i_115BEFORE THE OFFENSIVEDrawn by Captain W. J. Aylward, A. E. F.Some officers in another unit organized a rifle range in such a position that the overs dropped gently where we were training. One eventually hit my horse, but did not do much damage.Lieutenant Lyman S. Frazier, an excellent officer, who finished the war as major of infantry, commanded the machine-gun company of my battalion. He was very keen on indirect fire, but we could get little or no information on it. One evening, however, he grouped his guns, made his calculations as well as he could, and then fired a regular barrage. As soon as the demonstration was over he galloped out as fast as he could to the target, and found to his chagrin that only one shot had hit. Where the other 10,000 odd went we never knew.We had many incidents that were really humorous with the men in the guard mount.A young fellow, named Cobb, who lost his leg later in the war, was standing guard early in his military career. A French girl passed him in the dark. He challenged, "Who is there?" She replied, "Qu'est-ce qu'il dit?" Young Cobb didn't know French, but he did know that when in doubt on any subject you called the corporal of the guard. So he shouted at the top of his voice, "Corporal of the guard, queskidee!"We emphasized the manual of formal guard mount as a disciplinary exercise. One of the regulations is that when the ranking officer in a post passes the guardhouse, the sentry calls, "Turn out the guard—commanding officer," and the guard is paraded. We had lived so long by ourselves that although we sometimes had the colonel in the same town, when we were in the Montdidier sector, I never could persuade them to pay any attention to him. They had it firmly rooted in their minds that the ceremony was for me and no one else.Occasionally a German airplane would come over and bomb the towns in the area. Thisfurnished a real element of excitement, as we had anti-aircraft guns set up. The one trouble was that we could not tell at night which was a German and which was a French plane, with the result that if we should happen to hit one it was as likely that we would hit a French one as not. We were saved this embarrassment by never hitting one. Later, in the Montdidier sector, I remember hearing how, in a burst of enthusiasm, the gun crew of one of our 75's had fired at an airplane, and by some remarkable coincidence had torn a wing off and brought it down. On rushing out to inspect it they found it contained a very irascible Frenchman.CHAPTER VIEARLY DAYS IN THE TRENCHES"How strange a spectacle of human passionsIs yours all day beside the Arras road,What mournful men concerned about their rationsWhen here at eve the limbers leave their load,What twilight blasphemy, what horses' feetEntangled with the meat,What sudden hush when that machine gun sweepsAnd flat as possible for men so roundThe quartermasters may be seen in heaps,While you sit by and chuckle, I'll be bound."A. P. H. (Punch).EARLYin October mysterious orders reached us to spend forty-eight hours in some trenches we had dug on top of a hill close to the village, simulating actual conditions as well as we could. At the same time a battalion of each of the other three infantry regiments were similarly instructed. The orders were so well worked out that we were convinced at oncethat we were to go in the near future to the front. Everyone was in a high state of excitement, and very happy that we were at last to see action.The hilltop where we were to stay was covered by the remains of an old Roman camp, commanding the two forks of the stream. We marched up the following day over the remains of the old Roman road, and passed our last short period training to meet the barbarians of the north, where Cæsar's legions, nearly two thousand years ago, trained for the same purpose. Many features were lacking from the trenches on the hill, such as dugouts, for example, but we felt we could get along without them, and everything went happily and serenely the first day.We had the rolling kitchens and hospitals placed on the reverse slope in the woods. Carrying parties brought the chow along a trench traced with white tape to the troops, and they ate it without leaving their positions. During the evening, however, "sunny France" had a relapse, and a terrific rainstorm came on. It was bitterly cold, and a high wind swept the hilltop. We were all soaked to the skin.The men either huddled against the side of a trench or stretched their ponchos from parapet to parapet, and sat beneath them in a foot-deep puddle of water. In making inspection I passed by a number of them that night who looked as if they were perfectly willing to have the war end right then.The company in reserve was occupying the territory around the old Roman wall. They had dug some holes in it, and crawled into them to keep as near dry as possible. Splendid so far as it went, but nearly disastrous, for a message reached me saying that a first sergeant, the company commander, the second in command and the company clerk had all been buried by a cave-in. I ran back to see about them and found that they had been extricated, and looked like animated mud-pies.One company commander during the middle of the second day started his men diggingtrenches as deep as they could, so that at night when the rain started again and the cold wind blew up they would have some place to stay. They dug vigorously all day, but by night, when the rain came down in torrents again, the trenches filled up like bath-tubs, and they had to sit on the edge.After the maneuvers we received definite orders that we were to go to the front. The equipment was checked and verified, and everything put in apple-pie order. The trucks arrived; we got in and started, all of us feeling that now at last we were to be real warriors. All day long the truck train, stretching out along the road, jolted forward in a cloud of dust. Toward evening we began to pass through the desolated area over which the Hun had swept in 1914, and about five o'clock we detrucked at a little town about fourteen miles behind the lines.Here we stayed a couple of days, while our reconnoitering details went forward and familiarized themselves with the position. On the evening of the second day the troopsstarted forward. As usual, it was raining cats and dogs, and our principal duty during the ten days we spent in the sector was shoveling mud the color and consistency of melted chocolate ice cream from cave-ins which constantly occurred in the trench system.We were all very green and very earnest. The machine-gun company arrived, bringing all its ammunition on the gun carts. The guns were uncased and the carts sent to the rear with ammunition still on them, leaving the guns with hardly a round. Only about five or ten shells were fired daily by the German artillery against the portion of line we occupied. One man was hit, our signal officer, Lieutenant Hardon, his wound being very slight. The adjutant, when this happened, ran to tell me, and we both went down and solemnly congratulated Hardon on having the honor to be the first American officer hit while serving with American troops.A number of ambitious members of the intelligence group sniped busily at the German trenches. These were about a mile away, and though they reported heavy casualties among the enemy, I believe that the wish was father to the thought.i_125THE SIGNAL CORPS AT WORKDrawn by Captain Harry E. Townsend, A. E. F.The French were on our right, and we had some very funny times with them. One officer of mine was coming in after inspecting the wire and ran into one of their sentries."Qui est la?" called the sentry.My officer then gave in his best American what he had been told was the French password. This was incomprehensible to the Frenchman, who immediately replied by firing his rifle at him. The officer jumped up and down and gave the password again.Blamwent the Frenchman's rifle the second time. Nothing but the fact that the Frenchman regarded the rifle more as a lead squirt rather than a weapon of accuracy prevented him from being hit. The officer eventually got through by shouting repeatedly at the top of his voice, "Vive les Américains!"At the end of the ten days we were relieved and hiked back veteran troops, as we thought, to the training area. Our medical department, not the department with the troops, but our higher medical department, which dealt with papers rather than facts, sent at this time a letter which I would give a lot to have now simply as a humorous document. It was headed "General Order ——." It had at the top as subject—"Pediculi." Pediculi is the polite medical name for lice. We were instructed in the body that immediately on leaving the trenches all men were to be inspected completely by the medical officer before they were allowed to go to their billets. This involved the inspection by the medical officer of some one thousand men. It furthermore necessitated the inspection of these one thousand men between two and five in the morning, in the dark. The order went on to say that where pediculi were present all clothes were to be confiscated, finishing with the brief and bland statement that thereupon new clothes were to be furnished throughout. This to us, who had not had new clothes since we reached France, to whom every garment was a valuable possession that could not bereplaced! However, we have no doubt that the medical officer felt that he had done something splendid, and what is more, his paper record was perfect in that, although what he demanded was impossible, he had put it on paper, and, therefore, someone else was to blame for not carrying it out.Our first Christmas in France was spent in the usual little French village. The men had raised a fund to be used for the purpose of giving a Christmas tree to the refugee children living in the vicinity, as well as the native children. It was the first Christmas tree that the village had seen and excitement was intense. The festivities were held in a mess shack, and to them came nearly the entire population, though I gave instructions to be sure that the children were taken care of before the "grown-ups." The enlisted men ran the festivities themselves.Flickering candle-light cast shadows over Christmas greens and mistletoe and the rough boards of the shack. A buzzing mass of French children and adults crowded aroundthe tree, and lean, weather-beaten American sergeants gave out the presents. There were the usual horns and crackers, and in a few minutes pandemonium had broken loose. The curé was there, and the mayor, dressed in an antediluvian frock coat and top hat. These two, at a given signal, succeeded in partially stilling the tumult by making an equal noise themselves, and a little girl and boy appeared with a large bouquet for me. First they made a little speech in French, looking as cunning as possible. Each time they said "Mon Commandant" they made a funny little bow. After giving me the bouquet the little girl kissed me. Then the mayor spoke. Warned by the little girl's action, I fended him off with the bouquet when he showed a tendency to become affectionate. I then answered in my best French, which I alone understood, and the festivities finished.Later in the evening the men gave a show, which they had arranged themselves. It was really very good. Sergeant Frank Ross wasprincipally responsible, ably assisted by Privates Cooper, Neary, and Smith. The humor was local soldier humor and absolutely clean. For instance, the men always march with their extra pair of shoes strapped on the outside of the pack. One man on the stage would say to the other: "Say, Buddy, I call my pack my little O. D. baby. It wears shoes the same size as mine, and I can't get the son of a gun to walk a step."During the play the sergeant of the guard came in to me and said, "Sir, there has been a little disturbance. Sergeant Withis of B Company says C Company men have been picking on him; but, sir, there are three C Company men at the infirmary and Withis is all right."The day, however, on the whole, was a success and it speaks well for the men, for of all the Christmas dinner that our papers talked so much about, practically nothing but a few nuts and raisins reached us.One old regular sergeant of C Company, Baird by name, discovered at this time anovel use for the gas mask. The old fellow had been in service for many years, and though a fine and gallant soldier, he was long past his prime physically. He always reminded me of Kipling's description of Akela the gray wolf, when he says that "Akela was very old and gray, and he walked as though he were made of wood." Baird was a great man on paper work, and believed in having his company files in tiptop shape. Facilities were a little poor. One bitter day he tried to make some reports. First he tried in the barn, where his hands