp with the
Regimental Air of “Garry Owen” mingled with the good-fellow strains
of “Hail! Hail! the Gang’s All Here.”
All in all, the newcomers are a fine lot. A couple of our sister
organizations have flipped the cards from the bottom of the pack in
some instances and worked off on us some of their least desirables.
On the other hand, all the Regiments have made up for that by
allowing men anxious to come to us to change places with those who
prefer to stick where they are. This gives us a large number of the
men we want—those that feel their feet on their native heath in the
69th, and those that like its recruiting slogan, “If you don’t want
to be amongst the first to go to France, don’t join the 69th.” For
the rest, the Company Commanders and Surgeons know “Thirty-five
distinct damnations,” or almost that many, by which an undesirable
can be returned to civilian life to take his chances in the draft.
Our recruiting office has been reëstablished at the Armory. We can
get all the good men we want.
As he had put the matter in my hands Kilmer did not come over with
the men from the 7th, but I had the matter of his transfer arranged
after a short delay.
CAMP MILLS
_September_ 26th, 1917
I do not know whether to take it as a mark of general interest in
the Old Regiment or as the result of the spontaneous big-heartedness
of a kindly and enthusiastic Irish artist—but John McCormack sang
for us tonight. Sang in the open air with no stinting of voice or
program. Our lads could have listened to him till morning; I never
saw such an eager mob. They kept calling for their favorite McCormack
songs and he, like the fine big Bouchal that he is, laughed at their
sallies and gave them their hearts’ desire, until I closed the unique
performance by reminding them (and him) that we had a financial
interest in his voice because he was to sing for the benefit of our
Trustees Fund at no distant date. While I write, the camp is buzzing
around me with talk of the great tenor. A voice from the darkness
sums it up. “I always knew he was a great singer. We got a lot of his
records at home. But the records never learned me that he’s such a
hell of a fine fellow.”
CAMP MILLS
_Sunday_
I mess with the Headquarters Company, and James Collintine, who
has the job of looking after us, always welcomes Sunday morning
because it gives a chance for a friendly chat between the two of us.
James had been a deep-water sailor for a good many years since he
first left his home in the Old Country, but has taken up with the
Infantry because it gives more prospects for fighting service in
this war. This morning he said, “Father Duffy, did ye iver hear of
Father Hearrn of my parish in the County Longford?” “No, Jim, I never
did.” “Well, he was the grandest man in all Ireland. There was eight
hundhred min in Maynooth College where they study to be priests and
he could lick ivery dam wan of thim. He was a fine big man, six foot
two in his stockin’ feet. He used to come down the sthreet with a
big stick in his hand, and if anybody gave anny throuble he’d knock
you down just as quick as look at you. The whole parish loved him.
Wanst there was a fight in the village green between the peelers and
the people, and Father Hearrn was sent for to keep the peace and he
came down the road bowling over the peelers as if they was nine pins.
There niver was a nicer man within the four seas of Ireland.”
A soldier of Company K came to my tent one afternoon last week and
stood at the entrance fumbling his hat in his hand like an Irish
tenant of the old days that had not the rent to pay the landlord.
“What’s the matter, Tom?” “I took a dhrop too much, and Captain
Hurley got very mad about it and brought me up before Major Moynahan.
I wouldn’t mind if they’d fine me and be through with it, for I know
I deserve it. But the Major and the Captain say that they’re not
going to stand anything like this, and that they won’t lave me go to
the war. And sure, Father Duffy, if I couldn’t go to the war it’d
kill me.” The smile that came to my lips at this very Irish way of
putting it was suppressed when I thought of the number of men born
in the country who were worried sick lest the Draft should catch
them and send them to the war. I assured Tom that I would use my
powers of persuasion with the Captain and the Major to give him his
heart’s desire, if he would take the pledge. But we shall keep him
worried by a suspended sentence until we get him safely away from the
temptations of New York.
I have found an old friend in Camp in the person of Mike Donaldson of
Company I. Mike was an altar boy of mine in Haverstraw not long after
I was ordained. We both left there, I to teach metaphysics and Mike
for a career in the prize-ring, in which he became much more widely
and favorably known to his fellow citizens than I can ever hope to
be. One of his titles to fame is that he was sparring partner to
Stanley Ketchell. He has brought me a set of battered boxing gloves
which he presented to me with a very moving speech as relics of that
departed hero. I do not know exactly what he expects me to do with
the relics but I rather feel after his speech of presentation that it
would be considered appropriate if I suspend them reverently from the
rafter of my chapel like the _ex voto_ offerings of ships that one
sees in seaport shrines.
I have become a marrying Parson. Love and fighting seem to go
together—they are the two staples of romance. I have had a large
number of marriages to perform. In most cases the parties enter
my church tent from the rear and are quietly married before the
simple altar. We have had a few weddings however on the grand scale.
Michael Mulhern of the Band had arranged for a quiet wedding with a
very sweet little girl named Peggy O’Brien. This afternoon at four
o’clock when I was ready to slip over with the young couple and their
witnesses to my canvas church I saw the band forming. “What is this
formation for, Michael. You don’t have to be in it, do you?” “Ah,
Father,” said Michael, with a blush, “the boys heard somehow what was
going to happen and they’re going to serenade us.” We had to parade
over to church behind the band playing a wedding march, with 10,000
soldiers and visitors following curiously in the rear. So Michael and
his bride were united in matrimony before a vast throng that cheered
them, and showered them with rice that soldiers brought over from the
kitchens, many of the lads battling with the groom for the privilege
of kissing the bride.
_October_ 15th, 1917
We will soon be off to the war and I have been looking over the
Regiment, studying its possibilities.
About the enlisted men I have not a single doubt. If this collection
of hand-picked volunteers cannot give a good account of themselves
in battle, America should keep out of war. The men will fight no
matter who leads them. But fighting and winning are not always the
same thing, and the winning depends much on the officers—their
military knowledge, ability as instructors and powers of leadership.
The Non-coms are a fine lot. The First Sergeants as I run over the
list are a remarkable body of good old-time soldiers. Starting with
Company A, we have John O’Leary, John O’Neill, William Hatton, Tom
Sullivan, William Bailey, Joseph Blake, John Burke, Jerome O’Neill,
Patrick McMeniman, Tim Sullivan, Eugene Gannon, John Kenny; with
Denis O’Shea, A. McBride, J. Comiskey, and W. W. Lokker, for H. Q.
M. G. Supply and Medical. All of these men have been tried out in
the eight months of Border service and we are sure of them. Under
Colonel Haskell the hard driven Company Commanders had to break their
Sergeants in, or break them—life was too strenuous for favoritism.
In fact, except for recruits, it is surprisingly Haskell’s regiment
that is going to the front; Haskell’s, that is, with the reservation
that his work was done on the basis of Colonel Conley’s selection
and promotion in the more difficult period of peace service. When we
were selected for immediate over-seas service the authorities were
free to make what changes they would, and they left the regiment
intact except for the transfer of one Major and one Captain. The M.
G. Company was vacant by resignation. All other officers remained at
their posts, though we have been assigned a large number of newly
created Lieutenants to correspond with the new tables of organization
for a regiment of three thousand six hundred.
[Illustration: Francis P. Duffy
Chaplain 165th Inf.
69th N.Y.]
We like our new Colonel, though he was a total stranger to us before
the day he came to command us. He is a West Pointer, and went into
railroading after some years in the army as a Lieutenant; but he has
loyally reverted to the army whenever there was a real call to arms.
In 1898 if I had achieved my desire to go out as Chaplain of the 1st
D. C. I would have had him as one of my Majors. He came into this
conflict as organizer and commander of trains, a work for which his
experience fitted him. He is a man of middle height with a strong
body and an attractive face, healthily ruddy, strongly featured,
with a halo of thick grey hair above. He is a man of ideas, of ideas
formed by contact with life and business. He is a tireless worker,
and demands the same unflinching service from every man under him.
He has confidence in his men, especially the tried soldiers, and he
has a strong liking for the Regiment and its traditions. The Regiment
will do good work under the leadership of Colonel Charles Hine.
Lieutenant Colonel Reed I like better and better every day I am with
him. I did not take to him at first and I think he was largely to
blame. He kept himself too much aloof. The fault, however, was partly
ours. He came to us at a time when we felt suspicious that it was
the intention to destroy our character as an Irish organization, and
we owed too much to the men who had created the Regiment and made
its reputation with their blood to submit tamely to such a scheme as
that. Colonel Reed was not used to being where he was not wanted,
and his attitude was the result of this decent feeling. When the
task of forming a war strength regiment fell to him he took hold and
worked with single-minded vigor, and he then found that everybody was
anxious to work with him loyally. He discovered, what I could have
told him, that one thing the Sixty-ninth admires is a good soldier.
And Reed is a good soldier, keen, active, and aggressive. He learned
at once to love the regiment and is as enthusiastic as myself in his
regard for it. We spend a great deal of our free time together, for
we have much in common.
The senior Major, Timothy J. Moynahan, is the ideal of the Irish
soldier, as he comes down to us in history and in fiction. He
inherits from Patrick Sarsfield’s cavaliers, from the regiments
of Dillon and Burke at Fontenoy, from the Connaught Rangers at
Fuentes d’Onoro. A soldier born—trim, erect, handsome, active in
his movements, commanding and crisp in his orders. And a soldier
bred—he lives for the military game, devotes his life to his work as
military instructor in colleges, and to the old 69th. He is ready
with a toast or a speech or a neatly phrased compliment, and equally
ready to take up the gage of battle, if anyone should throw it down.
A vivid interesting character in our drab modern life. He has one
fault—a flaring Irish temper when military discipline is violated or
high ideals belittled. A fault, yes, but I feel there will be tense
moments of life for anybody with Tim Moynahan when the time comes for
a death grapple with the Germans. Phil Sheridan would have delighted
in him.
Major Stacom is my parishioner and I am his recruit. He acquired his
interest in soldiering as a boy at St. Francis Xavier College under
the stalwart old soldier, afterwards the hero of Santiago—Captain
Drum. He came to the Regiment as a boy out of college, an enlisted
man, and the Irish lads, after guying the handsome youngster in his
college clothes, learned to love and admire him for his knowledge and
ability. When he became Captain of Company B he recruited it by his
personal efforts, and on the Border he had one of the best companies
in the Regiment. Colonel Haskell picked him from the Company
Commanders as the first man to nominate for a Majority. He rules by
reason and kindliness, and evokes the best co-operation of all under
him—officers or men.
Major William J. Donovan, who commands the first Battalion was
transferred to us from the Brigade Staff, but he is no stranger to
us. On the Border when he was Captain of Troop I of the 1st Cavalry
he was the best known man of his rank in the New York Division. It
was almost certain that Donovan would be appointed our Colonel after
the efforts to get Colonel Haskell had failed, as he was our next
choice, and General O’Ryan knew that there were no politics about it,
but a sincere desire to find the best military leader. General O’Ryan
esteems Donovan as highly as we do. When we were selected to put the
green in the Rainbow all the vacancies were to be filled by transfer,
not by promotion. Donovan was a Major on the Staff of our Brigade.
Everybody knew that he could get higher rank by staying with the 27th
Division but he preferred to join in with us. He would rather fight
with the 69th than with any other Regiment, especially now that it
is to be the first in the fray, and he would rather be Major than
Colonel, for in battles as now conducted it is Majors who command in
the actual fighting.
Donovan is a man in the middle thirties, very attractive in face and
manner, an athlete who always keeps himself in perfect condition. As
a football player at Niagara and Columbia, he gained the sobriquet of
“Wild Bill.” But that is tribute gained by his prowess rather than
his demeanor. He is cool, untiring, strenuous, a man that always uses
his head. He is preparing his men for the fatigues of open warfare
by all kinds of wearying stunts. They too call him “Wild Bill” with
malicious unction, after he has led them over a cross country run for
four miles. But they admire him all the same, for he is the freshest
man in the crowd when the run is over. He is a lawyer by profession,
and a successful one, I am told. I like him for his agreeable
disposition, his fine character, his alert and eager intelligence.
But I certainly would not want to be in his Battalion.
Major George Lawrence of the Sanitary Detachment is one of the best
acquisitions of our Border experience. When Major Maguire had to
leave us, we all reached out for Lawrence, who was attached to the
12th, but was doing duty at the hospital there. He is well educated,
a product of St. Francis Xavier and Pennsylvania, a competent
physician and surgeon, a famous athlete in football and basketball
in his day, and an athlete still; and one of the most devoted and
most reliable men that God has made for the healing of wounds of mind
or body. When I think of what we shall have to go through it makes me
feel good to see George Lawrence around.
Captain Walter E. Powers of Headquarters Company is an old soldier
though still a young man. He entered the Regular Army out of high
school, out of short trousers, I tell him. He was Regimental Sergeant
Major of the 7th Cavalry when Haskell was Adjutant of that famous
Regiment. And when Haskell became Colonel he pulled Powers out of
the Pershing Expedition and made him Adjutant of the 69th; and he
was the best Adjutant on the Border. Latterly he has begun to pine
for a Company and Colonel Hine gave him the Headquarters Company,
the duties of which are so varied and so new that it will take a
soldier-lawyer like Powers to organize it. He has the keenest dryest
humor of any man I know. If he had not run away to be a soldier he
would have made a successful lawyer or journalist.
Captain George McAdie of Company A is a Scotchman. We tell him that
is the worst thing we know about him, which is our way of saying that
we do not know anything bad about him. Personally I am very fond of
our Scottish cousins, because I have known many real Scotchmen and
not merely jokes about them. The jokes never give you a suspicion
that Scotland idolizes Robert Burns, and produces fighting men as
fine as there are in the world. George is my kind of Scot—like a
volcano, rugged to outward view, but glowing with fire beneath. A
good soldier and a true friend—you like him when you know him a
while, and you find something new to like in him the longer you know
him. If his health be as strong as his spirit he will do great things
in the 69th.
Captain Thomas Reilley of Company B is an imposing being. He stands
six feet three or so and fills the eye with seeing any way you look
at him. He is also a college athlete, a football player of renown,
of Columbia and New York Universities. A lawyer of real power and
ability, he has not given himself time yet to reach his full stride
in his profession. Since his college days he has been too much in
demand for other services for which his endowments and instincts
fit him—athlete, soldier, with a short course in political life,
characteristically as an independent. He writes well and talks
well—too well, sometimes, for the Irish in him makes him indifferent
to the effects of what he has to say. It makes him indifferent to
all other sorts of danger too; so with his great physical and mental
powers and his capacity for organization he will render invaluable
service to the work of the Regiment.
Captain William Kennedy of Company C is also an athlete, with the
build of a runner, clean-cut, trim, alert. Brisk is the word that
describes him, for the trait is mental as well as physical. He is
a Company drill master in the best sense of the word. I have never
seen anybody who could get more snap out of a body of men with less
nagging, whether it was a parade or a policing detail than Bill
Kennedy. I expect to see Company C the smartest Company in the
Regiment.
Captain James A. McKenna of Company D is a lawyer—Harvard and Fordham
produced him. He is a fellow of great ability, ambitious, energetic
and enduring. He will go far in any line he may choose, and as a
soldier he will score a high mark. He has fine ideals and fine
sentiments which he chooses to conceal under a playfully aggressive
or business-like demeanor. But his enthusiasms, patriotic, religious,
personal, are the true fundaments of him, and everybody feels it. He
lets himself out most in his affection for his men who reciprocate
his devotion. Company D under Jim McKenna will play a big part in our
annals of war.
Alexander E. Anderson of Company E is a 69th man by heredity. His
uncle, Colonel Duffy, commanded the Regiment in 1898. His cousin,
Major John Duffy, was in the Regiment when Anderson was old enough
to join it—and he joined it as a private just as soon as they would
let him. He is a soldier through and through. His family and his
business are near to him, but the 69th is first in his thoughts. He
has gone through all the stages from private to captain without any
family favoritism and today he stands out as the keenest Captain in
the Regiment. He went to an Officer’s Training School two years ago
and graduated with a hundred percent. Sometimes they call him the
100 percent soldier, a title which grates on him exceedingly, for he
hates such labels of praise, whether meant or not. Colonel Hine has
asked me for the names of three Captains who might be recommended for
Majors in emergency. I told him I would name only one, and after that
one, half a dozen or more. “Oh,” he said, “you mean Anderson. That is
what the Battalion Commanders all say.”
Captain Michael Kelly is an old soldier, though not an old man. He
can wear military medals on dress-suit occasions which puzzle even
the experts. A County Clare man by birth, he was drawn by fighting
instincts as a youth into the British Army, since there was no
Irish Army organized, and fought through the Boer War and Burmese
campaigns. In New York he is second in command of the aqueduct police
and a Captain of the 69th, succeeding Captain P. J. Maguire, who gave
up his beloved Company F with satisfaction only because it fell to
his trusted Lieutenant. Captain Kelly is a soldier first, last and
all the time. His spear knoweth no brother. He visits infractions of
military discipline with sternness and vigor. His Company stands in
awe of him, and boasts of him to others. They are well looked after.
If I have anything to distribute I have to keep an eye on him and
Anderson, the two tyrants amongst Company Commanders. Give them their
way and everything would go to Companies E and F, with a humorous
growl between the two as to who gets the most of the spoils.
The Irish-American A. C. gave us Captain James Archer, as it and
kindred organizations have given us many of our best soldiers. There
are few young fellows around New York who have not heard of Jimmy
Archer, and many a one has watched with delight his fleet limbs
carrying his graceful figure and shining head around the track to
victory. He has the cleanness and fineness of the amateur track
athlete—very distinctly a man and a gentleman. He has won his way
through every step upward in the Regiment and has fairly won his race
to the Captain’s bars.
Captain James G. Finn of Company H is a Spanish War veteran, though
he looks so young that he has to carry around his service record
and the family Bible to prove it. Not that anybody would call Jim a
liar. Not after taking one look at him. He is a broad-shouldered,
big-chested fellow, one that the eye will pick out of a crowd, even
in a congested crowd, for he stands above the heads of ordinary
mortals. A football player, of course—Dartmouth College. A big honest
manly man and a devoted soldier. Jim Finn thinks that Company H is
the best bunch of fighting men that ever shouldered a rifle, and
Company H knows that their big Captain is the finest man in the
American Army. There are two hundred and fifty of them, and the
Captain has thews like the son of Anak, so I don’t intend to start
anything by contradicting either of them. Anyway, I more than half
agree with them.
Captain Richard J. Ryan of Company I is a new comer and, like a
boy in a new town, he has his way to make. If I be not “mistook in
my jedgments” he will make it. He hails from Watertown, New York,
and from the 1st New York Infantry, but that does not complete his
military history. He fought in the Boer War, I suspect from the same
reason that prompted Kelly—because that was the only war there was,
and a man must do the best with the opportunities he has. He is all
wrapped up in his Company. He does not seem to care a hang what
anybody higher up is thinking about him. He has his job and he wants
to see it done right. That is a good sign. A soldier by natural
instinct and preference, a Captain devoted to his men—that goes with
the 69th. I am for him.
Captain John Patrick Hurley of Company K, is an argument for the
continued existence of the Irish as a people. He has everything that
everybody loves in the Irish, as found even the reluctant tributes
of their hereditary foes. He has a lean, clean handsome face and
figure, and a spirit that responds to ideals patriotic, religious,
racial, human, as eagerly and naturally as a bird soaring into its
native air. He is perfectly willing to die for what he believes in.
He would find that much easier than to live in a world of the cheap
and commonplace. He always reminds me of the Easter-week patriots
of Dublin, Patrick Pearse and Plunkett and MacDonagh. Like myself,
and I may say all of us, he is in this war as a volunteer because he
feels that it is a war against the tyranny of the strong, and a fight
for the oppressed peoples of the earth. He is an able, practical man
withal; an engineer, graduate of Cornell. He rules his company as
their military commander, and the tribute of affection and loyalty
they pay him is not lessened by the knowledge they have that breaches
of discipline will meet with no mercy.
Captain Merle-Smith of Company L came to us on the Border from
Squadron A, and the intervening year of intimacy has not changed
the judgment I uttered the first time I saw him: “If I had to pick
out one man to spend a year with me on a voyage to Central Africa,
there is the man I would select.” A big fellow—he and Reilly and Finn
are our prize specimens—and big, like them, all the way through;
and with the astonishing simplicity—in the old theological sense of
the word as contrasted with duplicity—that one so often finds in
big men. A college athlete (Princeton) and a lawyer, the contests
of the campus and the bar have only whetted his appetite for more
intense battles. From the time he joined us he has felt that the best
opening for real soldier work is in this regiment. He is a 69th man
by conviction, and he is as fond of his valiant Kerrymen in Company
L as they are of him. I found no one in the recruiting period more
zealous in increasing the numbers of the regiment and maintaining at
the same time its characteristic flavor than Captain Van Santvoordt
Merle-Smith.
Captain William Doyle commanded Company M when we were called out,
but since Captain Powers took the Headquarters Company he has been
made Adjutant. It was a good choice. Captain Doyle is a college man
(St. Francis Xavier) and an engineer by profession, and has been a
National Guardsman for more years than one would guess. His training
fits him for his new job. His mind is quick on the trigger, though
the speed and accuracy with which it shoots a retort is rendered
deceptive by his slightly humorous drawl in delivery. He is not one
of the big fellows, but the big fellows think twice before taking him
on.
Martin Meaney, Captain of Company M, was a Sergeant of Company G
when we were in Texas. I wanted Colonel Haskell to make him a Second
Lieutenant, but Martin hadn’t left the County Clare soon enough to
satisfy the technicality of having his final citizen papers. He could
fight for the United States, but he could not be an officer. He came
of age as a citizen during the summer and went to Plattsburg, and
the people in charge there made him not a Second Lieutenant but a
Captain. Colonel Haskell, who is Adjutant at Camp Upton, found the
chance to send him back to us as a Captain, and we were very glad to
get him. For we know Martin Meaney; and everyone who knows Martin
Meaney likes him and trusts him. He is a fine, manly upstanding young
Irishman devoted to high ideals, practical and efficient withal.
Granted the justice of my cause there is no man in the world I would
so much rely on to stick to me to the end as Martin Meaney. It makes
us all feel better to have him along with us in our adventure of war.
The vacancy in the Machine Gun Company was filled by the appointment
of Captain Kenneth Seibert, an old guardsman of the Iowa National
Guard. He has the position of Johnny-come-lately with us yet, but he
knows the game and he will be a veteran of ours by the time we get to
our first battle. His whole organization is practically new, but he
is very keen about it, and is an excellent manager, so we feel that
he will soon have it in shape.
Captain John Mangan of the Supply Company is the salt of the earth.
I like Jack Mangan so much that I always talk that way about him,
and incidentally I waste his time and mine by holding him for a chat
whenever we meet. He came to us before we went to the Border. His
friends were in another regiment, but all that was nice and Irish
about him made him want to be with the 69th. He is a Columbia man and
a contractor. Colonel Haskell got his eye on him, when, as a Second
Lieutenant, he was put in charge of a detail of offenders who had to
do some special work. Under Mangan their work was not mere pottering
around. They did things. While we were on the big hike Mangan was
left behind with a detail of cripples to build mess shacks. They were
built, created is a better word, but we were doomed never to use
them, as we got orders during the hike to proceed to another station.
I said to Haskell: “Don’t forget to compliment Lieutenant Mangan on
his work, for he has done wonders, and it looks now to have been
all in vain.” Haskell answered with assumed grimness: “Lieutenant
Mangan will not be Lieutenant Mangan long.” He was Captain Mangan, R.
S. O. (Regimental Supply Officer) as soon as the formalities could
be arranged; and in a short time he was the best supply officer on
the Border, as his training as a contractor gave him experience in
handling men and materials.
Everybody likes Mangan—half-rebellious prisoners and soldering
details and grasping civilians and grouchy division quartermasters.
For “he has a way wid him.” At bottom it is humor and justness,
with appreciation of the other fellow’s difficulties and states of
mind. With his fairness and balance, he carries such an atmosphere
of geniality and joy of life that everybody begins to feel a new
interest in the game and a new willingness to play a decent part in
it.
So far as I can see it now, our Captains average higher than our
Lieutenants, though time will have to show if I am right. But at
present I can point my finger to half a dozen Captains at least
who could easily fill the job of Major, without being so certain
of finding an equal number of Lieutenants who could make as good
Captains as the men they replace. Probably all that this proves
is that the Captains have the advantage of experience in their
positions, and that their juniors, when equal opportunity is given
them, will develop to be just as good. Amongst the Lieutenants the
first to my mind is John Prout, a fine young Tipperary man of the
stamp of Hurley and Meaney. Others in line are Samuel A. Smith, John
Poore and William McKenna, the four Burns brothers (all good, but
Jim in my judgment the best), also William Burns, Richard Allen,
Clifford, Kelley, Kinney, Joseph McNamara, Crimmins, Carroll, Andrew
Lawrence, John Green, Thomas C. Martin, with Rowley, Grose, Baker,
Joseph O’Donohue, James Mangan, O’Brien, Philbin, Cavanaugh, Reune
Martin, who came to us while in the Armory. Of the newcomers sent to
us here at Camp Mills four of the old regular army men stand out:
Lieutenants Michael J. Walsh, Henry A. Bootz, Patrick Dowling and
Francis McNamara. Our Medical Department consists of Major Lawrence
with Doctors Houghton, Lyttle, Martin, Kilcourse, Levine, Patton,
Bamford, Austin Lawrence and Landrigan.
_October_ 25th, 1917
We are the best cared for Regiment that ever went to war. Mr. Daniel
M. Brady, who was chairman of the Committee for employment, appointed
by Justice Victor J. Dowling of the Friendly Sons of St. Patrick,
when we came back from the Border, has reorganized and increased that
body and our Board of Trustees now consists of Morgan J. O’Brien,
chairman, Daniel M. Brady, John J. Whalen, Joseph P. Grace, Victor
J. Dowling, John D. Ryan, George McDonald, Nicholas F. Brady, John
E. O’Keefe, Louis D. Conley, and Bryan Kennedy. They have raised
ample funds from private subscriptions and from the generous benefits
offered through the kindly generosity of the New York Baseball Club
and of Mr. John McCormack. They have given $10,000.00 in cash to the
Company and Regimental Funds, and $1,600 for the Chaplain’s Fund “for
religion and divilment.” All sorts of sporting goods, including two
complete sets of uniforms of Giants and Cubs, equip us fully for the
sort of strenuous life which we most enjoy.
The Women’s Auxiliary is also formed, Mrs. Hennings being the
President, for looking after the families of soldiers while they are
away, and sending gifts abroad.
Some of our wealthy friends in the Board of Trustees have also
held dinners to which have been invited the principal officers of
Regiment, Brigade, and Division. It has helped us to get acquainted
with our chief superiors. I was particularly glad to have the
opportunity of getting a more intimate knowledge of General Mann
and his Chief of Staff, Colonel Douglas McArthur—a brilliant
youthful-looking soldier for whom I had already formed a high esteem
and admiration from casual meeting. He has been very helpful in
furthering my plans to have a large body of priests from Brooklyn
and New York give the men of the whole Division an opportunity of
receiving the sacraments before going abroad.
MONTREAL
_October_ 28th, 1917
Orders at last. They came in for the 1st Battalion October 25th.
They slipped out quietly by night. I went with them to Montreal,
travelling with Companies B and D. The men were in gleeful spirits,
glad to have the wait over and to be off on the Long Trail. Edward
Connelly and I sat up chatting most of the night. One remark of his
struck me. His father was Captain of Company B in the 69th during the
Civil War. “Some people say to me, ‘With your two boys I don’t see
how you can afford to go to war.’ With my two boys I can’t see how I
can afford not to go to war.”
The two soldiers who appealed to me most aboard the train were Supply
Sergeant Billy McLaughlin and Lieutenant Bootz. They stayed up all
night to look after our needs, and they showed a combination of
efficiency and cheerfulness—a very model of soldierly spirit.
I saw them all onto the _Tunisia_ on their way to Liverpool. God
speed them.
CHAPTER II
IN TRAINING ABROAD
BREST
_November_ 13th, 1917
We moved out of Camp Mills on the night of October 29th and took
trains at the nearby station—off at last for foreign service. Parts
of Companies L and M were left to guard the camp. We found at
Hoboken that we were to sail on a fine ship—the converted German
liner _Amerika_ which had been re-christened with the change of the
penultimate letter. Our trip was uneventful. The seas were calm,
and sailing on the _America_ was like taking a trip on the end of a
dock—you had to look over the side to realize that she was in motion.
No submarines, though we were on constant watch for them. “What are
you doing here?” asked one of the ship’s officers of big Jim Hillery,
who stood watch. “Looking for something Oi don’t want to foind,”
answered Jim with a grin.
We did not know where our journey was to end but finally on November
12th we made port in the beautiful harbor of Brest, where we have
been idling all week because we have been the first convoy to put
in here, and no preparations have been made to land us and our
equipment, and afford transportation to our destination.
_November_ 15th, 1917
This morning I told Colonel Hine that I wanted a day in town to get
some necessaries for my church work, and permission was readily
granted. I inquired the way to the nearest church, timing my visit
to get in around the dinner hour, so as to get an invitation for a
meal. As I rang the bell of the rectory, the door opened and a poor
woman with two children came out carrying a basket into which the
housekeeper had put food. I said to myself: Where charity exists,
hospitality ought to flourish. I waited in the customary bare
ecclesiastical parlor for the Curé, and at last he came, a stout
middle-aged man, walking with a limp. I presented myself, very tall
and quite imposing in my long army overcoat, and told him I came
in search of altar breads. He immediately proposed to take me to a
convent some distance away where my wishes might be satisfied. As
I followed him along the cobbled streets I said to myself, “I had
thought these Bretons were a kind of Irish, but they lack the noblest
of the traditions of the Celtic race, or this old gentleman would
have asked me to dinner.” It was only later that I found that my
tremendous presence had embarrassed him and he had therefore decided
to bring me to somebody whom nothing would embarrass. One need not
say that this was a woman—the Mother Superior of an institution which
was school, orphanage and _pension_ in one.
She was of a type not unusual in heads of religious
communities—cultivated, balanced, perfectly serene. After supplying
my needs she asked gently, “Monsieur has dined?” “No, Monsieur has
not dined.” “Perhaps Monsieur would accept the humble hospitality
of the convent.” “Monsieur is a soldier, and soldiers have but one
obligation—never to refuse a meal when they can get it.” She smiled
and brought me to the dining room, where I met the old chaplain and
two equally elderly professors from some college, who pumped me about
America and myself and Wilson and myself and Roosevelt and myself
until the meal was over. Then I sallied forth with my stout Curé who
evidently had absorbed, as he sat silent through the meal, all the
information I had been giving out, particularly about myself. For he
brought me into forty stores and stopped on the street at least a
hundred people (and he knew everybody in town) to introduce proudly
his prize specimen of an American priest in uniform. The introduction
invariably took this form:
“Monsieur is an American.” “He is an officer.” “Monsieur, though
one would not know it, is a priest. He has a large parish in the
City of New York. He has been a Professor in the Seminary—of
Philosophy, mind you. Monsieur has a parish with three vicaires. He
receives from the noble government of the United States a stipend
of ten thousand francs a year. That is what this great country
gives their Chaplains. He is a Chaplain. He has crosses on his
collar. Also on his shoulders. If I were taller I could see them. I
saw them when he was sitting down.”
And at the end, and always with a little break in his voice as
he fumbled with the button of my tunic, “M. L’Aumonier wears the
tricolor of our country with the badge of the Sacred Heart, which was
pinned there by the great Cardinal of New York.” And this was the man
that I thought at first to be cold and unfriendly.
I had to break away finally to get back to my ship as evening was
beginning to gather. I started for the dock, interested all the
way to observe the Celtic types of the passers-by and giving them
names drawn from my Irish acquaintance, as Tim Murphy or Mrs.
O’Shaughnessy. Feeling that I was not making for the dock from
which I left, I turned to a knot of boys, introducing myself as a
priest and telling them that I wanted to get back to the American
transports. They jumped to help me as eagerly as my own altar boys
at home would do. One alert black-eyed lad of fourteen took command
of the party, the rest of them trailing along and endeavoring to
give advice and support. But from the beginning this one youngster
was in undoubted command of the situation. I tried once or twice to
ask where he was bringing me, but received only a brief “Suivez-moi,
Monsieur.” Our journey ended in an alley where the calls of my
guide brought out two fishermen who needed only red night-caps and
knives in their teeth to bring up associations of Stevenson’s
pirate-mutineers. But they were ready to ferry me over to my ship for
a compensation, a compensation which became quite moderate when my
Mentor explained their obligation as Catholics and as Frenchmen to a
priest and an ally.
I was about to embark in their fishing smack when a French marine
came along the dock and said that under no circumstances could a boat
cross the harbor after sunset. My fishermen argued; I argued; even my
irresistible young guide stated the case; but to no avail. Finally
I said to the youngster, “Why waste my time with this creature of a
marine. Lead me to the person the most important in Brest, the Mayor,
the Governor, the Master of the Port, the Commander of the Fleet.
From such a one I shall receive permission.” The youth gave me a
quick look and I think he would have winked if my face were not so
sternly set with the importance I had assumed. He led me off to the
office of the Harbormaster. It was closed. I could find no person
except the janitor who was sweeping the front steps. I was so put
out at the prospect of not getting back from my leave on time that
I had to talk to some person, so I told the janitor my worries. He
insinuated that something might be arranged. I had traveled in Europe
before and had learned how things get themselves arranged. So I
produced from my pocket a nice shiny two-franc piece; and in a moment
I discovered that I had purchased for thirty-five cents in real money
the freedom of the Port of Brest. My janitor descended upon the
faithful marine with brandished broom and bellowed objurgations that
such a creature should block the way of this eminent American Officer
who wished to return to his ship.
I stood in the prow of the smack as we made our way across the dark
and rainy harbor and I felt for the first time the touch of romance
as one gets it in books. I thought back over the day, and I had the
feeling that my adventures had begun, and had begun with a blessing.
NAIVES EN BLOIS
_Nov._ 27th, 1917
Naives in Blooey we call it, with a strong hoot on the last word. If
Thomas Cook and Son ever managed a personally conducted party as we
have been handled and then landed it in a place like this, that long
established firm would have to close up business forthwith. Guy Empey
and all the rest of them had prepared us for the “Hommes 40; Chevaux
8” box-cars, but description never made anybody realize discomforts.
Anyway, we went through it and we would have been rather disappointed
if they had brought us on our three-day trip across France in
American plush-seat coaches (by the way we growled about them when
we went to the Border). A year from now if we are alive we shall be
listening with an unconcealed grin of superiority to some poor fish
of a recruit who gabbles over the hardships he has undergone in the
side-door Pullmans.
We are forgetting our recent experiences already in the meanness of
these God-forsaken villages. We are in six of them—each the worst in
the opinion of the Companies there. Naives will do for a description
of Vacon, Broussey, Villeroi, Bovée or Sauvoy. A group of 40 houses
along the slopes of a crinkled plain. The farmers all live together
in villages, as is the custom in France. And many features of the
custom are excellent. They have a church, school, community wash
houses with water supply, good roads with a common radiating point
and the pleasures of society, such as it is.
The main drawback is that the house on the village street is still
a farm house. The dung heap occupies a place of pride outside the
front door; and the loftier it stands and the louder it raises its
penetrating voice, the more it proclaims the worth and greatness
of its possessor. The house is half residence and half stable with
a big farm loft over-topping both. The soldiers occupy the loft. I
censored a letter yesterday in which one of our lads said: “There
are three classes of inhabitants in the houses—first, residents;
second, cattle; third, soldiers.” Over my head are some boys from
Company B who got in ahead of us with the First Battalion, coming by
way of England and then via Havre, after a long and tedious trip.
They are Arthur Viens, Tom Blackburn and Jim Lannon of my own parish
with Gilbert, Gilgar, Weick, and Healey. Their life is typical of
the rest. Up in the morning early and over to Sergeant Gilhooley’s
wayside inn for breakfast. Then cut green wood for fire, or drill
along the muddy roads or dig in the muddier hillsides for a target
range—this all day with a halt for noon meal. Supper at 4:00 o’clock;
and already the sun has dropped out of the gloomy heavens, if indeed
it has ever shown itself at all. Then—then nothing. They cannot
light lanterns—we have landed right bang up behind the front lines
the first jump; we can hear the heavy guns booming north along the
St. Mihiel lines; and the aeroplanes might take a notion to bomb the
town some night if lights stood out. No fire—dangerous to light even
a cigarette in a hay loft. There are a couple of wine shops in town
but they are too small to accommodate the men. If they had a large
lighted place where they could have the good cheer of wine and chat
evenings it would be a blessing. They are not fond enough of “Pinard”
to do themselves harm with it and I think the pious inn keepers see
that it is well baptized before selling it. Good old Senator Parker
of the Y. M. C. A. has been right on the job with tents for the
men—of course without any curse of “rum” in them—but the cold weather
makes it difficult to render them habitable.
So most of the men spread their blankets in the straw and go to bed
at six o’clock—a good habit in the minds of old-fashioned folks. The
squad overhead have another good old-fashioned habit. From the stable
below I can hear them say their beads in common before settling down
to sleep. “Father” Pat Heaney of Company D got them into the way of
it on the boat. Good lads!
In comparison with them my fittings are palatial. I have a large
square low-ceilinged room with stone floor, and French windows with
big wooden shutters to enclose the light. The walls are concealed by
the big presses or _Armoires_ so dear to the housewives of Lorraine.
The one old lady who occupies this house has lived here for all of
her 70 years (a German officer occupied the high canopied bed in
1870) and she has never let any single possession she ever had get
away from her. They are all in the _Armoires_, old hats, bits of
silk, newspapers—everything. She is very pious and very pleased to
have M. l’Aumonier, but she wouldn’t give me a bit of shelf room or a
quarter inch of candle or a handful of _petit bois_ to start a fire
in the wretched fireplace, without cash down.
“Monsieur is a Curé.”
“Yes, Madame.”
My landlady has been quizzing me about the Regiment, my parish and
myself. She doesn’t understand this volunteer business. If we didn’t
have to come, why are we here? is her matter of fact attitude.
She was evidently not satisfied with what she could learn from me
herself, so one day she called to her aid a crony of hers, a woman
of 50 with a fighting face and straggly hair whom I had dubbed “the
sthreeler,” because no English word described her so adequately. I
had already heard the Sthreeler’s opinion of the women in Paris—all
of them. It would have done the hussies good to hear what she thought
of them. Now she turned her interrogatory sword point at me; no
parrying about her methods—just slash and slash again.
“Monsieur has three vicaires.” “Yes, Madame.”
“Then why has M. l’Aumonier come over here? Why not send one of the
Vicaires and stay at home in his parish?”
“But none of the vicaires was aumonier of the Regiment; but myself,
M. le Curé.
“Oh, perhaps the Germans destroyed your parish as they did that of
our present curé.”
“No, the Germans have not got to New York yet so my parish is still
safe.”
“Ah, then, I have it. No doubt the Government pays you more as
aumonier than the church does as curé.”
This was said with such an evident desire to justify her good opinion
of me as a rational being in spite of apparent foolishness, that I
said: “That is precisely the reason”; and we turned with zest to the
unfailing topic of the Parisiennes with their jewels and paint and
high heels. Not having her courage, I did not venture to ask the
sthreeler if she did not really envy them.
They are going in strong for education in the A. E. F. and we
have lost temporarily the services of many of our best officers.
Lieutenant Colonel Reed has gone off to school and also the three
Majors and half the Captains. I hope they are getting something out
of their schooling for nobody here is learning anything except how to
lead the life of a tramp. The men have no place to drill or to shoot
or to manœuvre. I hear we are moving soon to fresh fields further
south—Heaven grant it, for we waste time here.
GRAND
_December_ 23rd, 1917
I think it was Horace who said something to the effect that
far-faring men change the skies above them but not the hearts within
them. That occurs to me when I see our lads along the streets of this
ancient Roman town. It is old, old, old. You have to go down steps
to get to the floor of the 700-year-old Gothic nave of the church
because the detritus of years has gradually raised the level of
the square; and the tower of the church, a huge square donjon with
walls seven feet thick slitted for defensive bowmen, is twice as
old as the nave. And it has the ruins of an amphitheatre and a well
preserved mosaic pavement that date back to the third century, when
the Caesars had a big camp here to keep the Gauls in order. I shan’t
say that the men are not interested in these antiquities. They are
an intelligent lot, and unsated by sight-seeing, and they give more
attention to what they see than most tourists would. When I worked
the history of the place into my Sunday sermon I could see that
everybody was wide awake to what I had to say.
But in their hearts they are still in good little old New York. The
quips and slang of New York play houses are heard on the streets
where Caesar’s legionaries chaffed each other in Low Latin. Under
the fifteen centuries old tower Phil Brady maintains the worth of
Flushing because Major Lawrence hails from there. Paul Haerting and
Dryer exchange repartee outside the shrine of St. Libaire, Virgin and
Martyr, after their soldiers orisons at his tomb. Charles Dietrich
and Jim Gormley interrupt my broodings over the past in the ruins of
the amphitheater to ask me news about our parish in the Bronx.
The 2nd and 3rd Battalions are not in such an antique setting, but
in two villages along the bare hillsides to the south of us. It is
a good walk to get to them; but I have my reward. When I get to the
2nd Battalion, if the men are busy, I drop in on Phil Gargan for
a cup of coffee. I am always reminded of my visits to Ireland by
the hospitality I encounter—so warm and generous and bustling and
overwhelming. I get my coffee, too much of it, and too sweet, and hot
beyond human endurance, and food enough offered with it to feed a
platoon. And I am warm with a glow that no steaming drink could ever
produce of itself. It is the same wherever I go. For instance if my
steps lead me to the 3rd Battalion Pat Boland spices his coffee with
native wit; or if my taste inclines me to tea I look up Pat Rogan who
could dig up a cup of tea in the middle of a polar expedition.
While I am on the question of eating—always an interesting topic
to a soldier—let me say a word for French inns. I came to Grand
with Regimental Sergeant Major Steinert, ahead of the Regiment in
charge of a billetting detail, and thus made the acquaintance of
the establishment of Madame Gerard at the Sign of the Golden Boar.
I have seen a M. Gerard but, as in all well regulated families, he
is a person with no claim to figure in a story. I am in love for the
first time, and with Madame Gerard. Capable and human and merry, used
to men and their queer irrational unfeminine ways, and quite able to
handle them, hundreds at a time. A joke, a reprimand, and ever and
always the final argument of a good meal—easy as easy. She reigns
in her big kitchen, with its fireplace where the wood is carefully
managed but still gives heat enough to put life and savor into the
hanging pots and the sizzling turnspits. Odors of Araby the blest!
And she serves her meals with the air of a beneficent old Grande
Dame of the age when hospitality was a test of greatness. Private or
General—it makes no difference to her. The same food and the same
price and the same frank motherly humor—and they all respond with
feelings that are common to all. I sit before the kitchen fire while
she is at work, and talk about the war and religion and our poor
soldiers so far from their mothers, and the cost of food and the fun
you can get out of life, and when I get back to my cold room I go to
bed thinking of how much I have learned, and that I can see at last
how France has been able to stand this war for three and a half years.
The Colonel’s mess is at the Curé’s house. It too is a pleasant
place to be, for the Colonel lays aside his official air of severity
when he comes to the table, and is his genial, lovable self. The
Curé dines with us—a stalwart mountaineer who keeps a young boar in
his back yard as a family pet. One would have thought him afraid of
nothing. But courage comes by habit; and I found that the Curé had
his weak side. His years had not accustomed him to the freaks of a
drunken man—a testimonial to his parishioners. We had a cook, an old
Irishman, who could give a new flavor to nectar on Olympus; that is,
if he didn’t drink too much of it first. But he would, trust Paddy
for that, even if threatened with Vulcan’s fate of being pitched out
headfirst for his offense.
One day Tom Heaney and Billy Hearn came running for me. Paddy on
the rampage! The aged _bonne_ in hysterics. The Curé at his wits’
end. Come! I went. I found Paddy red-eyed and excited, and things
in a mess. I curtly ordered him into a chair, and sent for Doc.
Houghton, our mess officer, to do justice. Meanwhile I studied a map
on the wall, with my back turned to the offender, and the following
one-sided dialogue ensued—like a telephone scene at a play.
“It’s that’s making me mad.” A pause,
“I don’t like you anyway.” A pause.
“You’re no good of a priest. If I was dying I
wouldn’t”—(reconsidering)—“I hope to God when I’m dying I won’t
have to put up with the likes of you.” A long pause.
“I’ve long had me opinion of you. I’ll tell it to you if you like.”
A pause—with me saying to myself “Now you’ll get the truth.”
“I’ll tell it to you. I’ve been wanting to do it time and times....
You smoke cigarettes with the Officers, that’s what you do.” A
sigh of relief, and the thought “I could have said more than that
myself.”
Then in bursts Colonel Hine and Paddy was hustled away for
punishment. But I know what will happen. We shall eat army food _au
naturel_ for a week or so; and some noon the meal will be so good
that we shall all eat more than is good for men with work still to
do, and nobody shall ask a question about it, for everybody will know
that Paddy, God bless him! is back on the job once more. Of course
I have a special liking for him because when he was in a mood to
denounce me he let me off so light.
GRAND
_December_ 25th, 1917
If there is one day in all the year that wanderers from home cannot
afford to forget it is Christmas. The Company Commanders have had
their Mess Sergeants scouring the countryside for eatables.
It was my business to give them a religious celebration that they
would remember for many a year and that they would write about
enthusiastically to the folks at home, who would be worrying about
the lonesome existence of their boys in France. The French military
authorities and the Bishop of the diocese had united in prohibiting
Midnight Masses on account of the lights. But General Lenihan, the
Mayor, and the Curé decided that we were too far from the front to
worry about that, and it was arranged _tout de suite_. I knew that
confessions and communions would be literally by the thousands, so
with the aid of Joyce Kilmer and Frank Driscoll, ex-Jesuit-novice, I
got up a scheme for confessions of simple sins in English and French,
and set my French confrères to work; the Curé, a priest-sergeant in
charge of a wood cutting detail, a _brancardier_, and another priest
who was an officer of the artillery—all on the _qui vive_ about the
task. Christmas Eve found us all busy until midnight. I asked one
of the men how he liked the idea of going to confession to a priest
who cannot speak English. “Fine, Father,” he said with a grin, “All
he could do was give me a penance, but you’d have given me hell.”
Luckily the church was vastly larger than the present needs of the
town, for everybody, soldiers and civilians, came. General Lenihan
and Colonel Hine and the Brigade and the Regimental Staffs occupied
seats in the sanctuary which was also crowded with soldiers. The
local choir sang the Mass and I preached. Our lads sang the old
hymns, “The Snow Lay on the Ground,” “The Little Town of Bethlehem,”
and all, French and Americans, joined in the ancient and hallowed
strains of the _Adeste Fideles_ until the vaults resounded with
_Venite Adoremus Dominum_. It took four priests a long time to give
Communion to the throng of pious soldiers and I went to bed at
2:00 A. M. happy with the thought that, exiles though we are, we
celebrated the old feast in high and holy fashion.
Christmas afternoon we had general services in the big market shed.
The band played the old Christmas airs and everybody joined in, until
the square was ringing with our pious songs.
Everybody had a big Christmas dinner. The Quartermaster had sent the
substantial basis for it and for extra trimmings the Captains bought
up everything the country afforded. They had ample funds to do it,
thanks to our Board of Trustees, who had supplied us lavishly with
funds. The boxes sent through the Women’s Auxiliary have not yet
reached us. It is just as well, for we depart tomorrow on a four-day
hike over snowy roads and the less we have to carry the better.
LONGEAU
_January_ 1st, 1918
I cannot tell just what hard fates this New Year may have in store
for us, but I am sure that no matter how trying they may be they will
not make us forget the closing days of 1917. We left our villages in
the Vosges the morning after Christmas Day. From the outset it was
evident that we were going to be up against a hard task. It snowed
on Christmas, and the roads we were to take were mean country roads
over the foothills of the Vosges Mountains. New mules were sent to
us on Christmas Eve. They were not shod for winter weather, and many
of them were absolutely unbroken to harness, the harness provided
moreover being French and ill-fitting. To get it on the mules big Jim
Hillery had to throw them first on the stable floor.
It was everybody’s hike, and everybody’s purgatory; but to my mind
it was in a special way the epic of the supply company and the
detachments left to help them. Nobody ever makes any comment when
supplies are on hand on time. In modern city life we get into the way
of taking this for granted, as if food were heaven-sent like manna,
and we give little thought to the planning and labor it has taken to
provide us. On a hike the Infantry will get through—there is never
any doubt of that. They may be foot-sore, hungry, broken-backed,
frozen, half dead, but they will get through. The problem is to get
the mules through; and it is an impossible one very often without
human intelligence and human labor. On this hike the marching men
carried no reserve rations, an inexcusable oversight. No village
could feed them even if there was money to pay for the food; and the
men could not eat till the Company wagons arrived with the rations
and field ranges.
The situation for Captain Mangan’s braves looked desperate from the
start. A mile out of town the wagons were all across the road, as the
lead teams were not trained to answer the reins. The battle was on.
Captain Mangan with Lieutenant Kinney, a Past Grand Master when it
comes to wagon trains, organized their forces. They had experienced
helpers—Sergeant Ferdinando, a former circus man, Sergeant Bob Goss
and Regimental Supply Sergeant Joe Flannery, who will be looking
for new wars to go to when he is four score and ten. It would be
impossible to relate in detail the struggles of the next four days;
but that train got through from day to day only by the fighting
spirit of soldiers who seldom have to fire a rifle. Again and again
they came to hills where every wagon was stalled. The best teams had
to be unhitched and attached to each wagon separately until the hill
was won. Over and over the toil-worn men would have to cover the same
ground till the work was done, and in tough places they had to spend
their failing strength tugging on a rope or pushing a wheel. Wagoners
sat on their boxes with hands and feet freezing and never uttered a
complaint. The wagons were full of food but no man asked for a mite
of it—they were willing to wait till the companies ahead would get
their share.
The old time men who had learned their business on the Border were
naturally the best. Harry Horgan, ex-cowboy, could get anything out
of mules that mules could do. Jim Regan, old 1898 man, had his four
new mules christened and pulling in answer to their names before a
greenhorn could gather up the reins. Larkin and young Heffernan and
Barney Lowe and Tim Coffee were always first out and first in, but
always found time to come back and take the lines for some novice to
get his wagon through a hard place. Al Richford, Ed Menrose, Gene
Mortenson, Willie Fagan, Arthur Nulty, Wagoner Joe Seagriff and good
old Pat Prendergast did heroic work. “Father” James McMahon made me
prouder of my own title. Slender Jimmy Benson got every ounce of
power out of his team without ever forgetting he belonged to the
Holy Name Society. Sergeant Lacey, Maynooth man and company clerk,
proved himself a good man in every Irish sense of the word. Hillery
and Tumulty, horseshoers; Charles Henning of the commissary, and Joe
Healy, cook, made themselves mule-skinners once more, and worked with
energies that never flagged.
Lieutenant Henry Bootz came along at the rear of the Infantry column
to pick up stragglers. The tiredest and most dispirited got new
strength from his strong heart. “I think I’m going to die,” said
one broken lad of eighteen. “You can’t die without my permission,”
laughed the big Lieutenant. “And I don’t intend to give it. I’ll take
your pack, but you’ll have to hike.” And hike he did for seven miles
farther that day, and all the way for two days more. The first day
Bootz threatened to tie stragglers to the wagons. The remaining days
he took all that could move without an ambulance and tied the wagons
to them. And they had to pull.
Captain Mangan, the most resourceful of commanders, was working
in his own way to relieve the strain. One day he took possession
of a passing car and got to the H. Q. of a French Division where
the kindly disposed French Officers were easily persuaded to send
camions to carry provisions ahead, to be stored for the troops at the
terminus of the day’s march. Horses were rented from the farmers,
or, if they were stiff about it, abruptly commandeered. That wagon
train had to get through.
It got through; but sometimes it was midnight or after before
it got through; and meanwhile the line companies had their own
sufferings and sacrifices. They hiked with full packs on ill-made and
snow-covered roads over hilly country. At the end of the march they
found themselves in villages (four or five of them to the regiment),
billetted in barns, usually without fire, fuel or food. They huddled
together for the body warmth, and sought refuge from cold and hunger
in sleep. When the wagons came in, their food supplies were fresh
meat and fresh vegetables, all frozen through and needing so much
time to cook that many of the men refused to rise in the night to eat
it. Breakfast was the one real meal; at midday the mess call blew,
but there was nothing to eat.
When they got up in the morning their shoes were frozen stiff and
they had to burn paper and straw in them before they could get them
on. Men hiked with frozen feet, with shoes so broken that their feet
were in the snow; many could be seen in wooden sabots or with their
feet wrapped in burlap. Hands got so cold and frost-bitten that the
rifles almost dropped from their fingers. Soldiers fell in the snow
and arose and staggered on and dropped again. The strong helped the
weak by encouragement, by sharp biting words when sympathy would
only increase weakness, and by the practical help of sharing their
burdens. They got through on spirit. The tasks were impossible for
mere flesh and blood, but what flesh and blood cannot do, spirit can
make them do. It was like a battle. We had losses as in a battle—men
who were carried to hospitals because they had kept going long after
their normal powers were expended. It was a terrible experience. But
one thing we all feel now—we have not the slightest doubt that men
who have shown the endurance that these men have shown will give a
good account of themselves in any kind of battle they are put into.
LONGEAU
_January_ 10th, 1918
The Regiment is in five villages south of the old Fortress town of
Langres in the Haute Marne; Headquarters and Supply in Longeau,
1st Battalion in Percey, 2nd in Cohons, the 3rd in Baissey and the
Machine Gun Company in Brennes. They are pleasant prosperous little
places (inhabited by _cultivateurs_ with a sprinkling of _bourgeois_)
the red roofs clustering picturesquely along the lower slopes of the
rolling country. None of them is more than an hour’s walk from our
center at Longeau. The men are mostly in the usual hayloft billets,
though some companies have Adrian barracks where they sleep on board
floors. Apart from sore feet from that abominable hike, and the
suffering from cold due to the difficulty of procuring fuel, we are
fairly comfortable.
The officers are living in comparative luxury. I am established
with a nice sweet elderly lady. I reach the house through a court
that runs back of a saloon—which leaves me open to comments from
the ungodly. The house is a model of neatness, as Madame is a
childless widow, and after the manner of such, has espoused herself
to her home. She is very devout, and glad to have M. l’Aumonier in
the house, but I am a sore trial to her, as I have a constant run
of callers, all of them wearing muddy hobnailed brogans. She says
nothing to me, but I can hear her at all hours of the day lecturing
little Mac about doors and windows and sawdust and dirt. I never
hear him say anything in reply, except “Oui, Madame,” but somehow
he seems to understand her voluble French and they get along very
well together. I notice that our lads always strike up a quick
acquaintance with the motherly French women. They work together,
cooking at the fireplaces or washing clothes in the community
fountain, keeping up some sort of friendly gossip and laughing all
the while, though I never can understand how they manage it, for the
villagers never learn any English and the soldiers have not more
than forty words of French. After all a language is only a makeshift
for expressing ourselves. “Qu’est-ce que c’est”—“Kesky,” and pointing
supplies the nouns, gestures the verbs, and facial expressions the
adjectives.
LONGEAU
_January_ 21st, 1918
Last night the church bells rang at midnight; and waking, I said:
“Bombers overhead!” A minute later I heard the cry Fire! Fire! and
the bugles raising the same alarm. It was a big stable at the south
end of the town—we had gasoline stored in it and some soldier was
careless. The street was thronged in an instant with running soldiers
and civilians. The village firemen or _pompiers_ came running up
at a plowman gait—looked the fire over—and went back to put on
their proper uniforms. One old lad came all the way from Percey in
a gendarme’s chapeau. He could not properly try to put out a fire
in that headgear, so he went all the way back and arrived at last,
puffing but satisfied, in the big _pompier_ nickel-plated helmet.
Their big pump was pulled up to Longeau, and the hose was laid with
the proper amount of ceremony and shouting, and the stream finally
put on the blazing shed. The remainder of the population displayed
little of the proverbial French excitability. They looked on with the
air of men who can enjoy a good spectacle, happy in the thought that
the rich American Government would have to pay for it.
The soldiers were happy too at having a chance to fight something.
Colonel Barker gave orders in his quiet way, which Captains Anderson
and Mangan put into execution. The fountain ran out and bucket
lines were formed. I am afraid that some of the contents instead of
getting to the fire was dumped on the gaudy uniforms of the funny
old _pompiers_, who insisted upon running around giving orders that
nobody could understand. This is the second French fire we have
witnessed and the general verdict is that our moving picture people
have missed the funniest unstudied episode left in the world by not
putting a French village fire department on the screen. It was a good
show in every way—but incidentally the building was a total loss.
LONGEAU
_January_ 25th, 1918
I walked over to Cohons today and dropped in on Company H. Instead
of having to make my visit through the scattered billets that line
the entrance to the valley I found what looked like the whole Company
along the roadside in vehemently gesticulating groups. I hurried to
find what the trouble might be. “What’s the matter here,” I asked.
Val Dowling, the supply Sergeant, picked a uniform out of a pile and
held it up. “Look at the damn thing? Excuse me, Father, but you’ll
say as bad when you look at it. They want us to wear this.” He held
it out as if it had contagion in it, and I saw it was a British
tunic, brass buttons and all. I disappointed my audience—I didn’t
swear out loud. “Got nice shiny buttons,” I said. “What’s the matter
with it?” What was the matter with it? Did I know it was a British
uniform? Frank McGlynn of Manhattan and Bill McGorry of Long Island
City were as hot as Bill Fleming or Pat Travers or Chris O’Keefe or
William Smythe. “They look a little betther this way,” said John
Thornton, holding up one with the buttons clipped off. “That’s all
right,” I said, “but don’t get yourselves into trouble destroying
government property.” “Throuble,” said Martin Higgins. “What the
blazes do they mane by insultin’ min fightin’ for thim like this. I’d
stand hangin’ rather than put wan of thim rags on me back.”
I went home in a black mood, all the blacker because I did not want
to say what I felt before the men; and when I got to mess I found
Lawrence, Anderson and Mangan and young McKenna as sore as myself.
We all exploded together, and Colonel Barker, at first mildly
interested, seemed to get worried. “Well,” he said, “at least they
wouldn’t object if they had to wear English shoes, would they?” “No,”
I said. “They’d have the satisfaction of stamping on them.” The laugh
at my poor joke ended the discussion, but I waited after supper to
talk with Colonel Barker. I didn’t want him worried about us, and he
naturally couldn’t know; but I felt he could appreciate our attitude
from his own very strong anti-German feelings. “Colonel,” I said. “We
do not want you to feel that you have a regiment of divided loyalty
or dubious reliability on your hands. We are all volunteers for this
war. If you put our fellows in line alongside a bunch of Tommies,
they would only fight the harder to show the English who are the
better men, though I would not guarantee that there would not be an
occasional row in a rest camp if we were billeted with them. There
are soldiers with us who left Ireland to avoid service in the British
Army. But as soon as we got into the war, these men, though not yet
citizens, volunteered to fight under the Stars and Stripes.
“We have our racial feelings, but these do not affect our loyalty
to the United States. You can understand it. There were times
during the past two years when if England had not restrained her
John Bull tendencies on the sea we might have gotten into a series
of difficulties that would have led to a war with her. In that
case Germany would have been the Ally. You are a soldier, and you
would have fought, suppressing your own dislike for that Ally. But
supposing in the course of the war we were short of tin hats and they
asked you to put on one of those Boche helmets?”
The Colonel whacked the table, stung to sudden anger at the picture.
Then he laughed, “You have a convincing way of putting things,
Father. I’ll see that they clothe my men hereafter in American
uniforms.”
And though, as I found later, many of the offensive uniforms had
been torn to ribbons by the men, nobody ever made any inquiry about
“destruction of government property.”
PERCEY
_February_ 2nd, 1918
I usually manage to get to two different towns for my Church services
Sunday mornings. General Lenihan always picks me up in his machine
and goes with me to my early service, at which he acts as acolyte
for the Mass, a duty which he performs with the correctness of a
seminarian, enhanced by his fine soldierly face and bearing and his
crown of white hair. The men are deeply impressed by it, and there
are few letters that go home that do not speak of it. He brought me
back from Cohons this morning and dropped me off at Percey, where I
had a later Mass. These French villagers are different from our own
home folks in that they want long services; they seem to feel that
their locality is made little of, if they do not have everything
that city churches can boast, and I sometimes think, a few extras
that local tradition calls for. It is hard on me, for I am a Low
Church kind of Catholic myself; and besides “soldier’s orisons” are
traditionally short ones. The only consolation I have here in Percey
is that the old septuagenarian who leads the service for the people
sings in such a way that I can render thanks to Heaven that at last
it has been given to my ears to hear raised in that sacred place the
one voice I have ever heard that is worse than my own.
I called on Donovan this evening and found him sitting in a big,
chilly chamber in the old chateau in front of a fire that refused
to burn. He had had a hard day and was still busy with orders for
the comfort of men and animals. “Father,” he said, “I have just been
thinking that what novelists call romance is only what men’s memories
hold of the past, with all actual realization of the discomforts left
out, and only the dangers past and difficulties conquered remaining
in imagination. What difference is there between us and the fellow
who has landed at the Chateau in Stanley Weyman or Robert Stevenson’s
interesting stories; who has come in after a hard ride and is giving
orders for the baiting of his horse or the feeding of his retinue, as
he sits, with his jackboots pulled down, before the unwilling fire
and snuffs the candle to get sufficient light to read his orders for
the next day’s march.” I get much comfort from the Major’s monologue.
It supplies an excellent romantic philosophy with which to face the
sordid discomforts which are the most trying part of war.
BAISSEY
_February_ 8th, 1918
Over today and dined at Hurley’s mess. Pat Dowling told of a rather
mysterious thing that happened to him while he was a Sergeant in the
regular army. He was sent from one post to another, a distance of
two hundred miles, with a sealed letter which he delivered to the
Commanding Officer, who opened it, read it, and said: “Sergeant, you
will return to your own post immediately.” “I have often wondered,”
said Pat, “what could have been in that letter.” “I can tell you,”
said Tom Martin, in his quiet way. “Well, what was in it?” “That
letter read, ‘If you like the looks of this man, keep him.’”
LONGEAU
_February_ 10th, 1918
The Regiment has made huge progress in military matters during
the past month. I go over to Cohons and the new French Chauchat
automatics are barking merrily at the hill that climbs from the road.
At Percey I see our erstwhile baseball artists learning an English
overhead bowling delivery for hurling hand grenades at a pit, where
they explode noisily and harmlessly. At Baissey Major Moynahan walks
me up the steep hill to show me his beautiful system of trenches,
though I see no reflection of his enthusiasm in the faces of Jerry
Sheehan or Jim Sullivan—they had the hard job of helping to dig
them. West of the town against the steep base of the highest hill
Lieutenants O’Brien and Cunningham with the 37 mm. or one-pound
cannon, and Lieutenants Walsh and Keveny with the Stokes mortars are
destroying the fair face of nature. Vociferous young Lieutenants
are urging the men to put snap into their bayonet lunges at stuffed
mannikins.
I had a little clash of my own with some of these enthusiastic
youngsters early in the game. In the British school of the bayonet
they teach that the men ought to be made to curse while doing these
exercises. I see neither grace nor sense in it. If a man swears in
the heat of a battle I don’t even say that God will forgive it; I
don’t believe He would notice it. But this organized blasphemy is an
offense. And it is a farce—a bit of Cockney Drill Sergeant blugginess
to conceal their lack of better qualities. If they used more brains
in their fighting and less blood and guts they would be further on
than they are. Our fellows will do more in battle by keeping their
heads and using the natural cool courage they have than by working
themselves up into a fictitious rage to hide their fears.
Latterly we have had the excellent services of a Battalion of French
Infantry to help us in our training. They have been through the
whole bloody business and wear that surest proof of prowess, the
Fourragère. I asked some of the old timers amongst them how much use
they had made of the bayonet. They all said that they had never seen
a case when one line of bayonets met another. Sometimes they were
used in jumping into a trench, but generally when it came to bayonets
one side was running away.
The “Y” is on the job and has some sort of place in each town. With
me is Percy Atkins, a good man with only one fault—he is working
himself to death in spite of my trying to boss him into taking care
of himself.
We have suffered a real pang in the transfer of Colonel Hine to
the Railway Service. It gives a foretaste of what we are to be up
against in this war. There is evidently to be no regard for feelings
or established relations of dependency or intimacy, but just put men
in where they will be considered to fit best. I was ready for that
after the battles began, but it is starting already. First Reed, now
Hine. I shall miss Colonel Hine very much—a courteous gentleman, a
thorough soldier, a good friend. He was a railroad man for many years
and they say he is needed there. God prosper him always wherever he
goes.
His successor was picked by General Pershing from his own staff:
Colonel John W. Barker, a West Pointer, who had seen much service and
had been on duty in France since the beginning of the war. He is a
manly man, strong of face, silent of speech, and courteous of manner.
We have learned to like him already—we always like a good soldier. We
are also beginning to get some real training, as the weather is more
favorable and our officers are getting back from school.
CHAPTER III
THE LUNÉVILLE SECTOR
ARBRE HAUT
_March_ 1st, 1918
The trenches at last! We have all read descriptions of them and so
had our preconceived notions. The novelty is that we are in a thick
woods. You go out from Lunéville (where we have been having the
unwonted joys of city life for a week or so) along the flat valley
of the Vesouze to Croix-Mare, and east to Camp New York, where some
Adrian barracks, floating like Noah’s Arks in a sea of mud, house the
battalion in reserve; then up a good military road through the Forest
of Parroy to Arbre Haut, where a deep dugout forty feet underground
shelters the Colonel and his headquarters. A mile further on, at
Rouge Bouquet, one arrives at a Battalion Post of Command dugout
now occupied by Major Donovan, Lieutenants Ames, Irving, Lacey and
Captain Mercier, an energetic, capable and agreeable officer of the
French Mission. Duck-board paths lead in various directions through
peaceful looking woods to a sinuous line of trenches which were, when
we arrived in them, in considerable need of repair. Company D, under
Captain McKenna, had the honor of being first in the lines. They were
followed by Companies B and A, Company C being in support. Off duty
the men live in mean little dugouts thinly roofed, poorly floored,
wet and cold. But they are happy at being on the front at last, and
look on the discomforts as part of the game. Their only kick is that
it is too quiet. Their main sport is going out on patrols by night or
day to scout through “No Man’s Land,” to cut wires, and stir things
up generally. With our artillery throwing over shells from the rear
and our impatient infantry prodding the enemy, this sector will not
be long a quiet one.
CROIX-MARE
_March_ 10th, 1918
We have had our first big blow, and we are still reeling under the
pain and sorrow of it. Our 1st Battalion left the trenches with few
casualties to pay for their ten days of continuous work at trench
and wire mending and night patrols. Arthur Trayer and John Lyons
of Company D were the first to gain their wound chevrons. On March
5th the 2nd Battalion began to move company by company from Camp
New York. I spent the afternoon before with each unit attending
to their spiritual needs, and ending the day with a satisfactory
feeling of having left nothing undone. I was with Company E on March
6th and will always retain a recollection of certain youngsters who
stayed for a little friendly personal chat after confession, like
Arthur Hegney, Eddie Kelly, Steve Navin, Arthur Christfully, George
Adkins, Phil Finn; while Steve Derrig and Michael Ahearn with Bailey,
Halligan and McKiernan were rounding up the bunch to keep me going.
The Company went out in the early morning of March 7th to relieve
Company A, and soon had the position taken over. About 4 P. M. the
enemy began a terrific shelling with heavy minenwerfers on the
position at Rocroi. The big awkward wabbling aerial torpedoes began
coming over, each making a tremendous hole where it hit and sending
up clouds of earth and showers of stone. Lieutenant Norman, an old
Regular Army man, was in charge of the platoon, and after seeing that
his guards and outposts were in position, ordered the rest of the men
into the dugouts. While he was in the smaller one a torpedo struck it
fair and destroyed it, burying the two signal men from Headquarters
Company, Arthur Hegney and Edward Kearney. The Lieutenant barely
managed to extricate himself from the debris and set himself to
look after the rest of his men. He was inspecting the larger dugout
alongside when another huge shell came over, buried itself in the
very top of the cave and exploded, rending the earth from the
supporting beams and filling the whole living space and entrance with
rocks and clay, burying the Lieutenant and twenty-four men.
Major Donovan of the 1st Battalion was at the Battalion P. C. with
Major Stacom when the bombardment began. As there were six positions
to defend and the shelling might mean an attack anywhere along the
whole line, the Battalion Commander’s duty was to remain at the
middle of the web with his reserves at hand to control the whole
situation. So Major Donovan requested that as he had no general
responsibilities for the situation he might be permitted to go down
to Rocroi and see what he could do there. Stacom was unwilling to
have anybody else run a risk that he was not permitted to share
himself, but he gave his consent.
Major Donovan found the men in line contending with a desperate
condition. The trenches were in places levelled by the bombardment
and though the enemy were no longer hurling their big torpedoes they
kept up a violent artillery attack on the position. The only answer
that we could make to this was from the trench mortars which were
kept going steadily by Lieutenants Walsh and F. McNamara, Corporal
Cudmore, William Murphy, Wisner, Young, Harvey, P. Garvey, Herbert
Shannon, F. Garvey, DeNair, Robertson and the one pounders under
Lieutenant Cunningham, Sergeants J. J. Ryan and Willermin. One of
their guns was blown clean out of its position.
Corporal Helmer with Privates Raymond, McKenzie, Cohen, McCormack,
O’Meara and Smeltzer were saved from the dugout and immediately began
to work for the rescue of the others, aided by 1st Sergeant Bailey,
Sergeants William Kelly and Andrew Callahan, Corporals Bernard Kelly
and William Halligan with John Cronin, Thomas Murray, James Joyce
and John Cowie. They knew that many of their comrades were dead
already but the voices could still be heard as the yet standing
timbers kept the earth from filling the whole grade. The rescuers
were aided by Lieutenant Buck and three sergeants of Company A,
who had remained until the newly arrived company had learned its
way about the sector. These were Sergeants William Moore, Daniel
O’Connell and Spencer Rossel. Sergeant Abram Blaustein also hastened
up with the pioneer section, Mackay, Taggart, Schwartz, Adair, Heins,
Quinn, LaClair, Dunn, Gillman and the rest.
Major Donovan found them working like mad in an entirely exposed
position to liberate the men underneath. A real soldier’s first
thought will always be the holding of his position, so the Major
quickly saw to it that the defense was properly organized. Little
Eddie Kelly, a seventeen-year-old boy, was one of the coolest men in
sight, and he flushed with pleasure when told that he was to have a
place of honor and danger on guard. The work of rescue was kept going
with desperate energy, although there was but little hope that any
more could be saved, as the softened earth kept slipping down, and it
was impossible to make a firm passage-way. The Engineers were also
sent for and worked through the night to get out bodies for burial
but with only partial success. Meanwhile the defenders of the trench
had to stand a continuous shelling in which little Kelly was killed,
Stephen Navin and Stephen Derrig were seriously wounded, and Sergeant
Kahn, Corporal Smeltzer and Privates Bowler and Dougherty slightly.
The French military authorities conferred a number of Croix de
Guerre, giving a Corps citation to Corporal Helmer for working to
save his comrades after having been buried himself, “giving a very
fine example of conscience, devotion and courage.” Division citations
went to Major Donovan, “superior officer who has shown brilliant
military qualities notably on the 7th and 8th of March, 1918, by
giving during the course of a violent bombardment an example of
bravery, activity and remarkable presence of mind”; and to Private
James Quigley, who “carried two wounded men to first aid station
under a violent bombardment and worked all night trying to remove his
comrades buried under a destroyed dugout.” Regimental citations were
given to Lieutenant John Norman, Lieutenants Oscar Buck and W. Arthur
Cunningham, Sergeant William Bailey and Carl Kahn of Company E,
Sergeants William J. Moore, Daniel O’Connell and Spencer T. Rossell
of Company A, Sergeants Blaustein and Private Charles Jones of H. Q.
Company.
The bodies of Eddie Kelly and Oscar Ammon of Company F, who was also
killed during that night, with those that could be gotten from the
dugout were buried in Croix-Mare in a plot selected for the purpose
near a roadside Calvary which, from the trees surrounding it, was
called the “Croix de L’Arbre Vert” or “Green Tree Cross.” The others
we left where they fell. Over the ruined dugout we erected a marble
tablet with the inscription, “Here on the field of honor rest”—and
their names.
Company E held those broken trenches with their dead lying there
all of that week and Company L during the week following. Following
is a full list of the dead: Lieutenant John Norman, Corporal Edward
Sullivan, George Adkins, Michael Ahearn, Patrick Britt, Arthur
Christfully, William Drain, William Ellinger, Philip S. Finn, Michael
Galvin, John J. Haspel, Edward J. Kelly, James B. Kennedy, Peter
Laffey, John J. Le Gall, Charles T. Luginsland, Frank Meagher,
William A. Moylan, William H. Sage and Robert Snyder of Company E;
Arthur V. Hegney and Edward J. Kearney of Headquarters Company and
Oscar Ammon of Company F.
ARBRE HAUT
_March_ 12th, 1918
We have given up hope of getting our dead out of Rocroi—it would be
a task for the Engineers, and it would probably mean the loss of
many more lives to accomplish it. Joyce Kilmer’s fine instincts have
given us a juster view of the propriety of letting them rest where
they fell. So I went out today to read the services of the dead and
bless their tomb. Company L is in that position now, and they too
have been subjected to a fierce attack in which Lieutenant Booth was
wounded. He and Lieutenant Baker and Corporal Lawrence Spencer are
in for a Croix de Guerre for courage in action. Today there was a
lot of sniping going on, so Sergeant John Donoghue and Sergeant Bill
Sheahan wanted to go out to the position with me. They are two of the
finest lads that Ireland has given us, full of faith and loyalty,
and they had it in mind, I know, to stand each side of me and shield
me from harm with their bodies. Val Roesel, Bert Landzert and Martin
Coneys also insisted that they would make good acolytes for me. But I
selected the littlest one in the crowd, Johnny McSherry; and little
Jack trotted along the trench in front of me with his head erect
while I had to bend my long back to keep my head out of harm’s way.
We came on Larry Spencer in an outpost position contemplating his tin
hat with a smile of satisfaction. It had a deep dent in it where a
bullet had hit it and then deflected—a fine souvenir.
We finished our services at the grave and returned. I lingered a
while with Spencer, a youth of remarkable elevation of character—it
is a good thing for a Chaplain to have somebody to look up to. Back
in the woods I met two new Lieutenants, Bernard Shanley and Edward
Sheffler. Shanley is from the Old Sod. Sheffler is a Chicagoan of
Polish descent, a most likable youth. I gave them a good start on
their careers as warriors by hearing their confessions.
That reminded me that I had some neglected parishioners in Company
I, so I went over their set of trenches. Around the P. C. it looks
like pictures of the houses of wattles and clay that represent the
architecture of Early Britain. Met Harry Adikes and Ed Battersby
and found them easy victims when I talked confession. Where do the
Irish get such names? Ask Wilton Wharton what his ancestors were
and he will say “Irish”; so will Bob Cousens and Bill Cuffe, Eddie
Willett, Jim Peel or Jim Vail. Charlie Cooper is half way to being
Irish now, and he will be all Irish if he gets a girl I know. I know
how Charlie Garret is Irish,—for he comes from my neighborhood, and
if it were the custom to adopt the mother’s name in a family he would
be Charles Ryan. The same custom would let anybody know without his
telling it, as he does with his chest out, that George Van Pelt is
Irish too. I saw one swarthy fellow with MIKE KELLEY in black letters
on his gas mask, but on asking him I found that he was Irish only by
abbreviation, as he was christened Michael Keleshian. Tommy O’Brien
made himself my guide and acolyte for my holy errand; and he first
took me on a tour amongst the supply sergeants and cooks for he
wanted us both well looked after. So when we had gotten Eddie Joyce,
Pat Rogan, Michael O’Brien, Tom Loftus and Joe Callahan in proper
Christian condition for war or hospitality, we sallied forth around
the trenches.
Religion in the trenches has no aid from pealing organ or stained
glass windows, but it is a real and vital thing at that. The
ancestors of most of us kept their religious life burning brightly
as they stole to the proscribed Mass in a secluded glen, or told
their beads by a turf fire; and I find that religion thrives today
in a trench with the diapason of bursting shells for an organ.
