A STORY
of
THE 305th MACHINE GUN BATTALION
77th DIVISION
A.E.F.
By
HENRY W. SMITH
Chapter 19
We Leave the Front For the Last Time
CHAPTER XIX
WE LEAVE THE FRONT
FOR THE LAST TIME
THE AFTERNOON of
the eleventh wore on. How strange it was not to hear the
rumble of some distant barrage. At night a battery of
tripods was placed in position with the guns on the
ground along-side and all night we stood guard but on the
morning of the twelfth we folded the tripods for the last
time in what had been the front line. A copy of Stars and
Stripes, the official A.E.F. newspaper, had been brought
up and we were happy to see that our Division was not
included in the list of divisions making up the Army of
Occupation. The old 77th Division was pretty well worn
out by the time the war ended and it would have been a
heart-breaking march going into Germany.
Packs were rolled
and the long march to the rear was started, still not
quite thoroughly convinced that the war was really over.
The peasants shouted Finis la guerre! and we shouted back
at them but we were not particularly enthusiastic. Not
far behind the lines in a valley, a French regiment of
cavalry was waiting to go forward. They presented a very
striking appearance in new accoutrement with sleek,
carefully groomed animals.
It was a long,
weary march over shell-torn roads back to St. Pierremont
and, if memory serves, we pulled in somewhere around
midnight. Anything with a roof over it had been used to
shelter horses and mules and finding a flopping place was
a problem, although we were not too fastidious in our
crumby condition at that time. It was here that Lockwood
proved himself to be a real buddy. When we crowded into
one of the stables I recognized his voice calling my
name. It sounded as though he were looking for a
companion to go on a detail but, instead, he said,
"Don't unroll your pack but take off your clothes
and crawl in here." He was up on a platform about
four feet above the floor and had a dozen blankets. It
seems that he had been back guarding some equipment and
nearby was an engineer regiment. When the engineers
pulled out, blankets were left behind and, like a good
soldier, Lockwood did a good salvaging job. I shall never
forget that night's sleep. It was the one clean spot in
that billet.
It was here that we
gained some idea of the way our ranks had been depleted
when we saw the number of replacements awaiting us. In
the neighborhood of fifty men were assigned to each
company. Many of them were from the Middle West,
principally Wisconsin. When we had a chance to get a good
look at them in the daylight we found them to be a well
set-up, good-looking group. They had not seen any action
but had received good training and would have given a
good account of themselves if the war had continued.
During the three or
four days we spent in St. Pierremont we took the first
step back to cleanliness and civilization. The engineers
of our Division had installed shower baths in the best of
the buildings left standing and had covered shell-torn
walls with shelter halves. After a steaming hot bath and
new underwear issued, we commenced to get something of
the feel of being men again instead of animals. To a
person who was not in the Army in France it will probably
seem peculiar to dwell on such trifles as a bath and
clean underwear but to cootie-bedeviled soldiers just out
of the lines it was a real treat and of great moment.
The rest of four
days helped immensely and as we again started back from
St. Pierremont we were prepared to do a little
sightseeing as we trudged along instead of slinking
forward expecting to be blown into Kingdom Come at the
next step. Rumor had it that we were going back to a
training area where the discipline would be stiffer than
any we had seen.
The countryside
which, but a short time before, had seen the German Army
beaten back step by step across its fields now stretched
away peacefully and would have been very pretty indeed
had it not been for the battle-scarred earth and riddled
villages which rose up like spectres. We retraced our
steps back to the town of Buzancy where we stopped long
enough to have leather jerkins issued to us and we found
them very satisfactory in every way. They were a little
bulky at first, worn beneath the blouse, but they soon
took shape and surely kept out the wind. Somewhere along
the line we were issued Bolo knives in tin scabbards.
They were supposed to be part of a machine gunner's
equipment but, as the war was over, it was not known why
they were issued. The only thing we did with them was to
throw them at the barn doors, trying our skill at having
them enter the door, point foremost, similar to knife
throwers in the circus. Who can ever forget those Bolo
knives? There is no point in mincing words; they were
junk and the Government was handed something when they
were purchased. No one shed any tears when we turned them
in.
Continuing our
march to the rear and skirting the Argonne we passed
through such places as Cornay, Fleville and Chattel
Chehery. As we looked at the towering trees and shadows
of the forest, silent and gloomy and yet so majestic, it
was difficult to visualize the struggle that had taken
place there in that tangled underbrush.
Entering the village of Lochere, at the edge of the
forest, our march came to an end and we remained there
for four days. This little group of buildings was just
another of the devastated villages in the war zone but it
will remain in the minds of the 305th Machine Gunners as
the scene of the famous hollow square formation of the
Battalion. It was here that Major Peake unburdened
himself of another of his choice speeches after the four
companies had been drawn up facing inward in the form of
a hollow square. Astride his horse, he bellowed,
"This town is dirty and you men will see to it that
you do not make it any dirtier. You men have been
defecating all over France. It will have to be stopped so
that when we leave this village it will be cleaner than
when we came into it." Those may not have been his
exact words but we are sure of the word, defecating. In
fairness to the officers of the Battalion it must be said
that the companies were never allowed to leave a mess
behind but had to police up.
About half a mile
across the fields lay the town of Les Ilets where the
puff of locomotives could be seen and the screech of
whistles reached our ears. We awaited the day when we
were to march over and board trains for our destination
but, after several days had elapsed, there floated forth
the rumor that the French could not furnish
transportation and that we were in for a nine day hike.
The report proved
to be correct and once again we took to the road.
Marching fifty minutes and resting ten, we carried on
hour after hour, day in and day out over a period of at
least nine days with the exception of Sundays, when we
had a day off. Perhaps one of our longest marches was
accomplished on Thanksgiving Day. Starting at about six
o'clock in the morning, it was not until some-where
around nine o'clock at night that we pulled into billets
at Tremont, weary and wet, having marched through a
pouring rain all day. In the middle of the day, when most
people were sitting down to turkey dinners at home in the
States, we were eating corned willy and hardtack and
leaning over the mess kits so as to keep out the water
running from our helmets. Lieut. Simons had ordered the
cooks to make up a beef stew for supper but when mess
call sounded at about ten o'clock, in Tremont, many of
the men had taken off their wet clothes and were asleep
and warm in the hay. Others, too tired to eat, said,
"The hell with it," and, as a result, those who
piled out received mess kits brimming full with plenty of
seconds. The writer does not mind admitting that he dined
that night in Tremont. The next day, November 29th, we
were on the road again.
To attempt to
recall each day would be too much of a task and, we fear,
would also prove to be somewhat monotonous. We might
mention that at the close of the twenty-ninth we were in
Bettancourt which was about a kilometer distant from the
city of St. Dizzier. It was here that Wanner and Winkle
were picked up by the M.P.s on a trumped-up charge but
they were released the next day when it was learned that
Winkle's brother was a major. Wanner let us know in
unequivocal terms what he thought of M.P.s. Little did he
know that he would one day join them, but we will tell
about that later.