OFF FOR THE FRONT
The infantry regiments had been assembled during June and a long and a
wearisome wait impended while other units moved into the divisional
concentration. No leaves were granted to go to Paris, although the crown
of the Eiffel Tower could be descried above the haze from the city by
day and at night the searchlights, thrusting inquisitive fingers of
light through the far reaches of the sky in search of prowling Hun
airmen, seemed to point the way to joys to which all had long been
strangers.
From the other direction came, when the wind was right, the dull
rumbling, like distant thunder, which they had learned was the guns.
Longings were about evenly divided between the two directions. If they
could not go up to the front, whither they had been headed for these
many months, they would have liked to go to Paris. Failing of both the
front and Paris, they would have liked to go "any old place away from
here." Which is typical of the soldier, "here," wherever it may be,
always being the least desirable place in the world.
So the doughboys and engineers whiled away the long, warm days, drilling
and hiking, doing much bayonet work, polishing and cleaning rifles and
other equipment and variously putting in the time as best they could,
and fretting all the time for a chance at real action. That may be said
to have been one of the most trying periods of their long probation.
It may not be amiss to recall the general situation on the Western Front
at this time. After a winter of boastful preparation, during which they
advertised in every possible way that they expected to launch in the
spring the greatest effort they had yet put forth to break through the
Allied lines, the Germans, on March 21st, strengthened by hundreds of
thousands of veteran soldiers released from Russia through the farcical
Brest-Litovsk treaty, boiled forth from their lines on the fifty-mile
front from Arras to La Fere.
This was an effort to force a break at the juncture of the French and
British lines about St. Quentin. It did not succeed in this, but a great
wedge was thrust out to become a grave menace to Amiens, an important
British distribution center.
Very shortly after this move was checked, the British army in Flanders
was heavily attacked, on April 9th, in the region of Ypres, and thrown
back so badly that Field Marshal Haig issued his famous appeal to the
troops "fighting with their backs to the wall."
The British line finally held, and, French reinforcements arriving,
began to react strongly in counter-attacks. Again the boiling western
line simmered down, but on May 27th the German Crown Prince's army flung
itself out from the Chemin des Dames, in Champagne, and by June 3d had
reached the Marne at Chateau-Thierry. Here forces which made their way
across the river were hotly attacked and driven back, and this drive
came to a halt.
One week later, on June 10th, the fighting was renewed from Montdidier
to Noyon in a thrust for Compiegne as a key to Paris. This was plainly
an effort to widen the wedge whose apex was at Chateau-Thierry, but Foch
had outguessed the Germans, knew where they would strike and held them.
The attack was fairly well checked in two days.
This was the situation, then, in those late June days, when our
Pennsylvania soldiers pined for action within sight of Paris. The
American army had been blooded in the various drives, but the
Twenty-eighth Division had not yet had a taste of the Hun action.
Marines, the First and Second divisions of the Regular army, engineers
and medical troops, had had a gallant part in the defense of Paris, and
even in defense of the channel ports, in the Flanders thrust.
Dormans, Torcy, Bouresches, Bois de Belleau, Cantigny, Jaulgonne, these
and other localities had won place in the annals of American arms.
Wherever they had come in contact with the enemy, without exception, the
American troops had "made good," and won the high encomiums of their
British and French comrades. Is it any wonder, then, that the
Pennsylvanians chafed at the restraint which held them far away from
where such great things were going forward?
It was at the critical juncture in March, the darkest hour of the
Allied cause, that President Wilson, waiving any question of national
pride, directed General Pershing to offer such troops as he had
available to be brigaded with the French and English to meet the German
assaults.
The reason for this was simple. The American army had not yet been
welded into a cohesive whole. Its staff work was deficient. It was
merely a conglomeration of divisions, each possibly capable of operating
as a division, but the whole utterly unable to operate as a whole. By
putting a brigade of Americans in a French or British division, however,
the forces of our co-belligerents could be strengthened to the full
extent of the available American troops.
The American offer was promptly and gratefully accepted. Came the day,
then, when our Pennsylvania men were ordered to move up to a sector
below the Marne, there to be brigaded with a French army. The artillery
brigade had not yet come into the divisional lines and few, even of the
officers, had seen their comrades of the big guns since leaving Camp
Hancock.
Of all this, of course, the men in the ranks knew nothing. To them came
only the command to "fall in," which had always presaged the same weary
routine of drill and hike. This time, however, when they found lines of
motor trucks stretching along the road seemingly for miles, they knew
there was "something doing" and word swept through the ranks that they
were off for the front at last.
When the truck trains got under way with their singing, laughing, highly
cheerful loads of doughboys and engineers, it was not directly
northward, toward Montdidier, nor northeast, toward Soissons, where the
latest heavy fighting had been going on, that they moved, as the men had
hoped, but eastward.