I had a word or two for every man and they were glad to get it;
and the consolations of the old faith for those that were looking
for it. It makes a man feel better about the world and God, and
the kind of people he has put into it to know in conditions like
these such men as Bill Beyer, Fordham College Man; Pat Carroll,
Chauffeur; Tom Brennan, Patrick Collins, whom I am just beginning
to know and to like; Bill Dynan, whom I have known and liked for a
long time; manly Pat Hackett and athletic Pat Flynn, solid non-coms
like Ford, Hennessey, McDermott, Murphy, Denis Hogan, Michael
Jordan, Hugh McFadden, not to mention the old Roman 1st Sergeant
Patrick McMinaman. It was the vogue at one time to say with an air
of contempt that religion is a woman’s affair. I would like to have
such people come up here—if they dared: and say the same thing to the
soldiers of this Company or of this Regiment—if they dared.
The last outpost was an interesting one. It did not exist when I was
in these parts with the 2nd Battalion, as our friends on the other
side had not yet built it for us. But recently they have sent over
one of their G. I. cans (that, dear reader, means galvanized iron
can, which are as big as a barrel, and which tells the story of what
a minenwerfer torpedo shell looks like when it is coming toward you)
and the G. I. Can made a hole like the excavation of a small cottage.
In it I found four or five of Company I snugly settled down and very
content at being that much closer to the enemy. Here I met for the
first time Ed. Shanahan, a fine big fellow who ought to make good
with us, and Charlie Stone, whose mother was the last to say good-bye
to me as we left Camp Mills. Mess came up while we were there and
we did justice to it sitting on clumps of soft earth which had been
rolled into round snowballs by the explosion—and chatting about New
York.
ST. PATRICK’S DAY IN THE TRENCHES
_Sunday_, _March_ 17th 1918
What a day this would have been for us if we were back in New York!
Up the Avenue to St. Patrick’s Cathedral in the morning, and the big
organ booming out the old Irish airs and the venerable old Cardinal
uttering words of blessing and encouragement. And in the afternoon
out on parade with the Irish Societies with the band playing Garry
Owen and Let Erin Remember and O’Donnell Aboo, as we pass through the
cheering crowds. And how they would shout in this year of Grace 1918
if we could be suddenly transported to New York’s Avenue of triumph.
But I am glad we are not there. For more than seventy years the old
Regiment has marched up the Avenue in Church parade on St. Patrick’s
Day. But never, thank God, when the country was at war. Other New
Yorkers may see the Spring sweeping through the Carolinas or stealing
timidly up the cliffs of the Hudson or along the dented shores of
Long Island; but there is only one place in the world where the old
Irish Regiment has any right to celebrate it, and that is on the
battle line.
The 3rd Battalion is in the trenches, so I went up yesterday and
spent the night with Major Moynahan, who gave me a true Irish
welcome. He and Leslie have made good Irishmen out of Lieutenants
Rerat and Jackson and we had a pleasant party.
We had not a Cathedral for our St. Patrick’s day Mass but Lieutenant
Austin Lawrence had Jim McCormack and George Daly of the Medicos pick
out a spot for me among the trees to conceal my bright vestments from
observation and the men who were free slipped up the boyaus from the
nearby trenches for the services.
Later in the morning I said Mass back at Camp New York for the 2nd
Battalion in a grove of young birch trees on the hill slope, the
men being scattered singly over the slope and holding very still
when the bugler sounded the alert for an enemy aeroplane over head.
I described former St. Patrick days to them and told them they
were better here. New York would talk more of them, think more of
them than if they were back there. Every man in the town would be
saying he wished he were here and every man worth his salt would
mean it. The leading men of our country had called us to fight for
human liberty and the rights of small nations, and if we rallied to
that noble cause we would establish a claim on our own country and
on humanity in favor of the dear land from which so many of us had
sprung, and which all of us loved.
In the afternoon we had a fine concert under the trees. Sergeants
Frye and Tom Donahoe played for Tommy McCardle’s funny songs, and for
John Mullin’s serious ones. McManus and Quinn played the fife for
Irish dances, and Lieutenant Prout, by special request, recited John
Locke’s poem, “Oh Ireland, I Bid You the Top of the Morning.”
In the middle of the concert I read Joyce Kilmer’s noble poem, “Rouge
Bouquet.” The last lines of each verse are written to respond to
the notes of “Taps,” the bugle call for the end of the day which is
also blown ere the last sods are dropped on the graves of the dead.
Sergeant Patrick Stokes stood near me with his horn and blew the
tender plaintive notes before I read the words; and then from the
deep woods where Egan was stationed came a repetition of the notes
“like horns from elfland faintly blowing.” Before I had finished
tears had started in many an eye especially amongst the lads of
Company E. I had known it was going to be a sad moment for all, and
had directed the band to follow me up with a medley of rollicking
Irish airs; just as in military funerals the band leads the march to
the grave in solemn cadence and departs playing a lively tune. It is
the only spirit for warriors with battles yet to fight. We can pay
tribute to our dead but we must not lament for them overmuch.
CROIX-MARE
_March_ 18th, 1918
I buried a soldier of the 117th Signal Battalion in Croix-Mare today
with unusual honors. Private Wilkerson had been killed in action
and as he was a Catholic Major Garrett had asked me to perform the
ceremony. The French were most kind in participating, but that is
no new thing. Colonel Dussauge always has his Chasseurs take part
with us in funerals, though it is a distraction to me to see them
trying to accommodate their short choppy gait (“like soldiers in the
Movies” according to Bandsman McGregor) to the air of a Dead March.
I said to the Colonel: “There is one thing your men can’t do.” “What
is that?” “Walk to a funeral march.” “Thank you for the compliment,
Monsieur l’Aumonier.” The Curé, too, always came to our funerals.
And we had a fine grizzled old Oblate Division Chaplain who has been
in all the French wars from Madagascar to Tonquin. The Government
tried to put him out of France when the law against Religious was
passed, but he refused to go, saying he would live his life in France
if he had to live it in jail. I met a number of these religious in
the army, most of them returned from exile to offer their lives in
defense of their country. If the French Government puts them out
after the war is over they will deserve the scorn and enmity of
mankind as a rotten set of ingrates.
At the grave we found we had other spectators. I saw General Menoher
and General Lenihan with a short spare-built civilian whom I took for
a reporter. He had a French gas mask with a long tape, which hung
down between his legs like a Highlander’s sporran. There were Moving
Picture cameras too, which seemed to spell a Presence. I whispered
to the old Curé that his picture would be put on the screen in every
town in America, at which he was, I could see, somewhat shocked
and altogether pleased. After the ceremony a number of the Signal
Battalion took advantage of the opportunity to go to confession; and
I was standing by the side of a truck performing my pious duties
when General Lenihan approached with the slim reporter. They did not
intrude, so I missed my chance of making the acquaintance of the
energetic Newton W. Baker, Secretary of War of the United States.
LUNÉVILLE
_March_ 21st, 1918
For the past twelve days volunteers from the 1st Battalion have been
preparing, under command of Lieutenants Henry A. Bootz and Raymond
H. Newton, for a _coup de main_ in connection with the 41st Battalion
of Chasseurs. They have been training with the French at Croix-Mare
and I find it interesting to watch them. They go through all sorts
of athletic stunts to get into perfect condition, study the ground
through maps on the blackboard showing just what each man’s position
is to be, and then work out the whole thing over a ground which is
very much like the Ouvrage Blanc, where the raid will take place.
Last Saturday afternoon, after I had been hearing confessions amongst
them, four or five of the Irish lads waited to see me. I went for
a walk with them around an old moat and as we stood looking at a
stone tablet that commemorated the victory of some Duke of Lorraine
over a Duke of Burgundy four hundred years ago, Billy Elwood put the
question, “Father, do you think we’ll be afraid?” “Not you,” I said,
“not a bit of it. You may feel rather tight across the chest for the
five minutes before you tear into it, but when you get going you’ll
forget even that, because your blood will be up.” “I believe you,”
he said. “Of course you know none of us are afraid and we are all
anxious to have a try at it, but it’s our first time in a thing of
this sort and the only worry we have is that something might go wrong
inside of us and spoil the good name of the Irish.”
Before the raid started there was an amusing little interlude.
Corporal Bob Foster of Company D had a little Irish flag given to him
by Sergeant Evers of the Band, and the lads were determined that that
flag would go over the top in the first organized attack made by the
regiment. A young officer, not of our Division, who had been sent
as an observer, saw the flag stuck at the top of Foster’s rifle and
felt it his duty to protest against it. After a short parley Bootz
demanded, “What are you here for, anyway.” “I’m an observer,” was the
response. “Then climb a tree and observe, and let me run this raid.”
Our artillery was busy bombarding the position that was to be the
object of assault and at 7:35 P. M. the men went out through our
wires under cover of darkness and took up their position near the
_chicanes_ (passages) in the enemy wire, which had been reconnoitered
the night before. Our artillery laid down a barrage at 7:50 for a
space of three minutes upon which the front line advanced and got
possession of the German trenches without opposition, as the Germans
had evacuated them during the heavy bombardment of the past two days.
They were just in time in reaching shelter for the German artillery
began to shell their own abandoned line most vigorously. The trouble
about this attack was that our own artillery preparation had been too
good. The Germans could not help inferring that this point was to be
made the object of an assault, so they drew back and waited until
the infantry had reached the position. Then they turned on them the
full force of artillery and machine gun fire from positions further
back, leaving to the assaulters the choice between getting back to
their own lines, or attacking an unknown and well defended position
in the dark. The French Officer in charge gave the order to retire.
During this period Edward Maher of Company B must have been killed
because no word of him was ever received. Corporal William Elwood
and Joseph Miller of Company C were fatally wounded. Badly wounded
were Sergeants John F. Scully, Fred Almendinger and Martin Gill of
Company A and Patrick Grogan of Company D. After getting back to the
French trenches Bootz and Newton repeatedly led parties back over
the shell-swept area to search for Maher, and to see if the Germans
had reoccupied their trenches. On this mission Thomas P. Minogue of
Company B was killed. Lieutenant Newton carried in one French soldier
and Private Plant carried in another. Lieutenant Bootz, with Corporal
Joseph Pettit of Company C, helped Sergeant Scully to the lines, and
going out again, they found Joe Miller, his right leg amputated by a
shell. Miller was a big man but Bootz swung him up on his back and
with Pettit assisting, carried him back into the lines.
The following officers and men taking part in this _coup de
main_ were decorated by the French authorities on March 22nd at
Croix-Mare: Division Citations, First Lieutenant Henry A. Bootz,
Second Lieutenant Raymond H. Newton, Private Marlow Plant; Regimental
Citations: Company A, Joseph C. Pettit, Frank J. Fisher, Privates
George McCarthy, Bernard McOwen, Michael Morley, Sergeant John
Scully; Company B, Sergeants Spiros Thomas, Christian Biorndall,
Corporal William F. Judge, Privates Frank Brandreth, Vincent J.
Eckas, Daniel J. Finnegan; Company C, Sergeant Eugene A. McNiff,
Corporal Herman E. Hillig, Privates Bernard Barry, Michael Cooney,
James Barry, John J. Brawley, Joseph A. Miller; Company D, Sergeant
Thomas M. O’Malley, Corporal Thomas H. Brown, Privates Denis
O’Connor, Patrick Grogan, John Cahill, Harry H. DeVoe.
Of the wounded, Elwood died shortly after being brought to the
Hospital at Lunéville and Joe Miller succumbed the next day after
sufferings borne with a fortitude that begot the admiration of
nurses and doctors used to dealing with courageous men. The others
are wounded badly enough but they will recover. Almendinger, who
describes himself as “half Boche and half County Kilkenny,” was going
off to the operating ward to have his wounded eye removed when I saw
him the second time. “Never mind about that, Fred,” I said, “Uncle
Sam will look after you.” “I’m not thinking about Uncle Sam at all.
There’s a girl back in New York who doesn’t care whether I have one
eye or two, so I should worry.”
THE GAS ATTACK
_March_ 20th and 21st, 1918
But meanwhile there had been other happenings in the sector which
quite overshadowed the 1st Battalion raid.
Company K went into the line in the Rouge Bouquet Sector on March
12th, 1918, relieving Company H. The Company Headquarters were at
Chaussailles, and the two platoons in the front line were: on the
right, at Changarnier (C. R. 1), one platoon; in the center at C. R.
2 a half platoon; and on the left at Chevert (C. R. 3) a half platoon.
There were no casualties for the first eight days except that John
Ring received a bullet in the arm. Our patrols did not come into
contact with the Boches (who apparently never left their lines) and
except a few minenwerfer and some shelling with 77’s the sector was
quiet, the weather was fine, and every one spoke of the tour at the
front as a picnic.
About 5:30 on the evening of the 20th the Boches suddenly began to
bombard the entire company sector, from a line not far from their
own trenches to a line several hundred yards in the rear of Company
Headquarters, with mustard gas shells and shrapnel, the heaviest
bombardment being in the vicinity of C. R. 2, where Sergeant Frank
Doughney was in command, of C. R. 3, where Lieutenant Bill Crane was
in command, and at the first aid station, where Lieutenant Patten
and his group were quartered, together with the fourth platoon under
Lieutenant Levi. This bombardment lasted about three hours.
The groups stationed at the outposts were caught on their way in, the
two groups under Corporals Caulfield and Joe Farrell being led by
Corporal Farrell into an incomplete dugout about 300 yards in front
of our lines, the other two going directly in.
The second platoon, under Lieutenant Dowling in Changarnier, were not
so heavily shelled and being on higher ground, were not gassed so
badly as the others.
In C. R. 2, Harry McCoun was struck by a shell which carried away his
left hand. He held up the stump and shouted, “Well, boys, there goes
my left wing.” Sergeant Jack Ross and Private Ted Van Yorx led him
under heavy fire back to the first aid station, where Doctor Patten
tore off his mask to operate on him (for which he earned the Croix de
Guerre), but McCoun died the next morning.
In C. R. 3, Lieutenant Crane walked from one post to the other in
the midst of the heaviest bombardment in order to encourage the men.
In the midst of this bombardment, several of the runners, including
particularly Privates Ed Rooney and Ray Staber, distinguished
themselves by their courage and coolness in carrying messages between
Company headquarters and the front line.
The men were prompt in putting on their masks as soon as the presence
of gas was recognized, but it was found impossible to keep them on
indefinitely and at the same time keep up the defense of the sector.
Immediately after the bombardment, the entire company area reeked
with the odor of mustard-gas and this condition lasted for several
days. It had been raining heavily the night before, and there was no
breeze whatever.
By about midnight some of the men were sick as a result of the gas,
and as the night wore on, one after another they began to feel its
effects on their eyes, to cry, and gradually to go blind, so that by
dawn a considerable number from the front line had been led all the
way back and were sitting by the Lunéville road, completely blinded,
and waiting their turn at an ambulance, and the third platoon
were unable to furnish enough men to man all their posts and were
compelled to ask for replacements.
Meanwhile, about ten o’clock at night, the first and fourth platoons
had been ordered to leave their reserve positions and march back to
the Lunéville road and down the cross-road on the other side where
they lay down in the mud and slept till morning. In the morning they
filtered down to replace the casualties in the other two platoons.
About three o’clock in the morning Lieutenant (Doctor) Martin came
down in the midst of the gas to relieve Lieutenant Patten, who had
been blinded and taken to the hospital. Lieutenant Martin was
himself affected by the gas and went blind on the following morning.
By dawn, the men were going blind one after another, and being
ordered to the hospital. Often, by the time they got to the
ambulance, the man leading was himself blind and both got into the
ambulance together. Not a man lost his head or lay down on the job
and not a man left for the hospital until he was stone blind, or
ordered to go by an officer, and a number of men were blinded while
on post, while others stuck it out for so long that it was finally
necessary to carry them on stretchers to the dressing station; and
this although all had been instructed that mustard gas was one of
the most deadly gases and that it caused blindness which lasted for
months and was in many cases permanent.
By ten o’clock in the morning fully two-thirds of the company had
been blinded, and about this time Lieutenants Crane, Dowling and
Levi, and Captain Hurley one after the other went blind and were led
back, followed later by Lieutenant Burns.
Throughout the day the men continued to go blind, until by seven
o’clock only about thirty were left, almost all of whom were in the
front line, under command of Lieutenant Tom Martin, and they were so
few that it was necessary for them to go on post for four hours at a
stretch, with two hours off, and some of them, including Tom Hickey,
Barney Furey, John McLoughlin, Pat McConnell and Jerry O’Connor were
on post for as long as six hours at a time.
At seven o’clock Lieutenant Hunt Warner, with Lieutenant Zipp,
appeared with reinforcements, consisting of forty men from Company
M. Lieutenant Warner was put in command at Chevert with Sergeant
Embrie of Company K, as second in command; Sergeant Von Glahn of
Company M, was put in command at C. R. 2, where the gas was at
that time especially heavy; and Lieutenant Zipp was put in command
at Changarnier, with Corporal Joe Farrell, who knew the sector
thoroughly and spent the night going from one post to another, as
second in command, Lieutenant Tom Martin at Changarnier being in
command of the whole company sector.
That evening about dusk the men in the front line heard an explosion
in the rear and looked back in time to see the battalion ammunition
dump go up in a blaze of glory, on seeing which all broke into
applause and loud cheers. It was thought that the Boches might be so
foolish as to think the evening propitious for a raid, and all posts
were manned and all were ready to give him a warm reception, but he
failed to show up.
At seven next morning the French appeared and the relief was
completed by about nine o’clock, when the survivors set out for
Lunéville, where they were taken in hand by Lieutenant Arnold, who
ordered them all, much against their protest, to a hospital where
they were surprised to find that they were casualties, their injuries
consisting principally of burns on the body, which had just begun to
show up, and which kept most of them in the hospital for at least a
month.
On their arrival at the hospital they found there some of the French
troops who had relieved them on that morning and who had already
become casualties because of the gas which lingered in the area.
The men killed, besides McCoun, were Salvatore Moresea, whose body
was found by the French in No Man’s Land the day after the Company
was relieved, Carl Braun, of Headquarters Company, hit by bullet,
with Robert Allen, Walter Bigger, and Lawrence Gavin, who died in the
hospital within a day or two as a result of the effect of the gas on
their lungs. About four hundred of our men were put out of action in
this gas attack including practically all of K Company, many of M,
and some from Headquarters, Supply and Medical.
The event had one consoling feature, and that was the superb conduct
of the men. They had been told most awful stories of the effect of
gas. When they found that their whole position was saturated with it,
they felt that their chances to live through it were slender, and
that they would surely be blind for a long time. And yet not a single
man quit his post until ordered. There was no disorder or panic; the
men of Company K were forced to quit their position, but they quit it
one by one, and every man was a subject for a hospital long before he
left. And the Company M men coming up to take over the position, and
seeing the blinded and tortured soldiers going back, had courage in
equal measure. Soldiers that will stand up to it as these had done
under the terrors and sufferings of that night can be relied on for
anything that men can be called on to do.
LUNÉVILLE
_March_ 23rd, 1918
We are quitting this sector and going back to the Langres area to
rest up a bit and study out the lessons we have learned. Most of the
companies have started already. The Germans are shelling this city
today for the first time in over three years. It is an interesting
experience to be in a shelled city, and, so far as I can see the
results, not a particularly dangerous one.
ST. BOINGT
_Palm Sunday_, 1918
This has been an ideal Spring day. I said Mass in the village church
for the “4th Battalion” (Headquarters, Machine Gun, Sanitary and
Supply Companies). Later in the morning Major Lawrence and I dropped
in to the High Mass. I was interested in the palms. When I was a
lad we used cedar, before the days when ships from the Spanish Main
brought their cargoes of broad palmetto leaves, which we carry in our
hands on Palm Sunday and wear in our hats through Holy Week. Here
they use anything fresh, young and growing, that the country and
the season afford. The people pluck small branches from the trees on
their way to Mass, the preference being for willow shoots with their
shiny yellow green bark and furry buds. There is a fine old-world
countryside flavor to this custom of plucking these offerings to the
Lord from one’s own trees or along familiar lanes, that we never get
from our boughten palms.
This I felt especially when I saw what they were doing with them.
When the procession began, everybody arose and followed the
crossbearer out of the church portals into the mellow spring morning.
Around the church they went, their ranks now swelled by a crowd of
our own soldiers. Our route lay through the graves of the village
dead. At each grave a lone figure or a small group would detach
themselves and kneel in prayer while they stuck their fresh young
twigs in the soil around it. We too found a place for our offerings
and prayers when we came to a recently made mound with a Croix de
Guerre and bronze palm embossed upon its stone—a French soldier,
“Mort pour la Patrie.” We borrowed pussy willows from the people and
pulled branches of green box, and covered that grave with them while
we made our soldier’s orisons for the man that was sleeping there,
and for our own fine lads that we had left behind in the dugout at
Rocroi and under the Green Tree Cross at Croix-Mare.
After Mass I started off across the fields to visit the 2nd Battalion
at Essey la Cote. A wonderful spring day—fresh and sweet and clear.
From the hill one could see the dull red tiles of twenty villages
clustering along the slopes of the rolling landscape. Faint sounds of
distant church bells came to my ears; and nearer, clearer notes from
overhead such as I had never heard before. Skylarks! It was the final
touch to make it a perfect morning.
I dropped down to the road which led to the nestling village, and met
a band of children romping out. Here too was spring. They gathered
round me, not at all shy, for they were bubbling with excitement
and anxious to talk. The American soldiers—they were so—big-and
so young—and so nice—and so devout (they filled the church at
three Masses)—and so rich (they gave money like nobody had ever
seen before, and the Commandant had put a twenty franc note on the
collection plate). “Good Old Bill Stacom,” I mused, “we are both far
away from our little parish in the Bronx, but he has not forgotten my
teachings on the first duty of the laity.”
I dined with Captain Jim Finn and his happy family of bright young
Lieutenants—Sherman Platt and Becker and Otto and Flynn, clean cut
active youngsters who enjoy their work and are delighted at serving
with the old Regiment. I spent the afternoon amongst the men. They
too were enjoying the day lazily, cleaning up equipment in chatty
groups or propped against sunny walls, or wandering through the
fields. They have heard of the big German Drive in the north and
they know that we have been halted and are to be sent in somewhere.
They are somewhat disappointed at not getting back to Longeau and
Baissey and Cohons and Percey once more, but if there is anything big
happening they don’t want to miss it. That’s what we are here for.
Billy Kaas offered to be my guide to the hilltop, from which
the whole countryside can be seen for miles around. The spot is
interesting for other reasons. It marks the high water level of the
German invasion of Lorraine in 1914, and now it marks the furthest
backward step we are to make on this journey. I feel prophetic
twitchings that it will be a long long time before we are allowed to
pitch our tents in that part of France over there which has not known
invasion by the enemy. The news from the North is grave, and our side
will need every soldier it has if the Germans are to be held off. And
that is a job that will take a lot of doing. Well, as the men say,
“that’s what we are here for.”
ST. REMY AUX BOIS
_March_ 27th, 1918
Dropped over in the morning to call on the First Battalion. I found
them in the field, where Donovan had had them lined up for a cross
country run. I prudently kept out of his way until he was off with
his wild youngsters, and then I looked up George McAdie, who had a
stay-at-home duty. Reilley and Kennedy and McKenna were cavorting
cross country with the rest. Good enough for them—athletics is a big
part of their lives. But George and I are philosophers. So while
Donovan led his gang across brooks and barbwire fences and over hills
and through woods, George and I sat discussing the most interesting
beings in the world; soldier men—their loyalty, courage, humor, their
fits of laziness and sulkiness. He pointed out to me a dark Celt who
had been discontented with the mean drudgery of a soldier’s life and
was hard to manage. Different methods had been tried to jack him up.
All failed until the Captain gave him a chance to go over in the
Lunéville raid. At last he found something the lad was eager about.
He went through the training with cheerfulness, distinguished himself
under fire for his cool alacrity, and is now playing the game like a
veteran.
Finally the harriers got back, the Major the freshest man amongst
them. “Oh, Father,” he said, “why didn’t you get here earlier? You
missed a fine time.” “My Guardian Angel was taking good care of me,
William,” I said, “and saw to it that I got here late.”
In the afternoon the band came over and we had a band concert in the
church square and afterwards a vaudeville show given by the men. The
Major was asked to say something and he smilingly passed the buck to
me. I got square by telling the story of a Major who had been shot
at by a German sniper while visiting one of his companies in the
trenches. He made a big fuss about it with the Captain, who in turn
bawled out an old sergeant for allowing such things to happen. The
sergeant went himself to settle the Heinie that was raising all the
trouble. Finally he got sight of his man, took careful aim and fired.
As he saw his shot reach home, he muttered, “Take that, confound you,
for missing the Major.”
BACCARAT
_Easter Sunday Night_
Yesterday we were at Xaffévillers, Magnières and St. Pierremont. For
my Easter celebration I picked Magnières, as the whole 2nd Battalion
was there and two companies of the 1st in St. Pierremont, only ten
minutes away. For confessions I set up shop in the street at the
crossways, and I had a busy day of it. There was always a long file
waiting, but when nobody has much to tell the task is soon sped.
I stayed with Stacom. It is always a pleasure to be with Stacom and
his officers. He has a way of kindly mastery that begets affectionate
loyalty. A man likes Stacom even when he is getting a call down from
him. At supper with Doc Houghton, Joe O’Donohue, Arthur Martin,
McDermott, Fechheimer, Landrigan, Ewing Philbin, Billy Burns
Guggenheim, and Joe McNamara. A man might search the list of all his
acquaintances and not find a set of men so congenial and happily
disposed.
I looked up the Curé, an alert slender youngish man with a keen
intelligent face, a soldier just back that day _en permission_ to
keep the old feast with his own people. The Germans had held him as
a hostage in 1914 and had thrice threatened to shoot him, though he
had looked after their wounded. If thoroughness was their motto they
would have been wiser to do it, I reflected as I talked with him;
for he was a man that would count wherever he went, and he certainly
had no use for Germans. “Too big a man for this place. We won’t be
able to keep him long,” said Stacom’s landlady, a pleasant thoughtful
woman, whose son of seventeen was just back for the holidays from
some college where he is beginning his studies for the priesthood.
The village church was a ruin. Both sides had used it to fight from
and both sides had helped to wreck it. The roof was gone and most
of the side walls. The central tower over the entrance still stood,
though the wooden beams above had burned, and the two big bells had
dropped clean through onto the floor. The Curé used a meeting-room
in the town hall for his services, but that would not do for my
congregation. The church faced a long paved square, so I decided to
set up my altar in the entrance and have the men hear Mass in the
square. The church steps served excellently for Communion. It is one
of the things I wish I had a picture of—my first Easter service in
France; the old ruined church for a background, the simple altar in
the doorway, and in front that sea of devout young faces paying their
homage to the Risen Savior. My text lay around me—the desecrated
temple, the soldier priest by my side, the uniforms we wore, the hope
of triumph over evil that the Feast inspired, the motive that brought
us here to put an end to this terrible business of destruction, and
make peace prevail in the world. Here more than a thousand soldiers
were present, and the great majority crowded forward at Communion
time to receive the Bread of Life.
I hiked it into Baccarat with the Battalion. At a point on the road
the separated elements of the Regiment met and swung in behind each
other. Colonel Barker stopped his horse on a bank above the road
and watched his men go by, with feelings of pride in their fine
appearance and the knowledge of how cheerfully they had given up
their prospects of a rest and were going back into the lines again.
With his usual kind courtesy, he wanted to have me ride, but for once
I preferred to hike, as I was having a good time.
Arriving in Baccarat I ran into Captain Jack Mangan,—always a joyous
encounter. We found a hotel and something to eat; met there Major
Wheeler, Ordnance Officer of Division, a Southerner of the finest
type. I tried to start a row between him and Mangan. I always like
to hear these supply people fight—they battle with each other with
such genial vigor. When they began to swap compliments I left them,
to look up the Y. M. C. A. to see if there were religious services in
town that I could announce to my Protestant fellows.
CHAPTER IV
THE BACCARAT SECTOR
BACCARAT
_March_, 1918
To speak in guide-book fashion, Baccarat is a town of 15,000 people
situated in the wide, flat valley of the Meurthe River. It possesses
a well-known glass factory and a rather elegant parish church, whose
elegance is just now slightly marred by two clean shell-shots, one
through its square tower and the other through the octagonal spire.
The most extensive ruins, dating from the German capture of the town
in 1914, are those of the blocks on both sides of the street between
the church and the river. They were caused, not by shell fire, but
by deliberate arson, for some actions of the townspeople, real or
fancied. A few broken walls are standing with all the chimneys still
intact, sticking up amongst them like totem poles. Charlie Brooks,
making believe that the ruins were caused by shell fire, said to me
“In case of bombardment, I know the safest place to get. Sit right up
on top of a chimney and let them shoot away.”
West of the river the hill rises steeply and is crowned by the
picturesque old walled village of Deneuvre, dating certainly from the
early Middle Ages, and, local antiquarians say, from Roman times.
Here are established our regimental headquarters, with the four
special companies, and the whole of the third battalion, or what
is left of it, as Company K consists of Lieutenant Howard Arnold,
Sergeant Embree, Company Clerk Michael Costello and two privates,
who were absent on other duties when the Company was gassed; and
Company M is reduced to half its strength. The first battalion is
very comfortably situated in the Haxo Barracks at the north end of
Baccarat, the 2nd Battalion being at present at Neufmaisons, ten
kilometers out toward the front lines. The regiment was selected
as division reserve on account of the depleted strength of our 3rd
Battalion.
BACCARAT
_April_ 2, 1918
At last we have located the gassed members of our 3rd Battalion in
the hospitals at Vittel and Contrexéville; and today, as Lieutenant
Knowles had the kindly thought of bringing their pay to them,
Donovan, Mangan and myself took advantage of the opportunity to go
and see them. The hospitals were formerly hotels in these summer
resorts and serve excellently for their present purpose. Many of the
men are still in bed, lying with wet cloths over their poor eyes, and
many of them have been terribly burned about the body, especially
those whose duties called upon them to make exertions which used
perspiration. Among these is John McGuire of the Supply Company
and many of the sanitary detachment, such as Sergeant Lokker, Ed.
McSherry, James Butler, Michael Corbett and John J. Tierney, who have
been recommended for the Croix de Guerre for courage and devotion
in saving the wounded. Sergeant Russell, with Corporals Beall and
Brochon of the Headquarters Company are also suffering for their zeal
in maintaining liaison.
But it is Company K that had to bear the brunt of it. Of the
officers, Lieutenant Crane is in the most critical condition, and
it was a touching thing as I went through the ward to hear every
single man in his platoon forget his own pain to inquire about the
Lieutenant. Some of the men are still in very bad shape, Richard
O’Gorman, George Sicklick, Val Prang, Sergeant Gleason, Bernard
Leavy, Francis Meade, James Mullin and also Mortimer Lynch,
Christopher Byrne, Daniel Dooley, Gerard Buckley, Harold Benham,
Harold Broe, Kilner McLaughlin, and Buglers Nye and Rice. The
cooks did not escape—Pat Boland, William Mulcahy, Moriarty, Thomas
O’Donnell and Michael O’Rourke, who, by the way, is one of those
Czecho-Slovaks who has chosen to fight under a martial name. The
Wisconsins also have been hard hit, and two of their men here,
Corporal John Sullivan and Leo Moquin, are painfully burned on
account of their exertions in carrying others. I have turned the
names of these two in with a recommendation for citation, with those
of Staber, Farrell, Ross, Van Yorx, Montross, Beall, Brochon, McCabe
and the medicos mentioned. Sergeant Leo Bonnard, in liaison with the
French, has received his cross on their recommendation. Lieutenant
Tom Martin and Dr. Patton also received the same decoration.
Apart from Lieutenant Crane, none of the officers is in serious
condition, though more than half of the officers in the battalion
are in the hospital, including Major Moynahan, Captains Hurley,
Merle-Smith, and Meaney, Lieutenants Leslie, Stevens, and Rerat,
with nearly all the lieutenants of Company K and M, and also Major
Lawrence with Lieutenants Patton and Arthur Martin of the Sanitary
Detachment, who deserve high praise for their handling of a difficult
situation.
The Company M men were not so badly gassed, with the exception of
Sergeant Emerson. A good many of them were walking about with eyes
only slightly inflamed. I was immediately surrounded by Eustace,
Flanigan, Jack Manson, Harry Messmer, Bill Lanigan, Mark White,
Jock Cameron and a lot of others, all clamoring for news about the
regiment. I made myself a candidate for being canonized as a saint by
working at least a hundred first-class miracles when I announced that
we had come with the pay. The news was received with a shout, “Gimme
me pants, I’m all better now.”
There was one thing that disturbed us. We found most of our injured
in these two towns, but there was still a considerable number whose
pay we had that we could not find, and nobody was able to tell where
they had been sent.
BACCARAT
_April_ 7th, 1918
The reports which have arrived of the death in hospital of Robert
Allen, Walter Bigger and Lawrence Gavin of Company K gave us our
first information concerning the whereabouts of soldiers whom we
could not discover in our trip to the hospital. They died at the new
Army Hospital at Bazoilles near Neufchateau. As Tom Johnson of the
New York _Sun_ was visiting us, he offered to take me back with him
in his car to see them. They are in long, one-story hospital barracks
and most of them are almost recovered although Amos Dow and Herbert
Kelly are still very sick boys. With the assistance of the two First
Sergeants of K and M, Tim Sullivan and James McGarvey, who are also
patients, I paid them all off.
I also gave them a bit of news which was more gratefully received
than the pay, and that is saying a great deal. One of the hospital
authorities told me that a special order had arrived that men of the
165th who would be fit for duty by a certain date should be returned
direct to the regiment without going through a casual camp. He told
me also that the order was entirely an exceptional one, adding
laughingly that he would be glad to get rid of them. He said they
were the liveliest and most interesting lot of patients he ever had
to deal with, but they made themselves infernal pests by agitating
all the time to get back to their confounded old regiment. Howard
Gregory came up with a side car to take me back and I had another
chance to see our men in the other two hospitals and was glad to find
that they are all on the road to recovery.
REHERREY
_April_ 25th, 1918
On April 23rd, and a miserable day of rain and mud it was, we
relieved the Ohios in the positions on the left of our Division
Sector. Looking east from Baccarat one sees only a steep hill which
forms the valley of the Meurthe and blocks the view in the direction
of the combat line; but a road from the north of the town leads
through an opening in the hills to undulating country with small
villages dotting the landscape every two or three miles. One of these
is Reherrey, which is to be our regimental P. C. during our stay
in this section. The next village to the east, called Migneville,
shelters our support battalion, the P. C. of the advance battalion
being at Montigny, still farther on.
The trenches are more varied and more interesting than those in the
Forest of Parroy. Those on the left of our sector run along the front
edge of the Bois Bouleaux, which gives its occupants the shelter of
trees, but leaves them in a position to see an approaching enemy.
The trenches to the right run over open ground and finally straight
across the eastern tip of the town of Ancervillers, utilizing the
cellars, broken walls, etc. Machine gun nests have been established
in some of the cellars which dominate the open spaces, the guns being
raised to be able to fire at ground level through carefully concealed
concrete openings. The 1st battalion is in line, the 3rd in support,
while the 2nd is in “Camp Mud,” a group of barracks to the rear of
us in surroundings which provoke its title. Poor fellows, they would
much rather be in a battle.
REHERREY
_April_ 28th, 1918
Went over Saturday to St. Pol where Companies L and M are in support
positions and passed the night with Merle-Smith and his Lieutenants,
Carroll, Baker, Givens and Knowles. The village church is pretty
badly wrecked, parts of the walls and most of the roof being tumbled
down in crumbled ruins. One shell went through just in front of the
altar, but the roof above the altar is fairly well intact. I had
doubts as to whether I could use it for services, but Cornelius
Fitzpatrick and Frank Eustace offered to have it cleaned up and
put in shape for me by next morning. When I arrived to say Mass I
was delighted at the transformation they had effected. The half
ruined reredos of the altar was a mass of bloom with big branches of
blossoms which they had cut from the fruit trees in the garden. It is
one of the pictures of the war that I shall long carry in my mind.
One of the men told me that Joyce Kilmer had been out here on his
duties as Sergeant of the Intelligence Section to map out the ground
with a view to its defence if attacked. As his party was leaving the
ruined walls he said, “I never like to leave a church without saying
a prayer,” and they all knelt down among the broken fragments under
the empty vault and said a silent prayer—a beautiful thought of a
true poet and man of God.
REHERREY
_May_ 5th, 1918
Headquarters, both American and French, have been very anxious for
somebody to take prisoners, and we were all very much pleased this
morning to hear that a patrol from Company D had gone out and bagged
four of them. Out across No Man’s Land from Ancervillers there
is, or used to be, a few houses which went by the name of Hameau
d’Ancervillers. There was some reason to believe that a German
outpost might be found there; so at midnight last night a patrol of
two officers and twenty-four men, mainly from Company D, went on a
little hunting expedition. They crossed No Man’s Land to the old
German trenches, which they found to be battered flat.
Lieutenant Edmond J. Connelly remained with a few men in No Man’s
Land to guard against surprise, and Lieutenant Henry K. Cassidy took
the rest of them, including Sergeant John J. O’Leary of Company A,
Sergeant Thomas O’Malley of Company D and Sergeant John T. Kerrigan
of the Intelligence Section to examine the ruins of the hamlet. Part
of the wall of one house was left standing. O’Leary led three men to
one side of it, and O’Malley three others to the other side, while
Lieutenant Cassidy approached it from the front. They were challenged
by a German sentry and the two Sergeants with their followers rushed
at once to close quarters and found themselves engaged with six
Germans, two of whom were killed, and one wounded, the survivors
dashing headlong into a dugout.
Lieutenant Cassidy, pistol in hand, ran to the opening of the dugout
and called on them to surrender. If any one of them had any fight
left in him we would have had to mourn the loss of a brave young
officer, but they surrendered at discretion, and our whole party,
with no casualties, started back as fast as they could, carrying
the wounded prisoner and dragging the others with them. It was an
excellent job, done with neatness and dispatch. Valuable papers
were found on the wounded man and other information was obtained at
Division by questioning. The only thing to spoil it was that two of
our men, Corporal Joseph Brown and Charles Knowlton got lost in the
dark coming in, and have not yet reported.[1]
REHERREY
_May_ 9th, 1918
War is a time of sudden changes and violent wrenches of the heart
strings; and we are getting a taste of it even before we enter
into the period of battles. We are to lose Colonel Barker. Back in
Washington they are looking for men who know the war game as it is
played over here, and, as Colonel Barker has been observing it, or
engaged in it, since the war began, they have ordered him back to
report for duty at the War Department.
Our regrets at his going are lessened by two considerations. The
first is that we feel he will get his stars by reason of the change
and it will make us glad for him and proud for ourselves to see
one of our Colonels made a General. The other is the news that his
successor is to be Frank R. McCoy, of General Headquarters. He was
not a Colonel on the General Staff when we crossed his path first,
but Captain McCoy of the 3rd Cavalry, stationed at Mission, Texas.
I did not meet him down there, but heard a whole lot about him—all
good—from Colonel Haskell, and from Colonel Gordon Johnston of the
12th New York, who had been a captain with McCoy in the 3rd Cavalry.
About the time we got to Mission he was made Chief of Staff to
General Parker at Brownsville. Later I read of his going to Mexico
as military attaché with our new Ambassador, Mr. Fletcher, and then
that General Pershing had reached out after him there to bring him
over here with the A. E. F. In the more remote past he has been
Aide de Camp to General Woods, Military Aide at the White House
under President Roosevelt, and on special duty for the government on
various semi-diplomatic missions. If this list of employments had any
tendency to make me wonder how much of a soldier he was, it would
have vanished quickly after one look at his left breast which is
adorned with five service bars. They say in the army that McCoy has
done all kinds of duty that an officer can be called upon to do, but
has never missed a fight—a good omen for the “Fighting Sixty-Ninth.”
He is a man of good height, of spare athletic figure, with a lean
strongly formed face, nose Roman and dominating, brows capacious,
eyes and mouth that can be humorous, quizzical or stern, as I learned
by watching him, in the first five minutes. He has dignity of
bearing, charm of manner and an alert and wide-ranging intelligence
that embraces men, books, art, nature. If he only thinks as well
of us as we are going to think of him I prophesy that he will have
this regiment in the hollow of his hand to do what he likes with it.
Everything helps. “_McCoy_, is it? Well, he has a good name anyway,”
said one of the “boys from home.”
Colonel McCoy came to us in the lines, the P. C. being at Reherrey.
The _popotte_ (mess) occupied two low-ceiled rooms in a three-room
cottage. We sat close together on benches at a long plank table,
but it was a jolly company. To give the new Colonel a taste of
his Regiment I told him a monologue by one of our men that I had
overheard the evening before. There are a couple of benches right in
front of my billet, in the narrow space between the dung-heap and
the window, and there is always a lot of soldiers around there in
their free time. They know I am inside the open window, but pay no
attention to my presence—a real compliment.
There was a military discussion on among the bunch from Company C.
They got talking about the German policy of evacuating the front line
trenches when we send over a concentrated barrage preparatory to a
raid, and then letting fly at us with their machine guns as we return
empty-handed. Somebody said he thought it was a good thing. This
irritated my friend Barney Barry, solid Irishman, good soldier, and I
may add, a saintly-living man. “But Oi don’t loike it,” he said, “Oi
don’t loike it at all. It looks too much loike rethreatin’,—I think
they betther lave us be. Take the foive uv us here—me and Jim Barry
and Pat Moran and Moike Cooney, and you Unger—you’re a Dootchman, but
you’re a good man—the foive of us in a thrench with our roifles and
what we’d have on us to shoot, and a couple uv exthra bandoliers, and
a bunch of thim guinny foot-balls (hand grenades) and a bit of wire
up in front; and if the young officers u’d only keep their heads,
and not be sayin’ ‘Do this; and don’t do that’; gettin’ themselves
excoited, and whot’s worse, gettin’ us excoited, but just lave us
be, I give ye me wurrd that be the toime mornin’ u’d come, and ye’d
come to be buryin’ thim, ye’d think ye had your old job back diggin’
the subway.”
The Colonel was delighted with this sample of the spirit of his Irish
regiment. And I determined to let him see the whole works at once.
He might as well get the full flavor of the Regiment first as last.
We had a concert going on in the next room. Tom O’Kelly sang in his
fine full rich baritone the “Low Back Car” and that haunting Scottish
melody of “Loch Lomond.”
“Give us a rebel song, Tom,” I called. “What’s that, sir—Father,
I mean.” McCoy twinkled delightedly. “A rebel song,” I repeated.
“Alright, Father, what shall I sing.” “Oh, you know a dozen of them.
‘The West’s Awake,’ ‘O’Donnel Aboo’ or ‘A Nation Once Again.’” Tom
responded readily with “O’Donnel Aboo,” and as its defiant strains
ended in a burst of applause he broke into the blood stirring old
rebel ballad, “The Wearing of the Green.” Colonel McCoy’s face was
beaming. He evidently likes things to have their proper atmosphere.
I can see the old Irish 69th is just what he expected it to be, and
what he wanted it to be. I see there is no worry in his mind about
how these singers of rebel songs will do their part in this war.
I had a long talk with him today about the Regiment, and I find him
anxious to keep up its spirit and traditions. They are as dear to him
for their romantic flavor and their military value as those of the
Household Guards or the Black Watch are to the Englishman or the Scot.
REHERREY
_May_ 12th, 1918
Majors Moynahan and Stacom are being transferred to other duties,
much to everybody’s regret. It looks like a break up of the old
Regiment. It would be, I fear, if anybody but McCoy were Colonel.
But he has a slate for promotion already; a 69th slate, and he will
put it through if anybody can—Anderson and James McKenna for Majors,
Prout and Bootz and W. McKenna for Captains. It will save the spirit
of the regiment if he can carry this through. If the vacancies are
filled by replacement we shall not know ourselves in a short time.
I feel all the more grateful to our new Colonel because he had a
share in planning the replacement idea; and besides, I know that
there are plenty of officers at General Headquarters, friends of his,
who are anxious to get to the front and to have the 69th on their
service records. It would be an embarrassment to any other man to go
to G. H. Q. and ask them to change the scheme of filling vacancies
by replacement instead of by promotion. But I know just what will
happen, when they say “Why, you helped to make this plan.” He will
smile benignly, triumphantly and say “That just proves my point. Now
that I am in command of a regiment I find by first hand knowledge
that the original plan does not work out well.”
DENEUVRE
_May_ 15th, 1918
Our allotted three weeks in line being up, we returned to our
original stations, the only change being that the 2nd Battalion comes
to Deneuvre, while the 3rd has to go to Camp Mud. I am billetted
with the Curé, a devout and amiable priest—who was carried off as
a hostage by the Germans in their retreat of 1914 and held by them
for over a year. He likes to have Americans around, and we fill
his house. Captain Anderson, Lieutenants Walsh, Howe, Allen and
Parker are domiciled with me. Joe Bruell and Austin McSweeney have
their wireless in a room in the house, and draw down all sorts of
interesting messages from the other Sergeants. Sergeants McCarthy,
Esler and Russell are next door neighbors, and better neighbors no
man could choose. I can go down to the dooryard if time hangs on my
hands and hear remarks on men and things, made more piquant by New
York slang or Irish brogue.
It is a delight to go to our mess with McCoy’s stimulating wit and
Lieutenant Colonel Mitchell’s homely philosophy and Mangan’s lively
comments, and the various aspects of war and life opened up by
all sorts of interesting people—Bishops, diplomats, soldiers and
correspondents who drift in from afar, drawn by the magnetism of our
Colonel. The food may not always be to the taste of an epicure but
“we eat our Irish potatoes flavored with Attic salt,” as Father Prout
says.
But my chiefest joy in life is to have Joyce Kilmer around. In the
army it matters little whether a man was a poet or a grave digger—he
is going to be judged by what he is as a soldier. And Joyce is
rated high by everybody from the K. P. to the Colonel because he
is a genuine fellow. He is very much a soldier—a Sergeant now, and
prouder of his triple chevron as member of the 69th than he would
be of a Colonel’s eagles in any other outfit. If they do not let us
commission officers within the Regiment he will come out of the war
as Sergeant Joyce Kilmer—a fine title, I think, for any man, for it
smacks of the battlefield with no confounded taint of society about
it. His life with us is a very full and a very happy one. At first
I selfishly took him to help in my own duties regarding statistics.
He was glad to help, but he regretted leaving a line company, and
especially parting from a lot of friends he had made among the Irish
“boys from home,” whose simplicity amused him and whose earnest faith
aroused his enthusiasm.
Over here he got restless at being on the Adjutant’s force, and when
Lieutenant Elmer began his lectures on the work and opportunities
of the Intelligence Section—scouting, and all the rest of it—Joyce
pleaded with me to get him away from a desk and out in the line. Now
he is happy all the day long. He has worked himself into various
midnight patrols, and Captain Anderson has told me to advise him that
he lacks caution in taking care of himself, but as Kilmer has told
me the same thing about Anderson, I feel helpless about them both.
I know Kilmer well. He has evidently made up his mind to play the
game without flinching, without any admixture of fear. On our last
day in Lunéville, when the town was being shelled, I called to him
to stand in a doorway where there was a little less danger and he
answered with a story about Tom Lacey and a French Major, the moral
of which was that a soldier is expendable and officers not; and the
outcome of which was that I went forth and walloped him till he
came in, though still chuckling. He has been for some time out on
an observation post in a beautiful spot which overlooks the German
lines, with Watson, Kerrigan, Beck, Mott, Levinson, Titterton—all
great admirers of his. Whenever he gets a day off he is in to see me
and we break all the rules chatting till midnight and beyond. Books
and fighting and anecdotes and good fellows and things to eat and
religion; all the good old natural human interests are common to us,
with a flavor of literature, of what human-minded people have said in
the past to give them breadth and bottom.
Kilmer or I, or both of us, may see an end to life in this war, but
neither of us will be able to say that life has not been good to us.
DENEUVRE
_May_ 17th, 1918
Just over to the Regimental Supply Office to see Mangan. I am always
looking for reasons to spend a while with Captain Jack. He has a
great outfit. I watched his trained youngsters, Lacey, Kennedy,
Burke, Nulty and the two delightful Drennan boys at their business
of taking care of the Regiment, which they have learned to do so
efficiently. I wonder if they will find in civil life jobs to suit
the talents they display here. The Regimental Supply Sergeants,
Joe Flannery and Eddie Scanlon, could run anything. First Sergeant
Comiskey is back with us, and so is Harry Mallon, mule-skinner and
funmaker. Everybody was glad to see Harry once more. Walter Lloyd’s
gentle voice booming from a nearby stable let me know that the
Company kitchen was near, so I wandered in that direction for a cup
of coffee from Healy and McAviney—always the height of hospitality
for everybody there. Stopped a row between Frankie Meade and
Carburetor Donnelly—Frankie is the proud guardian of the Regimental
ratter and the other boy-soldier passed a remark about it that no
man would let be said about his dog. I held up Charlie Feick for a
canteen, and before I left Henry and Klauberg and Beverly had dug me
up an O. D. suit, underwear, socks, shoe-laces and a web belt. Had a
good day.
BACCARAT
_May_ 21st, 1918
The new regulations provide for a senior chaplain in each Division. I
felt that General Menoher would appoint me for the job as I am senior
in service, and I had a notion that my friend Colonel MacArthur would
suggest my name. It has been a worry to me as I do not intend to
leave the regiment for anything else on earth and I am afraid I may
have to go through the war hanging around Division Headquarters. So I
asked Colonel McCoy if he would back me in my refusal to accept the
office if I had to quit the regiment, to which I received a hearty
affirmative.
I received news of the outcome from McCoy a few days later. Colonel
MacArthur had told him I was to be senior chaplain, but he was in
entire accord with my wish to remain with a fighting unit. Our Chief
of Staff chafes at his own task of directing instead of fighting,
and he has pushed himself into raids and forays in which, some older
heads think, he had no business to be. His admirers say that his
personal boldness has a very valuable result in helping to give
confidence to the men. Colonel McCoy and Major Donovan are strong on
this point. Donovan says it would be a blamed good thing for the
army if some General got himself shot in the front line. General
Menoher and General Lenihan approve in secret of these madnesses;
but all five of them are wild Celts, whose opinion no sane man like
myself would uphold.
At any rate, Colonel McCoy was so satisfied with the result of
the outcome in my case that he went further and said, “Now, if my
chaplain is to be senior chaplain of the Division it is not right
that he should remain a First Lieutenant. He ought to be a Major at
least.” McCoy told me with twinkling eyes, “MacArthur said, ‘Now,
McCoy, if I were you I would not bring up the question of the rank
of Father Duffy, for I had serious thoughts of making him Colonel of
the 165th instead of you.’ You are a dangerous man, Father Duffy,”
continued the genial McCoy, “and I warn you, you won’t last long
around here.”
DENEUVRE
_May_ 25th, 1918
Being made Senior Chaplain of the Division I judged that my first,
if not my sole duty, was to give a dinner to the brethren. We had a
meeting in the morning in a large room under the Curé’s hospitable
roof, and everyone was there. Chaplains Halliday, Robb, Harrington,
Smith and McCallum I had known since our first days in Camp Mills,
and we had worked together ever since as if we belonged to one
religious family. Those who were added to our body since we came to
France impress us all as being first class men. Three of them I call
the “Young Highbrows”: Chaplains N. B. Nash of the 150th F. A., who
was a Professor in the Episcopal Theological Seminary at Cambridge,
Charles L. O’Donnell, the poet priest of Notre Dame University, who
is attached to the 117th Engineers, and Eugene Kenedy, who has been a
professor in various Jesuit Colleges and who is now working with the
150th Machine Gun Battalion, after a month of breaking in with our
regiment. Chaplain Ralph M. Tibbals, a Baptist Clergyman from the
Southwest, and Chaplain William Drennan, a priest from Massachusetts,
were new men to most of us, but made a decidedly favorable impression.
We discussed a number of matters of common interest and every
single topic was decided by unanimous vote. The clergy discover
in circumstances like these that their fundamental interests are
absolutely in common. I do not mean to say that there is any tendency
to give up their own special creeds; in fact, they all make an effort
to supply the special religious needs of men of various denominations
in their own regiments by getting the other chaplains to have
occasional services or by announcing such services to the men. I told
Bishop Brent that the way the Clergy of different churches got along
together in peace and harmony in this Division would be a scandal to
pious minds.
I think it would be a good thing if representatives of various
churches would have a meeting every year at the seashore in bathing
suits, where nobody could tell whether the man he was talking to was
a Benedictine Abbot, a Methodist Sunday-School Superintendent or a
Mormon Elder. They would all find out how many things of interest
they have in common, and, without any disloyalty to their own church,
would get together to put them over.
At this meeting there was one thing that I wanted for myself. Some
day we shall have three Chaplains for each Infantry regiment, but
the time is long in coming, and I am anxious to get someone to hold
religious services for my Protestant fellows. I have asked the
Division Secretary of the Y. M. C. A. to supply me with one of his
Secretaries who is a clergyman, to be attached permanently to the
regiment; promising that he would be treated as well as I myself.
I have been after this for a long while but the Division Secretary
has not too many men, and he is tied down in the placing of them by
the canteen situation which makes it necessary to leave the same
man in one place as long as possible. Chaplains Nash and Halliday,
who are very close to me in all my counsels, are going with me to
Chaumont to back me up in a request to the G. H. Q. Chaplains—Bishop
Brent, Chaplain Moody and Father Doherty, to have them ask the chief
officials of the Y. M. C. A. to assign one of their Protestant
clergyman permanently to my regiment.
I had left the matter of dinner in the capable hands of the
Regimental Supply Sergeant, Joe Flannery, so everybody went home
satisfied.
During my stay at Deneuvre I have seen a good deal of Bishop Brent,
formerly Episcopal Bishop in the Philippines and now Senior of the
G. H. Q. Chaplains. He knew Colonel McCoy in the Philippines, and
like everybody who ever knew him, is glad to have a chance to visit
him. The Bishop and I have become good friends, the only drawback
being that he talks too often about getting me with him at G. H.
Q., while my battle cry is that of every member of the regiment,
“I want to stick with my own outfit.” He is anxious to have some
first-hand experience of work in the trenches and he has paid us the
compliment of saying that if he can get away he will attach himself
to the 165th. I hope he can come for I know that everybody will be
as attached to him as I am myself, and he on his part will have some
interesting experiences.
_May_ 26th, 1918
I have just been talking with Donovan, Anderson, Mangan and others of
the old timers and we all remarked on what a hold Lieutenant Colonel
Mitchell had gotten on us during his short stay amongst us. He was
assigned to us as a replacement and drifted in so unassumingly that
we scarcely knew he had arrived until he was with us a week. But
as he has gone about from place to place doing all kinds of jobs,
—inspections, courtmartials, and the like, we have grown to know him
better, and to like him more the more we know him. He is efficient
without bustle, authoritative without bluster, never unreasonable and
full of quaint native humor. His father was a Chaplain in the Army
which is perhaps one of the reasons why the son and I are already
like old chums.
BACCARAT
_May_ 30th, 1918
The uniforms we wear as well as the losses we have already sustained
make us appreciate the significance of Memorial Day. General Menoher
left the arrangements for a proper celebration of the day to the
Chaplains. So I called a meeting at which all were present. It was
an easy matter to select speakers from our various commands to
address meetings of soldiers in every village in which elements of
the Division were quartered. The regimental bands of the Infantry and
Artillery Regiments were to be sent by trucks from one station to
another, so that all of our soldiers should have the benefit of their
services.
The main celebration was to be at Baccarat where our Division
Headquarters were, and the burden of arranging for it fell on the
165th, now in reserve. The dead of our Division, mainly men of the
84th Brigade, which has been in this Sector since the beginning of
March, are buried in a Military Cemetery; and our first duty was to
pay them solemn honors. Polychrom of Company A made wreaths from the
flowers lavishly offered by the people of Deneuvre. Everybody of all
ranks who could be spared was present at the ceremony, together with
large number of the civilian population. Children of the town were
selected to place the wreaths upon the graves of our dead, and the
last resting place of our French companions was not neglected.
After the ceremony Captain Handy came to me with an invitation from
General Menoher to ride back with him. General Menoher is a man who
begets loyalty and confidence. Americans are better acquainted with
the business type of man than the military type, and I think I can
best characterize him by saying that if he were out of uniform
he would impress one as a successful business man—one of the kind
that can carry responsibility, give orders affecting large affairs
with calmness and certainty, and still find time to be human. He
is entirely devoid of posing, of vanity, or of jealousy. His only
desire is to see results. Consequently his subordinates are doing
magnificent teamwork, and the excellent condition of the Division
is due to this factor as well as his direct care of us. We are
exceedingly fortunate in having such a man to rule over us.
Colonel McCoy saw to it that the grave of every one of our dead
was properly honored on this day—in Southampton, in Langres, in
Ancervillers and here in Baccarat. During the afternoon he and I went
to Croix-Mare; so likewise did General Menoher with Colonel MacArthur
and General Lenihan with Major Conway. We found that the Curé and his
parishioners, as also the French soldiers, had kept the graves there
in beautiful condition—a tribute to our dead which warms our heart to
the people of France.
LETTER TO A CURATE
_June_ 10th, 1918
In spite of all you tell me I have lost, I have a stray assortment
of arms and legs left, ungainly, I admit, but still serviceable,
whether for reaching for the bread at messtime or for pushing me
around my broad parish. I hear that I am dead—wounded—gone crazy. I
hate to contradict so many good people, but I must say that I know I
am alive, and that I never felt better in my life. As for the third
count, perhaps I had better leave it to others to testify, but I’m
no worse than I always was. I may be considered a bit off for coming
over here, but that’s a decent kind of craziness, and one I am glad
to see becoming quite popular.
I wish that my case could serve as a warning to good folks at home
who are distracted by all sorts of rumors about their lads here. If
anything happens to any one of us, the folks will hear of it from
Washington within a hundred hours. If it says “Slightly Wounded,”
they may take it as good news. For let me tell you, if I was worrying
continually about the fate of some dear one over here, and got word
he was “Slightly Wounded,” I would sigh a sigh of relief that the
beloved was out of harm’s way and having a good time for a while.
I don’t mind rumors in the army. They are part of the game. With
eating and growling, they constitute our chief forms of recreation.
Fact is, I am made the father of most of them in this regiment. When
some lad starts his tongue going, and everybody tells him just what
kind of a liar he is, he says that Father Duffy said so, and Father
Duffy got it straight from Secretary Baker or General Pershing, or,
who knows?—by revelation. It is a great compliment to me, but a
left-handed one to my teaching.
At home, though, rumors don’t just interest—they hurt. I know how
much they hurt, for my pile of “agony letters” keeps mounting up
with every mail. And I can’t answer them all at length, as I would
wish—not if I want to do anything else.
First-class mail is the bane of my life as Chaplain. Like everyone
else, I don’t mind reading it, but I know what it means when it comes
to answering it. Gosh! how I hate that. I like to keep on the go.
I have to keep on the go to get anything done, with the regiment
scattered in five different villages, miles apart, and outside work
to do in the other outfits for men that want the sacraments, and
hospitals to visit. And to have to stick a whole day at a table to
soothe sorrows that don’t exist, or oughtn’t to—whew!
The letters I am most ready to answer are from those who have gotten
real bad news from Washington. God be good to them. I’d do anything
for them. And the ones I am glad to get—if I don’t have to answer
them myself—are those that put me onto something I can do for the
men—see that Jimmy keeps the pledge, or that Tom goes to Church, or
find what’s the matter with Eddie who lost his stripes, or break
bad news to Michael, or see that Jack doesn’t fall in love with
any of those French hussies, but comes back to the girl that adores
him. These all help, and I get round to them in time—and make the
victim write a letter, to which I put my name as censor—a proof of my
efforts.
But the biggest bulk of my mail consists of inquiries why no mail has
arrived from Patrick for three weeks—and is he dead—or why Jerry’s
allotment had not been made. When I interview Patrick, he informs me
disgustedly that he has written home every twenty minutes. And I know
that before any letter of mine can get there, the Sullivans will have
received a bunch of mail that will make them the gossips and the envy
and the pride of the parish till they begin to get worried and write
to me again.
As for the allotments, the nearest I come—don’t ask me how near—to
falling into the sole vice of our army of using strong language
is when I get a letter from some poor mother or wife about their
non-payment. Our men have been extraordinarily decent about helping
out the folks at home. But it has been new forms to make out, or the
demand for a change of the name of Mrs. Michael J. Farrell to Mrs.
Mary Farrell—and all the time decent folks going short at home, and
the best men we’ve got fretting in the trenches. That’s the way these
fountain-pen soldiers are helping to win the war. How have they kept
it so secret? Even men like those that make up our Board of Trustees
have written me that our men are slack about making allotments.
And the poor fellows in most cases have stripped themselves to ten
dollars a month, and are scudding along on bare poles half way
between paydays—I know all about that, and the Trustees, all good men
and true, will hold back _their_ language when I report that I had to
use their money for lads that had left themselves destitute for their
folks, while their folks were being left destitute by those people in
Washington.
You ask me to tell you about my work here. Well, in the main it is
what I did at home, though under different circumstances. The old
Sixty-Ninth is a parish—an itinerant parish. Probably a sixth of the
“parishioners” do not look to me for dogmatic instruction, but you
know how much that counts for in my ordinary relations with them.
Remember the afternoon last Spring, when Father Prunty went into the
play-hall to get helpers from my gang for his patriotic gardening
and found afterward that his five volunteers consisted of two
Protestants, two Jews and Andy O’Hare.
I have this class of parishioners very much on my conscience. I can’t
get the other chaplains to help except on the few occasions when
regiments, or parts of them occupy the same place. Every chaplain
has five times what he can do to supply Sunday services for his own
scattered command.
At any rate, I can assure you that the different elements in the old
regiment have fused properly. By the way, I cannot remember anything
that delighted me more than when I heard Sergeant Abe Blaustein was
to get the Croix de Guerre—he was recommended for it by Major Donovan
and Major Stacom (the pride of our parish) and Lieutenant Cavanaugh.
He is a good man, Abe, and the 69th appreciates a good man when it
sees him. John O’Keefe’s poem made a hit with all of us.
That reminds me of something at my expense. Captain John Prout
approached me with a genial grin to tell me that at our Christmas
Mass he had seen a Jew boy present, and later on he asked him “What
were you doing at Mass?” “Oh, Captain,” he said, “you know I’d go to
Hell with you.” Prout said to me, “The compliment to myself is very
obvious, Father,—I hope that you will be able to find in it one for
yourself too.”
But I started to tell you about my work. I have a congregation of the
old faith, approximately three thousand souls. They are generally
scattered through five or six French villages, when _en repos_, and
more scattered still through trenches and abandoned towns when in
line.
To begin with the form of pastoral activity you are no doubt most
interested in, for you will be getting a parish one of these days—I
take up no collections. ’Tis a sad confession to make, and I expect
to be put out of the Pastor’s Union when I get back for breach of
rules. But the lads are not left entirely without proper training.
The old French curés (God bless them, they are a fine lot of old
gentlemen) take up the collection. A tremendously important-looking
old beadle in a Napoleonic cocked hat and with a long staff goes
before, with a money-or-your-life air about him, and in the rear
comes the apologetic mannered curé, or perhaps a little girl,
carrying a little dish that is a stimulus to stinginess, which is
timidly pushed forward a few inches in the direction of the man on
the outside seat. If the man is an American he grabs the dish and
sticks it under the nose of his neighbor, with a gruff whisper,
“Cough up.” They cough up all right—if it isn’t too far from payday.
Even at that they are good for more of the Cigar Store coupons and
the copper washers that pass for money here than are the local
worshippers. The curés proclaim us the most generous people in the
world—and so we are—which makes it unanimous. They listen with open
mouths to my tales of financial returns in city parishes at home and
wish secretly that they had started life where things are run like
that—until I tell them of the debts we have to carry, and they are
content once more that their lot has been cast in the quiet, old-time
villages of Lorraine.
But to do them justice, they are most impressed by the way our men
practice their religion. Two companies of our regiment jam a village
church—aisles, sanctuary, sacristy, porch. A battalion shows its good
will by filling the churchyard, the windows being ornamented by rough
martial visages which don’t look exactly like those of the placid
looking saints in the stained glass above—but I feel that the saints
were once flesh-and-blood people themselves, and that they have an
indulgent, perhaps even an admiring eye, on the good lads that are
worshipping God as best they can.
There is no doubt anyway about the opinion of the good priests who
are carrying on the work of the dead and gone saints. They are full
of enthusiasm about our fellows. What attracts them most is their
absolute indifference to what people are thinking of them as they
follow their religious practices. These men of yours, they tell me,
are not making a show of religion; they are not offending others;
they touch their hats to a church, or make the sign of the Cross,
or go to Mass just because they want to, with the same coolness
that a man might show in taking coffee without milk or expressing a
preference for a job in life. They run bases with scapulars flying,
and it don’t occur to them that they have scapulars on, any more than
they would be conscious of having a button of their best girl or
President Wilson pinned to their shirts—they may have all three.
Come to think of it, it is a tribute not only to our religious
spirit, but to the American spirit as a whole. The other fellows
don’t think of it either—no more than I do that one of our Chaplains
who is closest to me in every thought and plan wears a Masonic ring.
We never advert to it except when some French people comment on our
traveling together—and then it is a source of fun.
I often drop in on soldiers of other outfits around their kitchens or
in the trenches, or during a halt on the road, and hear confessions.
Occasionally Catholic soldiers in country regiments, with the
small-town spirit of being loth to doing anything unusual while
people are looking at them, hold back. Then my plan is to enlist the
co-operation of the Protestant fellows, who are always glad to pick
them out for me and put them in my clutches. They have a lot of sport
about it, dragging them up to me as if they were prisoners; but it is
a question of serious religion as soon as their confession begins,
the main purpose of the preliminaries being simply to overcome
a country boy’s embarrassment. It proves, too, that the average
American likes to see a man practice his religion, whatever it may be.
With my own men there is never any difficulty of that kind. I never
hear confessions in a church, but always in the public square of a
village, with the bustle of army life and traffic going on around
us. There is always a line of fifty or sixty soldiers, continuously
renewed throughout the afternoon, until I have heard perhaps as many
as five hundred confessions in the battalion. The operation always
arouses the curiosity of the French people. They see the line of
soldiers with man after man stepping forward, doffing his cap with
his left hand, and making a rapid sign of the cross with his right,
and standing for a brief period within the compass of my right arm,
and then stepping forward and standing in the square in meditative
posture while he says his penance. “What are those soldiers doing?” I
can see them whispering. “They are making the Sign of the Cross. Mon
Dieu! they are confessing themselves.” Non-Catholics also frequently
fall into line, not of course to make their confession, but to get a
private word of religious comfort and to share in the happiness they
see in the faces of the others.
Officers who are not Catholics are always anxious to provide
opportunities for their men to go to confession; not only through
anxiety to help them practice their religion, but also for its
distinct military value. Captain Merle-Smith told me that when I was
hearing confessions before we took over our first trenches he heard
different of his men saying to his first sergeant, Eugene Gannon,
“You can put my name down for any kind of a job out there. I’m all
cleaned up and I don’t give a damn what happens now.”
That is the only spirit to have going into battle—to be without any
worries for body or soul. If battles are to be won, men have to be
killed; and they must be ready, even willing, to be killed for the
cause and the country they are fighting for. While we were still in
Lunéville the regiment attended Mass in a body and I said to them,
“Much as I love you all I would rather that you and I myself, that
all of us should sleep our last sleep under the soil of France than
that the historic colors of this Old Regiment, the banner of our
republic, should be soiled by irresolution or disgraced by panic.”
The religion of the Irish has characteristics of its own—they make
the Sign of the Cross with the right hand, while holding the left
ready to give a jab to anybody who needs it for his own or the
general good. I cannot say that it is an ideally perfect type of
Christianity; but considering the sort of world we have to live in
yet, it as near as we can come at present to perfection for the
generality of men. It was into the mouth of an Irish soldier that
Kipling put the motto, “Help a woman, and hit a man; and you won’t go
far wrong either way.”
BACCARAT
_May_, 1918
The Knights of Columbus have secured a splendid place in Baccarat.
The Curé had a large hall with extra rooms and a nice yard outside,
for the young men of the Parish; and this he was glad to hand over
to the K. of C. for the use of American soldiers. Early in the game
Mr. Walter Kernan had tried to get in touch with me but had failed as
we were moving around too much. However, he had sent me a check for
5,000 francs with instructions to use it for the men. I had no need
of money, as our Board of Trustees were willing to supply whatever I
should ask, and there were very few things that could be purchased on
the scale demanded by a regiment of 3,600 men. We have now received
the services of Messrs. Bundschuh, May and Mr. Kernan’s brother,
Joseph, with a French-American priest whom I assigned to look after
the Catholics in two of the artillery regiments.
We opened the building with solemn pomp and ceremony in the presence
of representatives of Division Headquarters, M. Michaud, the Mayor of
the City, Colonel McCoy and many of the Chaplains and a large throng
of officers and men. With this commodious building in addition to the
quarters of the “Y” the matter of recreation for men in town will be
well looked after.
CHASSEURS
_June_ 10th, 1918
Our Division has taken over a new sector from the French just to the
right of our line bordering on the sector occupied by the Iowas and
it is at present occupied by Major Donovan with Companies A and B
of his battalion. It has a picturesque name, “The Hunter’s Meeting
Place—Rendezvouz des Chasseurs,” and is even more picturesque than
its name. There is a high hog-back of land jutting out towards the
German line between deep thickly-wooded valleys. When this was a
quiet sector the French soldiers in their idle time put a great
deal of labor on it to make it comfortable and attractive, and when
I came out here a few days ago I could easily have believed it if
told there was no such a thing as war, and that this whole place had
been designed as a rustic semi-military playground for the younger
elements on some gentleman’s country estate. The officers’ dugouts
are against the side of the steeply sloping hill so that only the
inner portion is really under ground, windows and doors on one side
opening on terraces which have flower beds, strawberry plots, and
devices made of whitewashed stones.
We dine _al fresco_ under the trees. An electric light plant is
installed and I spent last night on the Major’s bunk indulging an
old habit of reading late. Donovan, like McCoy, always has some
books with him no matter where he goes; and I got hold of a French
translation of “Cæsar’s Commentaries,” with notes by Napoleon
Bonaparte.
I enjoy being with Donovan. He is so many-sided in his interests, and
so alert-minded in every direction, and such a gracious attractive
fellow besides, that there is never a dull moment with him. His two
lieutenants, Ames and Weller, are of similar type; and as both are
utterly devoted to him, it is a happy family. Ames takes me aside
periodically to tell me in his boyish, earnest way that I am the only
man who can boss the Major into taking care of himself, and that
I must tell him that he is doing entirely too much work and taking
too great risks, and must mend his evil ways. I always deliver the
message, though it never does any good. Just now I am not anxious
for Donovan to spare himself, for I know that he has been sent here
because, in spite of its sylvan attractiveness, this place is a
post of danger, so situated that the enemy could cut it off from
reinforcements, and bag our two companies unless the strictest
precautions are kept up.
Major Allen Potts, a genial and gallant Virginian, who is now in
charge of the military police, has obtained permission to bring up
one company of his M. P.’s to help our fellows hold the line. It is
a good idea. The M. P. have a mean job as they have to arrest other
soldiers for breach of regulations; and they are exposed to resentful
retorts of the kind, “Where’s your coat?” “Where you’ll never go to
look for it—out in No Man’s Land.” Nobody can talk that way to Major
Potts’s outfit.
There was a gas attack last night on the French sector called
Chapellotte on the edge of the bluff to our immediate right, and
Donovan and I went over this morning to see the extent of the damage.
As we climbed the steep hill to reach the French positions we met
Matthew Rice of Company A, who was in liaison with the French; and
he told us in the coolest way in the world a story of a sudden gas
attack in the middle of the night, which put out of action nearly
two hundred men, leaving himself and four or five Frenchmen the only
surviving defenders of the hill. If the same thing were to happen
at Chasseurs the Germans could easily follow it up and capture the
whole outfit; and I can see the reason for Major Donovan’s ceaseless
precautions.
BACCARAT
_June_ 15th, 1918
My principal occupation these days is visiting the hospitals, of
which there are three in Baccarat. The Spanish Influenza has hit the
Division and a large number of the men are sick. The fever itself
is not a terrible scourge, but when pneumonia follows it, it is of
a particularly virulent type. Our deaths, however, have been few:
John F. Donahoe of Company F, Richard J. Hartigan of Company I, Fred
Griswold of Machine Gun Company and Patrick A. Hearn of Company
D, whose death had a particular pathos by reason of the sorrow of
his twin brother who is in the same Company. All in all, we have
been a singularly healthy regiment, whatever be the reason—some
doctors think it is because we are a city regiment. We have been
almost absolutely free from the “Children’s Diseases” such as mumps,
measles, scarlet fever, diphtheria, etc., which have played havoc
with the efficiency strength of almost every other regiment in the
Division. Occasionally replacements introduce some of those diseases,
but they have never made any headway. Since we left home our full
total of deaths in a Regiment of thirty-six hundred men has been,
outside of battle cases, just fourteen. John L. Branigan, of Company
B, died in an English hospital. In the Langres area we lost Charles
C. Irons, Company G; Edward O’Brien, Company M, and James Reed,
Company E, by illness, and Sydney Cowley, Company G, by accidental
shooting. Accidents were also the causes of the deaths of Corporal
Winthrop Rodewald, Company H, Donald Monroe, Company F, and Daniel J.
Scanlon of Company G, who also left a brother in the Company to mourn
his loss. Louis King and Joseph P. Morris of Company I and George W.
Scallon of Company A died of meningitis.
In this sector we have had just three battle losses. When Company
G was in line, a direct hit of a German shell killed two of our
old-timers, Patrick Farrell and Timothy Donnellan, and wounded Peter
Bohan. Recently at Chasseurs, Corporal Arthur Baker, a resolute
soldier, was killed while leading a daylight patrol in No Man’s Land.
Sergeant Denis Downing of Company G was killed by one of our own
sentries who mistook him for a German.
BACCARAT
_June_ 16th, 1918
Donovan’s men have been recalled from Chasseurs. The 42nd Division
has finished its preliminary education and is to start off for some
more active front two days from now. We are to be relieved by the
77th Division, New York City’s contribution to the National Army.
Today while returning from a funeral I met two M. P.’s from that
Division who were members of the Police Force at home. Met also two
old pupils of mine, Father James Halligan and Lieutenant Arthur
McKeogh.
MOYEMONT
_June_ 19th, 1918
Yesterday was New York “Old Home Day” on the roads of Lorraine. We
marched out from Baccarat on our hunt for new trouble, and met on
the way the 77th Division, all National Army troops from New York
City. It was a wonderful encounter. As the two columns passed each
other on the road in the bright moonlight there were songs of New
York, friendly greetings and badinage, sometimes good humored,
sometimes with a sting in it. “We’re going up to finish the job that
you fellows couldn’t do.” “Look out for the Heinies or you’ll all be
eating sauerkraut in a prison camp before the month is out.” “The
Germans will find out what American soldiers are like when we get a
crack at them.” “What are you givin’ us,” shouted Mike Donaldson; “we
was over here killin’ Dutchmen before they pulled your names out of
the hat.” “Well, thank God,” came the response, “we didn’t have to
get drunk to join the army.”
More often it would be somebody going along the lines shouting
“Anybody there from Greenwich Village?” or “Any of you guys from
Tremont?” And no matter what part of New York City was chosen the
answer was almost sure to be “Yes.” Sometimes a chap went the whole
line calling for some one man: “Is John Kelly there?” the answer
from our side being invariably, “Which of them do you want?” One
young fellow in the 77th kept calling for his brother who was with
us. Finally he found him and the two lads ran at each other burdened
with their heavy packs, grabbed each other awkwardly and just punched
each other and swore for lack of other words until officers ordered
them into ranks, and they parted perhaps not to meet again. At
intervals both columns would break into song, the favorites being on
the order of
“East side, West side,
All around the town,
The tots sang ring-a-rosie
London Bridge is falling down,
Boys and girls together,
Me and Mamie O’Rourke,
We tripped the light fantastic
On the sidewalks of New York.
The last notes I heard as the tail of the dusty column swung around a
bend in the road, were “Herald Square, anywhere, New York Town, take
me there.” Good lads, God bless them, I hope their wish comes true.
