A STORY
of
THE 305th MACHINE GUN BATTALION
77th DIVISION
A.E.F.
By
HENRY W. SMITH
Chapter 9
On the Vesle
CHAPTER IX
ON TO THE VESLE
THAT Italy rumor was about as strong as any we bad heard
up to that time and it must have had its origin in some
exceptionally large latrine. Newspapers we had seen
carried casualty lists of certain of the divisions
already engaged in the action in and around Chateau
Thierry and, while at times there was some discussion
among the men as to whether we would actually see a
really busy front, coming as we did from the sidewalks of
New York, we now felt morally certain that we were
speeding toward the big show where we would not only be
witnessing the performance but actually taking a very
important part in it, A few pages back we said that in
the Army "Orders are orders" but we will have
to plead guilty and admit that they were not always
obeyed to the letter. There were orders against keeping a
diary and, if they had been strictly obeyed, Carsten
Ludder, Lieut. Floyd Smith and some of the other boys
would not now be able to submit helpful data enabling us
to mention a few dates here and there with some authority
for our assertions.
It was the Fifth of
August when we finally shook the dust of Lorraine from
our heavy, hob-nailed field shoes and as the train jolted
out of the station there roared forth from those crowded
cars the words of that old favorite, "Where do we go
from here, boys, where do we go from here?" It did
not matter much to that old outfit as it was simply a
case of "Hail, hail, the gang's all here" *
Let's go! and we went. The weather had settled and as the
wheels clicked out their merry rhythm on the rails we
crowded into the doorways of our side-door Pullmans and
took in the sights. As night fell every man found his
niche and settled into it although some of the boys may
have first settled down to a little serious drinking
before calling it a day. Along about midnight the train
stopped for a few minutes at what was known as a
"coffee stop" and there, stationed at the side
of the tracks, were French soldiers with cans of coffee.
Each man received about a quarter of a cupful, When big
Jack Kane of C Company looked into his cup he went
bellowing up to Lieut. Duddy about it. "Hey,
Lieutenant," he roared, "what in hell are these
frogs trying to pull off here? What kind of a cup of
coffee is that for a man?" Duddy asked, in his quiet
way, "Have you tasted it, Kane?"
"No!"
"Well, have a
taste and, if you want more, I will see that you get
it."
Kane put the cup to
his lips and, as the coffee slid down, he went right back
on his heels. "Boy!" Little did he know that
the coffee was loaded with cognac enough to give one a
permanent wave. "Coffee Camouflage", it was
called and how we looked for coffee stops after that!
Everybody back
aboard the train and we moved on in the direction of
Paris although we were not aware of it at the time. The
next day we passed through Bar Le Due which is quite a
city and, as the train slowed down, we had high hopes of
being dropped off somewhere nearby but no such luck for
us. In our case, it seemed to be the idea that the
smaller the village the better. We certainly got into
some pokey little holes at times. The old locomotive
dragging us along picked up speed and we soon saw Bar Le
Due dropping from view. Later in the day we stopped at
the city of Coulommiers where D Company detrained and
marched to a nearby village. It was 5:00 P.M., August
Sixth, when we pulled into the village of Mortcerf and
the rest of the Battalion detrained. This proved to be
the end of the train ride and all hands pitched in to
unload the flat cars carrying our gun carts, kitchens,
G.S. wagons and limbers. On a sign-post at the side of
the road were the words "150 kilometers to
Paris" and we had visions of some happy days in that
city if we were to be in this vicinity very long but
General Pershing had other ideas and he usually had his
way.
The task of unloading completed, the companies were
formed and as night fell we found ourselves again on the
march with that "150 kilos to Paris" sign
dropping further to the rear with every step. We were in
for another all night march. Obtaining drinkable water
was a problem that was always with us and as we did not
have a chance to replenish our supply since some time
prior to boarding the train, there arose a general shout
for water. From various parts of the column would come
the yell, "We want water", and at times it was
taken up in chorus in cadence with the step. A good deal
of it was done for the devilment of it but many canteens
were actually empty in spite of the fact that water was
always sparingly used and throats were becoming parched,
what with the heat of the marching and the dust kicked up
by the troops. The officers remained silent, just forging
ahead and their silence was ominous.
Late at night we
passed through a sizeable town and, as the sound of the
marching columns echoed through the silent streets, here
and there windows and doors were cautiously opened and we
were greeted by the familiar "Vive L'Amerique",
when it was learned we were Americans. It is very
difficult to locate some of our stopping places on the
maps as the villages were so very small but A Company men
no doubt recall camping over night near a place called
Mourot and later hiking up a long hill to Boussois near
Voisins. C Company finished the hike in the small hamlet
of Coubertin and, upon making inquiry the next morning,
learned that we were approximately eighty kilometers
behind Chateau Thierry.
The first formation
the morning following that all-night march took place at
about ten o'clock and the principal if not sole item to
be handled was the matter of shouting for water the night
before. Some of the officers may have been lenient but
speaking for the First Platoon of C Company, they took as
sweet a dressing down from Lieut. Duddy as any we had
ever listened to. We had it coming to us and it was a
sheepish bunch of soldiers that ambled away to billets
after we were dismissed.
It was while we
were in this area that we saw our first United States
hospital train filled with wounded and as we watched that
train-load of bandaged men roll slowly by we knew that
there was serious work for us not far away. Nor did we
have long to wait. The men of the Battalion were held
closely and after a day or two of resting, the sharp,
staccato notes of the bugles sounding
"Assembly" summoned the companies to formation.
