HISTORY
OF THE 304th FIELD ARTILLERY
by
James M. Howard
1920
CHAPTER
VIII
ACROSS THE VESLE: VAUXCERE
All this time the 153rd Infantry Brigade, which we were
supporting, had been trying to cross the river and obtain
a foothold in Bazoches. Every attempt had failed, because
of the superior position of the German forces and the
extreme skill with which they used their artillery and
machine guns. It became evident that no frontal attack
either in the 77th Division's sector or in that of the
28th on our right could succeed. Our only hope for an
advance was that continued pressure by General Mangin's
French army on our left around Soissons would force a
retirement all along the line. Every day we could hear
the French guns thundering, sometimes in terrific
barrages which lasted for hours, and little by little
news began to reach us that they were slowly forcing the
Germans back.
Toward the end of August it became apparent that the Huns would be
obliged to straighten their front and that retirement across the Vesle
was imminent. General Alexander, in command of our division, began
preparations for taking his troops forward. Vigilance in
every observation post was doubled, and although actual
troop movements were never seen until the very last day,
great fires were visible behind the German lines, and we
knew that the enemy was preparing to withdraw.
On September 4th came the order to advance, and the next
evening our regiment, following a course parallel to the
305th on our right, moved forward over the hill and down
into the valley of the Vesle.
There was a thrill of excitement about the fact that we
were now actually in pursuit of the retreating enemy, but
there proved to be little romance about it. It meant the
laborious work of breaking camp, packing and moving the
wagons, bringing horses and limbers out to the firing
batteries and hauling the guns from their emplacements,
and finally, f or most of the men, trudging along an
uphill road under full packs in a drizzling rain.
The Germans had destroyed the bridges across the river,
and while the infantry got over on a hastily constructed
footbridge, the artillery had to wait for the engineers
to build something a little more substantial. Accordingly
we halted south of St. Thibault, and after considerable
stumbling and crashing about in the pitch dark in a wood
which no one had had a chance to reconnoiter, the horses
were tied up and the men stretched themselves on the
ground for a little sleep.
Next morning, while the engineers were laboring with the
bridge and the road, we got a glimpse of what our
infantry had been experiencing. St. Thibault was in
ruins, and in among the debris of fallen buildings were
the dugouts and shelters where the doughboys bad lived.
The road leading into the town was in full view of what
had been the enemy positions on the hills across the
river.
There were open spaces in the streets on which Boche
machine guns had played a murderous rain of bullets every
time a soldier had showed himself. In the field that
sloped down from the village to the river lay a great
many American dead, killed in some of the early attacks.
They had lain in No-Man's-Land for several weeks, because
no one had been able to reach them.
At length the bridge was finished, and we crossed over to
Bazoches. There we had an opportunity to observe some of
the results of our own fire. The town was reduced to a
heap of crumbled stone, largely by the powerful shells
from the howitzers of our neighbors, the 306th F. A. On
the hill be-hind the town were innumerable machine gun
nests. These had been our special targets, and there was
a grim satisfaction in seeing how the ground around them
was pockmarked with shell holes. In one abandoned nest
sprawled four dead Huns: a silent testimony to the
accurate shooting of one of our guns.
Meanwhile the Germans, closely followed by our infantry,
had covered the ground between the Vesle and the Aisne,
and, leaving a thin line of resistance along the bank of
the latter river, had taken tip strong defensive
positions on the high hills beyond where lies the famous
Chemin des Dames. (The French had lost hundreds of
thousands of men in this same spot in 1915.) With their
artillery mounted on the almost impregnable height, the
Boche now controlled the whole valley below them.
The American infantry advanced to the forward slope of
the hill south of the river, facing the enemy, and the
artillery's task was to go into position on the rear
slope whence their fire could be directed over the heads
of the infantry to the German lines along the Aisne and
on the hills beyond.
Once more the enemy had us at a disadvantage, for he was
fighting a defensive battle from carefully prepared
positions, while we were attempting offensive warfare in
territory of which he, having just moved out, knew every
inch of the ground, and would be able in a short time to
locate our every battery.
As we moved forward through Bazoches, the regimental
headquarters and the First battalion swung to the left
and reached Vauxcere, while the Second Battalion took the
right hand road to Perles. These two villages lay on a
plateau which had no woods and hardly any trees where
guns could be hid. Little hollows in the open fields, and
some old German gun pits (which faced the wrong way, of
course) were the only positions at first available.