MORIVILLE
_June_ 22nd, 1918
Our first day’s march brought us to Moyemont, our second a short hike
to Moriville, where we are waiting to entrain at Châtel-sur-Moselle.
I am billetted with the Curé and have sent Father McDonald, an old
pupil of mine who has just been sent to me, to the 2nd Battalion. He
is not well enough to stand what we will have to go through, so I
have sent a telegram to Bishop Brent asking to have him kept for a
time at some duty where he can regain his health.
Now I have to turn my attention to the Curé, who is also an invalid.
He is living here in this big, bleak stone house, with an old
housekeeper who is deaf, and the biggest, ugliest looking brute of
a dog I have ever seen. He is run down and dispirited. We Americans
don’t like that atmosphere so I started in to chirk him up. First I
called in Dr. Lyttle, who pronounced the verdict that there was no
reason why with rest and change and a new outlook on life he could
not last for ten years.
Today is Sunday and I told the lads in church that I wanted a
collection to give a poor old priest a holiday; and they responded
nobly. For a second Mass I went down to McKenna’s town and found a
new device, a green shamrock on a white background, over the door
of his battalion headquarters. His is to be known as the Shamrock
battalion of the regiment. After Mass and another collection I took
breakfast with him. I had brought with me some money that Captain
Mangan owed him. While I was at breakfast Mangan came in himself,
and in his presence I handed the money over to McKenna. “If I didn’t
have you around, Father, to threaten Mangan with hell-fire, I’d never
get a cent of it.” “If you weren’t such a piker you wouldn’t keep a
cent of it, now you’ve got it. You’d give it to Father Duffy for his
poor old Curé.” “All right, I’ll give it, and double it if you cover
it.” That meant forty dollars apiece for my nice old gentlemen. But
McKenna was not satisfied. “Come on, Cassidy, come across,” and the
Lieutenant with a smile on his handsome face came across with more
than any Lieutenant can afford. McKenna shouted to the others, “Come
all the rest of you heretics; you haven’t given a cent to a church
since you left home,” and with a whole lot of fun about it, everybody
gave generously. I could not help thinking what a lesson in American
broadmindedness the whole scene presented. But the immediate point
was that I was able to do handsomely for my old Curé. I went back
to him, and from the different collections I poured into his hat in
copper pennies, bits of silver, dirty little shin-plasters and ten
franc notes, the sum of two thousand francs. He was speechless. The
old housekeeper wept; even the dog barked its loudest.
“I’m giving you this with one condition,” I said. “Namely, that you
spend it all at once.” “But ma foi! how can one spend two thousand
francs in a short while. I never had so much money before in all my
life.” “Of course you can’t spent it in this burg. I want you to go
away to Vittel, to Nancy, to Paris, anywhere, and give yourself a
good time for once in your life.” “But the Bishop would never permit
it. He has few priests left and cannot supply the parishes with
them.” “Well, he will have to do it if you’re dead, and you’ll be
dead soon if you hang around here. Stay in bed next Sunday and have
your parishioners send in complaints to the Bishop. Do that again the
Sunday after, and by that time the Bishop will have to send somebody.
Then you go off and spend that 2,000 francs on a summer holiday, and
don’t come back until you have spent the last cent of it.”
The old gentleman gave a dazed assent to my entire scheme; but I
am leaving here with little expectation that he will carry it all
through. He may get a holiday from the Bishop, and he may spend a
little of the money on it, but even if he lives for ten years I am
willing to bet he will have some of our 2,000 francs left when he
dies. In some ways it is a great handicap to be French.
BREUVERY
_June_ 27th, 1918
On June 23rd we boarded the now familiar troop trains at
Châte-sur-Moselle, and before we were off them we had zig-zagged
our way more than half the distance to Paris, going up as far as
Nancy, down to Neufchateau, northwest again by Bar-le-Duc, finally
detraining on June 24th, at Coolus, south of Chalons-sur-Marne. We
are now in five villages along the River Coole. We have left Lorraine
at last and are in the province of Champagne. It is a different
kind of country. The land is more level and less heavily wooded; the
houses are built of a white, chalky stone with gray tiles instead of
red; and with outbuildings in the rear of them—with the result (for
which heaven be praised) that the dung heaps are off the streets. The
inhabitants strike us as being livelier and less worried, whether
from natural temperament or distance from the battle line, I do not
know. The weather is beautiful and it is the joy of life to walk
along the shaded roads that border the sleepy Coole and drop in on
a pleasant company at mess time to share in their liveliness and
good cheer. Today it was a trip to St. Quentin with the Machine
Gun Company. Johnnie Webb and Barnett picked me up on the road and
formed my escort, leading me straight to the kitchen, where Sergeant
Ketchum and Mike Clyne were making ready for the return of the hungry
gunners. Lieutenant De Lacour wanted me to go to Captain Seibert’s
mess but I preferred by lunch on the grass with Milton Cohen, John
Kenny, Ledwith, McKelvey, Murphy, Chester Taylor and Pat Shea. This
is the kind of a war I like.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] These men became confused and wandered into the German lines
where they were made prisoners. Information concerning their fate
came to us through the Red Cross about two months later, and both
rejoined the regiment after the Armistice.
CHAPTER V
THE CHAMPAGNE DEFENSIVE
VADENAY FARM, CAMP DE CHALONS
_July_ 2nd, 1918
I like this spot, but it was a terrible place to get to. We got
hurry-up orders to leave our pleasant villages on the Coole on June
26th. It was payday and some of the fellows had hiked it into Chalons
and back to find something to spend their money on. But it was “pack
your kits and trek” for everybody.
It was a beautiful soft June night. No moon, but the French highway
rolled out before us dull white in the gloom, as if its dust were
mingled with phosphorus. The men trudged along behind—joking and
singing—it was the beginning of the march. After a couple of hours
we entered Chalons, a dream city by night. Not a light was visible,
but the chalk stone buildings showed dimly on either hand, and the
old Cathedral, with the ravages of the French Revolution obscured
by darkness, was more beautiful than in the day. But before we left
that town behind, all the poetry had departed from it. It seemed to
take hours and hours of hard hiking on uneven pavements before the
wearying men found their feet on country roads once more. Nobody
knew how far the column had to go, and every spire that marked a
village was hailed with hope, and, I fear, cursed when the hope
was unrealized. They had a weary night ahead before they reached
their destinations. The headquarters found itself with Division
Headquarters in the Ferme de Vadenay, which is not a farm at all, but
some long low barracks on the Camp de Chalons. The nearest approach
to a farmer I saw there was a French soldier, who carefully nursed a
few cabbages to feed his rabbits. He was a Breton fisherman, who had
gone to the war, and the war had touched his wits. As a younger man
he had fished in the North Sea and was the only person I ever found
who could confirm the existence of Captain George MacAdie’s native
town of Wyck. It was a great triumph for George, for my geographical
skepticism had aroused a doubt as to whether he had ever been born at
all.
The Chalons plains set all of us old Border veterans going again.
The first comment was “Just like Texas.” A broad expanse of flat
brookless country with patches of scrimpy trees that surely must be
mesquite. But I delight in it. There is a blue sky over it all, and
the long reaches for the eye to travel are as fascinating and as
restful as the ocean. In Texas the attraction is in the skies. Half
of it is beautiful. The half you see by gazing at the horizon and
letting the eye travel up and back till it meets the horizon again.
But here the flat earth has beauties of its own. It is God’s flower
garden. The whole ground is covered with wild flowers—marguerites
and bluets by millions and big clumps of violets as gorgeous as a
sanctuary of Monsignori, and poppies, poppies everywhere. Colonel
McCoy gave me a copy of Alan’s Seegar’s poems with one marked
Champagne, 1915. Two lines of it are running through my head all day.
The mat of many colored flowers
That decks the sunny chalk fields of Champagne.
Champagne. The word is a familiar one with other associations. We had
thought that the bottles grew on trees and that the thirsty traveler
had but to detach the wire that held them. And behold it is a land as
dry as Nebraska. There are no such vivifying trees, nor lowly vines,
nor even abundant water. A vastly over-advertised country in the
opinion of the present collection of tourists.
BOIS DE LA LYRE
_July_ 7th, 1918
Bois de la Lyre—Harp Woods since the 69th got here. We have arrived
in two stages. We were to celebrate the 4th of July in proper fashion
with games and feasting. But there was not much with which to hold
high revelry, and the games were practically spoiled by an order
to move. Anyway, our minds are on other things. I came on Terry
O’Connor, sitting with his shirt open on account of the heat, busily
cleaning his rifle. “Man dear,” I said, “Where is your patriotism?
Every man home has a flag in his button-hole. I’m ashamed of you.”
“I’ve got me roifle” (patting it) “an’ me Scafflers” (pointing to the
brown string showing on his bared neck); “what more does a pathriot
need?”
We moved by night, as usual, but not far, to the École Normale de
Tir. The Normal School sounded big and fine. One expected a square
two-story red brick building with white sandstone trimmings—but we
found a collection of half underground iron covered dugouts, and all
overground rough little board shacks. We would be happy there now
for we find that this poetically named spot is some degrees less
attractive. It looks as if somebody had put it up in a hurry because
the cattle were out in bad weather. The Officers are in the sheds,
the men out in what they call the Bois—which are probably thick
enough for concealment from an inquisitive aeroplane. But that is all
we need while this blessed weather holds. Sunny France had ceased to
be the joke it was.
And then, something seems to be doing at last. We who are in the
know have been hearing tales of plans afoot—an attack on the Chateau
Thierry salient at Chatillon-sur-Marne seemed to be the plan when we
first reached these parts. The indications are now that the Germans
are due for another inning and we are to meet them here. Anderson has
gone up with the 2nd Battalion to hold the trenches with the French.
Donovan and McKenna are in support. There is a big dugout in a knoll
ahead of us—they call it a hill, just as in Atlantic City any place
four feet above tide water is called a height—and we are to move
there when action begins. I am sitting on top of it—have been here
all this sunny afternoon reading a book the Colonel gave me, Gabriel
Hanotaux on France under Henri Quatre—and I certainly do not like the
idea of spending my young life in a dugout P. C. during action. I
am going to tell Colonel McCoy that my spiritual duties demand that
I visit Anderson’s Battalion. He says that he wants his Officers to
enjoy this war—the only war most of them can hope to have. And I hate
dugouts anyway.
To get from Harp Woods to Chapel Woods you go north for about four
miles through Jonchery to St. Hilaire le Grand—a bit of a village
which to borrow from Voltaire’s remark about the Holy Roman Empire
does not look particularly saintly nor hilarious nor grand. The
Ohios are on the right of it, and our Company E just to the west
with patches of blue Frenchmen dotted all around. Follow the Ancient
Roman Way for a kilometer or two and you get to a patch of woods with
tops of mounds showing through them as if large sized moles had been
working there. It is marked on the map as Subsector Taupinière in
the Auberive sector. But we carry our names with us, and these bits
of the soil of France are to be called while we inhabit them P. C.
Anderson, P. C. Kelly, P. C. Prout and P. C. Finny; P.C., meaning
“Post of Command.”
I have spent the week with Anderson. He has his P. C. in an elephant
hut—a little hole about five feet underground with a semi-circular
roof of corrugated iron piled over with sand bags and earth,—enough
to turn the splinters of a shell. I passed a couple of days with
Captain Charles Baker of Company E, who is over to the right,
along the Suippes. Charles is all energy and business, as usual.
And Lieutenant Andy Ellett came in one night quite peevish because
the French had countermanded the orders for a patrol. Andy likes
the scent of danger. At P. C. Baker I saw Jim Murray, whom I once
started out for the priesthood. I spent a pleasant day wandering
about on my lawful occasions among the men in the different
positions, one of which I found very popular, as just there the
Suippes had actually enough water for a man to take a decent bath in.
At the proper time I did not fail to discover the Company Kitchen,
located on the river bank in a charming spot. While doing justice to
a good meal I discussed Mt. Vernon politics with Carmody and Vahey.
The battalion is under French command. Colonel Arnoux of the 116th
Infantry has us in immediate charge with General Gouraud in high
command. Arnoux is an elderly patient kindly man with a lot of
seasoned young veterans for officers and for Chaplain a big jolly
Breton, whom the men adore. The regiment is not much higher in
strength than our one battalion. Like all the regiments over here
it has been worn down by constant fighting and the difficulty of
finding replacements. During the week they got something to show
for the good work they have been doing the past three years—the
much desired Fourragère, a bunch of knotted cords worn hanging from
the left shoulder. Our fellows call them “pull-throughs,” after the
knotted cords they pull through their rifles when cleaning them. It
was a very interesting ceremony. Our officers were invited to it
and those of our enlisted men who wore the French Croix de Guerre.
General Gouraud, a remarkable military figure with an added touch of
distinction from his empty hanging sleeve and stiff leg—decorated
the regimental colors while the officers invested the men with the
coveted mark of distinction. The General reviewed his American
Allies, each of the officers being introduced by Major Anderson. It
was a formal affair until he came to our bunch of husky soldiers who
wore no silver or gold insignia on their shoulders but carried on
their breasts the red and green ribbon of the Croix de Guerre. Then
you can see why every man in his army swears by him. No cannon fodder
here, but interesting human beings. I liked him for it, and felt
very proud of the men we had to show him—Corporals Hagan and Finnegan
of Company F, Sergeants Coffey, Murray and Shalley of Company G, and
Sergeants Jerome O’Neill and Gunther and Corporal Furey of Company
H.[2] I was saying to myself, “General, you’re an old soldier but you
never saw better men.”
It was a good thing for all of us to have met the General—a man
that any soldier would be proud to fight under, but we were mighty
careful not to tell him that a phrase from a famous order of his was
a by-word amongst the American Officers under him. He had issued
an address couched along the lines of the Napoleonic tradition in
vigorous staccato phrases, preparing the hearts of his soldiers for
resistance unto death. The translator had turned his last hopeful
phrase, which promised them it would be a great day when the assault
was broken, into English as “It will be a beautiful day.” Many of the
high-ups, both French and American, seem to think that the idea of
a general assault along these lines in a direction away from Paris
is a mare’s nest of Gouraud’s, but the debate always winds up with
the unanimous chant, “Oh, it will be a beautiful day.” At present
we are not in the front line trenches, but in what are called the
intermediate ones. The General’s idea is to hold the front line with
a few French troops who will make themselves as safe as possible
against the vigorous shelling expected and withdraw behind our lines
when the German Infantry make their attack. Then our fellows are to
have the task of keeping goal. It’s going to bring the battle right
down to our doors, as the battalion and company headquarters are only
one or two city blocks from where the hand to hand fighting will have
to take place.
I spend most of my time amongst the men and am very much interested
in finding out how their minds react at the prospects of their first
big battle. The other German drives against the British and the
French have been so overwhelmingly successful that I was afraid the
soldiers might think that whenever the Germans get started they were
just naturally bound to walk over everything. I am delighted to find
that these bits of recent history have not affected our fellows in
the slightest. Jim Fitzpatrick of E Company expressed the feeling
of everybody when he said: “Why would I be afraid ov thim? They’re
just Dootchmen, a’int they? and I never in me loife seen any four
Dootchmin that I couldn’t lick.” I have often read statements by
reporters about men being anxious to get into a battle. I never
believed it. But I find now at first hand that here at least are a
lot of men who are anxious to see Heinie start something. I tell them
that I am desirous of getting into our first mix-up right here. This
Division has started out hunting trouble and if we don’t find it
here they will keep us sloshing all over France until we run into it
somewhere.
They will have need of all their courage, for if this general attack
is made it’s going to be a tremendous one. The opinion of the French
General staff seems to be that this line will not be able to hold.
At any rate they have been making preparations with that contingency
in view. The whole plain behind us is organized for defense with our
other two battalions in rough trenches and the Engineers in reserve.
I hear they are bringing up also a Polish Legion to take part in
the support. They have Seventy-fives in position for direct fire
on German tanks, and machine guns stuck everywhere with beautiful
fields of fire across the sloping plain. Everything is so charmingly
arranged, that I have a feeling that some of the people behind us
have a sneaking hope that the Germans will sweep across the first
lines so that they can be met by the pleasant little reception which
is being prepared for them further back. However, I think that our
friends back there are going to be disappointed unless the Germans
can spare a Division or two to smother this battalion. Their orders
are “Fight it out where you are,” which is Anderson’s translation
of Gouraud’s phrase, “No man shall look back; no man shall retreat a
step.”
Gouraud means it; and Anderson means it. I take great pleasure in
observing him these days. A young fellow yet, just 29, and fresh from
civil life—but a born soldier, with the carefulness of a soldier in
making plans and in looking after his men, and the hardness of a
soldier in ruling and using men, and a streak of sentiment carefully
concealed which is a part of the soldier’s make-up. He has some
Scotch in him by his name—a good thing for the Irish if it doesn’t
make them Scotch-Irish—but the military tradition in his bringing-up
is on the Duffy side. It is interesting to me to see the elements
of school training showing in a man’s character and views. In his
views of life, discipline and self-sacrifice, Anderson is a Christian
Brothers’ boy. I sometimes feel that old Brother Michael had more
to do with the making of Major Anderson as I know him, than his own
parents had. One result of his education had been what most people
nowadays would consider a detriment—his devotion to duty is so
sincere that it has produced the effect of despising publicity; this
he carries to an extreme. Well, he may or may not win fame in this
war, but one thing I know, that the soldiers of his Company or of his
Battalion who alternately cursed and admired him during the period
of training are delighted to have him over them in a fight and will
unanimously rank him as one of the greatest soldiers this regiment
has ever produced.
Last night he and I made the rounds of all the trenches. General
Gouraud had picked it as a probable night for the big attack, so we
started around to get the men in right spirits for it. The Major’s
method was characteristic. As the bright moonlight revealed the men
in their little groups of two or threes, the Major would ask, “What
are your orders here?” The answer always came, quick as a flash,
though in varying words, “To fight it out where we are, sir.” “To
let nothing make me leave my post, sir,” and one, in a rich Munster
brogue, “To stay here until we’re all dead, sir.” “Then, will you
do it?” “Yes, sir.” Soldiers are not allowed to make speeches, but
there’s the most wonderful eloquence in all the world in the way a
good man carries his shoulders and looks at you out of his eyes. We
knew they would stick. I had my own few words to say to each of them,
whether they were of the old faith or the new or no faith at all. We
were two satisfied men coming back for we knew that the old regiment
would give a good account of itself if the assault were made. The
night passed uneventfully and this morning I was happy to have
another Sunday for my own work. A French priest, a soldier in uniform
(a _brancardier_), said Mass for Company F in the picturesque little
soldier’s chapel that gives the woods its name, and gave General
Absolution and Communion, while I did the same in successive Masses
for Company G and Company H, and the Wisconsin fellows.
I have served notice on Anderson that unless he produced some kind of
a war in the next twenty-four hours I shall have to quit him. I had
not been back to the Regimental P. C. for nearly a week, so on Friday
I told Joe Hennessey that I wanted him to come up with a side car and
bring me down. The side car arrived yesterday morning but with young
Wadsworth running it. He had gotten impatient hanging around back
there with prospects of a fight up front and he secured the privilege
of coming up for me so as to get nearer for a while at least to the
front line. It was a great pleasure to be at mess with Colonels McCoy
and Mitchell once more—a mutual one evidently, for they both said
that I had been too long away and would have to come back. I begged
off until after Sunday.
Starting back on foot I ran into Major Donovan, who as usual walked
me off my feet. I had to visit every foot of his position on both
sides of the Jonchery road and I was glad when Major Grayson Murphy
came along in a staff car and offered me a lift any place I wanted
to go. Donovan and I are both fond of Major Murphy, so I told him I
would go anywhere in the world with him so long as he delivered me
from D.
On our way back to P. C. Anderson the Corps Officer who was with
him gave his opinion that judging by past performances the Germans
should be able to advance at least one kilometer in the massed
attack that was threatened. I didn’t say anything but it gave me a
shivery feeling, especially when I measured out a kilometer on one of
Anderson’s maps and wondered just what would have happened to poor
me by the time the gray mass of Germans would reach the point that
the gentleman from the Staff had conceded them in his off-hand way.
I needed the trip around the trenches for my own reassurance and I
stretched myself out last night for a sleep with the comfortable
feeling that the decision in this matter was in the hands of an
aggregation of Irish stalwarts who care little for past performances
or Staff theories.
We are going to celebrate tonight. Lieutenant Rerat is to bring over
a few of the French Officers and the admirable John Pleune is off
scouring the countryside and the French canteens for something to
celebrate with.
_July_ 14th, 1918 11:00 _p. m._
We are here in Kelly’s iron shack. Lieutenant Tom Young, a thorough
soldier and a good friend of mine, and old boy Finnerty and Harry
McLean are waiting for the bombardment. Everything that can be done
for the men has been done. There remains the simplest task in the
world, though often the hardest—waiting.
Our little Hands Across the Seas dinner was a jolly affair. Anderson
had Kelly and myself for guests with his own staff; Keveny,
Fechheimer and McDermott (Buck Philbin—God bless him for a fine
youth—was just ordered back to the States and we miss him); and
Lieutenant Rerat brought along two good fellows like himself—a
French-Irish Frenchman named DeCourcy (his ancestors left France, on
their mission to teach the English manners and become good Irishmen
themselves, somewhere around 1066, and one of their descendants
came back to France with the Wild Geese after the Broken Treaty
of Limerick) and a plump merry doctor whose name escapes me. The
viands were excellent—considering. And Dan Mellett had done his
noble best. Anyway, we made it a feast of song, that is, the others
did. John Fechheimer (whom Heaven has sent us for our delight) has
a complete repertoire, ancient (dating back more than 10 years) and
modern—College Songs, Irish Songs, Scotch Songs, Negro Songs, music
hall ditties, sentimental ballads and modern patriotic stuff—Upidee
and Mother Machree; Annie Laurie and Old Black Joe; After the Ball
and The Yanks are Coming. De Courcy received tremendous applause for
The prettiest girl I ever saw
Was suckin-a cidah sroo a sraw.
When Rerat had explained the verbal niceties of the diction, all
joined with enthusiasm in the classic verse
Oh the Infantry, the Infantry with the dirt behind their ears,
The Infantry, the Infantry that laps up all the beers,
The Cavalry, the Artillery and the blooming Engineers,
They couldn’t lick the Infantry in a hundred thousand years.
We compelled the Major out of loyalty to his native heath to give us
Down in the Heart of the Gas House District.
Just then the Adjutant of Colonel Arnoux stepped in to give us the
news that the attack was certain and midnight the hour. So we toasted
France and America and departed for a final inspection of positions.
Everybody is as well fixed as he can be made and I have picked this
as the handiest central place to await developments.
_July_ 15th, 1918
It was 12:04 midnight by my watch when it began. No crescendo
business about it. Just one sudden crash like an avalanche; but
an avalanche that was to keep crashing for five hours. The whole
sky seemed to be torn apart with sound—the roaring B-o-o-o-m-p of
the discharge and the gradual menacing W-h-e-e-E-E-Z of traveling
projectiles and the nerve racking W-h-a-n-g-g of bursts. Not that
we could tell them apart. They were all mingled in one deafening
combination of screech and roar, and they all seemed to be bursting
just outside. Some one of us shouted, “They’re off”; and then nobody
said a word. I stood it about 20 minutes and then curiosity got the
better of me and I went out. I put my back against the door of the
hut and looked up cautiously to see how high the protecting sand
bags stood over my head, and then I took a good look around. I saw
first the sky to the south and found that our own guns were causing
a comfortable share of the infernal racket. The whole southern sky
was punctuated with quick bursts of light, at times looking as if
the central fires had burst through in a ten-mile fissure. Then when
my ear became adjusted to the new conditions I discovered that most
of the W-h-e-e-z-z were traveling over and beyond, some to greet
the invaders, some to fall on our own rear lines and back as far as
Chalons. I crawled around the corner of the shack and looked towards
the enemy. Little comfort there. I have been far enough north to see
the Aurora Borealis dancing white and red from horizon to zenith; but
never so bright, so lively, so awe-inspiring, as the lights from that
German Artillery.
I stepped inside and made my report to Lieutenant Young, who was busy
writing. He called for a liaison man. Harry McLean—just a boy—stepped
out of the gloom into the candle light. He looked pale and uneasy—no
one of us was comfortable—but he saluted, took the message, made a
rapid Sign of the Cross, and slipped out into the roaring night. A
liaison man has always a mean job, and generally a thankless one. He
has neither the comparative protection of a dugout or fox-hole under
shelling, nor the glory of actual fight. Our lads—they are usually
smart youngsters—were out in all this devilment the whole night and
I am glad to say with few casualties. Every last man of them deserves
a Croix de Guerre.
I wanted to see Anderson. He was only 40 yards away by a short cut
over ground. I took the short cut—we were not allowed to use it by
day—and had the uncomfortable feeling that even in the dark I was
under enemy observation. It was the meanest 40 yards I had ever
done since as a lad of 12 I hurried up the lane to my father’s door
pursued by an ever-nearing ghost that had my shoulder in its clutches
as I grasped the latch. But I went in now as then, whistling.
Anderson and Rerat were there. They had a word of comfort to tell;
that General Gouraud had planned to meet artillery with artillery and
that our fire was bursting on the enemy forces massed to attack us in
the morning. Just then a nearer crash resounded. The major spun in
his chair and fell; Rerat clasped his knee and cried, “Oh, Father,
the Major is killed.” The Major picked himself up sheepishly as if he
had committed an indiscretion; Rerat rubbed a little blood off his
knee apologetically as if he had appeared with dirt upon his face at
drill; and I expressed jealousy of him that he had gotten a right to
an easy wound stripe.
Just then a gas-masked figure opened the door and announced that
there were two wounded men outside. That came under my business and
it was a relief to find something to do. I followed the messenger—it
was Kenneth Morford—one of two good lads the Morford family gave
to the service. Around the corner I came on Jim Kane badly hurt in
the legs. Kenneth and I lifted him and carried him with difficulty
through the narrow winding trench to the First Aid Station where we
left him with the capable Johnny Walker and went back for the second
man. It was Schmedlein—his folks were parishioners of mine—and he
had it bad. I was puffing by now and blaming myself that I had not
followed Major Donovan’s rules for keeping in condition. As I bent to
the task I heard Phil McArdle’s voice, “Aisy now, Father. Just give
me a holt of him. Slither him up on my back. This is no work for the
likes of you.” I obeyed the voice of the master and slithered him up
on Phil’s back with nothing to do but help Jim Bevan ease the wounded
limb on our way to the dressing station.
Corporal Jelley of H—a fine soldier—and Private Hunt of E—he had a
cablegram in his pocket announcing the birth of his first born—had
been killed by the shell that struck in front of our dugout, and my
friend Vin Coryell wounded. We found later that some men of Company
H who had been sent to the French for an engineering detail, had
been killed—Corporal Dunnigan, whom I married at Camp Mills; Patrick
Lynn, Edward P. Lynch, Albert Bowler, Russell W. Mitchel, Patrick
Morrissey, James Summers, Charles W. O’Day and Walter M. Reilley.
Company G had also suffered losses during the bombardment: Paul
Marchman, Theodore Sweet, Harold Cokeley, Patrick Grimes, Patrick
Farley, killed; with Corporal Harvey J. Murphy and Charles J. Reilley
fatally wounded.
Around P. C. Anderson there was plenty of shelling but no further
casualties until morning broke. At 4:30 the firing died down after a
last furious burst over our immediate positions. The French soldiers
in front began to trickle back down the _boyaus_ to the defensive
positions. Our men crawled out of their burrows, eager to catch the
first sight of the enemy. A few wise old French soldiers stood by to
restrain them from firing too soon, for in the half lights it is hard
for an unaccustomed eye to discern the difference between the Poilu’s
Faded-coat-of-blue and the field gray of the Germans. Nearly an hour
passed before one of them suddenly pointed, shouting, “Boche, Boche!”
The enemy were appearing around the corners of the approach trenches.
Rifle and machine gun fire crackled all along the front. The Germans,
finding that this was the real line of resistance, went at their
job of breaking it in their usual thorough fashion. Their light
machine guns sprayed the top of every trench. Minenwerfer shells and
rifle grenades dropped everywhere, many of them being directed with
devilish accuracy on our machine gun positions. Many of ours were
wounded. Sergeant Tom O’Rourke of F Company was the first man killed
and then one of the Wisconsins.
That day the Badgers showed the fighting qualities of their totem.
Several of their guns were put out of action at the outset of the
fight, and practically all of them one by one before the battle was
over. In each case Captain Graef, Lieutenant Arens and the other
officers, together with the surviving gunners, set themselves calmly
to work repairing the machines. Corporal Elmer J. Reider fought
his gun alone when the rest of the crew was put out of action, and
when his gun met the same fate he went back through a heavy barrage
and brought up a fresh one. Privates William Brockman and Walter
Melchior also distinguished themselves amongst the brave, the former
at the cost of his life. There were many others like Melchior, who,
when their gun was made useless, snatched rifles and grenades of
the fallen Infantrymen and jumped into the fight. As specialists,
they were too valuable to be used up this way and an order had to be
issued to restrain them. Sergeant Ned Boone, who knows a good soldier
when he sees one, said to me: “Father, after this I will stand at
attention and salute whenever I hear the word Wisconsin.”
Our own Stokes Mortar men fought with equal energy and enthusiasm
under Lieutenant Frank McNamara and Sergeants Jaeger and Fitzsimmons
with Corporals John Moore, Gerald Harvey and Herbert Clark. They did
not take time to set the gun up on its base plates. Fitzsimmons and
Fred Young supported the barrel in their hands, while the others
shoved in the vicious projectiles. The gun soon became hot and before
the stress of action was over these heroic non-coms were very badly
burned.
During this interchange of fusillades the Germans were seen climbing
out of the approach trenches and taking their positions for an
assault on the whole line.
They swept down on our trenches in masses seeking to overcome
opposition by numbers and make a break somewhere in the thinly held
line. Grenades were their principal weapons-rifle grenades from those
in the rear, while the front line threw over a continuous shower of
stick grenades, or “potato-mashers.” An exultant cry went up from
our men as they saw the foe within reach of them. Many jumped on top
of the trench in their eagerness to get a shot at them or to hurl an
answering grenade. The assault broke at the edge of the trench where
it was met by cold steel. It was man to man then and the German found
who was the better man. The assaulting mass wavered, broke and fled.
No one knew how it might be elsewhere, but here at least the German
Great Offensive had lost its habit of victory. They were unconvinced
themselves, and hastened to try again, this time in thinner lines.
Again they were repulsed, though some of them, using filtering
tactics, got up into places where their presence was dangerous. One
of their machine gun crews had established themselves well forward
with their light gun, where it was troublesome to the defenders, and
an enemy group was forming to assault under its protection. Mechanic
Timothy Keane came along just then in his peaceful occupation as
ammunition carrier, which he was performing with a natural grouch.
Seeing the opportunity, he constituted himself the reserve of the
half dozen men who held the position. He found a gun and grenades
and leaped joyously into the fray; and when the attacking party was
broken up he called, “Now for the gun, min,” and swarmed over the
parapet. The others followed. The surviving Germans were put out of
action and the gun carried off in triumph.
Again and again the Germans attacked, five times in all, but each
time to be met with dauntless resistance. By 2:00 in the afternoon
the forces of the attacking Division was spent and they had to
desist until fresh Infantry could be brought up.
All this while and through nearly three days of the battle the enemy
used another power which proved in the outcome to be more annoying
than directly dangerous. We had often read of superiority in the
air when our side had it. We were now to learn the reverse of the
fine picture. The German planes for two days had complete mastery.
They circled over our heads in the trenches, front and rear. They
chased automobiles and wagons down the road. You could not go along
a trench without some evil bird spitting machine gun bullets at you.
I doubt if they ever hit anybody. It must be hard to shoot from an
aeroplane. After the first day they ceased to be terrifying—in war
one quickly learns the theory of chances—but the experience was
always irritating, as if some malicious small boy was insulting one.
And they must certainly have taken note of everything we did. Well,
it was no comfort to them.
When the Infantry assault was over the shelling began again. They
put minenwerfer in the abandoned French trenches and threw over
terrific projectiles into ours. They dropped a half dozen shells on
Captain Prout’s P. C. and utterly ruined that humble abode. Prout,
with recollections of his native Tipperary, said, “Yes, Father, I got
evicted, but I never paid a penny of rent to any landlord.”
In spite of these events the issue of the day’s battle was not in
doubt after 10:00 o’clock that morning. There had been anxious
moments before, especially when many machine guns were put out of
action and the call for further fire from our artillery met with
a feeble response. I dropped in on Anderson. True to his motto,
“Fight it out where you are,” he was putting the last touches to his
preparations for having his clerks, runners and cooks make the last
defense if necessary.
“Do you want some grenades, Padre?” was his question.
“No, Allie,” I said, “every man to his trade. I stick to mine.”
“Well here, then: this is my battalion flag,” stroking the silk of
the colors. “If things break bad in the battle you will see that it
don’t fall into the hands of the enemy. Burn it up if it is the last
thing you find time to do before you go.”
“All right, I shall look out for your flag. That is a commission that
suits my trade.”
And I received what was to be his last bequest—if things went bad. I
said no more, but in my ears was humming “Down in the heart of the
Gas House District in Old New York.”
They breed good men there. Over in Anderson’s old Company E, now in
the able hands of Captain Baker, there were a lot of Anawanda braves
who met the attack with the same fiery zest as their comrades on the
left, as I shall tell in its place. I was not long with Anderson when
in sweeps Kelly as brisk and jaunty as if he were on his way to the
Fair at Kilrush in his native County Clare on a fine Saturday morning.
“How are things going, Mike?” said the Major.
“No trouble at all,” said the Captain. “We’ve got them beat.”
But there was still trouble ahead. All afternoon the trench mortar
shells and whiz-bangs kept bursting in the whole sector, making the
work of litter bearers and liaison men very difficult. Also the task
of burying the dead, which Mr. Jewett of the Y’s athletic department
volunteered to superintend for me with the sturdy assistance of
Corporal Michael Conroy of Company H.
Company H was in support—the most thankless and difficult sort of
a job for any unit, whether Company, Regiment or Division. It is
called upon for detachments which must go up under shell fire, and
go in where the battle is hottest, and in unfamiliar surroundings.
The unit generally gets little public credit for its share in the
fight though military men know that it is a compliment to be held
in support. It means that the Chief Commander has confidence that
the smaller fractions into which it may have to be split are under
well trained and competent leaders. However, nobody likes the job.
Certainly big courageous Captain Jim Finn did not like it. He wanted
to lead his own company in the fight and the H men would rather fight
under their great hearted Captain than under any other leader in the
world. That pleasure was denied them, but the Company surely did
honor to the training and the spirit their Captain put into them.
I saw a platoon going up the boyau with Lieutenant Wheeler, all of
them flushed with the joy of action. “Over the top with Fighting
Joe,” called John O’Connor, from the words of Tom Donohue’s song.
Their services were needed often on the 15th to support the gallant
defenses of Companies F and G.
On the morning of the 16th there was another furious assault. A whole
German Battalion attacked one of the defense positions and for a time
the situation looked serious. Lieutenant Young of F was killed while
organizing the resistance. Lieutenants Wheeler and Anderson of H and
Sears of F took all kinds of chances in meeting the situation and
were carried off wounded. Some parties of Germans managed to get up
into the trench. Joe Daly, while carrying ammunition, almost ran into
a German. The latter was the more excited of the two, and before he
could recover his wits, Daly had snatched a rifle which was leaning
against the trench, whirled it over his head like a shillelah, and
down on the German’s skull. Then he ran into the middle of the fight.
Sergeant Bernard J. Finnerty and Corporal Thomas Fitzgerald of H saw
a group of Germans who had ensconced themselves in an angle of the
approach trench whence they were doing terrible damage with their
potato mashers. Michael Tracy, a crack shot, who had done great work
that day with his rifle, made a target of himself trying to find
a better spot to shoot from, and got wounded. But they had to be
dislodged. So Finnerty and Fitzgerald rushed down the trench, hurled
over hand grenades into the party, and destroyed it—but at the cost
of their own heroic selves. John F. O’Connor, Mechanic of Company O,
jumped on the parapet to get a position to bomb out a machine gun
crew which were sheltered in a hollow. He drove them into the open
where our own machine guns settled them.
The places of the wounded Lieutenants of H Company were taken by
Sergeants Eugene Sweeney and Jerome and William O’Neill (two of
“The three O’Neills of Company H”; the third, Daniel, being First
Sergeant, was with Captain Finn). In Company F Sergeants Timothy
McCrohan and Thomas Erb with Corporals James Brennan and John
Finnegan led the fighting under Captain Kelly and Lieutenants Marsh
and Smith. Bernard Finnegan and Matt Wynne refused to quit when
badly wounded. William Cassidy, Company Clerk, who could not content
himself with that work while the fight was on, and Corporal Michael
Leonard, an elderly man who had volunteered when men with a better
right to do so were satisfied to wave the flag—these too won great
renown. They and the others routed the enemy out of the trenches,
following them over the top and up the _boyaus_. Cassidy and Leonard
were killed, and my old time friend, Sergeant Joe O’Rourke of H, and
many another good man. Sergeant William O’Neill was wounded, but kept
on fighting, till death claimed him in the heat of the fray. His
brother, Jerome, still battled valiantly and he was always worth a
hundred men.[3]
Eugene Sweeney was twice wounded and refused to retire till the enemy
was chased utterly from the field. When his wounds were dressed he
insisted on returning to the lines.
Corporal John Finnegan had been wounded in the leg the day before.
He tied a bandage around the wound and stayed where he was. He was
with Lieutenant Young when that leader was killed and ran to avenge
him. A shell burst near him and he was hurled in the air, falling
senseless and deaf. I saw him in the First Aid Station, a little way
back, where he had been carried. The lads there had ripped up his
breeches to re-bandage his earlier wound. He was just coming to. They
told me he was shell shocked. “Shell shocked, nothing,” I said. “A
shell could kill John Finnegan, but it could not break his nerves.”
Just then he got sight of me. “There’s nawthin’ the matther with me,
Father, exceptin’ that I’m deef. They got the Lootenant and I haven’t
squared it with thim yet. I’m goin’ back.” I told him he must stay
where he was at least till I returned from the Battalion Dressing
Station, which was 500 yards down the old Roman Road.
Going out I saw Marquardt, Hess and Kleinberg carrying a litter. I
offered to help and found it was Dallas Springer, a dear friend of
mine since Border days, now badly wounded. We got him with difficulty
down the shelled road to the Battalion Dressing Station where I found
the Surgeons, Doctors Martin, Cooper and Landrigan working away
oblivious of the shells falling around. Landrigan had been out most
of the night of the big bombardment arranging for the evacuation of
the wounded. I put Dallas down beside Michael Leonard, a Wisconsin
lad named Pierre, and Harold Frear, a slim, plucky lad whom we had
rejected at the Armory for underweight when he applied for enlistment
just a year ago, but who had pestered us all till we let him by.
I was told that Lester Snyder of our Sanitary Detachment had been
brought in nearly dead, a martyr to his duty, having gone out to
bandage the wounded under heavy fire. It was a consolation to me to
recall the devout faces of all five of them as I gave them Communion
a day or two before.
Between looking after these and others who kept coming in it was
a good while before I got back to the First Aid Station in the
trenches and John Finnegan was gone. They had kept him for some time
by telling him he was to wait for me. But after a rush of business
they found John sitting up with a shoe lace in his hand. “Give me a
knife,” he said, “I want to make holes to sew up my pants.” Johnny
Walker had mine but he wouldn’t lend it. “Lie down and be still.”
“All right,” said Finnegan, “I have the tools God gave me.” He bent
his head over the ripped up breeches and with his teeth tore a few
holes at intervals in the hanging flaps. He carefully laced them up
with the shoe-string, humming the while “The Low Back Car.” Then
he got up. “Where’s me gun?” “You are to wait for Father Duffy. He
wants to see you.” “Father Duffy done all for me I need, and he’d be
the last man to keep a well man out of a fight. I’m feeling fine and
I want me gun. I’m going back.” He spied a stray rifle and seized
it. “Keep out of me way, now, I don’t want to fight with the Irish
excipt for fun. This is business.” So wounded, bruised, half deaf,
John Finnegan returned to battle. Immortal poems have been written of
lesser men.
The attacks on the position of Company G were not so bitter and
persistent as Company F had to sustain. The G men felt rather hurt
about it, but their genial Captain smilingly tells them that it was
because the enemy know they could never get a ball through where G
Company soldiers kept the goal. On the 15th the enemy certainly got
a taste of their quality. A strong attack pushed in at a thinly held
spot and were making off with a machine gun. Lieutenant Ogle mustered
his platoon, sped over the top and down upon the enemy with grenades
and cold steel. A short sharp fight ensued. The gun was carried back
with shouts of laughter and in a few moments was barking with vicious
triumph. Sergeant Martin Murphy, Corporals John Farrell, Michael
Hogan and Thomas Ferguson—four soldiers of the jolly, rollicking
Irish type, were Ogle’s mainstays in this dashing fight. Lieutenant
Boag was wounded, but his platoon was ably handled by Sergeant John
McNamara.
When Prout’s dugout was smashed to pieces by shell fire, Sergeant
Martin Shalley, who is the very type and pattern of the Irish
soldier, took charge of the rescue work and dug out the buried men
in time to save their lives. Another shell destroyed the kitchen of
Cook William Leaver. Thus relieved from his peaceful occupation he
got himself a gun and belt and ran out into the fight garbed in his
blue overalls. Michael Foody, tiring of being made the cockshot of
aeroplanes which were flying low over the trenches, determined to try
reprisals, and leaning back against the trench, began to discharge
his automatic rifle in the direction of one that was particularly
annoying to him. It was a long chance, but before he had emptied his
feeder he had the joy of seeing the plane wabbling out of control and
finally making a bad landing back of the German lines.
Corporal John G. Moore lived up to the best traditions of his gallant
Company. He had been wounded but refused to go back. Later his post
was suddenly occupied by half a dozen Germans. They called upon him
to surrender, but Moore does not know that word in German or in any
other language. He says he took it to mean a command to fire, so he
started to put hand grenades over the plate and the two Germans that
were left made quick tracks for the exit gate. Moore’s delivery is
hard to handle. Alfred Taylor also proved his mettle by sticking to
his post when wounded and insisting furthermore on joining a raiding
party the same day.
Raiding parties were G Company’s stock in trade. Lieutenants Ogle
and Stout revel in them. They were out at night looking for the
trouble that did not come their way often enough by day. One of these
patrols fell upon what they called a bargain sale and “purchased” new
German boots and underwear for the whole Company. John Ryan got left
behind in one of these raids and had to lie for two days in a shell
hole with Germans all around him. He finally got back with valuable
information concerning movements of the enemy.
Further to the east and separated from the other companies by a
battalion of the 10th Chasseurs was Company E under Captain Charles
D. Baker. During the bombardment only one man, Michael Higgins, was
killed. The attacks of the enemy on the next two days were of the
filtering kind, and were easily repulsed, George McKeon being the
only man slain.
By the 18th they began to grow weary of these trivial actions and
Captain Baker ordered two platoons to go a raiding. The first
platoon, under Lieutenant Andrew L. Ellett and Acting-Sergeants
Malloy and McCreedy, went up the boyau on the left. They had not
gone a quarter of a mile when they saw Germans in a trench. Douglas
McKenzie, in liaison with the French, reported them as gathering for
an attack. The Lieutenant climbed out of the trench to get a better
view, and Matt Cronin got out behind him with his automatic rifle to
start things going. Some of the enemy were in plain view and Cronin’s
weapon began pumping merrily. The enemy responded and he received a
wound. The fight was on. It was a grenade battle. Our men rose to
it with the same zest they had shown when they fought their boyish
neighborhood fights, street against street, in Tompkins Park or
Stuyvesant Square. But this was to the death. Both Sergeant Malloy
and Archie Skeats took that death in their hands when they caught
up German grenades out of the ditch and hurled them back at the
enemy. Lieutenant Ellett’s men were far from their base of supplies.
Three times they fell back along the _boyau_ as their ammunition
ran out; and three times with fresh grenades they advanced to meet
the foe. The Lieutenant was wounded, but a hole or two in him never
mattered to Andy Ellett. He withdrew his men only when he felt he
had done all that was necessary. Then he handed over his charge to
Sergeant Frank Johnston, a warrior every inch, who had joined up with
Anderson’s old company for the war because he knew Anderson of yore.
He had fought, with him many a time in the Epiphany Parish School.
[Illustration: GENERAL LENIHAN, LIEUTENANT GROSE, COLONEL MITCHELL,
FATHER DUFFY, MR. GEORGE BOOTHBY OF THE “Y,” AND JUDGE EGEMAN, OF THE
K. OF C.]
The other platoon was commanded by Lieutenant Tarr with William
Maloney and Michael Lynch as Sergeants. Dick O’Connor, who always
went to battle with song, was the minstrel of the party, his war
song being “Where do we go from here, boys?” John Dowling, Cowie,
Joyce, Gavan and McAleer went ahead to scout the ground. They passed
through some underbrush. Suddenly they flushed two Germans. Dowling
fired and shouted, “Whirroo me buckos, here’s our mate.” His cry was
answered by Maloney, a mild-mannered Celt, who knows everything about
fighting, except how to talk of it afterwards. Lieutenant Tarr gave
the order and led his whole platoon over the top across the level
ground and up to the trench where the Germans held the line. It was
grenades again and hand to hand fighting on top of it. A party of the
Germans fled to the left. They heard the battle of Ellett’s platoon
from there and they turned with upthrown hands and the cry “Kamerad.”
Dowling helped the first one out of the trench by the ear. “Aisy
now, lad, and come along with me. The Captain is sitting forninst
the blotter to take your pedigree.” Back went most of the platoon
with the prisoners, their mission accomplished. Eleven prisoners
had been taken and fifty Germans left dead upon the field. But the
never satisfied Maloney elected himself to cover the retreat with
Hall, Breen and Hummell; and with such a leader they kept battling
as if they were making a Grand Offensive until they were ordered to
withdraw.
I have been to the Third Platoon of Company E and everybody talked
about that patrol at once. Everybody except Maloney. But everybody
else was talking about Maloney. I looked around to see what Maloney
would have to tell. And I found no Maloney. Maloney had fled, sick
of hearing about Maloney.
This was practically our last shot in the battle. The German attack
had evidently come to a complete standstill. They even lost their
command of the air on the afternoon of the 17th, when a fleet of
British aeroplanes had come along and driven them to cover. On our
part we were preparing to become the aggressors. The 3rd Battalion
was being brought forward to relieve the 2nd, and to take command of
both came our good old Lieutenant Colonel, jaunty and humorous as
always in a fight and without a worry except as to whether he and I
had enough smokes to last. All care vanished when my orderly, Little
Mac, sneaked up from where I had left him in the rear, bringing two
cartons of cigarettes.
Today we received definite word of what had happened meanwhile in
the support Battalions. During the bombardment, young Wadsworth was
killed at Headquarters, and I lost other good friends in Company
B—Sergeant Harry Kiernan, as good a man as he looked, and that is
a great compliment; Arthur Viens, one of my own parish lads, and
Joseph Newman, and Archie Cahill, mortally wounded. Louis Cignoni
of Company C and Sam Forman of the Machine Gun Company were also
killed. Sergeant Charles Lanzner of Company A was killed while doing
brave work as a volunteer carrying a message to Company B under the
fearful cannonading. The Polish Battalion also had met with a savage
reception that night.
The French gave news that the enemy was held in every part of the
long front, with the exception of a portion of the line around
Chateau Thierry and running up the northeast side of the salient. The
old Rainbow had not a single dent in it. I got our fellows stirred up
by telling them that they had gone and spoiled one of the loveliest
plans that had ever been prepared by a General Staff. “What do you
mean, spoil their plans? All we spoiled were Germans!” “That’s just
the trouble. The men who planned this battle did not really expect
you to stick, and they were all ready to give the Germans a terrible
beating after they had walked through you and gotten out into the
open space. The trouble was that you fellows did not know enough to
run away, and the Generals finally had to say, ‘We shall have to
scrap our beautiful plans and fight this battle out where those fool
soldiers insist on having it fought.’”
Around midnight we were told that we would be relieved by morning.
Why? No one knew. Where were we going? No one knew. The French were
to take our place. They were slow in coming. We wanted to be away
before sunrise or the enemy would have a fine chance to shell our
men as they made their way over the plains. I waited the night there
in Kelly’s shack, impatient for the relief to come ere dawn. Finally
the Poilus, their blue uniform almost invisible by dark, began to
appear. I started off with Mr. Jewett down the road to St. Hilaire.
We picked up Bill Neacy with a Headquarters detachment, and found a
back road down to Jonchery. I watched for the dawn and German planes,
filled with anxiety for our withdrawing columns. But dawn came and
no shelling, and shortly afterwards I fell into the kindly hands of
Major Donovan, and soon good old John Kayes and Arthur Connelly had
a beefsteak on the fire for us. The 2nd Battalion came drifting in
in small parties, and reported everybody safe. Then I saw Pat Kinney
and knew that the Colonel was somewhere about. He had come out to
look after his men. I certainly was glad to see him, and I got the
reception of a long lost brother. He bundled me into his car, and
in a short time had me wrapped in his blankets and taking a long
deferred sleep in his cot at Bois de la Lyre.
VADENAY
_July_ 21st, 1918
We packed up our belongings in the Bois de la Lyre on July 20th and
went to this town of Vadenay. Colonel McCoy had a ceremony that
afternoon which shows one reason why we are so devoted to him. I had
written up the recommendations for citations furnished by Company
Commanders during the recent battle; and the Colonel, fearing they
might not go through, embodied them in a regimental citation and read
them to the assembled soldiers. It was fine and stimulating; the 2nd
Battalion is as proud as if it had won the war and the others are
emulous to equal its fame.
I went back to my billet and found a visitor who announced himself as
Father James M. Hanley of the Diocese of Cleveland. I remembered the
name. I received a letter some two months ago, a fresh breezy letter,
full of the unrestrained impatience of a young priest who had come
over to take part in the war and had landed in an engineer outfit
not far from a base port. He appealed to me as an old-timer to tell
him how to beat this mean game. I answered and told him what to say
to Bishop Brent, and Bishop Brent, nothing loth, had sent him to me
for the 42nd Division. The more I talked with the new Chaplain the
more 69th he looked to me; so I said to him: “I am going to keep you
with me. Father McDonald is in ill-health and has orders for a new
assignment. We shall have a big battle in a week or two and we shall
need two men because there is a good chance of one of us being bumped
off. Major Anderson’s battalion will very probably be in reserve so
you report to Major McKenna and tag along with him. I shall tie up
with Major Donovan.”
The next day was Sunday. It was the first day the whole regiment was
in one place since we left Camp Mills. There was a beautiful church
in the town and I announced four masses with general absolution and
communion without fasting. In all my life I never saw so many men at
communion in one day. The altar rail was too narrow to accommodate
them, so we lined them up on their knees the length of the aisle, and
two priests were kept busy passing up and down giving communion. The
non-Catholics we took in groups near their companies and had brief
exhortation and silent prayer.
I never use the motive of fear in talking to soldiers about religion
because it does not suit with their condition, and anyway I can get
more substantial results without it. But the government and the army
believes in preparedness for death, as is shown by their ambulances
and hospitals and pensions. I believe in spiritual preparedness; so
too, do the men. I am happy to think that my own charges are well
prepared. May the grace of God be about them, for I feel we are in
for a big fight.
One thing sure, they are not afraid of it. Coming in to Vadenay I saw
Amos Dow, a stripling youth of Company K, just back from the hospital
after four months of absence—he was terribly gassed last March and
his condition then had me much worried. He was still looking none too
well.
“What brought you back,” I asked. “You are not fit for this kind of
work yet.”
“Well, they did offer me other jobs, but I wanted to be with my own
outfit, and I wanted to get a Dutchman after what they did to me, and
I was sick of hearing the Marines talk about how good they are. I
want to get into a first class battle with this Division like you’ve
been through while I was coming up, and when I meet those birds from
the Marines, I’ll have something to say to them.”
“You’re a blood-thirsty youth. But far be it from me to stop you.
It’s your trade. But you can’t carry a pack, so I’ll fix it up to
make it easy for you.”
“Joe,” I called to Sergeant Flannery, “I want you to get Captain
Mangan and Lieutenant Kinney to adopt this savage child in the Supply
Company for a week or two. See that he gets up where he can smell
powder, but without too much hiking, and then give him his belt and
rifle and let him go to it.”
“I had better get a lariat and a picket pin and tie him up,” growled
Joe.
He was right. By morning the lad was gone off with Company K. He was
afraid I would spoil his chance for a battle.
The survivors of our 2nd Battalion are camped in a wooded island
in the stream and I spent the afternoon with them. The weather was
delightful and they were enjoying a lounging, lazy, gossipy day,
which is the one compensation for being in the Infantry—the artillery
have fewer killed, but their work never lets up. I went amongst them
to pick up incidents for my narrative. One of the first things I
found was that the recent battle had given them increased confidence
and respect for their officers. A Company F man said to me: “I’ll
take back anything I ever said about Captain Mike. At Baccarat he
had me fined two-thirds of three months pay for taking a drink too
much and I said that if I had the job of rigging him up for a night
patrol, I’d like to tie bells around him and put a lantern on his
head.”
My first visit was to Company H, which had been the greatest
sufferer. In addition to the names I have already cited, one of the
most frequent on all men’s lips was that of Dudley Winthrop. Dudley
is a fine youth and one of my best friends. I tell him that he has a
name like a movie actor, but he says he can bring around two cousins
of his named Connelly from Company G to prove that he belongs to the
Fighting Race. I hope he gets the Croix de Guerre he has been put in
for, for he certainly deserves it. Patrick J. Dwyer, William Gordon
and Daniel Marshall are also cited by their fellows for sticking it
out while wounded, with Thomas McDermott, who was tagged for the
hospital and refused to go. High praise also for Martin Higgins
(a born fighter) and Andrew Murray, Dan McCarthy, Sergeant Val.
Dowling, William Smythe, Sammy Kleinberg, whom I saw going around
all week cheerfully carrying the wounded with the clothes burned off
his back by a misdirected flare; Tom Heaney, Robert Cooper, Michael
Kearns, James O’Brien, John Thornton, John A. Fredericks, Donald
Gillespie, John F. Lynch, Joseph Mattiello, with cooks Pat Fahey and
Gorman, Timothy Walsh, Peter Breslin, John J. Walker, Charles Rogan,
Michael Higgins, Dennis Kerrigan, James Guckian, John J. McCormack,
James Todd, John Kelly, Frank Garvin, Lawrence Farrell, Bill
Fleming, Charles Klika, William McNamee, James Merrigan, John Maher,
Harold Avery, Patrick Connors, John P. Furey, Frank Condit, Robert
McGuiness, John Higgins, James Keane, Patrick Travers, Thomas Slevin,
John Ryan, John and James French, Bruno Guenther, Daniel Dayton,
Frank Doran, Charles Ziegler. The men who were on the digging detail
that had such heavy losses in the bombardment praise the coolness and
solicitude for their safety of Lieutenants Becker and Otto.
Company G talked most about their Captain, the serenest pleasantest,
and most assuring person in the world in time of trial and danger.
Also Lieutenants Ogle and Stout, Norris and Joseph Boag, who was
wounded in the fray. I myself had seen Carl Kemp of the same Company
on duty at Battalion Headquarters standing through the bombardment on
the top of the parapet on his duties as lookout. Sergeant Jim Coffey,
wounded and still fighting; and, in the same class, Ralph Holmes and
John Flanigan; James Christy, working his automatic from the top of
the trench; Dennis Roe, always a good soldier in a fight; Sylvester
Taylor and Joseph Holland, liaison men; Sergeants Jim Murray, Edward
McNamara, Thomas T. Williamson and Frank Bull, Mess Sergeant Hugh
Lee; James Henderson, Thomas Gallagher, William McManus, Michael
Hogan, William Carroll, Morris Lemkin, Dennis O’Connor, John
McNamara, John Conroy, Frank McNiff, Joseph P. Alnwick, Patrick
Burke, Patrick Duffy, David Fitzgibbons, Angelo Dambrosio, James
Keavey, Nicholas Martone, Lawrence Redmond, James Ryan and John Ryan,
the Hans brothers; Thomas Slevin, Herbert Slade, James Walsh, Allen,
Henry Curry and John Fay as Company liaison; Arthur Ayres, George
Murray, Herman and Lyons as litterbearers; Louis Mugno, Maurice
Dwyer, Patrick Keane, Charles McKenna, James Elliott, mechanics;
Michael Hogan, Patrick Burke, young O’Keefe, Robert Monahan, Frank
Garland; and, to end with a good old Irish name, Mack Rosensweig. I
know he’ll be with us if we ever get a chance to go over and free
Ireland, and he’ll be a good man to take along.
In Company F it was all praise for Captain Mike and praise and
regrets for Lieutenant Young. I did not need to have them tell me
anything about their liaison group, as I saw them at work—from the
Corporal in charge, John H. Cooke, who, though wounded, stuck at his
job, to Harry P. Ross, John J. Carey, Leon Duane, John Gill, William
Grimson, Harry McLean. Sergeant Major Michael J. Bowler did good
work looking after the wounded. Tom Kenney carried in Lieutenant
Anderson and I saw James Bevan do good service in the same line; also
Marquardt, Goble, Gray and Harry Rubin. First Sergeant Joseph Blake
was a cool leader, as also Charles Denon, Leo McLaughlin, and Tim
McCrohan. Of those who were wounded and stuck, the name of Sergeant
Eugene Cunningham was mentioned, as also John Butler, Edward Callan,
John Catterson, Albert Curtis and James Brennan. Pat Frawley (one
of the best soldiers the regiment ever had), was wounded and stuck,
was knocked senseless and still stuck. Others who distinguished
themselves in hand to hand fighting were Patrick McGinley, Peter
Sarosy, Thomas McManus, Malcolm Joy, always lively in a fight; and on
the Roll of Honor the popular vote placed Sergeant Phil Gargan, whose
kitchen was ruined (“wounded at Lunéville, killed in Champagne,”
said Phil); James P. McGuinn, Oscar Youngberg, William Gracely, Hugh
Haggerty, Lewis Edwards, Michael Gettings, Joseph McCarthy, John J.
Tyson, James Moran, Edward Moore, James Kelly, Cornelius Behan, Ned
Boone, James Branigan, Tom Cahill, James Coogan, Joseph Coxe, Morris
Fine, Dick Leahy, Nat Rouse, and, to end once more with a good Irish
name, “Pat” Levine.
Company E added to my extended list the names of James A. Donohue,
Walter Dowling, Ray Dineen, and most of all, Fred Gluck, who rendered
heroic service as litter bearer. At Headquarters the Colonel himself
spoke enthusiastically about the good work of young Joe Hennessy,
who was on the road at all times on his motorcycle, oblivious of
danger even after being wounded. I found that Company M was carrying
Corporal Dan Flynn as A. W. O. L. on its records. Dan had gone up to
the Second Battalion on paper work and finding that a fight was on he
got himself a rifle and stayed there till it was over.
We are all well satisfied with the spirit of every man in the
regiment during the last fight. I had but one recommendation to
make to Colonel McCoy. The Company litter bearers are left to the
selection of the Captains. Now the Captains are chiefly interested
in front line work and they refuse to spare a good rifleman for any
other task. But the litter bearers have a task which is most trying
on morale and physique, and it will not be easier if it comes to open
warfare, where they will have to stand up when the fighting men lie
in shell holes. The litter bearers acquitted themselves well in this
fight, but I feel strongly that nothing is too good for the wounded.
I want the Colonel to insist that one man in every four be a picked
man who will go and keep the others going on their work of human
salvage until every man drops in his tracks. I would select in every
four men one of our solid Irish, of the kind that with death all
around, hears nothing but the grace of God purring in his heart.
CHAMIGNY SUR MARNE
_July_ 24th, 1918
Sur Marne—there is magic in that. I have always wanted to see
the Old Regiment add the name of that river, so full of martial
associations, to the history-telling silver furls on its colors. We
are not in battle yet. Nothing could be more peaceful than the scenes
in which we live, if one shuts one’s eyes to uniforms and weapons.
The broad, silvery Marne forms a loop around the little village and
the commodious modern chateau (owned, by the way, by an American), in
which we live. We revel in our new found luxury. Following a motto
of this land, “We take our good where we find it.” I got a variation
of that as I came into the lordly halls and stood staring around me.
Sergeant Major Dan O’Connell gave a signal like an Orchestra Leader
to the Adjutant’s Office Force and McDermott, O’Brien, Jimmy Canny,
White, Monahan, Farrell, Whitty, with Dedecker and Dietz joining in,
sang deliberately for my benefit, “There’s nothing too good for the
I-i-i-rish.” A sentiment which meets with my hearty approval.
A diary is a sort of magic carpet; it is here, and then it is there.
Three days ago we hiked it from Vadenay to the nearby station of St.
Hilaire-au-Temple where we entrained for parts to us unknown. Our 2nd
Battalion and the Wisconsins, which formed one of the sections, had
the mean end of a one-sided battle while waiting at the station. The
German bombing planes came over and started dropping their “Devil’s
eggs.” C-r-r-unch! C-r-r-unch! C-r-r-unch! the face of the earth was
punctured with deep holes that sent up rocks and smoke like a volcano
in eruption; the freight shed was sent in flying flinders, but the
train was untouched. Animals were killed, but no men.
“We don’t know where we’re going but we’re on our way” might be
taken as the traveling song of soldiers. We dropped down to Chalons,
crossed the river, going first in a southeasterly direction to
St. Dizier, then southwest to Troyes, and rolling through France
the whole night long we came in the morning as near Paris as
Noisy-le-Sec, from which, with glasses, we could see the Eiffel
Tower. Judging from our experience with the elusive furlough, that
is as near to Paris as most of us will ever get.
We were impressed with the new enthusiasm for American soldiers
among the French people; every station, every village, every farm
window was hung with colors, some attempt at the Stars and Stripes
being common. And stout burghers, lovely maidens, saucy gamins, and
old roadmenders had a cheer and a wave of the hand for “les braves
Americains, si jeunes, si forts, si gentils,” as the troop train
passed by.
“Looks as if they knew about the big battle we were in,” said
Lawrence Reilly.
“Not a bit of it,” said the grizzled Sergeant Harvey. “I have seen
the Paris papers and nobody but ourselves knows that the Americans
were in the Champagne fight. These people think we are fresh from
the rear, and they are giving us a good reception on account of the
American Divisions that hammered the Jerries three or four days after
we helped to stand them up. Isn’t that so, Father?”
“I think you’re right, Sergeant. For the time being what you fellows
did is lost in the shuffle.”
“Who were these other guys?” asked Mike Molese.
“They say it was the 1st and 2nd Divisions up near Soissons and the
26th and 3rd around Chateau Thierry.”
“How is it these fellows manage to get all the press-agent stuff and
never a thing in the paper about the 42nd?” asked Tommy Murphy.
“Well, those other fellows say that it is the Rainbows that get all
the advertising.”
“Well, if I ever get home,” said Bobby Harrison, “I’ll tell the world
that none of those birds, regulars, marines or Yankees, have anything
on the Rainbow.”
“Oh, what’s the difference?” said the philosophical John Mahon, “as
long as it is American soldiers that are getting the credit.”
“Do you subscribe to those sentiments, Kenneth?” I asked John’s side
partner, Hayes.
“I certainly do, Father.”
“Then I make it unanimous. This meeting will now adjourn with all
present rising to sing the ‘Star Spangled Banner.’”
CHATEAU MOUCHETON, EPIEDS
_July_ 26th, 1918
Somebody is always taking the joy out of life. We had but three days
in our pleasant villages on the Marne when they routed us out and
lined us up on a hot, broad highway, where we waited for the French
camions which were to take us towards the field of battle. Finally
they arrived—a long fleet of light hooded trucks, each driven by a
little sun-burned, almond-eyed, square-cheeked Chink—Annamese or
Tonquinese, to be more accurate. We sailed in these four-wheeled
convoys past what is left of the village of Vaux (the completest job
of destruction we had yet seen, the work of our American artillery)
through Chateau Thierry, which had only been pecked at in comparison,
and northwest to the town of Epieds.
Here we witnessed one of those melodramas of war, for the sight of
which most civilians at home would sell, I am sure, one year of their
lives. There were four of our observation balloons in the air. Four
or five German attacking planes were circling above them intent on
their destruction; and a few doughty French flyers were manœuvering
to resist them. The convoy paused on the road to watch the result
of the combat. In fact, all the roads converging there were brown
with canvas hoods and khaki uniforms. Both the stage and the
accommodations for spectators were perfect. The spectators arranged
themselves along the roadside; the scene was set in the clear sky
overhead. Suddenly one of the Germans darted high in the air over the
balloon on the extreme left. Anti-aircraft guns barked viciously, and
the ether broke out in white and black patches around him, but he
managed to place himself where they could not fire at him easily, as
he had the balloon in the line of fire from the strongest battery.
Then he turned and swooped down on the balloon, swift as a hawk at
its prey. He swerved upwards as he passed it and all four Germans
soared rapidly upwards and away. We saw something drop suddenly
from the balloon, which rapidly developed into a parachute with two
observers clinging to it. A thin wisp of smoke which we could detect
from the balloon then burst into flames, and the blazing material
began to drop towards the parachute. But the automobile to which the
silk observation tower was attached began to move, and the fiery mass
missed the parachute on the way down. We were glad that the observers
had escaped, but we felt that in this first round of our new battle
we had to concede first blood to the enemy.
We hiked from Epieds—a pleasant walk—to this fine chateau, the main
building of which is occupied by French Staff Officers of a Corps
d’Armée. Our headquarters is in a large outbuilding, the men being
in the nearby woods. I have been circulating around amongst our 1st
Battalion and also the Ohios on my own particular concerns. Took
supper with Company D. Buck is away, as Major Donovan has taken his
four company commanders on a reconnoitering expedition, since his
battalion is to be first in. Had supper with Lieutenants Connelly,
Daly and Burke. Daly is a fine, intelligent active youth, graduate
of Holy Cross and of the Old Irish 9th Mass. Burke got his training
in the regular army. He is a soldier of the silent determined kind,
and a very efficient officer, with no blamed nonsense about him. The
other three of us, of a more normal racial type, cannot see any sense
in being too sensible. Connelly winked at me and began to “draw”
Burke by expressing envy of the lucky birds who had gotten orders
to go back to the States. Daly played up strongly, and Burke’s face
showed ever-increasing exasperation and disgust. Finally he blurted:
“Father, why don’t you shut these slackers up? We’re here to see
this thing through, and such talk is bad for morale.” When I laughed
as loud as the rest he grinned and said: “Oh, I know that if they
gave you fellows New York City with Boston to boot, neither of you
would go back.” A true statement, as I know. I paid for my supper by
hearing their confessions.
_Later_
The reconnoitering party came in for a severe shelling, and Buck has
gone back wounded and Hutchinson gassed. Donovan is back here, also
gassed, but ready to go in again if they want his battalion, though
his orders to relieve the French have been countermanded. While I am
writing, a polite French Staff Officer came in with the word that the
original orders should stand. Donovan buckled his harness on anew and
went out to lead his battalion forward once more. I posted myself in
the gateway of the Chateau and gave absolution to each Company as
it passed. Then I hastened out on the main road, and made similar
announcements to the Ohios, as that regiment moved up to the front.
There is every evidence that we are in for a battle, big and bloody.
COURPOIL
_July_ 27th, 1918
We spent last night in this shell-torn town, and this evening we
take up the pursuit of the withdrawing Germans. Donovan’s battalion
is out getting touch with them and McKenna is starting up too. The
84th Brigade has already relieved the 26th American Division and a
Brigade of the 28th and have been in a hard battle with the enemy at
Croix Rouge Farm. It took all their undoubted courage to sweep over
the machine gun nests, and they succeeded in doing it at the price
of a battalion. The roads coming down are filled with ambulances and
trucks carrying the wounded and dripping blood. We are relieving the
167th French Division, but nothing seems definitely settled, and
messengers are coming and going with orders and counter orders. I
have greater admiration than ever for McCoy these days. He moves in
war as in his native element, expending his energies without lost
motion or useless friction.
Tonight we go to the Chateau de Fere. If the Germans decide to make a
stand at the Ourcq we shall be in action by tomorrow.
FOOTNOTES:
[2] These distinctions were won by men of the 2nd Battalion in a
_coup de main_ led by Lieutenants Ogle and Becker (also decorated) in
the Baccarat Sector.
[3] The three O’Neills and Bernard Finnerty as also Sergeant Spillane
of Machine Gun Company came from the town of Bantry. “Rebel Cork”
added new leaves to its laurel wreath of valor in this battle on the
plains of Champagne.
CHAPTER VI
THE BATTLE OF THE OURCQ
Croix Rouge Farm was the last stand of the Germans south of the Ourcq but
it was expected that they would make some sort of resistance on the
slopes and in the woods north of this river.
To get to the battlefield from the south one can go on a broad
highway running straight north for five miles through the thickly
wooded Foret de Fere. Near the northern point of the woods is an old
square French Ferme—the Ferme de l’Esperance, and a more pretentious
modern dwelling, the Château de Foret. A little further north one
comes to the contiguous villages of La Folie and Villers sur Fere.
On the map they look like a thin curved caterpillar, with the church
and the buildings around its square representing the head. Beyond the
square a short curved street known to us as “Dead Man’s Curve” or
“Hell’s Corner” leads to the cemetery on the left, with an orchard
on the right. From the wall of the orchard or cemetery one can see
the whole battlefield of our Division on the Ourcq. A mile and a half
to the left across the narrow river is Fere en Tardenois blazing,
smoking and crackling all the week under the fire of artillery, first
of the French, then of the Germans. About the same distance to the
right and also north of the river, lies the village of Sergy where
the Iowas were to have their battle. To get the Ourcq straight across
the line of vision one faces to the northeast. The eye traverses a
downward slope with a few clumps of trees for about eight hundred
yards. The river, which would be called a creek in our country, has
a small bridge to the left and another a little to the right as
we are looking, near the Green Mill or Moulin Vert. Straight ahead
beyond the river is a valley, and up the valley a thousand yards
north of the river is a house and outbuildings with connecting walls
all of stone, forming a large interior court yard. It is Meurcy Farm.
A brook three or four feet wide runs down the valley towards us.
Its marshy ground is thickly wooded near the Ourcq with patches of
underbrush. And about two hundred yards west of the Farm is a thick
square patch of wood, the Bois Colas. North of the Farm is a smaller
woods, the Bois Brulé.
The whole terrain naturally slopes towards the Ourcq. But tactically
the slopes that were of most importance in our battle were those that
bound the brook and its valley. Facing the Farm from the bottom of
the valley one sees to the left a gradual hill rising northwestwards
till it reaches the village of Seringes et Nesles, which lies like an
inbent fish-hook, curving around Bois Colas and Meurcy Farm half a
mile away. To the east of the brook the rise goes up from the angle
of the brook valley and the river valley in two distinct slopes,
the first, fairly sharp, the second gradual. Six hundred yards or
so north of these crests is a thick, green wall across the northern
view. It is the Forest of Nesles. The difficulty of attacking up this
little valley towards the Farm lay in the fact that it made a sort of
trough, both sides of which could be easily defended by machine guns
with a fine field of direct fire, and also by flanking fire from the
opposite slope as well as from Meurcy Farm and Bois Colas which lay
in the northern angle of the valley. And when the attackers got to
the top of the eastern crest there were five hundred yards of level
ground to traverse in face of whatever defences might be on the edge
of the Forest.
With plenty of artillery to crack the hardest nuts, and with
regiments moving forward fairly well in line so that the advance of
each would protect the flanks of its neighbors, the problem would not
have been a terrific one.
But nobody knew for certain whether the enemy would make more than a
rear guard action at the Ourcq. His general line still constituted a
salient and his ultimate line was sure to be the Vesle or the Aisne.
It takes time to get Artillery up and in place. And the Germans might
slip away scot free on account of our too great caution in following
him. Miles to right and left allied troops, mainly French, were
hammering at both sides of the salient. It was the duty of those who
followed the retreating enemy to see that his retirement with guns
and other property should not be too easy a task.
In our progress to the slopes above the Ourcq there was little
resistance in the path of our brigade. The night of the 27th, General
Lenihan established brigade headquarters at the Château de Foret. The
Ohios were in the forest in brigade support, as the first plan was to
send in one regiment. Our second battalion was in regimental reserve
and was held by Anderson in the woods to the left of the road, his
principal officers being Lieutenant Keveny, Adjutant, and in command
of the four companies, E, F, G, H, Captains Baker, Kelly, Prout and
Finn. Colonel McCoy had established his post of command near the
church at the northern end of Villers sur Fere. With him was the
Headquarters Company under Captain Michael Walsh, and nearest to him
was the third battalion under Major McKenna, with Lieutenant Cassidy,
Adjutant, and Companies I, K, L, M, commanded by Captains Ryan,
Hurley, Merle-Smith and Meaney.
Major Donovan with the first battalion, Lieutenant Ames, Adjutant,
and the Companies A, B, C, D, commanded by Lieutenant Baldwin,
Captain Reilly, Captain Bootz and Lieutenant Connelly with our
Machine Gun Company under Captain Seibert, had gone forward on the
night of the 26th and relieved the French west of Beuvardes. On the
afternoon of the 27th they had passed east through the Foret de
Fere and had come out on the crest over the river between Villers
and Sergy, the lines being widely extended to keep in touch with
the Iowas on the right. Here we witnessed the first operation of
cavalry in our battles. A small squadron of French cavalry came out
of the woods and proceeded down the road south of the river in the
direction of Sergy with the intention of drawing the enemy fire. It
was a beautiful sight to see the animated group of horses and men
tearing down the road, but a spectacle that did not last long, as
very shortly they drew a powerful enemy fire and after some losses
cantered back to the woods with their main object accomplished. Our
Infantry was thus drawn into the battle but with little opportunity
to accomplish much as the enemy were relying principally on heavy
shell fire. Of ours, Company C suffered the greatest losses, as
Corporal Morschhauser, William V. Murtha and John F. Ingram were
killed and Sergeant John F. Vermaelen with Frank Dunn, William Ryan
and Harry Fix mortally wounded. Major Donovan drew his battalion
back behind the reverse slope of a hill where it was protected from
observation by trees, and there ordered them to dig in for the night.
He had detached Company D, under Lieutenant Connelly, to find and
maintain liaison with the French on the left. The Lieutenant got
in touch with our own 3rd Battalion which was already coming up on
that side. Lieutenant Burke of D Company, with Eugene Brady, kept on
to find the French to the westward, but just as he started out he
received a dangerous and painful wound in the leg. He stopped only
long enough to have it tied up and then, in spite of protest, he
insisted on carrying out his task. He tramped over fields and through
woods for four hours that night before his work was complete and
there was no danger of the derangement of plans, and then permitted
them to carry him back to the hospital. His wound was so severe that
it took months and months to heal, but Burke is the kind of soldier
who will carry out any task he is given to do, if he has to finish it
crawling.
In the early hours of Sunday, July 28th, the disposition of the
regiment was as follows. Colonel McCoy with his Headquarters Company,
Major McKenna’s Battalion with Company D of the 1st Battalion, and
a Company of the Wisconsin Machine Gunners were in the town of
Villers sur Fere and in the orchards east of it. Major Donovan with
Companies A, B and C, and our Machine Gun Company were further east
in the direction of Sergy. Our 2nd Battalion was two miles behind
and to the west, the Ohios being still further west on the same
line. A battalion of the Alabamas had come up behind Major Donovan
to take the ground he had occupied between Villers sur Fere and
Sergy. In front of Sergy the Iowas were already set. West of Villers
sur Fere the ground was held by the French, their main effort being
concentrated on the capture of Fere en Tardenois. It was reported
through the night that they already had that town, but they did not
cross the river until well on into the next morning.
Under normal battle conditions Colonel McCoy would not have been
justified in having his Post of Command right up with the advance
elements of his regiment as they went into battle. But he was a bold
as well as a careful commander, and he felt that he could best handle
the situation by being where he could see just what was going on.
For two days the situation had been changing from hour to hour. First
it was planned to have Major Donovan relieve the forward elements of
the French Infantry on Friday night. Then on Friday morning came a
corps order for the 42nd Division to attack on Saturday morning. It
was then arranged between General Menoher and the French Division
Commander to have two battalions of ours, Donovan’s and McKenna’s,
relieve the French that night. As we have seen, the order to attack
was recalled and the relieving battalions were sent back. But the two
division commanders decided that the relief should be effected and
that these two battalions should take the front line with Anderson
in support and the 166th in reserve. On Saturday came word that the
enemy had withdrawn with the French Division to our left in pursuit.
