THE ARGONNE OFFENSIVE
In the general operation which was shared in by all the Allied armies
in France to turn the German retreat into a rout, the most difficult
and most important task was assigned to the Americans. The Belgians,
British and French could only exercise a frontal pressure on the
enemy except for a few local salients which might be created here
and there. But if the American army could smash their resistance
on the southeast end of the German lines, and particularly if it
could break through so as to capture the military trunk line which
ran through Sedan to their depot at Metz, large bodies of Germans
farther to the west would be brought close to the point of surrender.
Naturally, the German Commanders knew this as well as Marshal Foch
or General Pershing and they massed their defenses at the point of
greatest danger. To the civilian mind, when troops are advancing
ten or fifteen kilometers a day and capturing prisoners and guns,
they are heroes of tremendous battles. But soldiers know that in
the tremendous battles an advance of two or three kilometers is a
big gain, to be paid for at a great cost of human life. We had an
example of the first kind at Saint Mihiel, which loomed large in the
imagination of the folks at home, but which to the soldiers was a
walkover. The Argonne was no walkover during the first five weeks.
The nature of the country made it easy to defend, hard to capture. It
is a hilly country—and that always means plenty of woods. The hills,
moreover, connect themselves up in a general east and west direction
and the advance had to be made by conquering a series of heights.
When we went into the fight the line-up of Divisions nearest to us
were the 77th, on the extreme left, going up through the forest, the
82nd on the other side of the Aire, the 1st, which we relieved, and
on our right, the 32nd. Further east were other divisions extending
up to the Meuse, while yet other bodies of Americans were working to
cross that river and fight their way up its eastern bank.
In the sector on the east side of the Aire, which we now took over,
the 35th Division had been first to go in. At great sacrifice it
had captured successive villages and ridges, but had finally been
repulsed on the last hill before reaching Exermont and had been
forced to fall back. Then the old reliables of the 1st Division, who
had been our first troops to arrive in France and the first to engage
with the enemy at Cantigny, were called upon to do their share. They
did it, and more than their share. They captured the ridges up to
Exermont and Fleville and Sommerance, swept the Germans off the Cote
de Maldah and there established their lines at the price of half the
infantry in the Division.
Now it was our turn. If the others had a hard task, ours was
certainly no easier, because it was given to us to break the final
and long prepared line of German defenses, called the Kriemhilde
Stellung.
We marched to our new positions on October 11th, our strength
at the time being 53 officers and a little less than 3,000 men.
Regimental headquarters were set up at Exermont, the Supply Company
being down the road at Apremont. The first day the support and
reserve battalions were in a wide gully to the east, called Chaudron
Farm. The 3rd battalion effected the relief on the front line,
Major Reilley commanding, Lieutenant Heller, Adjutant, Company I
under Captain Michael J. Walsh, who had insisted on giving up the
Headquarters Company and taking a line Company so that he could take
part himself in the fighting; Company K under Lieutenant Guignon;
Company L, Captain Given, Company M, Captain Rowley. In support
was the 1st Battalion now commanded by Major Kelly, Lieutenant
O’Connor, Adjutant, Lieutenant Connelly being Intelligence Officer.
The commanders of A, B, C, and D, being Lieutenant W. Hutchinson,
Lieutenant Clifford, Captain Bootz and Captain Buck. Second Battalion
under Major Anderson, Lieutenant Fechheimer, Adjutant, with E, F,
G and H under Captain Conners, Captain Marsh, Captain Stout and
Lieutenant Ogle.
As the companies marched up to take their place in line I stood
on a rising ground in the bleak and open plain to perform my own
duties in their regard, which for many of them would be the last
time. The frequently recurring rows of rude crosses which marked the
last resting places of many brave lads of the 1st Division were an
eloquent sermon on death; so that no words of warning from me were
needed and I was able to do my holy business in a matter of fact way
which soldiers like better than being preached at. General Lenihan
is fond of quoting Private Terence Mulvaney’s remark: “What I like
about the old church is that she’s so remarkable regimental in her
fittin’s.”
In former days men massed together for battle; today they scatter. It
is interesting to watch the deliberate disintegration of a Division
as it approaches the front line. It breaks into brigades and into
regiments for convenience in using the roads. Then the regiments
are broken into battalions, usually, according to the stock phrase
“echeloned in depth” that is, one on the line, one in support and
one in reserve. The battalion breaks up into companies as it gets
nearer the front; and the companies, when they reach the point where
they are likely to be under shell fire, separate into platoons with
considerable distance between them. In action men advance with
generous intervals between.
When they get close to the enemy the advance is made by frequent
rushes, about a fourth of the men in a platoon running forward,
taking advantage of the ground, while their comrades keep the enemy’s
heads down by their fire, until all of them can get close. In its
last stages the warfare of these small groups is more like the Indian
fighting in which the first General of our Republic learned the
profession of arms, than anything which the imagination of civilians
pictures it. To take machine gun nests—I am not speaking of regularly
wired and entrenched positions which it is the business of artillery
to reduce before the infantry essays them—it is often a matter of
individual courage and strategy. Sometimes the fire of a platoon can
reduce the number of the gunners or make the less hardy of them keep
their heads down so that the pieces cannot be properly handled; but
often the resistance is overcome by a single sharp-shooter firing
from the elbow of a tree, or by some daring fellow who works his way
across hollows which are barely deep enough to protect him from fire,
or up a gully or watercourse, until he is near enough to throw hand
grenades. Then it is all over.
Our supply company and band were stationed at the Ferme de
l’Esperance on the Aire River. Going north along the river road as
far as Fleville one finds a road going to the right through a deep
defile which leads to the village of Exermont about a mile and a
half away. On the north and on the south the view is bounded by
steep hills which have been captured by the 1st Division. To the
north a muddy trail winds around the base of hill 247 leading to a
wide, rough, partly wooded plain. This was covered with the bodies
of the brave soldiers of the 1st Division, more thickly than I have
seen anywhere else with the exception of the hill where lay our 3rd
Battalion north of the Ourcq. There were many German wooden shelters
at the base of the hill to the right, with bodies of dead Germans,
many of them killed in hand to hand conflict.
Our 3rd Battalion took over the front line on the Cote de Maldah, a
maze of woods and ravines. Companies M and I were on the twin knolls
of the Cote, K and L in the woods behind. To their left were the
Ohios at Sommerance, while the Alabamas and Iowas held positions
similar to our own on hills 263 and 269. Our 2nd Battalion was in a
shrubby woods to the rear, and the 1st Battalion was originally held
under protection of the hill just outside of Exermont, in which
town were the headquarters of the 165th and 166th and the Regimental
Dressing Stations of the 165th and 167th. Our artillery, which had
been in support of the 32nd Division, rejoined us on October 13th,
making a hard, forced march with animals that had been reduced in
strength and numbers by our continuous warfare. Colonel Henry Reilly,
a West Point graduate, and a man of great intelligence and force of
character, was appointed to direct the operations of the artillery
brigade, leaving Lieutenant Colonel Redden to take charge of his
own regiment, the 149th Field Artillery. The artillery of the 1st
division also remained to assist in the sector.
The German main line of defense—the Kriemhilde Stellung, was about
three kilometers in front of our brigade but less than two in front
of the 84th Brigade. It was a well prepared and strongly wired
position consisting of three lines of wires and trenches. The first
rows of wire were breast high and as much as twenty feet wide, all
bound together in small squares by iron supports so that it was
almost impossible for artillery to destroy it unless the whole ground
were beaten flat. Back of this were good trenches about four feet
deep with machine gun shelters carefully prepared. Behind this front
line at thirty yards intervals they had two other lines with lower
wire and shallower trenches. Starting from our left these trenches
ran from west to east on our side of two small villages called St.
Georges and Landres et St. Georges. From in front of the latter
village the wire turned in a southeasterly direction towards us,
following the lowest slope of the Cote de Chatillon and embracing
LaMusarde Ferme, thence swinging east again to take in the Tuilerie
Ferme. The Cote de Chatillon was a high wooded knoll which commanded
the terrain to west and south.
The task of the 84th Brigade was to work their way through the Bois
de Romagne and capture the two farms and the Cote de Chatillon.
Our brigade front was of a different character, and with its own
particular kind of difficulty. The terrain was the most nearly level
section we had seen in this country, and was mostly open, though
with irregular patches of woods. From the Cote de Maldah it sloped
off towards the north to a small brook that ran in a general east to
west direction through ground that was a bit swampier than the rest;
and from there, rising gradually, up to the German wire. A good road
with a bridge over the brook ran northeast and southwest between
Sommerance and Landres et St. Georges. At the beginning it lay
entirely in the Ohio sector but our advance to the north would bring
us astride of it.
Our attack had to be made over open ground with the purpose
of carrying by direct assault wired entrenchments. It was the
warfare of 1916 and 1917 over again, and everybody knows from the
numerous British and French accounts of such action that it can be
accomplished only by tremendous artillery preparation, and that even
then gains must be made at a great loss of Infantry. But a glance
at the maps, in which blue dotted lines represented the enemy wire,
showed us that we had greater danger to fear than the resistance
which would come from our direct front. The blue dots ran straight
across the right of the Ohio front and all of ours, and then swung
in a southerly direction for a kilometer or more. They prophesied
eloquently to anyone who had the slightest knowledge of war that our
main danger was to come from our right flank unless that hill could
be taken first. Donovan’s desire was to advance until we would be on
a level with the wire to our right, hold that line with a sufficient
number of troops to guard against counter attack, and throw in our
main strength on the left of the 84th Brigade, they striking from
the south and we from the west until the Cote de Chatillon should
be taken. Continuing the advance from there, we could take Landres
et St. Georges from the east. The orders however were to attack,
head on, with four regiments abreast. The 84th Brigade was given
three hours start to fight their way through the southernmost German
defences. It was calculated that they could get far enough forward
during this time so that both brigades could keep advancing in even
line.