The commanding officers carefully selected half of each
company, those men being ordered to roll packs and on the
morning of the Ninth of August, 1918, we again turned our
steps toward the front but this time it was to be indeed
a real front. Little did we know that we were starting
for that place now indelibly stamped on the minds of 77th
men -The Hell Hole of the Vesle.
After several hours
of steady marching we were ordered to fall out at the
side of the road near a small village where, after a
short wait, we were loaded aboard motor lorries which had
rumbled up, driven by Animites. From their appearance
they were just small Chinamen to us and we referred to
them as "Chinks" and let it go at that. There
were two on each truck and they were as good as nothing
at all when it came to finding out from them anything
about where we were going. Their lingo was certainly
beyond us. We climbed in on top of our packs, making
ourselves as comfortable as possible and presently we
started.
The remainder of
the Battalion, in fact, the rest of the entire division,
got under way sometime later and it required three days
of arduous travelling on foot for them to cover the
distance we made in the trucks. For a while, as our
trucks rolled and jolted along, we seemed to be the only
truck train on the road but it was not long before we saw
other columns of trucks loaded with infantry and machine
gunners rolling along in the same direction we were
going. Looking to right and left as far as the eye could
see, all converging roads were crowded with long trains
of trucks hurrying, hurrying forward. Speed and yet more
speed seemed to be the predominant idea. Gradually faces
became masked in gray as the gasoline fumes and the dust
of the road swept in clouds over the men. Grimly silent
we hurried forward. Divisions that had turned back the
German hordes at Chateau Thierry and those that had kept
up the incessant pounding had been pretty well cut up and
when we took over the lines from the 4th Division, the
necessity for our haste was evident. Those boys were
sorely in need of relief.
Mile after mile
slipped out from under the wheels of those motor trucks
and we were not certain of our destination until at one
point we made inquiry of two small French lads standing
at the side of the road. With a limited knowledge of
French, it was difficult to find out what we wanted to
know but by pointing in the direction in which we were
headed and at the mention of Chateau Thierry the boys
understood and shouted, "Oui! Oui! Chateau Thierry,
Oui!" What memories for those boys to carry with
them through their lives!
In the late
afternoon we came within sight of the Marne River -that
stream that in times past had run red -and ere long we
were crossing it on a wooden bridge constructed by
engineers. The stone bridge had been blown up and there
remained only a mass of debris on each embankment.
Continuing on through the town, who can forget the scenes
of destruction, devastation and desolation? On all sides
there was plenty of evidence of what had taken place and
we cannot but be proud of those fine American troops who
participated in the action around Chateau Thierry for
their indomitable will and courage.
The men of the
Battalion following on foot reported that it was slow
going for them as the entire Division train was on the
road. It is said to have been about seven miles long,
necessitating many stops. The men carried haversacks only
and the nights were penetratingly cold. After a long hard
march they also reached the Marne and many of the men
went into the river for a swim but they did not stay in
long, however, once the odor of that water entered their
nostrils.
The trucks were
moving forward more slowly as the roads had been well
pounded by artillery fire and it was a rough ride but we
kept on going and such names as Fere-en-Tardenoi, Sergy,
and Bouresches come to mind. They were perhaps pleasant
little villages before the war but were just so many
piles of stones and mortar when we passed through them.
The shell-torn road eventually had its effect and the
truck in which the writer was riding limped to a stop at
the side of the road. The remainder of the train soon
passed from sight and we seemed to be stranded just about
as completely as we would have been had we been in a
disabled boat at sea. Those who knew something about
engines tinkered with the machinery and when we were
ready to start darkness had fallen. Slowly we picked our
way through the blackness of the night and at last we
stopped. There were no explanations given but the Animite
drivers appeared to be making preparations for turning in
for the night and Lieut. Duddy ordered the equipment
lifted from the trucks to a corner of the yard around the
ruins of a house just off the road. One of the men
exploring through the house was suddenly confronted by
two officers who demanded to know who we were and ordered
us to withdraw. With much blustering and show of
authority they ordered our man to take them to our
commanding officer. I can still see Duddy's tall, erect
figure in the darkness and again in his usual quiet way -
"Gentlemen, whom have I the honor to address?"
One of the officers
mentioned his name and said that he was a second
lieutenant of the 305th Infantry, and went on to say that
we had stopped at Regimental Headquarters and that Duddy
would have to get his men out of there or we would all be
shelled out by the enemy in the morning. Thereupon Duddy
replied, "Well, don't get Yourselves excited. I am
First Lieutenant Duddy of C Company, 305th Machine Gun
Battalion. We stay here for the remainder of the night
and we will be gone before anything can happen in the
morning. Scatter men and make yourselves as comfortable
as possible." Duddy outranked the other officers and
how we gloated over the way he handled the situation.
When morning came,
a runner found us and we joined the rest of the Battalion
in Nestle Wood a short distance away. What a place! Where
is there a man of the old Battalion who can forget the
scenes in that bit of woods -with some of the dead still
on top of the ground, others partially protruding from
shallow graves, the debris of the battlefield and above
all the infernal stench? It got into the nostrils, there
to remain, and those hot, dry days of August only served
to intensify the odor. Neither did the coolness of the
night relieve the situation. Darkness increased the eerie
aspect of the woods and the morning sun was indeed
welcome. Chaplain Lawson held services there on Sunday,
August 11th, practically every man of the Battalion
attending, and as they sang "Nearer My God To
Thee", the guns in the line up forward rumbled a
strange accompaniment.