FINISHING TOUCHES
The American army had begun to find itself when October came round.
Perhaps it had not yet gained a complete army consciousness, but there
could be no doubt about company spirit. Chaps who had been civilians
only a few months before now spoke of "my company" as if they had grown
up with the outfit. They were also ready to declare loudly and profanely
in public places that H or L or K or I, as the case might be, was the
best company in the army. Some were willing to let the remark stand for
the world.
Too much credit cannot be given to the captains of the first American
Expeditionary Force. A captain commands more men now than ever before in
the American army and he has more power. This was particularly true in
France where many companies had a little village to themselves. The
captain, therefore, was not only a military leader, a father confessor,
and a gents' furnisher, but also an ambassador to the people of a small
section of France. The colonels and majors and the rest are the fellows
who think up things to be done, but it is the captains who do them.
Of course that wasn't the way the junior officers looked at it. A man
who was a first lieutenant when the army came to France told us: "A
first lieutenant is supposed to know everything and do everything; a
captain is supposed to know everything and do nothing, and a major is
supposed to know nothing and do nothing."
We were delighted early this year when we heard that he had been made a
major, for we immediately sat down and telegraphed to him: "After what
you told us this summer, we are sure you will be an excellent major."
By October much of the feeling between the officers of the regular army
and the reserve had been smoothed out, but it was not like that in the
early days. Once when a young reserve major was put in command of a
battalion, a regular army captain who was much his senior in years
observed: "I think there ought to be an army regulation that no reserve
officer shall be appointed to command a battalion without the consent of
his parents or guardian." But as the work grew harder and harder many
little jealousies of the army were simply sweated out. It was easy to do
that, for the American army woke up, or rather was awakened, every
morning at five o'clock. There was a Kansas farmer in one company who
was always up and waiting for the buglers. He said that the schedule of
the American army always left him at a loss as to what to do with his
mornings. But for the rest the trumpeters were compelled to blow their
loudest. Roll call was at five-thirty and this was followed with setting
up exercises designed to give the men an appetite for the six o'clock
breakfast. This was almost always a hearty meal. The poilus who began
the day with a cup of black coffee and a little war bread were amazed to
see the doughboys start off at daylight with Irish stew, or bacon or ham
or mush and occasionally eggs in addition to white bread and coffee.
After breakfast came sick call, at which men who felt unable to drill
for any reason were obliged to talk it over with the doctor. Those who
had no ailments went to work vigorously in making up their cots and
cleaning their quarters. At seven they fell in and marched away to the
training ground. Mornings were usually devoted to bombing, machine gun
and automatic rifle practice. A little after eleven the doughboys
started back to their billets for dinner. This was likely to consist of
beans and boiled beef or salmon, or there would be a stew again or
corned beef hash. The most prevalent vegetables were potatoes and canned
corn. Dinner might also include a pudding, nearly always rice or canned
fruit. Sometimes there was jam and, of course, coffee and bread were
abundant.
During the latter part of the training period the home dinner was often
omitted in favor of a meal prepared at the training ground. The
afternoon work began a little before two. Rifle practice, drills and
bayonet work were usually the phases of warfare undertaken at this time
of day. Labor ceased at four with supper, which was much the same sort
of meal as dinner, at five-thirty. After supper the soldier's time was
pretty much his own. He could loaf about the town hall and listen to the
army band play selections from "The Fair Co-ed," "The Prince of Pilsen"
or any one of a score of comic operas long dead and forgotten by
everyone but army bandmasters, or he could go to the Y.M.C.A. and read
or write letters or play checkers or perhaps pool of the sort which is
possible on a small portable table. He was due back in quarters and in
bed at nine and he was always asleep at one minute and thirty seconds
after nine.
The training hours became more crowded, if not longer, as the time drew
nearer when the American army should go to the front. Everybody was
anxious that they should make a good showing. Trench problems had to be
considered and gas and bayonet work which was the phase in which the
training was lagging somewhat. It was also considered useful that the
men should have some experience with shell fire before they heard guns
fired in anger, and so it was arranged that a sham battle should take
place in which the French would fire a barrage over the heads of the
American troops. The first plan was that the doughboys should advance
behind this barrage as in actual warfare and attack a system of practice
trenches. Later it was decided that it was not worth while to risk
possible casualties, as the men could learn almost as much although held
four or five hundred yards behind the barrage.
The bombardment began with thirty-six shots to the minute and was
gradually raised to fifty-two. The doughboys were allowed to sit down to
watch the show. Our soldiers seemed a bit unfeeling, for not one
expressed any regret at the destruction of Hindenburg, Ludendorff, and
Mackensen, although they had spent many a happy afternoon under the
broiling sun constructing this elaborate trench system. None of the men
seemed disturbed, either, by the unfamiliar whistling sounds over head.