Preparations for the assault were made difficult by weather
conditions. The sun never shone and a large part of the time it
rained steadily. It was difficult to observe the enemy lines or
their troop movements from balloons, and the advantage of aeroplanes
was theirs—not ours. The abominable condition of the roads made it
impossible to get sufficient ammunition forward and our artillery was
working under a great handicap. Facilities for communication with the
front line were poor throughout the whole action. The wire, strung
along the wet ground, was all the time getting out of order; horses
were few and runners had to make their way back through seas of mud,
which also caused untold difficulty in getting forward food and
ammunition.
However, everything was planned as well as possible under the
conditions. It was arranged to have tanks to help our men get through
the wire. The gas and flame Engineers were also to render assistance,
and Colonel Johnson sent detachments of his Engineers (for whom I
have supplied a motto from an old song: “Aisy wid the Shovel and
Handy with the Gun”) to go with the Infantry as wire-cutters, and to
follow up to repair roads.
During the two days in which these plans were being made the battle
activity on both sides was conducted mainly by the artillery. Company
G had barely occupied its position in the woods on the evening of
October 11th, when it was subjected to a heavy shelling, with the
loss of M. Black killed and Sergeant Edward McNamara, Corporal
Framan, Kessler, Dan McSherry and William McManus wounded. Young
Jim Gordon of Company E was running for a litter to carry off the
wounded when a fragment from a gas shell struck him in the chest and
killed him instantly. Arthur Brown of Company I was killed on the
Cote de Maldah. Early on the morning of the 12th the men of Company
C who were lying along the southern bases of the hill not far from a
battery of artillery which the enemy were trying to get, had some
shells dropped amongst them and H. Harbison, L. Jones and Frank Foley
were killed and Gorman and others wounded.
Lieutenant Colonel Donovan was assigned by Colonel Mitchell to have
general charge of the situation at the front while he with Captain
Merle-Smith as operations officer and Captain Meaney as Adjutant,
handled it from the P. C. in Exermont. Lieutenant Lawrence Irving, in
charge of the Intelligence Section, was at the observation post.
Our artillery preparations for the assault were begun at 3:30 on the
morning of October 14th. Our brigade, in touch with the 82nd Division
on our left, jumped off at 8:30 in the same morning. In our regiment
Companies I and M were in advance, with K and L in immediate support,
a company of the Wisconsin Machine Gunners being with them and our
2nd Battalion supplying details for carrying ammunition, etc. The
front wave had not gotten well started before it was evident that
the enemy were expecting an attack, and from the beginning our men
went forward through steady shell fire which increased as their
purpose became more clearly manifested. Two enemy aeroplanes flew
along the lines of our Division discharging machine guns and no doubt
keeping their own artillery posted on the results of their fire.
But, in spite of losses, our men kept going forward, stimulated by
the encouragement of Major Reilley and his Company Commanders Walsh,
Guignon, Given and Rowley. They had about two miles to go before
reaching the enemy’s wire.
Captain Rowley with Company M was to the left alongside of the Ohios
and Captain Michael Walsh to the right, and at the beginning in
touch with the Alabamas, a touch which was soon lost, as the latter
regiment came to close grips with the enemy at a point further
south than our point of attack, and our companies pushing northward
found it difficult to maintain liaison with them. The amount of
time assigned to the 84th Brigade to capture Hill 288, the Tuilerie
Farm, and the defenses at the base of the Cote de Chatillon was
not sufficient for the magnitude of the task that was given them to
accomplish. By noon their line had passed Hill 288 and was close to
the enemy outposts, but at that time our Brigade was already at their
Second Objective. From the outset the most destructive fire we had to
undergo came from machine guns firing from this Cote to our right and
enfilading our whole line; and the further forward we got the more
destructive it became. By 1 o’clock half of the third battalion had
been killed or wounded. Colonel Donovan, with Lieutenants Wheatley
and Betty, and Major Reilley with Lieutenant Heller and Sergeant
Courtney, were all over the field sustaining the spirits of the men.
There is no tougher experience than that of advancing over a
considerable distance under fire. The trouble is that the men are
being shot down by an enemy whom they cannot see. They reply with
their rifles and machine guns, but have only the vaguest hope that
they are accomplishing anything more than disconcerting their
opponents. When a soldier gets where he can see the foe he develops
a sort of hunter’s exhilaration. His blood warms up and he actually
forgets that the other fellow is shooting at him. Advancing in the
open against trenches he has only the sensations of the hunted. Heavy
fire begins to rain around them, men are hit, the line drops, each
man in whatever shelter he can find. Then the order is given to rise
and go forward again; spurts of dust are kicked up, the first three
or four men to advance walk into the line of bullets and go down
before they have gone ten feet. And the others who have seen them
fall must go straight ahead and take that same deadly chance, never
knowing when they themselves will stop a German missile. It takes
undaunted leadership and tremendous courage to keep going forward
under such conditions.
That leadership the men possessed in their battalion commander and
those under him. Captain Rowley, a quiet, determined man, kept M
Company moving forward until he was knocked senseless by a tree
which was blown down upon him through the explosion of a shell. His
place was taken by Lieutenant Collier, who was shortly afterwards
also wounded, and Lieutenant Don Elliott found himself in command.
Company I was led by Captain Mike Walsh until he received a long
tearing wound through the arm. He left his Company under command of
Lieutenant Roderick Hutchinson, who led the company until he too was
wounded, and started back alone to the Dressing-Station under the
slope of the hill, to have his wound bandaged up. On his way back
to the line he was hit once more and instantly killed. Nobody knew
that he was killed until his body was discovered by Edward Healy,
who buried him; and was shortly afterwards killed himself. It was
well for his Company that they did not know the misfortune they had
sustained because no loss in our whole campaign was more deeply felt
than that of this rugged, whole-souled soldier and leader of men.
Companies L and K, under Captain Given and Lieutenant Guignon, were
also having their troubles, especially Company K under the daring
leadership of its youthful commander. In all of the companies there
was great loss amongst our old time non-coms as they moved around
looking after the men instead of taking shelter with them.
But the outstanding figure in the mind of every officer and man was
Lieutenant Colonel William J. Donovan. Donovan is one of the few men
I know who really enjoys a battle. He goes into it in exactly the
frame of mind that he had as a college man when he marched out on
the gridiron before a football game, and his one thought throughout
is to push his way through. “Cool” is the word the men use of him
and “Cool” is their highest epithet of praise for a man of daring,
resolution and indifference to danger. He moved out from the Cote de
Maldah at the beginning of the attack with his headquarters group,
just behind the supporting companies—his proper place, though he
had no intention of remaining there if he could do more efficient
work further forward. He had prepared himself for the task he had
determined on in a characteristic way. Instead of taking off all
signs of rank, as officers are supposed to do to avoid being made a
mark for sharp-shooters, he had donned a Sam Brown belt with double
shoulder straps, so that none of his men could miss knowing who he
was; that the enemy also would pick him out was to him a matter
of serene indifference. As soon as the advance began to slow up
under the heavy losses, he passed to the front line of the leading
elements. The motto of the Donovan clan must be “Come on.” It was
“Come on, fellows, it’s better ahead than it is here,” or “Come on,
we’ll have them on the run before long,” or with his arm across the
shoulder of some poor chap who looked worried, “Come on, old sport,
nobody in this Regiment was ever afraid.” He would stand out in front
of the men lying in shell holes into which he had ordered them, and
read his map unconcernedly with the Machine-gun bullets kicking up
spurts of dust around his feet; and would turn smilingly, “Come on
now, men, they can’t hit me and they won’t hit you.” It was more like
a Civil War picture than anything we have seen in this fighting to
watch the line of troops rushing forward led by their Commander.
But their task was more than any battalion could perform. The
conditions on the right made it impossible to reach the wire in front
with strength enough to break through it. The 84th Brigade was doing
heroic work, but it was to take two days more of tremendously hard
fighting for them before the Cote de Chatillon could be reduced. The
nature of the fighting turned their front obliquely in a northeast
direction, while our Brigade was advancing due north. Major Norris
of the Alabamas filled in the gap between our right and their left
during the afternoon, thus insuring against an attack from the
Germans which might break through our line. Their brigade captured
Hill 288 that day but was held up in front of the Tuilerie Farm. It
was not until the evening of the 16th and by continuous and desperate
fighting that our gallant brothers of the 84th Brigade pounded their
way to the crest of the Cote de Chatillon.
In the afternoon, after six hours of battle, Donovan reported that
the 3rd Battalion, which had gotten up to the slopes under the
German wire, was too badly shot up to be able to push through. He
requested an artillery barrage of an hour and a half to keep the
Germans distracted while he withdrew the 3rd Battalion carrying their
wounded, through the 1st Battalion under Major Kelly, who would take
their place. At dusk Kelly made his advance by infiltration, Company
C on the left, Company D on the right. The men stole forward, losing
heavily but taking advantage of every inequality in the surface of
the ground. Towards the right of our position a rough wagon road
run up through a draw between two gradual slopes and just before
it reached the main road between Sommerance and Landres it passed
through a deep cut, in some places eight feet deep, part of which was
included in the enemy’s wire defenses.
