EARLY DAYS IN THE TRENCHES
"How strange a spectacle of human passions
Is yours all day beside the Arras road,
What mournful men concerned about their rations
When here at eve the limbers leave their load,
What twilight blasphemy, what horses' feet
Entangled with the meat,
What sudden hush when that machine gun sweeps
And flat as possible for men so round
The quartermasters may be seen in heaps,
While you sit by and chuckle, I'll be bound."
A. P. H. (_Punch_).
Early in October mysterious orders reached us to spend forty-eight hours
in some trenches we had dug on top of a hill close to the village,
simulating actual conditions as well as we could. At the same time a
battalion of each of the other three infantry regiments were similarly
instructed. The orders were so well worked out that we were convinced at
once that we were to go in the near future to the front. Everyone was
in a high state of excitement, and very happy that we were at last to
see action.
The hilltop where we were to stay was covered by the remains of an old
Roman camp, commanding the two forks of the stream. We marched up the
following day over the remains of the old Roman road, and passed our
last short period training to meet the barbarians of the north, where
Caesar's legions, nearly two thousand years ago, trained for the same
purpose. Many features were lacking from the trenches on the hill, such
as dugouts, for example, but we felt we could get along without them,
and everything went happily and serenely the first day.
We had the rolling kitchens and hospitals placed on the reverse slope in
the woods. Carrying parties brought the chow along a trench traced with
white tape to the troops, and they ate it without leaving their
positions. During the evening, however, "sunny France" had a relapse,
and a terrific rainstorm came on. It was bitterly cold, and a high wind
swept the hilltop. We were all soaked to the skin.
The men either huddled against the side of a trench or stretched their
ponchos from parapet to parapet, and sat beneath them in a foot-deep
puddle of water. In making inspection I passed by a number of them that
night who looked as if they were perfectly willing to have the war end
right then.
The company in reserve was occupying the territory around the old Roman
wall. They had dug some holes in it, and crawled into them to keep as
near dry as possible. Splendid so far as it went, but nearly disastrous,
for a message reached me saying that a first sergeant, the company
commander, the second in command and the company clerk had all been
buried by a cave-in. I ran back to see about them and found that they
had been extricated, and looked like animated mud-pies.
One company commander during the middle of the second day started his
men digging trenches as deep as they could, so that at night when the
rain started again and the cold wind blew up they would have some place
to stay. They dug vigorously all day, but by night, when the rain came
down in torrents again, the trenches filled up like bath-tubs, and they
had to sit on the edge.
After the maneuvers we received definite orders that we were to go to
the front. The equipment was checked and verified, and everything put in
apple-pie order. The trucks arrived; we got in and started, all of us
feeling that now at last we were to be real warriors. All day long the
truck train, stretching out along the road, jolted forward in a cloud of
dust. Toward evening we began to pass through the desolated area over
which the Hun had swept in 1914, and about five o'clock we detrucked at
a little town about fourteen miles behind the lines.
Here we stayed a couple of days, while our reconnoitering details went
forward and familiarized themselves with the position. On the evening of
the second day the troops started forward. As usual, it was raining
cats and dogs, and our principal duty during the ten days we spent in
the sector was shoveling mud the color and consistency of melted
chocolate ice cream from cave-ins which constantly occurred in the
trench system.
We were all very green and very earnest. The machine-gun company
arrived, bringing all its ammunition on the gun carts. The guns were
uncased and the carts sent to the rear with ammunition still on them,
leaving the guns with hardly a round. Only about five or ten shells were
fired daily by the German artillery against the portion of line we
occupied. One man was hit, our signal officer, Lieutenant Hardon, his
wound being very slight. The adjutant, when this happened, ran to tell
me, and we both went down and solemnly congratulated Hardon on having
the honor to be the first American officer hit while serving with
American troops.
A number of ambitious members of the intelligence group sniped busily at
the German trenches. These were about a mile away, and though they
reported heavy casualties among the enemy, I believe that the wish was
father to the thought.
[Illustration: THE SIGNAL CORPS AT WORK
Drawn by Captain Harry E. Townsend, A. E. F.]
The French were on our right, and we had some very funny times with
them. One officer of mine was coming in after inspecting the wire and
ran into one of their sentries.
"Qui est la?" called the sentry.