The 166th were to relieve them when the situation settled.
On Saturday morning came General Order 51. “Pursuant to orders from
the Sixth (French) Army, 42nd Division will attack at H. hour, under
cover of darkness, night of July 27-28.” The four infantry regiments
were to attack abreast, a battalion of each being in line. “The
attack will be in the nature of a surprise, and consequently troops
in the attack will not fire during the assault, but will confine
themselves to the use of the bayonet.”
At 1:00 P. M. Saturday, July 27th, the order was given to execute
the relief and await further instructions. Our advance elements were
already on the way and the 1st Battalion of the Ohios came up in the
rear of the 10th French Chasseurs to make reconnaissance with the
purpose of relieving them.
An hour after midnight General Lenihan received a message from
Colonel MacArthur containing an order from our 1st Army Corps, that
the attack be made before daylight and without artillery preparation,
reliance being placed chiefly on the bayonet to drive the enemy from
his position. Cavalry were to be in reserve to follow up. General
Lenihan ordered all of our three Battalions to take part in the
attack.
Colonel McCoy was sent for and the order was given him. Major
McKenna expressed his opinion of the order in a manly, soldierly
way. Captain Hurley of Company K had felt out the enemy resistance
during the night and had found machine gun nests just across the
river, the enemy artillery also being very active. The assumption
of a retreating enemy against whom infantry bayonets and charging
cavalry could be effective was not justified by what the front line
could detect. It was a case for artillery preparation and careful
advance. Colonel McCoy was already of the same opinion, which he
expressed with proper vigor. They were three good soldiers, Lenihan,
McCoy and McKenna, and they all felt the same way about it. But it
was a Corps Order, an Army order, in fact, commanding a general
advance. Whatever might be the cost, it could not be that this
regiment should not do its share to keep the advancing line in even
contact with the enemy. So when the hour arrived the Colonel gave the
order to advance, which order was communicated by Major McKenna, to
Hurley, Ryan and Merle-Smith, Meaney being in reserve. Orders were
also sent to Colonel Donovan on the right to move his battalion to
the west, taking advantage of the woods, and then to cross the river.
Lieutenant Colonel Mitchell brought orders in person to Anderson
to bring his battalion forward and cross the Ourcq on the left of
McKenna, which would bring him to the slope on the west of the little
brook leading towards Bois Colas.
Meanwhile General Lenihan at 3:20 A. M. had received word from
General Brown of the 84th Brigade that he could not be sure of
having his regiments in line in time for the assault. As a matter
of fact, the Iowas, under Colonel Tinley, were already abreast of
Donovan; and the assault battalion of the Alabamas, under Lieutenant
Colonel Baer, was rapidly coming up behind. About 5:00 A. M. General
Lenihan received word that the French were not in Fere en Tardenois.
He decided that it was too hazardous to push the attack and word
was sent at 5:15 o’clock to Colonel McCoy to suspend his advance
temporarily pending the advance of neighboring organizations.
But the old regiment had a motto to live up to, “Never disobeyed
an order, never lost a flag.” McKenna had given his orders to his
Captains who all knew just what it meant—and the men under them knew
it. Many of them, most of them, as it turned out, would be dead or
wounded up that pleasant little valley and along its eastern slopes
before the sun rode at mid-heavens. But no man was daunted by the
thought.
The first wave was to be Company K, already so cruelly tried by
the gas attack at Lunéville. Their leader was Captain John Patrick
Hurley, whose slender form and handsome ascetic face seemed to mark
the poet or the student rather than the soldier. But he was a keen
soldier, one whose blood pumped full and even when death was flying
round. Company K was willing to die for him or with him anywhere. At
his command they moved forward in advance formation with intervals
all perfect at a walk, a trot, a run, down to the Ourcq. It was
a sight to remember while life would last, as perfect as a peace
manœuvre but with death all around. In that short advance Sergeant
Frank Doughney and Corporal Raymond Staber, the heroic son of Mount
Loretto, found their way to heaven; and a number of good men were
wounded. But they swept on over the Green Mill bridge and across
its dam and through the waters of the river with Captain Hurley and
Lieutenant Pat Dowling in the lead, and did not stop till they had
gained a footing under the bank of the road beyond the river.
Right on their heels came Company I under the Boer War Veteran,
Captain Richard J. Ryan, in the same perfect formation. They, too,
swept across the Ourcq (Eddie Joyce being the one man killed),
and took up their place with Company K under the bank. The two
Captains reformed their men and were looking over the situation.
Their objective was Meurcy Farm. But that lay in the valley and was
impossible to take until at least one of the slopes was cleared
to its summit; as a direct advance would expose them to fierce
enfilading fire. Even where they were, one group of enemy machine
guns could fire direct on their flank; so Captain Ryan sent one of
his best men, Sergeant E. Shanahan, with Hugh McFadden, Pat McKeon,
Hettrick, Hartnett and others to put it out of action. A forlorn
hope, he felt, but they did it without losses, as Shanahan was a born
leader.
The line was scarcely straightened out when the men were given the
word to advance. The left of Company K moved out on the lower slopes
along the little valley towards Meurcy Farm; the right of K and
all of I at an angle straight up the bare, smooth slope towards
the machine gun nests that were spitting fire from that direction.
That kind of action suited Pat Dowling. He jumped to his feet and
called to his platoon to follow, when a machine gun bullet gave him
a mortal wound. Sergeant Embree and John J. Conefry fell by his
side. A heart-broken soldier lifted the Lieutenant. “Did they get
that machine gun on the right?” “Yes, sir.” Then, “Thank God!” and a
dauntless leader of men was no more.
The line swept on. The slope to the right ran through a wheat field
and then with a gentle rise to the summit. In the lower portion there
was a group of machine guns manned by good men. But they had to deal
with better men. The line swung around the guns in a semi-circle,
the men crawling on their bellies like Indians now. The rifles were
crackling all around, their sharp bursts of fire drowning at times
the incessant pop, pop, pop of the machine guns. Many of the German
gunners were killed and the others found it nigh impossible to lift
their heads from their holes to work the pieces. Not one of them
offered to surrender. Most of them died at their posts. A few sought
safety in flight and some of these managed to slip back up the hill
to safety. We met some of these men long afterwards. They spoke of
the sweep of the Battalion across the Ourcq and said they thought
Americans were crazy.
Meanwhile big gallant Merle-Smith with Company L had crossed the
river and had fallen into line on the hill to the right of Company
I. Major McKenna, anxious to extend his flanks as far as possible,
had thrown in Company D, half of it on the right of L, well into
territory that belonged to the neighboring regiment, and half to the
left rear of K, up the valley towards the farm.
The men who had the farm for their objective fared the best. At that
moment it was not very strongly held and the shoulder of the hill
protected them from fire from its summit. Sergeants Meade and Crotty,
with a platoon of Company K, followed by Lieutenant Cook, with two
platoons of D, worked their way up the valley. There was a sharp
fight under the stone walls of the old building and gallant Bob
Foster there found the death that was sure to be his in battle. Carl
Nyquist of L was also killed. Finally, rifles were thrust through the
windows and the last of the Germans retreated across the courtyard
and out the other side. While searching for food (soldiers always go
into battle after a long fast), Corporal John Gribbon found one lone
German hiding in the cellar and sent him to the rear. Other soldiers
ran into the orchard like school boys and picked green apples to
satisfy their hunger. Sergeant Crotty was sent to establish a line of
sharp-shooters to keep down the fire from the edge of Bois Colas, and
Sergeant Dick O’Neill held the Farm with his platoon of Company D,
until the Germans, learning from their own fugitives that it had been
evacuated by their men, shelled the defenders out into the open.
The main attack had harder going. Near the crest of the hill was
a new line of German guns much stronger than the first and with a
magnificent field of fire that swept almost every part of the slope.
Now that their own men at the base were out of the way, the German
Artillery, too, had more freedom to act, and shells began to drop
along the slope, carrying destruction. The whine of bullets was
incessant and the quick spurts of dust spoke of imminent death. But
still the line kept crawling forward, each man keeping his resolution
to the sticking point with no exhilaration of a headlong charge nor
even a friendly touch of shoulder. In attacks such as this each
man must crawl forward in isolation, keeping his interval from his
neighbors lest destruction should reach too many at one time. It is
the finest test of courage.
The machine guns were the worst—and not alone those in front. The
main attack was up the slope on the east of the brook valley. Across
the narrow valley along the edge of the Bois Colas until Anderson’s
men cleaned them out; and outside Seringes, the Germans had other
guns which kept up a galling flanking fire on our third battalion.
And from their right on their unprotected flank more guns were at
work. Before the hill was half won many were wounded or killed.
Company K, on the left, exposed to the fire across the valley, was
the first to suffer heavily. Lieutenant Gerald Stott was badly
hit—mortally, as the event proved.
Father Hanley, whose disposition did not permit him to remain at the
dressing station, had gone over the river with Captain Hurley and he
rushed forward to save the wounded Lieutenant, followed by Sergeant
Peter Crotty with Ted Van Yorx and George Meyer. The dust began
spurting around them and Father Hanley went down with a bullet in
the knee. Despite his command to the men that they should not risk
themselves, the three brave lads carried him in, and also Lieutenant
Stott.
Lieutenant Arnold made a desperate attempt to get in behind the
machine guns on the crest by following a drain on the lower slope.
He had gotten well forward when he was mortally hit. Sergeant John
Ross went ahead to get him, but was struck dead by the side of his
Lieutenant, as were James Daley of K, and John Hession of L.
Of the five Kellys of Company K, two, John and Francis, both daring
youths, were killed. Howard was badly wounded in the leg, Herbert
was not yet back from the gassing at Lunéville. Young Jimmy, a lad
of seventeen, alone remained, and battled as if he felt he had to
do the fighting for the whole clan. Of the five Sullivans, Jim was
the only one hit and he refused to quit the field. The same is true
of Sergeant D’Acosta and Victor Van Yorx and Mike Bannon and also
Herbert McKenna of the Mount Loretto boys of Company K. The other
lads of his school showed their training that day. Besides Raymond
Staber, George Duffy, Joe Gully and Tom Fleming paid the big price
for their patriotism. So too, did another much beloved lad in the
Company, James Scott; and Cox, Grey, Patrick Ristraino, Patrick
Caulfield, Hugh Quinn, Will Ring, and Patrick Cunningham (the last
three in front of Meurcy Farm), with Lewis Shockler, James Daly,
Sylvia and Dale, Sharp and Ramsey, who received their death wounds
on the slopes of the hill. This was a heart-breaking day for Captain
Hurley, who loved his boys, but he kept on cheerful to outward
view with his two remaining Lieutenants, Metcalf and Williams, and
non-coms like Meade, Farrell, Crotty, Bernard McElroy, John Gibbons
and others already named. But soon Lieutenant Metcalf was sent back
wounded and Williams was the only Lieutenant left.
At the extreme right of our line was Company L with the remnants
of two platoons of Company D under Lieutenants Connelly and Daly.
Captain Merle-Smith was hit early in the day, a bullet piercing his
arm as he raised it to signal his men forward. He had a first aid
bandage wrapped round it and then forgot about it, as there was too
much to do. Lieutenant Wellborne also was hit and refused to quit
the field. In his platoon Sergeant George Kerr, a great favorite in
the company, was fatally wounded. He was picked up by Sergeant Will
Murphy (I always wanted to make a priest out of Will, but he was none
the worse soldier for that), and carried down the hill; but George
died before the bottom was reached and Murphy himself was badly
wounded.
In the 2nd Platoon Lieutenant Watkins was killed in the very front
line. Near him fell Sergeant Tom O’Donovan and Bert Landzert, good
friends of mine since Border days. Lieutenant Spencer was also
wounded doing courageous liaison work, as well as Lieutenants Leslie
and Booth and Knowles, who had battalion duties and were there to
help in co-ordination. The 4th Platoon was led into action by my
loyal friend, Sergeant John Donoghue—like Tom O’Donovan, a Killarney
man, and both fine specimens of the Irish soldier. He was hit very
badly in the early part of the fray, but remained there for hours
spurring on his men. His place as leader was taken by Sergeant Ray
Convey, a deep, sincere, religious youth whom the whole Company
admired. He was a gallant leader, till death and glory claimed
him. The same quick route to heaven was taken by Corporal Neil
Fitzpatrick, wounded the night before but still in the fray, and Dave
O’Brien, a quiet saint and a model soldier. Owen McNally also, and
the two Coneys boys, George Heinbock, John J. Booth, and two youths
dear to all for their nobility of character, Lawrence Spencer and
Bernard Sheeran. With Lieutenant Watkins and Sergeant O’Donovan and
Convey on the hilltop lay Mat Moran and Mario Miranda, Earl Weill,
Roland Phillips, Herbert Stowbridge, M. Simpson, John Hayden, Harold
Yockers, Elmer Shaner and Preston Carrick, Dan Reardon, Alexander
Jornest (Russian) and James Santori (Italian), all making the same
sacrifice for the land of their birth or adoption.
Arthur Turner, Walter McCarty, E. J. Morrissey, Raymond Murphy were
killed in town. William J. Ormond, James Cook, James Watson, Herbert
Ray and Leroy McNeill died of wounds.
Johnnie McSherry, the irrepressible youngster, and Maurice Hart, the
staid veteran, were both carried from the field. Sergeant Arthur
McKenny was wounded and carried into Meurcy Farm, where he was
afterward made prisoner by the enemy. Of the two McLaughlin brothers,
Dan was wounded unto death, while doing great work, and Harry, less
severely. Two other brothers of the same name, Longford men, Bernard
and Thomas McLaughlin, battled through it all and came out unscathed.
The three McCabes fought like Maccabees. Sergeants Bezold, Thomas
Kiernan and Bernard Woods were wounded, but Sergeant William Malinka,
Tom Dunn and Leo Mullin came through.
On the left of L and in the middle of the line, Company I held the
field and suffered even greater losses; but they too kept working
steadily forward and no man went back whose duty it was to stay.
Lieutenant H. H. Smith was killed on the last slope, urging his men
forward. Sergeant Frank McMorrow and William Lyle, Paddy Flynn, and
Hugh McFadden kept the platoon going. Lieutenant Cortlandt Johnson,
like Captain Ryan, kept moving all along the line unmindful of
danger, until he was badly wounded. His platoon was in good hands.
Sergeant Charles Connolly took command and kept them advancing till
death called him from the fray. Across his body fell Tommy Brennan,
his closest friend—“In death not divided.” Sergeant Billy McLaughlin,
a thorough soldier, took command but five minutes later he, too, was
killed as he led the advance shouting, “Let’s go and get ’em, men!”
Otto Ernst and John O’Rourke were killed at the very top of the hill,
but Lenihan and Vail, Adikes and Lynch, still held the survivors
together until they, too, were wounded. John J. Maddock, a veteran
of the Regular Army, was badly hit while trying to save Corporal
Beckwith.
Here, too, fell Lieutenant Beach, killed by shrapnel while shooting
an automatic. Along side him lay in a row like harvest sheaves, Matt
O’Brien, William Corbett, Roger Minogue, Patrick McCarthy, Patrick
McKeon, Floyd Baker, Louis Bloodgood and James Powell. Sergeant
Charlie Cooper escaped severely wounded and Dan Mullin led what was
left of the platoon.
It was at the top of the hill that the Captain was wounded, a bullet
going through his left side. Before he fell he had looked the
situation over. The forward lines were now able to see clearly the
whole field. In front the terrain stretched over perfectly level
ground for five hundred yards to the edge of the forest of Nesles
where one could detect the prepared emplacements and regularly wired
positions. It was useless to advance in that direction; not a man
could ever cross that stretch alive. To the right a company of the
Alabamas had come up, but they, too, had been swept to pieces by the
German fire and no more managed to reach the top. To the left, across
the valley, our second battalion had begun to work its way up the
opposite slope towards Seringes. Their fire could be detected as they
wormed their way forward.
Looking back down the hill the sight was discouraging. The ground was
littered with the bodies of the brave, and the slopes of the Ourcq
were dotted with the wounded, helping one another to the dressing
station across the river in Villers sur Fere.
Half the battalion was out of action. Of five Lieutenants, Hurley
had lost three killed, and one wounded. Merle-Smith was wounded and
also three of his four officers, the fourth being killed. Eugene
Gannon, a brave and competent soldier, was now his second in command.
Ryan, badly wounded, was the only officer left in I, though he had
well placed confidence in his first sergeant, Patrick McMiniman, a
rock-ribbed old-timer, and Sergeants Shanahan and Patrick Collins.
All three commanders decided that the position on the top of the hill
was untenable. When they had swept over the last emplacements of the
German guns on the hill they not only found that their own further
advance was impossible; they had also left the German artillery free
to act, and the shelling began with terrific vigor. So the main body
drew back a little below the crest, leaving automatic gunners and
sharp-shooters to keep the Germans from venturing forward from the
woods. Our own machine guns, the Wisconsin lads manning them, had
followed the advance, the gunners fighting with desperate courage.
The ammunition was carried up by their men and ours at a fearful
cost. Five feet or so a man might run with it and then go down.
Without a moment’s hesitation, some other soldier would grab it
and run forward to go down in his turn. But the guns had to be fed
and still another would take the same dreadful chance. Death was
forgotten. Every man thought only of winning the fight. Finally the
guns were put out of action by shell fire at the top of the hill and
there they stood uselessly, their gunners lying dead around them.
Death was busy on that hill that morning. It claimed Johnnie Bradley,
the baby of the Company, for whom life was still an unexplored
field; and Ben Gunnell of the Northwest Mounted Police, who had tried
most earthly things and found them wanting. Pat Stanley, who had
left his kitchen to fight, found a noble end to his fighting. Arthur
Matthews, mortally wounded, spent what remained to him of breath,
calling words of encouragement to his companions. Two men worked
side by side,—one was taken and the other left. Frank Mulligan and
Frank Van Bramer worked an automatic. Van Bramer was called. John
O’Hara went the long road and Jim O’Connor stuck it out untouched.
Frankie Connolly took the automatic from McCarthy’s dead hands and
kept it going all morning. Eddie Martin and Will Corbett, liaison
men, were shot down, and Charlie Garrett wounded. The voices of
Thomas Curry and Henry Lynch and Arthur Thompson were hushed forever.
Frank Courtney, Will Flynn, Earl Rhodes, Thomas Boyle, Carl Moler,
John McCabe, Harold Van Buskirk, Louis Ehrhardt, Fred Muesse, Darcy
Newman, Melvin Spitz, kept up the fight of that bare hillside with no
thought of retreat until their heroic souls were sped. Charles Ford
and Spencer Ely, Albert Schering and Thomas Shannon were carried from
the field and died of their wounds.
Captain Hurley, in command of the battalion on the hill, had gone
down to confer with the Colonel. Captains Ryan and Merle-Smith were
both wounded. The latter kept cheerfully moving around amongst his
men, while Ryan had to lie in a depression and try to keep up the
spirits of his followers by calling to them. When his voice failed
him, Paddy Flynn, a clean-cut young Irish athlete, came and lay along
side him and coached the team like a captain on the base lines. As
he raised his head to call he was hit on the cheek, but he kept
on urging resistance until he was finally wounded severely. Paddy
Hackett’s voice was also heard throughout the fight urging the old
gallants to stick, until he, too, found his place among the heroes of
the regiment that are gone.
And still the remnants of the battalion held their ground, though
that ground was being plowed by shells. They had the hill; and if a
general forward movement was on, as they had been told, it was their
place to hold that hill till the other organizations could come
up, even though the last man amongst them should remain there for
his long sleep. Captain Meaney had sent up reinforcements to piece
out the thinned line. A platoon under Lieutenant Ahearn arrived,
but reinforcements only added to the slaughter. What was needed
was artillery fire and strong supporting movements on the flanks.
Lieutenant Ahearn was wounded and two of his best Sergeants, Patrick
Clark and Patrick Hayes. Sergeant William Francis was killed, also
Corporals Patrick Cooke and George Hoblitzell, one of two fine
brothers; and Patrick Byrne, Hubert Hill, James Scanlan, John Tobin
and John Donahue fought their last fight. Mat Mahoney, Frank Cullum,
John Powers and Bill Conville, with many others, were badly wounded.
Lieutenant Connelly had tried to remove Captain Ryan from the field.
But the Captain threatened to shoot anybody who would attempt to take
him away from his men. Finally, about noon, Captain Merle-Smith came
to him with information that the order had come to withdraw through
the 1st Battalion, which already occupied the lower slopes of the
hill.
That task remained to carry in the wounded. Company M gave great
help, but every man who could walk lent a hand to this task of
friendship. Corporal Dynan, who had already done more than his share
of the fighting, got wounded finally while helping others off the
field.
Lieutenant Williams remained out to hold the advance position with
a platoon of Company K, including Sergeants Joe Farrell and Peter
Crotty, Corporals George Meyer, Patrick Ryan, John Naughton and John
McLaughlin.
The survivors were a sorry remnant of the splendid battalion that
had so gallantly swept across the Ourcq that morning. But they had
carried out a soldier’s task.
Their’s not to reason why,
Their’s but to do and die,
Disputes may arise about the orders that sent them in but they will
not affect the place in the martial annals of their race and country
which was made on that day of tragic glory by the Shamrock Battalion
of the old Irish regiment. Laurels grow from the graves of the dead.
Laurels, too, encircle the brows of every man who fought that day on
Hill 152.
Still further news of tragedy waited for them. Their gallant Major
was dead. Major McKenna had tried to recall his Company when the word
came to countermand the attack order. But his wild Irish had rushed
to the attack with too much eagerness for that, and the situation was
beyond mending in this way. They could not retreat under the fire
of the machine guns on the hill which could mow them down as they
recrossed the river with nothing gained from their sacrifice. They
had to go ahead and put these guns out of action. When he had seen
how things were going, the Major started back along the Ourcq to
consult with Colonel McCoy. A shell came over knocking the Major down
and wounding his Adjutant, Lieutenant Cassidy. When the Lieutenant,
with Sergeant Major Joyce and George Strenk, ran to pick him up, they
found him dead, though without a wound upon his body. They bore him
in sorrowing, as every man in the regiment sorrowed when the news
went round, at the loss of a brave and beloved leader whose talents
fitted him for a high destiny if life were spared him, but to whom
had fallen the highest destiny of all, and one which he had always
expected would be his—that of dying for his country.
His Company Commanders had been informed of his death not long
after it happened, and Captain Hurley had taken general direction
of the fight when Ryan was wounded. Hurley came back to report on
the situation to Colonel McCoy, and while talking to him was badly
wounded by shell fire. The Colonel had already made up his mind on
the matter and Major Donovan, with the 1st Battalion, was crossing
the river to effect a relief.
But meanwhile another battle, scarcely less fierce, had been going
on on the western slopes of the brook. On Saturday afternoon Major
Anderson, with the 2nd Battalion, had received orders to proceed from
Courpoil, north through Beuvardes, and maintain close liaison with
the 3rd, which was to go to the river and get contact with the enemy.
Anderson marched his men up to a place north of the forest of Fere at
the southwestern extremity of Villers sur Fere. Scouts were sent out
to examine the ground toward the river, while the Major and his four
Captains went to the town to interview the French Commander, who told
them that it would be impossible to cross the Ourcq without artillery
preparation, owing to the strong position held by the enemy. They
obtained information about the dispositions and plans of the 3rd
battalion and then returned to their commands.
About half past three in the morning Lieutenant Colonel Mitchell came
with the information that the attack was to be made at 5:45 and that
they were not to remain in support, but to advance to the attack at
the left of the 3rd Battalion. Anderson aroused his men and formed
them in the field north of the forest with Companies E and F in the
front line, E being on the right, and G and H behind them. They
advanced in approach formation through the fields until they reached
the southern slope of the crest just south of the river, where orders
were received for the battalions to halt.
This advance was made under heavy shell fire and at serious cost.
Early in the advance Charles B. Wethered and William Hurst were
killed by the same shell, which also wounded Haggerty, Dearborn and
Strang; and nearer to the river Company H suffered a tremendous loss
by the severe wounding of Captain James G. Finn, whose leg was so
badly gashed that he had to be carried from the field. The place
where the battalion was to cross was to the west of the little brook.
To their left was Fere en Tardenois, which was being systematically
attacked by the French troops. Our people had time to admire the
method in which these seasoned warriors went about their business.
They had dug in during the night so that they could place their fire
against three sides of the town, but they evidently had no intention
of going over the river until the fire of the machine guns had been
fairly well blanked. Some of their men were engaged in drawing fire
from the German nests, while others were sniping at them from their
shelters.
Our men got the advantage of the French thoroughness when, as they
came over the crest, they were liberally spattered with bullets
from two or three detached houses on the left just outside Fere en
Tardenois. Our one pounders were directed at them; but the French
gave those hornet’s nests their _coup de grace_ when they pulled up
one of their 75’s which they had handy, right into the front line and
sent a few shells straight as rifle bullets into the houses. Captain
Kelly sent my old friend, John Finnegan, with a patrol to see if any
of the enemy were left in the houses. John came back with the report
that there were no Germans there but dead ones.
The battalion rushed down and across the Ourcq without a casualty.
There was one German gun which commanded the little bridge and which
could have caused great losses, but the gunners were daunted by the
resolute advance of our men, as they knew that no matter how many
they might kill, they could not themselves escape, so they threw up
their hands and surrendered.
Companies E and F rushed over the little bridge and through the river
and up the slope of the hill towards Seringes and Bois Colas. Here
Captain Charles Baker of Company E was badly wounded in the neck
and shoulder, one of his best Sergeants, Michael Lynch, was killed,
and the bold Steve Derrig got a mortal wound. (Long afterwards we
learned with deep and universal regret that Captain Baker died of his
wounds.)
Company F on the left had the place of danger, as their route lay
straight up the hill and over the flats, to skirt the village of
Seringes, the village itself being allotted to the Ohios when they
could take their place in the line. Since they had been unavoidably
detained and the French were still working in their business-like
fashion at the task of getting Fere en Tardenois ready for capture,
Kelly’s left flank was bound to be in the air with the prospects
of worse to come if he got far enough forward to have it pass the
village, which was giving trouble enough while in front.
He sent messengers to Company E on his right to see whether Bois
Colas was rid of the enemy, for if it were strongly held, his men
would be simply fighting down a lane into a trap. Jim Quigley of
Company E had been in there already and Jim came around to report
that the woods was not held by the Germans. Later Captain Prout
sent a party into the wood and Lieutenant Conners, commanding E
Company, took possession of it up to its northern edge. Kelly’s men
had meanwhile been going forward in spite of Artillery and Machine
Gun fire, until they found a spot from which they could effectively
retaliate. This was a cutting in the roadway between Fere en
Tardenois and the north edge of Bois Colas. The shelter it gave was
not very great, but Lieutenant Frank Marsh had his automatic and
rifle men lined up in the ditch, happy to get a shot at the foe that
had been sending death amongst them. In the advance they had lost
Frank Connaughton, Charles Fox and Michael Campbell, and later on
Charles Caplinger, Harry Jennings and John J. McGloin. While holding
the road other good men were killed. Matt Wynne, who was known to
the whole regiment; Frank Divine, Lawrence Brennan, Alfred O’Neill,
Sergeant Thomas Erb and Eugene Doty were mortally wounded, and also
Harry Mansfield and Charles Melsa.
Kelly with his headquarters group, 1st Sergeant Joseph Blake,
Sergeant John P. Mahon, Corporals Long and Finnegan, Harris and
McLean and also Lieutenant Ogle had his post at the crest of the hill
where he could watch the fortunes of his forward detachment. Finding
them hard pressed he got two automatics from the Ohios, who had now
crossed the river and were forming under the bank, and sent Long and
Finnegan for reinforcements from his own Battalion. Colonel Anderson
ordered them sent, and detachments from all three Companies proceeded
through Bois Colas and started working forward to support the right
flank of the F Company men. In this operation Company E lost Thomas
Cullen, Philip Ford, Edward Fuld, Frank O’Meara, Louis Hazelton,
Louis Cohen, John Costello, Michael Breen, Emmett Bingham, Corporal
Gus Winter (hit carrying Cullen in), and Corporal John Cronin, the
saint of the Company (who had gone as a volunteer), and whose body
lay when I came to bury him the nearest to the enemy of any soldier
of ours. Not far from Cronin’s body lay four men of Company H, John
T. McCarthy, Patrick Reynolds, George Smith and Thomas Hayes. G
Company lost John Conroy, Floyd Graham, and Edmund Reardon. Patrick
Scanlan, whose brother Dan I had buried at Baccarat, was wounded this
day, but stuck to his Company to meet his death the day following, as
did James Higgins of the same Company. Of the two guides from Company
F, Long was wounded and the heroic John Finnegan fought his last
fight.
It was evident to anybody that a further advance without careful
artillery preparation was impossible. Like the 3rd Battalion on the
other hill across this valley, they had reached the level approach to
the strong defenses in the village and along the southern edge of the
forest. It was an artillery job. And any infantry commander who would
send his men across that open space would deserve a court martial.
The difficulty for both battalions arose from the alacrity with which
they had obeyed the orders from above which sent them across the
Ourcq on a bayonet charge against a fleeing foe. They had followed
the orders, and overcoming the first resistance of the enemy, they
found themselves opposed to the main line of defense with practically
nobody else, French or American, on their side of the river. Their
flanks unsupported, to go forward would be to hand the Germans a
couple of geese to pluck, and as there were no means of communication
with the distant artillery except runners, that arm of the service
could not act without grave danger of shooting up its own side.
The Ohios meanwhile had pushed their way up to have their share in
the battle. But since they had been considered as a support regiment,
they naturally thought they were coming to relieve the New Yorkers,
and officers and men announced that supposed fact to the groups of
our men. Anderson stormed around when he heard of it and Kelly and
Prout were disgusted, but they finally accepted the situation of
falling back into a support position when orders came to make it
final. After their struggles in the battle less than two weeks before
the second battalion deserved a comparative rest from the toil of
fighting. They withdrew to the northern edge of the Ourcq, where
they supported the advance of the 1st Battalion the next day. Later
the same day they formed a connecting link with the Alabamas on our
right. The losses of the battalion in the remaining days of the fight
were few in comparison. John McGeary of G was killed while saving the
wounded of Company H. Sergeant James P. Robinson and Thomas Bugler
were killed by shell fire and also Arthur Baia of Company E. On July
30th, while providing for the needs of men in line, two Sergeants of
Company F, Charles Denon and Charles D. Echeverria, were killed, and
Lieutenant Smith and Thomas Kelleher of the same company seriously
wounded. While engaged in a similar task the First Sergeant of
Company H, Daniel O’Neill, whose brother, William, had been killed in
Champagne, was mortally wounded, leaving only one of that famous trio
still alive.
[Illustration: THE BATTLE FIELD OF THE OURCQ]
It was between nine and ten in the morning that Major Donovan’s
battalion had reached the river, and not long after midday the
relief of the 3rd Battalion was practically complete. Major Donovan
brought into line with him three Companies, A, B and C. Company D,
which had been on the hill since early morning, was told that it
could retire with the 3rd Battalion. It had suffered losses, though
not so severe as the other companies. The platoons on the left of
the line had occupied Meurcy Farm with Company K. On the right the
headquarters group and one platoon under Lieutenants Connelly and
Daly had performed a very neat job of infiltration. There was a group
of German machine guns in a clump of trees some distance beyond
the right flank of our battalion, which was exceedingly annoying.
So Connelly took his detachment far to the right, shielded by the
bank of the river road, and led them up a gully into the rear of the
Germans, driving them out by rifle fire and hand grenades. Two of his
men, James Hayes and Harry Silver, an automatic rifle team, occupied
a lone outpost which was attacked by the enemy. Silver was mortally
hit, but kept on working his rifle till it dropped from his hands.
Hayes grasped it and kept up the fight till he was wounded and taken
prisoner.
In spite of their hard day, Company D wished to remain in the fight
with their own battalion. Connelly and Daly represented this to the
Major, who was very glad to keep them.
Major Donovan did not try to retain occupation of all the hill,
since the results of the gallant work of the preceding battalion
were preserved if the German machine guns could be prevented from
re-establishing their posts on it. So he placed automatic riflemen
and sharp-shooters in the wheatfield, and drew up the main body of
his troops under the lea of the high inner bank of the river road,
the one under which McKenna’s Battalion had formed for their attack.
The Alabamas were under the same bank further to the right, while
Anderson’s men held the river bank and the wooded swampy ground
across the valley to the left, keeping in touch with the Ohios, who
were also along the river.
The afternoon and night passed without any special infantry action.
When the strength of the enemy resistance became manifest, the
artillery were put to work. Both regiments of our divisional
light artillery were given to the 83rd Infantry Brigade: The
151st (Minnesota) behind us and the 149th (Illinois) behind the
Ohios. Further back our heavies, the 150th (Indiana) and Corps
Artillery were sending their huge missiles over our heads at the
enemy’s position. The edges of the forest of Nesles and the roads
behind were heavily shelled. This led the enemy to a great deal of
counter-battery work, and the infantry had it easier. But their
shelters were exposed at all times to machine gun fire and it
was dangerous for a man to lift up his head. Companies B and C
successively held the hill slope and had many casualties. Captain
Reilley was wounded, but kept right on till the whole battle was
over. Tommy Mooney was hit four times and came off the hill joking
with his friends, who had so often said that he was too thin for a
German to hit him. B Company lost good men in James Phillips, William
Doyle, Michael Tierney, Joseph Chambers, John A. Lane and Thomas
Kelley. That night, too, Barney Barry, soldier and saint, pulled
the latchstrings of the gate of Paradise. From C Company also Mat
Carberry and Richard Dieringer, Joe Augustine and John O’Connor, good
lads all and true, received their mortal wounds and John J. Campbell
and John F. Autry, litter bearers of Company A, were killed while
performing their work of mercy.
By morning the plans were made for a new alignment for attack. The
165th Infantry was to sweep the valley along both sides of the brook,
with Bois Colas on the left of it, and Meurcy Farm on the right, as
their immediate objectives. The second battalion was to be in close
support. Further left, the Ohios were to advance on the right of the
French and occupy the Village of Seringes et Nesles. The movement of
the 84th Brigade was co-ordinated with the advance of the 83rd.
This called for a shifting of Donovan’s battalion to the left, to
face up the valley. The movement was carried out in the early morning
of Monday, July 29th, with few losses, but one of them a costly one.
Lieutenant Daly, thinking as usual of the safety of his men, and
paying little attention to himself, was killed. Well, as Lieutenant
Burke had said of him two days before, there was no place else he
would rather be. His sacrifice was made with a generous heart.
The Battalion was lined up in the following order. Right of the
brook, Company A, with Lieutenant Baldwin in the lead, and Company
B in support, under Captain Reilley, their mission being to debouch
from the scattered trees which concealed them, and advance up the
gentle slope forward and right to Meurcy Farm. On the left, Company
C, under Captain Bootz, had the van, with Company D, under Lieutenant
Connelly, in support. Their work was to push on to the left of the
brook and clean up Bois Colas, a thickly wooded clump of trees about
as big as three city blocks, which lay two hundred yards west of the
farm.
Company A had only one officer with them in the attack as Lieutenant
D’Aguerro, with Sergeants Duff and Schmidt, had charge of a platoon
whose duty it was to carry ammunition. Lieutenant Baldwin, an
earnest, courageous man, was in command, with Sergeant Thomas J.
Sweeney as First Sergeant. They advanced at eight o’clock in the
morning and were immediately made to feel that they were in for a
hard time. There were German machine guns now in Meurcy Farm and
on both sides of it. The shelling, too, was vigorous, as all their
motions could be seen and reported. Sergeants Fred Garretson and
Don Matthews led a detachment with great prudence and dexterity,
capturing one of the machine gun nests and seven prisoners. The
direct attack against the farm, however, was not to be successful
that day. Sergeant Scully, who had been badly wounded in the
Lunéville raid, was wounded again early in the fight. Acting Sergeant
Willie Mehl, whose father used to bring him to our encampment as
a lad, was also hit; and many another good man was put out of
action forever. Corporal Petersilze was killed and Corporal Michael
O’Sullivan, a big, bright, good-natured giant, whom I had held in my
arms as a baby, and another of the Campbells of Company A, Louis,
this time, slender Harry Kane and sturdy Dan O’Connell, Stephen
Curtin, who did good work with his automatic; James Ronan, Leroy
Hanover, Joseph P. Myers, James Robinson, John Gray, John Williams,
Clyde Evans, John Boneslawski, William Barton, John Gilluly, John
Rice, William Thompson, W. V. Kelley, John Fisher, Dennis Donovan,
Fred Floar, William Mallin, were killed on the field. Fred Finger was
killed going back with the wounded. Tom Fleming and Charles Mack
died in the dressing station, and Anthony Michaels, Albert Poole,
James Tiffany, Patrick Carlisle and Edward Blanchard died of wounds
in the hospital.
Lieutenant Baldwin was in the van waving his pistol, when a machine
gun bullet struck him in the chest. His last words were: “Sergeant
(to Sweeney), carry out the orders!” His spirit animated the brave
men who followed. Moreover, they had still a fine leader in Tom
Sweeney, and they kept pushing ahead, some of them meeting their fate
under the very walls of the farm. It was all that they could do. One
officer and twenty-five men of the diminished company were killed
that morning. Multiply the deaths by six to get the total casualties
and one can see that few indeed were left. Sergeant Sweeney ordered
his men to dig in and wait. They were still full of spirit and vigor.
Major Donovan tells of the impression made on him by a New York High
School boy who carried his messages under fire with a cigarette
nonchalantly drooping from his lip, coming and going as if he were
an A. D. T. messenger on Broadway. It was Harold Henderson. Ed.
Chamberlain, whom I had always admired, also did credit to the good
opinion of his friends. He was hit across the stomach and as he rose
to go back, holding the ripped edges together to keep his bowels from
falling out, he said to Sweeney: “Have you any messages for the rear?”
It was some hours after Lieutenant Baldwin’s death that Lieutenant
Henry Kelley arrived with Major Donovan’s orders to assume command.
“Hec” Kelley, a young lawyer who enlisted as a private in B Company
when we went to the Border, was never one to take good care of
himself in a fight. He lasted just half an hour and was carried
back with a bad wound which robbed us of his hearty, courageous
presence for the rest of the war. Sweeney and the rest stuck it out
till morning. Corporal John F. Dennelly, who had left his country
newspaper in Long Island to join the 69th, spent the night with an
outpost which was busy discouraging the nocturnal efforts of the
Germans to erect barbed wire defenses in front of the farm.
In the morning the remnants of Company A withdrew a slight distance
down the valley to merge with Company B. This Company, too, had had
its losses. One platoon, under Lieutenant Wheatley, was in line
with Company A, and the rest of them were close behind. Lieutenant
Wheatley met the usual fate of officers in this battle by being
wounded. Timothy McCarthy, Denis Bagley and Albert Lambert were
killed and Phil Schron died at the dressing-station. It was a
pleasant surprise to everybody in the Company that their gigantic
captain, Tom Reilley, was not hit again, as he walked around using a
rifle for a crutch and exposing his massive frame to the enemy. But
he escaped with no further wounds.
Company A failed to get the farm that day, but their dogged
persistence helped to make the task of Company C an easier one. This
Company was led by Captain Bootz with Lieutenants Irving, Allen,
Betty, Stone and Friedlander. They advanced with their right near to
the brook and their left on the slope of the hill towards Seringes.
A machine gun on the south edge of Bois Colas hampered them, but
they got up one of our guns with Lieutenant Davis and Sergeant John
O’Leary and soon put it out of action. When they got to the woods
they beat their way through them cautiously, expecting every moment
to find resistance, but they met only one frightened German who was
glad when they made him prisoner. From the other side they could see
a disconcerted enemy dotting the slopes in front of the forest of
Nesles. The riflemen immediately got busy and when Lieutenants Davis
and Bell came up with the machine guns, commanded by Captain Seibert,
the field gray uniforms disappeared under their fire.
The first platoon, under Lieutenant Allen, had harder going. Its task
was to cover the left flank as the line advanced, which brought the
men along the top of the hill, where they suffered severely. Sergeant
Crittenden was killed and Louis Torrey, a pious lad, Charles Geary
also, and Carlton Ellis and R. J. Schwartz. Sergeant Dan Garvey and
Frank Daley, John J. Murphy, Patrick Cronin and one of the Gordon
brothers were fatally wounded and carried off the field. Harry
McAllister was badly wounded. Big, impulsive Mike Cooney carried him
down through a rain of fire to the bottom and then went back through
it to get his rifle. James Allen lay out on the hill moaning. Harry
Horgan started up to get him but was killed before reaching him.
Thomas O’Connor crept up cautiously and coolly. He was stooping to
pick him up when a bullet struck him and he fell on the body of
his comrade. Nothing daunted, Michael Ruane and William McCarthy
made their way up that hill of death and carried down their wounded
comrade. Both Allen and McAllister afterwards died of their wounds.
The biggest price paid for the capture of Bois Colas was when the
courageous soldier and trusted leader, Captain Henry Bootz, was put
out of action by a bullet which passed through his chest from side to
side. He had a wound which would have killed an ordinary man, but he
merely grinned, took his pipe which he used in action to signal to
his men and threw it to Lieutenant Betty, saying: “Here, son, I won’t
need this for a while.” He started back, followed by his faithful
orderly, Michael Sypoula, better known as “Zip,” who had gotten a
wound himself and was happy that he had a reason for sticking to his
beloved Captain. First Sergeant Gene Halpin and Maguire assisted
Captain Bootz to the rear. Lieutenant Friedlander had also received
a dangerous face wound and had been carried off the field by Austin
McSweeney of the Headquarters Company.
Major Donovan, never happy unless in the middle of things, had gone
up the bed of the brook so as to keep ahead of the advance of C on
the left and A on the right. Lieutenant Ames, his Adjutant, was with
him, led by devotion as well as duty, for the Major was his ideal
leader. They lay half in the brook, resting on the bank, when a
sniper’s bullet from the farm yard whizzed past Donovan’s ear and
struck Ames in the head, liberating for larger purposes a singularly
attractive and chivalrous soul.
Lieutenant Connelly tells of coming up with Sergeant Tom O’Malley and
Corporal Gribbon to receive orders from the Major about taking over
the line from Company C. He did not know just where to find him until
he met Bootz going down the brook bed with his faithful attendants.
Following up the stream he found Donovan still in the water with
Ames’s body by his side. The Major also had received a bullet wound
in the hand. Nearby, Pete Gillespie, whose machine gun was out of
order, was absorbed in the game of getting the sniper who had killed
the Lieutenant. All stopped to watch him and his rifle. Pete settled
down, intent on a dead horse near the farm. Suddenly he saw something
had moved behind it. He cuddled his rifle, waited and fired. They
could see the sniper behind the horse half rise, then drop. The
beloved Lieutenant was avenged.
The day’s work had improved the situation immensely. Control of Bois
Colas gave a better command of the terrain northwards to the edge of
the forest, although Bois Brulé, a narrow strip of woods which lay
between, was still alive with machine guns. Meurcy Farm was not yet
occupied, but its capacity for being troublesome was reduced by its
being outflanked by our left. Anderson’s battalion held the lower
slopes of the hill that had been taken by the third battalion the
first day, and kept the Germans from reoccupying it permanently.
Anderson was in touch with the 84th Brigade which was on the same
line with himself. The Iowas and part of the Alabamas had taken the
town of Sergy. It was a tough nut to crack, and took all the dash of
the Southerners and the stubborn persistence of the Westerners to
conquer and hold it. The elements of the regiment on our immediate
right delayed their advance until the whole brigade was in a position
to move forward.
The other regiment in our Brigade made a fine advance on our left.
The 2nd Battalion passed through the first, and after our regiment
had taken Bois Colas, the Ohios could be seen pushing up to the
road running from Fere en Tardenois to Meurcy Farm. To co-operate
with them Major Donovan sent Lieutenant Betty with what was left
of Company C (sixty-five men) to move with their flank, Company D
holding Bois Colas with forty-two men. The Ohios kept advancing and
by nightfall had captured the southern half of Seringes et Nesles.
The upper portion which curved over to the top of our valley was not
occupied until the German retreat had begun.
The situation was set for a further advance. Headquarters at
regiment, brigade, and division were busy preparing for it and the
Artillery were ready to co-operate. They had been shelling Bois Brulé
just in front of us, and the upper edge of Seringes et Nesles and the
edge of the forest all day. Telephone lines had been stretched to the
front by the 117th Signal Battalion and our own signal section of
Headquarters Company.
These were exceedingly busy days at Colonel McCoy’s P. C., for at
last there was a spot that one could dignify with the title of Post
of Command. The first day of the battle there had been three or four
posts in succession. On Saturday evening Colonel McCoy was in the
Chateau de Fere, but when he got orders for his regiment to make
the attack he went forward with them himself to join McKenna near
the river. When the battalion went over he set up his headquarters
right there in a shallow trench on the exposed river slope. It seemed
no place for a commanding officer on whom so much had to depend,
but he made up his mind that it was his place to be where he could
view the battle himself, as there was no speedy way for him to get
information, and the immediate decision concerning the actions and
fate of his men would rest largely on his own judgment. These were
his reasons; but there is always a good deal of the element of
personality back of anybody’s reasons. And Frank R. McCoy, soldier
of five campaigns, would naturally see the force of reasons which
brought him as close as possible to the firing line. The Germans
began to argue the point in their usual violent way, but the Colonel
remained unconvinced.
Lieutenant Rerat was wounded slightly in that hole, and many men hurt
around it. Finally Captain Hurley was badly wounded while reporting
to his Chief, and the Staff united with the Germans in arguing that
it was not the best place to do regimental business. So Colonel McCoy
brought them back a ways to a sunken road that ran across the town.
Here the shelling pursued them and Lieutenant B. B. Kane, a fine,
manly fellow, received a mortal wound from a shell that exploded a
few feet from where he was standing in a group around the Colonel.
Meanwhile the reliable Captain Michael J. Walsh had been scouring
the town for a suitable place, and had found one in the cellar of a
house still nearer the lines, but accessible to messengers from the
orchards on the east, thus obviating the trip through Dead Man’s
Curve.
On the morning of the 29th Colonel McCoy with Lieutenant Colonel
Mitchell went up to look over the whole situation and consult with
Donovan and Anderson. The decks were now cleared for a battle. The
telephone was in to the front line, to the Brigade Post of Command,
and to the Artillery. There was a chance for a commanding officer to
be of real service to the Battalion Commanders. With the telephone
to the front and rear at his elbow, he had the strings in his hands,
and he certainly kept pulling those strings day and night. A message
would come in from an O. P. (Observation Post) where Captain Elmer
and Corporal Bob Lee were on the watch: “Shells needed on machine
gun nests at crest of hill 195.45-274.05 to 196.1-274.5.” Or one
from Donovan: “Important to shell Bois Brulé, where forty machine
gun emplacements are reported.” And Lieutenant Weaver, a smart
youngster from the 151st Field Artillery, would be put on the job in
a second. Or it might be a message of the Colonel to General Lenihan
in response to a call from Donovan: “Cut out fire on neck of woods
south of Bois Brulé. It is endangering our Infantry in Bois Colas.”
Night and day that telephone was working, receiving news from the
front, effecting co-operation with neighboring regiments or sending
back requests for barrages, counter-battery work, food supplies,
ammunition, ambulances, air service. Soldiers in the line never fully
realize how much their lives, and victory, which is more to them than
their lives, depend on the alertness and intelligence of those in
command.
It was an interesting group at the regimental P. C., McCoy with his
spare soldierly figure and his keen soldierly face, radiant with
the joy of action and the prospects of victory, always a stimulus
to those who might be downhearted. For the first day, as operations
officer, he had George McAdie, patient, painstaking and enduring,
until the order came, less endurable to him than an enemy bullet,
that he should proceed forthwith for duty at a home station. A hard
sentence for a born soldier in the middle of a battle. And succeeding
him Merle-Smith, just come out of the carnage, with an untidy bandage
around his wounded arm, but with his mind set only on his job.
Alert youngsters, Lieutenants Rerat, Seidelman, Jim Mangan, Heinel
(afterwards wounded) and Preston, with Captain Jack Mangan drifting
in occasionally to see if his supplies were coming up satisfactorily.
And next to the Colonel was one big personality dominating all; the
rugged personality of Captain Michael J. Walsh, old soldier and
solid man. He was disgusted with his part in the conflict. “I came
out here to be a soldier and I am nothing but a damn room orderly,”
he growled. But who fed the hungry fighting men? Captain Michael
Walsh. Who scoured the yards of houses for utensils to send up the
food to them? Captain Michael Walsh. Who saw that the ammunition was
delivered on time to the front line. Once more, Captain Walsh. And
the Colonel, when there was a task of real importance to perform,
never delegated it to the bright young men; he always said: “Captain
Walsh will attend to that.”
The principal task for July 30th was assigned to the 84th Brigade.
They were to try to get forward and even up the line on our right.
The Ohios were to hold fast, but Donovan requested to take advantage
of the forward movement on the right to improve our position with
reference to Bois Brulé. Company C was still in line west of Bois
Colas maintaining our connection with the Ohios. Company D was at
the upper edge of this woods with the machine gunners under Captain
Seibert, Lieutenants Doris, Davis and Bell. Companies B and A were
dug in around the approaches to the farm. Food came up on the night
of the 29th for the first time. The men were all hungry, as their
reserve rations had been consumed long before. Lieutenant Springer
had been sent to take command of Company A, succeeding Lieutenant
D’Aguerro, who had been wounded in his turn. He and his First
Sergeant, Tom Sweeney, were sitting on the edge of a hole preparing
to enjoy a can of corn when one bullet got both of them. They were
helped back to the dressing station and Sergeant Higginson took
command. The affair had its compensations. Higginson and young
Henderson got the corn.
Major Donovan’s Post of Command was a hole at the southern edge
of Bois Colas. Lieutenant Ames’ body had been brought in during
the night and buried nearby. Ames’ place as battalion adjutant was
filled by Sergeant Joyce Kilmer, whose position as Sergeant of the
Intelligence Section would naturally have entitled him to a place
nearer regimental headquarters. But he had preferred to be with a
battalion in the field and had chosen Donovan’s. The Major placed
great reliance on his coolness and intelligence and kept him by his
side. That suited Joyce, for to be at Major Donovan’s side in a
battle is to be in the center of activity and in the post of danger.
To be in a battle, a battle for a cause that had his full devotion,
with the regiment he loved, under a leader he admired, that was
living at the top of his being. On the morning of the 30th Major
Donovan went forward through the woods to look over the position.
Kilmer followed, unbidden. He lay at the north edge of the woods
looking out towards the enemy. The Major went ahead, but Kilmer did
not follow. Donovan returned and found him dead. A bullet had pierced
his brain. His body was carried in and buried by the side of Ames.
God rest his dear and gallant soul.
At 3:30 that afternoon the 84th Brigade had made progress, though it
was slow and difficult going. The artillery was doing good work but
all their efforts could not keep down the fire of the German Machine
Gunners. The gratifying surprise of the day was when two escadrilles
of friendly planes came over. Our companies in the line had not been
pushed very hard. They repelled a couple of counter attacks on their
position, and the machine gunners were on the alert to fire whenever
our artillery work on Bois Bruleé started the Germans running.
Donovan was to move forward when the progress of the 84th Brigade
brought them abreast of him. But regiments, brigades, and it was
said, divisions, sloped away to the right like steps of stairs, and
each was hanging back for the others to come up. So Major Donovan
insisted on making a try for Bois Brulé without waiting for any help
except what our Brigade would give. Colonel Hough was perfectly
willing to back him up. So Lieutenant Connelly with Company D moved
out to the attack.
It was the pitiful remnant of a company, one officer and forty-two
men instead of the six officers and two hundred and fifty men who
formerly swung along like an old time battalion in the parades on the
Hempstead Plains. But the few who were left were inured to danger by
patrols and raids and battles, and they were ready for anything. The
ground in front was rough and hummocky for two hundred yards, and
then a double row of trees led up to the Bois Brulé. At the right it
sloped off to the brook where it ran past Meurcy Farm. Sergeant Dick
O’Neill was to cover the ground in front with fifteen men, including
Masterson, Peterson, Bedient, Gugliere, McGee, McAree, Stoddard,
Lord, and Edward Moran.
Lieutenant Cook led a smaller number of picked men to work to the
right and up the bed of the brook, cooperating with Companies A and
B working around the farm. In his command were John Gribbon, his
red head an oriflamme of war; Colton Bingham, the fighting nephew
of the gentle Bishop of Buffalo, John Curtin, a tall young Irishman
who afterwards became regimental standard bearer, Tommy Blake, later
Lieutenant Blake, and the steadiest of riflemen, Pat McDonough.
Lieutenant Connelly came in the rear of his skirmish line where he
could control their movements. With him were his First Sergeants
Edward Geaney, Sergeant Hubert Murray, Corporal John F. Moran and
others. Tom O’Malley had already been wounded.
Some distance out there was a deep, irregular sand pit. O’Neill,
carefully rounding the corner of it, suddenly saw right under his
eyes a body of about 25 Germans. He uttered a shout of warning and
jumped into the midst of them with his pistol cracking. He had shot
down three Germans before they realized what was happening, and
produced great confusion amongst them. Some rushed to the other side
of the pit while others began firing at O’Neill, who kept firing
after he was hit, and when finally carried back to the dressing
station had seven bullets in him. The Germans who had run across
the sand pit found themselves face to face with Lieutenant Connelly
and his little group. What followed was as sudden, as confused in
plan, and as resolute in spirit as the action around the log house
in Stevenson’s Treasure Island. The Company D men came running from
all sides to take part in the fighting. On our side Connelly was
hit; also Geaney, Gribbon and McDonough. And James J. Gugliere,
Paul McGee, Louis Peterson and Rollie Bedient were killed. This
all happened in an instant. The Germans paid a fearful price for
it. Those that were left scrambled out of the pit to flee in the
direction of their own forces. There they saw the advance elements of
O’Neill’s section running back toward them, and they turned toward
Bois Colas at a headlong gait. The cry went up that a counter attack
was coming. Colonel Hough saw it and telephoned to our headquarters.
Anderson heard back in the woods and stormed up from the support
with reinforcements. Our machine guns were turned on the advancing
Germans; and the advent of a few bedraggled prisoners in dirty field
gray uniforms let the rear line see that the counter-attack was a
myth. The whole business was over in a few minutes.
But the Germans in Bois Brulé were again at work sweeping the ground
with their bullets and it was under fierce fire that John Burke, Joe
Lynch, McAuliffe, Bingham and Blake carried in Lieutenant Connelly
and the other wounded. Sergeant Murray took command and kept the
survivors going forward until they had outposts established in the
approaches to Bois Brulé.
Besides those already mentioned, Company D lost, killed in these
three days, Corporal Frank Fall, Privates George Johnson, Terance
McAree, John McCormick, Michael Romanuk, Harvey J. Venneman, Robert
Luff, Frank J. Lackner, Attilio Manfredi, Edward G. Coxe, John Dolan
and the senior of the two Michael J. Sheas, who died of his wounds.
July 31st was a day of comparative quiet. The longer the struggle
lasted the more it was borne in upon the Lords of High Decision
that the ousting of the enemy from their position was a matter for
artillery. It was the first time we had the opportunity to observe
with reluctant admiration the German development of the use of the
machine gun in defensive warfare. To send infantry in under the
intense fire of their numerous guns was like feeding paper to a
flame. Our artillery, however, was good,—none better in the whole
war, we confidently assert, and we waited with assurance for them to
reduce the resistance. If our air service were sufficiently developed
to give them good photographs of positions, and to register their
fire, we felt sure that the Infantry would soon be in a position to
make short work of enemy opposition.
That day we had our first experience of another auxiliary arm. The
day before there landed at the regimental P. C. a section of our
30th Engineers, our Gas and Flame regiment. With them there was an
Australian officer with a name that would qualify him for the 69th,
and a young lieutenant who, we discovered after he was killed, was
a son of the famous baseball manager, Ned Hanlan of Baltimore. They
came out with their men on the 31st and threw over thermite and smoke
bombs on Bois Brulé and Meurcy Farm. Under their protection Company D
occupied the woods.
Company A, under Lieutenant Stone, finally took possession of the
Farm. The first attempt failed. A patrol led by Corporal Sidney Clark
started up but four men were hit in the first three minutes, Michaels
dying of his wounds. Another attempt was made in the evening and the
farm was occupied by a patrol under Corporals John Dennelly and Van
Arsdale.
It was evident that the enemy’s resistance was weakening and that it
would be a matter of a very short period before he would retreat to
his next line of defence. On August 1st the 3rd Battalion relieved
the 1st in line. Company M had had serious losses after being drawn
out from the line on July 28th, as the battalion had been bombed in
its reserve position at the sunken road, and the Company had suffered
other losses in a ration detail which was caught out under a heavy
fire. Of its officers, Lieutenant Hunt Warner was badly wounded;
Lieutenant Collier was wounded but stuck to his post. Edward Brennan,
Hugh Kaiser, Alfred Schneider and Johnnie Madden were killed and
Sergeant Nicholson wounded. Captain Meaney and Lieutenants McIntyre
and Bunnell escaped uninjured. Lieutenant McIntyre was blown into the
Ourcq by the concussion of a shell, but he stuck to his task till he
finished it.
Company K also suffered further disaster while in reserve, and
Sergeants Peter Crotty and Bernard McElroy, who had done prodigious
deeds in action, received mortal wounds; and also William Bergen, who
did more work as a stretcher bearer than any other man I have ever
seen in a battle. Louis Gilbert and Everett Seymour of Company L were
killed in the same bombardment and Sam Klosenberg fatally wounded.
In fact, the town of Villers sur Fere was throughout the action a
part of the battlefield. Its church square at the northern end was
not more than a thousand yards from the place of actual conflict.
The front line forces were at times too near each other to allow
artillery fire from either side, as each side had to avoid the danger
of shelling its own infantry—an event which is always most disastrous
to the morale of troops. But the approaches to Villers sur Fere lay
under the eyes of the enemy, and they could see a constant stream
of liaison men, litter bearers, hobbling wounded, and food and
ammunition carriers going in by the entrance to its one street. They
knew it to be the center of our web so they very wisely concentrated
most of their fire upon it and especially on the square which opened
out after the short narrow northern entrance of Dead Man’s Curve.
Even before dawn they had been raking its streets as a natural mode
of approach of an oncoming enemy, killing and wounding a large number
of men. Indeed nearly one-third of those who lost their lives in this
action received their death wounds from shell fire in and around
Villers sur Fere.
Early in the morning of July 28th, Lieutenant Joseph J. Kilcourse,
Medical Officer attached to the Third Battalion, had opened his aid
post in the schoolhouse facing on the square, and the development
of the battle soon made it the regimental dressing station. The
schoolhouse quickly filled up with wounded. A constant stream of
limping men, of men with bandages around their heads or with arms
carried in rough slings, of men borne on rude litters, were coming
into town along the narrow entrance. No ambulances had gotten
through and there were no directions as to where a _triage_ could
be found. The courtyard in front of the hospital was filled with
“walking cases,” discussing the battle with that cheerfulness which
is always characteristic of soldiers who are not fatally wounded. A
menacing whiz came through the air and a shell fell amongst them,
followed by two others, one of which struck the wall and spattered
the litter cases with plaster and broken bricks. The survivors in
the yard scattered in all directions but nine of them lay quivering
or motionless. Lieutenant Kilcourse ran out sobbing and swearing
and working like mad to save his patients from further harm. Those
who could walk were started down the road towards the Château de
Foret in the hope of being picked up by an ambulance or truck.
Inside the hospital nobody was seriously hurt, but the men of the
Sanitary Detachment labored energetically to get them into places of
comparative safety. These were Sergeant 1st Class William Helgers,
James Mason, James McCormack, Ferraro, Planeta, Larsen and Daly.
Before long, Lieutenants Lyttle, Martin, Mitchell and Lawrence had
arrived, and the wounded received all the attention they could be
given with the facilities at hand. But the worst cases lay there
till the next morning before they could be evacuated. They bore
their sufferings with cheerful fortitude, their thoughts being for
others. Father Hanley was sore because he had been put out so soon.
Sergeant John Donahue’s thoughts were with his beloved Company L;
Tommy Delaney, an innocent lovable boy, talked of his mother and
what a good son to her he had planned to be if he had lived, and
Tom Mansfield, with his leg shattered, was full of Irish pride that
he had been given a chance to be in a big battle with the “Ould
Rigiment.”
Headquarters Company was located in town in the shattered houses
and stables but most of its sections had to take a frequent part in
field operations. The signal section, under Lieutenant James Mangan,
labored at great risk in putting down the wires for connection with
the front line on the night of July 28th. Sergeant Beall, Corporal
Brochen and Privates J. McCabe, Kirwin and Olson kept the lines
intact, while the remainder of the platoon did great service as
ammunition bearers. The intelligence section under Captain Elmer had
an observation post 100 yards northwest of Villers sur Fere which did
excellent work in reporting machine gun nests and the direction of
fire of enemy artillery. Dick Larned acted as Chief of Scouts with
the Third Battalion and Joyce Kilmer and Levinson with the First
Battalion. In the headquarters section little Corporal Malone was
on the job day and night with his runners. Edward Mulligan of this
section was killed.
Coming to what we might call the Infantry Artillery, the Stokes
mortar platoon rendered excellent service throughout the battle. Two
sections of this platoon under Sergeants Jaeger and Fitzsimmons took
up the advance with the Infantry on July 27th. Early Sunday morning,
July 28th, an infantry patrol drew fire from enemy machine guns
located on the banks of the Ourcq river. Major McKenna called for one
trench mortar, and a gun crew in charge of Sergeant Fitzsimmons and
Corporal Harvey reported and shelled the enemy position in front of
the Ourcq. At three in the morning Colonel McCoy ordered a barrage to
be fired by the four guns on a machine gun nest. This was done and
then the men waited for the advance of the Infantry at 4:30. When the
first wave started to cross the Ourcq a barrage was laid down until
the troops had crossed the river and were ascending the height beyond
it. The men then followed the advance as far as the river when they
were ordered back to their position of reserve in the village. It was
during this advance that John Perry, a fine youth, received the wound
which later caused his death.
On July 29th, one section under Lieutenant Frank McNamara and
Sergeant Cudmore, entered the lines to support the first battalion.
This section fired an effective barrage when the enemy attempted a
counter-attack. During this action Private Malcolm Robertson was
killed by an enemy shell and Sergeant Cudmore and F. Garvey were
wounded. On August 1st at two in the afternoon one gun was set up in
front of the woods facing Meurcy Farm. Despite the fact that enemy
aeroplanes constantly harassed them, machine gun nests in and about
Meurcy Farm were shelled with good results. After two hours work the
men were driven to cover by enemy machine guns, Corporal Clark and
Private Casey receiving severe wounds. The platoon was relieved on
August 2nd and lent their aid to the burying of the dead.
The 37 mm. guns, commonly known as the one-pounders did excellent
work, the small platoon paying a heavy price in losses. On July 28th,
three members of the crew were killed with one shell in the village
square as they were advancing with their gun—Cornelius Grauer,
Joseph Becker, Frank Guida—Grauer, a youngster of seventeen, being a
particular favorite with everybody that knew him. On July 30th the
platoon took part in the attack on Meurcy Farm. During the operations
the crew were caught in a box barrage by the enemy artillery and
serious wounds were sustained by Sergeant Willemin, who was in
command, and Privates Monohan, B. J. McLaughlin, John Seifried and
John Kelly. Although the crew was almost entirely wiped out, the gun
was kept in action by Corporal Charlie Lester and Private Berry.
Another gun crew under command of Lieutenant Joseph O’Donohue was
kept going all morning and did great execution. Of this crew John C.
McLaughlin was killed while firing his gun.
The members of the Company whose duties detained them in the village
worked for the interest of the whole regiment in positions almost
equally exposed with those in the front line. Captain Walsh, a
soldier of many campaigns, knew what the men in line needed was not
encouragement (he took it for granted that every man had courage) nor
sympathy (his own feeling was one of envy of them), but ammunition
and food. His own company kitchen worked night and day to feed
everybody who came into town on any business. Mess Sergeant Louis
Goldstein and Cooks John Wilker and Leo Maher, moved by his example,
set up their kitchen under an arch just off the square and fed 800
men a day while the engagement lasted.
That square was an interesting sight throughout the battle. Men
drifted in, singly or in twos or in parties, fresh from scenes of
death. Liaison men, ammunition details, litter bearers carrying
stretchers dripping blood. They were fresh from the field where
bullets were flying. They had been forced to drop on their faces as
they crossed the valley under fire. They had scurried around Dead
Man’s Curve and they were still only about 1,000 yards from the
fighting, with shells still screaming in the air above their heads
and enemy planes forcing them to scuttle out of sight, but they were
not breathless or anxious or excited. They borrowed the “makings,”
or got a cup of coffee from John Wilker and stole a few minutes to
gossip about the fight or to relate something that struck them as
interesting. A year ago if one lone maniac had been lying in Central
Park taking pot shots at passers-by going along Fifth Avenue they
would have run down a side street calling for the Police, would have
gotten home excited and out of breath, and would have stood outside
of the church the next Sunday after ten o’clock Mass to tell all
their friends what an adventure they had had.
It was magnificent, but it was not war. Especially with the
aeroplanes overhead. Those German aeroplanes—they circled over our
troops in line, over our men in the rear. Colonel McCoy sent word to
inquire about the aeroplanes that were promised us. General Lenihan
wanted to know. General Menoher sent orders; entreated. But the only
ones we could see had the black Maltese cross—the same old story.
There was but one thing to do if we would prevent a recurrence of
the catastrophe which had already occurred at the hospital in that
same square. And that was to prevent the men from gathering there.
The kitchen was moved to a less exposed spot. This was done to draw
the men away from the square and not from any sense of timidity on
the part of its operatives. On the contrary they had made a bold
attempt to get that kitchen up to the front line. On the night of
July 29th the bold Jim Collintine had hitched his trusty mules to
the beloved goulash wagon and driven it right up to the Ourcq. When
they found they could not cross, the Mess Sergeant and cooks unloaded
its contents for the men in line. Mooney of Company A tried the same
thing, and, when the river stopped him, sent the food up on litters.
One of the officers whose duties kept him near the hospital appointed
himself as Police Officer in addition to his other duties, to keep
the men under cover. On the second day of the fight he saw a tousled
looking soldier without hat or rifle coming from a barn.
“What outfit do you belong to?”
“I belong to the 165th Infantry, sir.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I came in last night with an ammunition detail and we got scattered
under shell fire and I crawled into the barn.”
“Yes, you slept there all night and let the other fellows do your
work. You must be a new man. But I see you have a service stripe.”
“Well, I am new in the regiment and I don’t belong in this game. I
was in the S. O. S. and they sent me up here as a replacement after I
got into the hospital.”
“Where is your rifle.”
“I lost it and it ain’t no good to me anyway cause I don’t know
anything about it, and I can’t see good anyway.”
The situation was too much for the officer and, like everyone else in
emergency, his mind turned to Captain Walsh.
“Go down that road about forty yards and you will see a farm yard
with soldiers in it and ask for Captain Walsh. Tell him I sent you
and tell him the story you gave me.”
The hatless soldier obeyed very willingly because the street led
towards the rear. An hour later Captain Mike breezed into the square
and came over to the officer with the demand,
“Who was that bird you sent me?”
“What did you do with him, Mike?”
“What did I do with him. I salvaged him a nice new rifle, strapped
two bandoliers around him, led him gently out into the street, faced
him north and said, ‘Keep right on going in that direction until you
see a Dutchman and when you see him shoot him for me.’ And I gave him
a good start with my boot and by the way he made his getaway I’ll bet
he’s going yet.”
The Commander of our Sanitary Detachment was Captain Wm. B. Hudson,
who had been assigned to us from the 117th Sanitary Train when
Major Lawrence was called to Division Headquarters. On July 28th,
Captain Hudson had taken his post at the Chateau de Foret, General
Lenihan’s Headquarters, most of which the General had given over for
the accommodation of the wounded who had managed to get back that
far. Here, too, the wounded men met with fresh disaster. A German
aeroplane dropped bombs in the courtyard and killed seven men,
including Sergeant Brogan of Company B, one of the best men we had.
On the next day Captain Hudson started to look for a better place for
the wounded in Villers sur Fere, accompanied by the ever-faithful
Jewett, the “Y” athletic instructor. He was standing in the door of
the place he had selected when an enemy gas shell came over and a
fragment of it hit him full in the chest, killing him instantly.
We buried him sadly by the cemetery wall where already too many of
our men were lying in their last long sleep.
In the town also we buried many who were killed by shell fire as they
advanced to go into action during the night of the 27th-28th. In
this our Machine gunners were the greatest sufferers; almost a whole
platoon was wiped out. A shell landed in the midst of them, creating
havoc. The uninjured rushed boldly to succor their comrades, when
another shell and still another, fell in the same spot, scattering
death afresh. Sergeant Phil Brooks here gave up his life and Ray
Nulty, J. R. Keller, H. Van Diezelski, Frank Carlin, G. Foster and C.
G. Sahlquist.
Accompanying Lieutenant Connelly on his mission of the morning of
the 28th was the Second Platoon of our Machine Gun Company under
Lieutenant Carter, who was wounded during the action.[4] The Platoon
was kept together by Sergeants Bruhn and Kerrigan, and Doherty, and
afterwards went through the whole battle with our First Battalion.
While the first battalion was lying under the hill during the
afternoon of the 28th they were very much harassed by enemy planes
which came across flying low and shooting from their machine guns
at the men on the hill and under the bank. Here Harry Martenson was
killed and Hugh Heaney badly wounded and carried back by Sergeant
Devine. Sergeant Frank Gardella thought it was time to try reprisals,
so he set up his machine gun as an anti-aircraft weapon and began
blazing away at fourteen planes which were above his head and flying
low. He got a line on two planes which were flying one above the
other, and by a lucky shot hit the pilot of the upper plane which
crashed into the lower one and both came tumbling to earth not far
from the river, their crews being killed.
When Company C was advancing towards Bois Colas they met opposition
from enemy light machine guns some of which were operating from
the tree tops. Lieutenant Bell’s platoon, Sergeants Stephens and
Gardella, Corporals J. McBride, Paul Fay and Williams were given the
task of dislodging them. They carried up their heavy guns on their
backs, and without taking time to set them up, they made use of them
as if they were automatic rifles, with great effect, killing or
capturing the enemy.
From the time that Company C took possession of Bois Colas the
Machine Gunners kept their pieces busy from their positions on the
north edge of the woods, keeping down German fire from Seringes
and around Meurcy Farm. Of their twelve guns, five were put out of
action. In the later encounters Lieutenants Davis and Bell were
wounded and Jack O’Leary, a famous fighting man, received a wound
which afterwards caused his death.
In the front line, on August 1st, there was a comparative lull in
the activity. Our artillery was still going strong, but the Germans
held command of the air and used it to the full. They flew down to
the rear of us and hovered over the tree-tops of the woods where our
artillery was emplaced, dropping bombs on them and shooting at them
from levels so low that the artillery men answered with fire from
their pistols.
It was the sudden leap of the cat at the dog’s nose before she
turns to flee. At four A. M., August 2nd, our patrols reported no
resistance. Word was sent to the Ohios, but they found the enemy
still in their path. However, under orders from General Menoher,
the whole Division started forward and found that the main body of
the enemy had gone. Our Infantry hastened on through the Foret de
Nesles, keeping in touch with neighboring regiments left and right.
Finally they encountered resistance near Moreuil en Dole, north of
the forest. The 4th Division was coming up to relieve us but Colonel
MacArthur wanted a last effort made by his Division. He called on one
regiment, then on another, for a further advance. Their commanders
said truthfully that the men were utterly fatigued and unable to go
forward another step. “It’s up to you, McCoy,” said the Chief of
Staff. Our Colonel called Captain Martin Meaney, now in command of
what was left of the third battalion. “Captain Meaney, a battalion
is wanted to go ahead and gain contact with the enemy; you may
report on the condition of your men.” “My men are few and they are
tired, sir, but they are willing to go anywhere they are ordered,
and they will consider an order to advance as a compliment,” was the
manly response. As the brave and gallant few swung jauntily to their
position at the head of the Division, Colonel MacArthur ejaculated,
“By God, McCoy, it takes the Irish when you want a hard thing done.”
The battalion located the enemy and took up the fight with them, but
already the 4th Division was coming up and the orders for relief were
issued.
In that bloody week the Rainbow Division had met the 4th Prussian
Guard Division, commanded by the Kaiser’s son, Prince Eitel
Friedrich, the 201st German and 10th Landwehr and the 6th Bavarian
Division, had driven them back 18 kilometers to the last ridge south
of the Vesle at a cost in killed and wounded of 184 officers and
5,459 men.
Back came our decimated battalions along the way they had already
traveled. They marched in wearied silence until they came to the
slopes around Meurcy Farm. Then from end to end of the line came the
sound of dry, suppressed sobs. They were marching among the bodies
of their unburied dead. In the stress of battle there had been but
little time to think of them—all minds had been turned on victory.
But the men who lay there were dearer to them than kindred, dearer
than life; and these strong warriors paid their bashful involuntary
tribute to the ties of love and long regret that bind brave men to
the memory of their departed comrades.
FOOTNOTES:
[4] Wounded here were Harris, Fleckner, Lang, McDonald and later
during the battle Sergeant Kerrigan, Hal Sang, Jack Corrigan, Bart
Cox, William Patterson, James O’Connor, Maurice O’Keefe, H. McCallum,
Frank S. Erard, Bob Holmes, J. J. Spillane and Tom Doherty.
CHAPTER VII
AFTER THE BATTLE
FORET DE FERE
_August, 1918_
This is a dirty, dank, unwholesome spot and the daily rains make it
daily more intolerable. But they are keeping us here in reserve till
some division—they say our old townies of the 77th—has time to come
up. The forest has been occupied by the Germans and its sanitary
conditions are no credit to their boasted efficiency. Sixty per cent
of our men are sick with diarrhœa and everybody is crawling with
cooties. The men are sleeping in shelter tents or in holes in the
ground in the woods and they are a sorry looking lot.
A number of them have been busy with me in the heart-breaking task
of burying the dead, which is hard for everybody, but particularly I
think, for myself, because I knew these men so well and loved them as
if they were my younger brothers. It has been the saddest day in my
life. Well, it is the last act of love I can do for them and for the
folks at home. God comfort them in their sorrow. I must not think of
the tragedy of it too much; the main thing is to keep up the spirits
of the living, for battles must still be fought and the awful price
paid if the war is to be won. Many of us who have come through this
will be dead after the next battle; and if the war lasts another year
or so there will be few, very few left of the infantry in our First
Hundred Thousand. It is a soldier’s fate and we must be ready for it.
In this one battle nearly half our strength is gone. We have lost
fifty-nine officers and thirteen hundred men and of these thirteen
officers and about two hundred men have been killed outright. Many
of our wounded have been badly hurt and we shall have other details
to grieve over.[5] But in spite of losses and sorrow and sickness I
find the men surprisingly cheerful and willing to carry on. They have
what soldiers most wish for, Victory. And they know now that the men
who opposed their path and had to give way to their persistence were
the famous Prussian Guards, of the very flower of the German Military
Machine. The old 69th had again lived up to its reputation of the
past; there were no German troops, no troops in the world that could
withstand its stubborn bravery.
I went amongst the survivors to gather items for my chronicle of the
war. I may say here as I rewrite these chapters that I have had to
obtain many of the incidents months afterwards from men that have
been wounded, for many of those who could best tell the story were
then lying suffering from agonizing wounds on hospital cots, and
still burning with the courage and devotion of their race for the day
when they could once more return to the post of danger with their
beloved regiment. These are the real heroes of the war. It is easy
under the stress of emotional enthusiasm to volunteer for service,
but the true test of a man comes when, after he has faced the danger
of sudden death and has passed through days of racking pain, he
once more insists, in spite of offers of easier service from kindly
officers, on taking his place again in the battle line with his old
comrades. And now that the war is over, there is nothing that stirs
my blood like the petty arrogance of some officials in hospitals and
casual camps who rebuke the requests of men (many of whom have been
wounded and gone back into line and got wounded again) to rejoin
their former outfits. My malison on their tribe.