became so cold he couldn't write. Then he tried in the kitchen, and his eyes got so full of smoke he couldn't see. At last we found him sitting in the kitchen with his gas mask on making his reports, writing in comfort.We were joined at this time by Major Atkins of the Salvation Army, an exceptionally fine character. He stayed with us during most of the time we were in Europe. He was courageous under fire, felt that where the men went he wished to go, and was a splendid influencewith them. Whatever he could do he always did with a whole heart.Before the war I felt that the Salvation Army was composed of a well-meaning lot of cranks. Now what help I can give them is theirs. My feelings are well illustrated by a conversation I overheard between two soldiers. One said, "Say, Bill, before this war I used to think it good fun to kid the Salvation Army. Now I'll bust any feller on the bean with a brick if I see him botherin' them."Early in January we were told that replacements were arriving to bring up our companies to 250 in strength. When the men arrived we planned to be there on time to get our fair share. Two old sergeants, Studal and Shultz, went down and helped pick the recruits, working from detachment to detachment trying to shift the best material into our detail. The men were, on the whole, a fine lot, but their knowledge of military matters was absolutely nil. A large percentage had never shot any firearms, and still a larger percentage had never shot the service rifle. One man turnedup with a service record on which was nothing except "Mennonite, objects to bearing arms." Incidentally he made an excellent soldier, and was killed while fighting gallantly near Montdidier. Another man had partial paralysis of one side. When the medical officer asked him if he had been examined before he said, "No, sir; just drafted." Still another had an arm so stiffened that he could hardly bend his elbow. When the medical officer tried to send him to the rear he protested. We let him stay. He became an automatic rifle gunner, and was later killed.One westerner, from Montana I believe, called Blalock, finished the war as first sergeant in Company D, after a very distinguished record. Another young fellow, Aug by name, was a real estate man from Sacramento. I noticed him first when he was detailed as my orderly. Later he was cited for gallantry twice, and eventually sent to the officers' school, where he got a commission, and asked to be returned to the fighting troops. He fell in action just before the armistice.Private "Bill" Margeas was a Greek who came with this lot. He was shot through the chest at Montdidier, and later ran away from the hospital and got back before Soissons. He came in to report to me. I had been near him when he had been hit before."Margeas," I said, "you're in no shape to carry a pack.""No, sir," said he, "but I can carry a rifle all right."He was killed later in the Argonne.Two Chinamen, Young and Chew, drafted from San Francisco, were also in this lot. They were with my headquarters all during the war.These replacements had absolutely no conception of military etiquette. They wanted to do what was right, but they didn't know anything. When one man from a western National Guard regiment—incidentally he was a German by birth—came up to me with a message from his company commander, he would always begin with, "Say." One time I asked him when he was born and he toldme in 1848, which impressed me as being a slight overstatement. Subsequent investigation proved that 1878 was the year. Incidentally he fought very gallantly, and was fortunate enough to get through the war, being with the regiment when I left it in Germany.One huge fellow called Swanson, from North Dakota, turned up. Swanson was a fine soldier in every way, but the government had not figured on a man of Swanson's size. Never when he was in my command were we able to get a blouse to fit him. He turned out on parade, went to the trenches, and appeared on all other occasions in a ragged brown sweater.Some of the men we got could not speak English. One squad in particular we had to form in such a fashion that the corporal could act as interpreter. Once turning around a corner I came upon a group of four or five soldiers. All of them except one saluted properly. He merely grinned in a good-natured, friendly fashion. I started to read him the riot act, asking why he thought hewas different from the rest of the men, what he meant by it, did he put himself in a class by himself, and so forth. About half way through one of the other men interrupted me."Sir," he said, "that guy there he don't understand English." We found someone who could speak his language, had the matter explained to him, and found it was simply that he did not understand. He wanted to do what was right and he wanted to play the game.These replacements had very long hair and looked very shabby. One of the first things we did was to have their hair cut. There are many reasons why troops should keep their hair cut. It looks neater for one thing, but, far more important, it is sanitary, and where baths are few and far between short hair makes a great difference. Each company has a barber. Therefore the excitement was at fever pitch once in Company B when Loreno, its barber, deserted and got to Italy, taking with him the barber tools. As a result they used mule clippers for some time.The men took great pride in the good name of their organization. One man, who afterward proved himself an excellent soldier and a good American, came to us through the draft with no idea of loyalty to the flag, and with no real feeling for the country of any sort. He tried to desert twice, but we caught him both times, although on the last occasion he got as far as Marseilles. During the trial, while the court was sitting, he became frightened and broke away from the sentry who had him in charge. The alarm sounded for the guard, which immediately started out through the dark and rain on the jump. Then, without any orders, the escaped prisoner's own company turned out to help them, not because they had to, but because they felt he was hurting their company record."What is it, Bill?" I heard one man call."Aw, it's that guy Blank who's been giving Company B a black eye. He's beat it again, and we're going out to get him."About this time we were issued gas masks for the first time, thus furnishing us withanother weapon, or means, of warfare about which we knew nothing. There was a small, active individual with glasses from general headquarters who was supposed to be our instructor. He used to give us long lectures on gas, in which he told us when gas had first been used in the past (I believe by the Greeks), how it had been employed in the beginning of the war, what gases had been used, and what their chemical components were. He told us at great length how to protect ourselves against the gas cloud, and then informed us that cloud gas was not used any longer. Later he took up the deadly effects of mustard gas, and how we must immediately put on the gas masks when gas was evident.Toward the end of the lecture a deeply interested officer asked him how one could detect gas when it was present in dangerous quantities. He didn't know; so we left the lecture with full information as to obsolete methods of using gas, with full information as to its chemical components and effects, butwith no information as to how to detect it when it was present in dangerous quantities.To try to put interest in the work and make it less hard on the men, we organized competitions in everything—competitions for the best platoon billet, competitions for the best platoon in close order drill, bayonet, etc. The prizes were almost negligible. Sometimes it would simply be that the victorious platoon was excused from some formation, but the men took to it like a duck to water.The officers became fully as keen as the men. I never shall forget the company commanders who, together with myself, formed the judges. They would always start off by saying in an airy manner it was for the good of the entire organization, and that they personally did not care whether their company won or not, provided the battalion was benefited. As soon as the contest was under way, however, all was different, and it generally narrowed down to my doing all the judging. They would come up and protest the standing in competitions in the official bulletin for all the worldas if they were managers of a big league baseball team.About this time we organized a drum and bugle corps. This corps got so it could render very loudly and very badly a number of French and American tunes. We used it on all our long marches and maneuvers. We used it for reveille in the morning, for retreat in the evening, for close-order drill and all ceremonies. The men got so they thought a good deal of it, and frequently when marching through towns the troops would call out, "How about that band?" The doughboy likes to show off. I know, myself, that I always got a thrill of conscious pride going through a town, the troops marching at attention, colors flying, bugles playing, drums beating, and the women and children standing on the streets and shouting.We had, in addition to this early training, long days spent in maneuvers. I disapproved heartily of these maneuvers at the time, looking at them from the point of view of battalion commander, who feels that any attempt on the part of the higher command to have maneuvers on a large scale is wasting valuable time that might be employed by him to better advantage. I am sure now that General Fiske, the head of the American training section, was right when he prescribed them and that the maneuvers contributed greatly to the ability of the First Division to keep in contact when it struck the line. The necessity for them, of course, was based on the fact that, great as was the ignorance of our junior officers, it was comparatively far less than the ignorance of our higher command and staff. These maneuvers were bitter work for the soldiers who would be out all day, insufficiently clad and insufficiently fed. Often a bloody trail was left in the snow by the men who at this time had virtually no boots. We used to call it Indian warfare and say we were chasing the last of the Mohicans over the Ligny sector.About this time we began to work into some complicated trench maneuvers. Thesewere the ones the men liked. They threw hand grenades, fired trench mortars, and had a general Fourth of July celebration.Once we had a maneuver of this kind before General Pershing. The company officers were lined up and afterward were asked their opinion as to how the men had conducted themselves. The first one to answer was a game little fellow named Wortley from Los Angeles, who was afterward killed. He said that he thought everything went off very well and he didn't think he had anything to criticize. The next lieutenant said that he thought that a few men of his company had got a little mixed up. This was a cheerful point of view for him to have, for, as a matter of fact, two thirds of his company had gone astray. His company had been selected to deliver a flank attack over the top, but when this took place it consisted of one lieutenant and two privates. The mistake, however, was never noticed.Indeed, the generals and suchlike who come to maneuvers can rarely criticize the efforts ofthe company and field officers, as they are not conversant with the handling of small units. Their presence at maneuvers is largely a question of morale. I remember during an exercise a higher officer, a very fine man to whom I afterward became devoted turned to me and said: "Have a trench raid.""When, sir?" I asked."Immediately."Now, any junior officer knows that a trench raid cannot be staged the way you can fire a rocket. It has to be thought out in every detail and all concerned have to be familiarized with all phases of the plan in so far as it is possible. I got two very good lieutenants and, hastily outlining the situation, told them to go ahead. They made their plans in five minutes. I got some hand grenades for them and they gave a lively imitation. The trenches they raided did not exist, but were simply marked by tape on the ground. They did very well considering the circumstances, but the higher officer remarked to the assembled officers on its completion that he didn't knowanything about raids, but this one did not appeal to him. It took all concerned quite a while to get over their feeling about this criticism.During this period we heard of Bangler torpedoes. These torpedoes are long sections of tin tubing loaded with high explosive and are used for tearing up the enemy wire in order that the raiding party may get through into the trenches. Nothing of the kind was to be had from our people, but we obtained permission to send someone to try to get one