Captain Lyman did manage to find a grove for Battery A,
considerably to the rear, but far enough advanced to
enable him to fire effectively. Captain Doyle and Captain
Bacon took their batteries right to the crest of the
hill, with no cover except camouflage nets which were
spread over the hastily dug gun pits. D and E went into
what had been German emplacements, the former in a sunken
road, the latter in the side of a bank that was
honeycombed with abandoned Boche dugouts. Major Devereux
with his battalion headquarters and Captain Ewell with
Battery F found a ravine just outside what was left of
the village of Perles.
Vauxcere was built on a very steep slope, and just below
the crest, on the side away from the Germans, were a
number of caves. Into one of these General Briggs moved
the regimental P. C. Outside the cave was a courtyard,
and into the buildings which formed it went the kitchen
and the clerks' office and a horse or two. Captain Doyle
and Captain Bacon' also used caves, both as P. C.'s and
as sleeping quarters for those cannoneers not actually on
duty at the guns. Major Sanders moved into a house on the
main street of the town. The place was full of troops.
Besides our own, there was one battery of the 306th,
their heavy guns perched on the hill immediately over our
headquarters cave, so that, every time they fired the
whole place rocked. Then there were infantry and
engineers aplenty, not to mention General Wittenmeyer
with his brigade headquarters.
The enemy soon discovered how populous the town was, and
he systematically shelled it every afternoon. Those who
were in caves could afford to laugh at the explosions
they heard, but any one who happened to be on the streets
or in one of the houses was likely to have a lively time
of it. Major Sanders and his adjutant, Captain Perrin, in
their first-floor rooms used to have tea about four
o'clock each day, and invariably the shells began to fall
just at tea time; but although the blinds often rattled
and occasionally neighboring houses caved in, no shell
ever succeeded in breaking up one of the Major's tea
parties.
Not only the town, but the whole hill top was subjected
to a deadly harassing fire every day. The night Battery C
moved into position, just as the third gun had left the
road and was being hauled around to the place prepared
for it, a shell burst right beside the lead team. The
driver, Owen Pierson, and both his horses were killed
outright, while on the swing team, just behind, Private
Gaughn was mortally wounded and both horses were killed.
The wheel driver, Akvick by name, displayed remarkable
courage and presence of mind. Although the shell which
had played such havoc had struck right in front of him,
and others were falling all about, he went to the aid of
his fallen comrades, helped carry them to a trench where
they could receive medical attention, unhitched the dead
animals, moved the gun into position with the two horses
that remained, and drove his limber back to the echelon.
Battery D, in their sunken road position, were soon
located by the German artillery. One morning about dawn,
when every one was asleep except three men on guard,
Captain Mahon heard the familiar sound of incoming
shells. He looked out of his dugout to make sure that his
men were all under cover, and seeing no one about took it
for granted that all were safe. Calling out that every
one should lie low until the shelling was over, he went
back into his dugout. A few minutes later, when the fire
had ceased, Lieutenant Thomas came out and started along
the road. Suddenly, from one of the little hollowed out
places in the bank, covered over with corrugated iron, in
which the men slept, he heard a cry for help. Darting to
the place, he found the three guards, McDevitt, Lincoln,
and Pessalano, buried under a mess of debris. They had
all taken cover there when the shelling began, and a
projectile had made a direct hit on the dugout. McDevitt
alone was still alive. The other two were buried that day
within a few yards of the spot where they had fallen,
while the wounded man was sent away in an ambulance. He,
too, died within a few hours after reaching the field
hospital.
Battery F, in their ravine on the edge of Perles, were
subjected to what most men are agreed is the most
terrifying form of hostile fire, namely night bombing by
airplanes. The machines can be heard very distinctly
overhead, yet it is impossible in the darkness to tell
where they are. One listens tensely to the Zzzz-Zzzz-Zzzz
of the motor, and then suddenly the noise stops; the
aviator is releasing his bombs.
Bang-bang-bang-bang-bang-bang-bang! they fall in quick
succession, and once again the motor resumes its
Zzzz-Zzzz-Zzzz as the plane sails off.
On this particular night, Battery F was preparing to move
into a new position, and the horses had been brought up
and were being hitched to the pieces. A plane was heard
in the sky, and all at once a brilliant flare of white
light burst overhead and floated gently down across the
ravine.
"Drivers, stand by your horses!" shouted
Captain Ewell. "Everybody keep still! Don't
move!"
It was an awful moment. 'Every man and horse stood out in
bold relief, the men with their-faces upturned, the
horses with their ears alert and eves staring. No one
stirred. Then, as the flare died out the plane swooped
down and crossed diagonally over the ravine, releasing as
it passed a set of six bombs. With a deafening racket
they burst, scattering fragments through the ravine, and
startling the horses.