The battalion fought its way right up to the enemy’s wire, only
to find it an impassable barrier. Our artillery fire had not made
a break in it anywhere, as for lack of aeroplanes to register the
effects of their work they had been shooting entirely by the map.
Groups of our lads dashed up to the wire only to be shot down to
the last man. Some ran through a passage made for the roadway, the
only possible method of getting through, but this of course was
absolutely covered by the German guns, and every man that went
through it was shot and, if not killed outright, taken prisoner.
Soldiers of ours and of the Engineers with wire-cutting tools lay
on their faces working madly to cut through the strands, while
riflemen and grenadiers alongside of them tried to beat down the
resistance. But they were in a perfect hail of bullets from front
and flank, and every last man was killed or wounded. Further back
was a concentration of artillery fire, of bursting shells and groans
and death, that made the advance of the support platoons a veritable
hell.
The attackers finally fell back a short distance to the deep cut
in the road. Our second attempt to break through had failed. Major
Kelly with Lieutenant Connelly and parts of companies A and C held
this place as a vantage point to make a third attempt in the morning.
Bootz was in charge on the left of the main road. About one hundred
and fifty yards south of the wire the ground sloped, and on this
reverse slope Colonel Donovan established his P. C., with Lieutenant
Betty as his adjutant, Wheatley having been wounded. With him also
were detachments from the Headquarters and Machine Gun Companies
under Lieutenant Devine and Sergeants Sheahan, Heins, Leo Mullin,
Doherty and Gillespie. During the night, accompanied by Sergeant
Major Bernard White, the Colonel himself scouted up to the enemy
wire to examine the conditions for the next days’ attack. Tanks were
promised to roll through the wire, shoot up the machine gun nests and
make a passage for the infantry. Morning came but no tanks in sight.
Lieutenant Grose and Boberg and Brosnan of Brigade Headquarters were
scouring the roads in search of them. It took two hours to get a
message back, as the telephone was out. The artillery barrage ran
its appointed course and still no tanks. Kelly once more made his
attack, under conditions that he soon discovered to be impossible for
success. Every man that reached the wire was hit, and losses were
heavy in his elements further back.
About half an hour after the advance began a rifle bullet struck
Colonel Donovan in the leg, going through the bone and rendering him
helpless. He would have ordered anybody else to be evacuated, but he
refused to allow himself to be removed. In answer to the protests of
his Adjutant he swore he would stay there and see the thing through.
So he lay in his shell-hole and continued to direct the battle. It
was bound to be a one-sided one until the tanks should come up. Our
men in the sunken road were being shelled by trench mortars which
dropped their shells into the narrow cutting, spreading disaster. Our
elements in the more open ground to the rear were under continuous
shell fire as the enemy artillery had the exact ranges.
One of the creepiest feelings in war is that of being boxed in by
artillery fire. A shell lands to the right of a group of men; no harm
in that—all safe. Then one lands to the left, to front, or rear,
and the next is closer in between them. Then everybody knows what
is happening. That square is in for a shelling until nothing living
inside it will escape except by miracle. This was the experience of
many a group that morning, and Colonel Donovan and his headquarters
men had to undergo it to the utmost. There always has to be a good
deal of motion around a Post of Command, so this slope was made a
special target. Shells fell all over it, and men were blown out of
their holes by direct hits. Thus perished Patrick Connors of Company
H and Color Sergeant William Sheahan, one of the finest and bravest
of men. Donovan (and Major Anderson, who had come up and was lying
in the same hole with him) escaped without further injury. Messages
which had to be carried the short distance between his shell-hole and
where Kelly was were sent with difficulty, many runners being killed
or wounded. They had no direct connection with the rear. It was a
lone fight, but both Donovan and Kelly were of the same mind, not to
desist from the attack so long as any chance remained of putting it
through.
Finally the tanks appeared coming up the road from Sommerance.
Everybody was elated. At last there was a chance to get through that
wire and mop up those infernal machine gun nests. But the tanks
were under artillery fire, some of which was evidently doing damage
to them, and with disappointment and disgust the Infantry saw them
pause, turn about and rumble down the road to the rear. About 10:30
Captain Buck, who had been wounded and was on his way to the Dressing
Station, brought word to Donovan that a counter-attack was evidently
in preparation. Donovan’s party urged him to let them carry him back,
but he swore at them, and ordered them to bring up more machine
guns and the Stokes Mortars, under Lieutenant O’Donohue and Sergeant
Fitzsimmons. These were disposed in an advantageous position, which
means a dangerous one, and the counter-attack was smothered in its
inception.
By 11:00 o’clock Donovan had decided that the 1st Battalion had too
many losses to make it possible for them to get through. He told
Anderson, who was with him, to return and bring forward his battalion
so that Kelly’s men and their wounded could pass through.
Kelly, whose fighting blood was up, at first refused to retire,
demanding written orders from his chief before he would give up his
claim on the post of danger and glory. Donovan gave the orders and
then permitted himself to be carried in, leaving the situation in the
very capable hands of Major Anderson.
This relief was begun about noon with the aid of a heavy barrage from
our artillery, of which nobody in the line knew the exact reason.
The reason was that Brigade had ordered another attack which was
originally scheduled for 11:15. Merle-Smith had protested that we had
only one battalion left and that it was unwise to use up our last
effectives. The only result was that the barrage was extended until
noon, on Colonel Mitchell’s report that it would be impossible to get
the orders forward to the front by 11:15. He sent the order in three
different directions, but none of his messages arrived until the
barrage which was to cover the attack had passed over and the relief
of the 1st battalion had already begun.
The situation was a stalemate. We had made an advance of three
kilometers under desperate conditions, but in spite of our losses
and sacrifices we had failed to take our final objective. Well,
success is not always the reward of courage. There is no military
organization, no matter how famous, that has not its record of
failures. In this war every regiment and division in the older armies
has known times when it was impossible for them to do all that it
was hoped they might be able to accomplish, and most especially when
they were called upon to capture well defended trench positions.
Indeed, since 1915, no commanders in the older armies would dream of
opposing to strongly wired and entrenched positions the naked breasts
of their infantry. They take care that the wire, or part of it at
least, is knocked down by artillery or laid flat by tanks before
they ask unprotected riflemen to try conclusions with its defenders.
When the wire is deep, and still intact, and strongly defended, the
infantry can do little but hang their heroic bodies on it.
But we shall not dwell on this. The most glorious day in the history
of our regiment in the Civil War was Fredericksburg, where the Old
69th in the Irish Brigade failed to capture the impregnable position
on Marye’s Heights, though their dead with the green sprigs in
their caps lay in rows before it. Landres et St. Georges is our
Fredericksburg and the Kriemhilde Stellung our Marye’s Heights.
Whatever the mature judgment of history may decide about it, the
opinion of our Corps Commander, General Summerall, was the one that
counted most. He had been in command of the 1st Division when it made
its attack in this same area, and was promoted after the battle to
the duty of commanding the corps into which we moved. On the evening
of the 15th he came to our brigade and made a visit to our P. C. in
Exermont to demand why our final objective had not been taken. He
was not well handled, Colonel Mitchell is a good soldier, and one of
the finest men in the world, but he is entirely too modest to say a
strong word in his own defense. Everybody is familiar with the kind
of man who, in spite of the merits of his case, makes a poor figure
on the witness stand. Donovan, who is an able lawyer and likes the
give and take of battle, verbal or otherwise, would have sized up the
Corps Commander’s mood and would have been planning a new attack with
him after the first ten minutes. Captain Merle-Smith stated the facts
of the case—the enfilading fire from the Cote de Chatillon, the
unbroken wire in our front, the inadequacy of artillery against it on
account of lack of air service to register their fire, the failure
of the tanks and the extent of our losses. General Summerall was in
no mood for argument. He wanted results, no matter how many men were
killed, and he went away more dissatisfied than he had come.
As a result, by his orders the Division Commander relieved General
Lenihan, Colonel Mitchell and also Captain Merle-Smith and Lieutenant
Betty. As a matter of fact, a few days later when the ill humor
had cooled down, Merle-Smith was sent back to us in command of a
battalion and Betty also returned. When General Lenihan submitted his
statement of the actions of his brigade (supplemented by messages and
maps) to the Army commander, General Liggett, the latter assured him
that he would name him to fill the first vacancy in a combat Brigade
on the fighting line. This happened to be in the 77th Division, and
two weeks later I met him at St. Juvin, still in line and going
strong.
I do not wish to adopt too critical a tone with regard to the action
of the Corps Commander. He is the military superior, and his judgment
must be accepted even if it is wrong. Moreover, the loss of rank
or position by officers weighs nothing with me in comparison with
the two big factors: the proper handling of the men under them; and
victory. In the heat of action every commanding general has to make
rapid decisions. General Summerall came to one of these decisions in
our regard, and we must abide by it.
But speaking as an historian, I think that his decision was wrong.
It was a question of whether our Colonel was a man to get out of
his regiment all that it was capable of. No person who knows him
could ever accuse Harry D. Mitchell of losing his nerve in a battle.
