VADENAY

GENERAL LENIHAN, LIEUTENANT GROSE, COLONEL MITCHELL, FATHER DUFFY, MR. GEORGE BOOTHBY OF THE “Y,” AND JUDGE EGEMAN, OF THE K. OF C.

The other platoon was commanded by Lieutenant Tarr with William Maloney and Michael Lynch as Sergeants. Dick O’Connor, who always went to battle with song, was the minstrel of the party, his war song being “Where do we go from here, boys?” John Dowling, Cowie, Joyce, Gavan and McAleer went ahead to scout the ground. They passed through some underbrush. Suddenly they flushed two Germans. Dowling fired and shouted, “Whirroo me buckos, here’s our mate.” His cry was answered by Maloney, a mild-mannered Celt, who knows everything about fighting, except how to talk of it afterwards. Lieutenant Tarr gave the order and led his whole platoon over the top across the level ground and up to the trench where the Germans held the line. It was grenades again and hand to hand fighting on top of it. A party of the Germans fled to the left. They heard the battle of Ellett’s platoon from there and they turned with upthrown hands and the cry “Kamerad.” Dowling helped the first one out of the trench by the ear. “Aisy now, lad, and come along with me. The Captain is sitting forninst the blotter to take your pedigree.” Back went most of the platoon with the prisoners, their mission accomplished. Eleven prisoners had been taken and fifty Germans left dead upon the field. But the never satisfied Maloney elected himself to cover the retreat with Hall, Breen and Hummell; and with such a leader they kept battling as if they were making a Grand Offensive until they were ordered to withdraw.

I have been to the Third Platoon of Company E and everybody talked about that patrol at once. Everybody except Maloney. But everybody else was talking about Maloney. I looked around to see what Maloney would have totell. And I found no Maloney. Maloney had fled, sick of hearing about Maloney.

This was practically our last shot in the battle. The German attack had evidently come to a complete standstill. They even lost their command of the air on the afternoon of the 17th, when a fleet of British aeroplanes had come along and driven them to cover. On our part we were preparing to become the aggressors. The 3rd Battalion was being brought forward to relieve the 2nd, and to take command of both came our good old Lieutenant Colonel, jaunty and humorous as always in a fight and without a worry except as to whether he and I had enough smokes to last. All care vanished when my orderly, Little Mac, sneaked up from where I had left him in the rear, bringing two cartons of cigarettes.

Today we received definite word of what had happened meanwhile in the support Battalions. During the bombardment, young Wadsworth was killed at Headquarters, and I lost other good friends in Company B—Sergeant Harry Kiernan, as good a man as he looked, and that is a great compliment; Arthur Viens, one of my own parish lads, and Joseph Newman, and Archie Cahill, mortally wounded. Louis Cignoni of Company C and Sam Forman of the Machine Gun Company were also killed. Sergeant Charles Lanzner of Company A was killed while doing brave work as a volunteer carrying a message to Company B under the fearful cannonading. The Polish Battalion also had met with a savage reception that night.

The French gave news that the enemy was held in every part of the long front, with the exception of a portion of the line around Chateau Thierry and running up the northeast side of the salient. The old Rainbow had not a single dent in it. I got our fellows stirred up by telling them that they had gone and spoiled one of the loveliest plans that had ever been prepared by a General Staff. “What do you mean, spoil their plans? All we spoiled were Germans!” “That’s just the trouble. The men who planned this battledid not really expect you to stick, and they were all ready to give the Germans a terrible beating after they had walked through you and gotten out into the open space. The trouble was that you fellows did not know enough to run away, and the Generals finally had to say, ‘We shall have to scrap our beautiful plans and fight this battle out where those fool soldiers insist on having it fought.’”

