HISTORY
OF THE 305th Infantry
by
Frank Tiebout
Chapter 9
THE
HARDEST BATTLE
CHAPTER IX
THE HARDEST BATTLE OF THE WAR
HA, ha! Thought I'd die laughing. Remember those last few
shells they sent over? Well, one of them landed pretty
near to 'Mess-Kit's' funk hole, an' just when one lit, I
cracked ol' ' Mess-Kit' on the dome with a rock. He
thought he was hit an' yelled somepin awful. 'I'm hit;
first aid! first aid! "'
"Hey there,
don't bunch up!" "Five pace intervals."
"Fall out on the right and dig in!" "Put
out that light!" A smile shone through the dirty,
bearded faces as you sprang all those old wheezes during
the night march back through Raucourt to St. Pierremont,
where you couldn't sleep even on a nice, soft board now
that the guns were silent. You promptly stuffed those
corking Kentucky men, who joined us there, full with the
stories of how you won the war.
Well, you helped.
The Division of which you were a part feels that when
General Pershing addressed to the First, Third and Fifth
Corps his General Order No. 232, he was not unmindful of
the work of the 77th:
G. H. Q.
American Expeditionary Forces
FRANCE, Dec. 19, 1918.
General Orders,
No. 232
It is with a sense of gratitude for its splendid
accomplishment, which will live all through history, that
I record in General Orders a tribute to the victory of
the First Army in the Meuse-Argonne battle.
Tested and
strengthened by the reduction of the St. Mihiel salient,
for more than six weeks you battered against the pivot of
the enemy line on the westen front. It was a position of
imposing natural strength, stretching on both sides of
the Meuse River from the bitterly contested hills of
Verdun to the almost impenetrable forest of the Argonne;
a position, more-over, fortified by four years of labor
designed to render it impregnable; a position held with
the fullest resources of the enemy. That position you
broke utterly, and thereby hastened the collapse of the
enemy's military power.
Soldiers of all the
divisions engaged under the First, Third and Fifth
Corps-the 1st, 2d, 3d, 4th, 5th, 7th, 26th, 28th, 29th,
32d, 33d, 35th, 37th, 42d, 77th, 78th 79th, 80th, 82d,
89th, 90th and 91st-you will be long remembered for the
stubborn persistence of your progress, your storming of
obstinately defended machine gun nests, your penetration,
yard by yard, of woods and ravines, your heroic
resistance in the face of counter attacks supported by
powerful artillery fire. For more than a month, from the
initial attack of September 26th, you fought your way
slowly through the Argonne, through the woods and over
hills west of the Meuse; you slowly enlarged your hold on
the Cotes de Meuse to the east; and then, on the first of
November you cleared the entire left bank of the Meuse
south of Sedan, and then stormed the heights on the right
bank and drove him into the plain beyond.
Your achievement,
which is scarcely to be equaled in American history, must
remain a source of proud satisfaction to the troops who
participated in the last campaign of the war. The
American people will remember it as the realization of
the hitherto potential strength of the American
contribution toward the cause to which they had sworn
allegiance. There can be no greater reward for a soldier
or for a soldier's memory.
This order will be
read to all organizations at the first assembly formation
after its receipt.
JOHN J. PERSHING, General, Commander in Chief, American
Expeditionary Forces. Official:
ROBERT C. Davis,
Adjutant-General.
In his first complete report to Secretary of War Baker,
the Commander in Chief of the American Expeditionary
Forces said in part: " The strategical goal which
was our highest hope was gained. We had cut the enemy's
main line of communications and nothing but surrender or
an armistice could save his army from complete
disaster."
Of those who went
on leave at that critical juncture, is there one who
doesn't now credit himself with being a wise old owl,
having escaped one of the hardest hikes in history? There
is another order, which carries the memory back over
those nine days of hiking from St. Pierremont to the sea
of mud in the Chaumont area; over the ground so bitterly
contested during the two months just past; over a
dinnerless Thanksgiving and well beyond the rumor which
would have placed you on the water by December 10th; over
the stiff rebukes you sustained for bellowing derisively,
"Who won the war? The M. P.'s!! Who laid down the
barrage? The Y. M. C. A.!!"
HEADQUARTERS 77TH DIVISION
American E. F.
December 1, 1918. MEMORANDUM:
The 77th Division
has taken part in the campaign which has just closed; a
campaign which with its successful termination marks the
end of the war in which we have been engaged so far as
the immediate active operations are concerned; with
credit to itself and resulting profit to our country and
our cause.
The Division in the
past three months of its history has nothing whatever for
which to apologize. It has carried out the missions
intrusted to it and has possessed at all times the
aggressive spirit essential to success in war.
We are now about to
enter upon another phase of our service as soldiers of
the United States. That phase involves a continued
readiness for such operations as may become necessary in
the future. This involves improvement in our knowledge of
the finer technique of the military profession so that
even should no active operations now ensue, each officer
and man of this Division will carry back with him into
civil life such knowledge of his service as a soldier as
will render him, individually, as trainer and commander,
most available to the country in the event of another
emergency.
With this purpose
in view the Division is now to go into a period of
training. It must have been evident to all that our
success in the operations in which we have been engaged
has been due in great measure more to the aggressive
spirit of our officers and men than to our knowledge of
the finer technique of the military profession. As a
consequence of this, while we have been successful, while
we have accomplished the results which superior authority
has expected of us, we have at the same time probably
paid more dearly for that success than should have been
the case had our training been further advanced. The
Division Commander therefore expects that a real-ization
of our deficiencies in the finer technique of training
will suffice to keep our hearts in the work which lies
before us. The Division now has an excellent reputation;
it is our duty and our privilege to demonstrate, during
the period of training upon which we are about to enter,
that that reputation is founded not merely upon the
evanescent success of battle where we have the excitement
of combat to keep us keyed up to the proper pitch, but
that we also possess that steadfastness of heart and
determination which will cause us to do our best under
any conditions which confront us. The Division Commander
is convinced that we do possess those qualities of
steadfastness and determination and that no criticism can
be made against us on that score.