He liked a fight. He would have been happier out on the line as
Lieutenant Colonel than back in his P. C., but he knew that there was
nobody who could handle an attack and put courage and dash into it
better than Colonel Donovan, and that any body of troops, even less
experienced and willing than our own, would fight to the last under
such leadership. Colonel Mitchell’s spirit was equally resolute and
his orders crisp and strong. The whole regiment was devoted to him,
and anxious to do their very best under his command. Indeed, amongst
the older men, there was never any doubt about our ultimate success.
It had taken five days to reduce the German resistance at the Ourcq,
but we did it. With more help from artillery and tanks, they said, we
can make it yet. The worst blow to our morale that we ever received
was inflicted by the order relieving our Colonel.
The days following were anxious and gloomy ones for us, and our
spirits were kept up by the unchanged dry humor of the man we were
sorry to lose. When he was going, I said, to relieve the tension:
“Now you are leaving us just when I had you running fine and I’ll
have the job of breaking in another new Commanding Officer.”
“Father,” he said, “this continuous change of Commanders would break
up any other regiment I ever knew, but this old regiment can keep
itself going on, no matter who commands it. It would get along on
spirit and unity if it never had a Commanding Officer.”
Our new commander was Lieutenant Colonel Charles H. Dravo, who had
been Division Machine Gun Officer. A number of us have known him for
a considerable time and like him already, all the more because his
first action was a report on conditions in the regiment which was
aimed at the restoration of Colonel Mitchell to his command.
We had 53 officers going in at the Argonne and of those five were
killed and fifteen wounded. Of those killed, after Captain Michael
Walsh, the greatest sense of loss was felt at the death of Lieutenant
Andrew Ellett of Company E, a soldier of unlimited courage. We
did not know until long afterwards that Lieutenant Henry Davis,
an officer of the same type, who had been wounded by shell fire
on October 12th, died in Hospital. Two young officers who were
comparatively newcomers in the Regiment, but who had made many
friends, Lieutenants William O’Connor and John P. Orr, were killed on
the field.
Headquarters Company lost, beside Color Sergeant Sheahan, Sergeant
Edward J. Hussey, with Gustave Cosgrove and Charles Schulmerick and
James Gaunthier, died of wounds.
Company A lost Sergeants James P. Duff and Fred. Stenson; Corporals
Sidney H. Clark, Bernard McOwen, John Nallin, and Peter Barbee,
David Bignell, William Cook, Jeremiah Dineen, Silas Donegan,
Raymond Fitzpatrick, Charles Freeman, Frank Gilday, Lester Hess,
Oscar Iverson, Edward Kelly, Lafayette Sharp, A. B. Harrell,
William Smith, William Bress, Leo Tully, Charles Hallberg and Earl
Wilder.
Company B lost Sergeants James Donnelly and John J. Mahoney;
Corporal Thomas F. Winters; and Philip Benoit, Joseph Cole, Thomas
J. Cronin, David Dempsey, Thomas Doyle, Dewey Houck, Jesse Johnson,
Benjamin Robert, Ed Zeiss, Robert Wallack.
Company C lost Sergeant Edward Kearin; Corporals James Farnan,
Arthur Potter, Daniel J. Slattery; and Avery Bridges, James Cody,
Lloyd Harris, Clinton Hart, Martin Haugse, W. P. Hensel, Harold
J. Hogan, Samuel Key, Daniel Medler, James Murnane, J. P. Myers,
Charles Nabors, George O’Neill, Anthony Palumbo, William Fountain,
J. H. Reneker, Edward Sheridan, Francis Conway and Thomas D. Vegeau.
Company D lost Corporals John J. Haggerty, Harry Adkins, William
Boetger, Walter Crisp, Lacy Castor, J. W. McPherson, S. Scardino,
W. Schmelick; and C. R. Kerl, William Cundiff, Frank Fall, George
Saladucha, R. Robbins, Lawrence P. Mahoney, Peter J. Wollner, James
W. Hasting, Fred Smith, John McNamara, Gordon Wynne, Charles
Evers, James Butler, Edward Clement, Frank F. De Muth and Richard
Fincke.
Company E lost Corporals William Dougherty, William Bechtold,
Matthew Colgan, and George Failing; and Joseph Carroll, Frederick
Gluck, Kennedy Hardy, Fred Conway and John Naughton.
Company F lost Arthur Armes, William M. Binkley, Charles Park, Fred
Riddles, Joseph Woodlief, Joseph Elzear, Charles Ash.
Company G lost Daniel McSherry, Clarence Leonard, Charles Jacobs,
Marvin Black, John Hemmer, Archie Lilles, William McManus.
Company H lost Corporal Clifford Wiltshire, Arthur N. Frank, Roger
Folson, Clinton Bushey, J. Moscolo, Patrick Connors and heroic
Sergeant John J. Walker.
Company I lost Sergeants Patrick Collins and William Harrison;
Corporals Allen Crowe and Charles Stone; and A. G. Brown, Robert
Cousens, Harry Gill, Edward F. Healy, Earnest Keith, Albert
Mortenson, James Nealon, Gilbert Neely, George A. Peterson, Warren
Regan, Thomas Stokey, Earl Thayer, Elcanor Yow, James Brown,
Kenneth Trickett.
Company K lost Sergeants John J. Gavaghan and John J. Butler;
Corporals Henry D. Hawxhurst and Thomas Madden; and N. Farhout,
John P. Quinlan, James C. Wright, Joseph Barzare, John L. Sullivan,
Francis Gioio, Daniel Buckley, Leonard Giarusso, Andrew Goeres,
Claude Best, George Pennington.
Company L lost Corporal Edward Bloom and Joseph Metcalf, Fred Parr,
Homer C. Coin, John H. Jumper, E. Epperly, John P. Ryan.
Company M lost Sergeant Peter Cooney; Corporals Charles T. Elson,
Charles J. Brennan and William H. Crunden; and John T. Byrnes,
Emmett Davidson, Frank Manning, H. F. Brumley, Patrick J. O’Neill,
Charles Blagg, Joseph McAndrews.
Machine Gun Company lost Harry A. Dearing, Fred Martin, John A.
Claire, Thomas McCabe, Thomas Norton, Leonard Hansen and John McKay.
Supply Company lost Giuseppe Mastromarino.
Nobody wants to talk very much about the recent battle. It was a
nightmare that one does not care to recall. Individual acts do not
stand out in actions of this kind. It is a case of everybody going
ahead and taking the punishment. Everybody who stood up under it
and kept carrying on deserves the laurel crown. Some men, however,
stand out in more striking way than their companions, either through
natural coolness and willingness to take added risks or by their
acceptance of a position of command that the chances of battle
offered them. Prominent amongst these is Sergeant Michael Fitzpatrick
of Company L, whose brother Cornelius was killed at the Ourcq, and
who took charge of a platoon and kept it going with great spirit
after First Sergeant Wittlinger was wounded. The veteran First
Sergeant of Company K, Tim Sullivan, was also wounded in this fight,
and another of the Sullivans, John L., was killed. Company K also
lost a fine character in Sergeant Gavaghan, a stalwart, heroic,
innocent-minded young Irishman.
When Colonel Donovan called for the Stokes Mortars to repel the
threatened counter-attack on the morning of the 15th, the pieces
were set up under the slight protection of the sloping ground,
but from this point the gunners could not observe the accuracy of
their own fire. So Sergeant Fitzsimmons ran forward to the top of
the slope, making himself an easy cockshot for the German gunners
while he signalled to his own men his corrections on their aim. He
escaped himself by a miracle and had the satisfaction of seeing the
shells dropping right amongst the Germans who were gathering for the
attack, and doing dreadful execution.
The battalion runners received great praise from everybody, as they
had to take untold risks in moving from place to place without
shelter. Ammunition carriers also had a dangerous task, those
from Company H suffering severe losses. Amongst those killed were
Corporal Clifford Wiltshire, a nice quiet boy who was married to
Sergeant Winthrop’s sister; and Clinton Bushey, who once before was
reported dead when out on the digging detail during the bombardment
of July 15th. The sergeants we lost were all good men. Hussey was a
clean-cut young athlete; Duff and Stenson of Company A were both very
dependable men, as were also Sidney Clark, who did great work at the
Ourcq, and Bernard McOwen, who had the Croix de Guerre. Donnelly and
Mahoney of B had worked their way up from being privates by character
and merit; and Tom Winters was also a good man. Eddie Kearin of C
was one of the best liked youths in the regiment and James Farnan,
a solid Irishman; Dougherty, Colgan, Bechtold and John Naughton of
E have figured before and in these annals; also Fred Gluck, heroic
litter-bearer. Company I was hard hit in the loss of Patrick Collins
and William Harrison. Charlie Stone’s mother was the last person I
shook hands with before our train left Camp Mills for the transport.
Robert Cousens was killed while looking after his brother who had
been wounded. Sergeant Peter Cooney of M Company was out with the
regiment in ’98 and the three corporals, Elson, Brennan, and Crunden,
were fine types of soldiers. Harry Dearing, John Claire, John McKay
and the others from the Machine Gun Company will be sorely missed by
their fellows.
