A STORY
of
THE 305th MACHINE GUN BATTALION
77th DIVISION
A.E.F.
By
HENRY W. SMITH
Chapter 22
Home - The Battalion Passes Into History
CHAPTER XXII
HOME - THE BATTALION PASSES INTO HISTORY
AFTER many show-down inspections where even the corned
willie and shoe laces did right dress, the Battalion,
with mingled feelings of happiness and sadness, took
leave of friends in Precigne and moved up to Sable for
the last train ride in France. This time, however, it was
not 40 Homme or 8 Chevaux, but big U. S. cars with U. S.
Navy kitchen cars in the middle of the train. It was
overnight to Brest and Camp Pontenezen with that huge
sign "Come on You Yanks, Beaucoup Seconds". The
stay at Brest was of short duration with nobody talking
out of turn for fear of being whisked off to a labor
battalion. Anyway, that is what was supposed to have
happened, and we were too far along the trail to test it
out. The old pack had been rolled and unrolled so often
we thought that we were pretty good at it but we can't
forget that final inspection after which the pack had to
be rolled in three minutes.
Time seemed to move
so slowly but, at last, and almost unbelievably, the
Battalion was aboard the Aquitania. Steadily the shore
line of France dropped down below the horizon and soon
there was nothing but the old ocean again. This time it
was indeed express speed compared to the trip to
Liverpool and, best of all, no submarines to worry about.
A few short days and then -New York harbor and the
excited cheering from those aboard the Welcoming Home
boats that encircled the transports - the Statue of
Liberty and old, familiar scenes unchanged during the
time we had been out of the world, so to speak. A matter
of minutes and, at last, Pier 56, N. R., and so to Camp
Mills out on the Hempstead plains. Things were moving
quickly now and it was no time at all before we were back
in New York City for that glorious parade up Fifth Avenue
and, ere long, Camp Upton. How strange it seemed, this
old camp that had watched us creep in our soldier
infancy. Now it was peopled by strangers who were not
interested in us, particularly, and somehow there was a
feeling that the old camp had slipped from us and that we
didn't belong.
With heartfelt goodbyes and warm handclasps the 305th
Machine Gun Battalion, 77th Division, A.E.F., passed into
history. So, my buddies, we come to the end. Walking
through the gateway of old Camp Upton for the last time,
thoughts drifted back overseas and, as we said at the
beginning of this story, some of our gang did not come
back. No, they didn't come back.
. . . THE END . . .