Those who will
observe us will pass judgment upon the outward marks of
discipline and instruction. As a matter of fact no other
standard is possible. Those outward indications are:
promptness and smartness in saluting, neatness and
cleanliness in dress and equipment, good condition of
animals, and cleanliness and good order around billets
and cantonments. The Division Commander is convinced that
all will endeavor to set an example in these items and
thus maintain, during the period of training set before
us, the high esteem which the Division has won in combat
so that we may return to our homes, when the proper time
comes for such return, retaining that esteem as the
result of a demonstrated ability to do our full duty not
only in combat but under any and all circumstances.
ROBERT ALEXANDER,
Major-General, Commanding.
The above memorandum will be read to all organizations at
the first formation after its receipt.
By Command Of MAJOR-GENERAL ALEXANDER.
M. W. HOWZE,
Acting Chief of Staff.
Distribution down to include companies.
"Now that we've won the war, they're trying to make
soldiers out of us," wailed the everlasting critic
in the ranks. When not pushing through the thickest woods
on the rainiest days, surrounding some
"greaseball" banging on a canteen with a rock
as you should have surrounded machine guns in the
Argonne, you were climbing a hill to the happy drilling
grounds or were on on a weird, all-day maneuver at the
other end of the Province Haute-Marne where someone was
probably trying to justify the action of the "Lost
Battalion." At three-thirty a runner found you and
the rest of your imaginary unit in the middle of a
wilderness, with the cheerful message that the problem
had been called off at twelve-fifteen.
In the little towns
of Autreville, Valdelancourt, St. Martin, La Ville-neuve
and Montheries, now in command of Colonel Raymond
Sheldon, the first and never-ending duty was to clean up,
to remove the aforementioned indices to civilian wealth
and position as discussed in the Lorraine Chapter; next,
to police yourselves and remain policed despite the mud
and the shortage of clothes; then, to dodge the Corps and
Division inspectors or to satisfy them on all the little
points listed in the pamphlet. It was difficult enough to
please them. In the words of the Regular Army men: "
These Reserve Officers are nice enough boys. They mean
well; but they don't know-they just don't know. Yet they
are being paid--" Here the Reserve Officer feels
like remarking caustically: "Yes, a short while ago
we were earning far more than the one-sixty-six,
sixty-seven, whereas those who are now getting much more,
were then earning the one-sixty-six, sixty-seven."
An inspector
approaches a company commander; he says nothing.
"'Mornin', sir," says the captain, saluting
punctiliously.
"Well? Is that the way you address yourself to an
inspector?"
"Reckon it is, sir," drawls the captain,
smiling in real Southern fashion. "Tell me who you
are," imperiously.
" Cap'nClarkcommandingCompany E 305th Infantry!
"Very good. Now let me see one of your
billets." Inspector and inspected walk off in
tremulous silence.
"What is this doing here? " The inspector kicks
a pile of blankets lying in a corner.
"Look out there!" whines a feeble voice as its
tousled owner peers from beneath the blankets, hastily
covers his head in mortification, uncovers it again and
makes as if to salute.
" Why aren't you drilling?"
"'Cause I'm sick."
, 'What's the matter with you?
"I dunno, sir."
"Did you report on Sick Call last night?"
" No, sir. "
"Why didn't you?"
, "Cause I wasn't sick then."
Having ascertained
that the American Army is in good health, the inspector
moves off to another part of town. "Show me the
nearest kitchen," he says to a member of the
neighboring company; the latter, being a man of infinite
resource and sagacity, conducts the officer to a kitchen
behind the Chateau.
" Whose
kitchen is this?" growls the inspector. " It's
the filthiest thing I've ever seen! "
"That's the Colonel's Mess," grins the adroit
youth, who can hardly conceal his gloating satisfaction.
"Take me to
your company commander!" orders the dignitary;
where-upon the aforesaid Intelligent Youth conducts
Inspector to the company's best looking billet, excuses
himself and hastens to warn the captain, who reports in
haste. The first captain interviewed has already tipped
off the other as to the proper mode of address;
consequently the preliminaries are quickly over.
"Where is the
sign which should appear on the door of the billet
stating how many are quartered here and who is in
charge?"
"The rain must
have washed it off, sir," hoping that the other
billets will not be inspected.
"These beds are pretty crowded. Are the men sleeping
as prescribed?"
"Yes, sir; nose to-er, head to foot, sir. I inspect
the billets every night. "
"That underwear should not hang in the sleeping
quarters."
"It must dry somewhere, sir."
"Don't dry it in the sleeping quarters. Set aside
one of your rooms for a sort of laundry. Put a stove in
it, and keep it hot."
" Sir, every available room is used for sleeping
purposes. This is a mighty poor town. The Mayor cannot
give us another inch of space. Besides, no stoves have
been issued. This is the only fireplace in the building;
but then, the issue of fuel is so meagre that it all goes
to the kitchen fires. These clothes dry out a little
during the day, and are further dried by whatever sort of
fire the men can scrape together at night." (They
steal the wood.)
"My boy,"
begins the inspector, feeling that he approaches the
point where he can pull the favorite old Army gag and
pass the buck; " don't say it can't be done. That
word is not in our dictionary. Now, the real soldier, the
real officer, is the one who utilizes every means at his
disposal to accom-plish his object. When the proper
materials are not forthcoming, he must exercise his
ingenuity and initiative. He takes even the old tin can
from the- Have your men shower baths? Then take a number
of tin cans, punch holes in the bottom and The Company
Commander begins to get a little red behind the ears, for
he hates to be called down before even the few men who
happen to be sick in quarters, and silently follows the
rasping voice of the inspector through the building into
the yard.