With Colonel Donovan on the slope on October 15th were Sergeants of
Headquarters Company and the Machine Gun Company. The Colonel told
me later that the shell which blew Sergeant Sheahan heavenward took
the legs off another Irish soldier who was with him. This I knew
was Patrick Connors. Another Irishman jumped from a neighboring
shell-hole, picked up the wounded man and kissed him, saying: “Me
poor fellow, me poor fellow.” He put tourniquets on the stumps and
then, unaided, started down the dangerous slope carrying him to the
rear. Gillespie and Doherty tell me that this deed was performed
by Corporal John Patrick Furey of Company H, who was in charge
of the ammunition carriers for the machine guns. Furey had been
wounded already himself, and the sergeants wanted him to go to the
rear, but he refused, as so much depended on keeping our machine
guns fed. When he was carrying Connors back they shouted to him to
get in an ambulance when he got there; but later in the morning
Furey reappeared alongside them after his two-mile journey in each
direction; and this in spite of the fact that the strain of carrying
his burden had reopened another wound that he got at the Ourcq. It
was an exhibition of tender-heartedness and sheer courage that honors
humanity.
Liaison men have to take untold risks in action of this kind. Of
Major Kelly’s group in the sunken road nearly all were killed
or wounded. Young Eddie Kelly (killed), Cody (killed), White (a
hero in every battle), Liebowitz (wounded), and Matty Rice (often
mentioned in these annals) worked their way from Kelly to Bootz or
from Kelly to Donovan. When they were gone Corporal Thomas O’Kelly
offered to deliver messages, but the Major wished to keep him by his
side as a valuable man in combat. “Send me, Major,” insisted Tom,
“I’ll carry it through, and if I don’t come back, you’ll know I’m
dead.” He got it through alright, though wounded. He wanted to go
back with a message, but Colonel Donovan ordered him to go back to
the Dressing-Station. Every last man amongst these men deserves a
citation for bravery.
In this battle one of the tasks which required the greatest courage
was that of getting back the wounded when the retirement from
the wire of the first battalion was ordered. Their rescuers had
to abandon their pits and advance in full view of the enemy in
their work of succor. The men who stood out in accomplishing this
dangerous duty were in Company A: First Sergeant Thomas Sweeney
and Sergeant John H. Dennelly; In Company C, First Sergeant Thomas
P. O’Hagan, Sergeant Joseph Burns and Corporal Archie Reilly. Also
Mike Donaldson, of Company I, who volunteered for this service and
carried in man after man under heavy fire. Two of the liaison men
from A Company, Matthew J. Kane and Martin Gill, as also John Hammond
and Fred Craven of Company C, are also highly recommended for the
cheerful and efficient manner in which they performed their perilous
job.
Company M is very proud of its youngest corporal, little Jimmy
Winestock, the mildest looking and most unassuming youth in the
regiment. When troops advance under fire, there are always some who
get strayed from their command, especially when their platoon leaders
have been hit. Jimmy picked up all these stragglers from their
companies, formed them into a detachment, issued his commands as if
he were a major at least, and led them forward into the thick of
action.
Major Lawrence very early in the battle had established his
regimental dressing station as near to the front line as an ambulance
could possibly go. There was absolutely no protection where he was,
and his group which included Chaplain Holmes and the “Y” Athletic
Director, Mr. Jewett, were exposed to danger from shells at all
times. Father Hanley stuck as usual to his beloved Third Battalion
and was out further living in a hole in the side of a hill, with
Doctors Kilcourse, Martin, Mitchell, Cowett and our dental officers
Bamford and Landrigan, who always rendered good work in battle.
When they were carrying Donovan in I met him at Lawrence’s station.
He looked up from the stretcher and said to me smilingly, “Father,
you’re a disappointed man. You expected to have the pleasure of
burying me over here.” “I certainly did, Bill, and you are a lucky
dog to get off with nothing more than you’ve got.” He was in great
pain after his five hours lying with that leg in the shell-hole, but
it had not affected his high spirits and good humor. He was still of
opinion that the regiment could get through the wire, with proper
artillery preparation and co-ordination of infantry forces.
On October 12th I was in Jim Mangan’s little dugout at Exermont with
his Lieutenants Joe McNamara, McCarthy and Flynn when in walked
Dennis O’Shea, formerly our color sergeant, and now a Lieutenant
in the 1st Division. Accompanying him was Father Terence King, a
Jesuit Chaplain. They had been detailed for the task of burying
their regimental dead. It was a joyous meeting, but they had one
thing to tell that made me sad. Father Colman O’Flaherty had been
killed by shell fire while attending to the wounded. I had never
met him, but when we were alongside of the 1st after Saint Mihiel
I met a large number of officers and men, all of whom spoke of him
with affectionate admiration. An Irishman, well read, brilliant and
witty in conversation, independent in the expression of his opinions;
sometimes irritating at first encounter by reason of his sallies,
but always sure in the long run to be admired for his robust and
attractive personality.
I got this story with no names mentioned and was too discreet to ask
for them. A patrol was out for the purpose of getting in touch with
the enemy. As they were ascending the reverse slope of the hill a
young officer who was with two or three men in advance came running
back, stooping low and calling breathlessly to the Lieutenant in
command, “The Germans! The Germans! The Germans are there.” Nobody
thought him afraid but his tone of excitement was certainly bad for
morale. There was a sudden halt and a bad moment, but the situation
was saved when a New York voice in a gruff whisper was heard,
“Well, what the hell does that guy think we are out here looking
for?—Voilets?” If eloquence is the power to say things that will
produce the desired effect on one’s hearers, neither Demosthenes nor
Dan O’Connell himself ever made a better speech.
We were very short of officers during the Argonne fight and, since
advancing under shell fire necessitates a deliberate scattering
of men, a great deal depends upon the efficiency of our non-coms,
especially the sergeants. The result of their activity was that an
extraordinary number of them were wounded. I came on Sergeants Tom
O’Malley and Jim O’Brien of Company D, both wounded severely and
bound for the rear. “Tom,” I said, “what did you want to get yourself
hit for? We’re short of officers as it is, and it’s only men like you
that can put this thing through.” “Well, Father,” says Tom, smilingly
apologetic, “you see it’s like this: a sergeant stands an awful fine
chance of gettin’ hit as things are goin’ now. We got a lot of new
min that he’s got to take care of to see that they don’t get kilt;
and whin the line moves forward, there’s some of thim nades a bit of
coaxin’.”
I have gathered from my record a list not only of officers, but
also of non-coms wounded in this battle, because they deserve to be
commemorated as men who have fought throughout the war, men who, if
they have not been in every one of our battles, have a wound stripe
to show the reason for their absence, and who have gained their
stripes of office by good soldiering in camp and in the field.
Colonel William J. Donovan; Captains, Oscar L. Buck, Edmond J.
Connelly, John J. Clifford, John F. Rowley; First Lieutenants, James
Collier, Paul D. Surber, Roderick J. Hutchinson; Second Lieutenants,
Joseph P. Katsch, Charles D. Huesler, Clarence Johnson, Samuel
S. Swift, Lester M. Greff, Henry W. Davis (Deceased), Arthur N.
Hallquist, John J. Williams.
Company A, Sergeants Purtell, Armstrong, Sweeney; Corporals Gladd,
Roberts, Newton, Thynne, Rice, Wylie.
Company B, Sergeants Thornton, Mulholland, Meniccoci, Graham,
Gilbert, Whalen, Coyne; Corporals Quigley, Brady, Geraghty, Van
deWerken, Longo, Lofare, Hayes, Healey, Lehman, Neary.
Company C, Sergeants James Burns, Hillig, Hennessey, Knight, McNiff;
Corporals, James Kelly, Hannigan, Lynott, Minogue, Munz, O’Kelly,
Osberg, Quinn, Stratico, Blythe, Boyle.
Company D, Sergeants Crotty, O’Malley, Moran, Sheahan, McDonough,
Tracey, Morton; Corporals Dale, Plant, Dalton Smith, Murray, O’Dowd,
Lynch, O’Brien, DeVoe, Terry O’Connor, Bambrick, McAuliffe, Edward B.
Smith, Reilly, Harkins, Tuers, Brady, Thompson, O’Connell.
Company E, Corporals Corbett, Maloney, Geary.
Company F, Corporal Patrick Frawley.
Company G, Sergeants McNamara, William Farrell, James Murray;
Corporals, Framan, Allen, Christy.
Company H, Sergeant Walker; Corporals, McGorry, Ryan, McGlynn, Doran.
Company I, Sergeants Shanahan, Lyons, Dynan, Mullin, Joseph O’Brien;
Corporals, Cousens, Dexter, Gaul, Horgan, Kennedy, Smiser, Welsh,
Zarella, Beyer, Lenihan, New, Regan, Conway, Hettrick, Neary.
Company K, Sergeants Timothy Sullivan, Gleason, Hellrigel; Corporals
Van Yorx, McKessy, Clinton, Ryan, Ostermeyer, Casey, Gallagher,
LeGall, McMahon, Caraher, Wakely, Hoey.
Company L, Sergeants, Southworth, Kiernan, Wittlinger, Fitzpatrick,
Mullins, Blood; Corporals Kennedy, Martin, O’Brien, Oakes, McCallum,
George McCue, Murphy, John J. Murphy, Hearn.
Company M, Sergeants Major, Clark, May; Corporals Igo, Feely, Begley,
Shear, Scott, Donovan, McGovern, Cook, Bailey, Kiernan, Berger, Harry
Murray, Knowles.
Headquarters Co., Corporals Dick, Brochon, Albrecht.
Machine Gun Co., Sergeants Stevens, Spillane, Gillespie, Doherty;
Corporals Erard, Cohen.