from the various French ammunition dumps near by. Lieutenant Ridgely, my adjutant, went. He turned up after a hectic day with some long sections of stovepipe and a number of little tin cases. He explained that he had been unable to get the torpedoes, but that he had got some stovepipe and some very deadly explosive and perhaps we could make one.The next day we set out to follow his plan and two afternoons later completed our experiment, and gave an exhibition before theassembled officers of the brigade. The raiding party were picked men, whom I considered among the best in the battalion. They all crawled out through the assumed "No Man's Land," holding on to one another's heels and endeavoring to look just as businesslike as possible. Their faces were blackened and they carried trench knives and hand grenades. The party which was to set off the torpedo lighted it, poked it under the wire, then leaped up and dashed through the gap in the wire to the trenches where the enemy were supposed to be. On account of the amateur workmanship, only a part of the charge went off, and I never shall forget my horror when I saw the party of my picked men galloping gallantly through the gap over this smoking, unexploded charge. I had visions of having to reorganize the battalion the next day. Fortunately the charge did not go off and all worked out well.Later we started a good deal of work at night, realizing how difficult it was for men to find their way and how necessary it was for them to get used to working in the dark. This training the men enjoyed. It was allin the nature of a competition. Reconnaissance patrols would be started out to see how near they could approach to the dummy trenches without detection. In the dummy trenches other groups, with flares, etc., would keep a strict watch. Combat patrols would go out two at a time, each looking for the other. I recall one night when two patrols ran into one another suddenly. One of the privates was so overcome with zeal when he saw the supposed enemy that he made as pretty a lunge with his bayonet as I have ever seen and stabbed through both cheeks of the man opposite him.During the entire time we were in France we trained much along the lines indicated in the previous paragraphs, except that as we became veterans we naturally became more conversant with the correct methods of instruction. For trained troops who are leaving the line it is my opinion that two points should be stressed above the rest—one is close-order drill and the other rifle practice. In the First Battalion we were particularly fortunate in this period in having with us Captain AmelFrey and Lieutenants Freml and Gillian, all three of whom had served as N.C.O.'s in the regular Army. They understood close-order work, the service rifle, and the handling of men, and to them a large part of the early training is ascribable.The next point in the line to which we went was the Toul sector. This was much more lively than Arracourt, and here we had our first real taste of war. No Man's Land was not more than fifty to one hundred yards in width at many places. The whole terrain had been occupied for three years, and, as there had been many slight changes of position, abandoned trenches, filled half full of mud and wire, ran everywhere. Originally the front had been held with a large number of troops, but when we took it over, these had been reduced to such an extent that now one company would hold a kilometer in width. The line of support was furthermore about one kilometer in the rear. It was winter and snow and sleet and mud formed an ever-present trio. As always intrench warfare, the night was the time of activity. During the day everything was quiet; in walking through the trenches all one would meet was an occasional sentry.This night work was hard on the new men, for it is easy to see things at night even if you are an old soldier. If you are a recruit, you just can't help seeing them."Well, Major, it's like this," was the way Sergeant Rose, an old-timer, put it to me when I was speaking to him in the front-line trenches one night. "I'm an old soldier, but when I stand and look out over this trench long enough, the first thing I know, those posts with the wire attached to them begin to do squads right and squads left, and if I ain't careful, I have to shoot them to keep them from charging this trench."Private Jones would imagine he saw a German patrol approaching him, fire all his hand grenades at them, and send in a report to the effect that he had repulsed a raid and that there were three or four dead Germans lying in front of his part of the line. Investigation would prove that an old stump or a sandbag had received all his attention.The division had fairly heavy casualties in this sector. The Germans staged a couple of raids. Also there were heavy artillery actions very frequently. Generally these would start around three o'clock in the morning. First would come the preliminary strafing. During it the higher command would call up and ask what was going on, to which you replied N. T. R.—(nothing to report). Then the shelling would commence in earnest and all connections would go out at once. From then on, runners were the only method of communication until everything was over. One could never be sure that each strafing was not the preliminary to an assault. Strafing like this was very picturesque. Generally I got into position where I could see as much of the front as I could. It is possible to guess by the intensity of shelling just what is getting ready, while hand grenades and rifle fire mean that an attack is taking place. First a few flashes can be seen, which increase untilon all sides you see the bursts of the shrapnel and the noise becomes deafening. Then it gradually dies away and a thick acrid cloud of smoke lies over everything.During one of these actions a runner came in to report that the captain of the right flank company had been severely hit. The second in command had not, in my opinion, had quite enough experience, so I sent my scout officer back with the runner to take command. They got to a bit of trench where shells were falling thick."Lieutenant, you wait here while I see if we can get through," said the runner to the officer."Why should you go rather than me?" asked the lieutenant."Well," came the reply, "you see you are going to command the company. I'm just a runner. They can get lots more of me."A very good sergeant of mine, Ross by name, had his hand blown off in this sector.He was making a reconnaissance with a view to a patrol, when a German trenchmortar shell that had been imbedded in the parapet went off under his hand. As he passed me he simply said: "Major, I am awfully sorry to leave you this early before the real game begins."Here we captured our first German prisoner. I doubt whether any German will ever be as precious to any of us as this man was. We had patrolled quite a good deal, but the Germans had either stopped patrolling in the sector in front of us or we were unfortunate in not running into any of them. We felt at last that the only way to get a prisoner was to go over to the German trenches and pull one out.One night Lieutenant Christian Holmes, Sergeants Murphy, McCormack, Samari (born in southern Italy), and Leonard, who was called Scotty and who spoke with a pronounced Irish brogue, were designated to raid a listening post. They crawled on their bellies across No Man's Land, got through the maze of wire, and ran right on top of a German listening post. A prisoner was what they wanted, soLieutenant Holmes, who was leading the party, leaped upon one of the two Germans and locked him in a tight embrace. The German's partner thereupon endeavored to bayonet Lieutenant Holmes, who was struggling in two feet of water with his captive, but was prevented by a timely thrust from Sergeant Murphy's bayonet. They seized the German, who was shrieking "Kamerad" at the top of his lungs, and dragged him back across No Man's Land at the double.When they came in with him we were as pleased as Punch. Indeed, we hardly wanted to let him go to the rear, as we had a distinct feeling more or less that we wanted to keep him to look at. He was a young, scrawny fellow, and gave us much information concerning the troops opposite us. Lieutenant Holmes and Sergeant Murphy received the Distinguished Service Cross for this work; and well deserved it, for they showed the way and did a really hard job. Holmes told me afterward that they had all agreed that they would not come back until they had got theirprisoner. They had decided that if they did not find him in the first front-line trenches they would go back as far as necessary, but they were going to find him or not come back.We began here also for the first time to play with that most elusive of all military amusements, the code. In order that the Germans, in listening in on our telephone conversations, might not know what we were about, everything was put in code or cipher. The high command issued to us the Napoleon code. The Napoleon code is written entirely in French. Only a few of us could read French, with the result that only a few could send messages. General Hines, then colonel of the Sixteenth Infantry, realized that this was a poor idea, so he made up a code of his own. This code went by the name of the Cauliflower Code, and the commanding officer, his adjutant, etc., in every place were given distinctive names.Conversation ran something like this—"Hello, hello, I want Hannibal. Hannibal is not there? Give me Brains. Brains,this is the King of Essex talking. Sunflower. No balloons, tomatoes, asparagus. No, No. I saidnoballoons! Oh, damn. My kitchens haven't come. Have them sent up."When we received rush orders to leave this sector, I tried to mobilize my wagon truck by telephone. The supply officers all went by the name of Sarah in the code. I would start off, "Hello, hello. This is the King of Essex talking. I want little Sarah. Little Sarah Van." Lieutenant Van, my supply officer, would reply from the other side, "Hello, hello, is this the King of Essex talking?" "It is." "Well, Major Roosevelt," then the connection would be cut. After much labor I got him again. I had just begun, "Balloons, radishes, carrots" when we were cut off again. The next time we got the connection we said what we had to say in plain English and quickly.One evening just after we had arrived in the front-line trenches, after a rest in the support position, the telephone buzzed. The adjutant leaped to it. "Yes, this is Blank.What is it? Yes, yes. The Napoleon code." And then for some thirty minutes, during which time the trench telephone ceased to work, was cut off, or simply went dead, the Adjutant took down a long string of numbers. At the end of that period he had a sheet of paper in front of him which looked for all the world like the financial statement of a large bank. He rushed to our portfolio where the sector papers were kept, yanked them out, ran over them in a hurry, and then turned to me with a blank look of grief: "Sorry, sir, we have left the code behind." We thought for a moment, then called back the sender, and said, "Sir, we have forgotten our code." He remarked blithely from the other end, "If the message had been an important one, I would not have sent it in code. I'll give it to you when I see you to-night."Our first real experience with gas came in this sector. As I said before, we had been taught how to put on and take off our gas masks, how gas was used by the ancients,what methods had been used and abandoned in the present war, what the chemical components were, what the effects were, but not how to detect it when it was present in dangerous quantities. The result was that everyone was thoroughly apprehensive of gas and afraid he would not be able to detect it. We had all sorts of nice little appliances in the trenches to give the alarm. They consisted of bells, gongs, Klaxon horns, and beautiful rockets that burst in a green flare. A nervous sentry would be pacing to and fro. It would be wet and lonely and he would think of what unpleasant things he had been told happened to the men who were gassed. A shell would burst near him. "By George, that smells queer," he would think. He would sniff again. "No question about it, that must be gas!" and blam! would go the gas alarm. Then from one end of the line to the other gongs and horns would sound and green rockets would streak across the sky and platoon after platoon would wearily encase itself in gas masks. One night I stood in the reserveposition and watched a celebration of this sort. It looked and sounded like a witches' sabbath.After a certain amount of this we worked into a practical knowledge of gas. We found that there were only two methods of attack we had to fear: one was by cylinders thrown by projectors, and the other by gas shelling by