163RD AND 92ND REGIMENTS
Returning to the front I was sent as a reinforcement to the 163rd who
had just come from Verdun, where they had one battalion captured by the
enemy.
After a few days rest while they were getting reinforcements and new
clothing and equipment we were sent up to the front where with the
exception of ten days when we went to Laveline to be refitted again (but
two men left in my squad). My company, the 7th, were in the first and
second line trenches for seven continuous months.
In the 163rd I saw a French regiment at its best. The Legion is composed
of men from all countries. The 170th are from many French regiments and
sections. The 163rd all came from southern France. They saw alike,
understood one another and worked together. Kind and considerate, they
were a band of ideal brothers. They took pleasure in having an American
feel at home. They made sure that he got his share of clothing, rations
and duty. He, noticing those little courtesies, in his appreciation,
became a better soldier.
What I liked about this regiment was the supreme contempt the officers
had for the Boches—and could not but admire how easy they slipped things
over on Fritz.
Owing to the even character of the men, it was not necessary to have as
strict discipline as in the Legion. Here the soldiers were more
content—more companionable—were all veterans—many wounded bad enough so
they could not have remained in a regiment of attack,—yet steady and
dependable, and almost invaluable, where the enemy’s trenches were about
thirty yards away,—and the two forces were in constant touch with each
other.
In the winter of 1916-17 weakened by rheumatism, after fighting in three
active first line regiments, I was finally sent to the 92nd
Territorials, a working regiment, then in a near-by sector.
These grand-dads, from forty to fifty-five years of age, the debris of
“Papa” Joffre’s old army, were all physically unfit—yet, not old enough
to die. The object in holding them together was to have a reserve—in
order to use what few ounces of strength they still had.
Officers and doctors were considerate and very kind. But, even that
could not keep a number of the men from caving in as Nature’s limit was
reached.
One night at Bussang, after unloading coal in a snowstorm, my wet cotton
gloves were as stiff with frost as were my knees with rheumatism. Quite
fed up, I went to the doctor, determined to thrash the matter out with
him. “Yes,” he responded, “I know you are not in condition, but, we are
hard pressed now. We must use every ounce of energy we have.” I quit
knocking, stuck it out a few days longer, then went to pieces.
Such is soldier life. He starts out strong and full of pep, fit to serve
in the Foreign Legion, the best in France. Then in the 170th, graded the
fourth. Then to the 163rd, a good trench regiment. Then to the 92nd
Territorials, a working regiment. Then to hospital—transferred back to
the Legion—to be invalided home.