ESPERANCE FARM
_October_ 28th, 1918
Our rear Headquarters are in two buildings on the main road that
parallels the river Aire. In one of them is the Supply Company
and the band. Solicitude for the welfare of bandsmen is the sole
tribute that the army pays to art. In a neighboring building is an
Ambulance Company and our Company Clerks, who have been ordered to
be left in the rear because records are never properly made out
if the Company Clerk becomes a casualty. I often make use of a
returning ambulance to come back to Captain Kinney’s Hotel for a
decent sleep and a good breakfast. Across the road in the field a
number of the men have made little dugouts for themselves, as the
buildings are overcrowded.
Shell fire does not come back this far except occasionally, but the
nights are often made hideous by enemy bombing planes. Aeroplanes
carrying machine guns are futile things, but a plane at night
dropping bombs is absolutely the most demoralizing thing in war. It
is a matter of psychology. The man in front discharging his rifle
has the hunter’s exhilaration. Even shells can be dodged if not
too numerous, and after a man has dropped on his face or jumped
into a doorway and has escaped, there is the satisfaction that a
hare must have when it eludes the dogs and pants contentedly in its
hole. But when one lies at night and hears the deep buzz of a plane
overhead, and most especially when the buzz ceases and he knows
that the plane is gliding and making ready to drop something, the
one feeling that comes is that if that fellow overhead pulls the
lever at the right spot, a very very wrong spot, it means sudden
and absolute destruction. There is no way of getting away from it.
One simply lies and cowers.
Last night we heard the crunching roar six times repeated in the
field just across the road. Flannery and I got up and pulled on
our shoes to go over and see what happened. Mules had been hit and
two of our men slightly wounded. The bombs made holes in the soft
earth, ten feet deep and nearly twelve in diameter, and one of them
had fallen at the feet of two of our lads and had not exploded.
I was particularly anxious about a lot of nice youngsters whom I
had picked out after St. Mihiel for the Band—John Kyle, Robert
Emmett Mitchell, Howard Casey, Pat Campion, Will Maroney, Will
King, George Forms, John Killoran, Denis Glynn, Will Howard,—all
lads that had volunteered before they were eighteen. I found them
unharmed and rather enjoying the show.
Lieutenant Bernard Byrne, who is not long with us and whose
experience in warfare has not been of great duration, was ordered
from the Supply Company a couple of days ago to duty with Company
G. His first night in line he took out a patrol which he handled
admirably and came back with two prisoners. A very good start
indeed.
Everybody has slept in his clothes for weeks. It would not be true
to say that we never take them off, because that is part of the
morning, though not of the evening ritual. Every morning officers
and men, refined or roughneck, strip to the waist for the process
of “Reading his shirt.” Not to put too fine a touch to it, we are
all crawling with lice. Holmes has a boy who is at the interesting
age of four, and his wife writes to him the usual domestic stories
about his bright ways and sayings. “You ask her if that kid can
read his shirt. Tell her I said that his old man can do it.” Mrs.
Holmes sent word back to Father Duffy that while the youthful
prodigy had not all the accomplishments of a soldier he could hike
with any of us. I did not get the message for weeks afterwards, as
my brother Chaplain was very much run down and Major Lawrence and
I shipped him off, despite his protests, to the hospital. I do not
need to worry about Father Hanley. As long as Ambrose Sutcliff’s
Goulash Wagon can supply him with an occasional meal, he will
keep going any place I put him—though that is not the right way
to phrase it, for I always have to keep him pulled back from the
places where he thinks he ought to be. I think I will take both my
Chaplains home with me to the Bronx as curates. A Catholic church
with a Methodist annex would be a novelty. Back in the peaceful
days, a Jew friend of mine whom I was showing over my combination
church and school said to me, with the quick business sense of his
race, “You use this building for Church on Sunday and for school
five days in the week. The only day it’s idle is Saturday. What you
ought to do is to hire a good smart young Rabbi and run a synagogue
on the Sabbath. I’ll bet you’ll make money at it.”
The two weeks that elapsed between October 16th and November 1st
were the dreariest, draggiest days we spent in the war. The men
lay out on the bare hillsides in little pits they had dug for
themselves, the bottoms of which were turned into mud by frequent
rains. They had one blanket apiece, and were without overcoats,
underwear or socks, in the unpleasant climate of a French Autumn.
They were dirty, lousy, thirsty, often hungry; and nearly every
last man was sick.
Captain Bootz, an old-time regular army man and therefore not
sympathetic with imaginary ills, made the following report on
Anderson’s battalion as early as October 17th. “Checked up strength
of battalion shows 405 men for active combat, including liaison
detail. Of this number about 35% are suffering various illnesses,
especially rheumatism, colds and fevers. The Company commanders
state that these men are not receiving medical treatment, which
should be given to them without fail or conditions will be worse in
the next day or so. Some men are doubled up and should really be in
the hospital. I cannot allow these men to leave, as it would set
a precedent for many others to follow, and this would deplete our
fighting strength so much more. First aid men attached to companies
have no medical supplies other than bandages. A lack of proper
clothing, such as overcoats, heavy underwear and socks, brings on a
great many of these maladies. The majority of the men have summer
underwear, if any, and no overcoat and only one blanket; and this
is entirely inadequate to keep a soldier in fit physical condition
for field service in the climate that is found this time of year in
France. I deem it my duty that this be brought to the attention of
higher authorities so that they may be rightly informed as to the
actual conditions we are living in, and that means be found to have
the defect remedied immediately.”
As the days went on, conditions got no better. Hundreds and
hundreds of men had to be evacuated as too weak to be of any
military value; and nothing but the need of man-power kept our
doctors from sending half the regiment to the hospital. The only
relief from monotony was an occasional night patrol, or the
prospects which were held out to us of a fresh order to attack. In
spite of the bloody nose we had already received, our men wished
for the order to try again. Patrols and observation posts reported
a lessening of the enemy’s strength, and our fellows felt certain
that if the tanks would do their share they could get through.
They had met their first repulse. If they had been in the war as
long as the British or French, they would have learned to take it
philosophically as part of the give and take of the game. But it
was their first one, and they were burning with the desire to get
back at the enemy.
On the 21st our brigade relieved the 84th, our 2nd Battalion taking
over the front line on the north edge of the Cote de Chatillon.
The next day orders were out for a new attack in which the 165th
were to work around the eastern end of Landres et Saint George.
Everybody was on the _qui vive_ for a new battle but the thing
dragged from day to day until the 26th, when word came that we
were to be taken out of the line and that the Second Division was
to make the attack. Our men were sorely disappointed and grieved
about it, but the decision was a proper one. With the artillery
support that has been gathering in our rear I have no doubt that
our fellows could have broken through, but we have become too weak
in man power to exploit an initial victory in a way that should
be done to make the most of it. Three weeks in line under such
conditions do not fit men for the hardships of a sustained advance.
During this period we lost killed, in Company H, William Murray
and P. Nicholson; and in Company M, Davidson and Patrick Ames, a
soldier who never knew fear.
_October_ 28th, 1918.
I went in to see General Menoher about my concerns as Division
Chaplain. After my business was done he said that he had received
orders to send me back to the States to make a speaking tour for
the Welfare Funds. He kept talking about these orders long enough
to get me worried, although as I watched his face closely I thought
I could detect a humorous and reassuring twinkle in his pleasant
eyes. Finally, after having been kept on the griddle for five
minutes, I ventured the question, “May I ask, General, what reply
you made to these orders?” Then he laughed in his genial way. “I
told them that you had better work to do here than there and that I
was not going to let you go.” I certainly do like that man.
Our land battles during these days are being conducted mainly at
night as fights between patrols, the war in the day time being
mainly in the air. On October 16th a German plane which had been
separated from its escadrille came wabbling over the heads of
Major Lawrence’s group and landed in a field alongside them, the
occupants being made prisoners. Two days later I had the good luck
to witness from the same spot a unique spectacle. There had been
an air fight in which ours got the better of it. A German plane
was evidently in a bad way. As we watched it we saw a dark object
drop from it, and while we held our breath in sympathetic terror
for a human being dropping to destruction, a parachute opened
above him—the first instance of the kind we have seen in this war.
Captain Bootz, who was under him at the time, said that he managed
it by climbing out on the tail of his plane and dropping off it
from the rear. The great difficulty about using a parachute for
aviators has been that the on-moving plane hits the ropes before
they can drop clear. Most of the air fights have been the result of
the determination of the Germans to get our balloons. They brought
down four of them one afternoon, much to our disgust.
There is a stock story about the rookie who is persuaded by his
fellows that his tin hat is guaranteed by the government to turn
the direct hit of a German 77. When Colonel Dravo and the rest of
us start to tell how an inch of planking turned a German 77, we
shall be greeted with smiles of incredulity, but the thing actually
happened. Dravo has a pleasant little Chalet out on the hill 263,
beautifully situated in the forest and affording an excellent
place of repose for weary American officers if the Germans who
were kind enough to build it would only leave their work alone.
But the hill is shelled by day and shelled and bombed by night,
in a picky sort of a way. A small portion of the shack is boarded
off for a kitchen and in it sleep, or rather slept, for they don’t
like the place any more, the force of our Headquarters mess:
Sergeant Denis Donovan, Jimmy Dayton, Tex Blake, McWalter, and John
McLaughlin in superimposed bunks, so that the lads above were only
a couple of feet below the roof. A shell hit just above them, the
explosion ruining the roof and pitching them all to the floor; but
every particle of iron in it spread itself into the air outside
of the building. Luckily for them it must have been one of those
long-nosed devils that explode on contact and cause much greater
destruction than those that plow out the ordinary shell hole.