Around midnight we were told that we would be relieved by morning. Why? No one knew. Where were we going? No one knew. The French were to take our place. They were slow in coming. We wanted to be away before sunrise or the enemy would have a fine chance to shell our men as they made their way over the plains. I waited the night there in Kelly’s shack, impatient for the relief to come ere dawn. Finally the Poilus, their blue uniform almost invisible by dark, began to appear. I started off with Mr. Jewett down the road to St. Hilaire. We picked up Bill Neacy with a Headquarters detachment, and found a back road down to Jonchery. I watched for the dawn and German planes, filled with anxiety for our withdrawing columns. But dawn came and no shelling, and shortly afterwards I fell into the kindly hands of Major Donovan, and soon good old John Kayes and Arthur Connelly had a beefsteak on the fire for us. The 2nd Battalion came drifting in in small parties, and reported everybody safe. Then I saw Pat Kinney and knew that the Colonel was somewhere about. He had come out to look after his men. I certainly was glad to see him, and I got the reception of a long lost brother. He bundled me into his car, and in a short time had me wrapped in his blankets and taking a long deferred sleep in his cot at Bois de la Lyre.

July21st, 1918

We packed up our belongings in the Bois de la Lyre on July 20th and went to this town of Vadenay. ColonelMcCoy had a ceremony that afternoon which shows one reason why we are so devoted to him. I had written up the recommendations for citations furnished by Company Commanders during the recent battle; and the Colonel, fearing they might not go through, embodied them in a regimental citation and read them to the assembled soldiers. It was fine and stimulating; the 2nd Battalion is as proud as if it had won the war and the others are emulous to equal its fame.

I went back to my billet and found a visitor who announced himself as Father James M. Hanley of the Diocese of Cleveland. I remembered the name. I received a letter some two months ago, a fresh breezy letter, full of the unrestrained impatience of a young priest who had come over to take part in the war and had landed in an engineer outfit not far from a base port. He appealed to me as an old-timer to tell him how to beat this mean game. I answered and told him what to say to Bishop Brent, and Bishop Brent, nothing loth, had sent him to me for the 42nd Division. The more I talked with the new Chaplain the more 69th he looked to me; so I said to him: “I am going to keep you with me. Father McDonald is in ill-health and has orders for a new assignment. We shall have a big battle in a week or two and we shall need two men because there is a good chance of one of us being bumped off. Major Anderson’s battalion will very probably be in reserve so you report to Major McKenna and tag along with him. I shall tie up with Major Donovan.”

The next day was Sunday. It was the first day the whole regiment was in one place since we left Camp Mills. There was a beautiful church in the town and I announced four masses with general absolution and communion without fasting. In all my life I never saw so many men at communion in one day. The altar rail was too narrow to accommodate them, so we lined them up on their knees the length of the aisle, and two priests were kept busy passing up and down giving communion. The non-Catholicswe took in groups near their companies and had brief exhortation and silent prayer.

I never use the motive of fear in talking to soldiers about religion because it does not suit with their condition, and anyway I can get more substantial results without it. But the government and the army believes in preparedness for death, as is shown by their ambulances and hospitals and pensions. I believe in spiritual preparedness; so too, do the men. I am happy to think that my own charges are well prepared. May the grace of God be about them, for I feel we are in for a big fight.

One thing sure, they are not afraid of it. Coming in to Vadenay I saw Amos Dow, a stripling youth of Company K, just back from the hospital after four months of absence—he was terribly gassed last March and his condition then had me much worried. He was still looking none too well.

“What brought you back,” I asked. “You are not fit for this kind of work yet.”

“Well, they did offer me other jobs, but I wanted to be with my own outfit, and I wanted to get a Dutchman after what they did to me, and I was sick of hearing the Marines talk about how good they are. I want to get into a first class battle with this Division like you’ve been through while I was coming up, and when I meet those birds from the Marines, I’ll have something to say to them.”

“You’re a blood-thirsty youth. But far be it from me to stop you. It’s your trade. But you can’t carry a pack, so I’ll fix it up to make it easy for you.”

“Joe,” I called to Sergeant Flannery, “I want you to get Captain Mangan and Lieutenant Kinney to adopt this savage child in the Supply Company for a week or two. See that he gets up where he can smell powder, but without too much hiking, and then give him his belt and rifle and let him go to it.”

“I had better get a lariat and a picket pin and tie him up,” growled Joe.

He was right. By morning the lad was gone off with Company K. He was afraid I would spoil his chance for a battle.