My officer then gave in his best American what he had been told was the
French password. This was incomprehensible to the Frenchman, who
immediately replied by firing his rifle at him. The officer jumped up
and down and gave the password again. BLAM went the Frenchman's rifle
the second time. Nothing but the fact that the Frenchman regarded the
rifle more as a lead squirt rather than a weapon of accuracy prevented
him from being hit. The officer eventually got through by shouting
repeatedly at the top of his voice, "Vive les Americains!"
At the end of the ten days we were relieved and hiked back veteran
troops, as we thought, to the training area. Our medical department,
not the department with the troops, but our higher medical department,
which dealt with papers rather than facts, sent at this time a
letter which I would give a lot to have now simply as a humorous
document. It was headed "General Order ----." It had at the top as
subject--"Pediculi." Pediculi is the polite medical name for lice. We
were instructed in the body that immediately on leaving the trenches all
men were to be inspected completely by the medical officer before they
were allowed to go to their billets. This involved the inspection by the
medical officer of some one thousand men. It furthermore necessitated
the inspection of these one thousand men between two and five in the
morning, in the dark. The order went on to say that where pediculi were
present all clothes were to be confiscated, finishing with the brief and
bland statement that thereupon new clothes were to be furnished
throughout. This to us, who had not had new clothes since we reached
France, to whom every garment was a valuable possession that could not
be replaced! However, we have no doubt that the medical officer felt
that he had done something splendid, and what is more, his paper record
was perfect in that, although what he demanded was impossible, he had
put it on paper, and, therefore, someone else was to blame for not
carrying it out.
Our first Christmas in France was spent in the usual little French
village. The men had raised a fund to be used for the purpose of giving
a Christmas tree to the refugee children living in the vicinity, as well
as the native children. It was the first Christmas tree that the village
had seen and excitement was intense. The festivities were held in a mess
shack, and to them came nearly the entire population, though I gave
instructions to be sure that the children were taken care of before the
"grown-ups." The enlisted men ran the festivities themselves.
Flickering candle-light cast shadows over Christmas greens and mistletoe
and the rough boards of the shack. A buzzing mass of French children and
adults crowded around the tree, and lean, weather-beaten American
sergeants gave out the presents. There were the usual horns and
crackers, and in a few minutes pandemonium had broken loose. The cure
was there, and the mayor, dressed in an antediluvian frock coat and top
hat. These two, at a given signal, succeeded in partially stilling the
tumult by making an equal noise themselves, and a little girl and boy
appeared with a large bouquet for me. First they made a little speech in
French, looking as cunning as possible. Each time they said "Mon
Commandant" they made a funny little bow. After giving me the bouquet
the little girl kissed me. Then the mayor spoke. Warned by the little
girl's action, I fended him off with the bouquet when he showed a
tendency to become affectionate. I then answered in my best French,
which I alone understood, and the festivities finished.
Later in the evening the men gave a show, which they had arranged
themselves. It was really very good. Sergeant Frank Ross was
principally responsible, ably assisted by Privates Cooper, Neary, and
Smith. The humor was local soldier humor and absolutely clean. For
instance, the men always march with their extra pair of shoes strapped
on the outside of the pack. One man on the stage would say to the other:
"Say, Buddy, I call my pack my little O. D. baby. It wears shoes the
same size as mine, and I can't get the son of a gun to walk a step."
During the play the sergeant of the guard came in to me and said, "Sir,
there has been a little disturbance. Sergeant Withis of B Company says C
Company men have been picking on him; but, sir, there are three C
Company men at the infirmary and Withis is all right."
The day, however, on the whole, was a success and it speaks well for the
men, for of all the Christmas dinner that our papers talked so much
about, practically nothing but a few nuts and raisins reached us.
One old regular sergeant of C Company, Baird by name, discovered at this
time a novel use for the gas mask. The old fellow had been in service
for many years, and though a fine and gallant soldier, he was long past
his prime physically. He always reminded me of Kipling's description of
Akela the gray wolf, when he says that "Akela was very old and gray, and
he walked as though he were made of wood." Baird was a great man on
paper work, and believed in having his company files in tiptop shape.
Facilities were a little poor. One bitter day he tried to make some
reports. First he tried in the barn, where his hands became so cold he
couldn't write. Then he tried in the kitchen, and his eyes got so full
of smoke he couldn't see. At last we found him sitting in the kitchen
with his gas mask on making his reports, writing in comfort.