The first time I saw the roads barely scratched where they hit I
thought the German powder was becoming inferior. I know better now.
HALLOWE’EN
We are out of the line tonight with the exception of Reilley’s 3rd
Battalion, which is to lie out there in their shelter pits under
our barrage and whatever the Germans may send back in reply until
the 2nd Division goes through them tomorrow. Twelve months ago we
had scarcely left our native shores, a wonderful year in the lives
of all of us, and the last one for many a poor fellow now sleeping
in the soil of France. A lot of the officers are crowded together
in Kinney’s quarters at the Esperance Farm. The room is hot and
close, as shelter-halves and blankets screen every nook through
which light might pass to give information of human habitation to a
passing bomber. Everybody feels tired, dirty and discouraged.
I said to them, “You are the glummest bunch of Irish that I ever
saw on a Hallowe’en. Johnnie Fechheimer, you are the best Harp in
this bunch; start them singing. Frank Smith, warm us up with some
coffee, since there’s nothing better to be had.” So Pete Savarese
soon had the coffee boiling and the two Ganymedes, Bob Dillon and
Charlie Lowe, ministered to our needs. Pretty soon they were all
singing—Major Anderson, Kinney, Mangan, Fechheimer, McDermott,
Flynn, McCarthy, O’Donohue, Joe McNamara, Smith, John Schwinn,
even Flannery, Scanlon, and myself. Joe McNamara, who is as good a
youth as they make them, and who has done great service during the
past three weeks with his signal men, sang a song that was just on
the verge of being naughty, with his handsome blue eyes twinkling
provokingly at me. Dan Flynn knows all the old songs that our
mothers used to sing, “Ben Bolt,” “You’ll Remember Me,” and all
that sort of thing. Fechheimer and McNamara supplied the modern
element in the concert. But no matter what it was, everybody joined
in, including the men in the loft upstairs and in the shelter tents
outside, especially when it came to songs in praise of Good Little
Old New York; and truck drivers and ambulance men and passing
officers along the road got first-hand information that the New
York Irish 69th had come through their three long weeks of fighting
and hardship with their tails still erect.
[Illustration: THE BATTLE OF THE ARGONNE]
We had no doubt of the success of the 2nd Division. Artillery was
lined up hub to hub on all the roads around Exermont, Fleville and
Sommerance and the machine guns of both divisions were to give them
a sustained preparatory barrage. I may add incidentally that the
thorough preparations for their attack were the best justification
for our failure to reach the last objective. We heard the artillery
hammering away through the early morning and it was soon evident
that the sturdy infantry and marines of the 2nd Division had
carried the battle line well towards the north.
I started up with Sergeant Fitzsimmons on my own sad quest of
looking for our dead in the enemy wires. Just ahead of us as we
passed through Sommerance a German shell lit on the road right in
a party of five German prisoners and four American soldiers. The
nine men lay scattered in all directions. We ran up and I found one
of ours with both legs blown completely off trying to pull himself
up with the aid of a packing case. In spite of his wounds he gave
not the slightest evidence of mental shock. While Fitzsimmons ran
for an ambulance, he told me his name was Conover, and that he
was a Catholic, and said the prayers while I gave him absolution.
He had no idea his legs were gone until a soldier lifted him on a
stretcher, when I could see in his eyes that he was aware that his
body was lifting light. He started to look but I placed my hand on
his chest and kept him from seeing. Three men were dead already and
it did not seem to me as if any one of them could live. One of the
Germans was an officer who cursed his fate that brought him to this
death by the fire of his own guns after lasting through four years
of war.
When we reached our old battleground I found that one man had
gotten there before me on the same errand as myself. It was Father
Davitt of Lenox, Mass., who had been detached from the 32nd
Division as Corps Chaplain.
On both sides of the Sommerance road as it neared the wire we
saw the bodies scattered, still well preserved and recognizable
by reason of the cool weather. Right around the wire and in the
sunken road that ran into it the Germans had buried them. It was a
surprise to find that even now the wire was absolutely unbroken in
any place. An occasional shell had landed in it, as was evidenced
by the holes made, but the whole fabric was so well bound together
that it simply jumped up and then dropped back into place again.
The 2nd Division had evidently been wise enough to carry their
attack around it as I found just one of their dead and he was
lying in the _chicane_ or passage made by the highway as it passed
through it.
I arranged with Father Davitt to have his detachment of Pioneers
look after the sepulchre of our dead in case the Regiment got
orders to move on, and returned to make my report to Colonel Dravo.
The 3rd Battalion got back to our place in the rear during the
morning, having suffered some losses from shell fire, amongst them
being Jimmy Fay, who had part of his foot blown off. Orders to take
up the advance were received on November 2nd, our 3rd Battalion
being out of the line less than 24 hours.
The first day’s route laid down for us showed us that we were going
to take over in the region to the west of that in which we had been
fighting. In the plans for the attack of the 2nd Division they had
moved rapidly towards the NNE., leaving the Germans on their left
to wake up and find themselves in a salient between our troops and
the northern extension of the Argonne Forest. The 78th Division was
engaged in expediting the evacuation of these Germans. Two days’
march, neither of them very long, brought us to Brieulles, just
north of which we were to relieve the 78th. The only difficulty
about the march was for the wagons. Every outfit had lost half of
its animals, and those that were left were in miserable condition.
The artillery felt this hardest, but it made trouble for the
infantry, too, in getting up the supplies and the kitchens. The
worn down roads were frightfully crowded with ambulances, trucks,
kitchens, guns, caissons, ration and combat wagons, headquarters
automobiles; and the M. Ps. were kept swearing till their voices
gave out trying to keep traffic conditions tolerable. When we got
to Brieulles we found that the Germans were blowing up bridges and
roads in their retreat. Colonel Dravo, following tradition and his
own generous instincts of being nice to an old fellow like me, had
sent me on with his car; and Brown was carrying me rapidly out of
Brieulles towards the front when Major Doyle, our Brigade Adjutant,
stopped me and said that while it didn’t matter much what became
of me, cars were getting scarce and he had decided objections to
presenting what was once a perfectly good car to the Germans. I
deduced from this that the enemy were in the next town and that I
had better stay where I was. The regiment was stopped at Authé, to
which place I returned.
The villages which the Germans had left had a number of civilians,
and in accordance with the order of the German Commander, the
Mayors put a white flag on the church steeple to warn us against
shelling them. I have never seen a happier lot of old people in my
life than the French civilians whom we were instrumental in saving
after four years of captivity. At Authé our P. C. was in what
had once been a village inn. The proprietress was old and little
and lively and pious. She gave a warm reception to M. l’Aumonier
when she heard that I belonged to the Old Church, and immediately
proceeded to make plans for a High Mass next Sunday in spite of
my telling her that we would not probably be there more than one
night. “I have been doing most of the preaching to the people
around here the last four years,” she said. “M. le Curé is old and
quiet and he hasn’t much to say; but me, I talk, talk, talk all the
time. I tell these people that God sent the German Devils amongst
them because of their sins. I preach so much that they have given
me a nickname. Do you know what they call me? They call me Madame
Morale. And I preach to the Germans, too. I tell them they will
all be in Hell if they do not mend their ways.” “What do they say
to you?” “Most times they laugh and call me Grossmutter, but some
of them swear and get mad. But I preach at them just the same. My
sister she does not preach, she just prays.”
I went up to see the sister. They must have been both around
eighty; and she sat in her chair looking absolutely like Whistler’s
picture of his mother, except that the hands were not idle in her
lap, but fingered unceasingly a worn rosary.
Madame Morale’s piety was not limited to preaching. It included
hospitality. We have brought along some fresh supplies of food
for our Headquarters Mess; and as soldiers from different outfits
kept drifting in to the kitchen looking for water and incidentally
anything else they could get, the old lady dipped into our scanty
stock, saying, “Here, my poor boys, there is much food here”—until
nothing was left.
In going into action in this last phase of the Argonne fight
Lieutenant Colonel Charles Dravo was in command, with Major
Anderson second in command, Captain Merle-Smith (vice Kelly,
evacuated with fever) commanding the 1st Battalion, Captain Henry
A. Bootz, in charge of Anderson’s Battalion, and Major Reilley
with the 3rd. We relieved the 78th Division at the village of
Artaise-le-Vivier. Here the Germans had left in such a hurry that
large stores of flour and vegetables had been left behind. On
asking the inhabitants the reason for this extraordinary occurrence
we were answered by the word “_Avions_.” In this sector we have
absolute mastery of the air and we see vast flights of planes
spread out like wild ducks in V-shaped fashion advancing over the
German lines. I almost sympathize with the poor Boches, for I
certainly do not like aerial bombs.
The next three days was a foot-race, each battalion taking its
turn in the lead as the others became exhausted. They swept from
village to village, or rather from hill to hill, carefully closing
around the villages, generally meeting with but little resistance,
the last of the Germans, invariably a machine gun group, taking
their flight fifteen minutes to a half hour before our men could
get up. Colonel Dravo was out in the front with his wild Irish,
while Anderson had the equally important task of trying to get the
kitchens and supplies through. Lieutenants Schwinn, McDermott,
Goodell, Henry and Bell and Sergeant Scanlan labored night and day
to get the kitchens through, crossing muddy fields and fording
small streams because the roads were everywhere destroyed.
