At nightfall October 7, the battery took the road over the hill toward Cierges in the rain and darkness. The position lay on a hillside not far from gun pits where a wrecked gun carriage and other debris showed how thoroughly a preceding battery had been shelled out. From these gun pits the cannoneers carried abandoned ammunition all next day, while the pieces in turn kept up a bombardment of fifty rounds an hour.
At mess, October 8, in the thicket near the windmill, the men first saw the newspapers bearing the news of Germany’s acceptance of President Wilson’s “Fourteen Points”. Many rumors had come to their ears of the Kaiser’s abdication, of separate peace by Austria and Turkey, of Germany’s surrender, etc. This was the first intimation of the facts, and gave rise to much speculation. There was little opportunity for speculation that night, however, for mess was scarcely over when shells bursting in the field and along the roads drove everyone to cover. A couple of hours later, the limbers came up, and the guns pulled out on the road. But the caissons were not loaded and drawn through the miry field so easily. Teams, after pulling out one caisson, had to go back to assist another. Day was breaking when Captain Robbins, calling the sergeants together, announced that the battery’s mission was to accompany the advance of infantry of the 32d Division that morning, and haste must be made to reach the appointed spot in time.
So the carriages were taken ahead at a trot, the cannoneers following as rapidly as they could, along shelled roads, through the ruined village of Nantillois, passing the infantry arising from their roadside holes for breakfast. A heavy fog hid the battery from the observation of the enemy and so removed some of the danger of the undertaking. Shells burst frequently on the hillside to the right and on the roadin front of us, along which long files of infantry advanced to the attack. When the other batteries of the regiment came up, in the afternoon of October 9, they were met by heavy shelling on the road, four shells falling directly in Battery A.
On the night of October 11 the battery pulled back to the horse-lines, which had moved to the left, near Cheppy. Arriving in the morning, the battery had only a few hours’ rest, going forward again in the afternoon, to the left of our former positions, to relieve the 1st Division. Blocked roads, rain and cold, slow going and long stops, pushing carriages up long hills—it was an old story, relieved a little that night by a battalion of engineers who turned out of their shacks along the road and pushed our guns up the longest and steepest slope. By morning we were digging trail pits in a flat field on the right bank of the River Aire just behind the town of Fléville. In the trees along the river were batteries of the 320th F. A., belonging to the 82d Division, whose infantry occupied Fléville. Between them and our position were holes dug for shelter littered with blankets, gas masks, helmets and other equipment of the German soldiers who had occupied them not long before. Opposite us the Aire was dammed to form a pool, alongside which was a sign, “Schwimmung verboten”.
Though we had had almost no sleep for two days, we dug all day October 13, to be ready to fire when called upon. To obtain an elevation of 25 degrees, the trail pit must go nearly three feet deep in an arc eight or ten feet long. If the ground offered much resistance, there was a heavy job for the five or six men of the gun’s crew. Fortunately we slept long that night, with only an interruption of two hours’ guard for each man.
At 6:30 next morning we began firing at a rate of 80 rounds per hour, continuing, with gradually decreasing rate, until 3:30 that afternoon, expending a total of about 2,300 rounds. In this attack, our infantry broke through the formidable Kriemhilde Stellung, taking Hill 288 by noon. During the succeeding days the battery fired constantly. On the 16th the infantry captured the Côte de Chatillon in a whirlwind attack, taking also Musard Farm.
The enemy sent plenty in return at the same time. We had forewarning of this the day we arrived, when the fieldin front of us was full of smoking holes. The constant procession of guns and wagon trains up the road on our right drew fire. So did the 155mm. rifles that thundered and blazed on the other side of the road. So did the exposed horse-lines of the batteries in the trees ahead of us. At first an occasional shower of earth was all that disturbed us. A few days later the enemy dumped a few “ash-cans” or “freight-cars,” as they were picturesquely called, not many hundreds of yards from us. These, with a thunderous, ear-splitting crash, sent huge black geysers of earth and smoke, scattering fragments far and wide. Then came a mysterious missile that seemed to explode twice, and burst near us almost as soon as we had heard its warning scream. One of these, striking a box of fuses in Battery F, caused considerable unrest. Next the batteries ahead were the target for so much shelling that they and their horse-lines moved out. Our relief was shortlived. On the morning of October 20 while the men were still asleep beneath their pup tents, in shelter holes approximately two feet deep, big shells began to drop along the muddy trail that ran from the highroad to our position. The fragments that cut camouflage ropes and pierced fuse-boxes were forgotten when it was learned that two shells had struck amidst us squarely, both fortunately “duds”. One buried itself in the ground alongside the trail of the second piece. The other, piercing a pup tent in the fourth section, scorched its way through Becker’s blankets, and disappeared into the earth, leaving him benumbed in the foot which the shell had so narrowly missed and much confused in the head as to what might happen next. All morning the boys could only gaze at the hole in the ground and talk about E battery’s horseshoe.
