On that same first day of 1918, Lieutenant Mahan was commanding a
machine gun company composed of men chosen by himself. Down in Carolina
he had picked them for their sinews and their eyesight, not for their
language, which sometimes reminded him of the sixteenth element. And a
month later he sailed with the advance detachment of the third division.
Once on French soil, he spent March in an American school and April in a
quiet sector under French supervision. On the first day of May his new
commission arrived, and he became Captain Mahan.
It was clear by this time that he had the knack of command, but of all
his men none was so devoted to him as his Indian orderly, O. Fisher.
With equal coolness the young brave would polish his shoes or call him a
blind Bwan. By Bwan he meant a Sioux, a contemptible weakling. His
captain was a blind Bwan whenever he could not see as far as O. Fisher,
which was often.
It was no use to discipline O. Fisher. He was an enlisted man, and knew
his rights. He recognized the competency of the medicine men in
Washington to declare war, but he was quite sure of his own right to go
or stay according as they furnished him, or failed to furnish him, a
decent chief. So far as O. Fisher could see, Captain Mahan was the only
man in the army worth following, for the rest had all been brought up
within doors. He paid small attention to Lieutenant Gregg, because Gregg
thought that Fisher meant a fisherman, whereas it meant an animal as
retiring as a fox and sometimes as fierce as a weasel.
The first of June came, and with it marching orders. They proceeded to
the vicinity of Mezy, on the southern bank of the Marne east of
Chateau-Thierry. That evening Marvin explained to his orderly what it
was all about. A Sioux named Ludendorf was driving at Paris, the city
where the girl kissed O. Fisher, and was now within fifty miles of it.
The Bwan’s advancing line was forty miles long and noisy. It had got as
far as the river, but must get no farther.
O. Fisher listened with interest. He sat there on the straw in the
dugout, holding a shoe and a brush. His head was thrown back, and there
was a deep vertical line between the eyebrows.
“How would you like to be my guide?”
“I am,” said O. Fisher, whose memory for the sacred word “sir” was none
of the best.
“No, if you act as guide you will not have to shine shoes.”
O. Fisher scorned to reply, and resumed his labors.
“Very well, then. Tomorrow you can begin to get acquainted with this
terrain. Some day I shall ask you whether you can find a clump of trees
in the night.”
For a month the Thirty-eighth lay near Mezy. Marvin’s company was
finally stationed close to the village, on the brow of a hill
overlooking the river. Just below it was the railroad that runs along
the southern bank, and to the left was the brook called Surmelin.
In the middle of July the regiment got its chance. Soon after midnight
on the morning of the fifteenth the German guns began to pound in
earnest. Marvin’s company awoke and got into position. O. Fisher was
stationed in a tree to note what was going to happen.
He knew where the northern bank ought to be, and there he fixed his
gaze. Before dawn he saw something moving. The enemy was launching
boats. He slipped down, reported, and was ordered back. The dawn came up
through cannon smoke, but he was used to forest fires. He saw boat after
boat put out, and one destroyed by a shot. He saw two get across, only
to be met by grenade and bayonet. But still they came, as if all the
wolves on earth were swimming across. The American boys on the southern
shore were caught by the throat and clawed down into the mud. Countless
Germans blurred with smoke were taking open formation the minute they
landed. They streamed into the valley of the Surmelin.
They started up the hill. O. Fisher gave the signal, Marvin gave the
command, and they were met by a river of lead. It flashed through brains
and entrails, and fell to the earth with its energy unexplored.
It is recorded in books and graves how the Thirty-eighth received the
numbers. Foch knew they would be overwhelming, but he proposed to draw
the string of the bag.
Meantime the Yanks were swept back from their first positions, but they
killed as they went, and captured six hundred. Marvin fell back on the
little village of Connigis. His men buried such dead as they had been
able to bring away, and lay down on the ground to get their breath.
But it was only a breathing spell that they wanted. Their oxygen and
their adrenals were working to overcome the acid of fatigue. Their
sinews were tough with drill, and their palms hard with sulphur.
Furthermore there was enough sulphur in their thoughts to insulate them
from all pity.
Consequently that night Marvin went over and stood in the mud with his
colonel and secured permission to reconnoiter for a new position.
Towards morning he roused Gregg and Fisher, and the three of them warmed
themselves with hot coffee.