Lieutenant Seidelman and Corporal Malone were busy putting up signs
at every corner to guide the rear elements in the right direction
to reach our swiftly moving advance.
I missed Major Lawrence, who is generally very much in evidence
when action is on, but I discovered that he had very wisely made up
his mind that the main thing was to see that the ambulances found
a way to follow up the Infantry. He had plenty of willing doctors
under him to look after any wounded men in the field, but it was
evident by the rate our Infantry was traveling that wounded men
would not be evacuated for several days unless the ambulances got
through. When finally they were needed, he had them there, both for
the use of our men and those of other outfits which had not been so
carefully provided for.
For two days the advance was an interesting race. The 6th Division
was coming up the road behind ours, anxious to get a chance to
relieve us and get into line before the war would come to an end.
Each night they thought that surely by morning they would catch
up; but our lads, moving freely across the open country, always
kept well in advance of troops that had to move by column; and each
day they were still further in the van. Our own Mess Sergeants and
Cooks labored night and day to get the food forward, but for two
days and more they, too, were left behind in the race. The men
in front were not left entirely hungry, as in every village from
which they drove the enemy the inhabitants drew out all of their
scanty stores and served them with coffee, vegetables and a little
bread, with unlimited supplies of bouquets and kisses. In spite of
drawbacks it was a nice war.
At 10:30 on the evening of the 6th, there came a most extraordinary
order from Corps through Division that it was imperative that Sedan
should be captured before the end of the next day; that if troops
were resting they should be immediately aroused and sent on their
way; and that the city should be taken if the last officer and man
should drop in his tracks. Luckily for the men it took some time to
get that order forward to the line, as the horses of Jack Percy,
Earl Pierce and young Underwood were fatigued by the incessant
work, in which their riders shared, of carrying messages night and
day. So the kitchens got through and the men were fed before they
started out once more.
On November 7th, Bootz with the 2nd Battalion was in the van. On
Hill 332 the Germans put up a stronger resistance than they had
hitherto shown; and it came at a time when our fire was growing
weak on account of the expenditure of ammunition, which there
was little means of replacing. Bootz told Captain Stout, who was
in command of G Company, that the hill must be taken, and Stout
advanced with thirty-eight men of his own company and a detachment
from Company H to capture the hill. As they kept crawling in on the
Germans the latter began to waver, and the Captain called on his
followers to advance upon them with fixed bayonets. With a great
cheer our fellows swarmed up the crest and the daunted Germans,
after a futile stand, grounded their guns, threw up their hands and
surrendered. The men whose names stand high in the Company annals
for this deed are, first of all, the dead: John Danker, George
Spiegel, Onefrio Triggiano and Raymond Hawkins. Also the gallant
captain and Lieutenant Otto; First Sergeant Meagher, Sergeants
Martin Murphy, Martin Shalley, Irving Framan, Denis Corcoran, John
Brogan and Francis Malloy, the two latter being wounded; James
Regan, Thomas Gallagher, Hilbert and Henry, Remington, Youmans and
Leavensworth, and, to complete the list, a bold Choctaw Indian with
the martial name of McCoy. Sergeant Patrick Travers, of Company H,
received high praise from everybody. While the German resistance
was still determined, he went alone against a machine gun on the
right and captured it single-handed, taking three German officers
and four men.
The same day B Company lost Sergeant Ed. Kramer, and Martin
Gilfoyle; C Company, Frank Casserly, Michael Golinski, and Joseph
Peressine; Company E, Orliff Gilbert, Samuel Kelly and William
Lambert; Machine Gun Company, William Gunnell; and the Sanitary
Detachment, Michael Cavanaugh.
Meanwhile events were happening which made the order to advance
without ceasing seem more extraordinary. Elements of the 1st
Division appeared on our flank and rear. They, too, had received
orders to the same effect from their Corps Commander, and had
advanced to the left across the front of the 77th Division, and
were taking possession of our line, which was the one leading
straight towards Sedan. They had crept up around Bulson in
the morning, only to find General MacArthur and 84th Brigade
Headquarters in possession of the village. Elements of the 16th
Infantry now came on Bootz’s hill and claimed it as theirs. “This
is my hill, and my line of advance,” said Bootz. “If you say it’s
yours, show your booty. I have twenty-five prisoners and twelve
machine guns; what have you got to show for it?” And Bootz ordered
his battalion to advance, leaving to the others to do what they
would.
Nobody blamed the 1st Division for this mix-up, because they
certainly had orders the same as ours to advance and capture Sedan.
The whole thing is a mystery. A staff officer told me that neither
of us had any right here, as Sedan lies in the sector of the French
Division on our left, and considering what it means to the French,
they are certainly the ones who have the best right to capture it.
In this sector we had a visit from Sergeant Alexander Woollcott,
who is well known in New York as a dramatic critic, and who has
been assigned by G. H. Q. to the duties of reporter for the _Stars
and Stripes_. He is always on hand when there is trouble, and the
field of war becomes a pleasant place for me whenever he is there.
We have swapped stories and discussed men and books in the weirdest
places. He is communicative rather than inquisitive and one never
thinks of him as a reporter, but he gets all the information he
wants and all the more effectively because there is no appearance
of seeking it. He can even make Anderson talk.
During this period Anderson had been forging ahead with his
Headquarters group, expecting to find Bootz in Chaumont. He entered
that town with a couple of doctors, Lieutenant Rerat, and his
liaison men, only to find that they were the first to get there,
and the enemy had not yet completely evacuated it. They were
under rifle fire as they came along the street, and had a merry
little sniper’s battle before they got possession. Then Lieutenant
McCarthy set up his one-pound cannon on the edge of the village,
and soon had the German gunners putting for safety over the hill.
So Anderson captured a town for himself, and for once did Colonel
Dravo out of the bouquets and kisses. Though, even here, Rerat got
the cream of it.
We kept going through that day, the 3rd Battalion relieving the
2nd during the night, and reaching on November 8th, the village
of Wadelincourt on the heights of the Meuse, directly overlooking
Sedan. A patrol from Company M with orders to go down to the Meuse
and scout up to the suburbs of Sedan, got nearest of all American
troops to that famous city. Eighteen men started out, of whom most
were wounded, but Corporal John McLaughlin, with two men, carried
out the mission and reported the results of the reconnaissance.
Under shell fire that night Albert Bieber and Carl Maritz of
Company I were killed and Lieutenant Behrendts, the Company
Commander, and many others were wounded. James P. Smith of Company
M was also killed and Sergeant Lester Lenhart of Company E was
mortally wounded.
That night our Division was relieved by the 40th French Division,
which from the beginning had the right of way. As a matter of
courtesy the French Division Commander invited a company of the
165th and 166th to enter with his troops for the occupation of the
suburbs of Sedan. Company D of our regiment was selected for the
purpose and Lieutenant Cassidy had them all ready, but through some
mix-up of orders they were not called upon to share in the little
ceremony.
On November 8th we marched back to Artaise and the next day to Les
Petites Armoises; on the 10th, to Vaux-en-Dieulet. The 11th found
us at Sivry-les-Buzancy, where we spent two days.
On our way in I got a rumor that the Armistice was signed. I had
always believed that the news of victory and peace would fill me
with surging feelings of delight. But it was just the contrary; no
doubt because the constraint I had put upon my natural feelings
during the year were taken off by the announcement. I knew that
in New York and in every city at home and throughout the world
men were jubilant at the prospects of peace. But I could think of
nothing except the fine lads who had come out with us to this war
and who are not alive to enjoy the triumph. All day I had a lonely
and an aching heart. It would be a lesser thing to have been killed
myself than to go back to the mothers of the dead who would never
more return. Luckily for me my dear friend Chaplain Nash came over
to see me and walked me for hours through the desolate country,
encouraging me to express my every feeling until fatigue and the
relief of expression brought me back to a more normal mood.
The men had no certainty that the rumors were true, and discounted
them. On November 13th we marched to Landres et Saint Georges which
we had striven vainly to enter from the other side five weeks
before. The village was almost completely demolished and our
troops with others of the Division pitched their shelter tents on
all the hills surrounding the town. That night official information
was given of the Armistice. The men raided the Engineer and Signal
Stores for rockets of all descriptions and the whole sky was filled
with lights which in war would have demanded the expenditure of at
least a million shells. Bonfires were blazing all over the hillside
_Finie la Guerre_. The war was over.
My duties, like my feelings, still lay in the past. With men from
all the companies I went round the battlefield to pay as far as I
could my last duties to the dead, to record and in a rough way to
beautify their lonely graves, for I knew that soon we would leave
this place that their presence hallows, and never look upon it
again.
On the 15th, in accordance with Division orders, a formal muster
was held. Our strength was 55 officers and 1,637 men, with 8
officers and 43 men attached, 1,300 short of the number we had
brought into the Argonne. Of the survivors, not many more than 600
were men who had left New York with the regiment a little over a
year ago. And most of these belonged to the Adjutant’s Office,
Battalion and Company Headquarters, Kitchens, Band and Supply
Company. In the line companies, there are about twenty-five rifle
men to each company who are old-timers and nearly all of these have
wound stripes earned in earlier engagements. The great bulk of the
old regiment is in hospitals, convalescent and casual camps; some
of them promoted, some transferred, hundreds of them invalided
home, a great many, alas! buried on battlefields or in hospital
cemeteries.