THROUGH THE ARGONNE TO SEDAN
At nightfall October 7, the battery took the road over the hill toward
Cierges in the rain and darkness. The position lay on a hillside not far
from gun pits where a wrecked gun carriage and other debris showed how
thoroughly a preceding battery had been shelled out. From these gun pits
the cannoneers carried abandoned ammunition all next day, while the
pieces in turn kept up a bombardment of fifty rounds an hour.
At mess, October 8, in the thicket near the windmill, the men first saw
the newspapers bearing the news of Germany's acceptance of President
Wilson's "Fourteen Points". Many rumors had come to their ears of the
Kaiser's abdication, of separate peace by Austria and Turkey, of
Germany's surrender, etc. This was the first intimation of the facts,
and gave rise to much speculation. There was little opportunity for
speculation that night, however, for mess was scarcely over when shells
bursting in the field and along the roads drove everyone to cover. A
couple of hours later, the limbers came up, and the guns pulled out on
the road. But the caissons were not loaded and drawn through the miry
field so easily. Teams, after pulling out one caisson, had to go back to
assist another. Day was breaking when Captain Robbins, calling the
sergeants together, announced that the battery's mission was to
accompany the advance of infantry of the 32d Division that morning, and
haste must be made to reach the appointed spot in time.
So the carriages were taken ahead at a trot, the cannoneers following as
rapidly as they could, along shelled roads, through the ruined village
of Nantillois, passing the infantry arising from their roadside holes
for breakfast. A heavy fog hid the battery from the observation of the
enemy and so removed some of the danger of the undertaking. Shells burst
frequently on the hillside to the right and on the road in front of us,
along which long files of infantry advanced to the attack. When the
other batteries of the regiment came up, in the afternoon of October 9,
they were met by heavy shelling on the road, four shells falling
directly in Battery A.
On the night of October 11 the battery pulled back to the horse-lines,
which had moved to the left, near Cheppy. Arriving in the morning, the
battery had only a few hours' rest, going forward again in the
afternoon, to the left of our former positions, to relieve the 1st
Division. Blocked roads, rain and cold, slow going and long stops,
pushing carriages up long hills--it was an old story, relieved a little
that night by a battalion of engineers who turned out of their shacks
along the road and pushed our guns up the longest and steepest slope. By
morning we were digging trail pits in a flat field on the right bank of
the River Aire just behind the town of Fleville. In the trees along the
river were batteries of the 320th F. A., belonging to the 82d Division,
whose infantry occupied Fleville. Between them and our position were
holes dug for shelter littered with blankets, gas masks, helmets and
other equipment of the German soldiers who had occupied them not long
before. Opposite us the Aire was dammed to form a pool, alongside which
was a sign, "Schwimmung verboten".
Though we had had almost no sleep for two days, we dug all day October
13, to be ready to fire when called upon. To obtain an elevation of 25
degrees, the trail pit must go nearly three feet deep in an arc eight or
ten feet long. If the ground offered much resistance, there was a heavy
job for the five or six men of the gun's crew. Fortunately we slept long
that night, with only an interruption of two hours' guard for each man.
At 6:30 next morning we began firing at a rate of 80 rounds per hour,
continuing, with gradually decreasing rate, until 3:30 that afternoon,
expending a total of about 2,300 rounds. In this attack, our infantry
broke through the formidable Kriemhilde Stellung, taking Hill 288 by
noon. During the succeeding days the battery fired constantly. On the
16th the infantry captured the Cote de Chatillon in a whirlwind attack,
taking also Musard Farm.