We were joined at this time by Major Atkins of the Salvation Army, an
exceptionally fine character. He stayed with us during most of the time
we were in Europe. He was courageous under fire, felt that where the men
went he wished to go, and was a splendid influence with them. Whatever
he could do he always did with a whole heart.
Before the war I felt that the Salvation Army was composed of a
well-meaning lot of cranks. Now what help I can give them is theirs. My
feelings are well illustrated by a conversation I overheard between two
soldiers. One said, "Say, Bill, before this war I used to think it good
fun to kid the Salvation Army. Now I'll bust any feller on the bean with
a brick if I see him botherin' them."
Early in January we were told that replacements were arriving to bring
up our companies to 250 in strength. When the men arrived we planned to
be there on time to get our fair share. Two old sergeants, Studal and
Shultz, went down and helped pick the recruits, working from detachment
to detachment trying to shift the best material into our detail. The men
were, on the whole, a fine lot, but their knowledge of military matters
was absolutely nil. A large percentage had never shot any firearms, and
still a larger percentage had never shot the service rifle. One man
turned up with a service record on which was nothing except "Mennonite,
objects to bearing arms." Incidentally he made an excellent soldier, and
was killed while fighting gallantly near Montdidier. Another man had
partial paralysis of one side. When the medical officer asked him if he
had been examined before he said, "No, sir; just drafted." Still another
had an arm so stiffened that he could hardly bend his elbow. When the
medical officer tried to send him to the rear he protested. We let him
stay. He became an automatic rifle gunner, and was later killed.
One westerner, from Montana I believe, called Blalock, finished the war
as first sergeant in Company D, after a very distinguished record.
Another young fellow, Aug by name, was a real estate man from
Sacramento. I noticed him first when he was detailed as my orderly.
Later he was cited for gallantry twice, and eventually sent to the
officers' school, where he got a commission, and asked to be returned to
the fighting troops. He fell in action just before the armistice.
Private "Bill" Margeas was a Greek who came with this lot. He was shot
through the chest at Montdidier, and later ran away from the hospital
and got back before Soissons. He came in to report to me. I had been
near him when he had been hit before.
"Margeas," I said, "you're in no shape to carry a pack."
"No, sir," said he, "but I can carry a rifle all right."
He was killed later in the Argonne.
Two Chinamen, Young and Chew, drafted from San Francisco, were also in
this lot. They were with my headquarters all during the war.
These replacements had absolutely no conception of military etiquette.
They wanted to do what was right, but they didn't know anything. When
one man from a western National Guard regiment--incidentally he was a
German by birth--came up to me with a message from his company
commander, he would always begin with, "Say." One time I asked him when
he was born and he told me in 1848, which impressed me as being a
slight overstatement. Subsequent investigation proved that 1878 was the
year. Incidentally he fought very gallantly, and was fortunate enough to
get through the war, being with the regiment when I left it in Germany.
One huge fellow called Swanson, from North Dakota, turned up. Swanson
was a fine soldier in every way, but the government had not figured on a
man of Swanson's size. Never when he was in my command were we able to
get a blouse to fit him. He turned out on parade, went to the trenches,
and appeared on all other occasions in a ragged brown sweater.
Some of the men we got could not speak English. One squad in particular
we had to form in such a fashion that the corporal could act as
interpreter. Once turning around a corner I came upon a group of four or
five soldiers. All of them except one saluted properly. He merely
grinned in a good-natured, friendly fashion. I started to read him the
riot act, asking why he thought he was different from the rest of the
men, what he meant by it, did he put himself in a class by himself, and
so forth. About half way through one of the other men interrupted me.
"Sir," he said, "that guy there he don't understand English." We found
someone who could speak his language, had the matter explained to him,
and found it was simply that he did not understand. He wanted to do what
was right and he wanted to play the game.
These replacements had very long hair and looked very shabby. One of the
first things we did was to have their hair cut. There are many reasons
why troops should keep their hair cut. It looks neater for one thing,
but, far more important, it is sanitary, and where baths are few and far
between short hair makes a great difference. Each company has a barber.
Therefore the excitement was at fever pitch once in Company B when
Loreno, its barber, deserted and got to Italy, taking with him the
barber tools. As a result they used mule clippers for some time.