I shall present first the lists of names mentioned for good work (a
soldier’s meed) and afterwards incidents of more general interest.
Company A gives credit to three snipers for working out to the
front ahead of them and making the Fritzies keep their heads down
during the attack on July 29th: Corporal Charles Hallberg, Edwin
Stubbs, and John McDonald. They also spoke highly of their Sergeants
or Acting Sergeants on whom leadership devolved during the fight:
Joseph Higginson, Joseph Pettit, John R. Scully, Hugh McFadden,
Harry Blaustein, Will Mehl, Don Matthews, Michael Walsh, Frederick
Garretson, Sidney Clark, and John Dennelly. With Dennelly in the
occupation of Meurcy Farm were John Sheehy, Maurice Cotter, Pilger,
Newton, Thorn, Iverson and Frechales. Besides Henderson, those who
distinguished themselves by liaison work were Corporal Lester Hanley,
Joseph M. McKinney, Michael Polychrom, Louis Tiffany, John Gannon and
Edwin Dean. Litter Bearers: Matt Kane, Howard Hamm and in a volunteer
capacity Cook Edward Mooney, Albert Cooper, August Trussi. Others
mentioned with high praise are Patrick Thynne, Patrick J. Doolin,
Fred Stenson, John J. Morrissey, James Partridge, Paul Smith, John
Barrett, Richard Campion, Louis Cornibert, Brady and Buckley.
If Company B ever loses its big Captain they have already a
candidate of their own to succeed him in his senior lieutenant,
John J. Clifford, a cool and capable officer, as all his men say.
The greatest loss the Company has suffered is from the death of
the First Sergeant, John O’Neill, a remarkable old soldier with
regular army experience, who was frightfully wounded by shell fire
while getting up supplies, and died in hospital. Al Dunn, a game
youth, was hit by the same shell, but refused to allow anybody to
touch him until O’Neill was looked after. Among other good men who
received wounds were John Mooney, William Judge, Al Whalen, Harry
Guenther, Dan Finnegan, Thomas Fitzpatrick, Vincent Farrell, Francis
X. Goodwin, and William O’Sullivan. The platoon under Lieutenant
Wheatley that joined the attack with Company A, had for its non-coms
Edward Kelly, Langan, Cullinan, Travis, Patrick Kelly, Foster,
Tinker, McClymont and Mearns. Lieutenant Clifford had high praise
for Sergeant Thomas, who had gone out on the night of July 28th
to repulse a counter-attack of the Germans and, of those in the
detachment, Connie Reuss, Corporal Michael Tierney, a Clare man, who
was killed; and also amongst the killed Charles Chambers, a patriotic
volunteer who leaves a wife to mourn him in the city of Dublin. James
Dwyer, Joseph McCarthy, Joseph Maher and John A. Lane were also badly
wounded. As John A. Lane was lying out in a very exposed position
his namesake, John B. Lane, a lad of eighteen, and the pride of the
Company as a clever little boxer, declared that he was going out to
carry the other in. He did so without scath, but was killed three
days later in front of Meurcy Farm. Private Frank McGovern received
praise for a similar action on the 29th; also Harold Kyte, Thomas
Walsh, John O’Connor, James Lannon, James Austin and John Matthews,
litter bearers. John Mahoney especially distinguished himself in
this line, carrying the wounded to the rear and then lugging up food
for the surviving fighters. Good liaison work was done by Charles
Weick, James Murray, James Brennan, Ed. Powers, Jim Brundage, Arthur
LaSalle, and John Kane, a youngster of seventeen. Thomas Herlihy and
Charles Kavanagh were also commended.
Inquiry at Company C gave me the name of John Teevan, who on the
31st left cover to save a wounded comrade and was himself wounded
while doing it; Sergeant Herman Hillig, always a good man, who led
the advance patrol on the 29th; Corporal Frank Drivdahl, who took
charge of a half platoon when his seniors were wounded and led it
into handgrips with the enemy. All of the non-coms distinguished
themselves. First Sergeant Gene Halpin, always a steady leader;
Tom O’Hagan, the _beau ideal_ of an Irish soldier; Sergeants Joe
Hennessey, John Knight, John McAuliffe, Peter Keller, Frank Colyer,
Corporals Frank Duffy, James Barry, Charles Quinn, Edward Gordon,
Edward Brown, and amongst those wounded Arthur Totten, Arthur
Slicklen, Peter Gammel, the Peisel brothers, and Denis Cahill,
sturdiest of old-timers. This Company claims that it has the most
heroic and devoted lot of litter bearers that ever deliberately took
their lives in their hands. By the stories I hear it is hard to
choose between them. They are Thomas P. McPherson, Edmond McCarthy,
James and Joseph Burns (twins in birth and twins in courage) and
Edward F. Brown. They were always at the front, day and night, and
they should all have the Distinguished Service Cross. Liaison men
mentioned are Clarence Smith and Vivian Commons. Others that received
praise were Frederick Craven, Corporal Childress, who came over on
the torpedoed _Tuscania_ and joined us at Baccarat; Corporal Pat
Moran, Thomas Leddy, James Heaney; and Mess Sergeant Grace with cooks
Duffy and Wilson, who won the eternal gratitude of the Company by
carrying food to them in line.
William Hisle was one of the first names I got from Company D, a
man who did extraordinarily fine work as a litter bearer. John J.
Kolodgy also, and Edward Coxe (wounded at the same task and sticking
on the job until killed) are in the same class. Liaison men: Louis
Murphy, William P. White, John Conway, John Dale, Frank DeMuth; while
others mentioned are Mess Sergeant Edward McIntee, Pat Crowley, “the
wild Irishman,” Pat Grogan (wounded again), John L. Burke, Peter
Carberry, Charles Edgerton, Richard Dwyer (who said “Tend to me last”
when wounded), Thomas Keyes, Sergeant Denis Murphy, badly wounded;
Denis O’Connor, Charles Lynch, Everett Smith, John Cahill, Andrew
O’Rourke, Peter O’Sullivan, Martin Hurst, Arthur Comer, John L.
Thompson, John Cox, Joseph P. Tracy and Patrick Finn (both ’98 men)
and Fred Urban, a new man and a great shot with the rifle, with Chief
Powless and Tony Zaliski.
Company E told me of Michael Breen, who received his death wound,
covering the advance of his Company by the use of smoke grenades;
William Foley and James Fitzpatrick, going out under fire to rescue
two companions; George M. Failing, who did noble work as a litter
bearer; John Costello, Thomas Cullen (both killed), with Bechtold and
William Goldenburg, four privates who saved their Company by putting
a machine gun out of action. Sergeant Augustus T. Morgan, also
Sergeant Frank Johnston and Corporal John Cronin did heroic work.
Company F, Bernard Corcoran got a bullet across both his eyeballs
which will render him blind for life. John Fitzgibbon, Michael
Douglas, Frank Dunn, Charles Dougherty, William Garry, Leo Hanifin,
Owen Carney, George D. Lannon, Frank Kelly, Gottfried Kern, Edward
Chabot, James McCormack, John McAuliffe, Daniel McGrath, Peter
McGuiness, William McQuade, John P. Mahon, Herbert Doyle, Peter
Malloy, shot through the lung, William Mulligan, Charles O’Leary and
William Moran, Sergeant Pat Wynne, John Smith, Peter Rogers, Frank
Sweeney and William Walsh are on the honor roll.
Company G had the greatest praise for Edmund Reardon and Charles
McGeary, who did remarkable work saving others until finally death
came to themselves. Others mentioned with praise are Corporal Edward
Fitzgerald and Sergeant Edward McNamara, who had to be ordered out
of the line when wounded. Also Corporal David Fitzgibbons, Thomas
Meade, Michael Shea, Michael O’Brien, Patrick Donohue, Frank Cahill,
Thomas Bohan, First Sergeant John Meaney, Corporal Frank Garland,
Thomas McGowan, James Brennan, Sergeant James Coffey; Robert Monohan
and Patrick McNamara, liaison men; and Maurice Dwyer, mechanic, who
always dropped his tools and picked up a rifle when a battle was on.
Company H thinks that it is about time that Sergeant Dudley Winthrop
got a citation. His latest feat was to go wandering out in the open
where everybody that went had been hit, searching out his wounded
comrades. Martin Higgins has also been recommended for citation for
the same kind of heroic activity. Patrick Reynolds went out alone
and, by expert sniping at close range, put out of action a machine
gun that was holding up the advance. Later on, he was killed.
Sergeant John J. Walker kept his platoon going when his seniors
were wounded. Callahan, Dunseith, Ernst, Conway, Bealin, McDonald,
O’Brien, McKenna, Sweeney, White, Frieburger, Crose and Bushey are
also recommended for excellent work.
I have already gone through the list of Company I, so I shall just
add an additional list of non-coms who were wounded: Sergeants
Harold J. Murphy and William Lyle, Corporals Wilton Wharton, Charles
Beckwith, L. Vessell, James Brady, William Burke, William Crossin,
Patrick Farrell, Alfred Georgi, Hugh Kelly, Michael Learnahan, John
Maddock, H. R. Morton, Patrick O’Brien, Francis O’Neill, Edward
Powers, William Reutlinger, and James Sullivan.
The men from Company I whose names were selected at the time for a
Regimental Citation were First Sergeant Patrick McMeniman, who was
really in command of the Company during most of the trying time on
the hill; Dexter, Dynan, Howard, Coen, Farley, Coppinger, Battersby,
and Lesser as stretcher bearers; Cook Michael J. O’Brien, who carried
food to the front line no matter how dangerous it was, and carried
wounded on the return trip; and Thomas A. Boyle, who seeing an
abandoned automatic rifle ran forward under vicious fire, loaded it
and started it working against the enemy; and finally, William B.
Lyons, prominent as liaison man and stretcher bearer.
Company K recommends Nicholas E. Grant, a liaison man, along with its
heroic Captain, Sergeant Joe Farrell, Victor Van Yorx, John Doyle,
stretcher bearer, and the self-sacrificing William Bergen, Francis
I. Kelly, also a martyr to loyalty, as he was killed while rendering
first aid to Lieutenant Stott. Burr Finkle and John J. McLaughlin are
recommended for a display of extraordinary heroism.
In Company L the valiant Captain and Lieutenant Spencer have been
recommended for the D. S. C. For rescue work, Thomas Deignan, Joseph
Coogan, John Ahern, Joseph Grace, Charles Oakes, William Hughes,
Michael Fallon (twice wounded) and James Santori, the latter being
killed while placing a wounded man on a stretcher. Lieutenant
Wellbourne, with the Sergeants already mentioned, and also Corporals
Edward McDonough, Harry McDermott, Eugene McCue, and Wild Bill Ryan
distinguished themselves by their work in the line. So, too, did
James Judge, Thomas Boyle, Eddie Bloom, Arthur Campbell, John Burke,
Will Coleman, John Murphy, Matt Devlin, Hugh Fagan, Fred Meyers,
Leslie Quackenbush, John Mulvey, Peter O’Connor, Maurice Powers, Val
Roesel, John B. McHugh, Sam Ross, Peter Deary, James Streffler, Harry
Baldwin, expert sniper, and Eddie Morrissey, liaison man.
Captain Meaney of Company M gave the highest recommendation to
Lieutenant Collier and also to Corporals Thomas J. Courtney and
Patrick Ames, both of them soldiers of remarkable coolness and
resolution. The men of this Company were kept busy throughout the
week as food and ammunition carriers and stretcher bearers. Amongst
those who distinguished themselves in these tasks were Corporals
James Duffy and Jack Manson, with Edward Mendes, Daniel Leahy,
William Lynch, John Feeley, Thomas Ferrier, William O’Neill, Frank
Sisco, James Shanahan, Edward Flanagan, Patrick Bryne, Frank Cullum,
James Igo, James A. Watts, the Rodriguez brothers and Herbert Dunlay.
Captain Walsh of Headquarters Company recommended Sergeant Arthur
Jaeger, Sergeant John J. Ryan, Corporal Charles Leister of the
one-pounders, with Corporal Leslie Reynolds and Privates Robert
Callaghan, Clarence Cumpston, Maurice Small, Charles Goecking,
Spencer Sully, John C. McLaughlin and William Hearn (who also did
heroic work rescuing the wounded), Corporal A. A. Brochon and
Privates James P. McCabe and Arthur Olsen and Kirwin of the Signal
Platoon. In the Stokes Mortars Sergeant Thomas Fitzsimmons, Jeremiah
J. Casey, Thomas J. Kelly and Malcolm Robertson, Thomas J. Taylor,
Herbert Clarke with Moore, Wisner, Hayes, Nugent, Robb, Levins, Orr,
Shannon, Dugdale, and my old friend, John Mahon, who always has
some special reason why he should be selected as a member of every
gun crew sent to the front line; George Utermehle, Stable Sergeant;
Jerome Goldstein, Mess Sergeant; with Cooks John A. Wilker, Maher
McAvoy and Wagoner James Collintine; and Jim Turner, wounded while
doing courageous work as a liaison man.
The Machine Gun Company cites their runners, John L. B. Sullivan,
William Murphy, Hantschke, Charles Smith, and James Ledwith. Also
Lieutenant Billings, who had the dangerous task of keeping up the
supply of ammunition, which he accomplished with the aid of two
excellent non-coms, Sid Ryan and Joe McCourt (one of the most
efficient men in the whole regiment). Every man in the company sang
the praises of Bill Sheppard, Paul Fay and Pete Gillespie; also
of Leon Baily and Frank Gardella, who spent their leisure moments
carrying in Company C’s wounded.
The Supply Company wagoners Peter J. Seagriff, Albert Richford, A.
Brown, Philip Smith and Thomas J. Ferris, won praise for difficult
and dangerous tasks courageously performed by night and day.
The Sanitary Detachment, in addition to those mentioned, gave me
Milledge Whitlock, Louis Bidwell, John McKeough, John P. Murphy,
Patrick Fawcett, Thomas V. Boland, Walter Clark and Sergeant Arthur
Firman. Whitlock, Wright and Walker were at an advance aid-post under
the river bank all week long.
The most striking incident I heard described took place in Company D
as they were waiting in the street of Villers sur Fere about three
o’clock in the morning of the 28th. The Germans were raking the
streets with high explosives and shrapnel, and men were falling,
hit by the flying pieces. The most trying moment in battle is going
into action under shell fire, especially at night. The shells come
wh-e-e-e-zing over. One goes Whannng! up the road—another in a field
to the right! Then one falls on a house and the tiles, plaster,
fragments of stone are scattered over the men who are lying in the
lee of it. Then another comes, more menacing in its approaching
whistle. Men run, drop on the ground, stand petrified. And it lands
in the midst of them. There are cries, ceasing suddenly as if cut off
with a knife, curses, sobs of “Oh, God!” “They got me!” “For God’s
sake, pick me up, Jim.” The survivors rush back, ripping open their
First Aid packages, the non-coms bawling orders, everybody working in
a frenzy to save the wounded. And then perhaps another shell landing
in the same place will send them all away from the troubles of this
awful world.
Company D was going through all this, and for the time being, without
officers. Buck was gassed the day before; Connelly and Daly had gone
off to execute their difficult operation to the right, First Sergeant
Geaney being with them; Burke was away on his mission of danger and
glory. The remaining Lieutenant had been called to receive orders.
Two corporals, Patrick McDonough and John Gribbon, had been working
hard, giving first aid to the wounded, and they began to worry about
the possible effect of the shelling on the men. So they went up the
line to look for some person in higher authority.
They found no officer but they did find Sergeant Tom O’Malley
sitting against a stone wall, sucking philosophically at his pipe, as
if the wall were the side of a stone fence in his native Connemara.
Now the sight of Tom O’Malley breeds confidence in the heart of every
soldier in Company D.
“Where’s the officers, Tom?”
“Oi don’t know where th’ hell they are,” says Tom, between puffs of
his pipe, and in the slow, soft speech of the West Coast Irish, “If
ye were in camp and ye didn’t want to see thim, ye’d be thrippin’
over thim. But now whin ye want t’ know what ye got to do in a foight
ye can’t find wan of thim.”
“Well, Tom, we’ll elect you Captain and you take charge of the men
until some of the officers get back, or they may be getting out of
hand.”
“No, lads, Oi don’t fancy meself in a Sam Brown belt. Dick O’Neill
here is a noice young fellah, so we’ll elect Dick Captain, and O’ll
make ye fellahs do what he tells ye.” So Sergeant O’Neill, a youth
of twenty-one, took charge of the situation, got the men together
in small groups under their non-coms, and in places of comparative
safety, and had them all ready when Lieutenant Cook came back from
the conference to issue their orders to cross the Ourcq.
It is something that we call typically American that a number of men
under a stress and in an emergency like this, should get together,
choose their own leaders and obey them implicitly for the common
good. These four men are Americans of the type we are proudest
of. Yet it is worth noting that three out of the four were born
in an island whose inhabitants, we are often told, are unfit for
self-government. As for Dick O’Neill, he is one hundred per cent
American, but it would take a braver man than I can claim to be to
tell Dick O’Neill that he is not Irish, too.
One of the members of D Company who was wounded in this spot was Matt
Sullivan, an old-timer, and a kindly pleasant man who always took
an interest in the younger lads, so that he was known as “Pop.” His
two special protégés were Barney Friedman and George Johnson. When
he was hit he was ordered to the rear, but he said, “I’ll not stir
out o’ this till I see if the children are safe, God bless them.”
He hobbled around in the gray dawn until he found the boys and then
started for the rear.
Company I had a number of little battle pictures to give me besides
those I have already written. One was of Barney Farley, who was busy
all morning dressing wounds, and after he had stopped the flow of
blood, before picking up his man, he would roll a cigarette, stick it
in the wounded man’s mouth with a cheery “Here, take a pull out of
this, avic. It’ll do ye good.”
Mike Lenihan, wounded while on the hill and told to go back, said,
“No, I’ve waited so long to get at them I won’t lave this hill.”
Another shot got him, and he was carried off.
Tom Shannon, being carried in, got off his stretcher and wanted to
give his place to another man who, he said, was worse wounded than
himself. An officer ordered him back on the stretcher and he was
carried in, and since then I have heard he has died of his wounds.
William Cleary, wounded in the shoulder, refused to leave without
orders, so they led him to where Captain Ryan was lying in a shell
hole, himself wounded. The Captain looked up at him. “You’ve got a
bad wound. No use around here. You’re young—got good color in your
face—live long. Got good legs yet—run like hell.”
The Captain saw a German near the top of the hill who was using an
automatic, and he wanted to try a shot at him, so he borrowed Pat
Flynn’s rifle, fired and missed, the pain of the recoil disconcerting
his aim. He tried again; then he said: “I’m going to pull the last
bit of Irish in me together and get that fellow.” With the last shot
in the clip he got him.
Two men from Company L had a laugh about Fortgang, who, one of them
said, is the champion moocher of the Company, and can always get
something to eat no matter how short the rations are. They were
lying out on that shot-swept hill on the morning of the 28th when
Fortgang produced from somewhere a can of solidified alcohol and
three strips of bacon. He calmly proceeded to start his little fire,
and fried his bacon, which he shared with the men on each side of
him; and thus fortified, picked up his rifle once more and began to
blaze away at the Germans.
While the topic is food I may add that the whole company is devoted
to Mess Sergeant McDonald and Cook Connelly, whose kitchen was hit
but who swore they would “stick to it while there’s a spoke left in
it.” Hugh Fagan was one of the men who had to be driven off the hill
after being badly wounded.
I saw several men who were hit through the helmet, the bullet
entering in front and going out at the back without inflicting a
wound. One of them was Edward McDonough, who seemed to consider it a
great joke, though another man who had the same thing happen to him,
a man whom I did not know, was walking in wide circles, unable to
pursue a steady course unless he had a wall or a fence to guide on.
Captain Hurley of Company K got four or five wounds at once in leg,
arm and back, but refused to allow himself to be carried, saying
impatiently, “Now, don’t be bothering with me. I’d like to see myself
on a litter while there’s men much worse off than myself still lying
on the ground.”
I was in the dressing station one evening when a sturdy young
lieutenant walked in with one hand almost blown away. He announced
himself to be Lieutenant Wolf of the 150th Machine Gun Battalion,
and settled down on the table for his operation with more coolness
than most people display when getting their photograph taken. He had
just one thing on his mind, and that did not concern himself. He had
come in with an ammunition detail, which was ready to start back when
a shell got him just outside the hospital door. That detail had to
go back. He was much relieved, one would say perfectly contented,
when I assured him that I would convey his orders to the sergeant in
charge. Through such men battles are won, and nations made famous
for bravery.
On one of the days of the battle I was coming up the street of
Villers sur Fere with Jack Percy when an enemy gun began to land
shells just across the narrow street from us. We dropped alongside a
wall when the shriek of the first one told us it was coming across
the home plate, and as we lay there I saw a ration wagon coming down
the road with George Utermehle, Sergeant of mounted section, H. Q.
Company, on the box. George had no whip and was urging his team by
throwing cherries at their heads. I shouted at him, “This is a bad
corner just now, they’re shelling it.” “Oh, this old team of mine can
beat out any shell,” said George, as he hit the ear of his off animal
with a cherry; and he went tearing by in time to miss the next, and,
I was happy to find out, the last one that came over.
I overheard a conversation in the woods which gave me a good story
on Major Donovan. The majority of his battalion have always looked
on him as the greatest man in the world. But a certain number were
resentful and complaining on account of the hard physical drilling
he has continually given them to keep them in condition for just
the sort of thing they had to go through last week. As a result of
watching him through six days of battle—his coolness, cheerfulness,
resourcefulness—there is now no limit to their admiration for him.
What I overheard was the partial conversion of the last dissenter.
He still had a grouch about what he had been put through during the
past year, and three other fellows were pounding him with arguments
to prove Donovan’s greatness. Finally he said grudgingly, “Well, I’ll
say this: Wild Bill is a son of a ——, but he’s a game one.” When I
told it to Donovan, he laughed and said, “Well, Father, when I’m gone
write that as my epitaph.”
I shall always think that the finest compliment paid to Major
Donovan was the devotion of John Patrick Kayes, an Irishman, very
tall, very thin, somewhat stoop-shouldered, not at all young, and
a servant of the rich in civil life. The Irish in him had made him
a volunteer. He was put in charge of the Battalion H. Q. mess, and
I used to tell Donovan that I came to visit him, not on account of
his own attractions, but because of what John Kayes had to offer me.
He refused to remain behind in action. He wanted to be where the
Major was, though he knew that anybody who kept near Donovan stood
an excellent chance of being killed. On July 31st he went forward
with him on his restless rounds, which led them out of the shelter of
Bois Colas into the open country. A German machine gun began firing
at them and Kayes was struck in the ankle. He fell forward into the
path of the bullets and as different portions of his long body neared
the ground he was hit successively in the thigh, arm and face. He
still had strength enough to protest that the Major should not risk
himself by carrying him in. He died in hospital weeks later, his
last thoughts being that Major Donovan would be neglected with him
gone. The terms “hero” and “butler” are not generally associated in
fiction, but they met in the person of John Patrick Kayes.
Major Lawrence tells me that he met Captain P. P. Rafferty, a doctor
in our Divisional Sanitary Train, who told him,
“We had an original character from your outfit through here last
week—a Lieutenant Connelly. He was lying on a cot and in a good deal
of pain, I knew, when I was surprised to hear him laugh a hearty
laugh. I thought he was going out of his head and I went over to him
and said, ‘What’s happened to you that’s funny, Lieutenant?’”
“‘Oh,’ he said, ‘I was just thinking about something.’
“‘Let me in on it,’ I said. ‘There is not much to amuse a man
happening around here.’
“‘Well,’ said he, ‘it’s just an incident of battle. I was in command
of a Company that had just about forty men left, and Major Donovan
gave me orders to send some of them one way and some another and take
the rest and capture a woods and Meurcy Farm. Just after I started I
got into a mix-up and was put out of action and my first thought was
‘Thank God! Now I don’t have to take that damn farm.’”
One of my own prayers of Thanksgiving is “Praise be! Major Lawrence
is back.” When I told him so he thanked me for the compliment, but
I said, “George, don’t take it as coming from me. It is only for my
own peace of mind. Since the day you left I have been pestered by
everybody, officers and men, who have the right to wear your red
cross armlet, with the plaintive petition, ‘Father Duffy, can’t you
do something to get our Major back?’”
We joke Rerat about the size of the French rivers. I told him that
one of our soldiers lay badly wounded near the river, and I offered
him a pull at my canteen. Raising himself on one elbow and throwing
out his arm in a Sir Philip Sydney fashion, he exclaimed, “Give it to
the Ourcq, it needs it more than I do.”
The Germans nearly had a grim joke on me during the action. We picked
up our dead in the town, and I had the Pioneers dig me a long trench
on the south side of the cemetery wall, which screened them from
observation while their own trench would give protection. I said
“This spot is the safest place in France.” We finished our sad task
and went away. A few hours later I passed that way again and found
that the wall against which I was sitting was smashed to the ground;
a tree eight inches in diameter which had shaded me was blown in
two, and two other missiles had exploded five feet from the line of
graves. Evidently a German aviator, seeing the freshly turned earth,
thought that it was a gun emplacement and dropped three of his nasty
eggs. I smiled grimly as my words came back, “The safest place in
France.”
Going through the woods I heard John McMorrow discussing a date with
Monzert of Headquarters Company, and he was saying, “It happened the
first day we went over. I tell you it was. It was on the mornin’
that we crossed the O’Rourke River and captured Murphy’s Farm.”
Colonel McCoy felt deeply grieved at the news of Quentin Roosevelt’s
heroic death in an air battle some time before, as he knew him from
boyhood, having been military aide at the White House during part
of President Roosevelt’s term of office. We knew that Lieutenant
Roosevelt had met his death in this sector, and our Colonel had
instituted inquiries to find if any person had discovered his grave.
Word was brought to him that the grave had been found in the sector
to our right, which was occupied by the 32nd Division, and Colonel
McCoy determined to have it suitably marked. I had a cross made
and inscribed by Julius Horvath, and the Colonel with Lieutenant
Preston and myself went by automobile to the place to erect it over
the grave. We found the roughly made cross formed from pieces of
his broken plane that the Germans had set to mark the place where
they buried him. The plot had already been ornamented with a rustic
fence by the soldiers of the 32nd Division. We erected our own little
monument without molesting the one that had been left by the Germans.
It is fitting that enemy and friend alike should pay tribute to
heroism.
The Germans had not retreated ten miles before the advance guard of
the French civilian population began coming in to take possession of
their shattered homes. I was coming down today from the battlefield
whither I had gone with Emmet Watson and Bill Fernie to make a map
of the graves when I met the incoming civilians in Villers sur Fere.
Most of them were men who had been sent ahead by the family to see
what was left. But occasionally we met a stout old peasant woman
pulling a small cart behind her on which rested all her earthly
substance, or a hay-cart drawn by oxen with the family possessions
in it and two or three chubby youngsters with their mother perched
on top. I followed a middle aged farmer and his son into one of
the houses near the church and we made our inspection together.
All the plaster had been knocked off the walls and the glass from
the windows, and there was a big hole in the roof, and altogether
it looked anything but a home, but after looking it all over the
young man said to his father, with a satisfied grunt, “Pas trop
demoli” (not too badly banged up). I certainly admired the optimism
and courage of people who could take up their lives once more with
cheerfulness under such desperate conditions.
The Germans had made their most of the time in which they had
possession of this salient. They had harvested a great deal of the
grain and anything else that was already ripe and in some places they
had ransacked the houses of any goods that were worth while. There
were many evidences, though, that they had no idea that they were
so soon to be dislodged. At Seringes they had installed an electric
light plant, and the French road signs had been supplemented with the
large legible German signs. Their sense of security was the cause of
their largest losses in material, as they had made of the Forest of
Fere a great ammunition dump, and the large shells, gas, shrapnel,
high explosives, were left behind by thousands.
I got back to Château Thierry looking for hospitals which might
contain our wounded but found none of them, as they had all been
transferred to other places, no one knew exactly where. In the
burying ground I hit upon the graves of Sergeant John O’Neill of
B and Sergeants Peter Crotty and Bernard McElroy of K and Walter
Wandless of H. The city already presented a lively appearance with
a great deal of traffic, not all of it military, over the bridge of
boats which replaced the bridge that had been destroyed during the
German drive.
Our men are getting more and more restless in these dirty woods and
the first question that anybody asks is, “When do we get relieved.”
I stepped into the woods on the other side of the road to visit
my Alabama friends and one of their fine lads voiced the common
mind by asking whether the govament hadn’t othah soldiehs than the
Fohty-Second Division. I answered, “Well, if they’re using you so
much, it is your own fault.” “How is it ouah fault?” demanded my
friend, and twenty pairs of eyes asked the same question. “It’s your
fault all right; the trouble with you fellows is that you’re too
blamed good.”
I have become a specialist on what they call the morale of troops and
as I go around I find that the morale of the men in this division is
still very high. They have had a tough week of it and nearly half the
infantry are gone while of those remaining more than half are sick.
But they know that they have whipped the enemy on his chosen ground
and they feel confident that if they only get rested up a little bit
they can do it again and do it cheerfully.
The Quartermaster’s Department has helped considerably by fitting us
all out with new clothes, underwear, shoes, everything we need, and
the food supply is steady. And Miss Elsie Janis has done her part,
too, as a joy producer by coming up to us in our mud and desolation
and giving a Broadway performance for an audience which was more
wildly appreciative than ever acclaimed her on the street of a
million lights.
The long desired orders for relief finally arrived. We marched out on
Sunday morning, August 11th. I had planned with Colonel McCoy to have
my Sunday Service a memorial one for the brave lads we were leaving
behind. He had me set up my altar in an open field just south of the
forest on our line of march to the rear. The men, fully equipped
for the march, came down the road, turned into the field, stripped
their packs and formed a hollow square around the altar. After Mass I
preached on the text, “Greater love than this no man hath than that
he lay down his life for his friends.” When the service was over the
regiment took the road again and began its march, with the band in
advance and the regimental wagon train in the rear.
As we passed through Beuvardes General Menoher and officers of his
staff were in front of Division Headquarters. Colonel McCoy passed
the order down the ranks, the band struck up the regimental air of
“Garry Owen” and the regiment passed in review, heads up and chests
out and stepping out with a martial gait as if they were parading
at Camp Mills and not returning from a battlefield where half their
numbers had been lost.
Two days later they marched through Château Thierry in similar
fashion. Colonel McCoy came to mess with a smile of pride on his face
telling us he had encountered an old friend, a regular army officer
who had said to him, “What is that outfit that passed here a little
while ago? It’s the finest looking lot of infantry I have seen in
France.” “That is the 165th Infantry, more widely known to fame as
the 69th New York, and I am proud to say that I command it.”
I have been playing truant for a few days. I had been suffering with
a great sense of fatigue. Nothing particular the matter, but I felt
as if I were running on four flat tires and one cylinder. Two of
the War Correspondents, Herbert Corey and Lincoln Eyre, came along
and insisted on bringing me down to their place in Château Thierry;
and General Lenihan brought me in in his car. Corey cooked supper—a
regular _cordon bleu_ affair—and Lincoln Eyre gave me a hot bath and,
like Kipling’s soldier, “God, I needed it so.” Then they bundled me
into Tom Johnson’s bed, and as I dropped asleep I thought, and will
continue to think, that they are the finest fellows in the world.
They were ordered out next morning and I went with them for a couple
of days to Bossuet’s old episcopal city of Meaux, where I had a fine
time gossiping with Major Morgan, Bozeman Bulger and Arthur Delaney
of the Censor’s Bureau and Ray Callahan, Arthur Ruhl and Herbert
Bailey, a delightful young Englishman who writes for the _Daily Mail_.
I rejoined the regiment at Saulchery—somebody says that sounds like a
name for a decadent cocktail—and found myself housed in a large and
pleasant villa, the garden of which looked out upon vineyards and
fields down to the banks of the Marne. It was one of the pleasantest
places we had been in in France. The weather was perfect, and the men
enjoyed the camping out in their shelter tents, especially since the
river was handy for a swim. The whole thing made us feel more like
campers than soldiers. And by the time we had gotten well rested up
and most of the cooties washed off, we had forgotten the hard days
that were past and saw only the bright side of life once more.
We were there from August 12th to 17th, on which latter date we
entrained at Château Thierry to go to our new training area. This was
down in the Neufchateau district, and to get to it by the railroad
we were using we went south until we got to the vicinity of Langres,
where we had spent our last two months before going into the trench
sector. Regimental headquarters was at Goncourt and the regiment was
accommodated in barracks and billets in that and two close lying
villages. The towns had been used for some time by American troops
and had unusual facilities for bathing, etc. The warm reception
given to us by the townspeople was a tribute to the good conduct of
the 23rd Infantry which had been billetted there for a considerable
period before occupying the front lines.
After a couple of days’ rest the men were started on a schedule
of training which was laid out for four weeks. Target ranges were
prepared by the engineers and everything looked like a long stay.
The training was necessary not so much for the old-timers as for
the replacements who had been sent in to take the places of the men
we had lost. We received five hundred from the 81st Division. We
had known cases where our replacements had to go into line without
anything like proper training. The night we left Epieds to advance
into action at the Ourcq we received new men, some of whom knew very
little about a rifle and had never once put on a gas mask; and the
Captains took them out by night and drilled them for an hour with the
gas masks in order to give the poor fellows some sort of a chance
for their lives if exposed to danger of gas.
The second day that I was in Goncourt Colonel McCoy came to see me
with Major Lawrence and Major Donovan to lay down the law. They had
decided that I was to go to the hospital at Vittel, where Major
Donovan’s brother was one of the doctors, “for alterations and
repairs.” General Menoher, with his usual kindness, sent over his car
to take me there, and Father George Carpentier was brought over from
the Sanitary Train to fill my place. I told him “Your name is French
but it has the advantage of being the one French name that is best
known and most admired by our bunch of pugilists.”
I have had a nice lazy week of it at Vittel, which was a French
watering place before the war, the hotels and parks now being given
over to American soldiers. I hear a great deal of talk about a
coming offensive in which the American Army is to take the leading
part. I had gotten an inkling of it before from a French source,
with strictest injunctions to secrecy. But here in Vittel I find it
discussed by private soldiers on the park benches and by the old
lady who sells newspapers. If it is a secret, all the world seems to
know it. We have taken every step to make the Germans aware of it
except that of putting paid advertisements in the Berlin newspapers.
The fact is, these things cannot be kept secret. Here in Vittel they
are cleaning out all the hospitals of wounded and that means that
a big battle is expected somewhere in this vicinity within a short
time. Then up along the line ammunition and supply trains are busy
establishing dumps, and the drivers are naturally talking about it in
the cafés, so that everybody knows that the Americans are planning
something big and the place where it is going to happen.
VITTEL
_August_ 24th, 1918
Major Donovan is over every few days to have his wound attended to
and incidentally to see his brother Tim, who is a surgeon with the
Buffalo Unit. Today he gave me a piece of news that came as a shock
though hardly as a surprise—the orders are out to make Colonel McCoy
a Brigadier General and he is to leave us. He has been with us less
than four months yet I feel as if I had known him for forty years,
and this war is going to be a different sort of thing for me lacking
his presence. But the staying thing about life is that institutions
go on even though men may pass. My thoughts turned to the regiment.
“Who is likely to be Colonel?” I asked.
“We are all united on Mitchell,” said the Major, “and I think General
McCoy will be able to arrange it for us.”
“I have always thought that General McCoy can do anything he sets
out to do. As for Mitchell, with the possible exception of yourself,
Major, there is no man I had rather see have it.”
“Oh, Hell, Father, I don’t want to be Colonel. As Lieutenant Colonel
I can get into the fight and that’s what I’m here for. We all want
Mitchell.”
“You are a selfish creature, Bill. Did you ever see anybody more
contented in action than the man you want to tie up to a telephone?”
“Well, somebody has to be tied up to the telephone, McCoy didn’t like
it, nor MacArthur. And then, as you know, they can always find some
reason to get away from it and have a little excitement.”
VITTEL
_August_ 29th, 1918
The orders have come already to move up to the next battle area.
Instead of having a month for rest and training the Division has
had but ten days in its new area. Orders came in on the 28th and
the regiments moved out on the 29th, our headquarters being at
Gendreville. On the next day they moved to Viocourt, the 2nd and 3rd
battalions being at Courcelles. Major Lawrence came to see me at
the hospital to tell me about the new move and I obtained permission
to leave and rejoin my regiment. I shall always have a warm place in
my heart for the doctors and nurses of the Buffalo and Westchester
County Units.
VIOCOURT
_September_ 1st, 1918
I walked into Division Headquarters at Chatenois today on my business
as Senior Chaplain. I sent off a couple of telegrams to the G. H. Q.
Chaplains about a Protestant chaplain that I want them to send for
the Alabamas and also stirring them up about a Protestant chaplain
that I had been asking them for a long time for my own regiment.
Another telegram went to the K. of C. at Paris to send a priest to
look after Catholics in the Illinois and Indiana artillery regiments,
as the chaplains there are anxious to have one. My final inquiry was
about transportation to Toul for Jewish members of the Division in
order to have them celebrate their approaching feast. Sergeant Marcus
looked up at me and grinned: “Say, Father Duffy, aren’t you glad you
have no Buddhists to look after?” He added that the adjutant had a
surprise in store for me.
He had—two official announcements, one, that the corps commander had
made me a major and the other that I had been cited for the D. S. C.
Being a Major has no particular thrills to it, except no doubt when
I come to sign my pay vouchers; but there is no man living who can
truthfully say that it means nothing to him to receive the bronze
cross and red, white and blue bar of our Army. To everybody, I think,
the greatest satisfaction comes not from what it means to himself
but from the gratification it will give his friends. Another feeling
uppermost in my mind was one of grateful affection for Colonel McCoy
because I knew that it was he who had recommended me both for the
rank and the distinction. I wrote to him “The British reward their
military heroes with a peerage, a pension, and a tomb in Westminster
Abbey. You have gotten for me the American equivalent for two of
them—the distinction and the emoluments—and it only remains for you
to fix it up so that I can have a tomb in St. Patrick’s Cathedral.
All that is necessary to give me a right to that is to make me
Archbishop of New York; Cardinal, if you insist. I never knew you to
fail in anything you went after so I shall consider this matter as
settled.”
We remained in Viocourt six days and then began our journey north by
night marches. The 4th of September was spent in the Bois de Raidon.
On the 5th of September the whole regiment was together at Bulligny.
On the 6th, still marching by night, we were at Foug, and September
7th found us at Boucq, where we spent two days.
Here we had the honor of a visit from the Commander in Chief. General
Pershing had come on for the ceremony of presenting Distinguished
Service Crosses to those who had been cited in our Division,
and the ceremony took place in a field to the northeast of our
village of Boucq. The recipients from our Regiment were Lieutenant
Colonel Donovan, Major Reilley, who quite overshadowed me, Captain
Merle-Smith, Lieutenant William Spencer, Lieutenant John J. Williams,
Sergeant Frank Gardella, Corporal John McLaughlin, Corporal Martin
Higgins, and Burr Finkle. Captain Ryan and others who had been
cited were still in the hospital, while others were of those who
had perished on the field. A complete list will be given in another
place.
FOOTNOTES:
[5] Final figures.
Killed Wounded Missing
Officers 14 45 0
Enlisted Men 224 1,135 153
——— ————— ————
Total Losses 238 1,180 153
Grand Total 1,571
Practically all of those marked “missing” were wounded men of whom no
record was sent back to us from the hospitals.
In the Lunéville Sector our battle losses had been 1 officer and 29
enlisted men killed; 19 officers and 408 enlisted men wounded.
In the Baccarat Sector, 3 men killed and 8 wounded.
In Champagne 1 officer and 43 men killed; 7 officers and 245 men
wounded. Our missing on all three of these fronts was 9 men.
Between March 1st and August 1st the Regiment lost 315 killed, 1,867
wounded, 162 missing, making a grand total of 2,344.
CHAPTER VIII
THE ST. MIHIEL OFFENSIVE
The field orders for the attack on the St. Mihiel salient were
received on September 10th, the date not being specified. Our
division was to attack as part of the 4th U. S. Army Corps of the 1st
U. S. Army; and we were given the honor of being made the point of
the arrow which was to pierce through the center of the salient along
the base of the triangle that was to be cut off. The 89th Division
was on our right and the 1st Division on our left, with the 3rd in
Army reserve.
Our Division was to be formed with both brigades abreast, the 83rd
being on the left of the 84th. The relative places of regiments
with regard to each other was to be in the same order in which they
fought at the Ourcq—from left to right: Ohios, New Yorks, Alabamas
and Iowas. Each regiment was to have one battalion in the first line
and one in the second, the remaining battalions acting as brigade or
division reserves. Battery F, 149th F. A. was to follow up with the
infantry of our brigade after their capture of the first position.
The brigade had also the co-operation of a battalion of our Engineers
for road and bridge work, one platoon of the first gas regiment and
two groups of French Schneider Tanks.
On the night of September 10th we moved forward to the vicinity of
Mandres, where we relieved elements of the 89th Division which were
transferred further to the right. Our headquarters on September 11th
were at Hamonville, not far from Seicheprey where the 26th Division
had played a savage game of give and take with the Germans when they
held the trenches last Spring.
Copies were issued of the very elaborate plans which had been
prepared by Army Chiefs of Staff outlining with great definiteness
the part that each element of our Army had to play in the work that
lay ahead of them.
The men were encamped in a forest of low trees, a most miserable
spot. It had been showering and wet all the week and we were living
like paleozoic monsters, in a world of muck and slime. The forest
roads were all plowed by the wagon wheels and when one stepped off
them conditions were no better, for the whole place was really a
swamp. I made my rounds during the afternoon and got the men together
for what I call a silent prayer meeting. I told them how easy it was
to set themselves right with God, suggesting an extra prayer for a
serene mind and a stout heart in time of danger; and then they stood
around me in a rough semi-circle, caps in hand and heads bowed, each
man saying his prayers in his own way. I find this simple ceremony
much more effective than formal preaching.
When I got back to headquarters I found my own staff very
considerably increased. Father Hanley had come back a couple of days
before. The rumors of approaching action were all over France, so,
sniffing the battle from afar, he got the hospital authorities to let
him out and rejoin his regiment for the coming fight. I kept Father
Carpentier attached to the regiment for the time being until I could
get the Protestant chaplain that I had been petitioning for so long.
Father Hanley still had a perceptible limp and was moving around with
the aid of a stick so I told him that he would have to look after
the hospital center (_Triage_) while the fight was on, a commission
that he took with no good grace. To Father Carpentier I gave a roving
commission to look after Catholics in the Ohio and Alabama regiments,
a task for which his zeal and endurance especially qualified him.
Now I found two more Chaplains on my hands—one from the Knights of
Columbus, Father Moran, an Irish Priest, and one assigned to the
regiment, Chaplain Merrill J. Holmes of the M. E. Church. I liked
him on sight and we were not long in getting on a basis of cordiality
which will make our work together very pleasant. It was too late
to send the extra chaplains to other regiments as we were even
then getting ready to move forward into line, so I decided to keep
them all under my wing. I told the lieutenants of the Headquarters
Company that it would not be my fault if they did not all get to
Heaven because we had five chaplains along. “Five Chaplains,” said
Lieutenant Charles Parker. “Great Heavens! there won’t be a thing
left for any of the rest of us to eat.”
The terrain which was to be the object of the attack of our three
divisions was completely dominated on the left by the frowning
heights of Mont Sec; and if they had been held in force by the enemy
artillery it would have exposed our whole army corps to a flanking
fire which would soon make progress impossible. It fell to the 1st
Division to make their advance along the mountain side.
The ground over which we were to pass was for the most part fairly
level up as far as the twin towns of Maizerais and Essey, to the
left of which the Rupt de Mad made its way through swamps at the
base of the hill which was crowned by these two villages. A number
of woods dotted the surface; one of them, the Bois de Remières,
stood directly in front of our advance. No Man’s Land at this point
was seven or eight hundred yards wide; and the German trenches, as
we afterwards found, were not in very good condition, though there
was plenty of wire standing both here and at other points that were
prepared for defence. We were to jump off at the east of Seicheprey,
and regimental headquarters and dressing station were established by
Colonel Mitchell and Major Lawrence in the Bois de Jury, not far to
the rear.
We moved up to our jump-off point on the night of September 11th.
The rain was falling in torrents. The roads were like a swamp and
the night was so dark that a man could not see the one in front of
him. And of course no lights could be lit. The road could not be
left free for the foot soldiers, but was crowded with ammunition
wagons, combat wagons, signal outfits and all the impedimenta of war.
Time and again men had the narrowest escapes from being run down in
the dark, and scarcely anybody escaped the misfortune of tripping
and falling full length in the mud. It is a miracle of fate or of
organization that the units were able to find their positions on such
a night, but they all got where they belonged and found the lines
neatly taped by Colonel Johnson’s excellent body of engineers. The
1st Battalion was in the front line commanded by Lieutenant Colonel
Donovan, who was not willing to let his newly conferred rank deprive
him of the opportunity of leading his battalion in another fight. The
2nd battalion under Major Anderson was in the second line, and picked
men from each of its companies were given the task of following
close behind the 1st, as moppers up, i. e., to overcome points of
resistance which might be passed over, take charge of prisoners, etc.
The men shivered through the night in the muddy trenches waiting
in patient misery for morning and the orders to attack. At 1:00 A.
M. September 12th, our artillery opened fire on the enemy. We had
expected a night of terrific noise like that which preceded the
German offensive on July 15th, but the present one was not nearly so
fierce, though it would have seemed a wonderful show if we had not
heard the other one. In July the guns on both sides were shooting
everything they had without cessation. But, here, there was no enemy
counter preparation fire and our own fire was more deliberate.
Dawn broke on a cold, windy day and a cloud darkened sky. Donovan
had been moving up and down his line with a happy smile on his face
(unless he detected anything out of order) telling the men: “There’s
nothing to it. It will be a regular walkover. It will not be as
bad as some of the cross-country runs I gave you in your training
period.” And when H hour arrived at 5:00 A. M., the feeling of the
men was one of gladness at the prospect of getting into action.
Their way was prepared by a screen of smoke and a rolling barrage
delivered by our artillery. Tanks advanced with our infantry
crawling like iron-clad hippopotomi over the wire in front to
make a passage-way. Some of them came to grief on account of the
rain-softened ground, the edges of a trench giving way under the
weight of a tank and standing it on its nose in the bottom. During
the two days of advance we were well supplied with aeroplane service
and possessed undoubted superiority in the air.
The four-inch Stokes Mortars had been put in position to lay down a
smoke barrage and the barrage began to pound the enemy front line at
the zero hour. The shells whistled overhead much closer than they had
done during the artillery preparation and broke on the enemy trenches
kicking up red fire and black clouds where they hit. It was raining
slightly, there was a mist, and dawn was not yet breaking when the
machine gun barrage which took the men over began to fire. The men
began to whisper among themselves “That’s our stuff; no it’s not, yes
it is.” All the sounds of battle were heard; the artillery, the small
guns, and then, a little too soon, the Stokes Mortars in front of the
Alabamas starting their fire-works which illuminated the entire front
when the thermite shells exploded.
Then everybody jumped and started forward. The Bois de Remières lay
in front of the right flank of our first battalion and as they moved
forward, the flank units gave way to the left to pass around instead
of through the woods. For a moment they lost direction. The support
companies seemed to hesitate at the first belt of wire and began
picking their way rather too fastidiously through it. Lieutenant
Harold L. Allen was with the headquarters group which consisted of
a mélange of runners, pioneers, liaison men, snipers, etc. He tells
about Donovan running back from the front line shouting to the men
“Get forward, there, what the hell do you think this is, a wake?”
These words seemed to inspire Captain Siebert and as the lines moved
forward he shouted loud and profane encouragement to the machine gun
carriers burdened with boxes of ammunition and struggling forward
through the tangle of trenches and broken wire.
Machine gun resistance was met on the enemy’s second line. The
assault waves deployed and began firing. Automatic teams and snipers
crawled forward to advantageous positions. Donovan, with his usual
disregard of danger (never thinking of it in fact, but only occupied
with getting through), moved back and forth along the line giving
directions, and the enemy resistance did not last long, most of their
men surrendering. Donovan led his men at heart-breaking speed over
the hills, smashing all resistance before them and sending in small
groups of prisoners. St. Baussant was taken at the point of the
bayonet and the line swept on. On the hill overlooking Maizerais the
battalion was halted once more by machine gun fire, and a battery
of artillery behind the village less than five hundred yards away.
The Germans had evidently decided to make some sort of a stand,
taking advantage of the hill and the protection of the Rupt de Mad.
But Donovan with about thirty men jumped into the river, made his
way across it under fire, and when the Germans saw this determined
assault from their flank they threw up their hands and cried
“Kamerad.”
They attempted further resistance near Essey where they had machine
gun pits in front of the village, but the resistance was quickly
reduced by the aid of a tank and the village was cleared of the
enemy. Donovan kept the battalion in the stone walled gardens on
the outskirts of the town. Our own barrage was still pounding the
village, for Essey represented the objective of the “First Phase,
First Day,” and some of our men who wandered into town were hit by
flying stone from the walls of houses.
Prisoners began to come in and a prisoner park was established near
a big tree on the road leading into the village. French civilians
were still living in this village, having spent the period of
bombardment in a big dugout—the first civilians that we had the
pleasure of actually liberating. They laughed and wept and kissed
everybody in sight and drew on their slender stock of provisions to
feed the hungry men. The soldiers began wandering everywhere looking
for souvenirs. Corporal Kearin was in charge of the prison park. All
the captives were from the regiments of the 10th Division, except a
few from an attached Minenwerfer company and an artillery regiment.
They were eager for fraternization and chatted and laughed with their
captors. The men of the support battalions and from the units on
our right and left, attracted by the town, began to straggle over.
It resembled a County Fair, the prisoner park being the popular
attraction of the day. Americans literally swarmed around the
prisoners in idle curiosity while others rummaged through the German
billets and headquarters looking for pistols, maps, German post-cards
and letters—anything that would do for a souvenir.
However, this did not last long, Donovan had his battalion out and
going for the objective which was marked as “Second Phase, First
Day,” which lay beyond the next town of Pannes; and Anderson,
coming in with the bulk of the 2nd Battalion, imposed his rigorous
discipline on those whose business it was to be in town. He certainly
was not loved for knocking in the head of a barrel of beer which some
of the fellows had found (and, by the way, there can be no better
proof of the rapidity with which the Germans evacuated the town than
the fact that they had left it behind).
Donovan met with further resistance when he arrived before Pannes
about one o’clock in the afternoon. He called for artillery and
tanks and filtered up his men along the trees on the edge of the
road while the Ohios advanced on the left and the Alabamas make a
flanking movement against the town from its right. They soon had the
opposition broken and by 1:45 P. M. our advanced elements, widely
extended, were proceeding from Pannes towards the Bois de Thiaucourt,
and at 1:55 the objective “Second Phase, First Day” was occupied by
the 165th Infantry.
[Illustration: AT QUENTIN ROOSEVELT’S GRAVE THE CENTRAL FIGURE IS
COLONEL McCOY]
The whole day it had been a wild gallop with occasional breathing
spells when the Germans put up some resistance. From the rising
ground around Essey men looked back, and towards the west and east
where the 1st and the 89th were also moving forward. It was like a
moving picture battle. Tanks were crawling up along the muddy roads
and khaki colored figures could be seen moving about in ones and twos
and fours along the edges of the woods and across the grassy plains.
Toward the rear were passing ever larger groups of prisoners in
their blue gray uniforms, carrying their personal belongings and in
many cases their own wounded as well as ours on improvised litters.
Overhead the shells were still screaming from our heavy artillery
with a good deal of answering fire from the German batteries, which
caused most of our losses.
The prisoners were mainly Austrians and Austrian Slavs. They had not
been very keen about the war at any time and were made less so on
finding that they had been left behind after the bulk of the army
had withdrawn. Many of them had been in the United States, and the
first question that one of them asked was “Can I go back now to
Sharon, Pa?” One of them was found seated in a dugout with a bottle
of Schnapps and a glass. He immediately offered a drink to his captor
saying “I don’t drink it myself, but I thought it would be a good
thing to offer to an American who would find me.”
During the afternoon of the 12th the brigade P. C. was moved to
Essey, regimental P. C. to Pannes. The 1st battalion organized their
position just south of the Bois de Thiaucourt which was held by
patrols who took more prisoners; the 2nd battalion about 1,000 yards
further back on the reverse slope of a hill; and the 3rd battalion
just outside the town.
The next day’s task was still easier. Donovan’s men jumped off
at 6:10 A. M. with Companies B and C in the lead and A and D in
support. Their patrols to the front at the time reported no contact
with the enemy. Major Reilley with the 3rd Battalion was sent as
Division Reserve for the 1st Division but was later ordered back.
The 1st Battalion, followed by the 2nd, pushed through the Bois de
Thiaucourt and the Bois de Beney capturing a couple of prisoners and
meeting with no resistance. At the Sebastopol Farm a woman told them
that the Germans were just ahead and retreating. The advance of our
men was somewhat delayed by a gun in our supporting artillery which
kept firing short and endangering the men, as one of the greatest
difficulties in a rapid advance such as was made at St. Mihiel is
that of maintaining liaison with the rear. By half past nine they had
captured the enemy’s supply depot along the railway track, with the
neighboring village of St. Benoit and the Chateau St. Benoit. It was
a foot race all the way between the four infantry regiments and our
fellows claim they won it by a good half hour, but I haven’t heard
yet what the others have to say. I only know that if I ever have to
follow up our infantry again in such an attack I am going to wait for
an express train.
One thing that stands out most impressively in the memories of the
165th regarding this action is the devotion and courage of one of
our former commanding officers. The dugout where Lieutenant Colonel
Donovan established his temporary headquarters on the night of
September 11-12th, was very small and very crowded. Every officer
commanding a unit of the auxiliary arms crowded into it to avoid the
nasty drizzle and darkness outside. The room was full of smoke, some
of which managed to get outside as officer after officer came in to
report the position of his unit. It was like the headquarters of an
army corps. Parker of the one-pound cannons was perched on the upper
deck of a bunk flanked by Siebert of the machine guns and a French
Lieutenant who had come in to report that the accompanying tanks
were ready. Lieutenants Allen and Betty were trying to carry out
Donovan’s numerous orders. Captain Stone of the 149th Field Artillery
pushed his way into the crowded room and reported to Donovan that
his battery had been detailed to roll forward with the assaulting
infantry. There was some conversation between them as to the
conditions of the roads near Seicheprey and the possibility of having
the battery follow close behind the assault, the number of available
rounds of ammunition with the guns and the chance of delay in getting
them forward over No Man’s Land. The conversation continued for a few
minutes and was ended by Donovan saying, “Well, we have not done it
before but we’ll give it a whirl this time.”
Just then Major Lawrence opened the door and called “Colonel, here’s
an old friend of yours.” It was Colonel Hine. Wet and muddy and tired
but evidently delighted to be back with the old regiment. Donovan
gave him an enthusiastic welcome as did all the rest, although Betty
whispered to Allen in a humorous grouch “I’ll bet Donovan will
want us to get a room and bath for him”—referring to the Colonel’s
practice of inviting everyone in to dinner or to share quarters no
matter where he was or what he might have, and then putting it up to
the staff to provide. Everybody naturally thought that Colonel Hine
had come to view the battle from the regimental observation post
on the hill near the Bois de Jury but later in the night when they
moved down to the parallel of departure Colonel Hine was still along,
sharing the experiences of the rest of them, stumbling into shell
holes and tripping over barbed wire in the darkness. When they went
over in the morning he was still there, and with the first wave; and
all through that day’s fight and the next, he fought along by the
side of his old men, who conceived an admiration for him in their
loyal souls that nothing will ever efface.
Colonel Hine had obtained leave from his duties in order to satisfy
his desire of going through a big battle with his beloved 69th.
It was a unique compliment to the regiment itself. The regiment
appreciates it as such, but it dwells more on the soldierly ardor
and high courage of its first Colonel, who, though he had been
transferred to less dangerous duties, found his way back to us and
fought as a volunteer private in the regiment he had commanded. Such
deeds as this are set forth in the story-books of history as an
inspiration to the youth of the land.
In picking up stories of the fight I got one from Lieutenant Allen
which I have jotted down as he gave it to me. “We came in front of
Essey. Here there was a hill marked on the aeroplane photographs and
maps which were issued before the attack as ‘Dangerous, go to the
right and left.’ As we came over the top of this hill and advanced on
its forward slope the battalion drew machine gun fire from the enemy
guns disposed in pits in front of the village. I was out in front in
a shell-hole with two snipers. One of them I sent back to Donovan
with a message; the other began firing on the enemy who now began
to run back into the village. In an adjoining shell-hole a few feet
away, a soldier from our battalion sold a German Luger Pistol to an
officer from some other regiment who had wandered from his sector,
for thirty-five francs. A French tank caught up to us at this stage
of the fight and moved down the hill until it was in front of the
shell-hole where I was. I rapped on the side of his turret and called
to the pilot, who reversed the turret and while the bullets slapped
the side of his tank, opened the window. He was a dapper little
Frenchman with the ends of his moustache waxed in points, and was
clean and smiling. I gave him a target in front of the town and he
fired several round at a mass of retreating Boches hurrying over the
next hill. Opening the window again, he smiled and said ‘How’s that?’
then he went lumbering on.”
As the first battalion was making its advance during the second day
it was held up in front of Sebastopol Farm by our own barrage which
had not yet lifted. While waiting there they saw a French peasant
woman with a small boy grasping her hand running through the shell
fire from the direction of the farm. When questioned, she was in a
great rage against the Boches and reported that a battalion of their
troops had evacuated St. Benoit during the night. She also gave the
welcome information that there were supplies of food in the farm and
was very grateful to the Americans for releasing her from four years
of captivity. She was the only woman that we saw actually on the
battlefield during the war.
When our fellows reached St. Benoit they found that the Germans had
started a fire in the Chateau, but it was quickly extinguished. The
church too, had been set on fire and was beyond saving. When Jim
Barry of C. Company saw it blazing he shouted “Glory be to God,
those devils have burnt the church. Let’s see what we can save out
of it.” With Tierney and Boyle and others following after he ran
into the burning building and carried out statues and candelabra
which they deposited carefully outside. Having finished their pious
work they began to remember that they were hungry. Barry took from
his musette bag some German potatoes which he had stored there in
place of grenades that had been used up in action, and said, “Well we
have done what we could, and now we’ve got a good fire here, and we
might as well use it.” They stuck the potatoes on the ends of their
bayonets and roasted them in the embers. Just then another party came
along with some bottled beer that they had salvaged from the German
supplies in Pannes, so they picnicked merrily in the square in front
of the blazing temple.
It was well for all of us that the Germans had departed so suddenly
that they left supplies behind, because it was an almost impossible
task to get the kitchens and ration wagons through, on account not
only of the poor condition of the roads but of the congestion of
traffic. We never saw a worse jam in the whole war than on the main
road from Seicheprey to Pannes—tanks, guns and caissons, ammunition
wagons, trucks, infantry trains, all trying to get forward along one
narrow road, and the whole line held up if a single vehicle got
stuck; mounted men and foot soldiers trailed along the edge of this
procession often having to flounder through the swamps of the Rupt de
Mad.
The situation became dangerous towards evening of the second day when
a large squadron of enemy battle planes swooped down on our own, and
after the fiercest contest I have ever seen in the air drove two of
ours to earth and regained the mastery. They did not, however, resort
to bombing, satisfying themselves with reporting conditions to their
own artillery. Our wagon train had a most uncomfortable half hour as
it passed along the road between Beney and St. Benoit. Shell after
shell came hissing towards them, but luckily the German guns were
firing just a trifle short. If the shells had carried another fifty
yards the train would have been wiped out; but the drivers sat steady
on their boxes and kept the mules going at even pace until they
reached their destination.
Pannes had still a number of civilians, about thirty in all, and all
of them very old people or children, the able-bodied ones having
been carried off by the enemy. Those remaining received their
deliverers with open arms, and all the old ladies insisted on kissing
Lieutenant Rerat, very handsome and blushing in his neat uniform of
_horizon-bleu_. They had been rationed by the Germans during the four
years of occupation; none too well, but with enough to keep them
fit to work. They gave us all they had, and we had an opportunity
to get an idea of what German soldiers got to eat. The bread was an
indigestible looking mass on the order of pumpernickel. The coffee
was far from being Mocha, but sugar seemed to be more plentiful than
in France. The Fall vegetables were not yet ripe but the fields had
been sown with potatoes, turnips, kohlrabi, and acres and acres of
cabbage. The French authorities gave orders to have all civilians
evacuated to the rear whether they wanted it or not; and Lieutenant
Rerat and I assembled them with their pitiful little collection of
belongings and sent them back in ambulances.
[Illustration:
Sketch
To Illustrate The Offensive
_of_
The St. Mihiel Salient.
_T. C. Ranscht
Sgt. H.Q. 165 Inf._
]
It was a great place for souvenir hunting—pistols, spurs, German
post-cards, musical instruments—all sorts of loot. I saw Bill Schmidt
with a long steel Uhlan’s lance; while Tom Donohue, true to his
instincts, came by with no less than four violins. Most of the men,
of a more normal type of soldier, passed up the musical instruments
in search for German sausages and beer. There were also vast amounts
of military stores and ammunition, as well as the field pieces and
machine guns which had been captured in the battle.
Major Lawrence thinks that five or six of his men deserve a citation,
for going out voluntarily under the leadership of Sergeant Eichorn
and James Mason to rescue a wounded officer in another regiment. The
Sanitary Detachment is very happy because they not only have the
Major back but also three popular sergeants—Grady, Hayes and Maher
who for a time have been attached to the Ohios.
Lieutenant Clifford is enthusiastic about the courage of Sergeant
Gilgar of Company B who went ahead with five men against an enemy
position, manœuvred his party into a position where he threatened
the German rear, and then, by putting on a bold front as if he had a
whole company behind him, frightened them into surrender and returned
to our line with thirty-two prisoners. Sergeant John Mohr’s life was
saved by the quickness of John Moran who was just in time in killing
a German who was trying to get our veteran Sergeant.
Chaplain Holmes, who had walked into fight his very first day at the
front, was anxious to do his full share, and volunteered while we
were at Pannes to scour the battlefield in order to bury the dead.
Lieutenant Flynn and a detachment from Headquarters Company went
with him and carried out this mournful task. At the time we had no
way of knowing for certain just how many of ours had fallen on the
field. The battlefield was in our hands from the first and anyone who
had a spark of life in him was carried quickly to the rear. Later
estimates placed the number of our dead, up to the present, as about
thirty-five. The highest in rank was Thomas J. Curtin, 1st Sergeant
of Company D, who was hit by a rifle bullet advancing at the head of
a platoon. In Company A we lost another good Sergeant, William Walsh;
and in the same company Corporals Patrick Doolan, Patrick McDermott
and John McDonald with Privates Joseph Biskey and William Williams;
in Company B, Mechanic Henry Schumacher and Private N. W. Blackman,
Douglas Cummings, Humberto Florio, William Poole and Dominic
Zollo; in Company C, Privates John Nanarto, Felix Curtis, Manfred
Emanuelson, Thomas F. Petty and Augustus Altheide; in Company D,
Corporal Philip Greeler, Privates Ferdinand Urban, Ernest E. Martin,
Horace Musumeck, William Mitchell, Walter Long, Clarence Gabbert,
with Corporal James MacDonald and Daniel Harkins (died of wounds);
Company E lost Corporals Michael Rooney and William Bechtold; Company
F, James Wynne, Rex Strait, Eugene Rogers, Angelo Kanevas and Jesse
Scott; Company G, William Perkins; Company H, James Spiker and Joseph
Deese; Company K, Privates Joseph Dearmon, G. C. Kenly and W. H.
Leach, Company M; O. O. Dykes and Edward Kiethley, while the Machine
Gun Company suffered the loss of John F. McMillan, Edward Hantschke
and Charles Brown. Lieutenant Boag was wounded.
The Chateau St. Benoit is a fine roomy building—a perfect palace of
dreams after the outlandish places that had constituted our abodes.
But every body in it has an uneasy feeling that it makes a splendid
target for enemy artillery. Charles Carman said to me: “Any gunner
that couldn’t hit this building at night with his eyes shut ought
to be sent back to whatever the Heinies call their S. O. S.” They
have missed it however, and more than a few times; but perhaps that
is because they have still hopes of occupying it. Three big 150’s
came over last night and just missed knocking off the corner of the
building where General MacArthur was sleeping. They landed in the
stable and killed some of our horses.
We are in for a considerable amount of shelling periodically. A high
trajectory shell, like our American rattlesnake, has at least the
rudimentary instincts of a gentlemen. It gives fair warning before it
strikes, and a man can make an attempt to dodge it; but the Austrian
88’s are mean all the way through. It sounds Irish to say that you
hear it coming after it explodes, but that is literally true if it
falls short of you.
The whole sector has been pinched off by the operation and we are
now in touch with the French on our left, the 1st Division being
crowded out by the operation, and the 89th Division still occupying
the positions to our right. We are faced now in the general direction
of Metz, and the Germans occupy the Hindenburg line as their line of
defense. Our main business has been to organize our newly acquired
positions and to throw out frequent patrols to test out the enemy.
Colonel Donovan established his battalion headquarters in the
Forester’s House on the road to Haumont which was the nearest village
held by the enemy. Here Sergeant Moore of B Company brought him a
German prisoner whom he had just captured. On interrogation he said
that he was a sentinel of a machine gun cossack post and that in the
post there was an officer and eight men including one non-com. All of
these he thought would be willing to surrender except the officer and
perhaps the N. C. O. Colonel Donovan suggested that a rope be tied
to the prisoner and that he be compelled to guide a patrol to the
outpost, but the German protested that it was entirely unnecessary,
as he was willing to betray his comrades. A patrol was sent out which
captured the outpost and killed the officer, who, as predicted, put
up the only resistance encountered. Our patrol was delighted at
making the capture, but if a chance shot had ended the career of the
man who had betrayed his own officer, no one amongst ours would have
shed any tears.
Patrols from the 1st and 2nd battalions were sent out frequently
both by day and by night until September 17th. Some prisoners were
captured, and we had our own losses. In the first battalion a patrol
of Company F came back without Bernard Cafferty and Lawrence Whalen
who put for shelter with the rest, under withering German fire, and
are probably killed.
I have picked up a couple of stories which relieve a little this
sombre side of war. Lieutenant Ogle took out a patrol one dark night
and found in his party one soldier without a rifle, for which he
rebuked him in a savage whisper. Later on he discovered that it was
Father Carpentier who had accompanied the patrol—he says to render
spiritual first aid if anyone was wounded. “Yes,” I said, “that’s
what the priest told the bishop: that he went to the horse races so
as to be handy if one of the jockeys were thrown.”
Allen likes to tell stories on Donovan, for whom he has great
admiration. One afternoon he came in from patrol very hungry after
being away since early morning, and he dropped into Captain Buck’s
shack near Hassavant Farm, which was also occupied by Colonel
Donovan. “Captain Buck’s orderly promised me a roast beef sandwich
and left the room to prepare it. I repeat I was very hungry and was
anticipating with great pleasure the coming roast beef sandwich. In
a few minutes the orderly returned with the food. It was a large
sandwich with a luscious rare slice of roast beef protruding from
the slices of bread, and with it the orderly brought a cup of coffee
which he placed with the sandwich on the table. Precisely at this
moment a soldier entered with two prisoners; one a small Roumanian
about sixteen years of age, and the other a tall, gaunt, dirty
looking soldier, both members of a labor battalion. They had been
lost in the retreat and had wandered several days in the woods, until
encountering one of our patrols they had surrendered. Donovan grabs
the sandwich with one hand and the cup of coffee with the other.
The small boy got the sandwich and the old man the cup of coffee. I
immediately protested ‘Colonel,’ I said, ‘it is against regulations
to feed prisoners before they have been questioned at Division. You
should not feed these men.’ ‘Allen,’ he said, ‘you ought to be
ashamed of yourself. This poor little boy has been, wandering around
in the woods for two days with nothing to eat.’ ‘Besides,’ I said,
‘that was my sandwich.’ ‘And you,’ he continued, ‘a great big healthy
man, would take his meal away from him.’”
LA MARCHE
_September_ 26th
On September 17th our regiment was relieved by the Alabamas and the
men were encamped altogether in the town of La Marche, which consists
of one large _ferme_ with a few extra stone buildings and a number
of wooden shacks which were constructed by the Germans. In the big
farm house we are a happy party. Colonel Mitchell likes to have his
officers around him and they share his feelings to the full. We have
plenty of provisions, a good many of them German, and Staff and
Field Officers are messing together. At table are Colonel Mitchell,
Lieutenant Colonel Donovan, Majors Reilley, Anderson, Kelly and
Lawrence, Captain Meaney, Adjutant, Captain Merle-Smith, Operations
Officer, Lieutenant Rerat, Lieutenant Spencer and myself. If my fancy
leads me to the open air I can walk down the road to Pannes where
Captain Mangan with Kinney and Frank Smith are working away with
their doughty mule-skinners, unless perchance the German shells chase
them underground; or across the open field to the woods where our men
are leading a lazy though muddy existence.
Various incidents, amusing or tragical as is the way of war, broke
the comparative monotony of these ten days. There was a captive
observation balloon just outside the village which evidently must
have had a good view of the enemy because they were most anxious to
get it down. No aeroplane succeeded in setting fire to it, so the
Germans got after it with long range guns. One afternoon the fire
got so hot that the chauffeur of the truck to which it was attached
started down the road to get out of range with the big sausage still
floating in the air at the end of its cable, the Germans increasing
their range as their target moved. Sergeant Daly, the mess sergeant
of the Machine Gun Company, was peacefully crossing the field on
a lazy going mule unaware of what it was all about, when a German
shell aimed at the aeroplane down the road passed with the speed and
noise of a freight train about twenty feet above his head. The mule
gave one leap forward, and Daly was not trying to stop him; and two
thousand soldiers who had been watching the flight of the balloon
burst into a tremendous laugh.
On the night of September 23rd, a large calibre German shell made
a direct hit right into a shelter pit in the woods where five of
the best men in our machine gun company were lying asleep; Sergeant
Frank Gardella, who had won the D. S. C., Sergeant Harry P. Bruhn and
Sergeant J. F. Flint, with Privates H. McCallum and William Drake,
who was one of three brothers in the company. All five were blown out
of the hole by the concussion as high as the lower branches of the
trees. Sergeant Flint landed, bruised and stunned, but untouched by
the fragments. He gathered himself together and found Gardella killed
instantly and the other three terribly wounded. He bound them up,
calling for help, which was brought by Lieutenant De Lacour, and the
three wounded men were gotten back to the hospital by Major Lawrence
and Captain Dudley, but we had little hopes for them, and have since
heard that they died of their wounds.
Jim Cassidy, Frankie Maguire and Jimmy Kelly found some German
flour which they brought into the Headquarters Kitchen. They are a
guileless looking trio and I cannot say to this day how deep a part
they played in this affair. They gave the flour to Joe De Nair. Now
Joseph Patrick De Nair has knocked around this world for more years
than he will acknowledge to anybody—long enough at any rate, to
have learned how to turn his hand to anything; and he announced his
intention of making pancakes for all hands, especially me. Everybody
was set to work under Joe’s direction. Fred Miller and Anderson
salvaged some molasses. Al Ettinger was hustled off on his motorcycle
to Pannes to use my name with Lieutenant Scheffler for some oleo, of
which we were short. Pat Sharkey rustled wood; Frank Clason built
a fire and John Brickley flattened and polished a tin for Joe’s
cooking. Bill Hanley and Humphrey were appointed assistant chefs.
There was a group around me consisting of Proctor, Holt, Katz and
Proudfoot, and Joe came over: “All you ginks have got to work. There
are no guests around here except Father Duffy.” I told him they had
been reading an article in the “Daily Mail” on the Irish question and
were asking me about it. That saved them, for Ireland counted more
with Joe than even the success of his pancakes.
The bustling preliminaries were finally completed and Joe proceeded
to make his batter. He poured it on the tin and waited, turning-spoon
in hand until, like St. Lawrence, it should be done on one side.
Then with the air of an artist, he turned his first pancake with a
flourish. It landed on the pan with a bang like a shell striking
an elephant hut. “What the——,” muttered Joe, as he picked up the
results of his labor. “Well I’ll be——!” “What’s the matter Joe?” I
asked, conscious that something was going wrong and that my presence
deprived him of the normal outlet for his feelings. “What’s the
matter. Where’s those dummed kids?” “Well, what is the matter?”
“What’s the matter. What’s the matter? The stuff they gave me for
flour is plaster of Paris. That’s what’s the matter. Where the—— Oh
for Heaven’s sake, Father, go inside until I can let myself spill.”
BOIS DE MONTFAUCON
_October_ 10th.
On September 27th, we relieved the 84th Brigade in the line, taking
over the positions of the Iowas in subsector Marimbois, Major
Anderson’s battalion being in the forward position. It was the usual
business of patrolling until September 30th, when our Division was
relieved in the Sector by the 89th, and withdrew to the Bois de la
Belle Ozière, a little south of where we were before. Next morning,
October 1st, we marched about 10 kilometers to our embussing point,
where we found a tremendously large fleet of camions driven by the
little Chinks whom our fellows now call the undertakers, because they
associate them with deaths and burials.
Here I met an old friend, George Boothby of the New York _World_,
who had finally succeeded in getting over to the war by entering the
publicity department of the Y. M. C. A. The uniform with the red
triangle somehow caused a smile when seen on George, but he was the
first to grin.
We got started at four o’clock in the afternoon and spent the whole
of a freezing night on the journey, most of it lying along the Voie
Sacrée or Sacred Way, over which the supplies and reinforcements
had been sent which saved Verdun. Our destination was Mondrecourt
where we remained until October 4th, when we marched by daylight
to Jubécourt. On October 5th we moved north again, an interminable
march, with all the infantry in the Division going up on one mean
road, to the woods of Montfaucon.
I had it easy myself because Colonel Mitchell with his usual fine
way of doing a courtesy, asked me as a favor to get the automobile
and some personal baggage through, as he was going mounted. So Brown
and Dayton and myself got there by better roads ahead of the rest
and found ourselves at the headquarters of the 32nd Division, where
Colonel Callan and Father Dunnigan gave me a hospitable welcome.
When I heard “32nd Division,” my first thought was “Now I can see
McCoy again,” as he had been made General of the 63rd Brigade, but it
was two days before I descried his familiar figure crowned with the
French _casque_, a parting gift from the Comte de Chambrun when he
left Chaumont. It was a memorable meeting, but all too short, for he
had his brigade in line to look after.
The woods of Montfaucon, which lie in the area of the great battles
for Verdun, fills exactly a civilian’s idea of what No Man’s Land
should look like. In its day it was a fine forest of thick-girthed
trees, but they had been battered by long cannonading until not
one of them was as nature had fashioned it. Big branches had been
torn off and heavy trees knocked to the ground. The shell holes lay
close together like pock marks on a badly pitted face. It was almost
impossible to find a level spot to pitch a small pup tent. Owing to
recent rains and the long occupation of the woods by troops, both
our own and the enemy’s, the place was in a bad state of sanitation.
The roads, too, were bad and difficult for all kinds of traffic,
particularly motor traffic. There were very few dugouts, all of
them small and most of them dirty and wet. Division headquarters
established itself in trucks as being better than any existing
accommodations. General Lenihan kindly took me in and gave me a share
in the dugout occupied by himself and Lieutenant Grose. Together we
made a happy week of it in spite of bad conditions.
While here we received word that the Germans had asked for an
armistice. The older and wiser heads amongst us felt quite certain
that they would not get what they had asked for until they were
reduced to a more humble spirit; but we were worried about the effect
it might have on the morale of the troops, because it would be
particularly hard for soldiers to face another big battle if they had
made up their minds that the fighting was over. So Colonels Mitchell
and Donovan asked me to go amongst the men, sound them out, and set
them right if necessary. It was an easy commission. One of the first
men I spoke to was Vincent Mulholland, one of my parish recruits and
now 1st Sergeant of Company B. In answer to my first question he
replied “Of course I would like to see the war over, but not while
the old regiment is back here in army corps reserve. I want to
see this war end with the 69th right out in the front line, going
strong.” Not everybody was as emphatic as that, but I was able to
make a very assured report that the old timers at least would go into
a battle with the same spirit they had at Champagne or the Ourcq or
St. Mihiel.