That afternoon, the battery moved back about 300 yards, enough to escape the enemy’s shells if his aeroplanes had discovered our old position, to which the morning’s greeting lent belief.
At this time Lieutenant Waters, returned from Battery B, was in command, having succeeded Captain Robbins a few days before, when the latter took Major Redden’s place at the head of the battalion. Lieutenants Leprohon and Ennis were in charge of the first and second platoons, respectively, and Lieutenant Neiberg was in command at the horse-lines. A few days previously Sergeant Jones left the FourthSection to go to officers’ school, together with Sergeant Kilner, who had been in charge at the horse-lines since his return from the hospital. Corporal Donald Brigham succeeded to the charge of the Fourth Section, Colvin becoming gunner.
After we had moved back, the mechanics improvised a bath-house for the battery by the conjunction of a big wooden tub and a cauldron to heat the water in a shack beside the stream. In a time and place where baths—to say nothing of the temperature of the water used—were an extreme rarity, we were greatly thankful that the departing enemy had left these articles for this valuable use. The cabbage patches in this vicinity came to good purpose for the battery kitchen, also.
On the evening of October 26, the Second Battalion moved up through Fléville and to the right, near Sommerance. This spot is historically known by the battery as “Gassy Gulch”. Our guns were located behind a line of bushes along a sharp embankment ten to fifteen feet high that descended to a dirt road. Along this road were lined American 155mm. rifles. In front of them, on the gentle slope to a low crest ahead, were several French batteries. To our right were 75’s, 155mm. howitzers, and 155mm. rifles indiscriminately mixed. The whole 67th Brigade, some batteries of heavy corps artillery, and several French batteries were concentrated in this little valley.
The dirt road in front and the high road, which ran at an angle behind, drew much fire, making the drivers’ task in bringing up caissons of ammunition a dangerous one. On the day the battery moved up, a shell bursting close wounded Cook and killed the horse under him. But Sergeant Lucius Brigham’s coolness in cutting out the dead horse and leading the hitch safely through prevented greater damage from the resulting confusion; for this work he was highly commended by the regimental commander.
Several days later this road was heavily gassed. All traffic was held back till shelling should let up. On this account no rations had gone up from the horse-lines the day before. When, on the second attempt, Rosse insisted on making the trip, an M. P. stopped him:
“You can’t go up that road. You’ll never get through the gas and shelling.”
An officer argued, too, “Don’t take that road. It’s too dangerous.”
“The boys gotta hava the rash,” insisted Jerry imperturbably. And he lashed up his horse, and galloped past with the ration cart. When he arrived at the position, his eyes and nose were streaming from the effect of the gas, and he could scarcely see. But the boys, “they gotta the rash!” For this act the regimental commander highly commended Rosse, remarking on his “high sense of duty and exceptional courage.”
Gas alarms were frequent at night. The itching in one’s throat left no doubt of there being actual danger present. The favorable wind carried away the noxious fumes of several shells that burst at the edge of the flat-tops. The boys dug their bunks deep to escape the fragments. Near the machine gunners, the shells burst thick, and both Donahue and Harry Overstreet were sent to the hospital with bad poison burns. Practically everyone at the position suffered a little from gas, some in one way and some in another, but, since they were afflicted in no violent way, they stuck to their work, disregarding minor discomforts.
Friday morning, November 1, was the big barrage in which Battery E fired its last shot of the war. At 3:30 a. m. began the preliminary fire, at 100 rounds per hour. Then followed the barrage, with first reduced charge shell, then smoke shell and normal charge shell, and finally high velocity shell, reaching a range of nearly 12,000 metres when the firing ceased, at 1:30 p. m. The total for each gun was over 1,000 rounds.