The men took great pride in the good name of their organization. One
man, who afterward proved himself an excellent soldier and a good
American, came to us through the draft with no idea of loyalty to the
flag, and with no real feeling for the country of any sort. He tried to
desert twice, but we caught him both times, although on the last
occasion he got as far as Marseilles. During the trial, while the court
was sitting, he became frightened and broke away from the sentry who had
him in charge. The alarm sounded for the guard, which immediately
started out through the dark and rain on the jump. Then, without any
orders, the escaped prisoner's own company turned out to help them, not
because they had to, but because they felt he was hurting their company
record.
"What is it, Bill?" I heard one man call.
"Aw, it's that guy Blank who's been giving Company B a black eye. He's
beat it again, and we're going out to get him."
About this time we were issued gas masks for the first time, thus
furnishing us with another weapon, or means, of warfare about which we
knew nothing. There was a small, active individual with glasses from
general headquarters who was supposed to be our instructor. He used to
give us long lectures on gas, in which he told us when gas had first
been used in the past (I believe by the Greeks), how it had been
employed in the beginning of the war, what gases had been used, and what
their chemical components were. He told us at great length how to
protect ourselves against the gas cloud, and then informed us that cloud
gas was not used any longer. Later he took up the deadly effects of
mustard gas, and how we must immediately put on the gas masks when gas
was evident.
Toward the end of the lecture a deeply interested officer asked him how
one could detect gas when it was present in dangerous quantities. He
didn't know; so we left the lecture with full information as to obsolete
methods of using gas, with full information as to its chemical
components and effects, but with no information as to how to detect it
when it was present in dangerous quantities.
To try to put interest in the work and make it less hard on the men, we
organized competitions in everything--competitions for the best platoon
billet, competitions for the best platoon in close order drill, bayonet,
etc. The prizes were almost negligible. Sometimes it would simply be
that the victorious platoon was excused from some formation, but the men
took to it like a duck to water.
The officers became fully as keen as the men. I never shall forget the
company commanders who, together with myself, formed the judges. They
would always start off by saying in an airy manner it was for the good
of the entire organization, and that they personally did not care
whether their company won or not, provided the battalion was benefited.
As soon as the contest was under way, however, all was different, and it
generally narrowed down to my doing all the judging. They would come up
and protest the standing in competitions in the official bulletin for
all the world as if they were managers of a big league baseball team.
About this time we organized a drum and bugle corps. This corps got so
it could render very loudly and very badly a number of French and
American tunes. We used it on all our long marches and maneuvers. We
used it for reveille in the morning, for retreat in the evening, for
close-order drill and all ceremonies. The men got so they thought a good
deal of it, and frequently when marching through towns the troops would
call out, "How about that band?" The doughboy likes to show off. I know,
myself, that I always got a thrill of conscious pride going through a
town, the troops marching at attention, colors flying, bugles playing,
drums beating, and the women and children standing on the streets and
shouting.
We had, in addition to this early training, long days spent in
maneuvers. I disapproved heartily of these maneuvers at the time,
looking at them from the point of view of battalion commander, who
feels that any attempt on the part of the higher command to have
maneuvers on a large scale is wasting valuable time that might be
employed by him to better advantage. I am sure now that General Fiske,
the head of the American training section, was right when he prescribed
them and that the maneuvers contributed greatly to the ability of the
First Division to keep in contact when it struck the line. The necessity
for them, of course, was based on the fact that, great as was the
ignorance of our junior officers, it was comparatively far less than the
ignorance of our higher command and staff. These maneuvers were bitter
work for the soldiers who would be out all day, insufficiently clad and
insufficiently fed. Often a bloody trail was left in the snow by the men
who at this time had virtually no boots. We used to call it Indian
warfare and say we were chasing the last of the Mohicans over the Ligny
sector.
About this time we began to work into some complicated trench maneuvers.
These were the ones the men liked. They threw hand grenades, fired
trench mortars, and had a general Fourth of July celebration.
Once we had a maneuver of this kind before General Pershing. The company
officers were lined up and afterward were asked their opinion as to how
the men had conducted themselves. The first one to answer was a game
little fellow named Wortley from Los Angeles, who was afterward killed.
He said that he thought everything went off very well and he didn't
think he had anything to criticize. The next lieutenant said that he
thought that a few men of his company had got a little mixed up. This
was a cheerful point of view for him to have, for, as a matter of fact,
two thirds of his company had gone astray. His company had been selected
to deliver a flank attack over the top, but when this took place it
consisted of one lieutenant and two privates. The mistake, however, was
never noticed.