"That pit is
full of water. Dig a new one."
"That pit has just been dug, sir. The ground about
here is so low and the rains so constant that-"
" Oh, I know. We had all those very same things to
contend with in the Philippines. It can be done somehow.
Do you hang a lantern in that door-way at night?"
"No, sir. There have been no lanterns issued, and we
cannot buy them even with the company funds. The Supply
Company can issue no oil for the few lamps we've obtained
from the civilians. Twelve candles are issued each day
for two hundred and fifty men; but most of them have to
be used in the Orderly Room, where the work is going on
far into the night."
"Do you
maintain at the kitchen the two barrels of boiling water,
one soapy and the other clear, and another of cold water,
for the men to wash their mess kits in?"
"No, sir. We haven't been issued the G. I. cans; and
besides, there is only enough fuel to cook the food
with."
"Have you any recreation room, where the men can
read at night?
"I should say
we haven't, sir. As I said before, all the available
rooms are used for the billeting. There are no books in
town; there are no candles by which to read-if the men
felt like doing anything after a hard day of drill but
rush to the warm saloon. There is a Y. M. C. A. hut with
a dirt floor and no equipment. Sir, I felt a few minutes
ago that you did me a great injustice, calling me down
before my men. I admit I haven't been in the service
quite two years; but I've been in it long enough to know
that I'm sick and tired of this 'passing the buck!"'
He hopes the inspector has a spark of human sympathy
left, after the rigors of the Philippines.
"What do you mean-passing the buck! " This
indignantly.
" Sir, I mean just that. I am ordered to do things
without the necessary wherewithal. If the Army really
wanted those things done, it would supply the equipment,
instead of passing the buck. I am the only officer on
duty now with this company. I am ordered to attend
Reveille and to conduct in person the ten minutes setting
up exercise preceding it. I am ordered to be at the
kitchen to inspect the serving of all meals; I am ordered
to inspect the billets before drill. I drill all morning,
rain or shine, as the orders require. I inspect the noon
meal. I drill in the afternoon, inspect the guard detail,
and -perhaps perform the duties of the Officer of the
Day. I stand Retreat. I conduct the non-com.'s school for
another hour. I inspect the evening meal, and then attend
to all the foolish orders, which arrive at night. In the
meantime, I have to live, and am required to be neat in
appearance at all times. I am held personally responsible
for equipment, the cleanliness, the health and happiness
of this company. And yet I am told to do foolish things
with tin cans! The men aren't happy. They have miserable
quarters and get too much bully beef. An order says that
only the Brigade Commander is authorized to permit the
drill indoors during inclement weather. Not one day yet
has been decreed inclement. The other morning we drilled
until noon in a terrible downpour. At one o'clock I
sought permission to remain indoors, but we were sent out
again in wet clothes in the continuous downpour. The men
have no change of clothes. They come back drenched to the
skin, with no welcome but a dirt floor on which their
blankets are stretched, with no wood for a fire, with no
candles for light, and meagre cheer. They are out there
now drilling in wet clothes!"
"It isn't
raining now. Why aren't the blankets out airing?"
" Because it was raining when the men went out to
drill, and in all probability it will be raining again,
in a few minutes."
"Well, there are some things which the supply
departments might improve. I will make a note of the wood
situation. Oh, be sure to keep the men's shoes well
oiled, and don't let them put their drying pair too near
the fire. How are your other billets? "
C ' Er, about the
shoes. They have on now their only pair. There is no
dubbin. The shoes cannot possibly be kept neat and clean,
for the mud they drill in reaches almost to the
shoe-tops. I'll take you to the shacks where two other
platoons are gradually sinking out of sight in the mud.
Ha! It's raining now,"
"Well, I'll
see what I can do," and he's off to inspect someone
else.
The poor, down-trodden doughboy has something to say,
too:
In the army they call me a Private.
It is a misnomer.
There is nothing private about me.
I have been questioned and examined by fifty physicians,
and they haven't missed a blemish.
I have told my numerous occupations and my salary.
I have confessed to being unmarried.
I have nothing in my past that is not revealed.
I sleep in a room with fifty men.
I cat with three hundred and wash my mess kit in the same
can.
I take my bath with the entire company.
I wear a suit of the same material and cut as five
million other men.
I have to tell where I want to go when I take a walk and
even then I never see anyone but soldiers-privates like
myself.
I have never a moment to myself.
And yet, they call me a private.
Private!
What the hell!
(For three years I supported a wife and child and now I'm
told when to go to bed!)
Aw-but it wasn't all as bad as that-not until the first
few days after the move to Mayenne. Things straightened
out somehow. The Y. M. C. A. bucked up and did some good
work. The canteens opened. I Company worked up a pretty
good show, the chief attraction of which was Private
Martin, the female impersonator, who exercised his wiles
upon numerous celebrities of the Regiment. With the funds
donated by the faithful Auxiliary wonderful Christmas
dinners were purchased in Chaumont-whither those with
large company funds would journey each weekend to return
with a cart-load of veal, or mutton, dried fruit and
vegetables. One enterprising company bought, for a
fortune, as many as sixty hens from the neighboring
towns, fattened them up and had a wonderful feast.
But there were
those who missed their Christmas dinner. It was said
benignly in the newspapers that President Wilson spent
the day with his soldiers. Would he have done it, had he
realized that in order to manufacture that riot of a
review at Humes, two hundred and fifty picked soldiers
from each regiment had to drill all Sunday, Monday and
Tuesday in the rain, board motor trucks at four o'clock
in the morning and spend nearly all of Christmas day on
the road? Yet, those who were chosen were flattered, got
new equipment out of it and the envied Liberty Insignia
which looked as if Goldberg had designed it.