This barrage was fired in support of the infantry of the 2nd Division, which had relieved our own infantry. After the marine brigade had broken through the Freya Stellung in the morning, capturing the villages of St. Georges and Landres-et-St. Georges, the brigade of regulars kept on going, driving the enemy out of range of our guns.
By Sunday the enemy was so far away that even the heavy guns about us had to cease firing. The Frenchmen in the neighboring batteries were gloriously drunk in the prospect of a speedy victory and early peace. That night the battery pulled out, not to rest, as we had been expectantly hoping in the midst of fatigue and discomfort from gas, etc., but to go ahead in pursuit. Our infantry had relievedthe 78th Division and were to march to Sedan. To make matters worse for the dismounted men, an order was issued that each man must carry his full pack upon his back, to lighten the load for the worn out horses. So we staggered up the mud roads to Thenorgues, where we spent a sleepless day Monday moving carriages here and there to accommodate the throng of traffic. In the afternoon we moved on, through Buzancy to Harricourt, where we made camp at dark, just as enemy planes dropped a succession of bombs on the road over which we had just passed.
Next morning we learned that Battery E had indeed fired its last shot of the war. So low had the number of horses become in the brigade that it was determined to send forward only the guns of two batteries in each battalion, turning over to them the horses and drivers of the batteries left behind. This wise provision made it possible for the 149th to be constantly up in support of the infantry in the long chase northward, when other artillery outfits were straggling along miles in the rear. Since Battery E’s commander was ranked in seniority by the captains of both D and F batteries, our guns were left behind.
Although the second battalion did not fire on this pursuit, the trip was an extremely severe one, entailing little rest, scant opportunity for meals, and constant exposure to shell fire on the road. The hardships of the journey are engraven deeply in the memories of Battery E’s drivers. Near Cherery, November 7, they were caught by heavy shell fire fully horsed and limbered up, but got off the road without injury or confusion. Worst of all was the night of November 9, at Bulson. As the batteries entered the town, the guns of the enemy seemed trained by direct observation on the cross roads, and shell after shell fell directly in the path of the column. The casualties were the heaviest of any day in the regiment’s history. The death of George Hama caused the deepest sorrow in the battery, heavier even when the first shock of the news was past and the loss came to be actually felt. That he should have gone through all the service of the battery, to be stricken down on almost the last day of hostilities, was tragic indeed, but the fact that he was gone, no matter how or when, was to his fellows the greater tragedy. McLean and Loring Schatz were wounded the same night. Lieutenant Leprohon went to the hospital,having been severely gassed when he tore off his mask to guide the batteries up the shelled road, winning the admiration of all the men by his courage and energy.
In the meantime the remainder of the battery, at Harricourt, had cleaned out for their quarters German barracks and an old stone building that had been a prison pen. Guard duty and care of the few horses left occupied their time. So fast were the troops advancing to the northward that communication was slight, and only the vaguest rumors of what was happening ahead reached the men now left in the rear. Reports of an armistice were so persistent that they were believed by some, days before the actual event, and disbelieved by others even when confirmed. Every night glares, bonfires and signal rockets indicated celebration at some point on the horizon. But the men at Harricourt could not give credence to such good news while the drivers were still gone. These men returned to the battery November 10. Upon arriving at the gates of Sedan, the 42nd Division, occupying the suburb of Wadelincourt, had yielded to the French the honor of entering this historic city, one battalion of our infantry accompanying the French general on that occasion. At retreat November 11, Captain Waters formally announced the signing of the armistice. But there was a sting in the good tidings in the announcement that the 42nd Division would probably go into Germany as a part of the Army of Occupation, which killed such glad reports as that the Rainbow Division would sail from Bordeaux immediately upon the cessation of hostilities, and other equally welcome though groundless bits of rumor.
On November 15, Battery E began the long hike into Germany, a total of 350 kilometres, the dismounted men covering it all on foot. During the first few days they carried full packs, but later these were put on the carriages, as before the order at Sommerance. The first day’s journey was only seven kilometres, through Buzancy, to Imecourt. There the battery received forty men from the 80th Division, as replacements, to bring the organization up to full strength. They brought with them 116 horses, to replace our old ones, which, such as could work, had been turned over to the First Battalion.