the enemy artillery. With the former, an attack was often detected before it took place by our intelligence, and it was possible to tell by a flare that showed up along the horizon on the discharge of the projectors when the attack commenced. With the latter, after a little practice, it was perfectly simple to tell a gas shell from a H. E. shell, as it made a sound like a dud. The difficulty with both types of attack was not so much in getting the gas masks on in time, as there was always plenty of time for that, but rather in holding heavily gassed areas, where burns and trouble of all sorts were almost impossible to avoid.It was in this Toul sector on March 11th that my brother Archie was severely wounded. The Huns were strafing heavily and an attack by them was expected. He was redisposing his men when he was hit by a shell and badly wounded both in the left arm and left leg. Major A. W. Kenner, M. C., and Sergeant Hood were shelled by the Germans while they were moving out the wounded, among them my brother, when, because of the stretchers they were carrying, they had to walk over the top and not through some bad bits of trench. To Major A. W. Kenner, M. C., and Captain E. D. Morgan, M. R. C., is due great credit, not only in this operation, but in all the work to come. They never shrank from danger or hardship and their actions were at all times an inspiration to those around them.CHAPTER VIIMONTDIDIER"And horror is not from terrible things—men torn to rags by a shell,And the whole trench swimming in blood and slush, like a Butcher's shop in Hell;It's silence and night and the smell of the dead that shake a man to the soul,From Misery Farm to Dead Man's Death on a nil report patrol."Knight-Adkin.BYthe end of March we were veteran troops.All during the latter part of the month rumor had been rife about the proposed German drive. After nearly four years of war, Germany had crushed Russia, Rumania, Belgium, Serbia, Montenegro, and Albania; had dealt Italy a staggering blow, and was about to assume the offensive in France. On March 28th the blow fell, the allied line staggered and split, and the Germans poured through the gap.The news reached us, and at the same time came orders to prepare for an immediate move. At once the Twenty-sixth American Division moved up in our rear, and with hardly any time for reconnaissance they took over from us. My battalion moved out and marched twelve kilometers to the rear; the last units checked in to where our trains were to meet us at about 5A.M., and by 6A.M.we were on the march again to the vicinity of Toul, where the division was concentrating.Here we were told that we were to be thrown into the path of the German advance. By this time all types of rumor were current. We heard of the Englishman Cary's remarkable feat, how he collected cooks, engineers, labor troops from the retreating forces, formed them into a fighting unit, and stood against the German advance, and how his brigade grew up over night. Cary, because of this feat, became, from captain in the Q. M. C., general of infantry. We heard of the thirty-six hours during which all contact was lost between the French left and the Englishright, when a French cavalry division was brought in trucks from the rear of the line and thrown into the gap, and on the morning of the second day reported that they believed they had established contact with the English.The next few days all was excitement. We formed the men and gave out our first decorations to Lieutenant Holmes and Sergeant Murphy. At the same time we told them all that we knew of our plans. They were delighted. Men do not like sitting in trenches day in and day out, and being killed and mangled without ever seeing the enemy, and this promised a fight where the enemy would be in sight.We had a large, rough shack where we were able to have all the officers of the battalion for mess. Lieutenant Gustafson, an Illinois boy, who had, in civilian life, been a head waiter at summer hotels, managed the mess. We had some good voices among the officers, and every night after dinner there was singing.Our supply officer, meanwhile, was annexing everything in sight for the battalion in the most approved fashion. One time his right-hand man, Sergeant Wheeler, passed by some tethered mules which belonged to a green regiment. He hopped off the ration cart he was riding, caught them, and tied them behind the cart. A mile down the road some one came pounding after them."Hey! Where are you going with those mules?" Wheeler was equal to the occasion. "Are them your mules? Well, what do you mean by leaving them loose by the road? I had to get out and catch them. I have a good mind to report you to the M. P. for this." Eventually Wheeler compromised by warning the man, and giving one of the mules back to him.Then the trains arrived. We had never traveled on a regular military train before. A military train is made up to carry a battalion of infantry; box cars holding about forty men or eight animals each, and flat cars for wagons, kitchens, etc. We entrained safely and got off all right, though we were hurried at the last by a message saying theschedule given us was wrong, and our train left one half hour earlier than indicated.We creaked off toward the southwest. We didn't know where we were going, but by this time we had all become philosophical and self-sufficient and believed that if the train dropped us somewhere far away from the rest of the division, we would manage to get along by ourselves without too much trouble.After a day's travel we stopped at a little station. The only thing that we had to identify us was a long yellow ticket scratched all over with minute directions, which none of us could read. Here I was informed by a French guard that this was the regulating station and the American regulating officer was waiting to see me. I hopped off the train and ran back, finding Colonel Hjalmar Erickson, who afterward became a very dear friend of mine and later commanded the regiment. He was busy trying to figure things out withthe Frenchchef de la gare, an effort complicated by his inability to speak French."My lord, Major, why aren't you the Seventh Field Artillery?" was Colonel Erickson's greeting.As he was giving me the plans and maps I heard a whoop from the train outside. I ran to the door and found that, for some reason, best known to himself, the French engineer had started up again and my battalion was rapidly disappearing down the track. I started on the dead run after them. Fortunately some of the officers saw what was happening, and by force of arms succeeded in persuading the engineer to stop the train.That night we detrained a couple of days' march from Chaumont-en-Vexin, where division headquarters were to be. We hiked through a beautiful peaceful country, the most lovely we had yet seen in France, billeting for the night in a little town where a whole company of mine slept in an old château. At Chaumont we stayed for some few days,maneuvering while the division was being fully assembled.From Chaumont we marched north for four days to the Montdidier sector. I never shall forget this march. Spring was on the land, the trees were budding, wild flowers covered the ground, the birds were singing. Our dusty brown column wound up hill and down, through patches of woods and little villages. By us, all day, toward the south streamed the French refugees from villages threatened, or already taken, by the Hun. Heavy home-made wagons trundled past, drawn by every kind of animal, and piled high with hay and farm produce, furniture, and odds and ends of household belongings. Tramping beside them or riding on them were women and children, most of them dazed and with a haunted look in their faces. Sometimes the wagons would be halted and their occupants squatted by the road, cooking a scanty meal from what they had with them.To us in this country, thanks to Providence, not to our own forethought or character, thisdescription is only so many words. Unless one has seen it, it is impossible to visualize the battered village, the column of refugees that starts at each great battle and streams ceaselessly toward Paris and southern France, the apple orchards and gardens torn beyond recognition, the desolation and destruction seemingly impossible of reparation.Nothing would have been better for our countrymen and women than for each and every one of them to have spent some time in the war zone. When I think of men of the type of Bryan and Ford, when I think of their self-satisfied lives of ease, when I think of what they did to permit disaster and death to threaten this country, it makes me wonder more than ever at the long-suffering kindness of humanity which permits such as they still to enjoy the benefits of citizenship in this great land which they have so signally failed to serve.When we took over the Montdidier sector it was not, nor did it ever become, the type found in the parts of the front where warfare had been going on without movement for more than three years. Trenches were shallow and scanty, and dugouts were almost lacking. Indeed, from this time on, with one exception, the division never held an established sector. The line at Montdidier had been established shortly after the break-through by the Germans, by a French territorial division which was marching north, expecting to relieve some friendly troops in front of it. They suddenly encountered, head on, the German columns that were marching south. Both sides deployed, went into position, and dug in where they were. The First Division took over from these troops.The first morning we were in the Montdidier sector the Huns shelled us heavily. Immediately after they raided a part of our front line held by a platoon of D Company, commanded by Lieutenant Dabney, a very good fellow from Louisville, Ky. The Germans were repulsed with loss. We suffered no casualties ourselves except from the German bombardment. The next eveningwe picked up the body of the German sergeant commanding the party, whom we had killed.We staged a very successful raid ourselves at about this time. The raiding party was composed of eighty-five men of D Company, under the command of Lieutenant Freml. The section of German trenches selected as the objective of the operation lay in a little wood about one hundred yards from our front line. Our patrols had reported that this part of the German line was particularly heavily held. In the first light of the half dawn the raiding party worked up into position, passing by through the mist like black shadows. At the agreed time our artillery came down with both the heavies and the 75's, and the patch of woods was enveloped in clouds of smoke through which the bursts of the H. E. showed like flashes of lightning. In ten minutes the guns lifted and formed a box barrage, and the raiding party went over. So rapid was the whole maneuver that the German defensive barrage did not come downuntil after the raiding party had reached the enemy trenches.The enemy trenches were found, as had been expected, full of Germans. Most of them were in dugouts or funk holes, and did not make a severe resistance. "Come out of there," the man in charge of the particular detail for that part of the trench would call down the dugout. If the Huns came out, they were taken prisoner. If they did not, a couple of incendiary grenades were thrown down the dugout and our men moved on.We captured, in all, thirty-three prisoners, of whom one was an officer, and probably killed and wounded as many more. Our losses were one killed and five slightly wounded. Unfortunately the one man killed was Lieutenant Freml, the raid leader, who fell in a hand-to-hand combat. Freml was an old Regular Army sergeant and had fought in the Philippine Islands. After this war he was planning to return and establish a chicken farm. He always kept his head no matter what the circumstances were and his solutions for situations that arose were always practical. His men were devoted to him and would follow him anywhere.
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BEFORE THE OFFENSIVEDrawn by Captain W. J. Aylward, A. E. F.
Some officers in another unit organized a rifle range in such a position that the overs dropped gently where we were training. One eventually hit my horse, but did not do much damage.
Lieutenant Lyman S. Frazier, an excellent officer, who finished the war as major of infantry, commanded the machine-gun company of my battalion. He was very keen on indirect fire, but we could get little or no information on it. One evening, however, he grouped his guns, made his calculations as well as he could, and then fired a regular barrage. As soon as the demonstration was over he galloped out as fast as he could to the target, and found to his chagrin that only one shot had hit. Where the other 10,000 odd went we never knew.