Jack Mangan has left us to take charge of the organization of the
Headquarters Battalion of the new Second Army at Toul. Colonel
Haskell, who is assistant Chief of Staff in the 2nd Army, visited us
during our journey from Baccarat to Chalons and got a great reception
from the old-timers. Even then, he had his eye on Mangan and wanted
him to come with him. There is nothing that so much impresses me
as a proof of the absolute sense of duty and loyalty of our old
officers to this regiment as the attitude which they invariably take
concerning invitations to improve their rank and fortunes by going
elsewhere. The younger officers have no choice in the matter. We have
been sending home as instructors a few of them each month, and have
lost a large number of very efficient lieutenants. But those who
are free to exercise any choice invariably view the opportunity as
a question of conscience and put the matter up to me. Major McKenna
(then Captain) did this in the Lunéville area when he had a chance
for the office of Judge Advocate. In the same spirit Mangan said he
would not quit to join Haskell unless I decided that the Regiment
could spare him. My decision was that he could not go until Kinney
was made a Captain, as I knew that the latter could fill admirably
the extremely important post of R. S. O.
The hardest battle of all has been to keep Donovan with the Regiment,
but he has made that fight himself, as there is no place else in the
world that would tempt him for a minute. He has dodged orders to
send him to Staff College (which would inevitably mean a transfer
after he was finished), orders to go on special duties, invitations
or suggestions to receive promotion by transfer. General Menoher
and Colonel MacArthur have been always alert to take up the battle
to retain him with us. He and I tramped the muddy road tonight while
he disburdened himself of a new worry. The Provost Marshal General
wants an assistant who is at once a good lawyer and a keen soldier,
with a knowledge of French, and he has demanded that Donovan be sent
to him. Colonel Hughes, our new Chief of Staff, has done his best to
block it; but he has been informed by General Headquarters that the
authorities of the 42nd Division have managed to evade the wishes
of military authority in Colonel Donovan’s case six times already
and that this order is peremptory. All that General Menoher has been
able to do is to hold him until the next battle is over. Donovan is
disgusted and sore for the first time in my knowledge of him.
Every now and then there is some desultory shelling in the woods, but
the only sight of warfare that we get is in the sky. Our balloons
must be well placed, because the German flyers have been very
persistent in their attempts to bring them down, and their efforts
are too often successful. Today, we saw a German aviator perform a
feat which was one of the most daring things that any of us has seen
during the war. The rapid and sustained discharge of anti-aircraft
guns (which have their own unmistakable note) brought everybody to
the edge of the woods. Guided by puffs of white or black smoke which
dotted the sky above us, we were able to detect a single German plane
headed unswervingly towards us, and not flying very high either. Our
own planes were swooping towards him, but he came right on, without
any change of altitude or direction. He passed over our line of
balloons, and then turned abruptly and dived towards the one nearest
us, throwing his dart and passing on. The flames did not show at
once, and evidently noticing this, he checked his flight and started
back to finish the job. Just then the flames burst up, and he wheeled
in air to make his escape. Soldiers in combat divisions are the best
sports in the world. There must have been twenty thousand of them
watching this daring exploit of an enemy, and I feel certain there
was not a man amongst them who did not murmur “I hope to God the
beggar gets away.” There were a dozen of our planes after him by this
time and before he reached his own lines they forced him to earth,
landing in safety.
As I make my rounds amongst the men scattered through the woods, I
find many whose names I do not know. In the original regiment I knew
practically everyone by his name; but through a variety of causes
half of those men are no longer with us and their places have been
taken by others, with whom, on account of our constant motion, it has
been impossible to get acquainted.
The wearing down of a regiment, even outside of battle, is constant.
Brigade and Division Headquarters select those that they want for
their own work, bright sergeants are sent off to Army Candidate’s
School to be trained for officers, and are invariably sent to other
divisions. There is a constant trickle of sick men to hospitals,
from which many never return to us; and most of all, there are
the tremendous losses that a regiment, particularly an infantry
regiment, has to pay in battle. Our total losses in action of killed,
wounded and missing up to the present are about 2,600 men. Taking
all causes into consideration nearly 3,000 of our original men have
been dropped, at least temporarily, from our rolls since we came to
France. If none of them had returned there would be now only 600
of them left, but as a matter of fact, nearly all of our wounded
who have graduated into the “Fit for Service” class have insisted
on their right to come back. So about half of our present total of
2,983 men are of the original outfit. It is easy to pick them out
by glancing down a company roster, because our serial numbers are
all under 100,000 while the new men have numbers running into the
millions.
I do not find that the spirit of the regiment as a whole has changed
on account of these fresh accessions. A regiment is largely what
its officers and non-coms make it. Practically all of our present
officers have been through all the fights with us and have gained
their present ranks in battle, and the non-coms are naturally men
of the original regiment who have earned their stripes by good
soldiering in camp and in the field. These men are the custodians
of regimental pride and regimental tradition, and their spirit is
communicated to or imposed upon the newcomers.
Most of these newcomers moreover, have proved themselves excellent
material. The first few that were sent us in Lunéville were poor
foreigners from the coal mining districts who could scarcely speak
English, but in Baccarat we got three hundred men from Camp Devens
who were a fine lot of fellows, and, now that they have gone through
the big fights with us, are not to be distinguished in any way from
the original volunteers. We received a lot of first class men also
from the Kentucky-Tennessee and the Texas-Oklahoma National Guard
organizations, among the latter being a number of Indians. All of
these replacements who have gone through battles with us are now
absolutely part and parcel of the 165th Infantry and have created
bonds of battle friendship with our Irish and New York lads which are
closer than any family tie can be.
In any extended campaign it is a very rare soldier who does not get
the experience of being in a hospital at least once; although we
could not possibly spend as much time in them as rumors that they get
at home make our people think we do. I myself have been killed or
wounded at least a dozen times. The other day Lester Sullivan, who
comes from my parish, looked up from a letter he was reading and said
to me “Father Duffy if you had ten thousand dollars insurance for
every time you were killed you’d never need to work for the rest of
your life.”
After battles of course they are being sent back by hundreds and
thousands. Jim Healey was telling me a yarn which hits off a type of
humor that is characteristic of the American. A hospital train pulled
into a French station with its doors and windows and platforms
crowded with “walking cases” and stopped on a track alongside a
similar train with the same kind of a crowd looking out. “Where
are youse guys from?” shouted one of the soldiers. “Fohty-second
Division. Whey you all from?” “De rest of de Forty-second Division”
came the reply—everybody shouting with laughter at this bit of
delicate and tender humor.
Hospitals thus become, like London coffee houses in the 18th century,
the clearing houses of news and the creators of public opinion. They
are the only place where soldiers meet men who do not belong to their
own Division; in fact, soldiers seldom meet anybody outside their
own regiment and many a man’s friendships do not extend beyond his
company. But in hospitals, and more particularly in convalescent
and casual camps, where they are able to move around, they come
into touch with the whole American Expeditionary Force. Battles are
discussed, organizations criticized, reputations of officers made or
unmade.
It is in these places also that the sentiment for one’s own Division
grows strong. Regiments may fight with each other within the
Division, but as opposed to other Divisions they present a united
front. The regulars and marines in the famous 2nd Division have
their own little differences, but they do not show when they come
up against men from the 1st, 26th, or 42nd. Our own New Yorks and
Alabamas started off with a small family row at Camp Mills which has
been utterly forgotten, partly because they have always been fighting
side by side on every battle front and have grown to admire each
other, but even more, I suspect, because they have formed ties of
blood brotherhood back in convalescent camps by getting together to
wallop the marines.
Every soldier in a combat division thinks that his own division
is doing all the work and getting none of the credit. But then I
never met a soldier yet who does not say “It’s a funny thing that
my platoon always happens to get the dirty details.” This much is
true—that there is a number of divisions which can be counted on the
fingers of one’s two hands that have been kept right up against the
buzz-saw ever since last June. Of course we are not proper judges of
the policies or exigencies of the high command, but everybody who is
in touch with men knows that they would be better fitted for their
work in the line if they could be taken out for a few weeks rest. The
discomforts and anxieties of life at the front are cumulative, and
men gradually get fretful and grouchy as well as run down physically.
It is surprising to see how quickly they recuperate in a rest area.
We ought to be taken out of these woods to some more civilized
place where the men can go on leave or hang around billets, writing
letters, reading, cleaning equipment and forgetting all about battle
and bloodshed, and getting freshened up mentally and physically. As
one fellow said to me “I’d like to get somewhere where I could hear
a hen cackle and see a kid run across the road. I’d like to be where
I could get a change from corn-willie by going off some evening with
a few of the fellows and getting some old French lady to cook us up
some oofs (_oeufs_) and _pommes frites_, with a bottle of red ink to
wash it down.”
We knew that there had been going on for three weeks now a battle for
the possession of all this Argonne District, in which many American
Divisions were taking part, and amongst them our sturdy fellow
citizens from New York, the 77th Division, who had succeeded us at
Baccarat and in the Château Thierry Sector. We expected that we would
be called upon to relieve the 32nd Division which was fighting just
in front of us. But today, October 10th, came orders to proceed to
the west along the river Aire for the relief of the 1st Division.
CHAPTER IX
THE ARGONNE OFFENSIVE
In the general operation which was shared in by all the Allied armies
in France to turn the German retreat into a rout, the most difficult
and most important task was assigned to the Americans. The Belgians,
British and French could only exercise a frontal pressure on the
enemy except for a few local salients which might be created here
and there. But if the American army could smash their resistance
on the southeast end of the German lines, and particularly if it
could break through so as to capture the military trunk line which
ran through Sedan to their depot at Metz, large bodies of Germans
farther to the west would be brought close to the point of surrender.
Naturally, the German Commanders knew this as well as Marshal Foch
or General Pershing and they massed their defenses at the point of
greatest danger. To the civilian mind, when troops are advancing
ten or fifteen kilometers a day and capturing prisoners and guns,
they are heroes of tremendous battles. But soldiers know that in
the tremendous battles an advance of two or three kilometers is a
big gain, to be paid for at a great cost of human life. We had an
example of the first kind at Saint Mihiel, which loomed large in the
imagination of the folks at home, but which to the soldiers was a
walkover. The Argonne was no walkover during the first five weeks.
The nature of the country made it easy to defend, hard to capture. It
is a hilly country—and that always means plenty of woods. The hills,
moreover, connect themselves up in a general east and west direction
and the advance had to be made by conquering a series of heights.
When we went into the fight the line-up of Divisions nearest to us
were the 77th, on the extreme left, going up through the forest, the
82nd on the other side of the Aire, the 1st, which we relieved, and
on our right, the 32nd. Further east were other divisions extending
up to the Meuse, while yet other bodies of Americans were working to
cross that river and fight their way up its eastern bank.
In the sector on the east side of the Aire, which we now took over,
the 35th Division had been first to go in. At great sacrifice it
had captured successive villages and ridges, but had finally been
repulsed on the last hill before reaching Exermont and had been
forced to fall back. Then the old reliables of the 1st Division, who
had been our first troops to arrive in France and the first to engage
with the enemy at Cantigny, were called upon to do their share. They
did it, and more than their share. They captured the ridges up to
Exermont and Fleville and Sommerance, swept the Germans off the Cote
de Maldah and there established their lines at the price of half the
infantry in the Division.
Now it was our turn. If the others had a hard task, ours was
certainly no easier, because it was given to us to break the final
and long prepared line of German defenses, called the Kriemhilde
Stellung.
We marched to our new positions on October 11th, our strength
at the time being 53 officers and a little less than 3,000 men.
Regimental headquarters were set up at Exermont, the Supply Company
being down the road at Apremont. The first day the support and
reserve battalions were in a wide gully to the east, called Chaudron
Farm. The 3rd battalion effected the relief on the front line,
Major Reilley commanding, Lieutenant Heller, Adjutant, Company I
under Captain Michael J. Walsh, who had insisted on giving up the
Headquarters Company and taking a line Company so that he could take
part himself in the fighting; Company K under Lieutenant Guignon;
Company L, Captain Given, Company M, Captain Rowley. In support
was the 1st Battalion now commanded by Major Kelly, Lieutenant
O’Connor, Adjutant, Lieutenant Connelly being Intelligence Officer.
The commanders of A, B, C, and D, being Lieutenant W. Hutchinson,
Lieutenant Clifford, Captain Bootz and Captain Buck. Second Battalion
under Major Anderson, Lieutenant Fechheimer, Adjutant, with E, F,
G and H under Captain Conners, Captain Marsh, Captain Stout and
Lieutenant Ogle.
As the companies marched up to take their place in line I stood
on a rising ground in the bleak and open plain to perform my own
duties in their regard, which for many of them would be the last
time. The frequently recurring rows of rude crosses which marked the
last resting places of many brave lads of the 1st Division were an
eloquent sermon on death; so that no words of warning from me were
needed and I was able to do my holy business in a matter of fact way
which soldiers like better than being preached at. General Lenihan
is fond of quoting Private Terence Mulvaney’s remark: “What I like
about the old church is that she’s so remarkable regimental in her
fittin’s.”
In former days men massed together for battle; today they scatter. It
is interesting to watch the deliberate disintegration of a Division
as it approaches the front line. It breaks into brigades and into
regiments for convenience in using the roads. Then the regiments
are broken into battalions, usually, according to the stock phrase
“echeloned in depth” that is, one on the line, one in support and
one in reserve. The battalion breaks up into companies as it gets
nearer the front; and the companies, when they reach the point where
they are likely to be under shell fire, separate into platoons with
considerable distance between them. In action men advance with
generous intervals between.
When they get close to the enemy the advance is made by frequent
rushes, about a fourth of the men in a platoon running forward,
taking advantage of the ground, while their comrades keep the enemy’s
heads down by their fire, until all of them can get close. In its
last stages the warfare of these small groups is more like the Indian
fighting in which the first General of our Republic learned the
profession of arms, than anything which the imagination of civilians
pictures it. To take machine gun nests—I am not speaking of regularly
wired and entrenched positions which it is the business of artillery
to reduce before the infantry essays them—it is often a matter of
individual courage and strategy. Sometimes the fire of a platoon can
reduce the number of the gunners or make the less hardy of them keep
their heads down so that the pieces cannot be properly handled; but
often the resistance is overcome by a single sharp-shooter firing
from the elbow of a tree, or by some daring fellow who works his way
across hollows which are barely deep enough to protect him from fire,
or up a gully or watercourse, until he is near enough to throw hand
grenades. Then it is all over.
Our supply company and band were stationed at the Ferme de
l’Esperance on the Aire River. Going north along the river road as
far as Fleville one finds a road going to the right through a deep
defile which leads to the village of Exermont about a mile and a
half away. On the north and on the south the view is bounded by
steep hills which have been captured by the 1st Division. To the
north a muddy trail winds around the base of hill 247 leading to a
wide, rough, partly wooded plain. This was covered with the bodies
of the brave soldiers of the 1st Division, more thickly than I have
seen anywhere else with the exception of the hill where lay our 3rd
Battalion north of the Ourcq. There were many German wooden shelters
at the base of the hill to the right, with bodies of dead Germans,
many of them killed in hand to hand conflict.
Our 3rd Battalion took over the front line on the Cote de Maldah, a
maze of woods and ravines. Companies M and I were on the twin knolls
of the Cote, K and L in the woods behind. To their left were the
Ohios at Sommerance, while the Alabamas and Iowas held positions
similar to our own on hills 263 and 269. Our 2nd Battalion was in a
shrubby woods to the rear, and the 1st Battalion was originally held
under protection of the hill just outside of Exermont, in which
town were the headquarters of the 165th and 166th and the Regimental
Dressing Stations of the 165th and 167th. Our artillery, which had
been in support of the 32nd Division, rejoined us on October 13th,
making a hard, forced march with animals that had been reduced in
strength and numbers by our continuous warfare. Colonel Henry Reilly,
a West Point graduate, and a man of great intelligence and force of
character, was appointed to direct the operations of the artillery
brigade, leaving Lieutenant Colonel Redden to take charge of his
own regiment, the 149th Field Artillery. The artillery of the 1st
division also remained to assist in the sector.
The German main line of defense—the Kriemhilde Stellung, was about
three kilometers in front of our brigade but less than two in front
of the 84th Brigade. It was a well prepared and strongly wired
position consisting of three lines of wires and trenches. The first
rows of wire were breast high and as much as twenty feet wide, all
bound together in small squares by iron supports so that it was
almost impossible for artillery to destroy it unless the whole ground
were beaten flat. Back of this were good trenches about four feet
deep with machine gun shelters carefully prepared. Behind this front
line at thirty yards intervals they had two other lines with lower
wire and shallower trenches. Starting from our left these trenches
ran from west to east on our side of two small villages called St.
Georges and Landres et St. Georges. From in front of the latter
village the wire turned in a southeasterly direction towards us,
following the lowest slope of the Cote de Chatillon and embracing
LaMusarde Ferme, thence swinging east again to take in the Tuilerie
Ferme. The Cote de Chatillon was a high wooded knoll which commanded
the terrain to west and south.
The task of the 84th Brigade was to work their way through the Bois
de Romagne and capture the two farms and the Cote de Chatillon.
Our brigade front was of a different character, and with its own
particular kind of difficulty. The terrain was the most nearly level
section we had seen in this country, and was mostly open, though
with irregular patches of woods. From the Cote de Maldah it sloped
off towards the north to a small brook that ran in a general east to
west direction through ground that was a bit swampier than the rest;
and from there, rising gradually, up to the German wire. A good road
with a bridge over the brook ran northeast and southwest between
Sommerance and Landres et St. Georges. At the beginning it lay
entirely in the Ohio sector but our advance to the north would bring
us astride of it.
Our attack had to be made over open ground with the purpose
of carrying by direct assault wired entrenchments. It was the
warfare of 1916 and 1917 over again, and everybody knows from the
numerous British and French accounts of such action that it can be
accomplished only by tremendous artillery preparation, and that even
then gains must be made at a great loss of Infantry. But a glance
at the maps, in which blue dotted lines represented the enemy wire,
showed us that we had greater danger to fear than the resistance
which would come from our direct front. The blue dots ran straight
across the right of the Ohio front and all of ours, and then swung
in a southerly direction for a kilometer or more. They prophesied
eloquently to anyone who had the slightest knowledge of war that our
main danger was to come from our right flank unless that hill could
be taken first. Donovan’s desire was to advance until we would be on
a level with the wire to our right, hold that line with a sufficient
number of troops to guard against counter attack, and throw in our
main strength on the left of the 84th Brigade, they striking from
the south and we from the west until the Cote de Chatillon should
be taken. Continuing the advance from there, we could take Landres
et St. Georges from the east. The orders however were to attack,
head on, with four regiments abreast. The 84th Brigade was given
three hours start to fight their way through the southernmost German
defences. It was calculated that they could get far enough forward
during this time so that both brigades could keep advancing in even
line.
Preparations for the assault were made difficult by weather
conditions. The sun never shone and a large part of the time it
rained steadily. It was difficult to observe the enemy lines or
their troop movements from balloons, and the advantage of aeroplanes
was theirs—not ours. The abominable condition of the roads made it
impossible to get sufficient ammunition forward and our artillery was
working under a great handicap. Facilities for communication with the
front line were poor throughout the whole action. The wire, strung
along the wet ground, was all the time getting out of order; horses
were few and runners had to make their way back through seas of mud,
which also caused untold difficulty in getting forward food and
ammunition.
However, everything was planned as well as possible under the
conditions. It was arranged to have tanks to help our men get through
the wire. The gas and flame Engineers were also to render assistance,
and Colonel Johnson sent detachments of his Engineers (for whom I
have supplied a motto from an old song: “Aisy wid the Shovel and
Handy with the Gun”) to go with the Infantry as wire-cutters, and to
follow up to repair roads.
During the two days in which these plans were being made the battle
activity on both sides was conducted mainly by the artillery. Company
G had barely occupied its position in the woods on the evening of
October 11th, when it was subjected to a heavy shelling, with the
loss of M. Black killed and Sergeant Edward McNamara, Corporal
Framan, Kessler, Dan McSherry and William McManus wounded. Young
Jim Gordon of Company E was running for a litter to carry off the
wounded when a fragment from a gas shell struck him in the chest and
killed him instantly. Arthur Brown of Company I was killed on the
Cote de Maldah. Early on the morning of the 12th the men of Company
C who were lying along the southern bases of the hill not far from a
battery of artillery which the enemy were trying to get, had some
shells dropped amongst them and H. Harbison, L. Jones and Frank Foley
were killed and Gorman and others wounded.
Lieutenant Colonel Donovan was assigned by Colonel Mitchell to have
general charge of the situation at the front while he with Captain
Merle-Smith as operations officer and Captain Meaney as Adjutant,
handled it from the P. C. in Exermont. Lieutenant Lawrence Irving, in
charge of the Intelligence Section, was at the observation post.
Our artillery preparations for the assault were begun at 3:30 on the
morning of October 14th. Our brigade, in touch with the 82nd Division
on our left, jumped off at 8:30 in the same morning. In our regiment
Companies I and M were in advance, with K and L in immediate support,
a company of the Wisconsin Machine Gunners being with them and our
2nd Battalion supplying details for carrying ammunition, etc. The
front wave had not gotten well started before it was evident that
the enemy were expecting an attack, and from the beginning our men
went forward through steady shell fire which increased as their
purpose became more clearly manifested. Two enemy aeroplanes flew
along the lines of our Division discharging machine guns and no doubt
keeping their own artillery posted on the results of their fire.
But, in spite of losses, our men kept going forward, stimulated by
the encouragement of Major Reilley and his Company Commanders Walsh,
Guignon, Given and Rowley. They had about two miles to go before
reaching the enemy’s wire.
Captain Rowley with Company M was to the left alongside of the Ohios
and Captain Michael Walsh to the right, and at the beginning in
touch with the Alabamas, a touch which was soon lost, as the latter
regiment came to close grips with the enemy at a point further
south than our point of attack, and our companies pushing northward
found it difficult to maintain liaison with them. The amount of
time assigned to the 84th Brigade to capture Hill 288, the Tuilerie
Farm, and the defenses at the base of the Cote de Chatillon was
not sufficient for the magnitude of the task that was given them to
accomplish. By noon their line had passed Hill 288 and was close to
the enemy outposts, but at that time our Brigade was already at their
Second Objective. From the outset the most destructive fire we had to
undergo came from machine guns firing from this Cote to our right and
enfilading our whole line; and the further forward we got the more
destructive it became. By 1 o’clock half of the third battalion had
been killed or wounded. Colonel Donovan, with Lieutenants Wheatley
and Betty, and Major Reilley with Lieutenant Heller and Sergeant
Courtney, were all over the field sustaining the spirits of the men.
There is no tougher experience than that of advancing over a
considerable distance under fire. The trouble is that the men are
being shot down by an enemy whom they cannot see. They reply with
their rifles and machine guns, but have only the vaguest hope that
they are accomplishing anything more than disconcerting their
opponents. When a soldier gets where he can see the foe he develops
a sort of hunter’s exhilaration. His blood warms up and he actually
forgets that the other fellow is shooting at him. Advancing in the
open against trenches he has only the sensations of the hunted. Heavy
fire begins to rain around them, men are hit, the line drops, each
man in whatever shelter he can find. Then the order is given to rise
and go forward again; spurts of dust are kicked up, the first three
or four men to advance walk into the line of bullets and go down
before they have gone ten feet. And the others who have seen them
fall must go straight ahead and take that same deadly chance, never
knowing when they themselves will stop a German missile. It takes
undaunted leadership and tremendous courage to keep going forward
under such conditions.
That leadership the men possessed in their battalion commander and
those under him. Captain Rowley, a quiet, determined man, kept M
Company moving forward until he was knocked senseless by a tree
which was blown down upon him through the explosion of a shell. His
place was taken by Lieutenant Collier, who was shortly afterwards
also wounded, and Lieutenant Don Elliott found himself in command.
Company I was led by Captain Mike Walsh until he received a long
tearing wound through the arm. He left his Company under command of
Lieutenant Roderick Hutchinson, who led the company until he too was
wounded, and started back alone to the Dressing-Station under the
slope of the hill, to have his wound bandaged up. On his way back
to the line he was hit once more and instantly killed. Nobody knew
that he was killed until his body was discovered by Edward Healy,
who buried him; and was shortly afterwards killed himself. It was
well for his Company that they did not know the misfortune they had
sustained because no loss in our whole campaign was more deeply felt
than that of this rugged, whole-souled soldier and leader of men.
Companies L and K, under Captain Given and Lieutenant Guignon, were
also having their troubles, especially Company K under the daring
leadership of its youthful commander. In all of the companies there
was great loss amongst our old time non-coms as they moved around
looking after the men instead of taking shelter with them.
But the outstanding figure in the mind of every officer and man was
Lieutenant Colonel William J. Donovan. Donovan is one of the few men
I know who really enjoys a battle. He goes into it in exactly the
frame of mind that he had as a college man when he marched out on
the gridiron before a football game, and his one thought throughout
is to push his way through. “Cool” is the word the men use of him
and “Cool” is their highest epithet of praise for a man of daring,
resolution and indifference to danger. He moved out from the Cote de
Maldah at the beginning of the attack with his headquarters group,
just behind the supporting companies—his proper place, though he
had no intention of remaining there if he could do more efficient
work further forward. He had prepared himself for the task he had
determined on in a characteristic way. Instead of taking off all
signs of rank, as officers are supposed to do to avoid being made a
mark for sharp-shooters, he had donned a Sam Brown belt with double
shoulder straps, so that none of his men could miss knowing who he
was; that the enemy also would pick him out was to him a matter
of serene indifference. As soon as the advance began to slow up
under the heavy losses, he passed to the front line of the leading
elements. The motto of the Donovan clan must be “Come on.” It was
“Come on, fellows, it’s better ahead than it is here,” or “Come on,
we’ll have them on the run before long,” or with his arm across the
shoulder of some poor chap who looked worried, “Come on, old sport,
nobody in this Regiment was ever afraid.” He would stand out in front
of the men lying in shell holes into which he had ordered them, and
read his map unconcernedly with the Machine-gun bullets kicking up
spurts of dust around his feet; and would turn smilingly, “Come on
now, men, they can’t hit me and they won’t hit you.” It was more like
a Civil War picture than anything we have seen in this fighting to
watch the line of troops rushing forward led by their Commander.
But their task was more than any battalion could perform. The
conditions on the right made it impossible to reach the wire in front
with strength enough to break through it. The 84th Brigade was doing
heroic work, but it was to take two days more of tremendously hard
fighting for them before the Cote de Chatillon could be reduced. The
nature of the fighting turned their front obliquely in a northeast
direction, while our Brigade was advancing due north. Major Norris
of the Alabamas filled in the gap between our right and their left
during the afternoon, thus insuring against an attack from the
Germans which might break through our line. Their brigade captured
Hill 288 that day but was held up in front of the Tuilerie Farm. It
was not until the evening of the 16th and by continuous and desperate
fighting that our gallant brothers of the 84th Brigade pounded their
way to the crest of the Cote de Chatillon.
In the afternoon, after six hours of battle, Donovan reported that
the 3rd Battalion, which had gotten up to the slopes under the
German wire, was too badly shot up to be able to push through. He
requested an artillery barrage of an hour and a half to keep the
Germans distracted while he withdrew the 3rd Battalion carrying their
wounded, through the 1st Battalion under Major Kelly, who would take
their place. At dusk Kelly made his advance by infiltration, Company
C on the left, Company D on the right. The men stole forward, losing
heavily but taking advantage of every inequality in the surface of
the ground. Towards the right of our position a rough wagon road
run up through a draw between two gradual slopes and just before
it reached the main road between Sommerance and Landres it passed
through a deep cut, in some places eight feet deep, part of which was
included in the enemy’s wire defenses.
The battalion fought its way right up to the enemy’s wire, only
to find it an impassable barrier. Our artillery fire had not made
a break in it anywhere, as for lack of aeroplanes to register the
effects of their work they had been shooting entirely by the map.
Groups of our lads dashed up to the wire only to be shot down to
the last man. Some ran through a passage made for the roadway, the
only possible method of getting through, but this of course was
absolutely covered by the German guns, and every man that went
through it was shot and, if not killed outright, taken prisoner.
Soldiers of ours and of the Engineers with wire-cutting tools lay
on their faces working madly to cut through the strands, while
riflemen and grenadiers alongside of them tried to beat down the
resistance. But they were in a perfect hail of bullets from front
and flank, and every last man was killed or wounded. Further back
was a concentration of artillery fire, of bursting shells and groans
and death, that made the advance of the support platoons a veritable
hell.
The attackers finally fell back a short distance to the deep cut
in the road. Our second attempt to break through had failed. Major
Kelly with Lieutenant Connelly and parts of companies A and C held
this place as a vantage point to make a third attempt in the morning.
Bootz was in charge on the left of the main road. About one hundred
and fifty yards south of the wire the ground sloped, and on this
reverse slope Colonel Donovan established his P. C., with Lieutenant
Betty as his adjutant, Wheatley having been wounded. With him also
were detachments from the Headquarters and Machine Gun Companies
under Lieutenant Devine and Sergeants Sheahan, Heins, Leo Mullin,
Doherty and Gillespie. During the night, accompanied by Sergeant
Major Bernard White, the Colonel himself scouted up to the enemy
wire to examine the conditions for the next days’ attack. Tanks were
promised to roll through the wire, shoot up the machine gun nests and
make a passage for the infantry. Morning came but no tanks in sight.
Lieutenant Grose and Boberg and Brosnan of Brigade Headquarters were
scouring the roads in search of them. It took two hours to get a
message back, as the telephone was out. The artillery barrage ran
its appointed course and still no tanks. Kelly once more made his
attack, under conditions that he soon discovered to be impossible for
success. Every man that reached the wire was hit, and losses were
heavy in his elements further back.
About half an hour after the advance began a rifle bullet struck
Colonel Donovan in the leg, going through the bone and rendering him
helpless. He would have ordered anybody else to be evacuated, but he
refused to allow himself to be removed. In answer to the protests of
his Adjutant he swore he would stay there and see the thing through.
So he lay in his shell-hole and continued to direct the battle. It
was bound to be a one-sided one until the tanks should come up. Our
men in the sunken road were being shelled by trench mortars which
dropped their shells into the narrow cutting, spreading disaster. Our
elements in the more open ground to the rear were under continuous
shell fire as the enemy artillery had the exact ranges.
One of the creepiest feelings in war is that of being boxed in by
artillery fire. A shell lands to the right of a group of men; no harm
in that—all safe. Then one lands to the left, to front, or rear,
and the next is closer in between them. Then everybody knows what
is happening. That square is in for a shelling until nothing living
inside it will escape except by miracle. This was the experience of
many a group that morning, and Colonel Donovan and his headquarters
men had to undergo it to the utmost. There always has to be a good
deal of motion around a Post of Command, so this slope was made a
special target. Shells fell all over it, and men were blown out of
their holes by direct hits. Thus perished Patrick Connors of Company
H and Color Sergeant William Sheahan, one of the finest and bravest
of men. Donovan (and Major Anderson, who had come up and was lying
in the same hole with him) escaped without further injury. Messages
which had to be carried the short distance between his shell-hole and
where Kelly was were sent with difficulty, many runners being killed
or wounded. They had no direct connection with the rear. It was a
lone fight, but both Donovan and Kelly were of the same mind, not to
desist from the attack so long as any chance remained of putting it
through.
Finally the tanks appeared coming up the road from Sommerance.
Everybody was elated. At last there was a chance to get through that
wire and mop up those infernal machine gun nests. But the tanks
were under artillery fire, some of which was evidently doing damage
to them, and with disappointment and disgust the Infantry saw them
pause, turn about and rumble down the road to the rear. About 10:30
Captain Buck, who had been wounded and was on his way to the Dressing
Station, brought word to Donovan that a counter-attack was evidently
in preparation. Donovan’s party urged him to let them carry him back,
but he swore at them, and ordered them to bring up more machine
guns and the Stokes Mortars, under Lieutenant O’Donohue and Sergeant
Fitzsimmons. These were disposed in an advantageous position, which
means a dangerous one, and the counter-attack was smothered in its
inception.
By 11:00 o’clock Donovan had decided that the 1st Battalion had too
many losses to make it possible for them to get through. He told
Anderson, who was with him, to return and bring forward his battalion
so that Kelly’s men and their wounded could pass through.
Kelly, whose fighting blood was up, at first refused to retire,
demanding written orders from his chief before he would give up his
claim on the post of danger and glory. Donovan gave the orders and
then permitted himself to be carried in, leaving the situation in the
very capable hands of Major Anderson.
This relief was begun about noon with the aid of a heavy barrage from
our artillery, of which nobody in the line knew the exact reason.
The reason was that Brigade had ordered another attack which was
originally scheduled for 11:15. Merle-Smith had protested that we had
only one battalion left and that it was unwise to use up our last
effectives. The only result was that the barrage was extended until
noon, on Colonel Mitchell’s report that it would be impossible to get
the orders forward to the front by 11:15. He sent the order in three
different directions, but none of his messages arrived until the
barrage which was to cover the attack had passed over and the relief
of the 1st battalion had already begun.
The situation was a stalemate. We had made an advance of three
kilometers under desperate conditions, but in spite of our losses
and sacrifices we had failed to take our final objective. Well,
success is not always the reward of courage. There is no military
organization, no matter how famous, that has not its record of
failures. In this war every regiment and division in the older armies
has known times when it was impossible for them to do all that it
was hoped they might be able to accomplish, and most especially when
they were called upon to capture well defended trench positions.
Indeed, since 1915, no commanders in the older armies would dream of
opposing to strongly wired and entrenched positions the naked breasts
of their infantry. They take care that the wire, or part of it at
least, is knocked down by artillery or laid flat by tanks before
they ask unprotected riflemen to try conclusions with its defenders.
When the wire is deep, and still intact, and strongly defended, the
infantry can do little but hang their heroic bodies on it.
But we shall not dwell on this. The most glorious day in the history
of our regiment in the Civil War was Fredericksburg, where the Old
69th in the Irish Brigade failed to capture the impregnable position
on Marye’s Heights, though their dead with the green sprigs in
their caps lay in rows before it. Landres et St. Georges is our
Fredericksburg and the Kriemhilde Stellung our Marye’s Heights.
Whatever the mature judgment of history may decide about it, the
opinion of our Corps Commander, General Summerall, was the one that
counted most. He had been in command of the 1st Division when it made
its attack in this same area, and was promoted after the battle to
the duty of commanding the corps into which we moved. On the evening
of the 15th he came to our brigade and made a visit to our P. C. in
Exermont to demand why our final objective had not been taken. He
was not well handled, Colonel Mitchell is a good soldier, and one of
the finest men in the world, but he is entirely too modest to say a
strong word in his own defense. Everybody is familiar with the kind
of man who, in spite of the merits of his case, makes a poor figure
on the witness stand. Donovan, who is an able lawyer and likes the
give and take of battle, verbal or otherwise, would have sized up the
Corps Commander’s mood and would have been planning a new attack with
him after the first ten minutes. Captain Merle-Smith stated the facts
of the case—the enfilading fire from the Cote de Chatillon, the
unbroken wire in our front, the inadequacy of artillery against it on
account of lack of air service to register their fire, the failure
of the tanks and the extent of our losses. General Summerall was in
no mood for argument. He wanted results, no matter how many men were
killed, and he went away more dissatisfied than he had come.
As a result, by his orders the Division Commander relieved General
Lenihan, Colonel Mitchell and also Captain Merle-Smith and Lieutenant
Betty. As a matter of fact, a few days later when the ill humor
had cooled down, Merle-Smith was sent back to us in command of a
battalion and Betty also returned. When General Lenihan submitted his
statement of the actions of his brigade (supplemented by messages and
maps) to the Army commander, General Liggett, the latter assured him
that he would name him to fill the first vacancy in a combat Brigade
on the fighting line. This happened to be in the 77th Division, and
two weeks later I met him at St. Juvin, still in line and going
strong.
I do not wish to adopt too critical a tone with regard to the action
of the Corps Commander. He is the military superior, and his judgment
must be accepted even if it is wrong. Moreover, the loss of rank
or position by officers weighs nothing with me in comparison with
the two big factors: the proper handling of the men under them; and
victory. In the heat of action every commanding general has to make
rapid decisions. General Summerall came to one of these decisions in
our regard, and we must abide by it.
But speaking as an historian, I think that his decision was wrong.
It was a question of whether our Colonel was a man to get out of
his regiment all that it was capable of. No person who knows him
could ever accuse Harry D. Mitchell of losing his nerve in a battle.
He liked a fight. He would have been happier out on the line as
Lieutenant Colonel than back in his P. C., but he knew that there was
nobody who could handle an attack and put courage and dash into it
better than Colonel Donovan, and that any body of troops, even less
experienced and willing than our own, would fight to the last under
such leadership. Colonel Mitchell’s spirit was equally resolute and
his orders crisp and strong. The whole regiment was devoted to him,
and anxious to do their very best under his command. Indeed, amongst
the older men, there was never any doubt about our ultimate success.
It had taken five days to reduce the German resistance at the Ourcq,
but we did it. With more help from artillery and tanks, they said, we
can make it yet. The worst blow to our morale that we ever received
was inflicted by the order relieving our Colonel.
The days following were anxious and gloomy ones for us, and our
spirits were kept up by the unchanged dry humor of the man we were
sorry to lose. When he was going, I said, to relieve the tension:
“Now you are leaving us just when I had you running fine and I’ll
have the job of breaking in another new Commanding Officer.”
“Father,” he said, “this continuous change of Commanders would break
up any other regiment I ever knew, but this old regiment can keep
itself going on, no matter who commands it. It would get along on
spirit and unity if it never had a Commanding Officer.”
Our new commander was Lieutenant Colonel Charles H. Dravo, who had
been Division Machine Gun Officer. A number of us have known him for
a considerable time and like him already, all the more because his
first action was a report on conditions in the regiment which was
aimed at the restoration of Colonel Mitchell to his command.
We had 53 officers going in at the Argonne and of those five were
killed and fifteen wounded. Of those killed, after Captain Michael
Walsh, the greatest sense of loss was felt at the death of Lieutenant
Andrew Ellett of Company E, a soldier of unlimited courage. We
did not know until long afterwards that Lieutenant Henry Davis,
an officer of the same type, who had been wounded by shell fire
on October 12th, died in Hospital. Two young officers who were
comparatively newcomers in the Regiment, but who had made many
friends, Lieutenants William O’Connor and John P. Orr, were killed on
the field.
Headquarters Company lost, beside Color Sergeant Sheahan, Sergeant
Edward J. Hussey, with Gustave Cosgrove and Charles Schulmerick and
James Gaunthier, died of wounds.
Company A lost Sergeants James P. Duff and Fred. Stenson; Corporals
Sidney H. Clark, Bernard McOwen, John Nallin, and Peter Barbee,
David Bignell, William Cook, Jeremiah Dineen, Silas Donegan,
Raymond Fitzpatrick, Charles Freeman, Frank Gilday, Lester Hess,
Oscar Iverson, Edward Kelly, Lafayette Sharp, A. B. Harrell,
William Smith, William Bress, Leo Tully, Charles Hallberg and Earl
Wilder.
Company B lost Sergeants James Donnelly and John J. Mahoney;
Corporal Thomas F. Winters; and Philip Benoit, Joseph Cole, Thomas
J. Cronin, David Dempsey, Thomas Doyle, Dewey Houck, Jesse Johnson,
Benjamin Robert, Ed Zeiss, Robert Wallack.
Company C lost Sergeant Edward Kearin; Corporals James Farnan,
Arthur Potter, Daniel J. Slattery; and Avery Bridges, James Cody,
Lloyd Harris, Clinton Hart, Martin Haugse, W. P. Hensel, Harold
J. Hogan, Samuel Key, Daniel Medler, James Murnane, J. P. Myers,
Charles Nabors, George O’Neill, Anthony Palumbo, William Fountain,
J. H. Reneker, Edward Sheridan, Francis Conway and Thomas D. Vegeau.
Company D lost Corporals John J. Haggerty, Harry Adkins, William
Boetger, Walter Crisp, Lacy Castor, J. W. McPherson, S. Scardino,
W. Schmelick; and C. R. Kerl, William Cundiff, Frank Fall, George
Saladucha, R. Robbins, Lawrence P. Mahoney, Peter J. Wollner, James
W. Hasting, Fred Smith, John McNamara, Gordon Wynne, Charles
Evers, James Butler, Edward Clement, Frank F. De Muth and Richard
Fincke.
Company E lost Corporals William Dougherty, William Bechtold,
Matthew Colgan, and George Failing; and Joseph Carroll, Frederick
Gluck, Kennedy Hardy, Fred Conway and John Naughton.
Company F lost Arthur Armes, William M. Binkley, Charles Park, Fred
Riddles, Joseph Woodlief, Joseph Elzear, Charles Ash.
Company G lost Daniel McSherry, Clarence Leonard, Charles Jacobs,
Marvin Black, John Hemmer, Archie Lilles, William McManus.
Company H lost Corporal Clifford Wiltshire, Arthur N. Frank, Roger
Folson, Clinton Bushey, J. Moscolo, Patrick Connors and heroic
Sergeant John J. Walker.
Company I lost Sergeants Patrick Collins and William Harrison;
Corporals Allen Crowe and Charles Stone; and A. G. Brown, Robert
Cousens, Harry Gill, Edward F. Healy, Earnest Keith, Albert
Mortenson, James Nealon, Gilbert Neely, George A. Peterson, Warren
Regan, Thomas Stokey, Earl Thayer, Elcanor Yow, James Brown,
Kenneth Trickett.
Company K lost Sergeants John J. Gavaghan and John J. Butler;
Corporals Henry D. Hawxhurst and Thomas Madden; and N. Farhout,
John P. Quinlan, James C. Wright, Joseph Barzare, John L. Sullivan,
Francis Gioio, Daniel Buckley, Leonard Giarusso, Andrew Goeres,
Claude Best, George Pennington.
Company L lost Corporal Edward Bloom and Joseph Metcalf, Fred Parr,
Homer C. Coin, John H. Jumper, E. Epperly, John P. Ryan.
Company M lost Sergeant Peter Cooney; Corporals Charles T. Elson,
Charles J. Brennan and William H. Crunden; and John T. Byrnes,
Emmett Davidson, Frank Manning, H. F. Brumley, Patrick J. O’Neill,
Charles Blagg, Joseph McAndrews.
Machine Gun Company lost Harry A. Dearing, Fred Martin, John A.
Claire, Thomas McCabe, Thomas Norton, Leonard Hansen and John McKay.
Supply Company lost Giuseppe Mastromarino.
Nobody wants to talk very much about the recent battle. It was a
nightmare that one does not care to recall. Individual acts do not
stand out in actions of this kind. It is a case of everybody going
ahead and taking the punishment. Everybody who stood up under it
and kept carrying on deserves the laurel crown. Some men, however,
stand out in more striking way than their companions, either through
natural coolness and willingness to take added risks or by their
acceptance of a position of command that the chances of battle
offered them. Prominent amongst these is Sergeant Michael Fitzpatrick
of Company L, whose brother Cornelius was killed at the Ourcq, and
who took charge of a platoon and kept it going with great spirit
after First Sergeant Wittlinger was wounded. The veteran First
Sergeant of Company K, Tim Sullivan, was also wounded in this fight,
and another of the Sullivans, John L., was killed. Company K also
lost a fine character in Sergeant Gavaghan, a stalwart, heroic,
innocent-minded young Irishman.
When Colonel Donovan called for the Stokes Mortars to repel the
threatened counter-attack on the morning of the 15th, the pieces
were set up under the slight protection of the sloping ground,
but from this point the gunners could not observe the accuracy of
their own fire. So Sergeant Fitzsimmons ran forward to the top of
the slope, making himself an easy cockshot for the German gunners
while he signalled to his own men his corrections on their aim. He
escaped himself by a miracle and had the satisfaction of seeing the
shells dropping right amongst the Germans who were gathering for the
attack, and doing dreadful execution.
The battalion runners received great praise from everybody, as they
had to take untold risks in moving from place to place without
shelter. Ammunition carriers also had a dangerous task, those
from Company H suffering severe losses. Amongst those killed were
Corporal Clifford Wiltshire, a nice quiet boy who was married to
Sergeant Winthrop’s sister; and Clinton Bushey, who once before was
reported dead when out on the digging detail during the bombardment
of July 15th. The sergeants we lost were all good men. Hussey was a
clean-cut young athlete; Duff and Stenson of Company A were both very
dependable men, as were also Sidney Clark, who did great work at the
Ourcq, and Bernard McOwen, who had the Croix de Guerre. Donnelly and
Mahoney of B had worked their way up from being privates by character
and merit; and Tom Winters was also a good man. Eddie Kearin of C
was one of the best liked youths in the regiment and James Farnan,
a solid Irishman; Dougherty, Colgan, Bechtold and John Naughton of
E have figured before and in these annals; also Fred Gluck, heroic
litter-bearer. Company I was hard hit in the loss of Patrick Collins
and William Harrison. Charlie Stone’s mother was the last person I
shook hands with before our train left Camp Mills for the transport.
Robert Cousens was killed while looking after his brother who had
been wounded. Sergeant Peter Cooney of M Company was out with the
regiment in ’98 and the three corporals, Elson, Brennan, and Crunden,
were fine types of soldiers. Harry Dearing, John Claire, John McKay
and the others from the Machine Gun Company will be sorely missed by
their fellows.
With Colonel Donovan on the slope on October 15th were Sergeants of
Headquarters Company and the Machine Gun Company. The Colonel told
me later that the shell which blew Sergeant Sheahan heavenward took
the legs off another Irish soldier who was with him. This I knew
was Patrick Connors. Another Irishman jumped from a neighboring
shell-hole, picked up the wounded man and kissed him, saying: “Me
poor fellow, me poor fellow.” He put tourniquets on the stumps and
then, unaided, started down the dangerous slope carrying him to the
rear. Gillespie and Doherty tell me that this deed was performed
by Corporal John Patrick Furey of Company H, who was in charge
of the ammunition carriers for the machine guns. Furey had been
wounded already himself, and the sergeants wanted him to go to the
rear, but he refused, as so much depended on keeping our machine
guns fed. When he was carrying Connors back they shouted to him to
get in an ambulance when he got there; but later in the morning
Furey reappeared alongside them after his two-mile journey in each
direction; and this in spite of the fact that the strain of carrying
his burden had reopened another wound that he got at the Ourcq. It
was an exhibition of tender-heartedness and sheer courage that honors
humanity.
Liaison men have to take untold risks in action of this kind. Of
Major Kelly’s group in the sunken road nearly all were killed
or wounded. Young Eddie Kelly (killed), Cody (killed), White (a
hero in every battle), Liebowitz (wounded), and Matty Rice (often
mentioned in these annals) worked their way from Kelly to Bootz or
from Kelly to Donovan. When they were gone Corporal Thomas O’Kelly
offered to deliver messages, but the Major wished to keep him by his
side as a valuable man in combat. “Send me, Major,” insisted Tom,
“I’ll carry it through, and if I don’t come back, you’ll know I’m
dead.” He got it through alright, though wounded. He wanted to go
back with a message, but Colonel Donovan ordered him to go back to
the Dressing-Station. Every last man amongst these men deserves a
citation for bravery.
In this battle one of the tasks which required the greatest courage
was that of getting back the wounded when the retirement from
the wire of the first battalion was ordered. Their rescuers had
to abandon their pits and advance in full view of the enemy in
their work of succor. The men who stood out in accomplishing this
dangerous duty were in Company A: First Sergeant Thomas Sweeney
and Sergeant John H. Dennelly; In Company C, First Sergeant Thomas
P. O’Hagan, Sergeant Joseph Burns and Corporal Archie Reilly. Also
Mike Donaldson, of Company I, who volunteered for this service and
carried in man after man under heavy fire. Two of the liaison men
from A Company, Matthew J. Kane and Martin Gill, as also John Hammond
and Fred Craven of Company C, are also highly recommended for the
cheerful and efficient manner in which they performed their perilous
job.
Company M is very proud of its youngest corporal, little Jimmy
Winestock, the mildest looking and most unassuming youth in the
regiment. When troops advance under fire, there are always some who
get strayed from their command, especially when their platoon leaders
have been hit. Jimmy picked up all these stragglers from their
companies, formed them into a detachment, issued his commands as if
he were a major at least, and led them forward into the thick of
action.
Major Lawrence very early in the battle had established his
regimental dressing station as near to the front line as an ambulance
could possibly go. There was absolutely no protection where he was,
and his group which included Chaplain Holmes and the “Y” Athletic
Director, Mr. Jewett, were exposed to danger from shells at all
times. Father Hanley stuck as usual to his beloved Third Battalion
and was out further living in a hole in the side of a hill, with
Doctors Kilcourse, Martin, Mitchell, Cowett and our dental officers
Bamford and Landrigan, who always rendered good work in battle.
When they were carrying Donovan in I met him at Lawrence’s station.
He looked up from the stretcher and said to me smilingly, “Father,
you’re a disappointed man. You expected to have the pleasure of
burying me over here.” “I certainly did, Bill, and you are a lucky
dog to get off with nothing more than you’ve got.” He was in great
pain after his five hours lying with that leg in the shell-hole, but
it had not affected his high spirits and good humor. He was still of
opinion that the regiment could get through the wire, with proper
artillery preparation and co-ordination of infantry forces.
On October 12th I was in Jim Mangan’s little dugout at Exermont with
his Lieutenants Joe McNamara, McCarthy and Flynn when in walked
Dennis O’Shea, formerly our color sergeant, and now a Lieutenant
in the 1st Division. Accompanying him was Father Terence King, a
Jesuit Chaplain. They had been detailed for the task of burying
their regimental dead. It was a joyous meeting, but they had one
thing to tell that made me sad. Father Colman O’Flaherty had been
killed by shell fire while attending to the wounded. I had never
met him, but when we were alongside of the 1st after Saint Mihiel
I met a large number of officers and men, all of whom spoke of him
with affectionate admiration. An Irishman, well read, brilliant and
witty in conversation, independent in the expression of his opinions;
sometimes irritating at first encounter by reason of his sallies,
but always sure in the long run to be admired for his robust and
attractive personality.
I got this story with no names mentioned and was too discreet to ask
for them. A patrol was out for the purpose of getting in touch with
the enemy. As they were ascending the reverse slope of the hill a
young officer who was with two or three men in advance came running
back, stooping low and calling breathlessly to the Lieutenant in
command, “The Germans! The Germans! The Germans are there.” Nobody
thought him afraid but his tone of excitement was certainly bad for
morale. There was a sudden halt and a bad moment, but the situation
was saved when a New York voice in a gruff whisper was heard,
“Well, what the hell does that guy think we are out here looking
for?—Voilets?” If eloquence is the power to say things that will
produce the desired effect on one’s hearers, neither Demosthenes nor
Dan O’Connell himself ever made a better speech.
We were very short of officers during the Argonne fight and, since
advancing under shell fire necessitates a deliberate scattering
of men, a great deal depends upon the efficiency of our non-coms,
especially the sergeants. The result of their activity was that an
extraordinary number of them were wounded. I came on Sergeants Tom
O’Malley and Jim O’Brien of Company D, both wounded severely and
bound for the rear. “Tom,” I said, “what did you want to get yourself
hit for? We’re short of officers as it is, and it’s only men like you
that can put this thing through.” “Well, Father,” says Tom, smilingly
apologetic, “you see it’s like this: a sergeant stands an awful fine
chance of gettin’ hit as things are goin’ now. We got a lot of new
min that he’s got to take care of to see that they don’t get kilt;
and whin the line moves forward, there’s some of thim nades a bit of
coaxin’.”
I have gathered from my record a list not only of officers, but
also of non-coms wounded in this battle, because they deserve to be
commemorated as men who have fought throughout the war, men who, if
they have not been in every one of our battles, have a wound stripe
to show the reason for their absence, and who have gained their
stripes of office by good soldiering in camp and in the field.
Colonel William J. Donovan; Captains, Oscar L. Buck, Edmond J.
Connelly, John J. Clifford, John F. Rowley; First Lieutenants, James
Collier, Paul D. Surber, Roderick J. Hutchinson; Second Lieutenants,
Joseph P. Katsch, Charles D. Huesler, Clarence Johnson, Samuel
S. Swift, Lester M. Greff, Henry W. Davis (Deceased), Arthur N.
Hallquist, John J. Williams.
Company A, Sergeants Purtell, Armstrong, Sweeney; Corporals Gladd,
Roberts, Newton, Thynne, Rice, Wylie.
Company B, Sergeants Thornton, Mulholland, Meniccoci, Graham,
Gilbert, Whalen, Coyne; Corporals Quigley, Brady, Geraghty, Van
deWerken, Longo, Lofare, Hayes, Healey, Lehman, Neary.
Company C, Sergeants James Burns, Hillig, Hennessey, Knight, McNiff;
Corporals, James Kelly, Hannigan, Lynott, Minogue, Munz, O’Kelly,
Osberg, Quinn, Stratico, Blythe, Boyle.
Company D, Sergeants Crotty, O’Malley, Moran, Sheahan, McDonough,
Tracey, Morton; Corporals Dale, Plant, Dalton Smith, Murray, O’Dowd,
Lynch, O’Brien, DeVoe, Terry O’Connor, Bambrick, McAuliffe, Edward B.
Smith, Reilly, Harkins, Tuers, Brady, Thompson, O’Connell.
Company E, Corporals Corbett, Maloney, Geary.
Company F, Corporal Patrick Frawley.
Company G, Sergeants McNamara, William Farrell, James Murray;
Corporals, Framan, Allen, Christy.
Company H, Sergeant Walker; Corporals, McGorry, Ryan, McGlynn, Doran.
Company I, Sergeants Shanahan, Lyons, Dynan, Mullin, Joseph O’Brien;
Corporals, Cousens, Dexter, Gaul, Horgan, Kennedy, Smiser, Welsh,
Zarella, Beyer, Lenihan, New, Regan, Conway, Hettrick, Neary.
Company K, Sergeants Timothy Sullivan, Gleason, Hellrigel; Corporals
Van Yorx, McKessy, Clinton, Ryan, Ostermeyer, Casey, Gallagher,
LeGall, McMahon, Caraher, Wakely, Hoey.
Company L, Sergeants, Southworth, Kiernan, Wittlinger, Fitzpatrick,
Mullins, Blood; Corporals Kennedy, Martin, O’Brien, Oakes, McCallum,
George McCue, Murphy, John J. Murphy, Hearn.
Company M, Sergeants Major, Clark, May; Corporals Igo, Feely, Begley,
Shear, Scott, Donovan, McGovern, Cook, Bailey, Kiernan, Berger, Harry
Murray, Knowles.
Headquarters Co., Corporals Dick, Brochon, Albrecht.
Machine Gun Co., Sergeants Stevens, Spillane, Gillespie, Doherty;
Corporals Erard, Cohen.
ESPERANCE FARM
_October_ 28th, 1918
Our rear Headquarters are in two buildings on the main road that
parallels the river Aire. In one of them is the Supply Company
and the band. Solicitude for the welfare of bandsmen is the sole
tribute that the army pays to art. In a neighboring building is an
Ambulance Company and our Company Clerks, who have been ordered to
be left in the rear because records are never properly made out
if the Company Clerk becomes a casualty. I often make use of a
returning ambulance to come back to Captain Kinney’s Hotel for a
decent sleep and a good breakfast. Across the road in the field a
number of the men have made little dugouts for themselves, as the
buildings are overcrowded.
Shell fire does not come back this far except occasionally, but the
nights are often made hideous by enemy bombing planes. Aeroplanes
carrying machine guns are futile things, but a plane at night
dropping bombs is absolutely the most demoralizing thing in war. It
is a matter of psychology. The man in front discharging his rifle
has the hunter’s exhilaration. Even shells can be dodged if not
too numerous, and after a man has dropped on his face or jumped
into a doorway and has escaped, there is the satisfaction that a
hare must have when it eludes the dogs and pants contentedly in its
hole. But when one lies at night and hears the deep buzz of a plane
overhead, and most especially when the buzz ceases and he knows
that the plane is gliding and making ready to drop something, the
one feeling that comes is that if that fellow overhead pulls the
lever at the right spot, a very very wrong spot, it means sudden
and absolute destruction. There is no way of getting away from it.
One simply lies and cowers.
Last night we heard the crunching roar six times repeated in the
field just across the road. Flannery and I got up and pulled on
our shoes to go over and see what happened. Mules had been hit and
two of our men slightly wounded. The bombs made holes in the soft
earth, ten feet deep and nearly twelve in diameter, and one of them
had fallen at the feet of two of our lads and had not exploded.
I was particularly anxious about a lot of nice youngsters whom I
had picked out after St. Mihiel for the Band—John Kyle, Robert
Emmett Mitchell, Howard Casey, Pat Campion, Will Maroney, Will
King, George Forms, John Killoran, Denis Glynn, Will Howard,—all
lads that had volunteered before they were eighteen. I found them
unharmed and rather enjoying the show.
Lieutenant Bernard Byrne, who is not long with us and whose
experience in warfare has not been of great duration, was ordered
from the Supply Company a couple of days ago to duty with Company
G. His first night in line he took out a patrol which he handled
admirably and came back with two prisoners. A very good start
indeed.
Everybody has slept in his clothes for weeks. It would not be true
to say that we never take them off, because that is part of the
morning, though not of the evening ritual. Every morning officers
and men, refined or roughneck, strip to the waist for the process
of “Reading his shirt.” Not to put too fine a touch to it, we are
all crawling with lice. Holmes has a boy who is at the interesting
age of four, and his wife writes to him the usual domestic stories
about his bright ways and sayings. “You ask her if that kid can
read his shirt. Tell her I said that his old man can do it.” Mrs.
Holmes sent word back to Father Duffy that while the youthful
prodigy had not all the accomplishments of a soldier he could hike
with any of us. I did not get the message for weeks afterwards, as
my brother Chaplain was very much run down and Major Lawrence and
I shipped him off, despite his protests, to the hospital. I do not
need to worry about Father Hanley. As long as Ambrose Sutcliff’s
Goulash Wagon can supply him with an occasional meal, he will
keep going any place I put him—though that is not the right way
to phrase it, for I always have to keep him pulled back from the
places where he thinks he ought to be. I think I will take both my
Chaplains home with me to the Bronx as curates. A Catholic church
with a Methodist annex would be a novelty. Back in the peaceful
days, a Jew friend of mine whom I was showing over my combination
church and school said to me, with the quick business sense of his
race, “You use this building for Church on Sunday and for school
five days in the week. The only day it’s idle is Saturday. What you
ought to do is to hire a good smart young Rabbi and run a synagogue
on the Sabbath. I’ll bet you’ll make money at it.”
The two weeks that elapsed between October 16th and November 1st
were the dreariest, draggiest days we spent in the war. The men
lay out on the bare hillsides in little pits they had dug for
themselves, the bottoms of which were turned into mud by frequent
rains. They had one blanket apiece, and were without overcoats,
underwear or socks, in the unpleasant climate of a French Autumn.
They were dirty, lousy, thirsty, often hungry; and nearly every
last man was sick.
Captain Bootz, an old-time regular army man and therefore not
sympathetic with imaginary ills, made the following report on
Anderson’s battalion as early as October 17th. “Checked up strength
of battalion shows 405 men for active combat, including liaison
detail. Of this number about 35% are suffering various illnesses,
especially rheumatism, colds and fevers. The Company commanders
state that these men are not receiving medical treatment, which
should be given to them without fail or conditions will be worse in
the next day or so. Some men are doubled up and should really be in
the hospital. I cannot allow these men to leave, as it would set
a precedent for many others to follow, and this would deplete our
fighting strength so much more. First aid men attached to companies
have no medical supplies other than bandages. A lack of proper
clothing, such as overcoats, heavy underwear and socks, brings on a
great many of these maladies. The majority of the men have summer
underwear, if any, and no overcoat and only one blanket; and this
is entirely inadequate to keep a soldier in fit physical condition
for field service in the climate that is found this time of year in
France. I deem it my duty that this be brought to the attention of
higher authorities so that they may be rightly informed as to the
actual conditions we are living in, and that means be found to have
the defect remedied immediately.”
As the days went on, conditions got no better. Hundreds and
hundreds of men had to be evacuated as too weak to be of any
military value; and nothing but the need of man-power kept our
doctors from sending half the regiment to the hospital. The only
relief from monotony was an occasional night patrol, or the
prospects which were held out to us of a fresh order to attack. In
spite of the bloody nose we had already received, our men wished
for the order to try again. Patrols and observation posts reported
a lessening of the enemy’s strength, and our fellows felt certain
that if the tanks would do their share they could get through.
They had met their first repulse. If they had been in the war as
long as the British or French, they would have learned to take it
philosophically as part of the give and take of the game. But it
was their first one, and they were burning with the desire to get
back at the enemy.
On the 21st our brigade relieved the 84th, our 2nd Battalion taking
over the front line on the north edge of the Cote de Chatillon.
The next day orders were out for a new attack in which the 165th
were to work around the eastern end of Landres et Saint George.
Everybody was on the _qui vive_ for a new battle but the thing
dragged from day to day until the 26th, when word came that we
were to be taken out of the line and that the Second Division was
to make the attack. Our men were sorely disappointed and grieved
about it, but the decision was a proper one. With the artillery
support that has been gathering in our rear I have no doubt that
our fellows could have broken through, but we have become too weak
in man power to exploit an initial victory in a way that should
be done to make the most of it. Three weeks in line under such
conditions do not fit men for the hardships of a sustained advance.
During this period we lost killed, in Company H, William Murray
and P. Nicholson; and in Company M, Davidson and Patrick Ames, a
soldier who never knew fear.
_October_ 28th, 1918.
I went in to see General Menoher about my concerns as Division
Chaplain. After my business was done he said that he had received
orders to send me back to the States to make a speaking tour for
the Welfare Funds. He kept talking about these orders long enough
to get me worried, although as I watched his face closely I thought
I could detect a humorous and reassuring twinkle in his pleasant
eyes. Finally, after having been kept on the griddle for five
minutes, I ventured the question, “May I ask, General, what reply
you made to these orders?” Then he laughed in his genial way. “I
told them that you had better work to do here than there and that I
was not going to let you go.” I certainly do like that man.
Our land battles during these days are being conducted mainly at
night as fights between patrols, the war in the day time being
mainly in the air. On October 16th a German plane which had been
separated from its escadrille came wabbling over the heads of
Major Lawrence’s group and landed in a field alongside them, the
occupants being made prisoners. Two days later I had the good luck
to witness from the same spot a unique spectacle. There had been
an air fight in which ours got the better of it. A German plane
was evidently in a bad way. As we watched it we saw a dark object
drop from it, and while we held our breath in sympathetic terror
for a human being dropping to destruction, a parachute opened
above him—the first instance of the kind we have seen in this war.
Captain Bootz, who was under him at the time, said that he managed
it by climbing out on the tail of his plane and dropping off it
from the rear. The great difficulty about using a parachute for
aviators has been that the on-moving plane hits the ropes before
they can drop clear. Most of the air fights have been the result of
the determination of the Germans to get our balloons. They brought
down four of them one afternoon, much to our disgust.
There is a stock story about the rookie who is persuaded by his
fellows that his tin hat is guaranteed by the government to turn
the direct hit of a German 77. When Colonel Dravo and the rest of
us start to tell how an inch of planking turned a German 77, we
shall be greeted with smiles of incredulity, but the thing actually
happened. Dravo has a pleasant little Chalet out on the hill 263,
beautifully situated in the forest and affording an excellent
place of repose for weary American officers if the Germans who
were kind enough to build it would only leave their work alone.
But the hill is shelled by day and shelled and bombed by night,
in a picky sort of a way. A small portion of the shack is boarded
off for a kitchen and in it sleep, or rather slept, for they don’t
like the place any more, the force of our Headquarters mess:
Sergeant Denis Donovan, Jimmy Dayton, Tex Blake, McWalter, and John
McLaughlin in superimposed bunks, so that the lads above were only
a couple of feet below the roof. A shell hit just above them, the
explosion ruining the roof and pitching them all to the floor; but
every particle of iron in it spread itself into the air outside
of the building. Luckily for them it must have been one of those
long-nosed devils that explode on contact and cause much greater
destruction than those that plow out the ordinary shell hole.
The first time I saw the roads barely scratched where they hit I
thought the German powder was becoming inferior. I know better now.
HALLOWE’EN
We are out of the line tonight with the exception of Reilley’s 3rd
Battalion, which is to lie out there in their shelter pits under
our barrage and whatever the Germans may send back in reply until
the 2nd Division goes through them tomorrow. Twelve months ago we
had scarcely left our native shores, a wonderful year in the lives
of all of us, and the last one for many a poor fellow now sleeping
in the soil of France. A lot of the officers are crowded together
in Kinney’s quarters at the Esperance Farm. The room is hot and
close, as shelter-halves and blankets screen every nook through
which light might pass to give information of human habitation to a
passing bomber. Everybody feels tired, dirty and discouraged.
I said to them, “You are the glummest bunch of Irish that I ever
saw on a Hallowe’en. Johnnie Fechheimer, you are the best Harp in
this bunch; start them singing. Frank Smith, warm us up with some
coffee, since there’s nothing better to be had.” So Pete Savarese
soon had the coffee boiling and the two Ganymedes, Bob Dillon and
Charlie Lowe, ministered to our needs. Pretty soon they were all
singing—Major Anderson, Kinney, Mangan, Fechheimer, McDermott,
Flynn, McCarthy, O’Donohue, Joe McNamara, Smith, John Schwinn,
even Flannery, Scanlon, and myself. Joe McNamara, who is as good a
youth as they make them, and who has done great service during the
past three weeks with his signal men, sang a song that was just on
the verge of being naughty, with his handsome blue eyes twinkling
provokingly at me. Dan Flynn knows all the old songs that our
mothers used to sing, “Ben Bolt,” “You’ll Remember Me,” and all
that sort of thing. Fechheimer and McNamara supplied the modern
element in the concert. But no matter what it was, everybody joined
in, including the men in the loft upstairs and in the shelter tents
outside, especially when it came to songs in praise of Good Little
Old New York; and truck drivers and ambulance men and passing
officers along the road got first-hand information that the New
York Irish 69th had come through their three long weeks of fighting
and hardship with their tails still erect.
[Illustration: THE BATTLE OF THE ARGONNE]
We had no doubt of the success of the 2nd Division. Artillery was
lined up hub to hub on all the roads around Exermont, Fleville and
Sommerance and the machine guns of both divisions were to give them
a sustained preparatory barrage. I may add incidentally that the
thorough preparations for their attack were the best justification
for our failure to reach the last objective. We heard the artillery
hammering away through the early morning and it was soon evident
that the sturdy infantry and marines of the 2nd Division had
carried the battle line well towards the north.
I started up with Sergeant Fitzsimmons on my own sad quest of
looking for our dead in the enemy wires. Just ahead of us as we
passed through Sommerance a German shell lit on the road right in
a party of five German prisoners and four American soldiers. The
nine men lay scattered in all directions. We ran up and I found one
of ours with both legs blown completely off trying to pull himself
up with the aid of a packing case. In spite of his wounds he gave
not the slightest evidence of mental shock. While Fitzsimmons ran
for an ambulance, he told me his name was Conover, and that he
was a Catholic, and said the prayers while I gave him absolution.
He had no idea his legs were gone until a soldier lifted him on a
stretcher, when I could see in his eyes that he was aware that his
body was lifting light. He started to look but I placed my hand on
his chest and kept him from seeing. Three men were dead already and
it did not seem to me as if any one of them could live. One of the
Germans was an officer who cursed his fate that brought him to this
death by the fire of his own guns after lasting through four years
of war.
When we reached our old battleground I found that one man had
gotten there before me on the same errand as myself. It was Father
Davitt of Lenox, Mass., who had been detached from the 32nd
Division as Corps Chaplain.
On both sides of the Sommerance road as it neared the wire we
saw the bodies scattered, still well preserved and recognizable
by reason of the cool weather. Right around the wire and in the
sunken road that ran into it the Germans had buried them. It was a
surprise to find that even now the wire was absolutely unbroken in
any place. An occasional shell had landed in it, as was evidenced
by the holes made, but the whole fabric was so well bound together
that it simply jumped up and then dropped back into place again.
The 2nd Division had evidently been wise enough to carry their
attack around it as I found just one of their dead and he was
lying in the _chicane_ or passage made by the highway as it passed
through it.
I arranged with Father Davitt to have his detachment of Pioneers
look after the sepulchre of our dead in case the Regiment got
orders to move on, and returned to make my report to Colonel Dravo.
The 3rd Battalion got back to our place in the rear during the
morning, having suffered some losses from shell fire, amongst them
being Jimmy Fay, who had part of his foot blown off. Orders to take
up the advance were received on November 2nd, our 3rd Battalion
being out of the line less than 24 hours.
The first day’s route laid down for us showed us that we were going
to take over in the region to the west of that in which we had been
fighting. In the plans for the attack of the 2nd Division they had
moved rapidly towards the NNE., leaving the Germans on their left
to wake up and find themselves in a salient between our troops and
the northern extension of the Argonne Forest. The 78th Division was
engaged in expediting the evacuation of these Germans. Two days’
march, neither of them very long, brought us to Brieulles, just
north of which we were to relieve the 78th. The only difficulty
about the march was for the wagons. Every outfit had lost half of
its animals, and those that were left were in miserable condition.
The artillery felt this hardest, but it made trouble for the
infantry, too, in getting up the supplies and the kitchens. The
worn down roads were frightfully crowded with ambulances, trucks,
kitchens, guns, caissons, ration and combat wagons, headquarters
automobiles; and the M. Ps. were kept swearing till their voices
gave out trying to keep traffic conditions tolerable. When we got
to Brieulles we found that the Germans were blowing up bridges and
roads in their retreat. Colonel Dravo, following tradition and his
own generous instincts of being nice to an old fellow like me, had
sent me on with his car; and Brown was carrying me rapidly out of
Brieulles towards the front when Major Doyle, our Brigade Adjutant,
stopped me and said that while it didn’t matter much what became
of me, cars were getting scarce and he had decided objections to
presenting what was once a perfectly good car to the Germans. I
deduced from this that the enemy were in the next town and that I
had better stay where I was. The regiment was stopped at Authé, to
which place I returned.
The villages which the Germans had left had a number of civilians,
and in accordance with the order of the German Commander, the
Mayors put a white flag on the church steeple to warn us against
shelling them. I have never seen a happier lot of old people in my
life than the French civilians whom we were instrumental in saving
after four years of captivity. At Authé our P. C. was in what
had once been a village inn. The proprietress was old and little
and lively and pious. She gave a warm reception to M. l’Aumonier
when she heard that I belonged to the Old Church, and immediately
proceeded to make plans for a High Mass next Sunday in spite of
my telling her that we would not probably be there more than one
night. “I have been doing most of the preaching to the people
around here the last four years,” she said. “M. le Curé is old and
quiet and he hasn’t much to say; but me, I talk, talk, talk all the
time. I tell these people that God sent the German Devils amongst
them because of their sins. I preach so much that they have given
me a nickname. Do you know what they call me? They call me Madame
Morale. And I preach to the Germans, too. I tell them they will
all be in Hell if they do not mend their ways.” “What do they say
to you?” “Most times they laugh and call me Grossmutter, but some
of them swear and get mad. But I preach at them just the same. My
sister she does not preach, she just prays.”
I went up to see the sister. They must have been both around
eighty; and she sat in her chair looking absolutely like Whistler’s
picture of his mother, except that the hands were not idle in her
lap, but fingered unceasingly a worn rosary.
Madame Morale’s piety was not limited to preaching. It included
hospitality. We have brought along some fresh supplies of food
for our Headquarters Mess; and as soldiers from different outfits
kept drifting in to the kitchen looking for water and incidentally
anything else they could get, the old lady dipped into our scanty
stock, saying, “Here, my poor boys, there is much food here”—until
nothing was left.
In going into action in this last phase of the Argonne fight
Lieutenant Colonel Charles Dravo was in command, with Major
Anderson second in command, Captain Merle-Smith (vice Kelly,
evacuated with fever) commanding the 1st Battalion, Captain Henry
A. Bootz, in charge of Anderson’s Battalion, and Major Reilley
with the 3rd. We relieved the 78th Division at the village of
Artaise-le-Vivier. Here the Germans had left in such a hurry that
large stores of flour and vegetables had been left behind. On
asking the inhabitants the reason for this extraordinary occurrence
we were answered by the word “_Avions_.” In this sector we have
absolute mastery of the air and we see vast flights of planes
spread out like wild ducks in V-shaped fashion advancing over the
German lines. I almost sympathize with the poor Boches, for I
certainly do not like aerial bombs.
The next three days was a foot-race, each battalion taking its
turn in the lead as the others became exhausted. They swept from
village to village, or rather from hill to hill, carefully closing
around the villages, generally meeting with but little resistance,
the last of the Germans, invariably a machine gun group, taking
their flight fifteen minutes to a half hour before our men could
get up. Colonel Dravo was out in the front with his wild Irish,
while Anderson had the equally important task of trying to get the
kitchens and supplies through. Lieutenants Schwinn, McDermott,
Goodell, Henry and Bell and Sergeant Scanlan labored night and day
to get the kitchens through, crossing muddy fields and fording
small streams because the roads were everywhere destroyed.
Lieutenant Seidelman and Corporal Malone were busy putting up signs
at every corner to guide the rear elements in the right direction
to reach our swiftly moving advance.
I missed Major Lawrence, who is generally very much in evidence
when action is on, but I discovered that he had very wisely made up
his mind that the main thing was to see that the ambulances found
a way to follow up the Infantry. He had plenty of willing doctors
under him to look after any wounded men in the field, but it was
evident by the rate our Infantry was traveling that wounded men
would not be evacuated for several days unless the ambulances got
through. When finally they were needed, he had them there, both for
the use of our men and those of other outfits which had not been so
carefully provided for.
For two days the advance was an interesting race. The 6th Division
was coming up the road behind ours, anxious to get a chance to
relieve us and get into line before the war would come to an end.
Each night they thought that surely by morning they would catch
up; but our lads, moving freely across the open country, always
kept well in advance of troops that had to move by column; and each
day they were still further in the van. Our own Mess Sergeants and
Cooks labored night and day to get the food forward, but for two
days and more they, too, were left behind in the race. The men
in front were not left entirely hungry, as in every village from
which they drove the enemy the inhabitants drew out all of their
scanty stores and served them with coffee, vegetables and a little
bread, with unlimited supplies of bouquets and kisses. In spite of
drawbacks it was a nice war.
At 10:30 on the evening of the 6th, there came a most extraordinary
order from Corps through Division that it was imperative that Sedan
should be captured before the end of the next day; that if troops
were resting they should be immediately aroused and sent on their
way; and that the city should be taken if the last officer and man
should drop in his tracks. Luckily for the men it took some time to
get that order forward to the line, as the horses of Jack Percy,
Earl Pierce and young Underwood were fatigued by the incessant
work, in which their riders shared, of carrying messages night and
day. So the kitchens got through and the men were fed before they
started out once more.
On November 7th, Bootz with the 2nd Battalion was in the van. On
Hill 332 the Germans put up a stronger resistance than they had
hitherto shown; and it came at a time when our fire was growing
weak on account of the expenditure of ammunition, which there
was little means of replacing. Bootz told Captain Stout, who was
in command of G Company, that the hill must be taken, and Stout
advanced with thirty-eight men of his own company and a detachment
from Company H to capture the hill. As they kept crawling in on the
Germans the latter began to waver, and the Captain called on his
followers to advance upon them with fixed bayonets. With a great
cheer our fellows swarmed up the crest and the daunted Germans,
after a futile stand, grounded their guns, threw up their hands and
surrendered. The men whose names stand high in the Company annals
for this deed are, first of all, the dead: John Danker, George
Spiegel, Onefrio Triggiano and Raymond Hawkins. Also the gallant
captain and Lieutenant Otto; First Sergeant Meagher, Sergeants
Martin Murphy, Martin Shalley, Irving Framan, Denis Corcoran, John
Brogan and Francis Malloy, the two latter being wounded; James
Regan, Thomas Gallagher, Hilbert and Henry, Remington, Youmans and
Leavensworth, and, to complete the list, a bold Choctaw Indian with
the martial name of McCoy. Sergeant Patrick Travers, of Company H,
received high praise from everybody. While the German resistance
was still determined, he went alone against a machine gun on the
right and captured it single-handed, taking three German officers
and four men.