After fitting the harness to these new horses next morning, we made another short hike, to a wide valley near Ancreville, where we spent a cold, windy night in pup tents. These slight shelters, however, the men had learned to make very comfortable protection against the elements, by banking soil about the edges and covering the open end with slickers or shelter-halves.
The following morning the second and third pieces were fitted with new tubes, and the caissons were loaded with ammunition before the battery set out again, this time on a march of twenty-two kilometres. Crossing the river on pontoons at Dun-sur-Meuse, and winding our weary way over hills on the opposite side through interminable woods in the descending darkness, we came to the town of Breheville, surrounded by hundreds of lights and bonfires of the brigade camping for the night. Fortunately we had billets in the village, and thereafter always were billeted in towns, though sometimes our sleeping quarters were only barns and hay mows, not remarkable for either comfort or shelter. At Breheville we stayed for two days, receiving some new clothes and cleaning up at the bath house contrived out ofthe stone structure where ordinarily the housewives of the town do their washing.
November 20 we made another long journey, to Thonne les Pres, under the fortified heights of Montmedy-Haut, and the next day a still longer one into Belgian territory. At Montmedy we had opportunity to see how far the Germans had carried their occupation of the land they had held for the previous four years. An electric power plant lit the streets and houses of the town, the “mairie” and other buildings had been converted into hospitals, and extensive railroad yards, gun repair shops and factories spoke of important activity here by the enemy.
The first Belgian towns we entered, Lamarteau, Dompartin and the city of Virton, were gaily decorated with arches of greenery, festoons of paper lanterns, and flags of the Allied nations, in welcome of the American troops. We came at night to St. Leger, where Battery E was quartered in the school house.
The following night found us in a similar building at Arlon, on which the words, “Volkschule für Mädschen,” were painted over those of the French name. Arlon still showed the marks of having been a wealthy city, of fine buildings and a wide variety of shops. The barbarian ravages which had desolated the northern part of Belgium had not spread here. But the scarcity of food and other supplies, and the citizens’ accounts of extortion and cruelty, revealed the same spirit of oppression.
From Belgium into Luxembourg we went November 23, encountering at the border a gendarme in a uniform worthy of a general. There were not the welcoming demonstrations across the border that had greeted us in the Belgian towns. The houses were closed, and even the children kept off the street. A blind neutrality still prevailed in the duchy. Late at night we entered Brouch, where we stayed the following week, over Thanksgiving day.
The week was filled with foot drill, gun drill, grooming, cleaning harness and carriages, and inspections. But there was ample time for making the acquaintance of the townsfolk, with the ulterior motive of securing “apfelkuchen,” “wafflen,” or a full meal. Food, it became evident, was not so scarce as in Belgium, and could always be obtained if the American soldiers were willing to pay the prices which thenatives, upon learning the extent of the demand, gradually pushed to exorbitant figures. Not content with their gains through extortionate prices, they asked the rate of exchange, from francs to marks, that had prevailed before the war, when, as a matter of fact, the mark was much below the value of a franc, and rapidly descending farther. However, some of the inhabitants, who had lived in the United States, or had relatives living there, were cordial indeed, among them the chief magistrate of the “dorf,” who had laid the foundations of his fortune as a barkeeper in some Chicago Loop saloons of fame.
Turkey was not served Thanksgiving day. The army issue for the day was corned beef hash. But Battery E ate a Thanksgiving meal, nevertheless. A foraging detail went out several days before and was able to buy vegetables, apples and pork, going clear back to Arlon for the meat. So the menu comprised roast pork, rich gravy, apple sauce, mashed potatoes, salad, cake, bread and coffee, and the quantity precluded requests for “seconds.”
Sunday morning, December 1, the battery took the road again, up and down hills, whose gloom of dark pines and gray tree trunks was lightened by the carpet of brilliant red leaves beneath them—a landscape peculiarly and always recognizably that of Luxembourg—arriving in Bourglinster late in the afternoon. Next day we made another march of more than twenty kilometres, reaching Osweiler.
There was a competition for speed at “harness and hitch” on the morning of November 3, and the winner, the Third Section, led the battery when it entered Germany that day, crossing the Sarre river at Echternach. When the battery arrived at Alsdorf to spend the night, orders were given that, now that we were on enemy soil, there should be no fraternizing with the natives whatsoever, and no intercourse save in line of military duty. These rigid restrictions were lightened a day or two later, when it was permitted to buy meals or make other purchases of the inhabitants, but otherwise “fraternizing” is still forbidden in the Army of Occupation. All sentries went in pairs, doubling the size of the guard, patrols walked the streets of the towns in which we stayed, and everyone wore his “45” at all times. Such precautions were hardly necessary, for the people of the Rhineland are the most peaceable of theex-Kaiser’s ex-subjects, and much prefer to devote their time to their farms instead of fighting people whose money they would far rather have than their blood.