We had many incidents that were really humorous with the men in the guard mount.A young fellow, named Cobb, who lost his leg later in the war, was standing guard early in his military career. A French girl passed him in the dark. He challenged, "Who is there?" She replied, "Qu'est-ce qu'il dit?" Young Cobb didn't know French, but he did know that when in doubt on any subject you called the corporal of the guard. So he shouted at the top of his voice, "Corporal of the guard, queskidee!"
We emphasized the manual of formal guard mount as a disciplinary exercise. One of the regulations is that when the ranking officer in a post passes the guardhouse, the sentry calls, "Turn out the guard—commanding officer," and the guard is paraded. We had lived so long by ourselves that although we sometimes had the colonel in the same town, when we were in the Montdidier sector, I never could persuade them to pay any attention to him. They had it firmly rooted in their minds that the ceremony was for me and no one else.
Occasionally a German airplane would come over and bomb the towns in the area. Thisfurnished a real element of excitement, as we had anti-aircraft guns set up. The one trouble was that we could not tell at night which was a German and which was a French plane, with the result that if we should happen to hit one it was as likely that we would hit a French one as not. We were saved this embarrassment by never hitting one. Later, in the Montdidier sector, I remember hearing how, in a burst of enthusiasm, the gun crew of one of our 75's had fired at an airplane, and by some remarkable coincidence had torn a wing off and brought it down. On rushing out to inspect it they found it contained a very irascible Frenchman.
EARLY DAYS IN THE TRENCHES
"How strange a spectacle of human passionsIs yours all day beside the Arras road,What mournful men concerned about their rationsWhen here at eve the limbers leave their load,What twilight blasphemy, what horses' feetEntangled with the meat,What sudden hush when that machine gun sweepsAnd flat as possible for men so roundThe quartermasters may be seen in heaps,While you sit by and chuckle, I'll be bound."A. P. H. (Punch).
"How strange a spectacle of human passionsIs yours all day beside the Arras road,What mournful men concerned about their rationsWhen here at eve the limbers leave their load,What twilight blasphemy, what horses' feetEntangled with the meat,What sudden hush when that machine gun sweepsAnd flat as possible for men so roundThe quartermasters may be seen in heaps,While you sit by and chuckle, I'll be bound."
A. P. H. (Punch).
EARLYin October mysterious orders reached us to spend forty-eight hours in some trenches we had dug on top of a hill close to the village, simulating actual conditions as well as we could. At the same time a battalion of each of the other three infantry regiments were similarly instructed. The orders were so well worked out that we were convinced at oncethat we were to go in the near future to the front. Everyone was in a high state of excitement, and very happy that we were at last to see action.
The hilltop where we were to stay was covered by the remains of an old Roman camp, commanding the two forks of the stream. We marched up the following day over the remains of the old Roman road, and passed our last short period training to meet the barbarians of the north, where Cæsar's legions, nearly two thousand years ago, trained for the same purpose. Many features were lacking from the trenches on the hill, such as dugouts, for example, but we felt we could get along without them, and everything went happily and serenely the first day.
We had the rolling kitchens and hospitals placed on the reverse slope in the woods. Carrying parties brought the chow along a trench traced with white tape to the troops, and they ate it without leaving their positions. During the evening, however, "sunny France" had a relapse, and a terrific rainstorm came on. It was bitterly cold, and a high wind swept the hilltop. We were all soaked to the skin.
The men either huddled against the side of a trench or stretched their ponchos from parapet to parapet, and sat beneath them in a foot-deep puddle of water. In making inspection I passed by a number of them that night who looked as if they were perfectly willing to have the war end right then.
The company in reserve was occupying the territory around the old Roman wall. They had dug some holes in it, and crawled into them to keep as near dry as possible. Splendid so far as it went, but nearly disastrous, for a message reached me saying that a first sergeant, the company commander, the second in command and the company clerk had all been buried by a cave-in. I ran back to see about them and found that they had been extricated, and looked like animated mud-pies.
One company commander during the middle of the second day started his men diggingtrenches as deep as they could, so that at night when the rain started again and the cold wind blew up they would have some place to stay. They dug vigorously all day, but by night, when the rain came down in torrents again, the trenches filled up like bath-tubs, and they had to sit on the edge.
After the maneuvers we received definite orders that we were to go to the front. The equipment was checked and verified, and everything put in apple-pie order. The trucks arrived; we got in and started, all of us feeling that now at last we were to be real warriors. All day long the truck train, stretching out along the road, jolted forward in a cloud of dust. Toward evening we began to pass through the desolated area over which the Hun had swept in 1914, and about five o'clock we detrucked at a little town about fourteen miles behind the lines.
Here we stayed a couple of days, while our reconnoitering details went forward and familiarized themselves with the position. On the evening of the second day the troopsstarted forward. As usual, it was raining cats and dogs, and our principal duty during the ten days we spent in the sector was shoveling mud the color and consistency of melted chocolate ice cream from cave-ins which constantly occurred in the trench system.
We were all very green and very earnest. The machine-gun company arrived, bringing all its ammunition on the gun carts. The guns were uncased and the carts sent to the rear with ammunition still on them, leaving the guns with hardly a round. Only about five or ten shells were fired daily by the German artillery against the portion of line we occupied. One man was hit, our signal officer, Lieutenant Hardon, his wound being very slight. The adjutant, when this happened, ran to tell me, and we both went down and solemnly congratulated Hardon on having the honor to be the first American officer hit while serving with American troops.
A number of ambitious members of the intelligence group sniped busily at the German trenches. These were about a mile away, and though they reported heavy casualties among the enemy, I believe that the wish was father to the thought.
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THE SIGNAL CORPS AT WORKDrawn by Captain Harry E. Townsend, A. E. F.
The French were on our right, and we had some very funny times with them. One officer of mine was coming in after inspecting the wire and ran into one of their sentries.
"Qui est la?" called the sentry.
My officer then gave in his best American what he had been told was the French password. This was incomprehensible to the Frenchman, who immediately replied by firing his rifle at him. The officer jumped up and down and gave the password again.Blamwent the Frenchman's rifle the second time. Nothing but the fact that the Frenchman regarded the rifle more as a lead squirt rather than a weapon of accuracy prevented him from being hit. The officer eventually got through by shouting repeatedly at the top of his voice, "Vive les Américains!"
At the end of the ten days we were relieved and hiked back veteran troops, as we thought, to the training area. Our medical department, not the department with the troops, but our higher medical department, which dealt with papers rather than facts, sent at this time a letter which I would give a lot to have now simply as a humorous document. It was headed "General Order ——." It had at the top as subject—"Pediculi." Pediculi is the polite medical name for lice. We were instructed in the body that immediately on leaving the trenches all men were to be inspected completely by the medical officer before they were allowed to go to their billets. This involved the inspection by the medical officer of some one thousand men. It furthermore necessitated the inspection of these one thousand men between two and five in the morning, in the dark. The order went on to say that where pediculi were present all clothes were to be confiscated, finishing with the brief and bland statement that thereupon new clothes were to be furnished throughout. This to us, who had not had new clothes since we reached France, to whom every garment was a valuable possession that could not bereplaced! However, we have no doubt that the medical officer felt that he had done something splendid, and what is more, his paper record was perfect in that, although what he demanded was impossible, he had put it on paper, and, therefore, someone else was to blame for not carrying it out.
Our first Christmas in France was spent in the usual little French village. The men had raised a fund to be used for the purpose of giving a Christmas tree to the refugee children living in the vicinity, as well as the native children. It was the first Christmas tree that the village had seen and excitement was intense. The festivities were held in a mess shack, and to them came nearly the entire population, though I gave instructions to be sure that the children were taken care of before the "grown-ups." The enlisted men ran the festivities themselves.
Flickering candle-light cast shadows over Christmas greens and mistletoe and the rough boards of the shack. A buzzing mass of French children and adults crowded aroundthe tree, and lean, weather-beaten American sergeants gave out the presents. There were the usual horns and crackers, and in a few minutes pandemonium had broken loose. The curé was there, and the mayor, dressed in an antediluvian frock coat and top hat. These two, at a given signal, succeeded in partially stilling the tumult by making an equal noise themselves, and a little girl and boy appeared with a large bouquet for me. First they made a little speech in French, looking as cunning as possible. Each time they said "Mon Commandant" they made a funny little bow. After giving me the bouquet the little girl kissed me. Then the mayor spoke. Warned by the little girl's action, I fended him off with the bouquet when he showed a tendency to become affectionate. I then answered in my best French, which I alone understood, and the festivities finished.
Later in the evening the men gave a show, which they had arranged themselves. It was really very good. Sergeant Frank Ross wasprincipally responsible, ably assisted by Privates Cooper, Neary, and Smith. The humor was local soldier humor and absolutely clean. For instance, the men always march with their extra pair of shoes strapped on the outside of the pack. One man on the stage would say to the other: "Say, Buddy, I call my pack my little O. D. baby. It wears shoes the same size as mine, and I can't get the son of a gun to walk a step."
During the play the sergeant of the guard came in to me and said, "Sir, there has been a little disturbance. Sergeant Withis of B Company says C Company men have been picking on him; but, sir, there are three C Company men at the infirmary and Withis is all right."
The day, however, on the whole, was a success and it speaks well for the men, for of all the Christmas dinner that our papers talked so much about, practically nothing but a few nuts and raisins reached us.