The same day B Company lost Sergeant Ed. Kramer, and Martin
Gilfoyle; C Company, Frank Casserly, Michael Golinski, and Joseph
Peressine; Company E, Orliff Gilbert, Samuel Kelly and William
Lambert; Machine Gun Company, William Gunnell; and the Sanitary
Detachment, Michael Cavanaugh.
Meanwhile events were happening which made the order to advance
without ceasing seem more extraordinary. Elements of the 1st
Division appeared on our flank and rear. They, too, had received
orders to the same effect from their Corps Commander, and had
advanced to the left across the front of the 77th Division, and
were taking possession of our line, which was the one leading
straight towards Sedan. They had crept up around Bulson in
the morning, only to find General MacArthur and 84th Brigade
Headquarters in possession of the village. Elements of the 16th
Infantry now came on Bootz’s hill and claimed it as theirs. “This
is my hill, and my line of advance,” said Bootz. “If you say it’s
yours, show your booty. I have twenty-five prisoners and twelve
machine guns; what have you got to show for it?” And Bootz ordered
his battalion to advance, leaving to the others to do what they
would.
Nobody blamed the 1st Division for this mix-up, because they
certainly had orders the same as ours to advance and capture Sedan.
The whole thing is a mystery. A staff officer told me that neither
of us had any right here, as Sedan lies in the sector of the French
Division on our left, and considering what it means to the French,
they are certainly the ones who have the best right to capture it.
In this sector we had a visit from Sergeant Alexander Woollcott,
who is well known in New York as a dramatic critic, and who has
been assigned by G. H. Q. to the duties of reporter for the _Stars
and Stripes_. He is always on hand when there is trouble, and the
field of war becomes a pleasant place for me whenever he is there.
We have swapped stories and discussed men and books in the weirdest
places. He is communicative rather than inquisitive and one never
thinks of him as a reporter, but he gets all the information he
wants and all the more effectively because there is no appearance
of seeking it. He can even make Anderson talk.
During this period Anderson had been forging ahead with his
Headquarters group, expecting to find Bootz in Chaumont. He entered
that town with a couple of doctors, Lieutenant Rerat, and his
liaison men, only to find that they were the first to get there,
and the enemy had not yet completely evacuated it. They were
under rifle fire as they came along the street, and had a merry
little sniper’s battle before they got possession. Then Lieutenant
McCarthy set up his one-pound cannon on the edge of the village,
and soon had the German gunners putting for safety over the hill.
So Anderson captured a town for himself, and for once did Colonel
Dravo out of the bouquets and kisses. Though, even here, Rerat got
the cream of it.
We kept going through that day, the 3rd Battalion relieving the
2nd during the night, and reaching on November 8th, the village
of Wadelincourt on the heights of the Meuse, directly overlooking
Sedan. A patrol from Company M with orders to go down to the Meuse
and scout up to the suburbs of Sedan, got nearest of all American
troops to that famous city. Eighteen men started out, of whom most
were wounded, but Corporal John McLaughlin, with two men, carried
out the mission and reported the results of the reconnaissance.
Under shell fire that night Albert Bieber and Carl Maritz of
Company I were killed and Lieutenant Behrendts, the Company
Commander, and many others were wounded. James P. Smith of Company
M was also killed and Sergeant Lester Lenhart of Company E was
mortally wounded.
That night our Division was relieved by the 40th French Division,
which from the beginning had the right of way. As a matter of
courtesy the French Division Commander invited a company of the
165th and 166th to enter with his troops for the occupation of the
suburbs of Sedan. Company D of our regiment was selected for the
purpose and Lieutenant Cassidy had them all ready, but through some
mix-up of orders they were not called upon to share in the little
ceremony.
On November 8th we marched back to Artaise and the next day to Les
Petites Armoises; on the 10th, to Vaux-en-Dieulet. The 11th found
us at Sivry-les-Buzancy, where we spent two days.
On our way in I got a rumor that the Armistice was signed. I had
always believed that the news of victory and peace would fill me
with surging feelings of delight. But it was just the contrary; no
doubt because the constraint I had put upon my natural feelings
during the year were taken off by the announcement. I knew that
in New York and in every city at home and throughout the world
men were jubilant at the prospects of peace. But I could think of
nothing except the fine lads who had come out with us to this war
and who are not alive to enjoy the triumph. All day I had a lonely
and an aching heart. It would be a lesser thing to have been killed
myself than to go back to the mothers of the dead who would never
more return. Luckily for me my dear friend Chaplain Nash came over
to see me and walked me for hours through the desolate country,
encouraging me to express my every feeling until fatigue and the
relief of expression brought me back to a more normal mood.
The men had no certainty that the rumors were true, and discounted
them. On November 13th we marched to Landres et Saint Georges which
we had striven vainly to enter from the other side five weeks
before. The village was almost completely demolished and our
troops with others of the Division pitched their shelter tents on
all the hills surrounding the town. That night official information
was given of the Armistice. The men raided the Engineer and Signal
Stores for rockets of all descriptions and the whole sky was filled
with lights which in war would have demanded the expenditure of at
least a million shells. Bonfires were blazing all over the hillside
_Finie la Guerre_. The war was over.
My duties, like my feelings, still lay in the past. With men from
all the companies I went round the battlefield to pay as far as I
could my last duties to the dead, to record and in a rough way to
beautify their lonely graves, for I knew that soon we would leave
this place that their presence hallows, and never look upon it
again.
On the 15th, in accordance with Division orders, a formal muster
was held. Our strength was 55 officers and 1,637 men, with 8
officers and 43 men attached, 1,300 short of the number we had
brought into the Argonne. Of the survivors, not many more than 600
were men who had left New York with the regiment a little over a
year ago. And most of these belonged to the Adjutant’s Office,
Battalion and Company Headquarters, Kitchens, Band and Supply
Company. In the line companies, there are about twenty-five rifle
men to each company who are old-timers and nearly all of these have
wound stripes earned in earlier engagements. The great bulk of the
old regiment is in hospitals, convalescent and casual camps; some
of them promoted, some transferred, hundreds of them invalided
home, a great many, alas! buried on battlefields or in hospital
cemeteries.
CHAPTER X
WITH THE ARMY OF OCCUPATION
On the 16th we took to the road again, happy at the thought that
the Rainbow Division had received the honor of being chosen as part
of the Army of Occupation. At the end of the first day’s march our
Headquarters were at Baalon. Crossing the Meuse at Duns sur Meuse I
ran into Hogstrom and Mullen of Company C, whom I had thought dead,
but who had been captured by the Germans in the wire on the night
of October 14th. They had been well used, they said, except for the
fact that there was little to eat. We crossed the Belgian frontier
on the morning of November 21st at the village of Fagny, which was
all decorated up like Old Home Day. The village band—a nondescript
outfit—played us into town. The people had made out of dress material
American flags, or rather well-meant attempts at them, as five or six
stripes and a dozen stars was about as near as they could come to
it. After crossing the border we received a new commanding officer
in the person of Colonel Charles R. Howland, a regular army man who
had a regiment in the 86th Division. When that Division was broken
up for replacement purposes, he was assigned to fill the vacancy
in ours. About the same time Colonel Henry J. Reilly, who had been
ably handling our brigade during the past five weeks, was superseded
by General F. M. Caldwell, U. S. A. Colonel Reilly returned to the
command of the 149th F. A.
As we crossed Belgium at its southmost tip, we made only a two days’
job of it, headquarters being at Ste. Marie on November 21st and
at Thiaumont November 22nd. My chief impressions were of a clean,
orderly, prosperous country as compared with the ruined parts of
France, and a very intelligent curé in whose house I stopped at Ste.
Marie. When we passed the borders of the Grand Duchy of Luxembourg
at Oberpollen on the 22nd there were no brass bands to greet us.
The inhabitants were civil and pleasant but they adopted a correct
attitude towards us as foreigners crossing through their territory.
Most of the regiment was billetted, and rather well accommodated, at
Useldingen, a comfortable town with a fine new parish church. Here we
stayed until the 1st of December, till arrangements could be made for
our passage into Germany. We are part of the Third Army now, and the
Third Army has been organized on a shoe-string. It cannot be said to
be functioning very well, and the system of supplies and equipment
is not in good shape. We have gotten a good deal of equipment—and we
never needed it worse than after leaving the Argonne—but there are
many old and ill-fitting shoes, which makes hiking a torture for the
men.
The principal sight of Useldingen is the ruins of a very extensive
medieval castle, standing on an elevation in the middle of the town.
I wandered through it with Vandy Ward and Read of H. Q. Co., trying
with the aid of the Curé to get an idea of its original plan and the
sort of life that was led there by other soldiers a thousand years
ago.
Thanksgiving Day came round while we were here and everybody worked
to celebrate it in proper fashion. There is a fair supply of food in
the country, though one has to pay high prices for it, all the higher
because the national currency is in marks and the people demand the
old rate of 100 francs for 80 marks. But, like all Americans, we
want what we want when we want it, so the canny Luxembourgeois get
what they ask for. Our religious services were in thanksgiving for
peace. In the church we had a solemn high mass and Te Deum and I
preached, Father Hanley singing the Mass. As Chaplain Holmes had not
yet returned, I unfrocked myself of my papistical robes and went
out to hold general services in the romantic courtyard of the old
Schloss, using a breach in the fortifications as a pulpit. My friend
Chaplain Halliday of the Ohios came along and added a few words in
his earnest, sensible style.
There is great joy in the regiment, for Captain Hurley is back. He
looks thin and none too fit, and I know he is with us, not because
the hospital authorities thought that he should be, but through his
own strong desire and pleading eloquence. We had a visit from Donovan
also—on crutches. The Provost Marshal General had him transferred to
his department while he was in the hospital, and now he is touring
the country in a car, performing his new services. It is not a bad
sort of a job at all—with headquarters in Paris, and a chance to tour
all over France in a first-class automobile, with the best billets
and the best food wherever he goes—but not for Donovan. No one of
our enlisted men marooned in a casual camp with a lot of absolute
strangers ever uttered with greater longing and pathos the formula,
“I want to be back with my old outfit.” For Donovan’s case I shall
omit the pathos. When that young man wants anything very bad he gets
it. I expect to see him back on duty with us in a very, very brief
time.
My mail is a very full one these days. All of our old-timers back in
hospitals and camps are clamoring to return to the regiment, and they
think that if I only speak to somebody, a word from me will manage
it. I went to Mersch to see my ever kind friend, Colonel Hughes, our
Divisional Chief of Staff, to inquire if some general arrangement
could not be made for the return of all men in combat divisions
who had been evacuated from the line through wounds or sickness. I
found that he was doing everything that he possibly could to get our
Rainbow fellows back, and he promised to work for an order along the
lines I proposed.
The regiment marched on the 1st of December, Headquarters passing
the night at Mersch; and on December 2nd to Waldbillig. December 3rd
was the day on which we finally accomplished what we had started out
to do—make our invasion of Germany. We crossed the border by a bridge
over the Sauer river into the village of Bollendorf. Captain John
Mangan, who had come to the regiment on business from the 2nd Army,
George Boothby of the New York _World_ and myself crossed the bridge
ahead of the others, very curious to see what reception we would
get in the land of the enemy. The first indication of the sort of
reception we were to have came from an invitation from an old farmer
and his wife whose house stood at the end of the bridge to step
inside and have a glass of schnapps; when we prudently declined this,
we were offered apples, but not being there as visitors, we felt it
proper to say no. The proffered kindnesses were inspired partly no
doubt by a desire to propitiate, but nobody could doubt that it was
largely the decent impulse of a nice old couple. We rejoined the
regiment for the march across.
The column came down along the river, the band in front playing “The
Yanks Are Coming” and, as we turned to cross the bridge, the lively
regimental tune of “Garry Owen.” In front of us, above the German
hill, there was a beautiful rainbow. As we marched triumphantly onto
German soil, nothing more hostile greeted us than the click of a
moving-picture camera. Every soldier in the line was glowing with
happiness except myself, perhaps. On occasions like this of glory and
excitement my mind has a habit of going back to the lads that are
gone.
We marched, with advance and rear guards, as if entering a hostile
country, our first stop being at Holsthum. We had hopes that our line
of march would take us down the Moselle Valley towards Coblenz, but
instead we struck off to the north and northeast, through the rough
Eiffel country, along mountain roads that were badly worn down by the
traffic of war. Our Headquarters for December 5th, 6th, 7th, 8th and
9th were Blickendorf, Wallerschein, Hillesheim (a romantic spot),
Weisbaum and, after a desperate hike, Wershofen.
The greatest surprise of our first week in Germany was the attitude
of the people towards us. We had expected to be in for an unpleasant
experience, and I have no doubt that some of our fellows had a
picture of themselves moving around in German villages with loaded
rifle and fixed bayonet ready to repel treacherous attacks. We were
received very peacefully, one might almost say, cordially. Farmers
in the fields would go out of the way to put us on the right road,
children in the villages were as friendly and curious as youngsters
at home; the women lent their utensils and often helped soldiers
with their cooking, even offering stuff from their small stores
when the hungry men arrived far ahead of their kitchens. There were
many German soldiers in these towns still wearing the uniform (they
would be naked otherwise), and they, too, were interested, curious,
almost friendly. Some of them had been against us in battle, and
with the spirit of veterans in all times and places, they struck
up conversation with our men, fighting the battles over again and
swapping lies. I talked with the priests in the different towns—one
of them a Chaplain just returned from the Eastern front. Like all the
others that we meet, they say that their country had the French and
British licked if we had stayed out; to which I make the very obvious
retort that they had followed a very foolish policy when they dragged
us in.
But it is only occasionally that this note is struck, the attitude
of most people being that the war is over and they are glad of it.
In fact, a surprising number have wanted to have it over for a
considerable time past. No doubt the historical background of life in
these countries makes them able to take defeat with more philosophy
than we could ever muster up if foreign troops were to occupy our
country. As for us, we are here in the rôle of victors, and our
soldiers are willing to go half way and accept the attitude that for
them also (unless somebody wants to start something) the war is a
past issue.
Civilians hold grudges, but soldiers do not; at least the soldiers
who do the actual fighting. The civilian mind is fed up on all sorts
of stories about atrocities, most of which I believe are fabricated
to arouse decent human beings up to the point of approving of this
rotten business of war. We fought the Germans two long tricks in the
trenches and in five pitched battles and they never did anything
to us that we did not try to do to them. And we played the game as
fairly as it can be played. We followed their retreat through three
sectors, in two of which they had been for years, and we never
witnessed at first hand any of the atrocities we read about. A church
burned at St. Benoit without any good military reason that I could
see; the shelling of the hospital in Villers sur Fere, in which case
there was no way for them to know it was a hospital; some valuables
piled up for carrying away—that is the whole indictment. But no
crucified soldiers, no babies with their hands cut off, no girls
outraged in trenches, to provoke our soldiers to rush on to death to
rescue them, no poisoned food or wells (except of course through gas
shells), no women chained to machine guns, and no prisoners playing
treachery.
In the invaded territory of France we found plenty of evidence of
harsh military occupation. It was bad at its best, and some local
commanders made it more intolerable. The people were taxed without
much to show for their money, forced to work for little or no pay,
rationed rather slenderly though with enough to sustain strength,
had to put up with requisitions of animals, houses and some minor
property, such as linen and copper down to bedsheets and the brass
knobs off the stoves. They were also dragooned about to various
places to do work for their conquerors. I heard plenty of tales in
Eastern France and Belgium of terrible experiences and unwarranted
executions during the first couple of weeks of the German occupation
from witnesses whose word I believe absolutely. After the civilians
were thoroughly cowed these atrocities ceased, though many of the
lesser hardships of military occupation persevered during the four
years.
Most of the French and Belgians told me (though some voiced
suspicions to the contrary) that the Germans saw to it strictly that
none of their soldiers took the relief goods sent from America. One
old lady told me that she had proof that all Germans were robbers;
for they give her some patched clothing as coming from America and
she knew that nobody in America would send over such stuff as that.
It was hard to have to choose between being just and being loyal
American. I refuse to state which attitude I took, but I am afraid
that the dear old lady still thinks she has an argument to prove that
the Boches are robbers.
At any rate, the older griefs of these people are for the soldiers
who have come through an intense war experience, echoes of “Old
unhappy far-off things, and battles long ago.” They judge the German
soldier by their own experience and by soldier standards. They do not
fear him, they do not hate him, they do not despise him either. They
respected him when he put up a good fight or made a clean getaway,
and that was most of the time. It was a rare thing to hear a soldier
in a combat division talk about “Huns.” It was always the “Heinies,”
the “Jerries,” the “Boches” or, simply the “Germans.”
The fine spirit on the part of our troops was much better, even for
military value, than hatred would have been. I cannot see that deep
bitterness could have made them any bolder. It would only have made
them less efficient. And the spirit is admirable in itself.
At any rate we were convinced from the beginning that our experiences
as part of the army of occupation were not going to be as unpleasant
as we expected.
Aside from the attitude of the people the things that strike us
most are two. Putting the two into one, it is the number and the
fatness of the children. There are few children on the streets in
French villages; German villages swarm with youngsters. Our coming
is like circus day and they are all out, especially the boys. Boys
everywhere! And such sturdy little towheads—chubby is the word for
the smaller ones. I do not know about the rest of Germany, but the
Rhineland is certainly not starved. Perhaps, as in Belgium, it is
the townspeople who do the suffering. These children wear patched
clothing, but the clothing covers rounded bodies. We find it easy
to purchase meals at rates that are astoundingly reasonable after
our experience in other European countries. Germany lacks many
things—edible bread, good beer, real coffee, kerosene, rubber, oil,
soap and fats; and in the cities, no doubt, meat and milk. The people
here say that they eat little meat, their sustenance being largely
vegetable and based on the foundation of the potato. It scores
another triumph for the potato.
But I would like to know how they fatten the children. With good
advertising a man could make a fortune on it at home. German
breakfast food for boys, with pictures of chubby young rascals
playing around American soldiers. But perhaps Germans are plump by
nature or divine decree, and it would not work with lantern-jawed
Yanks like ourselves.
During this period Lieutenant Colonel Donovan returned to duty with
us by direct orders of General Headquarters, Lieutenant Dravo going
back to his duties as Division Machine Gun Officer, thus being still
near enough to us to keep up the ties of friendship which he had
established in the Regiment. We remained in Wershofen and surrounding
villages for five days, during which time the equipment was gone
over, animals rested and some attempt made to patch up the shoes of
the men, which had been worn to nothing by hiking with heavy packs
on rough roads. On December 14th, we marched through the picturesque
valley of the Ahr river over a good road to Altenahr, the scenery of
which looks as if it had been arranged by some artistic stage manager
with an eye to picturesque effect. It is a summer resort country and
we had the advantage of good hotels for billets. On December 15th,
we marched through Ahrweiler, an old walled town which was to be our
Division Headquarters, and Neuenahr, a modern summer resort place
with good roads, commodious hotels and attractive shop windows, and
thence to the Rhine, where, turning north about two kilometers, we
entered the most pleasant and excellent town of Remagen-am-Rhein,
which was to be our home for the next three or four months.
Remagen was already in existence in Roman days. It is a charming
well-built place of 3,500 inhabitants, with a large parish church and
also an Evangelical church and a synagogue. In addition, there is
on the hillside a striking pilgrimage church attended by Franciscan
Friars and dedicated to St. Apollinaris, with the Stations of the
Cross built on the roadway leading up to it. The much advertised
bottled waters which flow from a source near Neuenahr get their name
from this shrine. Remagen has also a large convent, Annacloster, a
hospital and a town hall, in front of which our daily guard mounts
are held.
I am afraid, however, that these edifices for religious and municipal
uses made less immediate appeal to our fellows than the fact that
the town possessed a number of large and commodious hotels, some of
them ample for a whole company. We immediately took possession of
these as well as of stores, beer-gardens and extra rooms in private
houses; the principle being that every soldier of ours should have a
bed to sleep in, even if the German adult males had to go without.
Donovan and I went on ahead to billet for Headquarters. We called
on the Bürgermeister, a kindly, gentlemanly, educated man, who was
anxious to do everything to make our stay in town a harmonious one.
His assistant, an agreeable young man who had been in America for a
couple of years and had every intention of going back, came along
with us on our tour. We had our pick of two or three modern villas
of grandiose type north of the town on the hillside, the only
difficulty about them being that they were a little too far away.
At first two of our battalions were placed in mountain villages
to the west, but after a week or so we had everybody accommodated
in Remagen. I settled down with my gallant followers, Halligan
and McLaughlin, in the house of the Bürgermeister, which faced on
the river just north of the parish Church. My German is a very
sad affair, but he speaks French and his wife English. They have
three nice children, the oldest about twelve. I keep my relations
with the parents as official as is possible, when one is dealing
with gentlefolks, but if I am expected to avoid fraternizing with
the youngsters, they will have to lock me up or shoot me. I had a
conference with the Parish Priest, a sturdy personality who has his
flock in good control, at my house the other day and we were talking
four languages at once—German, French, English and Latin. But I
worked out my plans for a Christmas celebration.
Christmas Mass on the Rhine! In 1916, our midnight mass was under
the open sky along the Rio Grande; in 1917, in the old medieval
church at Grand in the Vosges; and now, thank Heaven, in this year
of grace, 1918, we celebrated it peacefully and triumphantly in the
country with which we had been at war. Attendance was of course
voluntary, but I think the whole regiment marched to the service
with the band preceding them playing “Onward Christian Soldiers” and
“Adeste Fideles.” We took full possession of the Church, though many
of the townsfolk came in, and when at the end, our men sang the hymn
of Thanksgiving, “Holy God, we praise Thy name” the Germans swelled
our chorus in their own language “Grosser Gott wir loben Dich.” I
preached on the theme “Can the war be ascribed to a failure on the
part of Christianity?” I have been often irritated by ideas on this
subject coming from leaders of thought who have given little place or
opportunity to Christianity in their lives or projects. As Chesterton
says: “Christianity has not been tried out and found wanting;
Christianity has been tried—a little—and found difficult.” Father
Hanley sang the Mass, the Guard of Honor with the Colors being from
Company K, with Captain Hurley in charge.
For the Company dinners I was able to supply ample funds through the
never-ceasing generosity of our Board of Trustees in New York City,
and funds also placed at my disposal which were sent by Mrs. Barend
Van Gerbig through the Veteran Corps of the 69th New York. But in
their purchase of food, the wily mess sergeants found that soap was a
better medium of exchange than money.
During January and February the men were kept busy during the day
in field training, infantry drill, range practice and athletics.
Particular attention was paid to smartness of appearance and
punctiliousness in soldierly bearing and courtesy. The weather
was mild though often rainy. Coal was not too hard to procure and
the billets were kept fairly comfortable. The regiment being all
in one town there was a fine soldier atmosphere in the place. The
townspeople are a kindly decent sort, but our fellows have enough
society in themselves and there is little fraternization, and none
that is a source of any danger—there is more chance of our making
them American in ideas than of their making us German.
The Welfare Societies are on the job with good accommodations. In
the “Y” we have still Jewett and the ever faithful Pritchard and two
or three devoted ladies, one of whom is Miss Dearing, a sister of
Harry Dearing who was killed in the Argonne. Jim O’Hara of the K. of
C. got the Parish Priest to give up his Jugendheim, a new building
with large hall, bowling alleys, all the German Verein sort of
thing. There is no lack of places to go or ways to spend an evening.
Lieutenant Fechheimer took charge of athletics and we had brigade
contests, and also with the Canadians, who were just to the left of
the Ohios.
The 3rd Battalion has lost the service of Mr. Kelly of the “Y.” When
I first knew Mr. Kelly of the “Y” he was Corporal Kelly of Company
I, 69th Regiment, at McAllen, Texas, and was sometimes known, Irish
fashion, as “Kelly the Lepper,” as he was a famous runner. His eyes
were not as good as his legs, so he was turned down for reenlistment.
Being determined to have a part in the war he got the “Y” to send
him over as an athletic instructor and finally worked his way up to
our regiment and was attached to the 3rd Battalion which includes
his own company. The assignment was more to the advantage of the
3rd Battalion than of the Y. M. C. A. for Kelly gave away gratis
everything he could wheedle, bully, or steal from the “Y” depot
officials. When we reached the Rhine, things were too quiet for Kelly
and he started off to visit his native town in Ireland. If I ever
hear that somebody has gotten stores from the police barracks to
equip the Sein Feiners, I shall know that Kelly the Lepper is on the
job.
My own life is an altogether pleasant one. I have for my office a
well furnished parlor on the ground floor of the Bürgermeister’s
house where I spend my mornings with Bill Halligan, mainly at the
task of writing letters to soldiers who want to get back and to
folks at home who ask news of their dear ones, living or dead. In
the afternoons I float lazily around amongst the companies, just
chatting and gossiping, and getting in a good deal of my work in
my own way, sort of incidentally and on the side; or I drop in at
headquarters and bother Captain Dick Allen and Jansen and Ed Farrell
of the Personnel Department for correct data for my diary, or Ted
Ranscht and Clarke for maps. Or I look in on the juvenile pro-consuls
Springer and Allen to smile at the air of easy mastery with which
they boss the German civilians into observing American Military
Commands. My nights I spend at the building of the “Y” or K. of C.
amongst the men, or at home, receiving numerous guests with a world
of topics to discuss. It is an agreeable kind of existence, with no
urgent duties except correspondence, and with the satisfaction of
performing a not unimportant service without any feeling of labor,
but merely by kindly and friendly intercourse. My orderly, “Little
Mac,” is having the time of his life. If I only had a car for him to
drive me around in, as Tom Gowdy did in Texas, he would never want to
go home to the Bronx.
Father Hanley was made director of amusements and was kept busy
providing entertainment five nights a week from our own and other
Divisions for the two large halls conducted by the Y. M. C. A. and
the K. of C., a task which he accomplished as he does everything—to
complete satisfaction.
One thing that astonished everybody in this New York regiment was
the number of illiterates amongst replacements from the Southern
States. We had two hundred men who could not sign their names to
the pay-roll. A strong movement was started throughout the American
Expeditionary Forces after the Armistice to teach such men to read
and write, and the simplest problems in arithmetic, as well as to
give a better knowledge of English to foreign born soldiers. In our
regiment this task was confided to Chaplain Holmes, who went at it
with his usual devotion to duty and attention to details, so that
Chaplain Nash who was Divisional School Officer told me that the
educational work in the 165th was by far the best in the Division.
I had many examples of the need of schooling for certain of the men.
Many of our recent replacements had been kept going from place to
place and had not received pay in months. Whenever I heard of such
cases I advanced them money from our Trustee’s Fund. One evening
three of our old-timers came to my billet to borrow some money
to have a little party, but I had to tell them that my stock of
francs was cleaned out. Just then a fine big simple fellow from the
Tennessee mountains came in to return the money I had loaned him.
“How much do you owe me?” I asked. “Thirty-seven francs.” “All right,
hand it over to these fellows here.” “Well, I reckon I’d rather pay
you.” After a certain amount of joking about it, it dawned upon my
slow intelligence that the poor fellow was embarrassed by not being
able to count money, so I took him into another room and tried to
teach him how much change he should have out of a fifty franc note.
The efforts of our generous friends in New York in supplying funds
were much appreciated by the whole regiment. We had been in line for
months and the men were seldom paid. Even when payday came those
who were absent in hospital, or those who had been absent when the
pay-roll was signed, got nothing. The funds were left absolutely at
my disposal, and I knew from the calibre of our Trustees that it was
their wish that they should be disbursed in a generous spirit. Many
of our bright sergeants were started off to Officer’s School without
a sou in their pockets. I believed that our New York backers would
like to have the best men of our regiment able to hold up their
heads in any crowd, so I saw that every one of them had fifty or a
hundred francs in his pocket before starting. When I could be sure
of addresses, I sent money to men in hospitals and in casual camps.
While the regiment was in line money was no use to anybody, as there
was absolutely nothing to buy, not even an egg or a glass of wine,
but here in Germany, with shops and eating houses open, my cash was a
real boon, and I did not hesitate to disburse it.
Just after the armistice, with the prospect that leaves might at last
be granted, I sent to our trustees a bold request for $20,000.00, to
guarantee the men a real holiday. When the permissions for leaves
came I found that in most cases this money was not needed, as the
long deferred pay gave most of the men sufficient money of their own.
So I devoted a generous amount of it to help finance the company
dinners which were gotten up on a metropolitan scale in the hotels of
Remagen. These were joyous affairs—feasts of song and story-telling
and speech-making. Colonel Donovan and I made it a practice to attend
them all, and he got in many a strong word on spirit and discipline
which had better results in that environment than could have been
produced on a more formal occasion. Father Hanley was always a
favorite at these gatherings as he handed out the latest rumors
(which he himself had manufactured), discoursed on the superiority
of Cleveland over New York, and of the 3rd Battalion over any other
bunch of fighting men in the whole universe. It was a part of my
share in the function to speak on the good men in the Company that
had paid the great price; and it is a tribute to the loyalty and
steadfastness of human nature to see how the merry-makers would pause
in their enjoyment to pay the tribute of a sigh or a tear to the
memory of their companions of the battlefield who were absent from
their triumph.
Our winter on the Rhine was our happiest period in the whole war.
First and foremost the regiment was all together in one place; and
companionship is by far the biggest element of satisfaction in a
soldier’s life. The men had good warm billets and most of them had
beds to sleep on. The food was substantial and plentiful, though, for
that matter, I think we were at all times the best fed army that ever
went to war. There were periods of starvation in battles, but the
main difficulty was even then in getting it from the kitchen to the
men in line.
The men had enough work to do to keep them in good healthy condition
and to prevent them from becoming discontented; but all in all, it
was an easy life. All of the old-timers got a chance to go off on
leave, most of them choosing Paris, the Riviera, or Ireland. Short
excursions to Coblenz by rail or river were given to everybody.
Our band had a prominent part in adding to the pleasures of life.
Bandmaster Ed. Zitzman had returned from school, and he with the
Drum Major John Mullin and Sergeants Jim Lynch and Paddy Stokes
made frequent demands on me for funds to purchase music and extra
instruments. In France I had bought sixteen _clairons_ or trumpets
for the Company buglers to play with the Band. Here on the Rhine I
bought other instruments, including orchestral ones, so we were well
supplied for field or chamber music. Lieutenant Slayter took charge
of the Band in matters of discipline and march time, with excellent
results.
One of the greatest of our successes during this period was the 165th
Minstrels, organized by Major Lawrence, always active in everything
for the good of the men. After having scored a distinct hit at home
and throughout the Division, they went on a tour through the Army
of Occupation, and were booked to go back through France if we had
remained longer abroad. The performers were: _Interlocutor_, William
K. McGrath; _End Men_, Harry Mallen, Thomas McCardle, Harold Carmody,
Edward Finley, and Charles Woods; _Soubrettes_, Robert Harrison,
James O’Keefe, James F. O’Brien, William O’Neill, James Mack, Melvin
King, and John McLaughlin; _Chorus_: Charles Weinz, Edward Smith,
John Brawley, John Ryan, John Zimmerman, John Mullins, Thomas
O’Kelly, Eugene Eagan, Walter Hennessey, Peter Rogers, William Yanss,
Clinton Rice, Thomas Donohue, Chester Taylor, Sylvester Taylor, James
Kelly, Charles Larson, with T. Higginbotham as strong man and Milton
Steckels as contortionist.
The health of the command has been excellent, although since we
have come into civilized parts we have developed a certain amount
of pneumonia which we escaped while living in the hardships of the
Argonne. Since leaving Baccarat I know of only two of our men who
have died from other than battle causes; Private Myers of the Machine
Gun Company was drowned in the Marne in August and John E. Weaver of
Company L died during the same month of illness. In Germany we lost
Corporal Patrick McCarthy, Company E, died of pneumonia October 20th,
W. J. Silvey of Company D, James Kalonishiskie and Robert Clato of M,
James C. Vails of H, Corporal Joseph M. Seagriff, James O’Halloran,
Charles Nebel and Terrence McNally of Supply Company, Emery Thrash
and George Sanford of L, Carl Demarco of F, and one of the best of
our Sergeants, John B. Kerrigan of Headquarters Company.
Our only grievances were the difficulties of getting back our old
officers and men, and the stoppage of promotions for officers after
the Armistice. Every day my mail had a number of letters from
soldiers all over France asking me to get them back to the Regiment;
and work on this line constituted my greatest occupation. Many of the
men took the matter in their own hands and worked their way across
France, dodging M. P.’s, stealing rides on trucks and trains, begging
meals from kindly cooks and nice old French ladies, and finally, if
their luck held out, getting back amongst their own. Others were
returned by a more legitimate route, until, by the time we left the
Rhine we had nearly fourteen hundred men who belonged to the original
command.
A large number of our officers had been recommended, some of them
over and over again, for promotion, and had not received it on
account of wounds which kept them in hospitals when the promotion
might have come through. And now they were barred from receiving the
rank which they had earned on the battlefield, the vacancies being
filled by replacements. Some of these replacement officers made
themselves a warm place in the heart of the regiment especially Major
James Watson, who joined us in Luxembourg and was put in command of
the 3rd Battalion; and also an old friend of ours from the 12th New
York, Major Jay Zorn, who was with us for a short time.
Finally this legitimate grievance was settled in the most ample and
satisfactory fashion. Lieutenant Colonel Donovan was made Colonel,
and placed in command of the regiment, Colonel Howland going to take
charge of a leave area in France. Major Anderson was made Lieutenant
Colonel, and Bootz, Meaney and Merle-Smith Majors. There were also
a number of promotions to the rank of Captain both in the line
companies and in the Sanitary Detachment. There were two other men
that we all felt should have gotten their majority, but when the
original recommendations were made they were both suffering from
wounds in hospitals with no seeming prospects of ever getting back
to the regiment. These two were Captain John P. Hurley and Captain
Richard J. Ryan, who also, to everybody’s great delight, rejoined
us on this river (which we call the Ryan river) though still in a
doubtful state of health.
Many of these promotions came after Donovan’s accession to the
command and through his energetic efforts. He also made use of every
possible means through official and private channels, to get back
every officer and man of the Old Regiment that was able to come.
First and foremost amongst these was Lieutenant Colonel Timothy
J. Moynahan, who left us in Baccarat as a Major and had won his
Lieutenant Colonelcy as well as a D. S. C. and a Croix de Guerre with
the 37th Division. Jack Mangan, now Major Mangan, came back from 2nd
Army Headquarters. We had an abundance of majors though we had lost
one of them—Major Tom Reilley, who had been sent home much against
his will for a promotion which he never received, just after the
fighting was over.
We also got back a lot of happy lieutenants who had gone to officers
Candidate Schools, and had been commissioned in other Divisions,
the happiest of the lot, I think, being Leo Larney, a fine athlete
and a fine man. We had often recommended men for promotion in the
regiment but had been successful in very few cases. Sergeant Thomas
McCarthy was commissioned after the Ourcq; and later on Sergeants
Patrick Neary and John J. Larkin were sent back to us from school as
sergeants because the war started too soon after they left Ireland.
When facilities for becoming citizens were extended to men in their
case, they received their commissions in the regiment, and both did
remarkable work in the Argonne. Sergeant Frank Johnston of Company E
was for a long time an officer without knowing it, as his commission
had been sent to his home address.
Colonel Donovan also inaugurated a series of little entertainments
and dinners, inviting the leading officers of other regiments in
the Division to partake of our Metropolitan Hibernian hospitality.
Everybody in the Division likes Donovan, and they were as much
delighted as we when he finally got command of the Regiment that
he had so often led in action. One of our greatest friends is
Colonel John Johnson of the Engineers, a manly forthright two-fisted
South Carolinian; we delight also in verbal encounter with Colonel
Henry Reilly of the 149 Field Artillery, a man of wide experience,
unlimited mental resources, and agile wit. The other three infantry
colonels Hough, Screws and Tinley have been with the Division from
the beginning and our interchange of visits with them will be always
one of the pleasantest recollections of the campaign.
We celebrated St. Patrick’s Day on the Rhine in the best approved
manner with religion, games and feasting. My altar was set up in a
field beside the river. The theme for my discourse was the debt that
the world owes to the sons of Saint Patrick for their fight for civil
and religious liberty at home and abroad, with the prayer that that
debt might now be squared by the bestowal of liberty on the Island
from whence we sprung.
The day before Saint Patrick’s Day the whole Division was reviewed
by the Commander-in-Chief, General Pershing, at Remagen. It was a
note-worthy military ceremony in an appropriate setting, by the banks
of that river of historic associations. When he came to our regiment
the eyes of General Pershing were taken by the silver furls which
covered the staff of our flag from the silk of the colors to the
lowest tip. In fact, that staff is now in excess of the regulation
length, as we had to add an extra foot to it to get on the nine furls
that record our battles in this war. “What Regiment is this?” he
asked. “The 165th Infantry, Sir.” “What Regiment was it?” “The 69th
New York, Sir.” “The 69th New York. I understand now.”
This visit was the final hint that our stay was not to be long.
The whole Division got together to organize the Rainbow Division
Veterans which we did at an enthusiastic and encouragingly
contentious meeting at Neuenahr.
When the orders finally came for our return to America I received
them with a joy that was tinged with regret that the associations of
the past two years were to be broken up. They had been years full
of life and activity, and take them all in all, years of happiness.
There never was a moment when I wanted to be any place other than I
was. There were times of great tragedy, of seeing people killed and
of burying my dearest friends, but all that was part of the tragedy
of our generation. It would not have been any less if I were not
present, and it was some consolation to be where I could render some
little comfort to the men who had to go through them and to the
relatives of those who paid the big price.
The sense of congenial companionship more than makes up for the
hardships incidental to a campaign. What I am going to miss most is
the friendships I have formed. In a very special degree I am going
to miss Donovan. Nearly every evening we take our walk together
along the river road that parallels the Rhine. It is the very spot
which Byron selected for description in Childe Harold. The Rhine
turns sharply to the right to make its way through the gorge of the
Siebengebirge. “The castled crag of Drachenfels” looks down upon
the peaceful cloistered isle of Nonnenwerth, upon pleasant villages
and vineyard terraces and beautiful villas which, with the majestic
river, make the scene one of the most beautiful in the world.
The companionship makes it all the more attractive. This young
Buffalo lawyer who was suddenly called into the business of war, and
has made a name for himself throughout the American Expeditionary
Forces for outstanding courage and keen military judgment, is a
remarkable man. As a boy he reveled in Thomas Francis Meagher’s
“Speech on the Sword,” and his dream of life was to command an Irish
brigade in the service of the Republic. His dream came true, for the
69th in this war was larger than the Irish Brigade ever was. But
it did not come true by mere dreaming. He is always physically fit,
always alert, ready to do without food, sleep, rest, in the most
matter of fact way, thinking of nothing but the work in hand. He has
mind and manners and varied experience of life and resoluteness of
purpose. He has kept himself clean and sane and whole for whatever
adventure life might bring him, and he has come through this
surpassing adventure with honor and fame. I like him for his alert
mind and just views and ready wit, for his generous enthusiasms and
his whole engaging personality. The richest gain I have gotten out of
the war is the friendship of William J. Donovan.
That is the way I talk about him to myself. When we are together
we always find something to fight about. One unfailing subject of
discussion is which of us is the greater hero. That sounds rather
conceited, and all the more so when I say that each of us sticks up
strongly for himself. Those infernal youngsters of ours have been
telling stories about both of us, most of which, at least those that
concern myself, attest the loyalty of my friends better than their
veracity. There is only one way to take it—as a joke. If either of
us gets a clipping in which his name is mentioned he brandishes it
before company under the nose of the other challenging him to produce
some proof of being as great a hero. The other day Captain Ryan gave
Donovan an editorial about him from a paper in Watertown, N. Y. It
was immediately brought to mess, and Donovan thought he had scored a
triumph, but I countered with a quotation from a letter which said
that my picture, jewelled with electric lights, had a place of honor
in the window of a saloon on 14th Street. Donovan surrendered.
I got a letter from Tom Reilley, who is back in New York, and
disgusted with life because he is no longer with us; and he gave me
some choice ammunition. “Father Duffy,” he said, “You are certainly a
wonderful man. Your press agents are working overtime. Recently you
have been called the ‘Miracle Man,’ thus depriving George Stallings
of the title. In the newspaper league you have Bill Donovan beat by
9,306 columns. I wish you would tell me, How do you wade through a
stream of machine gun bullets? And that little stunt of yours of
letting high explosive shells bounce off your chest—you could make
your fortune in a circus doing that for the rest of your life.”
It is all very amusing now, but it is going to be extremely
embarrassing when we get back amongst civilians where people take
these things too seriously. They kept me too long as a professor of
metaphysics to fit me for the proper enjoyment of popularity. Donovan
says that after his final duties to the regiment are finished he is
going to run away from it all and go off with his wife on a trip to
Japan.
On April the second we boarded our trains for Brest—the first leg
on the way home. We had a happy trip across France in the most
comfortably arranged troop trains that Europe ever saw; remained
three or four days at Brest, and sailed for Hoboken, the regiment
being split up on two ships. Our headquarters and the first six
companies were on the _Harrisburg_, formerly the _City of Paris_
in the American Line. Jim Collintine used to sail on it and is
very enthusiastic in his praises. It is funny to hear him telling
a seasick bunch “Ain’t it a grand boat! A lovely boat! Sure you
wouldn’t know you were aboard her. And she’s the woise ould thing.
She’s been over this thrip so often that if niver a man put a hand to
her wheel she’d pick her own way out and niver stop or veer till she
turned her nose into the dock, like an ould horse findin’ its way to
the manger.”
After the men had found their sea-legs we had a happy trip. We spent
Easter Sunday aboard, celebrating it in holy fashion.
It was a happy throng that stood on the decks of the _Harrisburg_
on the morning of April 21st, gazing at the southern shores of Long
Island, and then the Statue of Liberty, and the massive towering
structures that announce to incoming voyagers the energy and daring
of the Western Republic. Then down the bay came the welcoming
flotilla bearing relatives, friends and benefactors.
The number of our welcomers and the ampleness of their enthusiasm
were the first indications we had of the overwhelming welcome which
was to be ours during the following two weeks. I do not intend to
speak here at any length, of these events, as the gentlemen of the
press have described them better than I could ever hope to do.
The freedom of the city was conferred upon Colonel Donovan and
his staff by Mayor Hylan and the Board of Alderman; and a dinner
was given to the officers by the Mayor’s Committee headed by the
genial Commissioner Rodman Wanamaker. Our own Board of Trustees,
the most generous and efficient lot of backers that any fighting
outfit ever had since war began, gave the whole regiment a dinner
at the Hotel Commodore which set a new record in the history of
repasts. Our brethren of the 69th New York Guard also gave a dinner
to the officers of the 165th. And Colonel Donovan and I enjoyed the
hospitality of the Press Association and the Lamb’s Club. Another big
baseball game, through the good will of the owners of the Giants,
added fresh funds to the money at my disposal for needy families. My
own fellow townsmen in the Bronx prepared a public reception, for
which every last detail was arranged except the weather; but I was
prouder than ever of them when they put the thing through in good
soldier fashion, regardless of the meanest day of wind and rain that
New York ever saw in the month of May.
There was nothing that imagination could conceive or energy perform
that our Board of Trustees was not willing to do for us. Dan Brady,
who has neglected his business for the past two years to look after
the 69th, and all the rest of them, devoted themselves entirely
to furthering our well-being and our glory. The only thing I have
against Dan is that he makes me work as hard as himself, and bosses
me around continually. At one of the dinners I said that if Dan Brady
had taken up the same kind of a job that I had, he would be a bishop
by now; but if he were my Bishop I’d be a Baptist or a Presbyterian;
in some Church anyway, that doesn’t have Bishops.
The part of our reception which I enjoyed most of all was the parade
up Fifth Avenue. The whole regiment shared in it, including the extra
battalion, seven hundred strong, of men who had been invalided home,
and others of our wounded who had a place of honor on the grandstand.
Archbishop Hayes, who had blessed us as we left the Armory, Mayor
Hylan, men prominent in State and City, in Army and Navy affairs,
united to pay their tribute of praise to the old regiment. And
thousands and thousands of people on the stands cheered and cheered
and cheered, so that for five miles the men walked through a din of
applause, till the band playing the American and Irish airs could
scarce be heard.
It was a deserved tribute to a body of citizen soldiers who had
played such a manful part in battle for the service of the Republic.
The appreciation that the country pays to its war heroes is for
the best interest of the State. I am not a militarist, nor keen
for military glory. But as long as liberties must be defended, and
oppression or aggression put down, there must always be honor paid to
that spirit in men which makes them willing to die for a righteous
cause. Next after reason and justice, it is the highest quality in
citizens of a state.
Our fathers in this republic, in their poverty and lowliness, founded
many institutions, ecclesiastical, financial, charitable, which
have grown stronger with the years. One of these institutions was
a military organization, which they passed on to us with the flag
of the fifty silver furls. To these we have added nine more in the
latest war of our country. As it was borne up the Avenue flanked by
that other banner whose stars of gold commemorated the six hundred
and fifty dead heroes of the regiment, and surrounded by three
thousand veterans, I felt that in the breasts of generous and devoted
youths that gazed upon them there arose a determination that if, in
their generation, the Republic ever needed defenders, they too would
face the perils of battle in their country’s cause.
Men pass away, but institutions survive. In time we shall all go to
join our comrades who gave up their lives in France. But in our own
generation, when the call came, we accepted the flag of our fathers;
we have added to it new glory and renown—and we pass it on.
HISTORICAL APPENDIX BY JOYCE KILMER
I
Fifth Avenue held a memorable crowd on the afternoon of the ninth of
March, 1917. There were old women there in whose eyes was the eager
light that only the thought of a son can cause to glow; there were
proud old men—some of them with battered blue garrison-caps, and
badges that told of service in the War between the States—there were
wives, mothers, children—all waiting, in jubilant and affectionate
expectation, the sound of a band playing “Garryowen” and the sight
of a flag fluttering from a pole so covered with battle-furls as to
glisten in the sunlight like a bar of silver.
The Sixty-ninth Regiment was back from the border. Escorted by its
old friend, the Seventh New York, the Regiment marched nearly eight
hundred strong, down the Avenue and east to the Armory. The crowd—or
a large part of it—followed, and soon families separated for months
were reunited. When the Sixty-ninth was mustered out of service that
March day, after months of arduous service on the Mexican Border,
it numbered 783 men. Almost immediately it lost some three hundred
officers and men. This was in accordance with War Department orders
and the National Defense Act of June 3rd, 1916, which provided that
men with dependant relatives should be discharged from the service.
Men were lost also because of the system, now discontinued, by which
a soldier in the National Guard was furloughed to the reserve after
three years of active service.
So in the early Spring of 1917, with participation in the European
War a certainty, the Sixty-ninth Regiment found itself far below
war strength, having lost a great number of men whom experience
and training had made ideal soldiers. At once a recruiting
campaign was instituted, but a recruiting campaign of a special
kind. The Sixty-ninth has never found it at all difficult to fill
its ranks—when it was under Southern fire in the Sixties it was
brought up to war strength nine times. But the purpose in view now
was to bring into the regiment men who would, in every purpose
and way—physically, mentally and morally—keep up its ancient and
honorable standards. It was easy enough to enlist hundreds of strong
men who could be developed into good soldiers. But this was not
the object of the recruiting of the Spring of 1917. It was desired
to enlist strong, intelligent, decent-living men, men whose sturdy
Americanism was strengthened and vivified by their Celtic blood, men
who would be worthy successors of those unforgotten patriots who at
Bloody Ford and on Marye’s Heights earned the title of “The Fighting
Irish.”
The Regiment set its own standards in selecting recruits. In weight,
for example, one hundred and twenty-eight pounds was established
as the minimum. And if some honest man with broad shoulders and a
knockout in each fist was unable to read ACXUROKY on a card hung
thirty feet away—why, the examining physicians were instructed not
to be overly meticulous in their work. But if the candidate, having
every physical perfection, seemed to be the kind of man who would
be out of harmony with the things for which the Sixty-ninth stands
and has always stood, then the rigorous application of some of the
qualifying tests invariably resulted in his rejection.
When, on April 6th, 1917, President Wilson declared that a state
of war existed between the United States and Germany, his words
found the Sixty-ninth Regiment ready, its ranks filled to war
strength with soldiers of whom the men who fought at Gettysburg and
Chancellorsville would not be ashamed. There was new intensity in the
nightly drills; there was new fervor in the resolve of every man,
veteran of the Border and recruit alike, to make the Regiment as
nearly perfect a fighting unit as possible.
The 6th of April is a date which no American soldier will forget. And
almost equally memorable is the 15th day of July of the same year—the
day on which the National Guard was called into Federal Service. The
Sixty-ninth regiment, 2002 strong, scarcely felt the heat of that
torrid midsummer, so intent were all the men on preparing themselves
for the great adventure, and so passionately eager were they for the
call to service over-seas.
On the 5th of August the Regiment, still retaining the numerical
designation which is permanently engraved upon the tablets of our
nation’s history, was drafted into the Regular Army of the United
States. This was a step nearer to the firing line—made, accordingly,
with enthusiasm. And on the 25th day of August came the electrifying
news that the Sixty-ninth Regiment had been selected as the first New
York National Guard organization to be sent to the war in vanguard of
the American Expeditionary Force.
The circumstances in which the announcement was made to the regiment
were striking. It was a boiling Saturday afternoon and officers and
men were exhausted from the exercises of the morning—a Divisional
inspection in Central Park. The regiment marched through the dusty
streets and ascended the steps into the Armory to learn that they
were not to be immediately dismissed, but were to stay on the drill
floor or in the Company rooms. Lieutenant Colonel Latham R. Reed had
gone to Governor’s Island to attend an important conference, and
officers and men were ordered to await his return. Everyone hopefully
awaited the arrival of splendid tidings, and the weariness seemed to
pass away.
When Lieutenant Colonel Reed returned, he called a meeting of his
staff and the Battalion and Company Commanders, and told them such
details as were then obtainable of the great honor which had come to
the regiment they loved. There were present Major William J. Donovan,
Major William B. Stacom, Major Timothy J. Moynahan, Captain George
McAdie, Captain Thomas T. Reilley, Captain William Kennelly, Captain
James A. McKenna, Jr., Captain Alexander E. Anderson, Captain Michael
A. Kelly, Captain James J. Archer, Captain James G. Finn, Captain
Van S. Merle-Smith, Captain John P. Hurley, and Captain William T.
Doyle. They heard the good news with undisguised delight and at once
proceeded to prepare for the necessary intensive training.
But as great as was their delight, it was clouded with one regret.
And that regret was felt also by every enlisted man. They all knew
that the Regiment had been the first selected to go abroad not
because of what it had done in the Civil War, nor because it was
representative of what was best in the citizenship of our nation’s
greatest city. It had been selected, after a long and searching
examination of the military resources of the country, because
its record in the most recent important test—the Mexican Border
Campaign—showed it to be the best trained and equipped fighting
unit that America possessed. And the man who had done more than all
others to bring the Regiment to this point, the man who during the
long strenuous months on the Border had moulded it after his own
ideal pattern of soldierly efficiency—that man was absent from the
conference at which was announced the momentous news. There was not
an officer in the conference room, there was not an enlisted man on
the drill floor that day, who did not think of Colonel William N.
Haskell—of the joy with which he would lead his beloved Regiment into
the Great War, of the joy with which that Regiment would follow him
across the ocean and over the parapet and through the German lines
to the Kaiser’s palace. There was not an officer or man who did not
recall his last words when he was ordered to another duty “I want to
lead the 69th Regiment into a fight.”
Colonel Haskell was absent from this historic conference. He had been
lent, not given to the Regiment, and now the Government claimed his
valuable services to solve some of the problems of the new National
Army. But he was present in spirit—in the thoughts of everyone in the
building and in the fitness he had given to the Regiment’s personnel.
Soon after the announcement that the Sixty-ninth Regiment was to be
one of the very first into battle it was learned that the Regiment
was to be brought up to a strength of 3500, according to the
scheme which the French military experts had developed from their
hard-bought experience with the conditions of modern warfare. It
would have been a task gratifying to the whole Regiment, including
Colonel Charles Hine, who now was placed in command, to build
up the Regiment to this size by means of the recruiting methods
which already had proved so successful. But it had been decided by
higher authorities that the Regiment’s numbers should be augmented
by additions from other New York National Guard organizations.
Accordingly, one day in August, 1917, there arrived at the armory
the first of the new increments—332 men from the 7th New York
Infantry.
The ties that bind the 7th and the 69th are ancient and strong. The
friendship between the two organizations has often been strikingly
manifested. It was much in evidence when the New York National Guard
was stationed on the Border. But it has never been displayed more
convincingly than on the day that the men from the 7th joined the
69th. Escorted to the doors of the armory by the rest of the 7th, led
by Colonel Willard C. Fisk, the men found the entire 69th Regiment
assembled to welcome them. They were made at home; they found it
no difficult task to orient themselves to their new surroundings.
Without any disloyalty to the venerable regiment they had left, they
accepted as their own the traditions and standards of the 69th and
became not a distinct group added to the Regiment but a vital part of
it.
On the 20th of August the 69th Regiment, now 2,500 strong, again
marched through New York, and again an enormous crowd witnessed and
followed the march. But this crowd, unlike that of the 9th of March
previous, was not composed of people rejoicing over a long-sought
reunion. The same men, women and children who had been present on the
9th of March to welcome the soldiers returning from the Rio Grande
were present and they were as proud as, or prouder than before. But
faces that had been happy were fearful now and the gestures were of
farewell. Wives and mothers looked at the bright ranks with smiling
anguish. The 69th was marching to the ferry to cross the East River
and entrain for Camp Albert L. Mills, near Mineola, New York. It was
the first move toward the front, to win new battle-rings for the pole
that saw Cold Harbor and Bloody Ford.
There were many new and strange experiences in store for the officers
and men during the period of intensive training on Hempstead Plains.
A carefully planned schedule provided for drill and instruction
enough to fill nearly every minute of the day. Much of the work was
repetition for those of the men who had seen service on the Border,
but they entered into it in a way that showed they thoroughly
appreciated its value. There was also training in those phases of
offensive and defensive warfare which have been developed since
August, 1914. This work came in for an especially large share of
attention. It was no longer a mere drill; it was active preparation
for the use of what is, in spite of trench mortar, cannon, bomb and
machine, the most effective weapon of modern warfare. The Regiment
was instructed in the use of the bayonet by reserve officers who
had acquired their knowledge from men with actual experience at the
front. Cold steel propelled by Irishmen was said to be what the
Germans chiefly feared and every effort was made to make sure that
the 69th should not, through lack of practice, be less skillful with
the bayonet than were the Dublin Fusileers and the Connaught Rangers.
Visitors to the camp who were so fortunate as to be present at the
bayonet drill were greatly impressed by the dexterity which the
soldiers had gained in a few weeks, and by the intense realism which
pervaded the exercise.
And now the Regiment gained, from day to day, the increments
necessary to bring it up to the prescribed war strength of 3500.
The men from the 7th had already been assimilated as privates and
non-commissioned officers; they had become an integral part of the
69th (for only on paper was the name 165th in use). The 23rd, 14th,
71st and 12th now sent their delegations.
In most cases, the selection of the men in the various armories was
made with perfect fairness, the prescribed number of sergeants,
corporals and privates being arbitrarily taken from the ranks. But in
certain companies it was soon evident that the officers had yielded
to the natural temptation to endeavor to retain in their commands
their best trained non-coms. Here was, for instance, a corporal to be
taken from Blank Company of the Dash Regiment. By strict adherence to
the letter of the law, Corporal Smith, a soldier of stainless record,
with three month’s Border service to his credit, should be the man to
entrain for Camp Mills. But here was Private Jones, a recent recruit,
not especially happy in the Dash Regiment and probably not likely
to be homesick for it if sent away. Why not let him sew a couple of
stripes on the sleeves of his new blouse, and go on his way rejoicing.
This is the way some Company Commanders reasoned. And as a result,
the 69th Regiment found that among its new members were some
Sergeants and Corporals whose military knowledge included little
more than the manual of arms, and privates who were physically,
morally, and mentally unfit for the service. It was not to be
expected that these men would be received with overwhelming
enthusiasm.
Many of the soldiers received from other regiments—most of them in
fact, were valuable additions to the 69th and at once proved their
usefulness by merging with the rest of the outfit and working for the
soldierly perfection of the whole body. Of the others—well, some of
them were reformed by thorough disciplinary action, and others were
allowed to drift back into civilian life by means of liberal use of
dependency and surgeon’s certificate of disability.
So many soldiers were lost of those acquired from other regiments
that although the time for sailing was almost at hand it was
considered advisable to institute another recruiting campaign. There
was no difficulty in gaining the desired number of recruits; the
prospect of immediate service in France with the most famous regiment
in America brought to the Armory doors three times as many candidates
as could be accepted.
Now the wives and mothers who thronged the dusty Company streets on
Saturday and Sunday afternoons began to show stronger anxiety, to
look with new intensity into the eyes of their soldiers as they bade
them farewell and returned to the city. For the time for sailing was
at hand—no one knew just when or just where the Regiment was going,
but all felt it was a question only of days or hours.
Twice secret orders to sail were received at Regimental Headquarters,
and twice these orders were hastily countermanded. The suspense began
to tell on officers and men, to tell even more, perhaps on those to
whom they had again and again to say good bye. At last, on the night
of October 25th, Major Donovan led the first battalion through the
dark camp and down the silent lanes to the long train that was to
take them to Montreal.
And now there were no crowds, there was no music. It was a journey
more momentous, greater in historical importance, than the Regiment’s
triumphant return from the Border, than its flower and flag decked
setting forth for Camp Mills. But it was not, like those memorable
events, a time for music and pomp. The feeling of the officers and
men was one of stern delight, of that strange religious exaltation
with which men of Celtic race and faith go into battle, whether the
arena be Vinegar Hill, Fontenoy, or Rouge Boquet. As the trainful of
happy warriors steamed through the first leagues of the journey to
the Front, Father Duffy, the Regiment’s beloved Chaplain, passed from
car to car hearing confessions and giving absolution. Rosaries—the
last dear gift of mothers and sweethearts—were taken out and by
squads, platoons and companies the soldiers told their beads. There
was little sleep on the 69th special for Montreal that night—officers
and men were too excited, too exalted for that. They had entered at
last on the adventure of their lives.
General O’Ryan had said that a soldier is a man who always wants
to be elsewhere than where he is. This is not true of soldiers of
the race to which General O’Ryan’s name indicates that he belongs.
They want to be elsewhere—only when they are in some peaceful place.
If the Regiment had been restless before, the second and third
Battalions were doubly so after they had seen four companies of their
comrades go away.
But they had not long to wait. On the night of October 29th, the
_America_ (formerly the _Amerika_ of the Hamburg-American line)
pulled out of New York Harbor. There was no khaki on her decks; the
only figures to be seen were sailors and deck-hands. But as soon as
the vessel was out of range of spying Teutonic eyes, soldiers poured
out of every hatchway. And as they thronged the deck-space available
and looked their last for a long time at the lights along the fast
receding shore, they showed a contentment, a mirth that amazed the
crew, long accustomed to transporting troops.
“What’s the matter with you fellows?” asked one sailor. “Ain’t you
sorry to be leaving your homes? Didn’t you ever hear there was such
things as submarines?” He had helped carry over all sort of soldiers,
he said, Regulars, Marines and Guardsmen, but he had never before
seen passengers so seemingly indifferent to the grief of leavetaking
and the perils of the wartime sea. He couldn’t understand it.
He might have been able to understand it if he had read Chesteron’s
“Ballad of the White Horse.” For in that wise poem is an explanation
of the psychology of the 69th New York, an explanation of the
singular phenomenon of soldiers leaving their dear ones and setting
out over menacing seas to desperate battle in a strange land as
merrily as if they were planning merely an evening at Coney Island.
Chesterton wrote:
“For the great Gaels of Ireland
Are the men that God made mad
For all their wars are merry
And all their songs are sad.”
II
The First Battalion’s voyage to France was more interesting than
that of the main body of the regiment or of Companies L and M, who
followed them in a few days. Sailing from Montreal on the _Tunisian_
at 8 on the morning of October 27th, they landed at Liverpool,
England, on November 10. There they entrained for Southhampton,
reaching that city late in the night. In the night of the 11th they
crossed the English Channel to Havre, and after a few hours’ rest
they were packed into open box-cars for their cold journey across
France. They detrained at Sauvoy on November 15.
The voyage of the good ship _America_ was made over a sea so
glassy-smooth that sea-sickness was an impossibility. The
boat-drills, the rules against smoking or showing lights on deck at
night and the constant watch for submarines (a work which was put
wholly in the hands of the 69th Regiment, and executed by them with
unflagging devotion) served to remind the men that, peaceful as the
blue water looked, they were actually in the war already.
The discomforts of a crowded ship could not daunt the spirits of the
men of the 69th. The dark holes far below the water-level in which
they were tightly packed rang with song and laughter every night
until taps sounded. There were concerts on deck and in the mess-room
every night, except when the ship’s course was through the danger
zone and silence was enforced. If there is left in the Atlantic Ocean
a mermaid who cannot now sing “Over There,” “Goodbye Broadway, Hello
France,” “Mother Machree,” and “New York Town,” it is not the fault
of the 69th New York.
And yet mirth was not the sole occupation of these soldiers,
exhilarated as they were by the prospects of battle. During the day,
one could find little groups gathered on hatchways and in corners,
studying, from little manuals they had bought, such subjects as the
new bayonet work and grenade throwing. The talk of the men was very
seldom of the homes and friends they had left behind, it was nearly
always of the prospect of battle. They talked of what front they
might be expected to hold, with what troops they might be trained,
and, above all, of how soon they were to go into action. They
discussed such methods and instruments of modern warfare as they knew
with the keen interest of those who are soldiers by their own choice.
Those who do not know the 69th Regiment would have been puzzled by
the spectacle presented by the main deck amidships every afternoon
and evening. There could be seen a line of soldiers, as long as the
mess-line, waiting their turn to go to confession to the Regimental
Chaplain, Father Francis P. Duffy. And every morning—not on Sundays
alone—there was a crowd at the same spot, where, on an altar resting
on two nail kegs, Father Duffy said Mass.
The voyage passed without any sight of hostile sea or aircraft, and
after two weeks the _America_ came to anchor in the beautiful harbor
of Brest. That is, it seemed a beautiful harbor at first, with its
long white quay and its miles of dark green shore picked out with
venerable gray stone buildings. But as day succeeded day with nothing
for the soldiers to do but tramp the decks and yearn for the feel of
sod under their hobnails, the view began to lose some of its beauty.
There were two weeks on the open sea—these soon passed. But the week
in Brest Harbor, in tantalizing sight of land, separated by only half
a mile of green evil-smelling stagnation from shops and cafes and
homes—that was cruel and unusual punishment.
When, after six days a detail for the hard work of loading freight
cars was formed, every man in the regiment volunteered—and this sort
of a detail usually is eagerly avoided. The volunteers who were
accepted had little to reward them except the pleasure of being
upon comparatively dry land. They were given no chance to taste the
delights of the seaside city. When their task of unloading and
loading baggage was finished, they and the rest of their shipmates
learned what “Hommes 36-40, Chevaux 8” meant. From 40 to 50 men
entered the waiting box-cars, with hard tack and canned corn-beef
(Corn Willie) to feed them, and their own blankets to protect them
from the hardness of the floors and the cold blasts that swept in at
the open sides.
Three days and three nights of such travelling as no soldier of the
69th can ever forget, and they were at the village of Sauvoy, in the
Department of Meuse. From this point a hike of some two hours brought
them to the tiny village of Naives-en-Blois. Here was to be the new
home of Regimental Headquarters, Headquarters Company, Supply Company
and Company B. The other companies (including those of the First
Battalion, which had arrived in the district on the fifteenth of the
month) were quartered in the nearby villages of Sauvoy, Bovée, Vacon,
Broussey and Villeroi.
The Regiment was put not in barracks, but in billets. Now billets,
to those of the men who had done guard duty in upper New York State
during the previous Spring, meant comfortable bedrooms, buckwheat
cakes with syrup for breakfast, and the society of good natured
farming people. But billeting in the European sense of the term,
meant something different, as they soon found out. It meant that
certain householders, in return for the payment of a few sous per
man per twenty-four hours, were obliged to allow soldiers to sleep
in their stables, barns or other outhouses. They were not obliged to
furnish any food, light or heat. They were not obliged even to mend
the roofs or walls of the shelters. Straw for filling bedsacks was
furnished to the soldiers, and they were fairly launched on their
first winter in France.
It was a winter of unprecedented severity. A freezing wind blew
through the great holes in the tumble-down sheds where the men slept,
covering them, night after night, with snow. They learned many
soldierly things. How to make blouse and overcoat supplement the thin
army blankets, for instance. How to keep shoes from freezing in the
night by sleeping on them. How to dress and undress in the dark—for
lamps were unknown and candles forbidden.
These things the soldiers taught themselves, or were taught by
circumstances during their stay in Naives-en-Blois and environs.
Their work consisted of close order drill, guard duty, and the
thorough and much needed policing of the ancient village street.
Now, Naives was near the front—so near that the guns could clearly be
heard when the wind blew in the right direction. This was cheering
for the men, but as there were indications of a strengthening of the
German lines at this point, with a possible view to an offensive, it
was necessary to use the district for troops whose training had been
completed; and, according to the new European standards, that of the
69th had not yet begun. So it was necessary for the Regiment—indeed,
for the whole 42nd Division, which then had its headquarters in the
nearby city of Vaucouleurs—to give place to seasoned French troops.
So the men made their packs, the wagons were loaded, and the Regiment
changed station from the 4th to the 5th area.
After two days of hiking (very easy hiking it seemed, in the light
of later experiences) the Regiment arrived, on December 13, in the
historic town of Grand. Here, centuries before, the conquering Romans
had encamped, one hundred thousand strong. The ruins of the mighty
ampitheatre that they built still stands, and the tower of the great
church was once part of a fort. It was Caesar himself who planned
the broad roads on which our Regiment drilled, and Caesar’s soldiers
who made them. In this venerable church Father Duffy said midnight
Mass on Christmas, and all the town came to see these strange,
gentle, brave, mirthful, pious American soldiers, who, coming from
a new land to fight for France, practiced France’s ancient faith
with such devotion. The Regimental colors were in the chancel,
flanked by the tricolor. The 69th band was present, and some French
soldier-violinists. A choir of French women sang hymns in their own
language, the American soldiers sang a few in English, and French and
American joined in the universal Latin of “Venite, Adoremus Dominum.”
It was a memorable Midnight Mass—likely to be remembered longer even
than that which Father Duffy had said on the Mexican Border just a
year previous, which troops for fifty miles around had crossed the
prairies to attend.
Now it was considered advisable for the Division to proceed to
the 6th area. This meant a hike of some four days and nights.
Accordingly, at 8 on the morning of December 26th, the Regiment
passed through the main street of Grand and out over the ancient
Roman road.
This hike has become so famous—or so infamous—because of the
undeniable sufferings of those who took part in it that it needs
no detailed description here. It must by any impartial historian
be admitted that during it the men of the 69th Regiment were
insufficiently fed and shod, that they endured great and unnecessary
pains and privations. It must also be admitted that they bore these
trials with a cheerfulness which amazed the French civilians through
whose villages they passed, accustomed as were these people to
soldiers of almost every human race. They would crush their bleeding
feet into their frozen, broken-soled hobnails of a black morning,
and breakfastless start out, with a song on their lips, to climb the
foothills of the Vosges Mountains through the heart of a blizzard. At
noon (shifting their feet about to keep the blood moving) they would
(if it was one of the lucky days) have a slice of bread or two pieces
of hardtack for noon mess. At night they would have a sleep instead
of supper. But they were never dispirited; they were never too cold,
too hungry or too weary to sing or to teach the innocent French
villagers strange bits of New York slang.
No man in the 69th Regiment “fell out” during that terrible hike.
But many fell down. That is, no one, because of heart-breaking
weariness, or faintness or lameness went to the roadside and waited
for the ambulance to pick him up. Those who finished the journey in
ambulances or trucks did so because they had fallen senseless in the
deep snow, unable to speak or move. And wherever the Regiment passed
there were bloody tracks in the white roadway.
“That hike made Napoleon’s retreat from Moscow look like a Fifth
Avenue parade,” said one of the medical officers serving during this
period. And many an observer compared the Regiment to Washington’s
foot-sore soldiers at Valley Forge. It was only the indomitable
spirit of the Irish American fighting man that kept the Regiment
afoot through those four tragic days.
The Regiment that arrived in Longeau on the afternoon of December
29th looked different from the Regiment that had left Grand four days
before. To judge them by their gait and their faces, the men had aged
twenty years. But their hearts were unchanged. As they stood in the
deep snow, the ice-crusted packs still on their bruised shoulders,
they had a laughing word for every pretty face at a Longeau window.
The weary bandsmen started a defiant air, and the Regiment joined in
with a roar. The song was “The Good Old Summertime.”
III
Longeau, which with the surrounding villages constituted the
Regiment’s new home, is a small farming town in the Haute Marne
District. Unlike those of Naives, its houses are strongly built and
in excellent preservation, and the billets in which (awaiting the
completion of barracks) the troops were stationed were dry, warm and
comfortable. As soon as possible, the Regiment moved into the new
barracks built in the outskirts of Longeau and nearby villages, and
was thus more nearly consolidated than it had previously been since
its arrival in France.
In Longeau, the 69th Regiment was destined to receive much more
practical training for the trenches than it had received in Camp
Mills, Naives or Grand. These last two towns had really been
merely stopping places, Longeau was a training camp. The most
important event of the stay in Longeau was the advent of Colonel
John W. Barker. Colonel Hine was withdrawn from his post with the
regiment early in January, in order that he might take part in the
transportation work for which he was especially fitted. He was
succeeded on January 12th by Colonel John W. Barker, National Army.
Colonel Barker was an up-state New Yorker, who graduated from West
Point in the class of ’09. He had served in the Regular Infantry ever
since in Cuba, the Philippines and on the Mexican Border. He saw
considerable active service against the Indians, after taking part in
almost the last of the Indian fight at Leach Creek, Minnesota.
Four years ago, he was recommended by his arm of the service to
represent the Infantry for one year’s duty with a French Infantry
Regiment. He was in France on this duty when the great war broke
out, and remained as a member of our military organization until
the arrival of the American Expeditionary Forces. Then he joined
the staff of the Commander in Chief as General Staff Officer, 5th
Section. He served General Headquarters in this capacity until
personally selected by the Commander in Chief to command the 165th
Infantry.
Now the regiment began to take the form of a modern fighting
organization. It was Colonel Barker’s task to bring it into
conformation with the new Tables of Organization, and to this task
the best energies of himself and his staff were immediately devoted.
The specialized platoons (pioneers, trench mortar, one pound cannon)
were now organized and intensively trained. Competent enlisted men
from these platoons were sent to the schools newly established by
General Headquarters and given the advantage of instruction by
officers who had gained their knowledge of the subjects in actual
warfare conditions. Hand grenades were supplied, and every man taught
their effective use. Steel helmets now replaced the historic felt
campaign hats. To every man were issued two gas masks, one French
gas mask and one English box respirator. By means of constant drill
in the rapid adjustment of these masks, under the direction of an
officer who had specialized in the subject, the men acquired a
proficiency in their use which saved many a life in the Lunéville and
Baccarat Sectors and during the weeks of desperate fighting on the
banks of the Suippes and the Marne.
It was during the stay in Longeau that the 69th Regiment organized
its Intelligence Section, the first in the 42nd Division. Under the
direction of the Regimental Intelligence Officer, Lieutenant Basil
B. Elmer, U. S. R., there was organized and trained a group of
scouts, observers, map-makers and snipers so expert in detecting and
hindering the movements of the enemy that they were several times, in
the course of the action that came later, asked to attach themselves
permanently to the Headquarters of the 42nd Division, in order that
they might serve as instructors to the other regimental intelligence
sections.
There were several changes in the personnel of the Regiment’s
administrative staff. Lieutenant Colonel Reed had been selected for
Staff College, and the Regiment never got him back. Captain William
Doyle, who had served as Regimental Adjutant in Camp Mills, had
been relieved while the regiment was in Naives-en-Blois, and his
place taken by Captain Alexander E. Anderson, long in command of
Company E. Now Captain Anderson was relieved as Adjutant and placed
in command of Headquarters Company. Its former commander, Captain
Walter E. Powers, for several years Adjutant of the Regiment, went
to the Headquarters of the 42nd Division, leaving an enviable record
for absolute efficiency in company and regimental administration.
His abilities were soon recognized by his commission as Major and
appointment as Divisional Adjutant. Captain Doyle was attached to
Brigade Headquarters. Captain Anderson’s work was taken over by
Lieutenant William F. McKenna, who was appointed Acting Adjutant, an
office which he had filled during part of the Border campaign.
The training of officers and men never flagged while the Regiment was
stationed in Longeau. Battalion and company commanders, Lieutenants
and enlisted men were sent for brief periods to the special schools
instituted by General Headquarters for their benefit, and on their
return imparted to others the knowledge they had gained. There were
lectures and quizzes every evening in the barracks, supplementary to
the instruction received every morning and afternoon in the drill
field and on the range. A number of American officers who had seen
service at the front were now attached to the Regiment, and their
first hand information gave new actuality to the daily work.
The training of the Regiment for the action in which they were soon
to take part received new and strong impetus during the month of
February by the arrival in camp of the 32nd Battalion of Chasseurs.
These famous French soldiers, who had been in violent action ever
since 1914, proved to be the most useful instructors for the men of
the 69th. On the range and during the long hours of grenade throwing
and open and trench warfare practice, their instruction, example and
companionship was a constant incentive to the American soldiers. And
it was a proud day for the 69th Regiment when its soldiers perceived
that in rifle marksmanship and in grenade throwing they had
succeeded in proving their superiority to their veteran instructors.
From February 7th to February 13th the Regiment took part in
manoeuvres in which it was opposed by the 166th Infantry. These
manoeuvres took place in the hilly country around Longeau and had
as their ultimate objective the seizure and holding of the town of
Brennes. This difficult strategic task was eventually accomplished.
Now the desire of the men for immediate participation in the action,
the lure of which had drawn them across the ocean, was so strong as
to amount to an obsession. It was evident to any competent observer
that the whole Division was ready to render valuable service, as
thoroughly trained as any unit in the American contingent. This was
evidently the opinion of those who directed the movement of American
troops, for on February 16th, 17th and 18th the Regiment marched to
Langres, under orders to entrain for the city of Lunéville, in the
Department of Meurthe-et-Moselle, for training with French troops in
the line—that is, for actual duty in the trenches.
Lunéville was the largest town in which the Regiment had been
stationed since its arrival in France. Some of the companies were
put in billets, and some in the Stanislas Barracks, a magnificent
stone building in the center of the town. Regimental Headquarters was
established in the Stanislas Palace, a building which had previously
housed the Administrative staffs of some of the French regiments who
since 1914 had done brilliant work in retarding the German advance.
Now the Regiment was placed under the tactical orders of the General
commanding the 164th Division of the French Army, the Division then
occupying what was known as the Lunéville Sector. On February 21st,
the 1st and 2nd Battalions, Headquarters Company and Machine Gun
Company paraded in the central square of Lunéville and were reviewed
by Major General Bassilière, then commander of the 17th French Army
Corps. A few days later, the Regiment was made happy by learning
that orders to go to the front had been received. On February 27th
and 28th respectively, Companies D and B marched to their posts in
the front line trenches, relieving companies of the 15th Group of
Chasseurs of the French Army.
And now came a chapter in the history of the 69th Regiment which
blotted out from the minds of officers and men all the hard work of
the Camp Mills training period, all the privations and discomforts of
the ocean trip and the journey across blizzard-beleagured France. The
69th was actually in the fighting—it was called “a period of training
in the trenches,” but it was no time of sham-battles and manoeuvres.
It was, in fact, an initiation into battle, by way of what was (up to
the time of the 42nd Division’s entry into it) a quiet sector.
A “quiet sector” is one in which the German and French lines are
separated from each other by a considerable distance—sometimes as
much as five kilometers—in which there is no immediate objective for
which the troops on either side are striving, in which, finally,
shots are seldom fired, the opposing forces being content merely to
hold their trenches almost undisturbed. These are also termed “rest
sectors,” and the task of holding them is given either to troops
wearied by participation in great battles or to troops fresh from the
drill field and lacking in experience in actual warfare.