"Is anybody hurt?" called the Captain. No one
answered; but presently, as he made his way to where the
teams stood, he heard a groan, and stooping over, found
Private Rosner with his arm badly shattered. It was a
miracle that there were not more casualties.
While the firing batteries were having these harrowing
experiences, some of the men at the rear were getting
their share of excitement. "Life at the
echelon" is a byword among those whose work takes
them forward into the danger zone. The echelon must be
near the source of supplies, and it is supposed to be
free from danger-a place of comfort and ease. The
following extracts from a cannoneer's diary show the
attitude.
The writer had been having a strenuous time at the front:
"Guard duty from midnight to 1 A. M. Up at 7
o'clock. Barrage from 7: 15 to 1 P. m. At mess time the
Huns sent over several shells which clipped off two
Battery E men and others from other organizations. Helped
carry up Private Shannon, who was badly wounded."
Then comes a change: "Ordered back to echelon. After
a difficult trip arrived there about ii P. M. Sergeant
Dunphy treated us to stew, bread, coffee and prunes. This
is the echelon life." Next day: "Washed socks
and towels, good face wash and wrote letters till noon
mess. Rest all P. m. and good sleep through a rainy
night." Next day: "Up at six -pancakes for
breakfast-5 packages Melachrinos-life of Riley -biscuits
galore for supper."
This is how the cannoneers feel about the echelon; and
yet the place is always within easy range of the enemy
artillery, and it was this same Battery E echelon which
was treated one morning to one of the severest shellings
that the regiment has known.
A wagon had just driven in with a load of supplies and
with mail from home. The mail clerk, George Seiber, was
sorting the letters and a group of eager soldiers were
standing about, when suddenly Pfzzz-Bang!-a shell crashed
right in among them. Pfzzz-Bang~another, and another, and
still they came. Seiber was killed outright. Seven others
were wounded and had to be evacuated, three of
whom-Grace, Stillinger and Ormstadt-afterwards died in
hospital. As soon as there -was a pause, Sergeant Stine,
who was in charge at the time, ordered the men to get
ready to move at once; but first it was necessary to bury
poor Seiber. The burial squad were interrupted time and
again by shells before they could finish their work.
There was not time to get the Chaplain, who was in
Vauxcere, but Private Brown, who had a prayer book in his
pocket, read some Scripture and a prayer when the grave
was finished.
Emphasis has been placed on these shellings which the
regiment received, because for a while to many men that
seemed to be the principal part of our existence. General
Briggs, in his speech to the Association, explained the
reason:
"The Germans knew that they had strong positions
here, and put some of their very best troops in front of
us. They were Prussian divisions-well-known divisions
that had been through the game, and they knew something
about fighting. We were just a little bit new. At first
they had us at a disadvantage. We never saw them, hardly.
We heard them and felt them, but they knew how to take
advantage of cover. It was like fighting in the dark. But
it wasn't long before our men had learned the same game,
and we gave them a little bit more than they had
bargained for."
One day Lieutenant Boyd, of A Battery, who was
representing our First Battalion as liaison officer with
the 306th Infantry (for each battalion of artillery keeps
an officer and several men on duty at all times with the
infantry it is to support) telephoned to Major Sanders
that two platoons of German artillery were giving the
infantry a very uncomfortable time by systematic and
accurate shellfire. Careful observation had given the
exact location of the guns in question, as well as a
house where operations. The battalion commander had a
peculiarly satisfactory experience during a big attack on
the morning of September fourteenth.
In the advance from the Vesle to the Aisne, the 153rd
Brigade, which we were supporting, had pushed right up
to the river itself. On their right the 154th Brigade,
and the 28th Division which adjoined it, as well as the
French division beyond, had met heavier resistance made
possible by the nature of the terrain, and had been
brought to a standstill some distance short of the Aisne.
The result was that the troops directly in front of us
were exposed to a flank attack and to dangerous
enfilading fire from Boche artillery.
The higher command, therefore, ordered a general attack
along the whole front in order to advance the entire line
up to the river, and our regiment was ordered to shift
the direction of its fire to the right, so that the 154th
Brigade, supported by our guns as well as those of the
305th F. A., might attain its objective.
For several hours on the night of the 13th every battery
was hard at work pouring a fire of preparation into the
Ger-man positions, and then at the zero hour in the early
morning, our guns, worked by tired but dogged cannoneers, began a
rolling barrage that crept forward in front of the advancing infantry.