One old regular sergeant of C Company, Baird by name, discovered at this time anovel use for the gas mask. The old fellow had been in service for many years, and though a fine and gallant soldier, he was long past his prime physically. He always reminded me of Kipling's description of Akela the gray wolf, when he says that "Akela was very old and gray, and he walked as though he were made of wood." Baird was a great man on paper work, and believed in having his company files in tiptop shape. Facilities were a little poor. One bitter day he tried to make some reports. First he tried in the barn, where his hands became so cold he couldn't write. Then he tried in the kitchen, and his eyes got so full of smoke he couldn't see. At last we found him sitting in the kitchen with his gas mask on making his reports, writing in comfort.
We were joined at this time by Major Atkins of the Salvation Army, an exceptionally fine character. He stayed with us during most of the time we were in Europe. He was courageous under fire, felt that where the men went he wished to go, and was a splendid influencewith them. Whatever he could do he always did with a whole heart.
Before the war I felt that the Salvation Army was composed of a well-meaning lot of cranks. Now what help I can give them is theirs. My feelings are well illustrated by a conversation I overheard between two soldiers. One said, "Say, Bill, before this war I used to think it good fun to kid the Salvation Army. Now I'll bust any feller on the bean with a brick if I see him botherin' them."
Early in January we were told that replacements were arriving to bring up our companies to 250 in strength. When the men arrived we planned to be there on time to get our fair share. Two old sergeants, Studal and Shultz, went down and helped pick the recruits, working from detachment to detachment trying to shift the best material into our detail. The men were, on the whole, a fine lot, but their knowledge of military matters was absolutely nil. A large percentage had never shot any firearms, and still a larger percentage had never shot the service rifle. One man turnedup with a service record on which was nothing except "Mennonite, objects to bearing arms." Incidentally he made an excellent soldier, and was killed while fighting gallantly near Montdidier. Another man had partial paralysis of one side. When the medical officer asked him if he had been examined before he said, "No, sir; just drafted." Still another had an arm so stiffened that he could hardly bend his elbow. When the medical officer tried to send him to the rear he protested. We let him stay. He became an automatic rifle gunner, and was later killed.
One westerner, from Montana I believe, called Blalock, finished the war as first sergeant in Company D, after a very distinguished record. Another young fellow, Aug by name, was a real estate man from Sacramento. I noticed him first when he was detailed as my orderly. Later he was cited for gallantry twice, and eventually sent to the officers' school, where he got a commission, and asked to be returned to the fighting troops. He fell in action just before the armistice.Private "Bill" Margeas was a Greek who came with this lot. He was shot through the chest at Montdidier, and later ran away from the hospital and got back before Soissons. He came in to report to me. I had been near him when he had been hit before.
"Margeas," I said, "you're in no shape to carry a pack."
"No, sir," said he, "but I can carry a rifle all right."
He was killed later in the Argonne.
Two Chinamen, Young and Chew, drafted from San Francisco, were also in this lot. They were with my headquarters all during the war.
These replacements had absolutely no conception of military etiquette. They wanted to do what was right, but they didn't know anything. When one man from a western National Guard regiment—incidentally he was a German by birth—came up to me with a message from his company commander, he would always begin with, "Say." One time I asked him when he was born and he toldme in 1848, which impressed me as being a slight overstatement. Subsequent investigation proved that 1878 was the year. Incidentally he fought very gallantly, and was fortunate enough to get through the war, being with the regiment when I left it in Germany.
One huge fellow called Swanson, from North Dakota, turned up. Swanson was a fine soldier in every way, but the government had not figured on a man of Swanson's size. Never when he was in my command were we able to get a blouse to fit him. He turned out on parade, went to the trenches, and appeared on all other occasions in a ragged brown sweater.
Some of the men we got could not speak English. One squad in particular we had to form in such a fashion that the corporal could act as interpreter. Once turning around a corner I came upon a group of four or five soldiers. All of them except one saluted properly. He merely grinned in a good-natured, friendly fashion. I started to read him the riot act, asking why he thought hewas different from the rest of the men, what he meant by it, did he put himself in a class by himself, and so forth. About half way through one of the other men interrupted me.
"Sir," he said, "that guy there he don't understand English." We found someone who could speak his language, had the matter explained to him, and found it was simply that he did not understand. He wanted to do what was right and he wanted to play the game.
These replacements had very long hair and looked very shabby. One of the first things we did was to have their hair cut. There are many reasons why troops should keep their hair cut. It looks neater for one thing, but, far more important, it is sanitary, and where baths are few and far between short hair makes a great difference. Each company has a barber. Therefore the excitement was at fever pitch once in Company B when Loreno, its barber, deserted and got to Italy, taking with him the barber tools. As a result they used mule clippers for some time.
The men took great pride in the good name of their organization. One man, who afterward proved himself an excellent soldier and a good American, came to us through the draft with no idea of loyalty to the flag, and with no real feeling for the country of any sort. He tried to desert twice, but we caught him both times, although on the last occasion he got as far as Marseilles. During the trial, while the court was sitting, he became frightened and broke away from the sentry who had him in charge. The alarm sounded for the guard, which immediately started out through the dark and rain on the jump. Then, without any orders, the escaped prisoner's own company turned out to help them, not because they had to, but because they felt he was hurting their company record.
"What is it, Bill?" I heard one man call.
"Aw, it's that guy Blank who's been giving Company B a black eye. He's beat it again, and we're going out to get him."
About this time we were issued gas masks for the first time, thus furnishing us withanother weapon, or means, of warfare about which we knew nothing. There was a small, active individual with glasses from general headquarters who was supposed to be our instructor. He used to give us long lectures on gas, in which he told us when gas had first been used in the past (I believe by the Greeks), how it had been employed in the beginning of the war, what gases had been used, and what their chemical components were. He told us at great length how to protect ourselves against the gas cloud, and then informed us that cloud gas was not used any longer. Later he took up the deadly effects of mustard gas, and how we must immediately put on the gas masks when gas was evident.
Toward the end of the lecture a deeply interested officer asked him how one could detect gas when it was present in dangerous quantities. He didn't know; so we left the lecture with full information as to obsolete methods of using gas, with full information as to its chemical components and effects, butwith no information as to how to detect it when it was present in dangerous quantities.
To try to put interest in the work and make it less hard on the men, we organized competitions in everything—competitions for the best platoon billet, competitions for the best platoon in close order drill, bayonet, etc. The prizes were almost negligible. Sometimes it would simply be that the victorious platoon was excused from some formation, but the men took to it like a duck to water.
The officers became fully as keen as the men. I never shall forget the company commanders who, together with myself, formed the judges. They would always start off by saying in an airy manner it was for the good of the entire organization, and that they personally did not care whether their company won or not, provided the battalion was benefited. As soon as the contest was under way, however, all was different, and it generally narrowed down to my doing all the judging. They would come up and protest the standing in competitions in the official bulletin for all the worldas if they were managers of a big league baseball team.
About this time we organized a drum and bugle corps. This corps got so it could render very loudly and very badly a number of French and American tunes. We used it on all our long marches and maneuvers. We used it for reveille in the morning, for retreat in the evening, for close-order drill and all ceremonies. The men got so they thought a good deal of it, and frequently when marching through towns the troops would call out, "How about that band?" The doughboy likes to show off. I know, myself, that I always got a thrill of conscious pride going through a town, the troops marching at attention, colors flying, bugles playing, drums beating, and the women and children standing on the streets and shouting.
We had, in addition to this early training, long days spent in maneuvers. I disapproved heartily of these maneuvers at the time, looking at them from the point of view of battalion commander, who feels that any attempt on the part of the higher command to have maneuvers on a large scale is wasting valuable time that might be employed by him to better advantage. I am sure now that General Fiske, the head of the American training section, was right when he prescribed them and that the maneuvers contributed greatly to the ability of the First Division to keep in contact when it struck the line. The necessity for them, of course, was based on the fact that, great as was the ignorance of our junior officers, it was comparatively far less than the ignorance of our higher command and staff. These maneuvers were bitter work for the soldiers who would be out all day, insufficiently clad and insufficiently fed. Often a bloody trail was left in the snow by the men who at this time had virtually no boots. We used to call it Indian warfare and say we were chasing the last of the Mohicans over the Ligny sector.
About this time we began to work into some complicated trench maneuvers. Thesewere the ones the men liked. They threw hand grenades, fired trench mortars, and had a general Fourth of July celebration.
Once we had a maneuver of this kind before General Pershing. The company officers were lined up and afterward were asked their opinion as to how the men had conducted themselves. The first one to answer was a game little fellow named Wortley from Los Angeles, who was afterward killed. He said that he thought everything went off very well and he didn't think he had anything to criticize. The next lieutenant said that he thought that a few men of his company had got a little mixed up. This was a cheerful point of view for him to have, for, as a matter of fact, two thirds of his company had gone astray. His company had been selected to deliver a flank attack over the top, but when this took place it consisted of one lieutenant and two privates. The mistake, however, was never noticed.
Indeed, the generals and suchlike who come to maneuvers can rarely criticize the efforts ofthe company and field officers, as they are not conversant with the handling of small units. Their presence at maneuvers is largely a question of morale. I remember during an exercise a higher officer, a very fine man to whom I afterward became devoted turned to me and said: "Have a trench raid."
"When, sir?" I asked.
"Immediately."
Now, any junior officer knows that a trench raid cannot be staged the way you can fire a rocket. It has to be thought out in every detail and all concerned have to be familiarized with all phases of the plan in so far as it is possible. I got two very good lieutenants and, hastily outlining the situation, told them to go ahead. They made their plans in five minutes. I got some hand grenades for them and they gave a lively imitation. The trenches they raided did not exist, but were simply marked by tape on the ground. They did very well considering the circumstances, but the higher officer remarked to the assembled officers on its completion that he didn't knowanything about raids, but this one did not appeal to him. It took all concerned quite a while to get over their feeling about this criticism.