Already, it is
January. A few leaves are granted; but-oh, if we could
only be sent home! The 27th Division is going to sail.
The 77th hangs on, though it preceded the other division
to France. It cannot go, of course, until the threatened
epidemic of typhoid is suppressed. "I gave orders
two weeks ago," thunders the General, "that
this typhoid fever should stop. It has not stopped!"
A doughboy found
himself on leave in Aix les Bains. It was in the year
1930. There was Uncle Sam coming down the street.
"Hello, Nephew! " said Uncle Sam.
"Hello, Uncle," said the doughboy.
" What are you doing here?" asked Uncle Sam.
"I thought all the American soldiers were back in
the States."
"Still here," replied the boy dejectedly.
"What division do you belong to? "
"The 77th."
"By Heck! That's so," exclaimed the dear old
absent-minded fellow. " I'd plumb forgotten all
about you!"
Rumor has it that
early in February we are to move down to the celestial Le
Mans area to be cleaned up, prior to the sailing for
home. The town crier passes through the streets, beating
his drum and shouting to all good citizens that the
Americans are leaving shortly-and that all claims,
justified and imaginary, should be put in at once.
The citizens bestir
themselves, take inventory of every scrap of refuse that
has been hanging around for years, and file their claims
with the Mayor.
Madam Haschette has
been feeding her pigs on the leavings from the Supply
Company kitchen, the Mess Sergeant being only too glad to
have her take the stuff away. For some days, she has been
casting a loving eye in the direction of a kettle full of
beef drippings, which the cooks suddenly use for a batch
of steaming doughnuts.
Gesticulating
wildly, almost tearing her hair out by the roots, the
good woman descends in voluble wrath upon the Company
Commander with a claim for fifty francs! Those beef
drippings rightly belonged to her. (This is about the
only claim which the Americans succeed in side-stepping.)
Four or five pickets disappear from a fence built just
after the War of 1870. Claim: forty francs. The coping
has fallen from a stone wall; ten meters of wall-at ten
francs per meter. Claim: one hundred francs. Two beehives
are overturned, the bees absent, the honey unaccounted
for. Since the burden of proof in such cases lies with
the accused, the company whose area lies nearest the
hives is the loser. An imaginary pile of wood is claimed
to have been stolen; fifty francs. But since the
Americans and French, as said before, are brothers,
Monsieur Marechal comes down to ten, and sets up the
drinks.
But ah! Here is a
deep one! The Town Commandant writes to Captain Siebert:
" One of your neighbors reports that one rooster and
five hens disappeared from a shed near your Signal
Platoon. This is nothing less than plain stealing and
cannot be glossed over. Investigate."
The Captain goes
over to one of his neighbors and says in fluent French,
"Avvy voo lost cinq chickens?" The neighbor
says, "No." The Captain reports the findings to
the Town Commandant, who 'lows as how that ain't the
right neighbor, and proceeds to investigate, for himself.
Here is the shed 1; foot-prints, gore, feathers.
Unmistakable signs of a terrible carnage. Five hens are
still cowering wild-eyed in a corner, suffering from
nervous prostra-tion. If Monsieur Legrand formerly had
ten and a rooster it is certain that the others must be
A. W. 0. L. Oh, no! He couldn't have sold them'.
The Supply Company
advertises a big chicken dinner for the coming Sunday;
but such evidence is purely circumstantial. H Company is
billeted in the next street over; looks bad for H. E
Company had a couple of recal-citrants picked up in the
street that fatal night; but that is nothing out of the
way. The finger of suspicion undoubtedly points to the
Headquarters Company, though the First Sergeant swears
the blood on the Orderly Room door-sill resulted from the
company mechanic having cut a finger. Therefore ', all
four companies are finally ordered to chip in, purchasing
out of their coin-pany funds an ephemeral portion of
vanished chicken for every man in town.
At last, we are off, in the coldest touch of winter since
the bitter days at Upton. At the most inconvenient hours
of the night, the companies file through the snow drifts
to B ricon, leaving enough equipment behind to supply the
next shift of troops, despite the earnest efforts of
officers and non-coms to leave not a trace of the
occupation. But the laxity of the front lines is
gradually passing. No longer can the men have an issue of
clothing for the asking. They enter the Province of
Mayenne with all their possessions listed upon the
"Form 637."
Here is a different
sort of country; rather picturesque but muddy and all cut
up by foolish little ditches and hedges. But real people
live in the neighborhood, many of the nobility, with
spacious grounds and large chateaux. The bulk of the
Third Battalion captures the prize, when it draws the
town of St. Denis d'Anjou. Bou&re, where Regimental
Headquarters and most of both the First and Fourth
Battalions are quartered, is so promising that Major
Metcalf--now a Lieutenant-Colonel-has all the houses
numbered, and gives perfectly grand names to all the
streets: " Rue Marechal Foch ... .. Place
Wilson," and all the rest. For a couple of weeks the
Second Battalion shifts disconsolately 'round and 'round
Biern6, like a dog trying to make up his mind just where
to sit down, and finally locates enough outlying farm
buildings for its needs.
" All
subordinate commanders will immediately take steps to
improve the condition in and around billets of the
organizations."
An order beginning
in this wise overtakes one of the company commanders
while high-stepping through the miles of mud which
separate the five farms in which his two hundred and
fifty babies are billeted. They are in disconsolate hay
lofts, stepping about gingerly lest they fall through the
cracks, debating whether to stuff the borrowed straw into
the ch;nks against the wintry blast, or burrow into it
for warmth. Stoves, if they had 'em, would doubtless set
fire to the barns-and so, stoves and fires are forbidden.
Grub time; they clamber down a ladder into the darkness
of the cow-stable, where comrades not so fortunate make
their home.