All the doughboys wore steel helmets but two were slightly injured by
small fragments from shells which fell a little short. In both cases the
wounded man had lowered the protective value of his helmet somewhat by
sitting on it. After the first interest in the show wore off many proved
their ability to steal naps in spite of the bickering of the big guns.
The marines, for instance, had marched eighteen miles after rising at
3:30 in the morning, and although the marine corps is singularly hardy,
a few made up lost sleep. The patter of the French seventy-fives was no
more than rain on the roof to these men when they could find sufficient
cover to sleep unobserved.
The most fortunate soldiers were those who were stationed in a fringe of
woods which bordered on the big meadow. Here the doughboys did a little
shooting on their own account when no officers were at hand. In a sudden
lull of gunfire I heard a voice say: "Shoot it all," and there was a
rattle of dice in the bottom of a steel helmet.
When the bombardment was at its height a big hawk sailed over the field
full in the pathway of hundreds of shells. He circled about calmly in
spite of the shrieking things which whizzed by him and then he turned
contemptuously and flew away very slowly. Perhaps he was disappointed
because it was only a sham battle.
Of course some of the officers saw the real thing. Many made trips to
the French front and a few fired some shots at the German lines just to
set a good precedent. American officers attended all the French
offensives of the summer as invited guests. Brigadier General George
Duncan and Lieutenant Colonel Campbell King were cited by the French
army for the croix de guerre after they had spent some thrilling hours
at Verdun. The awards were largely complimentary, of course, but the
American officers saw plenty of action. According to the French officers
General Duncan was at an advanced observation post when the Germans
spotted it and began pouring in shell. One fragment hit the General's
hat and the colonel in charge advised him that it would be well to move
back to a safer point of vantage. Duncan replied that this was the first
show he had ever seen and that he did not want to give up his front row
seat if he could help it.
Lieutenant Colonel King paid visits to the first aid dressing stations
under heavy fire and encouraged the wounded with words of good cheer in
bad French. The night before the attack his dugout was flooded with
poison vapor from German gas shells, but he awoke in time to arouse his
two companions, who got their masks on in time to prevent injury.
Another American officer who shall be nameless found it difficult to sit
back as a spectator when so much was going on. He was a brigadier
general, but this was his first taste of war on a big scale. The French
offensive aroused his enthusiasm so much that he said to a fellow
American officer: "Nobody's watching us now, let's sneak up ahead there
and throw a few bombs." The second officer, who was only a captain,
reminded him of his rank.
"I can't help that," said the General, "I've just got to try and see if
I can't bomb a few squareheads." Discipline was overlooked for a moment
then as the captain restrained the General with physical force from
going forward to try out his arm.
The British now seem to be able to give the Germans more than they want
in gas, but this superiority did not come until late in the year.
American officers who went to the front returned with a profound respect
for German gas and, in fact, all gas. This feeling was reflected in the
thoroughgoing training which the men received in gas and masks. It began
with lectures by the company commanders in which it is certain no very
optimistic picture of poison vapor was painted. Then came long drills in
putting on the mask in three counts and holding the breath during the
adjustment. The contrivance used was not a little like a catcher's mask
and this simplified the problem somewhat. The men carried the masks with
them everywhere and developed great speed in getting under protection.
Conscientious officers harassed their men by calling out "gas attack" at
unexpected moments such as when men were shaving or eating or sleeping.
Finally the doughboys were actually sent through gas.
Big air-proof cellars were constructed in each village and here the
tests were held. As a matter of fact, the gas used was a form of tear
gas, calculated to irritate the eyes and nose and perhaps to cause
blindness for a few hours. It would not cause permanent injury even if
a mask were improperly adjusted. The comparative harmlessness of the
test vapor was kept secret. When the men went down the steps they
thought that one whiff of the air in the cellar would be fatal and so
they were most careful that each strap should be in its place. Most of
them had shaved twice over on the morning of the test so that the mask
should fit closely to the side of the face.
The first man to go in was a captain and when he came out again
obviously alive and seemingly healthy, the doughboys were ready to take
a chance. A young soldier in the second batch to visit the gas chamber
had taken the tales of the vapor horrors a bit too much to heart. He
became panicstricken after one minute in the underground vault and had
to be helped out, faint and trembling.
"What's the matter?" said his officer. "Are you afraid?"
"Yes, sir," the boy answered frankly. "But I want to try it again," he
added quickly. He did, too. And what is more, he remained in for an
extra period as self-discipline for his soul. When he came out he leaned
against a fence and was sick, but he was triumphant because he had
proved to himself that his second wind of grit was stronger than his
nerves or his stomach.
As the afternoon wore on a trip through the gas chamber became a lark
rather than an adventure and each batch before it went in was greeted by
such remarks as "Never mind the good-byes, Snooty! Just pay me that $2
you owe me before you check off."