Indeed, the generals and suchlike who come to maneuvers can rarely
criticize the efforts of the company and field officers, as they are
not conversant with the handling of small units. Their presence at
maneuvers is largely a question of morale. I remember during an exercise
a higher officer, a very fine man to whom I afterward became devoted
turned to me and said: "Have a trench raid."
"When, sir?" I asked.
"Immediately."
Now, any junior officer knows that a trench raid cannot be staged the
way you can fire a rocket. It has to be thought out in every detail and
all concerned have to be familiarized with all phases of the plan in so
far as it is possible. I got two very good lieutenants and, hastily
outlining the situation, told them to go ahead. They made their plans in
five minutes. I got some hand grenades for them and they gave a lively
imitation. The trenches they raided did not exist, but were simply
marked by tape on the ground. They did very well considering the
circumstances, but the higher officer remarked to the assembled officers
on its completion that he didn't know anything about raids, but this
one did not appeal to him. It took all concerned quite a while to get
over their feeling about this criticism.
During this period we heard of Bangler torpedoes. These torpedoes are
long sections of tin tubing loaded with high explosive and are used for
tearing up the enemy wire in order that the raiding party may get
through into the trenches. Nothing of the kind was to be had from our
people, but we obtained permission to send someone to try to get one
from the various French ammunition dumps near by. Lieutenant Ridgely, my
adjutant, went. He turned up after a hectic day with some long sections
of stovepipe and a number of little tin cases. He explained that he had
been unable to get the torpedoes, but that he had got some stovepipe and
some very deadly explosive and perhaps we could make one.
The next day we set out to follow his plan and two afternoons later
completed our experiment, and gave an exhibition before the assembled
officers of the brigade. The raiding party were picked men, whom I
considered among the best in the battalion. They all crawled out through
the assumed "No Man's Land," holding on to one another's heels and
endeavoring to look just as businesslike as possible. Their faces were
blackened and they carried trench knives and hand grenades. The party
which was to set off the torpedo lighted it, poked it under the wire,
then leaped up and dashed through the gap in the wire to the trenches
where the enemy were supposed to be. On account of the amateur
workmanship, only a part of the charge went off, and I never shall
forget my horror when I saw the party of my picked men galloping
gallantly through the gap over this smoking, unexploded charge. I had
visions of having to reorganize the battalion the next day. Fortunately
the charge did not go off and all worked out well.
Later we started a good deal of work at night, realizing how difficult
it was for men to find their way and how necessary it was for them to
get used to working in the dark. This training the men enjoyed. It was
all in the nature of a competition. Reconnaissance patrols would be
started out to see how near they could approach to the dummy trenches
without detection. In the dummy trenches other groups, with flares,
etc., would keep a strict watch. Combat patrols would go out two at a
time, each looking for the other. I recall one night when two patrols
ran into one another suddenly. One of the privates was so overcome with
zeal when he saw the supposed enemy that he made as pretty a lunge with
his bayonet as I have ever seen and stabbed through both cheeks of the
man opposite him.
During the entire time we were in France we trained much along the lines
indicated in the previous paragraphs, except that as we became veterans
we naturally became more conversant with the correct methods of
instruction. For trained troops who are leaving the line it is my
opinion that two points should be stressed above the rest--one is
close-order drill and the other rifle practice. In the First Battalion
we were particularly fortunate in this period in having with us Captain
Amel Frey and Lieutenants Freml and Gillian, all three of whom had
served as N.C.O.'s in the regular Army. They understood close-order
work, the service rifle, and the handling of men, and to them a large
part of the early training is ascribable.
The next point in the line to which we went was the Toul sector. This
was much more lively than Arracourt, and here we had our first real
taste of war. No Man's Land was not more than fifty to one hundred yards
in width at many places. The whole terrain had been occupied for three
years, and, as there had been many slight changes of position, abandoned
trenches, filled half full of mud and wire, ran everywhere. Originally
the front had been held with a large number of troops, but when we took
it over, these had been reduced to such an extent that now one company
would hold a kilometer in width. The line of support was furthermore
about one kilometer in the rear. It was winter and snow and sleet and
mud formed an ever-present trio. As always in trench warfare, the night
was the time of activity. During the day everything was quiet; in
walking through the trenches all one would meet was an occasional
sentry.