The hours wore on with no letup in the fire. The guns
were so hot that more than one gunner, leaning over his
piece between shots to adjust his sights, had his face
scorched. The men could have cooked their dinner on the
gun barrels.
Major Devereux, who had taken the precaution to run a
direct telephone wire to the headquarters of the 308th
Infantry of the 154th Brigade, became impatient and
called up Colonel Prescott, who was in command, asking
for any information he might have about the progress of
the attack. The reply was not encouraging. The troops had
not been able to keep pace with the advancing barrage,
and were being subjected to a deadly flanking fire of
artillery and machine guns which had, for the time being,
blocked their entire progress.
"Can you suggest any change in my fire which would
be more useful than this barrage?" asked Major
Devereux.
"Just a minute, and I'll let you know," replied
Colonel Prescott.
While the Colonel was investigating further, Major
Devereux Was endeavoring to gain permission from his
regimental commander to slacken his fire so as to save
ammunition.
Presently the telephone ran. It was Colonel Prescott. It
seemed that there was a column of German infantry
approaching a crossroad on his flank, apparently massing
for a counter attack. This might wreck the entire advance
of the 154th Brigade, and Colonel Prescott would like to
have the. Major open fire on the crossroad as soon as the
Roche got there.
"Can you give me the coordinates?" asked Major
Devereux. The exact location was given.
With Colonel Prescott still on the wire, the Major called
up Captain Perin of Battery E and explained the
situation. He wanted him with two guns to fire high
explosive shells fitted with instantaneous fuses on that
column of Boche infantry.
While Captain Perin was calculating his firing data, the
telephone connection was extended to include the
commander of the threatened infantry battalion, and he
gave the information that the Germans were almost at the
crossroads.
Just then Captain Perin's voice announced, "Ready to
fire." "Fire!" ordered Major Devereux.
"Direction good-fifty meters over," came the
infantry ma-jor's report a few moments later.
Another round was fired.
"A little too far to the right; range good,"
was the report.
"Left ten," said Captain Perin.
"Fire!"
Again the two guns banged.
"One shot plumb on the crossroads, and the other
very close!" came the excited observer's report.
With that, Captain Perin let loose a withering storm of
shell that plastered the crossroads and wrought havoc
with the troops as they came up.
"Good-that's great!" cried Colonel Prescott.
Then another voice broke in: "Who are all these
people on this line?" It was General Wittenmeyer,
and how he managed to get on the wire no one ever knew.
"Just wait a minute, General," said Colonel
Prescott. "I have a pla-toon Of 75's from the 304th
shooting up a road full of Boche. We are in the midst of
the firing-,"
"Fine!" said the Gen-eral. "I'll get off
the wire."
Then Colonel Prescott asked the Major to sweep northward
along the road, and Captain Perin shifted his aim,
drenched the whole region with a concentrated rain of
fire until word came that no more was needed. The
counterattack had been broken up before ever it began.
This incident is interesting, not only because of the
work accomplished, but because it had furnished a rare
opportunity for demonstrating to the infantry we
supported the effectiveness of artillery when it is given
exact information as to what is wanted and immediate
reports as to what is being accomplished. Nothing is more
satisfactory to the artilleryman, and nothing more
encouraging to the infantryman, than to know that the
enemy is actually being demolished, and that every shot
is counting for victory.
To mention all the events in which our batteries took
part would be tedious. Enough has been told to show
something of what the regiment was doing, and to indicate
what the men were going through. It was a terrible strain
on them. They were working night and day. They were
dirty, and there was no chance for a bath or for clean
clothes. Above all, they were tired. The lack of sleep,
the never ending labor, the continued nervous strain of
being under fire,, had brought many of them to the point
where they did not see how they could hold out for
another day. "If we could only get some sleep!"
was the remark heard at every battery position.
The officers were as tired as the men. They did not have
so much manual labor, of course, but they had more
responsibility, and just as little sleep. Night after
night the regimental commander and his adjutant would be
routed out by a message from the infantry, or from the
brigade commander. Captain Kempner, in charge of
operations, would have to get up and lay out the work for
the battalions. The battalion and battery commanders
would be called up and given new orders, and they in turn
would have to rouse their weary cannoneers for more
firing. Lieutenant Bruns' endurance was taxed to the
limit trying to keep everybody supplied with shells and
fuses. The runners were on the go with messages night and
day. The telephone linemen were driven to distraction by
the orders for new connections, and by the continual
breaks in the wires caused by shellfire. To the battery
drivers it seemed as though the guns were never allowed
to stay in any one position f or more than a few hours,
so often were they called upon to take out their horses
for moving the pieces. The Supply Company men had to
bring their wagons up every night across that bridge in
Bazoches which the Germans were doing their best to
destroy, and over roads which were targets for expert
Boche artil-lerymen.