The enemy sent plenty in return at the same time. We had forewarning of
this the day we arrived, when the field in front of us was full of
smoking holes. The constant procession of guns and wagon trains up the
road on our right drew fire. So did the 155mm. rifles that thundered and
blazed on the other side of the road. So did the exposed horse-lines of
the batteries in the trees ahead of us. At first an occasional shower of
earth was all that disturbed us. A few days later the enemy dumped a few
"ash-cans" or "freight-cars," as they were picturesquely called, not
many hundreds of yards from us. These, with a thunderous, ear-splitting
crash, sent huge black geysers of earth and smoke, scattering fragments
far and wide. Then came a mysterious missile that seemed to explode
twice, and burst near us almost as soon as we had heard its warning
scream. One of these, striking a box of fuses in Battery F, caused
considerable unrest. Next the batteries ahead were the target for so
much shelling that they and their horse-lines moved out. Our relief was
shortlived. On the morning of October 20 while the men were still asleep
beneath their pup tents, in shelter holes approximately two feet deep,
big shells began to drop along the muddy trail that ran from the
highroad to our position. The fragments that cut camouflage ropes and
pierced fuse-boxes were forgotten when it was learned that two shells
had struck amidst us squarely, both fortunately "duds". One buried
itself in the ground alongside the trail of the second piece. The other,
piercing a pup tent in the fourth section, scorched its way through
Becker's blankets, and disappeared into the earth, leaving him benumbed
in the foot which the shell had so narrowly missed and much confused in
the head as to what might happen next. All morning the boys could only
gaze at the hole in the ground and talk about E battery's horseshoe.
That afternoon, the battery moved back about 300 yards, enough to escape
the enemy's shells if his aeroplanes had discovered our old position, to
which the morning's greeting lent belief.
At this time Lieutenant Waters, returned from Battery B, was in command,
having succeeded Captain Robbins a few days before, when the latter took
Major Redden's place at the head of the battalion. Lieutenants Leprohon
and Ennis were in charge of the first and second platoons, respectively,
and Lieutenant Neiberg was in command at the horse-lines. A few days
previously Sergeant Jones left the Fourth Section to go to officers'
school, together with Sergeant Kilner, who had been in charge at the
horse-lines since his return from the hospital. Corporal Donald Brigham
succeeded to the charge of the Fourth Section, Colvin becoming gunner.
After we had moved back, the mechanics improvised a bath-house for the
battery by the conjunction of a big wooden tub and a cauldron to heat
the water in a shack beside the stream. In a time and place where
baths--to say nothing of the temperature of the water used--were an
extreme rarity, we were greatly thankful that the departing enemy had
left these articles for this valuable use. The cabbage patches in this
vicinity came to good purpose for the battery kitchen, also.
On the evening of October 26, the Second Battalion moved up through
Fleville and to the right, near Sommerance. This spot is historically
known by the battery as "Gassy Gulch". Our guns were located behind a
line of bushes along a sharp embankment ten to fifteen feet high that
descended to a dirt road. Along this road were lined American 155mm.
rifles. In front of them, on the gentle slope to a low crest ahead, were
several French batteries. To our right were 75's, 155mm. howitzers, and
155mm. rifles indiscriminately mixed. The whole 67th Brigade, some
batteries of heavy corps artillery, and several French batteries were
concentrated in this little valley.
The dirt road in front and the high road, which ran at an angle behind,
drew much fire, making the drivers' task in bringing up caissons of
ammunition a dangerous one. On the day the battery moved up, a shell
bursting close wounded Cook and killed the horse under him. But Sergeant
Lucius Brigham's coolness in cutting out the dead horse and leading the
hitch safely through prevented greater damage from the resulting
confusion; for this work he was highly commended by the regimental
commander.
Several days later this road was heavily gassed. All traffic was held
back till shelling should let up. On this account no rations had gone up
from the horse-lines the day before. When, on the second attempt, Rosse
insisted on making the trip, an M. P. stopped him:
"You can't go up that road. You'll never get through the gas and
shelling."
An officer argued, too, "Don't take that road. It's too dangerous."
"The boys gotta hava the rash," insisted Jerry imperturbably. And he
lashed up his horse, and galloped past with the ration cart. When he
arrived at the position, his eyes and nose were streaming from the
effect of the gas, and he could scarcely see. But the boys, "they gotta
the rash!" For this act the regimental commander highly commended Rosse,
remarking on his "high sense of duty and exceptional courage."
Gas alarms were frequent at night. The itching in one's throat left no
doubt of there being actual danger present. The favorable wind carried
away the noxious fumes of several shells that burst at the edge of the
flat-tops. The boys dug their bunks deep to escape the fragments. Near
the machine gunners, the shells burst thick, and both Donahue and Harry
Overstreet were sent to the hospital with bad poison burns. Practically
everyone at the position suffered a little from gas, some in one way and
some in another, but, since they were afflicted in no violent way, they
stuck to their work, disregarding minor discomforts.