Most of E battery was billeted in a flour mill—which seemed to have plenty of grain to grind—at Alsdorf. Next day a shorter hike brought us to Ingendorf, where the billets were principally haylofts. On the march of November 5, we passed through the city of Bitburg, whose stone buildings, heavy architecture, numerous shops with plate-glass windows, and fine residences reminded us more of an American city than had any French town we had seen. The night we spent in the village of Malbergweich.
A long hike next day, about thirty kilometres, took us through the city of Kylberg and along the Kyl river, to Lissingen, where we caught up with units of the 2nd Division, which preceded us. We did only seven kilometres on Saturday, through Gerolstein, to Pelm. The ruins of the old castle of Casselberg, on a neighboring hill-top furnished a bit of historical interest to those whose appetite for sightseeing was strong enough to overcome the pain of sore feet. Next day’s hike was eighteen kilometres to Nohn. From there, on December 9, we went, through Adenau, to Quiddelbach, where we stayed for five days. Five days of mud and rain, with intervals of sunshine, while the battery cleaned harness and carriages, and groomed horses.
Sunday, December 15, we marched back to Adenau and thence to Altenahr and down the valley of the Ahr to Dernau, our home for the next month. Though rain and mists were frequent and the winds swept chilly between the high craggy walls of the valley, the discomfort of these elements during the hours at drill and at work on the picket line were alleviated by the compensating hours of warmth and comfort in the billets. These in most cases were ground-floor rooms—often the parlor of the house—furnished with tables, chairs, stoves and electric light. Our beds were the hard floors, sometimes softened by straw ticks.
Passes to Ahrweiler were in demand. In this, the capital of the “Kreis” or province, whose gates and ruined wall remained of medieval centuries, were to be had candy, at very high prices; “kuchen,” of varying excellence; and rings, Iron Crosses and other souvenirs in abundance. But the charms of this place faded before those of Bad Neuenahr,two kilometres farther down the river, which came into prominence later as a divisional leave area. There the big hotels, housing the 150th F. A., the Kurhaus, the Casino, and the baths, along the brawling little river Ahr, spoke of a resort international in fame before the war. These all became conveniences for the American soldiers.
The foraging detail which had produced so good a Thanksgiving dinner, went out again for Christmas. Corporal Unger, Corporal Collier and Sergeant Pond scoured the countryside. Finances had been provided by the house’s interest in games of poker, craps and chuck-a-luck on several evenings at Quiddelbach. Chocolate and soap, however, were better buyers than francs and marks, for these commodities were very nearly priceless to the farmers in the vicinity.
On Christmas Eve the square stone building which had served as the battery guardhouse was thrown open to the battery, decorated with pine boughs and holly, with a spangled, candle-lighted Christmas tree in the center. Every man received chocolate, cakes and tobacco, and a little gift from Captain Waters. Just outside, a huge bonfire threw a red warmth over the whole scene, not the least part of which was a barrel of beer tapped for the occasion. Next day a holiday dinner was served, of roast pork, mashed potatoes, creamed onions, apple sauce, cabbage salad, apple pie, bread, butter and coffee. Of the additional rabbit, chicken and other dinners that were served in the billets that day, this history hath recollection but no menus.
About twenty-five men less ate the same meal New Year’s day, for, on the day before, those afflicted even slightly with scabies had been sent to the hospital at Neuenahr, where some of them spent a prolonged vacation amidst the already recounted enjoyments of the resort town.
When, on January 7, the battery left Dernau, it was with some regret at parting with comfortable quarters. But that regret was forgotten when we arrived at Ringen, a farming town on the upland away from the left bank of the river. For here were not only rooms as comfortable as those at Dernau, but beds as well, a “wirtschaft” to serve as a mess hall, and stables for all the horses. The town held only Batteries E and F, and therefore allowed more elbow-room than did Dernau, where all six batteries of the regimenthad been crowded in. Later the rest of the regiment moved up from the valley, after Colonel Reilly returned to the command of the regiment at the beginning of February, and Ringen, first on the main road from Neuenahr and Ahrweiler, assumed more importance than ever, though regimental headquarters was farther on, at Vettelhoven, and the First Battalion headquarters were at Geldsdorf, six kilometres away.