"If I am going
to sleep here," wails a voice in the darkness,
"steps must be taken to clean that cow."
The order
continues: "Kitchens: Particular attention will be
given to kitchens. (1) Walks will be laid and suitable
steps will be taken to keep the ground well drained in
and about the kitchens. (2) Bins, etc., for the storing
of rations will be constructed from the boxes in which
the rations are received. (3) Stringers will be laid on
the ground to prevent all foodstuffs from touching the
ground in any way."
A kitchen
presupposes a range of some sort with fire under it. For
a week there is one small field range to the company,
suitable for feeding perhaps a hundred and fifty - but
the government has utterly forgotten the question of
fuel. Those who still have a little money in the company
fund buy some wet rotten roots at an exorbitant price
from the neighbors, and the few small boxes which come
with the rations provide the only scraps of dry kindling
with which to start the fires. Particular attention is
given to the kitchen without command; the men take steps
toward it three times a da , assembling from the more
distant parts of France; but they see no bins until the
government takes another half-step and provides a bit of
fuel-a species of pressed coal dust which sifts through
the grates without burning. Stone is poured into the yard
which serves as kitchen, but it sinks out of sight in the
mud. Attempt is made to drain the area, but still each
foot print fills at once with water. Stringers are not
provided. If they were, who could resist the temptation
to steal the first real piece of inflammable wood to
enter the area?
But to continue
reading the order: " (4) All steps necessary for a
most sanitary condition about the kitchen will be
taken."
The Surgeon of the area has no horse. He succeeds in the
course of one half day in making the rounds of one
company, returns to his billet in disgust, scrapes the
mud off his legs from the knees down, and makes
criticisms from his desk thereafter. "Dig a hole and
bury the garbage," he sagely writes, thus earning
his salary for the day. Holes are dug, which fill with
water, ere any garbage can be thrown in.
"Assembly
Rooms: (1) Each organization will set apart a particular
room or rooms where the men can assemble."
If there be an
empty room anywhere about the area suitable for
assembling, why, in Heaven's name not take a few
unfortunates out of the cow stable and billet them
properly? Besides, orders have been given for the men not
to assemble, lest epidemics spread among them.
" (2) These
rooms will be used for writing rooms, and be provided
with such equipment as will enable the men to amuse
themselves in their spare time." Warmth-stoves and
wood-paper, ink, pens; tables, benches or the wood to
make 'em out of; checkers, cards, reading matter; candles
or lamps. Here is a great chance for the company
commander to use his proverbial ingenuity and his
far-famed, well-known initiative, fabricating these
things out of nothing. Ali, stoves arrive! But the issue
of fuel is so microscopic that none can be di-verted for
any use but that of the kitchen stove.
" (3) The
cooperation of the Red Cross, Y. M. C. A., K. of C. and
other similar organizations will be sought in securing
the necessary equipment for these rooms." In the
course of four weeks, a few full steps are successfully
taken. Six games of checkers arrive - a table has been
borrowed, a room found and a meager issue of candles
pieced out with what the men can buy.
Ali! Here is the paragraph which the company commander
always expects: "This work calls for considerable
initiative upon the part of all officers, and it will be
the duty of each and every organization commander to
detail an officer and make it his especial duty to get
this work well under way and supervise it. By the
exercise of initiative and ingenuity, considerable
progress can be made with this work to the great benefit
of the troops."
Initiative and
ingenuity! How the buck is passed! Invariably the Regular
Army Officer in higher command passes off the lack of
proper supplies and equipment by saying: " I've been
a company commander and I know these things can be
done." Yes, we say-to ourselves-you had three
officers, sergeants with years of service, and about
eighty men in your company; there was no real war; no
French town to billet in; and no homesick mob on your
hands.
But the steps must
go on. One supposes that if on some fine, cold night the
steps should be taken from the porch of the Mairie,
immediate steps would have to be taken to replace the
steps which had been taken.
The Machine Gunners
are off by themselves in miserable billets; but they have
a good ball-field; and presently a good ball team is
evolved to play in the Division League. But even without
a ball-field, G Company in Bierne considers itself in
luck. On that first cold night of their arrival, February
11th, seven officers of the Second Battalion were not at
all happy over the prospect of walking a kilo out into
the country, to dine with the Mayor. But when they
entered the lovely Chateau de la Barre, and were there
given the keys to the city by the genial Baron de Chivre
and his attractive family, things were looking up. In
fact, a great many officers of the Regiment promptly came
over to look up those who were on the inside-until within
a very short time, almost any bright afternoon might
disclose a group of en-thusiasts playing
"bazz-boll" in the courtyard. Many an indoor
baseball fell into the moat. And many a cup of tea was
stirred after four-at any day of the week one chose to
sneak away from the irksome military routine. Major
Bozeman Bulger, who came over to guide the Second
Battalion through the perils of March and April, after
Major "Bill" Mack had made a terrible mistake
and elected to attend a French University, at one time
made the following report to the Division Publicity
Officer:
" The officers
and enlisted men of Company G are engaged in solving a
problem so absorbing in detail that for the present it
has made them forget the anxiety over heading for
Amerique-that interesting country across the seas.
"Naming a
horse, especially a petite femme cheval, is not as easy
as one might think, especially after studying the
specifications laid down by the three young daughters of
the Baron de Chivre. Any soldier having any doubt on the
subject may report to the commanding officer of Co. G and
get a try out.