Friday morning, November 1, was the big barrage in which Battery E fired
its last shot of the war. At 3:30 a. m. began the preliminary fire, at
100 rounds per hour. Then followed the barrage, with first reduced
charge shell, then smoke shell and normal charge shell, and finally high
velocity shell, reaching a range of nearly 12,000 metres when the firing
ceased, at 1:30 p. m. The total for each gun was over 1,000 rounds.
This barrage was fired in support of the infantry of the 2nd Division,
which had relieved our own infantry. After the marine brigade had broken
through the Freya Stellung in the morning, capturing the villages of St.
Georges and Landres-et-St. Georges, the brigade of regulars kept on
going, driving the enemy out of range of our guns.
By Sunday the enemy was so far away that even the heavy guns about us
had to cease firing. The Frenchmen in the neighboring batteries were
gloriously drunk in the prospect of a speedy victory and early peace.
That night the battery pulled out, not to rest, as we had been
expectantly hoping in the midst of fatigue and discomfort from gas,
etc., but to go ahead in pursuit. Our infantry had relieved the 78th
Division and were to march to Sedan. To make matters worse for the
dismounted men, an order was issued that each man must carry his full
pack upon his back, to lighten the load for the worn out horses. So we
staggered up the mud roads to Thenorgues, where we spent a sleepless day
Monday moving carriages here and there to accommodate the throng of
traffic. In the afternoon we moved on, through Buzancy to Harricourt,
where we made camp at dark, just as enemy planes dropped a succession of
bombs on the road over which we had just passed.
Next morning we learned that Battery E had indeed fired its last shot of
the war. So low had the number of horses become in the brigade that it
was determined to send forward only the guns of two batteries in each
battalion, turning over to them the horses and drivers of the batteries
left behind. This wise provision made it possible for the 149th to be
constantly up in support of the infantry in the long chase northward,
when other artillery outfits were straggling along miles in the rear.
Since Battery E's commander was ranked in seniority by the captains of
both D and F batteries, our guns were left behind.
Although the second battalion did not fire on this pursuit, the trip was
an extremely severe one, entailing little rest, scant opportunity for
meals, and constant exposure to shell fire on the road. The hardships of
the journey are engraven deeply in the memories of Battery E's drivers.
Near Cherery, November 7, they were caught by heavy shell fire fully
horsed and limbered up, but got off the road without injury or
confusion. Worst of all was the night of November 9, at Bulson. As the
batteries entered the town, the guns of the enemy seemed trained by
direct observation on the cross roads, and shell after shell fell
directly in the path of the column. The casualties were the heaviest of
any day in the regiment's history. The death of George Hama caused the
deepest sorrow in the battery, heavier even when the first shock of the
news was past and the loss came to be actually felt. That he should have
gone through all the service of the battery, to be stricken down on
almost the last day of hostilities, was tragic indeed, but the fact that
he was gone, no matter how or when, was to his fellows the greater
tragedy. McLean and Loring Schatz were wounded the same night.
Lieutenant Leprohon went to the hospital, having been severely gassed
when he tore off his mask to guide the batteries up the shelled road,
winning the admiration of all the men by his courage and energy.
In the meantime the remainder of the battery, at Harricourt, had cleaned
out for their quarters German barracks and an old stone building that
had been a prison pen. Guard duty and care of the few horses left
occupied their time. So fast were the troops advancing to the northward
that communication was slight, and only the vaguest rumors of what was
happening ahead reached the men now left in the rear. Reports of an
armistice were so persistent that they were believed by some, days
before the actual event, and disbelieved by others even when confirmed.
Every night glares, bonfires and signal rockets indicated celebration at
some point on the horizon. But the men at Harricourt could not give
credence to such good news while the drivers were still gone. These men
returned to the battery November 10. Upon arriving at the gates of
Sedan, the 42nd Division, occupying the suburb of Wadelincourt, had
yielded to the French the honor of entering this historic city, one
battalion of our infantry accompanying the French general on that
occasion. At retreat November 11, Captain Waters formally announced the
signing of the armistice. But there was a sting in the good tidings in
the announcement that the 42nd Division would probably go into Germany
as a part of the Army of Occupation, which killed such glad reports as
that the Rainbow Division would sail from Bordeaux immediately upon the
cessation of hostilities, and other equally welcome though groundless
bits of rumor.