During this period we heard of Bangler torpedoes. These torpedoes are long sections of tin tubing loaded with high explosive and are used for tearing up the enemy wire in order that the raiding party may get through into the trenches. Nothing of the kind was to be had from our people, but we obtained permission to send someone to try to get one from the various French ammunition dumps near by. Lieutenant Ridgely, my adjutant, went. He turned up after a hectic day with some long sections of stovepipe and a number of little tin cases. He explained that he had been unable to get the torpedoes, but that he had got some stovepipe and some very deadly explosive and perhaps we could make one.
The next day we set out to follow his plan and two afternoons later completed our experiment, and gave an exhibition before theassembled officers of the brigade. The raiding party were picked men, whom I considered among the best in the battalion. They all crawled out through the assumed "No Man's Land," holding on to one another's heels and endeavoring to look just as businesslike as possible. Their faces were blackened and they carried trench knives and hand grenades. The party which was to set off the torpedo lighted it, poked it under the wire, then leaped up and dashed through the gap in the wire to the trenches where the enemy were supposed to be. On account of the amateur workmanship, only a part of the charge went off, and I never shall forget my horror when I saw the party of my picked men galloping gallantly through the gap over this smoking, unexploded charge. I had visions of having to reorganize the battalion the next day. Fortunately the charge did not go off and all worked out well.
Later we started a good deal of work at night, realizing how difficult it was for men to find their way and how necessary it was for them to get used to working in the dark. This training the men enjoyed. It was allin the nature of a competition. Reconnaissance patrols would be started out to see how near they could approach to the dummy trenches without detection. In the dummy trenches other groups, with flares, etc., would keep a strict watch. Combat patrols would go out two at a time, each looking for the other. I recall one night when two patrols ran into one another suddenly. One of the privates was so overcome with zeal when he saw the supposed enemy that he made as pretty a lunge with his bayonet as I have ever seen and stabbed through both cheeks of the man opposite him.
During the entire time we were in France we trained much along the lines indicated in the previous paragraphs, except that as we became veterans we naturally became more conversant with the correct methods of instruction. For trained troops who are leaving the line it is my opinion that two points should be stressed above the rest—one is close-order drill and the other rifle practice. In the First Battalion we were particularly fortunate in this period in having with us Captain AmelFrey and Lieutenants Freml and Gillian, all three of whom had served as N.C.O.'s in the regular Army. They understood close-order work, the service rifle, and the handling of men, and to them a large part of the early training is ascribable.
The next point in the line to which we went was the Toul sector. This was much more lively than Arracourt, and here we had our first real taste of war. No Man's Land was not more than fifty to one hundred yards in width at many places. The whole terrain had been occupied for three years, and, as there had been many slight changes of position, abandoned trenches, filled half full of mud and wire, ran everywhere. Originally the front had been held with a large number of troops, but when we took it over, these had been reduced to such an extent that now one company would hold a kilometer in width. The line of support was furthermore about one kilometer in the rear. It was winter and snow and sleet and mud formed an ever-present trio. As always intrench warfare, the night was the time of activity. During the day everything was quiet; in walking through the trenches all one would meet was an occasional sentry.
This night work was hard on the new men, for it is easy to see things at night even if you are an old soldier. If you are a recruit, you just can't help seeing them.
"Well, Major, it's like this," was the way Sergeant Rose, an old-timer, put it to me when I was speaking to him in the front-line trenches one night. "I'm an old soldier, but when I stand and look out over this trench long enough, the first thing I know, those posts with the wire attached to them begin to do squads right and squads left, and if I ain't careful, I have to shoot them to keep them from charging this trench."
Private Jones would imagine he saw a German patrol approaching him, fire all his hand grenades at them, and send in a report to the effect that he had repulsed a raid and that there were three or four dead Germans lying in front of his part of the line. Investigation would prove that an old stump or a sandbag had received all his attention.
The division had fairly heavy casualties in this sector. The Germans staged a couple of raids. Also there were heavy artillery actions very frequently. Generally these would start around three o'clock in the morning. First would come the preliminary strafing. During it the higher command would call up and ask what was going on, to which you replied N. T. R.—(nothing to report). Then the shelling would commence in earnest and all connections would go out at once. From then on, runners were the only method of communication until everything was over. One could never be sure that each strafing was not the preliminary to an assault. Strafing like this was very picturesque. Generally I got into position where I could see as much of the front as I could. It is possible to guess by the intensity of shelling just what is getting ready, while hand grenades and rifle fire mean that an attack is taking place. First a few flashes can be seen, which increase untilon all sides you see the bursts of the shrapnel and the noise becomes deafening. Then it gradually dies away and a thick acrid cloud of smoke lies over everything.
During one of these actions a runner came in to report that the captain of the right flank company had been severely hit. The second in command had not, in my opinion, had quite enough experience, so I sent my scout officer back with the runner to take command. They got to a bit of trench where shells were falling thick.
"Lieutenant, you wait here while I see if we can get through," said the runner to the officer.
"Why should you go rather than me?" asked the lieutenant.
"Well," came the reply, "you see you are going to command the company. I'm just a runner. They can get lots more of me."
A very good sergeant of mine, Ross by name, had his hand blown off in this sector.
He was making a reconnaissance with a view to a patrol, when a German trenchmortar shell that had been imbedded in the parapet went off under his hand. As he passed me he simply said: "Major, I am awfully sorry to leave you this early before the real game begins."
Here we captured our first German prisoner. I doubt whether any German will ever be as precious to any of us as this man was. We had patrolled quite a good deal, but the Germans had either stopped patrolling in the sector in front of us or we were unfortunate in not running into any of them. We felt at last that the only way to get a prisoner was to go over to the German trenches and pull one out.
One night Lieutenant Christian Holmes, Sergeants Murphy, McCormack, Samari (born in southern Italy), and Leonard, who was called Scotty and who spoke with a pronounced Irish brogue, were designated to raid a listening post. They crawled on their bellies across No Man's Land, got through the maze of wire, and ran right on top of a German listening post. A prisoner was what they wanted, soLieutenant Holmes, who was leading the party, leaped upon one of the two Germans and locked him in a tight embrace. The German's partner thereupon endeavored to bayonet Lieutenant Holmes, who was struggling in two feet of water with his captive, but was prevented by a timely thrust from Sergeant Murphy's bayonet. They seized the German, who was shrieking "Kamerad" at the top of his lungs, and dragged him back across No Man's Land at the double.
When they came in with him we were as pleased as Punch. Indeed, we hardly wanted to let him go to the rear, as we had a distinct feeling more or less that we wanted to keep him to look at. He was a young, scrawny fellow, and gave us much information concerning the troops opposite us. Lieutenant Holmes and Sergeant Murphy received the Distinguished Service Cross for this work; and well deserved it, for they showed the way and did a really hard job. Holmes told me afterward that they had all agreed that they would not come back until they had got theirprisoner. They had decided that if they did not find him in the first front-line trenches they would go back as far as necessary, but they were going to find him or not come back.
We began here also for the first time to play with that most elusive of all military amusements, the code. In order that the Germans, in listening in on our telephone conversations, might not know what we were about, everything was put in code or cipher. The high command issued to us the Napoleon code. The Napoleon code is written entirely in French. Only a few of us could read French, with the result that only a few could send messages. General Hines, then colonel of the Sixteenth Infantry, realized that this was a poor idea, so he made up a code of his own. This code went by the name of the Cauliflower Code, and the commanding officer, his adjutant, etc., in every place were given distinctive names.
Conversation ran something like this—"Hello, hello, I want Hannibal. Hannibal is not there? Give me Brains. Brains,this is the King of Essex talking. Sunflower. No balloons, tomatoes, asparagus. No, No. I saidnoballoons! Oh, damn. My kitchens haven't come. Have them sent up."
When we received rush orders to leave this sector, I tried to mobilize my wagon truck by telephone. The supply officers all went by the name of Sarah in the code. I would start off, "Hello, hello. This is the King of Essex talking. I want little Sarah. Little Sarah Van." Lieutenant Van, my supply officer, would reply from the other side, "Hello, hello, is this the King of Essex talking?" "It is." "Well, Major Roosevelt," then the connection would be cut. After much labor I got him again. I had just begun, "Balloons, radishes, carrots" when we were cut off again. The next time we got the connection we said what we had to say in plain English and quickly.
One evening just after we had arrived in the front-line trenches, after a rest in the support position, the telephone buzzed. The adjutant leaped to it. "Yes, this is Blank.What is it? Yes, yes. The Napoleon code." And then for some thirty minutes, during which time the trench telephone ceased to work, was cut off, or simply went dead, the Adjutant took down a long string of numbers. At the end of that period he had a sheet of paper in front of him which looked for all the world like the financial statement of a large bank. He rushed to our portfolio where the sector papers were kept, yanked them out, ran over them in a hurry, and then turned to me with a blank look of grief: "Sorry, sir, we have left the code behind." We thought for a moment, then called back the sender, and said, "Sir, we have forgotten our code." He remarked blithely from the other end, "If the message had been an important one, I would not have sent it in code. I'll give it to you when I see you to-night."
Our first real experience with gas came in this sector. As I said before, we had been taught how to put on and take off our gas masks, how gas was used by the ancients,what methods had been used and abandoned in the present war, what the chemical components were, what the effects were, but not how to detect it when it was present in dangerous quantities. The result was that everyone was thoroughly apprehensive of gas and afraid he would not be able to detect it. We had all sorts of nice little appliances in the trenches to give the alarm. They consisted of bells, gongs, Klaxon horns, and beautiful rockets that burst in a green flare. A nervous sentry would be pacing to and fro. It would be wet and lonely and he would think of what unpleasant things he had been told happened to the men who were gassed. A shell would burst near him. "By George, that smells queer," he would think. He would sniff again. "No question about it, that must be gas!" and blam! would go the gas alarm. Then from one end of the line to the other gongs and horns would sound and green rockets would streak across the sky and platoon after platoon would wearily encase itself in gas masks. One night I stood in the reserveposition and watched a celebration of this sort. It looked and sounded like a witches' sabbath.