"Who invented this gas stuff, anyway?" asked a fat soldier, as he sat in
the stifling vault, puffing and perspiring. "The Germans," he was told.
"Well," he panted, "I'm going to give 'em hell for this."
There was other practice which seemed less warlike. Particular attention
was paid to signaling and men on hilltops stood and waved their arms at
each other from dawn until sunset. I stood one bright day with an expert
who was trying the utmost capacity of the man stationed on the hill
across the valley. The officer made the little flags whirl through the
air like bunting on a battleship. He looked across the peaceful
countryside and saw war dangers on every hand. The gas attack which his
flags predicted seemed nothing more to me than the dust raised by a
passing army truck. He signaled that the tanks were coming, but they
mooed as they moved and the aeroplanes of which he spoke in dots and
dashes cawed most distinctly. With a twist of his wrist he would summon
a battery and with another send them back again. There was an emphatic
whip and swirl of color, and in answer to the signal mythical infantry
swarmed over theoretical trenches to attack shadow soldiers. The task of
the receiving soldier was made more difficult because every now and then
the officer would vary his military messages with "Double-header at the
Polo Grounds today" or "Please pass the biscuits." But the soldier read
them all correctly. Biscuits were just as easy for him as bullets.
The men were also tested for their ability to carry oral messages. As a
result of this drill there were several new mule drivers. The test
message was, "Major Blank sends his compliments to Captain Nameless and
orders him to move L company one-half mile to the east and support K
company in the attack." After giving out this message the officer moved
to the top of a hill to receive it. The first soldier who came up had
difficulty in delivering the message because English seemed more alien
to him than Italian. He had it all right at that, except that he made it
a mile and a half. The next three delivered the message correctly, but
then a large soldier came panting up, fairly bursting with excitement,
and exclaimed: "The major says he hopes you're feeling all right and
please take your company a mile to the east and attack K company." The
names of such careless messengers were noted down so that they might not
cause blunders in battle.
Precaution was taken against another source of mistakes by sending
American officers out to drill French units. A few found no trouble in
giving orders which the poilus could understand, but some had bad cases
of stage fright.
"I almost wiped out a French battalion," said one young West Pointer. "I
got 'em started all right with 'avance' and they went off at a great
clip. I noticed that there was a cliff right ahead of us and I began to
try and think how you said 'halt' in French. I couldn't remember and I
didn't want to get out in front and flag 'em by waving my arms, so we
just kept marching right on toward the cliff. They had their orders and
they kept on going. It began to look as if we'd all march right off the
cliff just to satisfy their pride and mine, but a French lieutenant came
to the rescue with 'a gauche en quatre!' I didn't know that one, but I
was a goat just the same. I could have gotten away with 'halt' all
right, because I found out afterwards that it's 'halte' in French and
that sounds almost the same."
The British as well as the French helped in the final polishing of the
doughboys who were to go to the trenches. An English major and three
sergeants came to camp to teach bayonet work. They brought a healthy
touch of blunt criticism. The major told some young officers who were
studying in a training school that he wanted a trench dug. He told them
the length and the depth which he wanted and the time at which he
expected it to be finished. It was not done at the appointed hour. "Oh,
I say, that's rotten, you know!" exclaimed the big Englishman. The
American officer in charge was somewhat startled. The French were always
careful to phrase unfavorable criticism in pleasant words and there were
times when the sting was not felt. A rebuke so directly expressed
surprised the American so much that he started to make excuses for his
men. He explained that the soil in which they were digging was full of
rocks. The British major cut him short.
"Never mind about the excuses," he said, "that was rotten work and you
know it."
Curiously enough the American army got along very well with this
particular instructor and he on his part had the highest praise for the
capabilities of the American after he had sized them up in training. He
was more successful than the French in wheedling the Americans into
visualizing actual war conditions in their practice.
"Never let your men remember that they are charging dummies," said the
visiting major to an American officer. "Make them think the straw men
are Germans. It can be done even without the use of dummies. Watch me."
A remarkable demonstration followed. The major sent for a little Cockney
sergeant. "Now," he said, "this stick of mine with a knob on the end is
a German. Show these Americans how you would go after him."
The little sergeant did some brisk work in slashing at the end of the
stick with his bayonet but the big major was not content. "Remember," he
said, "this is a German," and then he would add suddenly every now and
again: "Look out, my lad--he's coming at you!"
And bye-and-bye the insinuation began to take effect. The little man had
spent two years on the line and it was easy to see that bit by bit he
was beginning to visualize the stick with a cloth knob as a Boche
adversary. His thrusts grew fiercer and fiercer. The point of his
bayonet flashed into the cloth knob again and again. He was trembling
with rage as he played the battle game. As he finally flung himself upon
the stick and knocked it out of the major's hands the officer called a
halt.