"This petite
femme cheval, as the Baroness calls it, came into
existence in the stall next to that occupied by a
corporal and squad of Company G. This company, by the
way, is entirely billeted in the stables of the Chateau
de la Barre, where the Baron de Chivr6, a former Major in
the French Dragoons, breeds race horses. This
thoroughbred atmosphere has given a lot of morale to
Company G; and Lieutenant Murphy, commanding, has had
little difficulty of late in making the men keep their
heads up. They also like the Baron very much; and any
soldier comes to present arms by intuition when one of
the Baron's young daughters passes the P. C. But that is
all aside from the problem. That petite cheval has got to
be named. Mlle. Catherine de Chivre says it must also
have an American name, on account of it coming into life
among American soldiers; also that the name must begin
with a 'T' on ac-count of the ancestry of the tiny little
animal. You may not know it, but this petite cheval has a
grandfather who won the Grand Prix de Paris and an uncle
who won the Derby.
" 'Il faut que les soldats Americains give to the
cheval its name," insists the Baroness."
"'Aussi,'
chimes in the seventeen-year Mlle. Jacqueline de Chivre.
'Il est necessaire a remem-ber que it iss une petite
femme.'
"'C'est ca,' observes the first sergeant, that being
all that he knows how to say; but the corporal adds
'Exactement making everything all right.
" The first
name suggested was 'Toot-sweet, a private having an idea
of speed, especially toward home. Objections were raised
on the ground that it was not 'Americaine.' Then came 'T.
N. V (heavy stuff) from a buck who lives down near
Sheepshead Bay.
Lieutenent Murphy suggested 'Tippecanoe,' but it was
impossible to get the idea of the American Indian home to
the French nobility. Somebody then suggested 'Topsy,'
'Tennessee,' 'Totem,' 'Trop Vite,' 'Take Cover,' 'Top
Sergeant' (here there was a chorus of noes), 'Tip Toe,'
etc.
"And there it
stands. Nothing has been decided. None of them are
sufficiently 'jolie' or suggestive of all the
specifications according to the Mademoiselles; and the
soldiers have gone back to their stalls to think it over.
"In the meantime Lieutenant Murphy is preparing a
memorandum for the Intelligence and Operations Officers
with request that helpful aid be given 'by written
endorsement hereon.'
"The Baron
says that, if necessary, the official christening can be
put off until word comes from America. This petite femme
cheval is not in the army and the dam and sire do not
require a report submitted 'not later than 6 P. M.
today.'
The Regimental Show
begins to take on a professional air, the Jewish Welfare
Board opens up a tent in Biern6 and invites the
Episcopalian Chaplain to conduct a Catholic Mass therein;
the entertainment officers and the athletic officers find
plenty to do. Life wouldn't be quite so bad if it weren't
for the constant reviews, hiking at four in the morning
with the unexpended portion of the day's rations in order
to go over into the next county to show the General that
the shoes are still muddy. Many a company commander has
often wondered what would happen if he should yield to
temptation and bring his company upon the field with
packs full of straw instead of the ordinary weighty
contents-what would happen if he were then unexpectedly
given the command to lay out full equipment! He might be
seen leaping over the distant horizon like a gazelle,
headed straight for the nearest base port. As an
alternative, he might burst into tears and say " Do
your worst, Gen."
Miss Turner and
Miss Weeks, who operate the Y. M. C. A. canteen in B
ouere, swear that they never did say, sweetly,
"Bring your cups to Mother, Buddy."
Nevertheless, the chocolate they pour out and which they
indefatigably cart to all points wherever troops gather,
threatens to put some of the cafes out of business. The
madame who runs the estaminet across the street can't
understand why the authorities should close up her shop
at an early hour, while the " Cafe Christian"
runs full tilt.
One has to confess at this point that f or some, the
" Y. M. C. A. cognac " did not appear
completely satisfying-not with the Prohibitionists voting
America dry, while they were far off and could have no
say. Despite the constant pressure, cognac continued to
be sold, which occasioned a bit of work-sorry to
admit-for the Courts Martial.
The General Court
convenes in Bouere at ten-thirty, to ladle out justice.
By eleven o'clock, all but two of the members have
arrived. No doubt the feather-beds and wash-stand detract
somewhat from the dignity of the court-room. But no
matter!
"Hullo, Bob!
How are you? Billets comfortable? That so? Yeah, same old
story, isn't it."
Only one missing, now.
"I declare,
it's warmer with the window open than with it closed. No,
I guess it's warmer with it closed. Close the window,
will you, Bob? Some-ne see if they can't steal a few bits
of fire-wood from the old lady. These tile floors are
brutally cold-particularly for a bedroom. How th~ devil
do you work this fireplace?-Oh, ah, oui, oui, Madame,
beaucoup! "
Ah! Eleven-thirty; all present. "There, Lieutenant,
sit down at the extreme right."
Counsel enters with
the accused. The judges are sworn. The court is sworn.
The reporter is sworn. Everybody swears to everything, so
help them God. The accused-is he the accused? He 'lows as
how he is. Does the accused object to being tried by any
member of the court as constituted? Passing up the
opportunity of telling what he really thinks of the third
officer from the left, be steals a furtive glance at the
members who glower dignifiedly from their uncomfortable
bench and rest their august elbows upon the plank-
and-saw-horse table. The trial proceeds.
Court is closed.
Court is opened, but justice is delayed until the
prisoner, who has just stepped over to the caf6, can be
found. Ah, here he is. The cigarettes are hastily subdued
beneath the table. Court closes again. It opens again. It
quivers. A little more of this setting-up exercise, and
the court will be able to open and close at will.
Accused elects to
make a statement, setting forth the mitigating
circumstances:
" When I was
very young I couldn't talk. In fact, for a long time I
couldn't talk at all. But when I got a little older, 1
finally learned to talk a little better. Then I went to
school. I went to school and was verv nervous. All this
time, I was learning to talk-"
"The accused
is reminded," suggests the President of the Court,
breaking all precedents, "to confine-"
"I object," interposes counsel.
"Objection
sustained," from the judge Advocate.