The survivors of our 2nd Battalion are camped in a wooded island in the stream and I spent the afternoon with them. The weather was delightful and they were enjoying a lounging, lazy, gossipy day, which is the one compensation for being in the Infantry—the artillery have fewer killed, but their work never lets up. I went amongst them to pick up incidents for my narrative. One of the first things I found was that the recent battle had given them increased confidence and respect for their officers. A Company F man said to me: “I’ll take back anything I ever said about Captain Mike. At Baccarat he had me fined two-thirds of three months pay for taking a drink too much and I said that if I had the job of rigging him up for a night patrol, I’d like to tie bells around him and put a lantern on his head.”

My first visit was to Company H, which had been the greatest sufferer. In addition to the names I have already cited, one of the most frequent on all men’s lips was that of Dudley Winthrop. Dudley is a fine youth and one of my best friends. I tell him that he has a name like a movie actor, but he says he can bring around two cousins of his named Connelly from Company G to prove that he belongs to the Fighting Race. I hope he gets the Croix de Guerre he has been put in for, for he certainly deserves it. Patrick J. Dwyer, William Gordon and Daniel Marshall are also cited by their fellows for sticking it out while wounded, with Thomas McDermott, who was tagged for the hospital and refused to go. High praise also for Martin Higgins (a born fighter) and Andrew Murray, Dan McCarthy, Sergeant Val. Dowling, William Smythe, Sammy Kleinberg, whom I saw going around all week cheerfully carrying the wounded with the clothes burned off his back by a misdirected flare; Tom Heaney, Robert Cooper, Michael Kearns, James O’Brien, John Thornton, John A. Fredericks,Donald Gillespie, John F. Lynch, Joseph Mattiello, with cooks Pat Fahey and Gorman, Timothy Walsh, Peter Breslin, John J. Walker, Charles Rogan, Michael Higgins, Dennis Kerrigan, James Guckian, John J. McCormack, James Todd, John Kelly, Frank Garvin, Lawrence Farrell, Bill Fleming, Charles Klika, William McNamee, James Merrigan, John Maher, Harold Avery, Patrick Connors, John P. Furey, Frank Condit, Robert McGuiness, John Higgins, James Keane, Patrick Travers, Thomas Slevin, John Ryan, John and James French, Bruno Guenther, Daniel Dayton, Frank Doran, Charles Ziegler. The men who were on the digging detail that had such heavy losses in the bombardment praise the coolness and solicitude for their safety of Lieutenants Becker and Otto.

Company G talked most about their Captain, the serenest pleasantest, and most assuring person in the world in time of trial and danger. Also Lieutenants Ogle and Stout, Norris and Joseph Boag, who was wounded in the fray. I myself had seen Carl Kemp of the same Company on duty at Battalion Headquarters standing through the bombardment on the top of the parapet on his duties as lookout. Sergeant Jim Coffey, wounded and still fighting; and, in the same class, Ralph Holmes and John Flanigan; James Christy, working his automatic from the top of the trench; Dennis Roe, always a good soldier in a fight; Sylvester Taylor and Joseph Holland, liaison men; Sergeants Jim Murray, Edward McNamara, Thomas T. Williamson and Frank Bull, Mess Sergeant Hugh Lee; James Henderson, Thomas Gallagher, William McManus, Michael Hogan, William Carroll, Morris Lemkin, Dennis O’Connor, John McNamara, John Conroy, Frank McNiff, Joseph P. Alnwick, Patrick Burke, Patrick Duffy, David Fitzgibbons, Angelo Dambrosio, James Keavey, Nicholas Martone, Lawrence Redmond, James Ryan and John Ryan, the Hans brothers; Thomas Slevin, Herbert Slade, James Walsh, Allen, Henry Curry and John Fay as Company liaison; Arthur Ayres, George Murray, Herman and Lyonsas litterbearers; Louis Mugno, Maurice Dwyer, Patrick Keane, Charles McKenna, James Elliott, mechanics; Michael Hogan, Patrick Burke, young O’Keefe, Robert Monahan, Frank Garland; and, to end with a good old Irish name, Mack Rosensweig. I know he’ll be with us if we ever get a chance to go over and free Ireland, and he’ll be a good man to take along.