Nothing could have been more idyllic than the
Rouge-Bouquet-Chaussailles Subsector of the Lunéville Sector when
Company D marched to its strong point before dawn on the morning of
February 27th. The subsector is heavily wooded and almost clear of
underbrush. As the company marched up the hill through groves of
birch, pine, spruce, and fir, and saw to right and left little summer
houses, benches, tables and dugout entrances elaborately decorated
with rustic woodwork they were rather shocked by the idyllic beauty
of what they saw. Not for service in such a recreation park had they
crossed the seas. Where were the bursting shells, where was the
liquid fire, where were the bayonets of the charging Boches? This
series of outposts joined by little ditches seemed at first too much
like Central Park to satisfy the battle-hungry soldiers of the 69th.
The impression of absolute peacefulness was further emphasized in
the course of a thorough reconnaissance of the subsector made on the
morning of the 27th by the Regimental Intelligence Section. They
stepped across a ditch and learned that they had passed the front
line trenches—had gone “over the top.” They wandered about what
seemed to be a deserted pasture and learned that they were in No
Man’s Land.
But this tranquillity was not long to endure. The “Fighting Irish”
lived up to their reputation—they “started something” at once.
Rifles were cracking merrily before Company D’s men had been at
their posts for half an hour. And by dusk on the evening of the
27th, Corporal Arthur Trayer and Private John Lyons of Company D had
earned the distinction of being the first soldiers of the Regiment to
be wounded. A high explosive shell burst on striking the roof of a
shack in which they were resting, and the fragments wounded them—not
seriously, but enough to warrant sending them to a hospital for a few
weeks and later awarding them the coveted wound chevrons.
By the night of the 27th the Chaussaille-Rouge Bouquet Subsector had
lost much of its reputation for quietness. The Germans may not have
known as yet that Americans were in the trenches opposite them, but
they knew at any rate that some new and aggressive unit had taken
over the line, and they felt in duty bound to show that they were not
in the trenches entirely for a rest curé. So the fight was on.
Regimental Headquarters took over the Regimental Post of Command
at Arbre Haut on March 3rd. Company A occupied Strong Point Rouge
Bouquet from March 1st to March 7th, Company E from March 7th to
13th, Company L from March 13th to March 21st. Company B occupied
Strong Point Chaussailles from March 1st to March 6th, Company H from
March 6th to March 12th, Company K from March 12th to March 22nd.
Company D occupied Strong Point Sorbiers from March 1st to March 5th,
Company F from March 5th to March 11th, Company I from March 11th to
March 17th, Company M from March 17th to March 22nd.
There were many minor casualties during the early part of this
period, but nothing of a really tragic nature occurred until March
7th. Then came a calamity which would have broken the morale of
any regiment less high-spirited than this, so sudden was it and so
lamentable.
On that unforgettable Wednesday, all was quiet as if there were no
war until exactly 3.20 in the afternoon. Then the enemy started
a barrage of minnewerfer shells. Interspersed with 77s they fell
steadily and thick for about an hour. One shell fell directly on
the roof of a dugout in Rocroi—an old dugout, built by the French
four years before. In it were 21 men and one officer—1st Lieutenant
John A. Norman of Company E. All were buried in the broken earth and
beams, and some were at once killed. Two men were sitting on the edge
of the upper bunk in one of the rooms—a falling beam crushed the head
of one and left the other uninjured.
At once a working party was organized and began to dig the soldiers
from their living grave. There was bombardment after bombardment,
but the men kept at work, and eventually they dug out two men alive
and five dead. There were living men down in that pit—their voices
could be heard, and they were struggling toward the light. Lieutenant
Norman could be heard encouraging them and guiding the efforts of
their bruised and weary hands and feet. Several times they were at
the surface and willing hands were out-stretched to draw them to
safety—when well-aimed shells plunged them down again into that place
of death. At last, after almost superhuman efforts on the part of men
from Company E and from the pioneer platoon of Headquarters Company,
after deeds of heroism, brilliant but unavailing, the work was
discontinued. The bodies of fourteen men and one officer still lay in
that ruined dugout—it was unwise, in view of the constant bombardment
of it, to risk the lives of more men in digging for them. So a tablet
was engraved and erected above the mound, the last rites of the
church were celebrated by Father Duffy, and the place where the men
had fought and died became their grave.
After March 7th, no one called the Rouge Bouquet-Chaussailles Sector
a rest park, no one complained that it was too peaceful to make them
know they were at war. Not only the front line sector but the reserve
position at Grand Taille and the road leading from the Battalion
Post of Command at Rouge Bouquet to Regimental Headquarters at
Arbre Haut were bombarded every day. But the Regiment held the line
with undiminished zeal, and gave the enemy an experience novel in
this sector in the shape of a _Coup de Main_ on the night of March
20th. Of this adventure, the first of many of the kind in which the
regiment was to take part, a brief, accurate account is to be found
in the citation of its leader, 1st Lieutenant Henry A. Bootz, (later
Captain of Company C), by the Seventh French Army Corps.
His citation reads: “In the course of a raid, led a combat group
into the enemy’s lines, going beyond the objective assigned, and
recommenced the same operation eight hours later, giving his men an
example of the most audacious bravery. Returned to our lines carrying
one of his men severely wounded.”
It is a matter of no military importance but of deep interest to
everyone who sympathizes with the 69th Regiment and knows its
history and traditions, that when the raiding party marched up past
Regimental Headquarters on their way to the trenches, there fluttered
from the bayonet of one of the men a flag—a green flag marked in
gold with the harp that has for centuries been Ireland’s emblem—the
harp without the crown—and inscribed “Erin Go Bragh!” This flag had
been given to Sergeant Evers of the Band and by a stranger—an old
woman who burst through the great crowd that lined the streets when
the Regiment marched from the armory to the dock on their journey to
Camp Mills and, crying and laughing at the same time, thrust it into
his hands. The flag went “over the top” twice that night, and for
memory’s sake the name “Rouge Bouquet” was embroidered on it. Later,
the embroidered names became so numerous that the design of the flag
almost disappeared. Who the woman was who gave the Regiment this
appropriate tribute is unknown. Perhaps it was Kathleen in Houlihan
herself.
It was natural that this brilliant and utterly unexpected _Coup de
Main_ should have the effect of irritating our country’s enemy. It
did so, and the result was a dose of “Schrecklichkeit” which at first
threatened to prove more serious than the fatal bombardment of the
dugout in Rouge Bouquet. It came on the days of the raid—March 20th
and March 21st. The French soldiers had been inclined to make light
of the 69th Regiment’s elaborate precautions against gas-attacks,
of the constant wearing of the French gas mask and the English box
respirator at the alert position (the respirator bound across the
soldier’s chest ready for immediate use) when in the trenches. The
Germans, they said, could not send cloud or projector gas through
Rocroi Woods, and their last gas shell attack had been made three
years before. Why take such precautions against an improbable danger?
But the French officers and men saw the wisdom of the Regiment’s
precautionary measures after March 20th and 21st. For on these dates
occurred a gas attack of magnitude unprecedented in this sector, in
which the French casualties far outnumbered those of the Americans.
The gas sent over in shells that burst along the road from Arbre Haut
to the Battalion Post of Command and along the trenches and outposts
from Chaussailles to Rouge Bouquet were filled with mustard-gas,
which blinded the men and bit into their flesh, and poisoned all
blankets, clothing and food that was within the range of its baneful
fumes. There were four hundred casualties in the Regiment on those
two nightmare-like days—four hundred men, that is, who were taken,
blind and suffering, from the fateful forest to the hospital in
Lunéville and thence to Vittel and other larger centers for expert
medical treatment. Most of these men were from Company K, others from
Company M and Headquarters Company. But only two men were immediately
killed by the gas, and of the four hundred who went to the hospital
only three died—of broncho-pneumonia resulting from the action of the
gas on their lungs. To their careful training in the use of the gas
mask, the men owed the preservation of their lives in an attack which
was intended to destroy all of the battalion then in the line.
A volume could be filled with a record of the heroism displayed by
the officers and men of the 69th Regiment during these two days and
nights of violent bombardment. The French authorities overwhelmed
the Regiment with congratulations and awards. And surely the Croix
de Guerre never shone upon breasts more worthy of it than those of
First Lieutenant George F. Patton, of the Sanitary Detachment, who,
standing in the center of a storm of mustard-gas, coolly removed his
mask in order to give a wounded soldier the benefit of his medical
attention, or that of First Lieutenant Thomas Martin of Company K,
who, when every other officer of his company had been taken away to
the hospital, took command of the unit and held the sector through
forty-eight hours of almost incessant bombardments. The French
Division commander bestowed the Croix de Guerre on Col. Barker, with
the following citation:
“Commands a regiment noticeable for its discipline and fine conduct
under fire. Has given his troops an example of constant activity
and has distinguished himself especially on the 20th of March by
going forward under a violent barrage fire to assure himself of
the situation and of the state of morale of one of his detachments
starting on a raid into the enemy’s lines.”
[Illustration: 165 U.S. INF. 1917-1919]
APPENDIX
NEW FURLS ON REGIMENTAL STAFF
LUNÉVILLE SECTOR, February 21 to March 23, 1918.
BACCARAT SECTOR, April 1 to June 21, 1918.
ESPERANCE-SOUAIN SECTOR, July 4 to July 14, 1918.
CHAMPAGNE-MARNE DEFENSIVE, July 15 to July 18, 1918
AISNE-MARNE OFFENSIVE, July 25 to August 3, 1918
ST. MIHIEL Offensive, September 12 to September 16, 1918.
ESSEY and PANNES Sector. Woevre, September 17 to September 30, 1918.
ARGONNE-MEUSE OFFENSIVE, October 13 to October 31, 1918
ARGONNE-MEUSE OFFENSIVE LAST PHASE, November 5, to November 9,
1918.
LOSSES IN ACTION
Killed: 644 Wounded: 2,857. Total: 3,501.
Kilometers gained: 55.
Headquarters: 83 different places.
Number of days in contact with the enemy: 180.
LIST OF DECORATIONS[6]
DISTINGUISHED SERVICE CROSS WITH PALM
Colonel
William J. Donovan
DISTINGUISHED SERVICE CROSS
Lieut.-Colonels
Timothy J. Moynahan
Charles A. Dravo
Majors
James A. McKenna (Deceased)
Michael A. Kelly
Thomas T. Reilley
Van S. Merle-Smith
Captains
Richard J. Ryan
Louis A. Stout
First Lieutenants
James B. McIntyre
William M. Spencer
John J. Williams
Second Lieutenants
Oliver Ames (Deceased)
James S. D. Burns (Deceased)
John J. Burke
Andrew Ellett
Chaplains
Francis P. Duffy
James M. Hanley
George R. Carpentier
Sergeants
Co. C, Joseph W. Burns
Co. A, John J. Dennelly
Co. D, Joseph J. Lynch
Co. C, Thomas P. O’Hagan
Co. D, John J. Gribbon
Co. B, Spiros Thomas
Co. H, Bernard Finnerty (Deceased)
Co. H, Eugene J. Sweeney
Co. A, Thomas J. Sweeney
Co. I, Michael A. Donaldson
Co. C, Thomas O’Kelly
Co. Hq., Thomas E. Fitzsimmons
Co. K, John J. McLoughlin
Co. M, John McLoughlin
Co. M, G. Frank Gardella (Deceased)
Co. M G, John F. Flint
Co. H, Martin J. Higgins
Co. San, Victor L. Eichorn
Co. M G, Peter Gillespie
Co. K, Edward J. Rooney
Co. I, Edward T. Shanahan
Co. K, Herbert A. McKenna
Co. D, Richard W. O’Neill
Co. C, Michael Ruane
Co. H, Dudley Winthrop
Co. A, Martin Gill
Co. A, Matthew Kane
Co. C, Archibald F. Reilly
Co. C, Harry C. Horgan
Co. H, Patrick Travers
Co. C, William McCarthy
Co. K, Peter J. Crotty (Deceased)
Co. H, William O’Neill (Deceased)
Co. C, Michael Cooney
Co. L, Michael Fitzpatrick
Co. D, Michael J. McAuliffe
Corporals
Co. C, Thomas F. O’Connor (Deceased)
Co. M G, William J. Murphy
Co. C, Frederick Craven
Co. D, William P. White
Co. E, Frederick Gluck (Deceased)
Co. K, Victor Van Yorx
Co. M, James E. Winestock
Co. C, John Hammond
Co. B, Matthew J. Brennan
Wagoner Supply Co.
Albert Richford
Privates
Co. K, William J. Bergen (Deceased)
Co. G, Edmund Riordan (Deceased)
Co. G, John McGeary (Deceased)
Co. M, Robert Riggsby
Co. D, Edward G. Coxe (Deceased)
Co. K, Burr Finkle
Co. H, Patrick Reynolds (Deceased)
Co. C, John Teevan
DISTINGUISHED SERVICE MEDAL
Chaplain
Francis P. Duffy
LEGION OF HONOR
Brigadier General
Frank R. McCoy
Colonel
William J. Donovan
Lieutenant Colonel
Timothy J. Moynahan
Major
Michael A. Kelly
First Lieutenant
William Maloney
MEDAILLE MILITAIRE
Sergeant
Co. I, Michael A. Donaldson
Corporals
Co. A, Matthew A. Kane
Co. K, Burr Finkle
Private
Co. M, Robert Riggsby
CROCE DI GUERRA (ITALIAN)
Colonel
William J. Donovan
Sergeant
Co. C, Michael Ruane
CROIX DE GUERRE
Brigadier Generals
Frank R. McCoy
John W. Barker
Colonel
William J. Donovan
Lieutenant Colonels
Charles A. Dravo
Timothy J. Moynahan (Two Citations)
Majors
Henry A. Bootz
Michael A. Kelly
Captains
Henry K. Cassidy
Oscar L. Buck
Kenneth Ogle
Charles D. Baker (Deceased)
Beverly H. Becker
First Lieutenants
John Norman (Deceased)
Thomas C. P. Martin
George F. Patton
Second Lieutenants
Arthur S. Booth
W. Arthur Cunningham
Henry W. Davis (Deceased)
Raymond H. Newton
Sergeants
Co. A, William J. Moore
Co. A, Daniel O’Connell
Co. A, Spencer G. Rossell
Co. B, Spiros Thomas
Co. C, Eugene A. McNiff
Co. Hq., Abram Blaustein
Co. D, Thomas M. O’Malley
Co. E, Carl Kahn
Co. E, William E. Bailey
Co. G, James D. Coffey
Co. G, James Murray
Co. C, Thomas P. O’Hagan
Co. K, Leo A. Bonnard
Co. D, Joseph J. Lynch
Co. A, John F. Scully
Co. G, Martin Shalley
Co. H, Jerome F. O’Neill
Co. H, Bruno Gunther
Co. A, Joseph G. Pettit
Co. A, Frank A. Fisher
Co. B, Christian Biorndall
Co. B, William P. Judge
Co. D, Thomas H. Brown
Co. E, Alfred S. Helmer
Co. F, Theodore H. Hagen
Co. H, John P. Furey
Co. D, John Cahill
Co. A, Michael Morley
Co. B, Daniel J. Finnegan
Co. C, James Barry
Co. C, Michael Cooney
Co. D, Dennis O’Connor
Co. D, Patrick Grogan
Co. C, Herman H. Hillig
Co. A, Thomas Sweeney
Co. C, Michael Ruane
Co. D, John J. Gribbon
Co. I, Michael A. Donaldson
Co. A, Matthew A. Kane
Co. Hq., Joyce Kilmer (Deceased)
Corporals
Co. F, John Finnegan (Deceased)
Co. L, Lawrence G. Spencer (Deceased)
Co. D, Marlow H. Plant
Co. C, Bernard Barry (Deceased)
Co. A, George A. McCarthy
Co. B, Vincent J. Eckas
Co. Hq., Charles S. Jones
Co. B, Frank Brandreth
Co. C, John J. Brawley
Co. D, Harry H. DeVoe
Co. E, James Quigley
Co. A, Bernard McOwen (Deceased)
Co. A, Matthew A. Rice (Two Citations)
Co. K, Burr Finkle
Cook
Co. M, Robert Riggsby
Private
John Teevan
ORDER OF ST. LEPOLD (BELGIUM)
Second Lieutenant
Thomas J. Devine
HEADQUARTERS, 165TH INFANTRY
(Old 69th N. Y.)
REMAGEN, Germany, March 28, 1919.
GENERAL ORDER.
No. 12
To the Officers and the Men of the 165th Infantry, 42nd Division.
The following extracts from orders and letters commendatory of
the 42nd Division and the 165th Infantry issued by our own Army
and that of our illustrious Ally the French, indicate a deep
appreciation of your worth as soldiers and pay a high tribute to
your valorous conduct on the Fields of Battle.
WILLIAM J. DONOVAN
JOHN P. HURLEY,
Capt. Adj., 165th Infantry.
March 21, 1918.
The Lieut. Colonel Commanding the 13th Group of Chasseurs reports
that in the course of the double _coup de main_ executed in the
night of the 20-21 March, the conduct of the American detachment of
the 165th Regiment has been particularly worthy of commendation,
and that Officers and Soldiers have given proof of an enthusiastic
bravery.
The General Commanding the 164th Division wishes to make known to
all this appreciation, which justifies amply the confidence that we
all have in our allies, a confidence doubled by the friendship and
by the affectionate sympathy that the common life in the Sector has
spontaneously brought into being.
General GAUCHER, Commanding the 164th Division.
April 1, 1918.
From: Commanding General, First Army Corps.
To: Commanding General, 42d Division, A. E. F.
Subject: Commendations.
1. The Chief of the French Military Mission has forwarded to the
Commander-in-Chief, A. E. F., copies of citations and proposals
concerning three officers and eight enlisted men of the 165th
Infantry.
2. The Commander-in-Chief charges me with the conveyance to these
officers and soldiers his particular appreciation of their splendid
conduct, which has won for them these citations from the French
Army.
3. To the appreciation thus conferred by the Commander-in-Chief,
the Corps Commander adds his own and desires that the foregoing be
made known in a suitable manner to the officers and soldiers cited.
By direction,
Malin Craig,
Chief of Staff.
May 21, 1918.
The First Company, under Captain Edart, penetrated the German line
on the night of May 19-20, 1918, and the following night it drove
back with vigor the Germans who came out against us from their
lines, thus maintaining our superiority in morale.
In the course of these operations the American Volunteers (from
Second Battalion, 165th Infantry), who were attached to the Edart
Company displayed the utmost dash and coolness, as well as a
splendid comradeship in battle.
I have the honor to ask for them in recompense the authorization to
cite them in my Regimental Order.
Colonel Jungbluth, Cdt. 67th R. I.
6th ARMY CORPS H. Q. June 15, 1918.
At the moment when the 42nd U. S. Infantry Division is leaving
the Lorraine front, the Commanding General of the 6th Army Corps
desires to do homage to the fine military qualities which it has
continuously exhibited, and to the services which it has rendered
in the Baccarat sector.
The offensive ardor, the sense for the utilization and the
organization of terrain, the spirit of method, the discipline shown
by all its officers and men, the inspiration animating them, prove
that at the first call, they can henceforth take a glorious place
in the new line of battle.
The Commanding General of the 6th Army Corps expresses his deepest
gratitude to the 42nd Division for its precious collaboration; he
particularly thanks the distinguished Commander of this Division,
General Menoher, the Officers under his orders and his Staff so
brilliantly directed by Colonel MacArthur.
It is with a sincere regret that the entire 6th Army Corps sees the
42nd Division depart. But the bonds of affectionate comradeship
which have been formed here will not be broken; for us, in faithful
memory, are united the living and the dead of the Rainbow Division,
those who are leaving for hard combats and those who, after having
nobly sacrificed their lives on this Eastern Border, now rest
there, guarded over piously by France.
These sentiments of warm esteem will be still more deeply affirmed,
during the impending struggles where the fate of Free Peoples is to
be decided.
May our units, side by side, contribute valiantly to the triumph of
Justice and Right:
GENERAL DUPORT.
June 18, 1918.
To: Colonel McCoy,
Commanding 165th Inf. Rgt.
My Dear Colonel McCoy:
I greatly appreciate the kind thought you had in sending me your
order No. 10 relating the numerous citations that have been granted
to the 165th.
The old New York regiment has a great past of glory. I am sure it
will be famous on the battlefields of France as it has been in
America.
I also want to thank you for the kind farewell you gave Captain
Mercier. I know this Officer feels sad in leaving your regiment. He
will keep a precious recollection of the six months he spent with
his gallant Irish comrades.
With the expression of my personal appreciation of your kindness
and my best compliments,
I am,
Sincerely yours,
J. CORBABON,
Major, Liaison Officer,
42nd Division.
4th ARMY H. Q. July 16, 1918.
SOLDIERS OF THE 4TH ARMY
During the day of July 15th, you broke the effort of fifteen German
divisions, supported by ten others.
They were expected according to their orders to reach the Marne in
the evening: You stopped their advance clearly at the point where
we desired to engage in and win the battle.
You have the right to be proud, heroic infantrymen and machine
gunners of the advance posts who met the attack and broke it up,
aviators who flew over it, battalions and batteries which broke it,
staffs which so minutely prepared the battlefield.
It is a hard blow for the enemy. It is a grand day for FRANCE.
I count on you that it may always be the same every time he dares
to attack you; and with all my heart of a soldier, I thank you.
GOURAUD.
21ST ARMY CORPS, July 17, 1918.
170TH DIVISION,
General BERNARD, Commanding par interim the 170th Division.
To the Commanding General of the 42nd U. S. Inf. Division.
The Commanding General of the 170th Infantry Division desires
to express to the Commanding General of the 42nd U. S. Infantry
Division his keen admiration for the courage and bravery of which
the American Battalions of the 83rd Brigade have given proof in the
course of the hard fighting of the 15th and 16th of July, 1918, as
also for the effectiveness of the artillery fire of the 42nd U. S.
Infantry Division.
In these two days the troops of the United States by their
tenacity, largely aided their French comrades in breaking the
repeated assaults of the 7th Reserve Division, the 1st Infantry
Division and the Dismounted Cavalry Guard Division of the Germans:
these latter two divisions are among the best of Germany.
According to the order captured on the German officers made
prisoner, their Staff wished to take Chalon-sur-Marne on the
evening of July 16th, but it had reckoned without the valor of the
American and French combatants, who told them with machine gun,
rifle and cannon shots that they would not pass.
The Commanding General of the 170th Infantry Division is therefore
particularly proud to observe that in mingling their blood
gloriously on the Battlefield of Champagne, the Americans and
the French of today are continuing the magnificent traditions
established a century and a half ago by Washington and Lafayette;
it is with this sentiment that he salutes the Noble Flag of the
United States in thinking of the final Victory.
BERNARD.
21ST ARMY CORPS Hq., July 19, 1918.
GENERAL ORDER
At the moment when the 42nd American Division is on the point
of leaving the 21st Army Corps, I desire to express my keen
satisfaction and my sincere thanks for the service which it has
rendered under all conditions.
By its valor, ardor and spirit, it has very particularly
distinguished itself on July 15th and 16th in the course of the
great battle where the 4th Army broke the German offensive on the
CHAMPAGNE front.
I am proud to have had it under my orders during this period; my
prayers accompany it in the great struggle engaged in for the
Liberty of the World.
GENERAL NAULIN,
Commanding the 21st Army Corps.
6TH ARMY P. C., July 26, 1918.
NOTE.
The PRESIDENT OF THE REPUBLIC, in the course of a visit to the 6th
Army, expressed his satisfaction over the results obtained, as well
as for the qualities of valor and perseverance manifested by all
units of the Army.
The Commanding General of the 6th Army, is happy to transmit to
the troops of his Army the felicitations of the PRESIDENT OF THE
REPUBLIC.
Signed: GENERAL DEGOUTTE.
July 28, 1918.
From: Commanding General, 1st Army Corps, Am. E. F.
To: Commanding General, 42nd Division, Am. E. F.
Subject: Congratulations:
1. The return of the 42nd Division to the 1st Army Corps was a
matter of self-congratulation for the Corps Commander, not only
because of previous relations with the Division, but also because
of the crisis which existed at the time of its arrival.
2. The standard of efficient performance of duty which is
demanded by the Commander-in-Chief, American E. F., is a high
one, involving as it does on an occasion such as the present
complete self-sacrifice on the part of the entire personnel, and a
willingness to accept cheerfully every demand even to the limit of
endurance of the individual for the sake of the Cause for which we
are in France.
3. The taking over of the front of the 1st Army Corps under the
conditions of relief and advance, together with the attendant
difficulties incident to widening the front, was in itself no
small undertaking, and there is added to this your advance in the
face of the enemy to a depth of five or more kilometers, all under
cover of darkness, to the objective laid down by higher authority
to be attained, which objective you were holding, regardless of
the efforts of the enemy to dislodge you. The Corps Commander is
pleased to inform you that the 42nd Division has fully measured
up to the high standard above referred to, and he reiterates his
self-congratulation that you and your organization are again a part
of the 1st Army Corps., Am. E. F.
(Signed) H. LIGGETT,
Major General, U. S. A.
6TH ARMY P. C. August 9, 1918.
GENERAL ORDER.
Before the great offensive of the 18th of July, the American troops
forming part of the 6th French Army distinguished themselves in
capturing from the enemy the Bois de la Brigade De Marine and the
village of VAUX, in stopping his offensive on the MARNE and at
FOSSOY.
Since then, they have taken the most glorious part in a second
battle of the MARNE, rivaling in order and in valiance the French
troops. They have, in twenty days of incessant combat, liberated
numerous French villages and realized across a difficult country
an advance of forty kilometers, which has carried them beyond the
VESLES.
Their glorious marches are marked by names which will illustrate in
the future, the military history of the United States:
TORCY, BELLEAU, Plateau d’ENREPILLY, EPIEDS, Le CHARMEL, l’OURCQ,
SERINGES et NESLES, SERGY, La VESLE and FISMES.
The new divisions who were under fire for the first time showed
themselves worthy of the old war-like traditions of the Regular
Army. They have had the same ardent desire to fight the Boche,
the same discipline by which an order given by the Chief is
always executed, whatever be the difficulties to overcome and the
sacrifices to undergo.
The magnificent results obtained are due to the energy and skill of
the Chiefs, to the bravery of the soldiers.
I am proud to have commanded such troops.
The General Commanding the 6th Army,
DEGOUTTE.
Headquarters, 42nd Division,
AMERICAN EXPEDITIONARY FORCES, FRANCE,
August 13, 1918.
TO THE OFFICERS AND MEN OF THE 42ND DIVISION:
A year has elapsed since the formation of your organization. It
is, therefore, fitting to consider what you have accomplished as a
combat division and what you should prepare to accomplish in the
Future.
Your first elements entered the trenches in Lorraine on February
21st. You served on that front for 110 days. You were the first
American division to hold a divisional sector and when you left
the sector June 21st, you had served continuously as a division in
the trenches for a longer time than any other American division.
Although you entered the sector without experience in actual
warfare, you so conducted yourselves as to win the respect and
affection of the French veterans with whom you fought. Under gas
and bombardment, in raids, in patrols, in the heat of hand-to-hand
combat, and in the long, dull hours of trench routine so trying to
a soldier’s spirit, you bore yourselves in a manner worthy of the
traditions of our country.
You were withdrawn from Lorraine and moved immediately to the
Champagne front, where, during the critical days from July 14th to
July 18th, you had the honor of being the only American division
to fight in General Gouraud’s Army, which so gloriously obeyed his
order: “We will stand or die,” and by its iron defense crushed the
German assaults and made possible the offensive of July 18th to the
west of Reims.
From Champagne you were called to take part in exploiting the
success north of the Marne. Fresh from the battle front before
Chalons, you were thrown against the picked troops of Germany. For
eight consecutive days, you attacked skillfully prepared positions.
You captured great stores of arms and munitions. You forced the
crossings of the Ourcq. You took Hill 212, Sergy, Meurcy Farm and
Seringes by assault. You drove the enemy, including an Imperial
Guard Division, before you for a depth of fifteen kilometers.
When your infantry was relieved, it was in full pursuit of the
retreating Germans, and your artillery continued to progress and
support another American division in the advance to the Vesle.
For your services in Lorraine, your division was formally commended
in General Orders by the French Army Corps under which you served.
For your services in Champagne, your assembled officers received
the personal thanks and commendation of General Gouraud himself.
For your service on the Ourcq, your division was officially
complimented in a letter from the Commanding General, 1st Army
Corps, of July 28th, 1918.
To your success, all ranks and all services have contributed, and
I desire to express to every man in the command my appreciation of
his devoted and courageous effort.
However, our position places a burden of responsibility upon us
which we must strive to bear steadily forward without faltering.
To our comrades who have fallen, we owe the sacred obligation
of maintaining the reputation which they died to establish. The
influence of our performance on our Allies and on our enemies can
not be over estimated, for we were one of the first divisions sent
from our country to France to show the world that Americans can
fight.
Hard battles and long campaigns lie before us. Only by ceaseless
vigilance and tireless preparation can we fit ourselves for them.
I urge you, therefore, to approach the future with confidence, but
above all, with firm determination that so far as it is in your
power you will spare no effort, whether in training or in combat,
to maintain the record of our division and the honor of our country.
CHARLES T. MENOHER,
Major General, U. S. Army.
Headquarters 42nd Division.
SUMMARY OF INTELLIGENCE.
October, 1918.
On October 18, 1917, one year ago today, the Headquarters and
certain of the elements of the 42nd Division sailed for France....
The Division is now engaged in the most difficult task to which
it has yet been set: The piercing at its apex of the “Kriemhilde
Stellung,” upon the defense of which position the German line from
METZ to CHAMPAGNE depends.
During its service in France, Division Headquarters has had its
Post of Command at 23 different points in towns, woods and dugouts.
The Division has captured prisoners from 23 enemy divisions,
including three Guard and one Austro-Hungarian divisions.
CHARLES T. MENOHER,
Major General, U. S. Army.
HEADQUARTERS 42d DIVISION.
American Expeditionary Forces. France.
November 11th, 1918.
To the Officers and Men of the 42nd Division:
On the 13th of August I addressed you a letter summarizing the
record of your achievements in Lorraine, before Chalons and on
the Ourcq. On the occasion of my leaving the Division I wish to
recall to you your services since that time and to express to you
my appreciation of the unfailing spirit of courage and cheerfulness
with which you have met and overcome the difficult tasks which have
confronted you.
After leaving the region of Chateau Thierry you had scarcely been
assembled in your new area when you were ordered to advance by
hard night marches to participate in the attack of the St. Mihiel
Salient. In this first great operation of the American Army you
were instructed to attack in the center of the Fourth Army Corps
and to deliver the main blow in the direction of the heights
overlooking the Madine River. In the battle that followed you took
every objective in accordance with the plan of the Army Commander.
You advanced fourteen kilometers in twenty-eight hours. You pushed
forward advance elements five kilometers further, or nineteen
kilometers beyond your original starting point. You took more than
one thousand prisoners from nine enemy divisions. You captured
seven villages and forty-two square kilometers of territory. You
seized large supplies of food, clothing, ammunition, guns and
engineering material.
Worn though you were by ceaseless campaigning since February, you
then moved to the Verdun region to participate in the great blow
which your country’s armies have struck west of the Meuse. You
took Hill 283, La Tuilerie Farm and the Cote de Chatillon and
broke squarely across the powerful Kriemhilde Stellung, clearing
the way for the advance beyond St. Georges and Landres et St.
Georges. Marching and fighting day and night you thrust through the
advancing lines of the forward troops of the First Army. You drove
the enemy across the Meuse. You captured the heights dominating
the River before Sedan and reached in the enemy lines the farthest
points attained by any American troops.
Since September 12th you have taken over twelve hundred prisoners;
you have freed twenty-five French villages; you have recovered over
one hundred and fifty square kilometers of French territory and you
have captured great supplies of enemy munitions and material.
Whatever may come in the future, the men of this Division will
have the proud consciousness that they have thus far fought
wherever the American flag has flown most gloriously in this war.
In the determining battle before Chalons, in the bloody drive from
Chateau Thierry to the Vesle, in the blotting out of the St. Mihiel
Salient, and in the advance to Sedan you have played a splendid and
a leading part.
I know that you will give the same unfailing support to whoever may
succeed me as your Commander, and that you will continue to bear
forward without faltering the colors of the Rainbow Division. I
leave you with deep and affectionate regret, and I thank you again
for your loyalty to me and your services to your country. You have
struck a vital blow in the greatest war in history. You have proved
to the world in no mean measure that our country can defend its own.
CHARLES T. MENOHER,
Major General, U. S. Army.
AMERICAN EXPEDITIONARY FORCES,
Office of the Commander-in-Chief.
France, March 22, 1919.
Major General Clement A. F. Flagler,
Commanding 42nd Division,
American E. F.,
Ahrweiler, Germany.
My Dear General Flagler:
It afforded me great satisfaction to inspect the 42nd Division at
Remagen on March 16th, during my trip through the Third Army, and
to extend at that time to the officers and men my appreciation of
their splendid record while in France.
The share which the 42nd Division has had in the success of our
Armies should arouse pride in its achievements among all ranks.
Arriving as it did on November 1, 1917, it was one of the first of
our combat divisions to participate in active operations. After a
period of training which lasted through the middle of February,
1918, it entered the Lunéville sector in Lorraine, and shortly
afterwards took up a position in that part of the line near
Baccarat. In July it magnificently showed its fighting ability
in the Champagne-Marne defensive, at which time units from the
42nd Division aided the French in completely repulsing the German
attack. Following this, on July 25th, the Division relieved the
28th in the Aisne-Marne offensive, and in the course of their
action there captured La Croix Rouge Farme, Sergy, and established
themselves on the northern side of the Ourcq. In the St. Mihiel
offensive the division made a rapid advance of 19 kilometers,
capturing seven villages. Later, during the Meuse-Argonne battle,
it was twice put in the line, first under the 5th Corps and second
under the 1st Corps, at which later time it drove back the enemy
until it arrived opposite Sedan on November 7th.
Since the signing of the armistice, the 42nd Division has had the
honor of being one of those composing the Army of Occupation, and I
have only words of praise for their splendid conduct and demeanor
during this time. I want each man to realize the part he has
played in bringing glory to American arms and to understand both
my pride and the pride of their fellows throughout the American
Expeditionary Forces in their record. My good wishes accompany your
command on its return to the United States, and my interest will
remain with its members in their future careers.
Sincerely yours,
(Signed) JOHN J. PERSHING.
OFFICERS WHO SERVED IN THE 165TH INFANTRY
_Colonels_
Barker, John W. (Promoted to Brigadier General)
Donovan, William J. (Promoted from Major)
Hine, Charles D.
Howland, Charles R.
McCoy, Frank R. (Promoted to Brigadier General)
Mitchell, Harry D. (Promoted from Lieut.-Colonel)
_Lieut.-Colonels_
Anderson, Alexander E. (Promoted from Captain)
Dravo, Charles A.
Moynahan, Timothy J. (Promoted from Major)
Reed, Latham R.
_Majors_
Bootz, Henry A. (Promoted from 1st Lieut.)
Doyle, William T. (Promoted from Captain)
Guggenheim, Robert M. (Promoted from 1st Lieut.)
Kelly, Michael A. (Promoted from Captain)
Lawrence, George J.
McAdie, George (Promoted from Captain)
McKenna, James A.[7] (Promoted from Captain)
Mangan, John J. (Promoted from Captain)
Meaney, Martin H. (Promoted from Captain)
Merle-Smith, Van S. (Promoted from Captain)
Powers, Walter E. (Promoted from Captain)
Reilley, Thomas T. (Promoted from Captain)
Stacom, William B.
Kennelly, William (Promoted from Captain)
Watson, James
Zorn, Jay
_Captains_
Archer, James (Promoted from 1st Lieut.)
Allen, Richard J. (Promoted from 2nd Lieut.)
Baker, Chas. D.[10] (Promoted from 1st Lieut.)
Becker, Beverly H. (Promoted from 1st Lieut.)
Behrends, Jerome B. (Promoted from 1st Lieut.)
Billings, Forest E. (Promoted from 1st Lieut.)
Burns, Coleman (Promoted from 1st Lieut.)
Buck, Oscar L. (Promoted from 1st Lieut.)
Cavanaugh, William P. (Promoted from 1st Lieut.)
Cooke, William C. (Promoted from 2nd Lieut.)
Cassidy, Henry K. (Promoted from 2nd Lieut.)
Conners, John F. (Promoted from 1st Lieut.)
Connelly, Edmond J. (Promoted from 2nd Lieut.)
Clifford, John J. (Promoted from 2nd Lieut.)
Cooper, Jackson S.
Dudley, Gerry B.
DeLacour, R. B. (Promoted from 1st Lieut.)
Elmer, Basil B. (Promoted from 1st Lieut.)
Finn, James G.
Foley, James L. (Promoted from 1st Lieut.)
Given, William B. (Promoted from 1st Lieut.)
Green, John A. (Promoted from 1st Lieut.)
Graham, Walter R.
Hurley, John P.
Hudson, William E.
Houghton, James T. (Promoted from 1st Lieut.)
Grose, Howard (Promoted from 1st Lieut.)
Josselyn, Ralph R.
Kinney, Thomas A. (Promoted from 1st Lieut.)
Landrigan, Alfred W. (Promoted from 1st Lieut.)
Lyttle, John D. (Promoted from 1st Lieut.)
Lawrence, Austin L. (Promoted from 1st Lieut.)
O’Brien, Joseph F. (Promoted from 1st Lieut.)
McKenna, William F. (Promoted from 1st Lieut.)
McNamara, Francis J. (Promoted from 2nd Lieut.)
McDermott, Thomas B. (Promoted from 2nd Lieut.)
Mangan, James M. (Promoted from 2nd Lieut.)
Martin, Arthur H. (Promoted from 1st Lieut.)
Marsh, Frank (Promoted from 1st Lieut.)
Smith, Samuel A. (Promoted from 1st Lieut.)
Seibert, Kenneth C.
Stout, Louis A. (Promoted from 1st Lieut.)
Riggs, Francis P.
Ryan, Richard J.
Ogle, Kenneth (Promoted from 1st Lieut.)
Prout, John T. (Promoted from 1st Lieut.)
Gillespie, Francis H.
Walsh, Michael J.[10] (Promoted from 1st Lieut.)
Rowley, John F. (Promoted from 2nd Lieut.)
_First Lieutenants_
Allen, Harold L.
Arnold, Howard W.[10]
Bell, Ernest L.
Board, Walter
Benz, George A.
Byrne, Bernard E.
Baldwin, William W.[10]
Boag, Joseph J.
Burns, William J.
Burke, John J.
Brownstone, Michael
Betty, Harold J.
Carroll, Joseph V.
Carson, Allen G.
Cowett, Max P.
Collier, James
Crandall, H. W.
Crawford, Henry E.
Doris, Roscoe
Damico, Joseph G.
Dowling, Patrick J.[10]
Everett, Eugene F.
Force, Russell
Fechheimer, John H.
Friedlander, William M.
Furbershaw, Arthur W.
Goodell, Guy F.
Guignon, Emile S.
Hanley, James M.
Howe, Paul D.
Henry, John T.
Heller, Abraham I.
Horak, Frank
Hutchinson, Warren B.
Heinel, John P.
Hurt, Paul A.
Holmes, Merril J.
Irving, Lawrence
Johnson, Clarence E.
Knowles, Ralph S.
King, George I.
Kirkland, John
Kilcourse, John J.
Ketcham, Ralph C.
Kane, Bothwell B.[10]
Keveny, John
Korst, Donald F.
Kelly, Henry E.
Kirschner, William J.
Lawrence, Andrew W.
Leslie, J. Langdon
Light, Wesley W.
Leaper, Robert B.
Levine, A. A.
McNamara, Joseph D.
McIntyre, James B.
McCartney, A. R.
McCormick, Charles A.
McCormick, Edward J.
McKeon, Andrew J.
Martin, Thomas C. P.
Martin, Reune
Norman, John[10]
O’Donohue, Joseph J.
Orgle, Samuel Z.
O’Sullivan, John F.
Otto, George F.
Patton, William H.
Pierce, Charles H.
Platt, Sherman T.
Poore, John G.
Perry, Donald A.
Powers, Robert E.
Robertson, Allen D.
Stevens, Floyd L.
Stone, Thomas F.
Spencer, William M.
Sims, Anthony J.
Springer, Franklin H.
Seidelmann, Joseph H.
Smith, Francis
Smith, Herman H.[10]
Surber, Paul
Stokes, Horace W.
Schwinn, John M.
Terry, Alvah L.
Tarr, Marshall A.
Trotter, L. S.
Williams, Harry V.
Williams, Allen R.
Williams, John J.
Wheeler, William D.
Warren, George H.
Young, Thomas H.[10]
_Second Lieutenants_
Ames, Oliver[10]
Ahern, David H.
Alexander, John M.
Arenholz, William J.
Beach, Clayton W.[10]
Bocard, Fred J.
Burns, Zenas T.
Burns, James S. D.[10]
Burns, Edwin J.
Boone, Philip T.
Bunnell, A. L.
Bonner, Robert
Brocard, Frank
Brosnan, John J.
Bracken, Benjamin
Burke, John H.
Cunningham, Arthur W.
Carten, James E.
Carleton, Howard C.
Callahan, Andrew J.
Crane, William D.
Collier, James
Crimmins, Clarence
Crandall, Harold M.
Carter, Franklin W.
Daly, Edwin A.[10]
Daly, Ewing P.
Devine, Thomas J.
Davis, Henry W.[10]
DeAguerro, Miguel E.
Ellett, Andrew L.[10]
Elliott, Don
Finn, William
Flynn, Daniel K.
Field, Eugene B.
Graham, William H.
Greff, Lester M.
Goodwin, Schuyler
Hutchinson, Roderick
Hawes, Lincoln
Hervey, Frank
Henry, J. F.
Huelser, Charles A.
Johnston, Frank
Johnson, Cortland
Johnson, Clarence E.
Jewell, William A.[10]
Jackson, Thomas J.
Kotz, George I.
Kelly, William T.
Koenig, Paul S.
Katch, Joseph J.
Laughlin, James C.
Levenberg, Lawrence F.
Lacy, Philip S.
Larkin, John J.
Lawson, Alexander
Larney, Leo
Lenoir, Frank
Levy, Morris R.
Lisiezki, Stanley K.
Lanette, Kenneth
McKnight, John
McMullin, James C.
McNulty, William
McMullin, Frank
Metcalfe, George T.
Metcalfe, Earl K.
McCarthy, Thomas J.
Meyer, John L.
Mixon, Robert
Morthurst, Aloysius F.
Mela, Alvin S.
Monohan, John J.
Monohan, Humphery J.
Murphy, Frank M.
Neary, Patrick
Newton, Raymond
Norris, Elton R.
O’Connor, William L.[10]
Orr, John P.[10]
Parker, Charles
Peace, Walter
Philbin, Ewing
Reynolds, Arthur W.
Richardson, D. M.
Rupe, Forest D.
Rowe, Lester G.
Shultes, Clarence L.
Searles, William
Sasser, Frank M.
Scheffler, Edward S.
Swift, Samuel S.
Sherrell, William J.
Stott, Gerald R.[10]
Slayter, Russell B.
Samuels, Charles G.
Sears, Stephen C.
Smith, McRae
Smoot, Walter E.
Shanley, Bernard
Sharp, James W.
Stovern, Gotfred
Sleep, Leroy
Strang, Albert L.
Sasnett, Lucien
Sipma, Edward
Self, Frank M.
Sebert, G. A.
Sasser, F.
Sense, W. J.
Sipp, Paul
Silliman, Harper
Schert, Gustavious A.
Temple, Francis C.
Tucker, Milton H.
Todd, Fred L.
Tuttle, Malcolm W.
Underhill, Charles A.
Urban, Paul J.
Vance, Vernon
Vandiver, Basil A.
Van Alstine, Frank
Veach, Columbus H.
Williams, Henry C.
Winans, Chester B.
Weller, Reginald
Warner, Hunt
Watkins, George F.[8]
Worsley, Thomas H.
Wallace, Williamson N.
Wilkerson, Marcus E.
ROSTER OF SERGEANTS[9]
_Sergeants—Co. A._
John J. O’Leary, 1st Sgt.—KIA.
James J. Hughes, Sgt. Major, 83rd Brig.
Joseph S. Higginson
Martin V. Cook—Com.
Charles Lanzner—KIA.
Charles Schmidt
Daniel O’Connell—Com.
John F. O’Sullivan—Com.
Michael J. Walsh
Stephen L. Purtell
Timothy J. Monohan, Sgt. Major
Frank H. Squire
Thomas J. Sweeney, 1st Sgt.
William G. Moore—Com.
C. Donald Matthews—A.C.S.
Bernard J. White—Sgt. Major
Spencer Rossell—A.C.S.
Charles A. Underhill—Com.
John F. Scully
Patrick Ames—KIA.
Hugh J. McPadden
John H. Dennelly
Clancy VanArsdale
Lester Hanley—KIA.
Frank J. Fisher
William M. Walsh—KIA.
Patrick J. Doolan—KIA.
John A. McDonald—KIA.
Edward J. Mooney
Clyde G. Evans
James J. Duff—KIA.
William F. Ogilvie
Frederick R. Stenson—KIA.
George V. Armstrong
Harold J. Henderson
Michael Morley
Joseph C. Pettit
William Mehl
Albert Kiley, Co. Clk.
Harry Blaustein
Edward P. Wylie
_Sergeants, Co. B._
John O’Neill, 1st Sgt.—A.C.S., KIA.
Michael C. Horgan
James Taylor
James Brogan—KIA.
Ole J. Olsen
Harry Ashworth
John A. Donovan
Speros Thomas
John A. Sullivan
Alexander Whalen
Francis J. Lynch
Henry J. Kiernan—KIA.
William G. Braniff
Patrick Kelly
Edward J. Kelly
Preston D. Travis
Joseph Gilgar
James J. Cullinan
Thomas F. Brady
William Thornton
William S. Gilbert
Vincent P. Mulholland, 1st Sgt.—A.C.S.
James Donnelly—KIA.
John J. Mahoney—KIA.
Joseph D. Graham
James E. Coyne
Lawrence Steppello
James Langan
Matthew J. Brennan
Martin Naughton
Frederick Coyne, Co. Clk.
Herbert P. McClymont
Alfredo Menicocci
John A. Donovan
Frank A. Frederick—A.C.S.
James Gilhooley
Edward Kraemer—KIA.
William F. Mallin, Bn. Sgt.-Major, A.C.S.
Hugh E. Stengel
John A. Sullivan
Joseph Gilgar
_Sergeants, Co. C._
William Hatton, 1st Sgt., Sgt.-Major, H. Q., 42nd Div.
R. S. Powell, 1st Sgt.—A.C.S.
Eugene B. Halpin, 1st Sgt., U. S. A. as instructor
Thomas P. O’Hagan, 1st Sgt.
John D. Crittenden—A.C.S.
Thomas Halpin—A.C.S.
James J. Grace
Edward J. O’Connell
James F. Nelson
James Barry
Joseph W. Burns
James T. Burns
Denis Cahill
J. H. Casey
Edward P. Clowe—KIA.
Frank W. Colyer
Walter S. Coon
Nathaniel B. Crittenden
Frank L. Curtis
Daniel J. Davern
John P. Duffy
Frank L. Drivdahl
Daniel S. Garvey—KIA.
Herman Hillig
Harry E. Horgan—KIA.
Edward J. Kearin—KIA.
Peter Keller
John W. Knight
John E. McAuliffe
Eugene A. McNiff
Hugo E. Noack
Thomas O’Kelly
George E. Richter
Bernard Ryan—KIA.
Matthew Synott—Com.
Louis J. Torrey—KIA.
Arthur C. Totten
John F. Vermaelen—KIA.
Anthony Gallagher
Joseph Hennessey
Michael Cooney
Louis C. Dedecker
Frederick R. Garrison
Thomas P. McPherson
Joseph Peisel
Archibald F. Reilly
Michael Ruane
_Sergeants, Co. D._
Thomas H. Sullivan, 1st Sgt.—Com.
Thomas W. Brown
Colton C. Bingham, U. S. A., as Instructor
John Cahill
Martin E. Carroll
Stephen J. Crotty
Thomas J. Curtin, 1st Sgt.—KIA.
John Curtin, Color Sgt.
John Daly
Harold J. Dibblee—Com.
Edward J. Geaney, 1st Sgt.—A.C.S.
John J. Gribbon—A.C.S.
Patrick Grogan
Joseph W. Halper, Co. Clk.
Patrick J. Heaney
John F. Ingram—KIA.
Stanley W. Jones
Thomas F. Keyes
George H. Krick
Joseph J. Lynch
Denis McAuliffe
Patrick J. McDonough
Edward A. McIntee
Martin McMahon
John McNamara—KIA.
John P. Mohr
John F. Moran
George R. Morton
Lester J. Moriarty
Hubert V. Murray, 1st Sgt.—A.C.S.
Denis Murphy
Denis O’Brien
Denis O’Connor
Daniel B. J. O’Connell, Reg. Sgt.-Major
Thomas M. O’Malley
Richard W. O’Neill
Daniel J. O’Neill
William J. Maloney—Com.
Edward B. Smith
Arthur C. Strang—Com.
Joseph P. Tracy
James S. Whitty
Joseph L. Sheehan, 1st Sgt.
James O’Brien
Herbert DeWilde
Dalton Smith
Edgar T. Farrell
Michael J. McAuliffe
Martin J. Hurst
Robert K. Niddrie
_Sergeants, Co. E._
William L. Bailey, 1st Sgt.—U. S. A., as Instructor
Thomas A. Carney—Com.
Charles F. Finnerty—Com.
William Lippincott—Com.
William T. Kelly—Com.
Andrew Callahan—Com.
Frank Johnston, 1st Sgt.—Com.
William Maloney
Archibald Skeats
Douglas McKenzie
Frank E. Donnelly, 1st Sgt.—A.C.S.
Bernard J. Kelly
Hugh McKiernan
John F. Riordan
John A. Wilde
William J. Foley
James Moran
Daniel Donohue
Harold J. Carmody
Michael Lynch—KIA.
Lester Lenhart—KIA.
William A. Halligan—Co. Clk.
Leon Hodges
John Schluter—A.C.S.
Alban A. Delaney—A.C.S.
James Hyland
Carl Kahn
Edward P. Scanlon, Reg. Sup. Sgt.
Edward J. Vahey
Alexander Smeltzer
John Burke
Michael Darcy
Arthur J. Lefrancois
James McCready
Augustus Morgan
Thomas J. Reidy
Thomas Gaffney
Alfred S. Helmer
George S. Malloy
Edward J. Rickert
John J. Horan, Co. Clk.
_Sergeants, Co. F._
Joseph V. Blake, 1st Sgt.—A.C.S.
Timothy J. McCrohan, 1st Sgt.—A.C.S.
James J. McGuinn
Philip Gargan
John J. Keane—Com.
William F. Hanifin—Com.
Herbert L. Doyle—Com.
Joseph A. Wynne
Michael J. Bowler, Bri. Sgt. Major—A.C.S.
Edward A. Ginna
Charles B. Echeverria—KIA.
Joseph H. Trueman—A.C.S.
Eugene Cunningham—A.C.S.
Philip T. Boone—Com.
Raymond A. Long
William E. Boone
John P. Mahon—Com.
Thomas Leddy—A.C.S.
Thomas J. Erb—KIA.
Charles E. Denon—KIA.
Michael Douglas—A.C.S.
Patrick J. Wynne
Malcolm F. Joy
William Boland
James J. McCormack
John R. Butler
Theodore H. Hagen
Lawrence J. Whalen—KIA.
Cornelius Behan
James W. Brennan, 1st Sgt.
James J. Bevan
Leo J. McLaughlin
John J. Gill
Louis D. Edwards
William Gracely
Albert E. Curtis
Maurice Fine
Harold E. Dahl, Co. Clk.
Timothy Keane
_Sergeants, Co. G._
John H. Burke, 1st Sgt.—Com.
John Meaney, 1st Sgt.—U. S. A. as Instructor
Charles B. Grundy, 1st Sgt.—A.C.S.
Frank W. Bull, 1st Sgt.—Com.
Alfred H. Taylor, 1st Sgt.
John McNamara, 1st Sgt.
Charles J. Meagher, 1st Sgt.
Charles Sulzberger—Com.
Joseph McCourt
John W. Farrell
William Farrell
Patrick Donohue
Leroy T. Wells—Com.
William Durk
James P. Robinson—KIA.
Denis Downing—KIA.
Thomas Slevin
John J. Conroy
James Murray—Col. Sgt.
James D. Coffey
Edward McNamara
Thomas T. Williamson
Martin Shalley
Denis O’Connor
Denis Corcoran
Thomas W. Ferguson—A.C.S.
Martin Murphy
Ralph Holmes
Michael Hogan
Denis Roe
Carl G. Kemp—A.C.S.
Kenneth B. Morford
Irving Framan
Roy L. Bull
John W. Brogan
Frank Malloy
Patrick Regan
Hugh Lee
John J. McMahon
Howard B. Gregory, Sgt.-Major, 42nd Div.
John Ryan, Co. Clk.
Franklyn Dorman, Co. Clk.
Maurice Dwyer
James J. Elliott
James Regan
Patrick Keane
_Sergeants, Co. H._
Joseph E. Nash, 1st Sgt.—Com.
Bernard Finnerty—KIA.
Patrick F. Craig—Com.
Robert V. Frye—Com.
James J. Hamilton—KIA.
Joseph Mattiello
Patrick Neary—Com.
Daniel J. O’Neill, 1st Sgt.—KIA.
Jerome F. O’Neill, 1st Sgt.—A.C.S.
George G. Ashe—Com.
Daniel L. Dayton—Com.
Reginald Mitchell—Com.
John F. Tully—A.C.S.
John F. O’Connor, 1st Sgt.
Frank S. Condit
James A. Dooley
Miles V. Dowling
John P. Furey
Charles J. Gavin
Bruno Gunther
Martin J. Higgins
James Hogan
John Lynch
Andrew Murray
William J. Murray, Co. Clk.
James F. O’Brien
William O’Neill, 1st Sgt.—KIA.
William Smythe
James Todd
Patrick Travers
Michael Treacey
Dudley M. Winthrop
Frank A. Mader
John J. Ryan
William J. Fleming
Patrick J. Dwyer
John J. Walker
Joseph O’Rourke—KIA.
Eugene J. Sweeney
_Sergeants, Co. I._
Henry K. Adikes
William T. Beyer—Batt. Sgt.-Major
Charles A. Connolly—KIA.
Charles R. Cooper
Patrick Collins—KIA.
Martin Durkin
William G. Dynan
Otto Fritz
Patrick Flynn
Charles J. Ford—KIA.
Alfred F. Georgi—Co. Clk.
Charles H. Garrett
Michael J. Jordan—A.C.S.
William Harrison—KIA.
James J. Hennessey—A.C.S.
Edward P. Joyce—Batt. Sgt.-Major, A.C.S.
John F. Joyce—Com.
William Lyle
William F. Lyons
Leo Larney—Com.
William McLaughlin—KIA.
Richard McLaughlin
John C. McDermott
Hugh McFadden
Patrick T. McMeniman, 1st Sgt.—U. S. A., as Instructor
Frank McMorrow, 1st Sgt.
Frank Mulligan
Harold J. Murphy
Wilfred Fee
Joseph F. Neil
Thomas P. O’Brien
James Quilty
William Reutlinger
Patrick Rogan
John J. Sheehan
Edward Shanahan, 1st Sgt.
Charles B. Stone—KIA.
James Sullivan
George Strenk
James Warnock
_Sergeants, Co. K._
Timothy J. Sullivan, 1st Sgt.—A.C.S.
Francis Meade—A.C.S.
James J. Mullen
Claude Da Costa—A.C.S.
John H. Embree—KIA.
Frank Doughney—KIA.
John L. Ross—KIA.
John Gavaghan—KIA.
Peter J. Crotty—KIA.
Bernard J. McElroy—KIA.
John J. McLoughlin
William B. Montross
John J. Gibbons
James J. Sullivan
Herbert F. McKenna—A.C.S.
Patrick Boland
Bernard Leavy
Joseph M. Farrell—Com.
Leo G. Bonnard—A.C.S.
Wilfred T. Van Yorx—A.C.S.
Herbert J. Kelly—A.C.S.
Harold A. Benham
John T. Vogel
George F. Meyer
George C. Sicklick
Edward K. Rooney
James F. Kelly
Patrick J. Ryan
Max Puttlitz
Michael Costello, Co. Clk.
Francis Caraher
William P. McKessy
John Naughton
Cornelius Rooney
Philip Hellriegel
Oliver Atkinson
Robert L. Crawford
James J. Dalton
James W. Daly
Thomas M. Gleason
Augustus F. Hughes
_Sergeants, Co. L._
Eugene F. Gannon, 1st Sgt.—U. S. A., as Instructor
John J. Ahearn
Joseph Beliveau
Christian F. Bezold
Richard Blood
Thomas F. Collins—Com., KIA.
Raymond Convey—KIA.
John J. Donoghue—A.C.S., KIA.
Frank J. Duffy, Sgt.-Major, 42nd Div.
Thomas E. Dunn
Michael Fitzpatrick
Lewis M. French
Joseph A. Grace
Thomas A. Heffernan, 1st Sgt.—A.C.S.
George S. Kerr—KIA.
Thomas Kiernan—A.C.S.
Nicholas A. Landzert—KIA.
John J. Larkin—Com.
Patrick McCarthy
Eugene McCue, 1st Sgt.
Harry McDermott
Hugh McGriskin
John B. McHugh
Arthur McKenny
Thomas McLoughlin
William E. Malinka—A.C.S.
John J. Mulvey
John E. Mullen
James J. Murphy
William J. Murphy
George V. Murphy
John J. Murphy
Daniel O’Brien
Thomas P. O’Donovan—KIA.
Charles Peacox
David Redmond—A.C.S.
Valentine Roesel
William Sheahan, Col. Sgt.—KIA.
Charles Siedler—A.C.S.
Walter F. Watson
Fred G. Wittlinger, 1st Sgt.
Bernard Woods
John Southworth
Patrick McCarthy
Leo Mullin
_Sergeants, Co. M._
John J. Kenny, 1st Sgt.—A.C.S.
Joseph E. Jerue—A.C.S.
Ambrose Sutcliff
Francis Eustace, 1st Sgt.
Denis McCarthy
Richard J. McCarthy—A.C.S.
Peter Cooney—KIA.
Sydney A. DaCosta—A.C.S.
David G. Morrison—Com.
Charles Pfeiffer—Com.
Howard D. Emerson, 1st Sgt.—A.C.S.
James McGarvey, 1st Sgt.—Com.
Frank J. Rogers—Com.
William J. Francis—KIA.
Patrick B. Hayes
Herman H. VonGlahn—Com.
Henry S. Fisher—A.C.S.
James J. Hughes—A.C.S.
Harry Messmer
Frank May
John Barrow
James M. Major
Patrick J. Clark
Joseph A. Moran
Fernand C. Thomas
Edward F. Flanagan
Francis X. McNamara
John J. McLoughlin
Thomas Courtney
John O’Connor
John B. Manson
John J. Feeley
James F. Shanahan
Eddie I. Stevens—Co. Clk.
Denis Donovan
Daniel Flynn
_Sergeants, Supply Co._
Joseph F. Flannery, Reg. Supply Sgt.
Edward P. Scanlon, Reg. Supply Sgt.
John J. Kennedy, Reg. Supply Sgt.
Joseph Comiskey, 1st Sgt.
Roland Ferdinando, 1st Sgt.
James W. Henry
Charles Feick
James J. Heffernan
William Nicholson
James Murphy
Walter Bishop
Robert Goss
Thomas S. Lacey—Com.
William G. Fagan
Harry Mallen
Charles Larson
James McMahon
William J. Drennan—A.C.S.
Robert Stanton—Co. Clk.
Edward L. Callahan
Bernard Lowe
Arthur B. Nulty
Frank Nelson—Co. Clk.
_Sergeants, Headquarters Co._
Donald P. Adair
William J. Arenholz—Com.
Pendleton Beall—A.C.S.
Abram Blaustein—Com.
Leonard J. Beck
Robert A. Blackford
John F. Boyle
Herbert E. Clarke
Robert L. Clarke
Stewart S. Clinton
Gustav Cosgrove
Richard J. Cray
Fred W. Cudmore
Ronald O. Dietz
Robert Donnelly
Francis Driscoll, U. S. A., as Instructor
Lemist Esler, U. S. A., as Instructor
William Evers—Band
Alfred H. Fawkner—Com.
William E. Fernie
Thomas E. Fitzsimmons
Lawrence J. Flynn—Band
Jerome Goldstein
Leonard P. Grant—Com.
Constantine J. Harvey
Gerald L. Harvey
George D. Heilman
Diedrich Heins
Edward J. Hussey—KIA.
Arthur C. Jaeger
John V. Kerrigan
Joyce Kilmer—KIA.
Russell Klages
George D. Kramer
Robert N. Lee
Charles Leister
James Lynch—Band
Thomas E. Lynch
Thomas J. McCarthy, 1st Sgt.—Com.
Samuel G. McConaughy
Leonard Monzert—A.C.S.
Thomas Mullady
John J. Mullins, Sgt. Bugler
William P. Murray—Band
Frank Miller—Band
Erwin L. Meisel
William P. Neacy—A.C.S.
James O’Brien
Francis A. O’Connell, Col. Sgt.—Com.
Denis O’Shea, 1st Sgt.—Com.
Medary A. Prentiss—Com.
Theodore C. Ranscht
Michael Rendini
Leslie B. Reynolds
Kenneth G. Russell—Com.
John J. Ryan, 1st Sgt.
Walter T. Ryan
William F. Shannon
William J. Sieger
James V. Smith
Ambrose M. Steinert, Reg. Sgt.-Major
Patrick Stokes—Band
Albert L. Strang, Batt. Sgt.-Major—Com.
Miles Sweeney—Band
Thomas J. Taylor
Walter F. Thompson—Co. Clk.
Robert Taggart
Harrison J. Uhl, Col. Sgt.—Com.
George W. Utermehle
Emmett S. Watson
Roy A. West
Marcus E. Wilkinson—Com.
Charles F. Willermin
Frederick T. Young
Howard R. Young
Henry E. Zitzmann—Band Leader
Edward H. Jeffries—Com.
_Sergeants, Machine-Gun Co._
A. Andrews
Gerald Beekman
Harry P. Bruhn—KIA.
Thomas J. Berkley—Com.
J. T. Brooks—KIA.
Anthony J. Daly
Thomas J. Devine—Com.
Thomas F. Doherty
William A. Drake—KIA.
Victor M. Denis
Maurice Dunn
E. O. Ericksson—Com.
Paul R. Fay
John H. Flint
Frank Gardella—KIA.
J. J. Hagerty—Com.
Peter Gillespie
C. F. Hunt
J. R. Keller
L. Kerrigan
Ralph C. Ketchum—Com.
John Kilgannon
James E. Ledwith
Allen J. McBride—Com.
John J. McBride, 1st Sgt.
Harry J. McKelvey—Co. Clk.
John T. Malvey
T. J. Meredith
K. F. Morey
John Mulstein
Maurice M. O’Keefe
William Patterson
Sidney F. Ryan
William A. Sheppard, U. S. A., as Instructor
John J. Spillane
Joseph McCourt, 1st Sgt.
Frank Stevens
_Sergeants, San. Det._
Warren W. Lokker, Sgt. 1st Class
William Helgers, Sgt. 1st Class
Victor L. Eichorn
Arthur Firman
William F. Hayes
William J. Maher
Daniel McConlogue
William K. McGrath
Thomas V. Boland—Co. Clk.
FOOTNOTES:
[6] After the Champagne fight, by request of the French military
authorities, a number of officers and men were recommended for
decoration, including Major Anderson for the Legion of Honor. The
lists were lost while going through the French Army channels, but it
is still hoped that the honors will be granted.
[7] Deceased
[8] Deceased
[9] Abbreviations: KIA (Killed in action or died of wounds); A.C.S.
(sent to Army Candidates’ school); Com. (commissioned).
[10] Deceased
APPENDIX
IRISH NAMES
Since returning home I have read with great interest the unique
historical study of Mr. Michael J. O’Brien on the part played by the
Irish in the early history of the Colonies and particularly in the
Revolutionary War, founded on an exhaustive examination of Irish
names inscribed in army rosters and other records of the period. In
order to avoid the suspicion of over-playing his hand, Mr. O’Brien
had to confine himself to names like his own, which undeniably
indicate Irish birth or descent. He must have passed over many names
which are common in every group of Irish throughout the world.
If we take only the names which have become prominent in the recent
endeavors to establish the independence of Ireland—De Valera and
Marcoviecz do not sound particularly Irish (even the militant lady’s
maiden name of Gore-Booth does not much improve the matter); and
while Kelly, Ryan, Dunn and Duffy are to the manner born, there
was a time when Walsh, Pearse, and Plunkett were foreign names,
Norman or Danish; and Kent, McNeil and Griffiths might very well be
respectively English, Scotch or Welsh.
In the Regiment we had some good men of Scottish descent, but we
had a number who volunteered for the Regiment drawn by Irish race
feeling, bearing the names of Johnston, Cowie, Wilson, Bailey,
Armstrong, Saunders, Campbell, Thompson, Chambers, Gordon, Ross,
Scott, Watson, Stewart, Christy, Finlay, Grimson, Hamilton, Barr,
Graham, Gillespie, Black, Walker, Catterson, Robinson, Holmes, Grant,
Dunbar, Fraser, Kirk, Patterson, Gould, Wylie, Robinson, Roberts,
Donaldson, Ferguson, McMillan, McDonald, McGregor, McPherson,
Ogilvie, Craig, Cameron, McAndrews, McLean, McKay, MacIntosh, not
forgetting our Lieutenant Colonel Alexander Anderson.
We had three or four score Jews in the Regiment that went abroad but
there was a Coen, a Leavy and a Jacobs who were Irish.
Other regimental names that do not sound Irish to the ears of the
uninitiate but are familiar in every Irish group are Clifford, Duane,
Clark, Freeman, Winters, Phillips, Williams, Cunningham, Curtis,
Johnson, Gough, Harrison, Grace, Jones, Loftus, Medler, Matthews,
Morrison, Newman, King, Crawford, Biggar, Bambrick, Ring, Rice,
Blythe, Gray, Judge, Morgan, Caulfield, Gilbert, Gilgar, Campion,
Booth, Humphreys, Cook, Hill, Parks, Hunt, Garland, Gill, Warren,
Reed, Hurst, Jenkins, Rogers, Grimes, Summers, Smith, Green, Brown,
White, Martin, Mason, Lowe, Roe, Wade, Woods, Goodman, Fleming,
French, English, Holland, Thornton, Wall, Travis, Travers, Morgan,
Fletcher, Clinton, Richards, Jennings, Lynn, Taylor, Reynolds,
Grundy, Stanley, Turner, Edwards, Dean, Meade, Conville, Ward,
Clayton, Eustace, Lavelle, Clyne, Battle, Nelson, Wynne, Coppinger,
Morton, Oakes, Fullam, Lynott, Lynar, Lysaght, Long, Fennell, Tuers,
Birmingham, Hetherington, Temple, Whitty, Granville, Howard, Bealin,
Stanley, Vaughan, Adams, Nash, Coneys, Mylott, Brickley, Mitchell,
Diamond, De Witt, Hopkins, Quigg, Igo, Taylor, Ferris, Ledwith,
Forrestal, Lever, Hoey, Fox, Russell, Sutcliffe, Hillery, Fisher,
Kent, Boyce, Bevan, Rothwell, Adkins, Courtney, Mannix, Orr, Harris,
Farnan, Hackett, Hopkins, Gaynor, Gunn, Broe, Bush, Goss, Wilde, Cox,
Seagriff, Marshall, Davis, Bergen, Singleton, Rankin, Webb, Small.
Not all of the possessors of these names in the Regiment were bearers
of the Irish racial tradition, but the great majority of them were.
Sometimes the English sounding name was imported directly from
Ireland, and the man’s nationality was never in doubt after one heard
him speak, as in the case of Mansfield, Bugler, Maddock, Elwood, and
others. Sometimes all doubt was removed by the Christian name, as in
the cases of Patrick Ames, Patrick Stokes, Patrick Thynne, Patrick
Porteous, Patrick Carlisle, Patrick Benson, Patrick Travers, Patrick
Fawcett, Patrick Gorham, Patrick Masterson, or Michael Goodman,
Michael Douglas, Michael Bowler, Michael Gettings, Denis Richardson,
Bernard Clinton, Robert Emmett Mitchell, Bernard Granville, Francis
X. Goodwin, John J. Booth.
The future historian who writes of the part played by the Irish
element in this war will have a good deal of trouble collecting his
data, partly on account of the tendency to bestow on children what
our grandparents would call “fancy” names, and partly through the
intermarriage of women with Irish names to men whose names indicate
a different racial descent. Especially when the religion is the
same, the children are very definitely Irish in race feeling. All
of the following had the Irish kind of religion, and most of them
claim to be of Irish descent; George Lawrence, James Archer, Wilton
Wharton, Colton Bingham, Sherwood Orr, Melvin King, Earl Withrow,
Lester Lenhart, Archibald Skeats, Dudley Winthrop, Warren Dearborn,
Hurlburt McCallum, Harold Yockers, Dallas Springer, Joyce Kilmer,
Clifford Wiltshire, Pelham Hall, Elmore Becker, Everett Guion, Lester
Snyder; while others in the same category bore names such as Dayton,
Lovett, Lappin, Trayer, Shepherd, Harndon, Harnwell, Ashworth,
Bradbury, Everett, Adikes, Keyes, Boone, Bibby, Beverly, Aspery,
Cornell, Morthurst, Battersby, Dawson, Chamberlain, Cousens, Hasting,
Blackburne, Griswold, Bagley, Forman, Myers, Nye, Firman, Weaver,
Irons, Garrett, Kyle, Forms, Kear, Alnwick, Boomer, Dobbins, Ogden,
Dresser, Frear, Bennett, Cooper, Gracely, Schofield, Fredericks,
Walters, Voorhis, Chatterton, Kolodgy, Law, Vail, Field, Throop,
Menrose, Hawk, Waddell, Drake, Flint, Elworth, Maryold, Knott,
Hagger, Espy, Cuffe, Peel, Stiles, Willett, Leaper, Gauthier and
Denair.
A number of volunteers were drawn to the old Irish Regiment by the
bonds of a common faith. And in the course of two years spent amongst
them it was an easier matter while performing my office as Chaplain
to get a line on their personal beliefs than on their racial descent.
We had for example Guignon, Bonnard, Pierre, Viens, and Pepin;
Mendes, Echeverria, Rodriguez and Garcia; Gardella, Brangaccio,
Georgi, Lorelli, Guida, Menicocci, Tricarico, Depietro and Speranza;
Romanuk, Ragninny, Hovance, Sypoula, Puttlitz and Ivanowski, with
plenty of names like Arenholz, Schmidt, Stumpf, Dietrich, Weick,
Schmedlein, Schluter, Leudesdorf and Kahn. Some with names sounding
just like these last ones were Irish on the distaff side, such as
Almendinger, Winestock, Schwartz, Ettinger, Schroppel, Mehl, Rohrig,
Peisel, Hans, Landzert, Clauberg, Ritz, Steinert, Messmer, Zimmerman,
Finger, Richter, Herold, Schick, Buechner, Sauer, Beyer, Haerting,
Meyer, Roesel, Willermin, Miller, Dryer, Hugo, Wilker, Fisher,
Staber, Augustine, Dierenger, Morschhauser, Ritter, Haspel, Becker,
and Grauer.
Two small groups of “Irish” struck my fancy—one with Scandinavian
names like Drivdahl, Malmquist, and Larsen; and a few of the Vans;
Van Pelt, Vanderdonck, Van Wye and Van Benschoten.
One way of estimating the character of the regiment would be to
examine the lists of the dead, to find what names preponderate
in them. In those lists we find _seven_ men named Kelly; _five_
McCarthy; _four_ O’Neill, O’Brien, and Brennan; _three_ Baker,
Brown, Campbell, Cook, Cronin, Daly, Kane, Lynch, McDonald, McKeon,
McLoughlin, Martin, Murphy, O’Connor, O’Rourke, Scanlan, Smith,
Sullivan and Wynne; _two_ Adkins, Allen, Ames, Boyle, Byrnes,
Collins, Coneys, Connelly, Conway, Curtin, Dolan, Dunnigan, Donovan,
Dougherty, Farrell, Fitzpatrick, Ford, Gavin, Geary, Gordon, Gray,
Gunnell, Hamilton, Hart, Higgins, Johnson, Lane, Leonard McMillan,
McKay, McKenna, McSherry, Mahoney, Minogue, Mitchell, Morrissey,
Naughton, Peterson, Philips, Quinn, Reilly, Riordon, Robinson,
Rooney, Ryan, Scott, Slattery, Thomson, Williams and Walsh.
OFFICERS OF THE NEW YORK CHAPTER RAINBOW DIVISION VETERANS
President, William J. Donovan.
1st Vice Pres., George J. Lawrence,
2nd Vice Pres., T. W. Ferguson,
3rd Vice Pres., John Farrell,
Secretary, Daniel B. J. O’Connell,
Treasurer, Timothy J. Moynahan,
Financial Secretary, John McNamara,
Historian, Francis P. Duffy,
Chaplain, James M. Hanley.
BOARD OF TRUSTEES OF THE 165TH INFANTRY
Morgan J. O’Brien, Chairman, (former Presiding Justice of the
appellate division.)
Daniel M. Brady, Vice Chairman, (President of Brady Brass Co.)
John Whelan, Treasurer, (former Corporation Counsel)
Joseph P. Grace, (President W. R. Grace & Co.)
Victor J. Dowling, (Supreme Court Justice)
John D. Ryan, (Chairman Anaconda Copper Co.)
James A. Farrell, (President U. S. Steel Corp.)
Thomas E. Murray, (1st V.P. New York Edison Co.)
James A. McKenna, (Public Accountant)
George McDonald, (Contractor)
Major Thomas T. Reilley, (165th Inf.)
Nicholas F. Brady, (Chairman Brooklyn Rapid Tr. Co.)
Clarence H. Mackay, (Pres. Postal Telegraph Co.)
John J. O’Keefe, (H. L. Horton & Co.)
Louis D. Conley, (former Col. old 69th)
Bryan L. Kennelly, (Real Estate Operator)
WOMEN’S AUXILIARY TO 165TH INFANTRY
U. S. A. Inc.
President. Mrs. George R. Leslie
Vice Pres. Miss Catherine A. Archer
Rec. Sec. Miss Elizabeth M. Hughes
Cor. Sec. Miss Louise Reilley
Fin. Sec. Miss Margaret Casey
Treas. Miss Nora A. Thynne
_Trustees_ Mrs. Theresa Hughes
Mrs. William J. Grady
Miss May A. O’Neill
Miss Mary Duffy
Mrs. V. Merle-Smith
[Illustration:
THE ENTRY INTO BELGIUM
]
[Illustration:
HEADQUARTERS AT REMAGEN GROUP OF RECIPIENTS OF D. S. C.
]
[Illustration:
COLONEL DONOVAN AND STAFF REVIEWING PARADE AT 110TH STREET
]
[Illustration:
RECEPTION AT CITY HALL
]
Transcriber’s Notes
pg 65 Changed: Chicagoan of Polish decent
to: Chicagoan of Polish descent
pg 117 Changed: The old gentlemen gave a dazed
to: The old gentleman gave a dazed
pg 132 Changed: Around P. C. Anderson there was plently
to: Around P. C. Anderson there was plenty
pg 181 Changed: neat job of infilitration
to: neat job of infiltration
pg 202 Changed: the night of July 29th the bowld Jim
to: the night of July 29th the bold Jim
pg 204 Changed: they were very much harrassed
to: they were very much harassed
pg 208 Changed: their persistance were the famous
to: their persistence were the famous
pg 222 Changed: do something to get out Major back
to: do something to get our Major back
pg 248 Changed: still occupying the postions to our right
to: still occupying the positions to our right
pg 264 Changed: hill just ouside of Exermont
to: hill just outside of Exermont
pg 278 Changed: prepared and strongely wired position
to: prepared and strongly wired position
pg 312 Changed: they do not depise him either
to: they do not despise him either
pg 329 Changed: stars of gold commemmorated
to: stars of gold commemorated
pg 337 Changed: Many of the soldeirs received
to: Many of the soldiers received
pg 342 Changed: likely to be rembered
to: likely to be remembered
pg 362 Changed: but it had reconed without
to: but it had reckoned without
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