Moreover, General Briggs had now left the regiment,
having been ordered to return to the United States to
bring over a new brigade, and the lack of his presence
was distinctly felt. He had been replaced by Lieutenant-
Colonel McCleave, who, although he was an artillery
officer of some years standing, had yet to win the
confidence of the regiment. He was cool and deliberate,
and we missed the eager interest in every detail to which
we had been accustomed in our former commanding officer.
Other shifts among the officers had also taken place.
Captain Ewell had gone to the Supply Company to replace
Captain Garrett, who had been recalled for duty in the
United States. Battery F was given a new commanding
officer-Captain Eberstadt, who, up to this time, had
been Captain Mahon's executive in D -Battery with the
rank of first lieutenant. With him were assigned First
Lieutenant Hunter, from Headquarters Company, who had
just received his promotion, and Lieutenant Thomas, from
D. Lieutenant Amy had gone from Battery A to Battery D.
All these changes were necessary, but they involved a
certain amount of readjustment and added to the general
feeling of uncertainty.
In short there was a universal longing for relief. More
than four weeks of strenuous labor under conditions that
were far from ideal had told on the spirits of our
inexperienced troops, and they felt that they had earned
a rest.
At last the Longed-for day came. On September 14th, the
very day of the attack just described, the order was
received that we were to be relieved by an Italian
division, and on the 15th, detachments of these troops
began to move into the sector.
They were a queer lot! They had no telephones, no fire
control instruments, no anything, except guns and
ammunition; and they strolled in the most casual sort of
way, as if they were engaged in a play war. We wondered
how they would fare at the hands of the experienced
troops across the river.
Night came, and the relief began.
Italian officers had installed themselves in our
headquarters cave, and our guns and wagons were moving
out onto the roads for the hazardous march to the rear.
The men in the courtyard around the cave were packing up
their belongings and the office equipment, when, to our
consternation, the Germans began to shell the town.
Not content with raking the streets, they began to drop
shell after shell right into our courtyard. One struck
the door of what had been the clerks' office, and burst
into the room, wrecking a typewriter and tearing some
officers' bedding rolls to tatters. Another landed just
outside the kitchen, and the cook, Peter Anastas, and
Captain Kempner's orderly, Oscar Johnson, were both
seriously wounded, (Johnson died afterward in a
hospital). The cave, crowded with officers, both American
and Italian, bustling about giving orders and attending
to a hundred final details, while the two wounded men lay
stretched on the floor waiting for an ambulance, and a
third, slightly shell-shocked, sat staring blankly at the
confusion about him, presented a scene which no one who
was there will ever forget.
To add to our discomfiture, the Italian infantry had come
into the town, and with an utter disregard for the
precautions in which we had been so carefully trained,
were massed in the streets, laughing and talking and
lighting cigarettes with matches which flared up in the
darkness, giving ample evidence of 'their presence to any
aerial observers who might chance to be overhead, and
blocking up the roads in front of our wagons.
Our route lay along the hilltop, through Perles, and then
southward into the valley of the Vesle, not at Bazoches,
where we had crossed before, but at Fismes. Every
kilometer of the road was fraught with danger, and our
convoys were intentionally broken up so as not to have
too many troops in any place at once. Overhead we could
hear the frightful scream of the high velocity Austrian
shells (familiarly known as "whizz-bangs" on
account of the noise they make and because the explosion
follows so quickly on the sound of the shelf as it
passes). Luckily there was no moon, and our movements
were screened in a pall of thick darkness.
How the regiment ever got through unscratched no one
knows. There were some narrow escapes. The head of the
column was caught tinder fire at a crossroad where it had
halted to make sure of the direction, and shell fragments
whistled about. Some of the batteries reached Fistnes
just as it was being shelled, and had to pass through the
ghostly ruins of the town while walls were tumbling into
the streets.
But no one was hurt, and as mile after mile was passed,
the sounds of battle grew fainter and fainter, and
gradually died out altogether; and at length, after an
interminable march, the regiment drew into a wood near
the village of Gussancourt. There, in the broad daylight
of a Sunday morning, a tired lot of soldiers stretched
themselves on the ground for the first peaceful repose
they had enjoyed in nearly six weeks.