In Company F it was all praise for Captain Mike and praise and regrets for Lieutenant Young. I did not need to have them tell me anything about their liaison group, as I saw them at work—from the Corporal in charge, John H. Cooke, who, though wounded, stuck at his job, to Harry P. Ross, John J. Carey, Leon Duane, John Gill, William Grimson, Harry McLean. Sergeant Major Michael J. Bowler did good work looking after the wounded. Tom Kenney carried in Lieutenant Anderson and I saw James Bevan do good service in the same line; also Marquardt, Goble, Gray and Harry Rubin. First Sergeant Joseph Blake was a cool leader, as also Charles Denon, Leo McLaughlin, and Tim McCrohan. Of those who were wounded and stuck, the name of Sergeant Eugene Cunningham was mentioned, as also John Butler, Edward Callan, John Catterson, Albert Curtis and James Brennan. Pat Frawley (one of the best soldiers the regiment ever had), was wounded and stuck, was knocked senseless and still stuck. Others who distinguished themselves in hand to hand fighting were Patrick McGinley, Peter Sarosy, Thomas McManus, Malcolm Joy, always lively in a fight; and on the Roll of Honor the popular vote placed Sergeant Phil Gargan, whose kitchen was ruined (“wounded at Lunéville, killed in Champagne,” said Phil); James P. McGuinn, Oscar Youngberg, William Gracely, Hugh Haggerty, Lewis Edwards, Michael Gettings, Joseph McCarthy, John J. Tyson, James Moran, Edward Moore, James Kelly, Cornelius Behan, Ned Boone, James Branigan, Tom Cahill, James Coogan, Joseph Coxe, Morris Fine, Dick Leahy, Nat Rouse,and, to end once more with a good Irish name, “Pat” Levine.

Company E added to my extended list the names of James A. Donohue, Walter Dowling, Ray Dineen, and most of all, Fred Gluck, who rendered heroic service as litter bearer. At Headquarters the Colonel himself spoke enthusiastically about the good work of young Joe Hennessy, who was on the road at all times on his motorcycle, oblivious of danger even after being wounded. I found that Company M was carrying Corporal Dan Flynn as A. W. O. L. on its records. Dan had gone up to the Second Battalion on paper work and finding that a fight was on he got himself a rifle and stayed there till it was over.

We are all well satisfied with the spirit of every man in the regiment during the last fight. I had but one recommendation to make to Colonel McCoy. The Company litter bearers are left to the selection of the Captains. Now the Captains are chiefly interested in front line work and they refuse to spare a good rifleman for any other task. But the litter bearers have a task which is most trying on morale and physique, and it will not be easier if it comes to open warfare, where they will have to stand up when the fighting men lie in shell holes. The litter bearers acquitted themselves well in this fight, but I feel strongly that nothing is too good for the wounded. I want the Colonel to insist that one man in every four be a picked man who will go and keep the others going on their work of human salvage until every man drops in his tracks. I would select in every four men one of our solid Irish, of the kind that with death all around, hears nothing but the grace of God purring in his heart.

July24th, 1918

Sur Marne—there is magic in that. I have always wanted to see the Old Regiment add the name of that river,so full of martial associations, to the history-telling silver furls on its colors. We are not in battle yet. Nothing could be more peaceful than the scenes in which we live, if one shuts one’s eyes to uniforms and weapons. The broad, silvery Marne forms a loop around the little village and the commodious modern chateau (owned, by the way, by an American), in which we live. We revel in our new found luxury. Following a motto of this land, “We take our good where we find it.” I got a variation of that as I came into the lordly halls and stood staring around me. Sergeant Major Dan O’Connell gave a signal like an Orchestra Leader to the Adjutant’s Office Force and McDermott, O’Brien, Jimmy Canny, White, Monahan, Farrell, Whitty, with Dedecker and Dietz joining in, sang deliberately for my benefit, “There’s nothing too good for the I-i-i-rish.” A sentiment which meets with my hearty approval.