Only a week had passed by at Ringen when the battery received the sad report of Captain Waters’ death, in the hospital at Coblenz, whither he had gone from Dernau. He had been a private of Battery E when it went to the Mexican border, and esteemed the privilege of commanding that same battery very highly, containing, as it did, his early associates in the ranks.
Two days later the death of Lieutenant-Colonel Redden struck the men an even harder blow. The men of the Second Battalion gave him their full devotion when he had been their major. When Colonel Reilly had been raised to the command of the 83d infantry brigade, Lieutenant-Colonel Redden had led the 149th Field Artillery through the hardest days of the war, accepting the most arduous tasks and heaviest responsibility. And when the men of the regiment followed him on the long hard march into Germany, they looked forward to the day when he should lead them home. In addition to the capacity to command, he had the quality to inspire admiration, respect and love in his men. They felt, when the news of his death reached them, that they had lost not alone a capable and admired commanding officer, but indeed a highly esteemed and dear friend. The funeral, at Coblenz, Saturday, January 18, was a splendid military tribute, the entire regiment marching behind the caisson that bore his body up the side of the Kartause to the hillside overlooking the Moselle river, where his body was laid near Captain Waters’.
These two deaths postponed to the following week the famous “Stagger Inn” cabaret of Battery E. The performances were held on the nights of January 21 and 22. On the program was a collection of remarkable talent drawn from the battery. Holden, Browere, Monroe and Gahan were remarkably attractive chorus beauties when they donned feminine attire borrowed from German households.Van Hoesen, as a Hawaiian dancer, was unexcelled in his gyrations. Holton’s solo, “Smiles,” delivered with the assistance of the black swallow-tail, glistening shirt front, high hat and cane of the professional monologist, brought a hearty encore. George and Holden received heavy applause as drawing-room dancers. Pat O’Mara’s efforts as a Scotchman got much laughter, but the real variety bloomed in Wallace the second night. O’Brien, O’Mara, Gahan and Monroe rendered “My Little Belgian Rose,” with more pathos than tune. To the black-faced waiters, dressed in the uniforms of Ringen’s ex-soldiers, under the leadership of Oberkellner Unger, resplendent in brass and braid, belonged much credit for the hilarity of the evening. Much could be said of the impromptu—and unconscious—amusement afforded by Lieutenant Bradford’s attempt to lead the orchestra, Captain Bokum’s infatuation with Miss Browere, and the actions of various other Sam Browne-belted personages. But words fail to picture the delirium of the occasion.
A day in Coblenz, January 27, was the first of various passes and leaves for men of the battery. On this Monday practically all of the Chicago men of Battery E made the journey, riding to and from the Rhine city in American box cars, dining at the big hotels operated by the Y. M. C. A., attending the entertainment at the Festhalle, the city’s fine opera house, entirely devoted to Y. M. C. A. activities now, and visiting the many shops, all well supplied with articles for sale. By the middle of February leaves were granted men of the 42d Division, and 14-day trips to points of interest in France or 7-day sojourns at the leave areas of Aix-les-Bains and vicinity were enjoyed by many men of the battery.
Early in February two of the old men of the battery left us. Harrison and Collier, having residence in England, obtained their discharges and left for the British Isles.
About the same time Colonel Reilly made his appearance in Ringen, back in command of the regiment, and thrilled the boys by telling them the division would go down the Rhine and sail from Rotterdam early in March. The Rotterdam plan was not realized, however, and the expectations of early departure proved vain.
Instead of that happy plan materializing the reverse occurred. The horses of the 150th F. A. were turned over to the regiment when the Indiana artillery was motorized. The result was more grooming, and the horses seemed to be a greater and greater bugbear, as the number of men decreased with the departure of some to the hospital and others on leave.