This night work was hard on the new men, for it is easy to see things at
night even if you are an old soldier. If you are a recruit, you just
can't help seeing them.
"Well, Major, it's like this," was the way Sergeant Rose, an old-timer,
put it to me when I was speaking to him in the front-line trenches one
night. "I'm an old soldier, but when I stand and look out over this
trench long enough, the first thing I know, those posts with the wire
attached to them begin to do squads right and squads left, and if I
ain't careful, I have to shoot them to keep them from charging this
trench."
Private Jones would imagine he saw a German patrol approaching him, fire
all his hand grenades at them, and send in a report to the effect that
he had repulsed a raid and that there were three or four dead Germans
lying in front of his part of the line. Investigation would prove that
an old stump or a sandbag had received all his attention.
The division had fairly heavy casualties in this sector. The Germans
staged a couple of raids. Also there were heavy artillery actions very
frequently. Generally these would start around three o'clock in the
morning. First would come the preliminary strafing. During it the higher
command would call up and ask what was going on, to which you replied N.
T. R.--(nothing to report). Then the shelling would commence in earnest
and all connections would go out at once. From then on, runners were the
only method of communication until everything was over. One could never
be sure that each strafing was not the preliminary to an assault.
Strafing like this was very picturesque. Generally I got into position
where I could see as much of the front as I could. It is possible to
guess by the intensity of shelling just what is getting ready, while
hand grenades and rifle fire mean that an attack is taking place. First
a few flashes can be seen, which increase until on all sides you see the
bursts of the shrapnel and the noise becomes deafening. Then it
gradually dies away and a thick acrid cloud of smoke lies over
everything.
During one of these actions a runner came in to report that the captain
of the right flank company had been severely hit. The second in command
had not, in my opinion, had quite enough experience, so I sent my scout
officer back with the runner to take command. They got to a bit of
trench where shells were falling thick.
"Lieutenant, you wait here while I see if we can get through," said the
runner to the officer.
"Why should you go rather than me?" asked the lieutenant.
"Well," came the reply, "you see you are going to command the company.
I'm just a runner. They can get lots more of me."
A very good sergeant of mine, Ross by name, had his hand blown off in
this sector.
He was making a reconnaissance with a view to a patrol, when a German
trench mortar shell that had been imbedded in the parapet went off under
his hand. As he passed me he simply said: "Major, I am awfully sorry to
leave you this early before the real game begins."
Here we captured our first German prisoner. I doubt whether any German
will ever be as precious to any of us as this man was. We had patrolled
quite a good deal, but the Germans had either stopped patrolling in the
sector in front of us or we were unfortunate in not running into any of
them. We felt at last that the only way to get a prisoner was to go over
to the German trenches and pull one out.
One night Lieutenant Christian Holmes, Sergeants Murphy, McCormack,
Samari (born in southern Italy), and Leonard, who was called Scotty and
who spoke with a pronounced Irish brogue, were designated to raid a
listening post. They crawled on their bellies across No Man's Land, got
through the maze of wire, and ran right on top of a German listening
post. A prisoner was what they wanted, so Lieutenant Holmes, who was
leading the party, leaped upon one of the two Germans and locked him in
a tight embrace. The German's partner thereupon endeavored to bayonet
Lieutenant Holmes, who was struggling in two feet of water with his
captive, but was prevented by a timely thrust from Sergeant Murphy's
bayonet. They seized the German, who was shrieking "Kamerad" at the top
of his lungs, and dragged him back across No Man's Land at the double.
When they came in with him we were as pleased as Punch. Indeed, we
hardly wanted to let him go to the rear, as we had a distinct feeling
more or less that we wanted to keep him to look at. He was a young,
scrawny fellow, and gave us much information concerning the troops
opposite us. Lieutenant Holmes and Sergeant Murphy received the
Distinguished Service Cross for this work; and well deserved it, for
they showed the way and did a really hard job. Holmes told me afterward
that they had all agreed that they would not come back until they had
got their prisoner. They had decided that if they did not find him in
the first front-line trenches they would go back as far as necessary,
but they were going to find him or not come back.
We began here also for the first time to play with that most elusive of
all military amusements, the code. In order that the Germans, in
listening in on our telephone conversations, might not know what we were
about, everything was put in code or cipher. The high command issued to
us the Napoleon code. The Napoleon code is written entirely in French.