After a certain amount of this we worked into a practical knowledge of gas. We found that there were only two methods of attack we had to fear: one was by cylinders thrown by projectors, and the other by gas shelling by the enemy artillery. With the former, an attack was often detected before it took place by our intelligence, and it was possible to tell by a flare that showed up along the horizon on the discharge of the projectors when the attack commenced. With the latter, after a little practice, it was perfectly simple to tell a gas shell from a H. E. shell, as it made a sound like a dud. The difficulty with both types of attack was not so much in getting the gas masks on in time, as there was always plenty of time for that, but rather in holding heavily gassed areas, where burns and trouble of all sorts were almost impossible to avoid.
It was in this Toul sector on March 11th that my brother Archie was severely wounded. The Huns were strafing heavily and an attack by them was expected. He was redisposing his men when he was hit by a shell and badly wounded both in the left arm and left leg. Major A. W. Kenner, M. C., and Sergeant Hood were shelled by the Germans while they were moving out the wounded, among them my brother, when, because of the stretchers they were carrying, they had to walk over the top and not through some bad bits of trench. To Major A. W. Kenner, M. C., and Captain E. D. Morgan, M. R. C., is due great credit, not only in this operation, but in all the work to come. They never shrank from danger or hardship and their actions were at all times an inspiration to those around them.
MONTDIDIER
"And horror is not from terrible things—men torn to rags by a shell,And the whole trench swimming in blood and slush, like a Butcher's shop in Hell;It's silence and night and the smell of the dead that shake a man to the soul,From Misery Farm to Dead Man's Death on a nil report patrol."Knight-Adkin.
"And horror is not from terrible things—men torn to rags by a shell,And the whole trench swimming in blood and slush, like a Butcher's shop in Hell;It's silence and night and the smell of the dead that shake a man to the soul,From Misery Farm to Dead Man's Death on a nil report patrol."
Knight-Adkin.
BYthe end of March we were veteran troops.
All during the latter part of the month rumor had been rife about the proposed German drive. After nearly four years of war, Germany had crushed Russia, Rumania, Belgium, Serbia, Montenegro, and Albania; had dealt Italy a staggering blow, and was about to assume the offensive in France. On March 28th the blow fell, the allied line staggered and split, and the Germans poured through the gap.
The news reached us, and at the same time came orders to prepare for an immediate move. At once the Twenty-sixth American Division moved up in our rear, and with hardly any time for reconnaissance they took over from us. My battalion moved out and marched twelve kilometers to the rear; the last units checked in to where our trains were to meet us at about 5A.M., and by 6A.M.we were on the march again to the vicinity of Toul, where the division was concentrating.
Here we were told that we were to be thrown into the path of the German advance. By this time all types of rumor were current. We heard of the Englishman Cary's remarkable feat, how he collected cooks, engineers, labor troops from the retreating forces, formed them into a fighting unit, and stood against the German advance, and how his brigade grew up over night. Cary, because of this feat, became, from captain in the Q. M. C., general of infantry. We heard of the thirty-six hours during which all contact was lost between the French left and the Englishright, when a French cavalry division was brought in trucks from the rear of the line and thrown into the gap, and on the morning of the second day reported that they believed they had established contact with the English.
The next few days all was excitement. We formed the men and gave out our first decorations to Lieutenant Holmes and Sergeant Murphy. At the same time we told them all that we knew of our plans. They were delighted. Men do not like sitting in trenches day in and day out, and being killed and mangled without ever seeing the enemy, and this promised a fight where the enemy would be in sight.
We had a large, rough shack where we were able to have all the officers of the battalion for mess. Lieutenant Gustafson, an Illinois boy, who had, in civilian life, been a head waiter at summer hotels, managed the mess. We had some good voices among the officers, and every night after dinner there was singing.
Our supply officer, meanwhile, was annexing everything in sight for the battalion in the most approved fashion. One time his right-hand man, Sergeant Wheeler, passed by some tethered mules which belonged to a green regiment. He hopped off the ration cart he was riding, caught them, and tied them behind the cart. A mile down the road some one came pounding after them.
"Hey! Where are you going with those mules?" Wheeler was equal to the occasion. "Are them your mules? Well, what do you mean by leaving them loose by the road? I had to get out and catch them. I have a good mind to report you to the M. P. for this." Eventually Wheeler compromised by warning the man, and giving one of the mules back to him.
Then the trains arrived. We had never traveled on a regular military train before. A military train is made up to carry a battalion of infantry; box cars holding about forty men or eight animals each, and flat cars for wagons, kitchens, etc. We entrained safely and got off all right, though we were hurried at the last by a message saying theschedule given us was wrong, and our train left one half hour earlier than indicated.
We creaked off toward the southwest. We didn't know where we were going, but by this time we had all become philosophical and self-sufficient and believed that if the train dropped us somewhere far away from the rest of the division, we would manage to get along by ourselves without too much trouble.
After a day's travel we stopped at a little station. The only thing that we had to identify us was a long yellow ticket scratched all over with minute directions, which none of us could read. Here I was informed by a French guard that this was the regulating station and the American regulating officer was waiting to see me. I hopped off the train and ran back, finding Colonel Hjalmar Erickson, who afterward became a very dear friend of mine and later commanded the regiment. He was busy trying to figure things out withthe Frenchchef de la gare, an effort complicated by his inability to speak French.
"My lord, Major, why aren't you the Seventh Field Artillery?" was Colonel Erickson's greeting.
As he was giving me the plans and maps I heard a whoop from the train outside. I ran to the door and found that, for some reason, best known to himself, the French engineer had started up again and my battalion was rapidly disappearing down the track. I started on the dead run after them. Fortunately some of the officers saw what was happening, and by force of arms succeeded in persuading the engineer to stop the train.
That night we detrained a couple of days' march from Chaumont-en-Vexin, where division headquarters were to be. We hiked through a beautiful peaceful country, the most lovely we had yet seen in France, billeting for the night in a little town where a whole company of mine slept in an old château. At Chaumont we stayed for some few days,maneuvering while the division was being fully assembled.
From Chaumont we marched north for four days to the Montdidier sector. I never shall forget this march. Spring was on the land, the trees were budding, wild flowers covered the ground, the birds were singing. Our dusty brown column wound up hill and down, through patches of woods and little villages. By us, all day, toward the south streamed the French refugees from villages threatened, or already taken, by the Hun. Heavy home-made wagons trundled past, drawn by every kind of animal, and piled high with hay and farm produce, furniture, and odds and ends of household belongings. Tramping beside them or riding on them were women and children, most of them dazed and with a haunted look in their faces. Sometimes the wagons would be halted and their occupants squatted by the road, cooking a scanty meal from what they had with them.
To us in this country, thanks to Providence, not to our own forethought or character, thisdescription is only so many words. Unless one has seen it, it is impossible to visualize the battered village, the column of refugees that starts at each great battle and streams ceaselessly toward Paris and southern France, the apple orchards and gardens torn beyond recognition, the desolation and destruction seemingly impossible of reparation.
Nothing would have been better for our countrymen and women than for each and every one of them to have spent some time in the war zone. When I think of men of the type of Bryan and Ford, when I think of their self-satisfied lives of ease, when I think of what they did to permit disaster and death to threaten this country, it makes me wonder more than ever at the long-suffering kindness of humanity which permits such as they still to enjoy the benefits of citizenship in this great land which they have so signally failed to serve.
When we took over the Montdidier sector it was not, nor did it ever become, the type found in the parts of the front where warfare had been going on without movement for more than three years. Trenches were shallow and scanty, and dugouts were almost lacking. Indeed, from this time on, with one exception, the division never held an established sector. The line at Montdidier had been established shortly after the break-through by the Germans, by a French territorial division which was marching north, expecting to relieve some friendly troops in front of it. They suddenly encountered, head on, the German columns that were marching south. Both sides deployed, went into position, and dug in where they were. The First Division took over from these troops.
The first morning we were in the Montdidier sector the Huns shelled us heavily. Immediately after they raided a part of our front line held by a platoon of D Company, commanded by Lieutenant Dabney, a very good fellow from Louisville, Ky. The Germans were repulsed with loss. We suffered no casualties ourselves except from the German bombardment. The next eveningwe picked up the body of the German sergeant commanding the party, whom we had killed.
We staged a very successful raid ourselves at about this time. The raiding party was composed of eighty-five men of D Company, under the command of Lieutenant Freml. The section of German trenches selected as the objective of the operation lay in a little wood about one hundred yards from our front line. Our patrols had reported that this part of the German line was particularly heavily held. In the first light of the half dawn the raiding party worked up into position, passing by through the mist like black shadows. At the agreed time our artillery came down with both the heavies and the 75's, and the patch of woods was enveloped in clouds of smoke through which the bursts of the H. E. showed like flashes of lightning. In ten minutes the guns lifted and formed a box barrage, and the raiding party went over. So rapid was the whole maneuver that the German defensive barrage did not come downuntil after the raiding party had reached the enemy trenches.
The enemy trenches were found, as had been expected, full of Germans. Most of them were in dugouts or funk holes, and did not make a severe resistance. "Come out of there," the man in charge of the particular detail for that part of the trench would call down the dugout. If the Huns came out, they were taken prisoner. If they did not, a couple of incendiary grenades were thrown down the dugout and our men moved on.
We captured, in all, thirty-three prisoners, of whom one was an officer, and probably killed and wounded as many more. Our losses were one killed and five slightly wounded. Unfortunately the one man killed was Lieutenant Freml, the raid leader, who fell in a hand-to-hand combat. Freml was an old Regular Army sergeant and had fought in the Philippine Islands. After this war he was planning to return and establish a chicken farm. He always kept his head no matter what the circumstances were and his solutions for situations that arose were always practical. His men were devoted to him and would follow him anywhere.