But the spirits of the men did not down. The “Order of the Monk” developed, its degrees depending on one’s success at a new solitaire, and its popularity on the chant that echoed through Ringen. “Apes” were many; “Monks” fairly numerous, but “Zimmermeisters,” “Keepers of the Keys,” etc., were few. Then the “raspberry” came into a vogue that threatened to pass all bounds. The query, “Have you been down the Rhine?” was not wholly for the purpose of ascertaining the extent of one’s travel. “Slewfoot Kelly’s Shoe and Belt Polish” was an article much advertised but not sold at the “Price: One Week.”
The schedule was about the following: 6:10, reveille. Feed and water horses. Mess. 8:00 to 10:00, horse exercise. 10:00 to 11:30, stables. 11:30 to 12:00, feed and water. Mess. 1:30 to 2:30, athletics. 2:30 to 4:00, stables. Feed and water. 6:00, mess.
March 16 reports of going home were substantiated by the review of the entire division by General Pershing at Remagen. Wearing overcoats, helmets, side-arms and empty packs and fortified against hunger by two sandwiches apiece, the men were carried by motor trucks in the morning to the outskirts of Remagen. There the regiment assembled and marched to the music of the band through the city to a large field bordering the Rhine river just beyond the bridge. After the division had waited in formation over two hours, General Pershing appeared at 2 p. m., the 149th band, posted in front as the divisional band, playing the welcoming music. After riding around the division on horseback, General Pershing inspected each organization on foot, and, fast as the general walked, it was past 5 o’clock when he completed his tour. Then followed the decorating of the colors and the award of medals to over forty men of the division. Most spectacular of all was the sight when the entire division, at one command, “Squads, right,” marched past the reviewing stand in a column of regiments, like a whole sea of brown,round helmets sweeping irresistibly onward. In his farewell speech to the division, General Pershing praised it highly for its work, without which, he said, the Americans would not be celebrating victory now.
The following day, amidst rain and snow, the division presented a mounted review on the road from Neuenahr to Heimersheim, waiting several hours in the cold for General Pershing to roll by in his Locomobile.
Tuesday the men of the battery underwent a hypodermic injection that included in one “shot” the half dozen doses received at Camp Mills. The halting gait of the men next day, bent double with the stiffness amidships, gave the townspeople and members of Battery F great amusement, though the latter’s was much tempered by their prospect of undergoing the same thing a day or two later.
Sunday, March 23, the guns and caissons were taken to Oberwinter, and there turned in. The day was spent by the men who did not accompany the carriages, in cleaning and oiling all the battery’s harness. Such was the enthusiasm of the men at the prospect of getting rid of this cause of much labor, that the big task was completed hours before anyone expected it could be.
The departure of the horses next day was the signal for much joy, and the battery heaved a sigh of relief when they had gone.
The resulting schedule shows good reason for their relief. Reveille was at 7. From 8 to 9 were calisthenics and some foot drill. At 10 the battery went out for foot drill or a road hike, carrying full packs. An hour’s athletics in the afternoon completed the day’s work. Baseball games were played with Battery F. A basketball team, under Lieutenant Kelly’s coaching, defeated all opponents, with the invincible line-up of the two Durling brothers, Dodge, Vavrinek and Lieutenant Kelly.
Friday morning, April 4, the battery marched to Gelsdorf, where the regiment assembled for the presentation of the “flammes de guerre”—red ribbons bearing the names and date of engagements in which the regiment participated—which were fastened on the regimental colors. The ribbons read as follows:
Luneville sector, Lorraine, France, February 21 to March 23.
Baccarat sector, Lorraine, France, March 31 to June 21.
Esperance-Souain sector, Champagne, France, July 4 to July 14.
Champagne-Marne defensive, France, July 15-19.
Aisne-Marne offensive, France, July 25 to August 11.
St. Mihiel offensive, France, September 12-16.
Essey and Pannes sector, Woevre, France, September 17-30.
Meuse-Argonne offensive, France, October 7 to November 1.
Meuse-Argonne offensive, France, November 5-9.
Two days later we bade Ringen goodbye, marching out at 8 with full packs. The regiment assembled at Oeverich and paraded to the music of the band through each town en route, arriving at Remagen early in the afternoon. There the battery was billeted in the Hotel Fürstenberg, one of several big hostelries that overlook the Rhine, its broad verandah scarcely a hundred feet from the river’s edge. On Tuesday the battery made a short hike up the river to Oberwinter, where we boarded the train for Brest. The big American box cars, hot meals served when the train stopped, abundant candy and cigarettes from the welfare organizations, doughnuts and coffee and oranges at various stops made the ride far different from those we had taken months before from one front to another. The run, 72 hours, equalled that of through passenger trains.