A diary is a sort of magic carpet; it is here, and then it is there. Three days ago we hiked it from Vadenay to the nearby station of St. Hilaire-au-Temple where we entrained for parts to us unknown. Our 2nd Battalion and the Wisconsins, which formed one of the sections, had the mean end of a one-sided battle while waiting at the station. The German bombing planes came over and started dropping their “Devil’s eggs.” C-r-r-unch! C-r-r-unch! C-r-r-unch! the face of the earth was punctured with deep holes that sent up rocks and smoke like a volcano in eruption; the freight shed was sent in flying flinders, but the train was untouched. Animals were killed, but no men.

“We don’t know where we’re going but we’re on our way” might be taken as the traveling song of soldiers. We dropped down to Chalons, crossed the river, going first in a southeasterly direction to St. Dizier, then southwest to Troyes, and rolling through France the whole night long we came in the morning as near Paris as Noisy-le-Sec, from which, with glasses, we could see the Eiffel Tower. Judgingfrom our experience with the elusive furlough, that is as near to Paris as most of us will ever get.

We were impressed with the new enthusiasm for American soldiers among the French people; every station, every village, every farm window was hung with colors, some attempt at the Stars and Stripes being common. And stout burghers, lovely maidens, saucy gamins, and old roadmenders had a cheer and a wave of the hand for “les braves Americains, si jeunes, si forts, si gentils,” as the troop train passed by.

“Looks as if they knew about the big battle we were in,” said Lawrence Reilly.

“Not a bit of it,” said the grizzled Sergeant Harvey. “I have seen the Paris papers and nobody but ourselves knows that the Americans were in the Champagne fight. These people think we are fresh from the rear, and they are giving us a good reception on account of the American Divisions that hammered the Jerries three or four days after we helped to stand them up. Isn’t that so, Father?”

“I think you’re right, Sergeant. For the time being what you fellows did is lost in the shuffle.”

“Who were these other guys?” asked Mike Molese.

“They say it was the 1st and 2nd Divisions up near Soissons and the 26th and 3rd around Chateau Thierry.”

“How is it these fellows manage to get all the press-agent stuff and never a thing in the paper about the 42nd?” asked Tommy Murphy.

“Well, those other fellows say that it is the Rainbows that get all the advertising.”

“Well, if I ever get home,” said Bobby Harrison, “I’ll tell the world that none of those birds, regulars, marines or Yankees, have anything on the Rainbow.”

“Oh, what’s the difference?” said the philosophical John Mahon, “as long as it is American soldiers that are getting the credit.”

“Do you subscribe to those sentiments, Kenneth?” I asked John’s side partner, Hayes.

“I certainly do, Father.”

“Then I make it unanimous. This meeting will now adjourn with all present rising to sing the ‘Star Spangled Banner.’”

July26th, 1918

Somebody is always taking the joy out of life. We had but three days in our pleasant villages on the Marne when they routed us out and lined us up on a hot, broad highway, where we waited for the French camions which were to take us towards the field of battle. Finally they arrived—a long fleet of light hooded trucks, each driven by a little sun-burned, almond-eyed, square-cheeked Chink—Annamese or Tonquinese, to be more accurate. We sailed in these four-wheeled convoys past what is left of the village of Vaux (the completest job of destruction we had yet seen, the work of our American artillery) through Chateau Thierry, which had only been pecked at in comparison, and northwest to the town of Epieds.

Here we witnessed one of those melodramas of war, for the sight of which most civilians at home would sell, I am sure, one year of their lives. There were four of our observation balloons in the air. Four or five German attacking planes were circling above them intent on their destruction; and a few doughty French flyers were manœuvering to resist them. The convoy paused on the road to watch the result of the combat. In fact, all the roads converging there were brown with canvas hoods and khaki uniforms. Both the stage and the accommodations for spectators were perfect. The spectators arranged themselves along the roadside; the scene was set in the clear sky overhead. Suddenly one of the Germans darted high in the air over the balloon on the extreme left. Anti-aircraft guns barked viciously, and the ether broke out in white and black patches around him, but he managed to place himself where they could not fire at him easily, as he had the balloon inthe line of fire from the strongest battery. Then he turned and swooped down on the balloon, swift as a hawk at its prey. He swerved upwards as he passed it and all four Germans soared rapidly upwards and away. We saw something drop suddenly from the balloon, which rapidly developed into a parachute with two observers clinging to it. A thin wisp of smoke which we could detect from the balloon then burst into flames, and the blazing material began to drop towards the parachute. But the automobile to which the silk observation tower was attached began to move, and the fiery mass missed the parachute on the way down. We were glad that the observers had escaped, but we felt that in this first round of our new battle we had to concede first blood to the enemy.