-learning to talk. Then I left school. I wasn't very
strong. Oh, I forgot-I was born in Brooklyn. I wasn't
strong. I was weak. And I went to work in a box
factory-in Brooklyn-making boxes. I couldn't get along
very well-making boxes-but I could talk a little better
by this time. Then, one day, a piano fell on me. I
learned to play the piano-"
" Come to the
facts," risks the President. (Short and snappy-like,
ere the counsel can leap to his feet and object.) Bobby
Morgan's Siberian mouse-hound thinks he heard a command
of execution, emerges from beneath the table, yawns, and
sniffs the prisoner. Captain McKay's wandering pencil
decorates another square foot of board. The members begin
to fidget, hoping the court will soon be closed again,
and feel of their coat pockets to see if the cigarettes
are handy.
"-the piano.
Then I got a job in a feed place, in Brooklyn. Hay and
straw and feed. One day I fell out of the loft, and I
couldn't talk for two days. Then a bale of hay fell on me
out of the second story. I decided that this work was too
hard for me, and so I got another job, in New York this
time, 28 Vesey Street, I think. No, it was 38. No, I'm
pretty sure it was 28."
Twenty-eight
minutes later the defense rests. So does everybody else.
Six-and-six. " justice is done.
What point have we
got to now, in this story? Isn't it almost time to shut
up shop and call it a war? Aren't the troops of the Three
Hundred and Fifth about to leave for the United States?
Not just yet, for there is still to be a merry, mad whirl
of inspections-inspections for this, inspections for that
-all equipment, no equipment; inspections for,
er-cooties, too.
"You will
report by such and such a date," the order reads,
"that -your regiment is free from louse-infestation.
The Division Surgeon reports 'that the degree of
infestation in your command is one per cent."
The adjutant wonders if that means one louse per man; but
being a stickler for precise English, he finds it very
simple to comply with the order. He pigeon-holes it, and
on 4 ' such and such" a date writes to the Powers
That Be: "In compliance with Order so and so, this
Regiment is reported free from louse-infestation."
But that doesn't
seem to purify the command. A machine is brought to town,
which looks like a cross between an incinerator and a
farm tractor. It is most efficient-it burns not only the
cooties, but the clothes. A couple of privates in the
Sanitary Corps chose at random out of a thousand men in
their Battalion a certain number to be purged. But
liaison is lacking, the companies are not informed, and
again, the company commanders "reply by endorsement
hereon" why the men are not free from
"louse-infestation."
The matter is
becoming serious. A "louse" officer is
designated in each company, whose delectable task it is
to go right down the line scrutinizing in the broad light
of day the inner surfaces of man's most intimate apparel.
Segregation, new clothes, sunshine, the water cure,
kerosene, gasoline-every known means of purifying the
command is attempted. But the process does not end with
that.
It is said that the one hundred lousiest men will be sent
to the Army of Occupation-the Army of no occupation, the
boys call it. It is said, too, that the lousiest company
with its officers will go as well. Why treat the Third
Army in that fashion? Or the Germans, for that matter?
Anyhow, these threats and an utterly, incomprehensible
louse contest succeed in boiling down the Regiment to a
handful of known offenders. We boil their clothes. Only
one case of infestation remains. Presently the marked man
reports that a new outfit of clothes and a rigorous
ob-servation on the part of the Sanitary Detachment have
rendered him absolutely free. As he speaks a big
gray-back saunters over the neckband of his blouse, and
"shimmies" three times around the collar
ornament are dying by the hand of the officer to whom the
report is made. The Regiment is pure!
Now for a round of
gaiety, to make us think that the A. E. F. is a great
institution! The General gives a royal party at his
castle in Sable. All officers are ordered to a lecture in
that same town, to hear what tremendous things the A. E.
F. accomplished. Major Harris gives a dance and Promotion
Party for the Chaplain at the Hotel St. Denis. A formal
luncheon is staged at one of our numerous chateaux in
honor of the nobility of the region who have been so kind
to us; two of them ap-pear. Dear old Poire, demobilized,
comes down to gloat over his old compatriots still in the
Army, and is wined and dined for three days straight, the
following tribute being paid to him by Captain
Kenderdine-as soon as "Phil" Gray would stop
talking:
" Two or three
pictures of Lieutenant Poire stand out vividly in my
mind.
"One of these
is at Camp Madelon, where we were in reserve position
before the jump-off of September 26th. It was here that
Lieutenant Poire perpetrated the greatest fraud ever
perpetrated by a Frenchman on the American Government. He
convinced us that the one way to solve our transportation
problem was by the use of twelve French asses
Furthermore, Lieutenant Poire in-sisted upon our calling
these little animals asses when they were nothing but
mules. Their title and presence around Regimental
Headquarters cause much amusement and gave the cue for
many jests.
"Personally, I cannot remember ever having seen
these asses. I am sure they existed, though ( I believe
in a little, abandoned water hole near Regimental
Headquarters), for Lieutenant Poire kept reminding me of
their existence by insisting that they could not travel
more than half as far in a day as we wanted them to, and
that their ration of hay and oats had to be weighed to
the last ounce before each meal and fed to them with a
spoon.
"One day when I was dizzy with details preparatory
to the jump-off, a very seedy-looking French soldier
wandered into the P. C. and told me he wanted to see the
French asses. My suspicions were aroused. I suggested to
him that he communicate with them in writing and that I
would have them answer by endorsement. But after
pestering me with several minutes of 'Comprenez-vous' and
'qu 'est ce que c'est,' he convinced me that he really
had to see the asses.
" I had
convinced him that he might have his wish, however, and
bawled out 'Runner! take this man to the French asses,'
and dismissed the matter from my mind. In fifteen minutes
the runner returned, saluted and reported: 'Sir,
Lieutenant Poir6 is asleep."'