At Brest there were three days of sanitary processes and equipment inspections, with a night of stevedore work at the docks sandwiched in. On the morning of April 15, the regiment marched from Camp Pontamezen to the docks, but the high sea prevented loading that day. So the regiment slept in cots in the dock sheds and embarked next day on the “Leviathan.”
Friday, April 18, eighteen months to a day since the regiment had sailed out of New York harbor on the “President Lincoln,” the 149th left Brest harbor, at 5 p. m., on the “Leviathan” with a load of over 12,000 Rainbow men, homeward bound.
In comparison with the voyage on the “President Lincoln,” this was a pleasure trip. The greater deck space, the freedom of movement, the sense of security from thedangers that threatened our passage over, the clear weather and the quiet sea, and, above all, the elation at the prospect of seeing home soon, made the week pass in swift happiness. Battery E minded not the two-meals-a-day plan, for we were on commissary detail, working where food was plentiful, and our badges gave us the run of the cooks’ galleys, where we could cook impromptu meals for ourselves.
About noon, Friday, April 25, land came in sight. In an hour or two, welcome boats appeared to greet us, and played about our ship like terriers around a great Dane. Then the Statue of Liberty brought a cheer from the crowded deck, and the “Leviathan” entered the Hudson River with bands playing fore and aft, drowned by the whistles that hailed us from boats and from shore. The office buildings of lower Manhattan blossomed with waving handkerchiefs, and passing ferryboats seemed a mass of fluttering humanity. But their welcome was not more heartfelt than the intense, though quiet, satisfaction and joy of the boys at being home once more.
As they transferred from the ship to the ferry boat at the adjoining dock, the boys received apples, candy, chocolate and other food, none of which was so welcome as a quarter of a juicy American apple pie, truly a token of home. After a short ride up the river, we boarded a train of American passenger cars, a great change from our previous mode of railway transportation. A driving snow and a chilly wind reminded us that we were in a new climate, much different from the mild weather of the winter we had just passed. It was nearly midnight, after a hike of several miles to Camp Merritt with full packs, when we at last found our barracks, but the place buzzed in sleepless excitement long afterward.
After going through the required sanitary processes next day and moving to new barracks, there followed several days of basking in the warmth of the New Jersey spring sun, trips to New York quite without regard to the limited number of passes allowed the battery, and details that bothered no one save perhaps some conscientious corporal.
But everyone awaited impatiently to entrain for Chicago. May 6 was a joyful day. Indeed, no days were otherwise for the rest of the week. Leaving, at Dumont, at 3 Tuesday afternoon, the Second Battalion train reached the outskirtsof Chicago early Thursday morning. The bedlam of engine blasts as we passed the train yards was deafening. From then on, there was a continuous accompaniment of whistles and bells. All along the I. C. tracks, flags and pennants and handkerchiefs waved welcome. Nobody seemed to notice the light rain that fell. The way out of the Park Row station was so blocked by relatives and friends that it took over an hour to cover the three blocks to the Coliseum. As each soldier emerged, a joyful cry marked his discovery by those who hastened to fling themselves upon him. There is doubt whether there was a girl in Lagrange who failed to kiss Dick Barron. Nobody much cared about the formation of the columns; before long there wasn’t any. Just happy soldiers walking along, each in the midst of his own joyous group. At the Coliseum were more relatives and friends, who made the next hour pass like a fraction of a minute.
With steel helmets, gas masks and gun-belts, the regiment paraded between cheering crowds, north on Michigan boulevard, south on State, north on Clark and south on La Salle, and everywhere in the Loop a throng packed the streets waiting for the boys to march by. Tired and wet, but very happy, they dined at the Congress hotel, and then sped on to Camp Grant late in the afternoon.
Next day they entered the discharge mill, and Saturday noon, May 10, 1919, Battery E was a chapter of history, an extinct military organization, but still a living bond of memory among the men of its roster and among their relatives and friends who had worked so steadfastly for them when Battery E was in France.
Transcriber’s Notes:
Other than the corrections noted by hover information, spelling has been retained from the original.
Punctuation has been corrected without note.
The original text does not contain a Table of Contents. The Table of Contents included near the beginnning of this file was created by the transcriber as an aid for the reader.