We hiked from Epieds—a pleasant walk—to this fine chateau, the main building of which is occupied by French Staff Officers of a Corps d’Armée. Our headquarters is in a large outbuilding, the men being in the nearby woods. I have been circulating around amongst our 1st Battalion and also the Ohios on my own particular concerns. Took supper with Company D. Buck is away, as Major Donovan has taken his four company commanders on a reconnoitering expedition, since his battalion is to be first in. Had supper with Lieutenants Connelly, Daly and Burke. Daly is a fine, intelligent active youth, graduate of Holy Cross and of the Old Irish 9th Mass. Burke got his training in the regular army. He is a soldier of the silent determined kind, and a very efficient officer, with no blamed nonsense about him. The other three of us, of a more normal racial type, cannot see any sense in being too sensible. Connelly winked at me and began to “draw” Burke by expressing envy of the lucky birds who had gotten orders to go back to the States. Daly played up strongly, and Burke’s face showed ever-increasing exasperation and disgust. Finally he blurted: “Father, why don’t you shut these slackers up? We’re here to see this thing through, and such talk is bad for morale.” When I laughed as loud as the rest he grinned and said:“Oh, I know that if they gave you fellows New York City with Boston to boot, neither of you would go back.” A true statement, as I know. I paid for my supper by hearing their confessions.

Later

The reconnoitering party came in for a severe shelling, and Buck has gone back wounded and Hutchinson gassed. Donovan is back here, also gassed, but ready to go in again if they want his battalion, though his orders to relieve the French have been countermanded. While I am writing, a polite French Staff Officer came in with the word that the original orders should stand. Donovan buckled his harness on anew and went out to lead his battalion forward once more. I posted myself in the gateway of the Chateau and gave absolution to each Company as it passed. Then I hastened out on the main road, and made similar announcements to the Ohios, as that regiment moved up to the front. There is every evidence that we are in for a battle, big and bloody.

July27th, 1918

We spent last night in this shell-torn town, and this evening we take up the pursuit of the withdrawing Germans. Donovan’s battalion is out getting touch with them and McKenna is starting up too. The 84th Brigade has already relieved the 26th American Division and a Brigade of the 28th and have been in a hard battle with the enemy at Croix Rouge Farm. It took all their undoubted courage to sweep over the machine gun nests, and they succeeded in doing it at the price of a battalion. The roads coming down are filled with ambulances and trucks carrying the wounded and dripping blood. We are relieving the 167th French Division, but nothing seems definitely settled, and messengers are coming and going with orders and counter orders. I have greater admiration than ever for McCoy these days. He moves in war as in his native element, expendinghis energies without lost motion or useless friction.

Tonight we go to the Chateau de Fere. If the Germans decide to make a stand at the Ourcq we shall be in action by tomorrow.

FOOTNOTES:[2]These distinctions were won by men of the 2nd Battalion in acoup de mainled by Lieutenants Ogle and Becker (also decorated) in the Baccarat Sector.[3]The three O’Neills and Bernard Finnerty as also Sergeant Spillane of Machine Gun Company came from the town of Bantry. “Rebel Cork” added new leaves to its laurel wreath of valor in this battle on the plains of Champagne.

[2]These distinctions were won by men of the 2nd Battalion in acoup de mainled by Lieutenants Ogle and Becker (also decorated) in the Baccarat Sector.

[3]The three O’Neills and Bernard Finnerty as also Sergeant Spillane of Machine Gun Company came from the town of Bantry. “Rebel Cork” added new leaves to its laurel wreath of valor in this battle on the plains of Champagne.

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