Following which, the First Battalion gives a dance in
Boue're.
For enlisted men only.
Oh-there is one officer present, beating a dilapidated
piano.
A second lieutenant.
Look at the old court-house.
The rough brick floor.
Hob nails.
Seven girls, recruited from the neighboring canteens.
Four million men awaiting their turn.
They wear red, white, or blue ribbons.
At seven P. M. a burly sergeant of the guard with a small
but select detachment
parades once about the floor, subtly reminding the boys
to don their party manners.
waster of Cere-monies blows the whistle and shouts,
Reds."
The fight is on.
The red ribbons
dash madly for the seven trembling girls. Two sergeants
grab at a slender right arm. Two corporals clutch the
left.
The same victim is variously attacked by five others,
simultaneously; But the private whose 0. D. clasps her
waist retains the prize. Twice around the floor. The
whistle blows again. "Blues." Master of
Ceremonies wears blue. He is suspected of having waited
until that little blonde came near. Four times around,
this time. " Whites." The whites swarm over the
dancing blues. He loses who taps the dancing male
politely. The cave man always wins. Perspiring red faces.
Ye Antique Boston Dip, knees bumping the floor. Bodies
bobbing up and down like jumping-jacks. Shoulders
quivering like insane walking-beams. Breathless
conversation. Reds, whites, blues again and again in
rapid succession. And then some. No relief for the Queen
Bees.
At 10:30 the four remaining candles are spluttering. The
Second Lieutenant at the piano is now pounding on wood.
He is unconscious. The war is over when Lieut.-Colonel
Herr mercifully appears to invite seven weary heroines,
hair disheveled, boots streaked with mud, blue aprons
awry, to partake of sandwiches and coffee at
Headquarters. " Goo-night, Miss. See y' at th'
Canteen termorra. "
"Figure it out for yourself," says the
doughboy. "We've been in this area two months, a
hundred and fifty miles from Brest. The Atlantic Ocean is
three thousand miles wide. Figure it out" The
hardest battle of the war is not yet won. But presently,
the couriers' motorcycles wear out; the com-manding
officer's car falls apart; the telephones are taken down;
the ration limbers are scrubbed, polished, examined under
a microscope and turned in, the 15th of April approaches
and Lieut.-Colonel Herr can hardly wait until his
Regiment pulls out with a clean bill from the
inhabitants. An American locomotive rustles us down to
Brest overnight. There we are amazed at the order and
efficiency of a debarkation camp which calamity howlers
had pro-nounced a hole. The men are examined, inspected,
and pronounced perfect.
We see the Mount Vernon sail on the 18th, bearing the
Division Commander. Our Aquitania pulls out of port the
next day and passes it. We survive an epidemic of the
"flu." We listen to the band-which by this time
is some band. We see the poor old Personnel Officer
gradually going stark mad from a surfeit of paper work.
We prick our thumbs sewing a second gold service stripe
upon the left sleeve and feel that when the Auxiliary
steams down the harbor with the Committee of Welcome they
will feel mighty darned proud of us.
They do-on the 24th. The Statue of Liberty would look
pretty good, if the rain didn't almost completely obscure
it. "Old Girl," says an old-timer, "if you
ever look me in the face again, you'll have to turn
'round on your pedestal! "
" Willie, Oh, Will-ee! " shrieks a voice up
from a tiny gasolene launch. And Sergeant Bill, too
bashful for any display of emotion, at the same time
perfectly willing to convey the impression that he has
forgotten all the English he ever knew, shouts back at
his sweetheart, "No compree. "
How did these men feel about their homecoming? Who knows?
They -were too happy to express it. All they cared about
was a reunion with the folks. They got it so on. Those
ten days at Camp Mills, preceding the parade up Fifth
Avenue on the 6th of May, going through the formality of
another cleaning, issuing passes to bulky groups, losing
all track of the A. W. 0. L.'s, performing the hundred
and one-paper precautions leading up to the discharge at
Camp Upton on the 9th, were a perfect riot. The Regiment
evaporated. It seemed as if at one minute there had been
a well-organized and functioning unit, and that in the
next, it was nothing. There was no time for sentiment.
Those who wanted to say "Farewell," forgot to.
No one could do anything. About all they really cared for
was getting back to the home they had left- as they had
left it-and back to the old job-or a better one, which
they deserved. Not, of course, forgetting the Army's
sixty-dollar bonus.
Yet, at a spread
where the old Camp Upton veterans of one company -tried
to blow in at one fell swoop the unexpended portion of
their Ration Savings, there was something akin to
sentiment displayed. Speeches were demanded. The
noisiest, loudest non-coms. and privates in the world
were suddenly stricken dumb.
"I'll say to
you men just what you said to me when I was once sent off
to school," said the Top Sergeant, in response to a
toast, the mixture being the juices of canned pineapple,
canned peaches, canned apricots, oranges and grape-juice.
"Good luck and good riddance."
"There are
still too many oranges and bananas left to be thrown, so
I'll close without beginning," was the Mess
Sergeant's contribution.
"I'll tear up all the forms six-thirty-seven if
you'll let me off," responded the Supply Sergeant.
"Too busy with this ice-cream to have anything to do
with you," was the gracious effort of the first
platoon leader.
"I'll give you the shortest address I know,"
said the Sergeant of the fourth platoon: "Twelve
twenty Beaufort Avenue, Richmond Hill; drop in any
time."
Then cries rent the
air, demanding a word from him who had originated- during
the Rout of Watten-the phrase, "No eat-no
fight." A swarthy little fellow was boosted to the
table-top, where he launched into a burst of Italian
which will probably never appear in print, but ended in
broken English:
"All-a right.
We through-a da war. Now we be all-a time like-a we be in
da Arm'-good-a solge', good-a boy, good-a luck!"