_42nd Division, 168th Infantry, Company “I”_
While a private, Sergeant Binkley, on July 28, 1918, sought and
obtained permission to rescue his corporal who was lying severely
wounded in the open near Sergy, northeast of Château-Thierry, France.
He crossed an open area that was swept for more than 50 yards by enemy
machine guns, reached the corporal and carried him safely back into
the lines.]
Lovering Hill, the chief of the section, says of him: “I have never
known any one who always showed so much _dévouement_ in his work. He
was the steadiest of all, and the most reliable. He never slacked up in
times when work was dull, when day in and day out was the same grinding
monotony; and in times of activity after many hours without rest or
sleep, he was always cheerful and stuck to the work with a tenacity
which was astounding. His frankness and straightforwardness, his
cheerfulness and good nature, his kindness—for he was always the first
to help his comrades—made him beloved by all of us, and by most of the
French with whom he came in touch, who admired the wholehearted way in
which he worked. In the technical matter of the upkeep of his car he
was my special delight, for both his car and his equipment were always
in perfect order.”
The incidents of the days preceding the death of Hall have been
indicated briefly in a tribute written soon after the fatality. There
had been something of a respite from fighting, but on December 21 “the
mountains spoke” and all the cars rolled upwards toward the post of
Hartmanns-Weilerkopf—taken and retaken a score of times, a bare, brown,
blunt shell-ploughed top where before the forest stood—up, elbowing
and tacking their way through battalions of men and beasts. From
one mountain slope to another roared all the lungs of war. For five
days and five nights, scraps of days—the shortest of the year—nights
interminable—the air was shredded with shrieking shells—intermittent
lulls for slaughtering after the bombardment—then again the roar of the
counter-attack.