"There," he said to the Americans, "if your men are to train well,
you've got to make them believe it's true, and you can do it."
The British added lots of snap to the American training because they
knew how to arouse the competitive spirit. They made even the most
routine sort of a drill a game, and whether the men were bayoneting
dummies or shooting at tin cans the little Britishers kept them at top
speed by stirring up rivalry between the various organizations.
Sometimes the slang was a bit puzzling. The marines, for instance,
didn't know just what their bayonet instructor meant when he said: "Come
on, you dreadnoughts, give 'em the old 'kamerad.'"
Curiously enough the other specialty in addition to bayonet work which
the British taught the doughboys was organized recreation. Thus a
British sergeant would take his squad from practicing the grimmest
feature of all war training and set the men to tossing beanbags or
playing leapfrog. Prisoner's base, red rover and a score of games played
in the streets of every American city were used to bring relaxation to
the soldiers. There were other rough and tumble games in which the
players buffeted each other assiduously in a neutral part of the body
with knotted towels. The emphasis was put upon the ludicrous in all
these games.
"This may seem childish and silly to you," said the major, "but we have
found on the line that the quickest way to bring back the spirit of a
regiment which has been battered in battle is to take the men as soon as
they come from the trenches and set them to playing these foolish little
games which they knew when they were lads. When we get them to laughing
again we know we've made them forget the fight."
Mostly it wasn't play. There were long mornings and afternoons spent in
battalion problems in which the doughboys again and again captured the
position made up of the trenches Roosevelt, Taft and Wilson. One general
pointed out that communication between Roosevelt and Taft would be
necessarily difficult and between Roosevelt and Wilson all but
impossible. The doughboys overcame these difficulties as they advanced
under theoretical barrages and hurled live bombs into the trenches or
thereabouts.
The last set event of the training period was a big field meet in which
picked companies competed in military events. The meet began with
musketry and worked through bayonets, hand grenades, automatic rifles,
and machine guns, ending with trench digging. It was supposed that this
would be the least exciting, but two companies came up to the last event
tied for the point trophy. Honor and a big silver trophy and everything
hung on this last event and the men could not have worked harder if they
had been under German shellfire. Partisans of both sides stood nearby
and shouted encouragement to their friends and heavy banter at the foe.
There was organized cheering and singing, too, and a couple of bands
blared while the competitors lay prone and hacked away at the tough
soil. One band played "Won't You Come and Waltz With Me?" while the
other favored "Sweet Rosie O'Grady." Neither seemed particularly
pertinent, but there wasn't much sense of the appropriate in the third
band, either, which played "Dearie," while the soldiers were stabbing
imitation Boches in the bayonet contest.
The champions of the pick and shovel brushed some of the dirt off their
uniforms and lined up to receive the prize, which was a big silver salad
bowl. The best bayoneters got a sugar shaker and there were mugs and
wrist watches and plain watches and all sorts of things from the
commander and from General Sibert and General Castelnau. No sooner were
the prizes distributed than news came that the White Sox had won the
first game of the world series from the Giants and then there was more
cheering. The winning company went back to camp in a big truck loudly
and tunefully proclaiming to the natives: "We got style, all the while,
all the while."
The Germans contributed one post graduate phase of training which was
not on the program. Shortly before the troops went to the front a
Zeppelin was brought down in a town within marching distance of the
American training zone. The big balloon could not have been better
placed if its landing had been directed by a Coney Island showman. It
was perched on two hills just by the side of a road and visitors came
from miles about to look at the monster. Early comers reaped a rich
harvest of souvenirs. "I only had to get three more screws loose and I'd
have had the steering wheel if a French soldier hadn't come up and
stopped me," complained an American correspondent.
The chasseurs left to go back into the line before the Americans started
for the front. The departure of the chasseurs caused genuine regret, for
in addition to a profound respect for their military ability, the
American officers and men had a warm personal feeling for the troops who
taught them the first rudiments of the modern art of war. In all the
camps there were ceremonies for the soldiers who were leaving drills and
practice attacks and sham battles to go back wherever shock troops were
needed.
"When you see us later on some time," said an American officer, "we hope
to make you proud of your pupils."
Although the French had already given the Americans all the fundamentals
they would need they spent their last few hours in giving them some of
the fine points and a minute description of just what conditions they
might expect at the front.
"When you go up there," said a French officer, "the soldiers you come to
relieve will say that you are late. They will say that they have been
waiting a long time and they will go out very quickly. Always we find
when we come in that the troops in the trench have been waiting a long
time and always they go out very quickly."
As the sturdy Frenchmen marched away their cries of "bonne chance"
mingled with equally hearty shouts of "good luck."