Only a few of us could read French, with the result that only a few
could send messages. General Hines, then colonel of the Sixteenth
Infantry, realized that this was a poor idea, so he made up a code of
his own. This code went by the name of the Cauliflower Code, and the
commanding officer, his adjutant, etc., in every place were given
distinctive names.
Conversation ran something like this--"Hello, hello, I want Hannibal.
Hannibal is not there? Give me Brains. Brains, this is the King of
Essex talking. Sunflower. No balloons, tomatoes, asparagus. No, No. I
said _no_ balloons! Oh, damn. My kitchens haven't come. Have them sent
up."
When we received rush orders to leave this sector, I tried to mobilize
my wagon truck by telephone. The supply officers all went by the name of
Sarah in the code. I would start off, "Hello, hello. This is the King of
Essex talking. I want little Sarah. Little Sarah Van." Lieutenant Van,
my supply officer, would reply from the other side, "Hello, hello, is
this the King of Essex talking?" "It is." "Well, Major Roosevelt," then
the connection would be cut. After much labor I got him again. I had
just begun, "Balloons, radishes, carrots" when we were cut off again.
The next time we got the connection we said what we had to say in plain
English and quickly.
One evening just after we had arrived in the front-line trenches, after
a rest in the support position, the telephone buzzed. The adjutant
leaped to it. "Yes, this is Blank. What is it? Yes, yes. The Napoleon
code." And then for some thirty minutes, during which time the trench
telephone ceased to work, was cut off, or simply went dead, the Adjutant
took down a long string of numbers. At the end of that period he had a
sheet of paper in front of him which looked for all the world like the
financial statement of a large bank. He rushed to our portfolio where
the sector papers were kept, yanked them out, ran over them in a hurry,
and then turned to me with a blank look of grief: "Sorry, sir, we have
left the code behind." We thought for a moment, then called back the
sender, and said, "Sir, we have forgotten our code." He remarked
blithely from the other end, "If the message had been an important one,
I would not have sent it in code. I'll give it to you when I see you
to-night."
Our first real experience with gas came in this sector. As I said
before, we had been taught how to put on and take off our gas masks,
how gas was used by the ancients, what methods had been used and
abandoned in the present war, what the chemical components were, what
the effects were, but not how to detect it when it was present in
dangerous quantities. The result was that everyone was thoroughly
apprehensive of gas and afraid he would not be able to detect it. We had
all sorts of nice little appliances in the trenches to give the alarm.
They consisted of bells, gongs, Klaxon horns, and beautiful rockets that
burst in a green flare. A nervous sentry would be pacing to and fro. It
would be wet and lonely and he would think of what unpleasant things he
had been told happened to the men who were gassed. A shell would burst
near him. "By George, that smells queer," he would think. He would sniff
again. "No question about it, that must be gas!" and blam! would go the
gas alarm. Then from one end of the line to the other gongs and horns
would sound and green rockets would streak across the sky and platoon
after platoon would wearily encase itself in gas masks. One night I
stood in the reserve position and watched a celebration of this sort. It
looked and sounded like a witches' sabbath.
After a certain amount of this we worked into a practical knowledge of
gas. We found that there were only two methods of attack we had to fear:
one was by cylinders thrown by projectors, and the other by gas shelling
by the enemy artillery. With the former, an attack was often detected
before it took place by our intelligence, and it was possible to tell by
a flare that showed up along the horizon on the discharge of the
projectors when the attack commenced. With the latter, after a little
practice, it was perfectly simple to tell a gas shell from a H. E.
shell, as it made a sound like a dud. The difficulty with both types of
attack was not so much in getting the gas masks on in time, as there was
always plenty of time for that, but rather in holding heavily gassed
areas, where burns and trouble of all sorts were almost impossible to
avoid.
It was in this Toul sector on March 11th that my brother Archie was
severely wounded. The Huns were strafing heavily and an attack by them
was expected. He was redisposing his men when he was hit by a shell and
badly wounded both in the left arm and left leg. Major A. W. Kenner, M.
C., and Sergeant Hood were shelled by the Germans while they were moving
out the wounded, among them my brother, when, because of the stretchers
they were carrying, they had to walk over the top and not through some
bad bits of trench. To Major A. W. Kenner, M. C., and Captain E. D.
Morgan, M. R. C., is due great credit, not only in this operation, but
in all the work to come. They never shrank from danger or hardship and
their actions were at all times an inspiration to those around them.