Through Meaux and La Ferte-sous-Jouarre they moved. At the latter place
they came to the Petit Morin River and from there on the road followed
the valley of the little river more or less closely. Through pretty
little villages and, here and there, more pretentious towns they
whirled, singing as the spirit moved them and waving cheery greetings to
the townsfolk, who, apathetic at the sound of many motors, stirred to
excitement when they realized the soldiers were "les Americaines."
After their period of inaction, the men enjoyed the ride immensely, even
though a crowded motor truck careering at full tilt is not the most
luxurious mode of travel, especially for those on the inside. It is,
however, so much better than hiking that your soldier regards
transportation thus almost as he would riding in a Pullman at home.
When at last the column came to a halt, those in the vanguard learned
the town at hand was Montmirail. Except that it was east of where they
had been, this meant little. They had small idea of the number of miles
they had traveled, but they knew from the looks of the country and from
the attitude of the eagerly welcoming residents that they were not very
close to the battle line.
Clustered all about the countryside for miles were countless villages.
Part of the troops passed through Montmirail and went further east to
Vauchamps. The trucks in the rear of the long column turned off at
Verdelot. In the tiny hamlets centering about these three towns, the
regiments were billeted.
Then ensued another period such as tries a soldier's patience to the
uttermost--a time of waiting for something big to do and having all the
time to carry on with what seem like trifling tasks.
Here another feature of the advanced training was noted by the men. For
weeks, now, they had been hearing the sound of the big guns at the
front, but only as a low, growling rumble, so distant that, although it
was ever present, after a day or so it became so much a part of the
daily life that it was forced upon the attention only when the wind was
from the northeast.
Here, however, it was louder and more menacing and by that token alone
the men would have known they were closer to the front lines. Their
surmises in this regard were strengthened by the added gravity of the
officers and the frequency with which they were summoned to headquarters
for consultation.
The Pennsylvania regiments were in a line some miles back of the front,
which was held by French troops along the Marne. The distance between
our men and the front lines then varied from ten to fourteen miles.
By the time the men had been in these billets three days, they were
disgusted thoroughly with their failure to get farther. Hourly they
grumbled among themselves at the delay, and told themselves it was "N.
G. P. luck," to be held back so far at such a time.
However, there came a break in the monotony for the 109th. The men of
the various regiments had been arranging for a mild sort of celebration
of the Fourth of July, with extra "eats," concerts, sports and other
events. The 109th had gone to sleep the night of Wednesday, July 3d, to
dream of the "doings" of the morrow, which loomed large in view of the
deadly routine they had been following so long.
They were not to sleep long, however. Shortly after midnight they were
routed out and the companies were formed. "Something was up," though the
men in the ranks knew not what. Officers knew that an emergency had
arisen to the north and that they were under orders to hasten there with
all speed, presumably for their first action.
The lads stumbled from their billets, many of them no more than half
awake, doubting, confused, excited, demanding to know, being told wild
rumors by their fellows, the most credible of which was that the Germans
had broken through in the north and that "the old Hundred and Ninth is
goin' in to stop Fritz, an' we sure will do that li'l thing." Small
wonder that there was more than a usual touch of asperity in the
commands snapped out in the dark, or that the doughboys seemed able to
handle themselves and their accoutrements less smoothly and smartly than
usual. Off to the front at last, in the dead of night! What an
experience for these Pennsylvania men!
That the emergency was real and that they were not merely the victims of
another practice hike, soon became clear. Hardly was the column under
way than the order "double-time" was given and off they went at the
smart dog trot that takes the place of running for an army on the march.
Only when men began to lag behind was the return to regular "quick-time"
ordered. Officers and non-coms busied themselves with urging on would-be
stragglers, keeping the ranks closed up and encouraging the men.
Hours passed thus. The thrumming of a motor was heard ahead and the
column halted. A sidecar motorcycle appeared. Riding in the "tin
bathtub" was a staff officer. He talked aside briefly with Colonel
Millard D. Brown, of Philadelphia. His message was that the regiment
would not be needed at that time and that it was to return to billets.
A short rest was ordered. The men dropped almost where they stood, many
not waiting to unsling their equipment. Not until daybreak was the order
given for the return march. The men thought of the weary miles they had
come in the cool of the night, glanced up at the scorching sun,
remembered that lost Fourth celebration, and set off on the return
march, slower and more wearisome than the northward journey, when every
yard seemed a task to face.
It was not until the day was almost gone that the last company was
safely back in billets. The Glorious Fourth--truly the strangest the men
ever had spent--had come and gone. As they dropped into exhausted sleep
that night, the last thought of many was of the familiar celebrations of
the day at home and of what their loved ones had been doing.
When word had filtered through to the other regiments that the 109th was
on its way to the front, the celebration of the Fourth had turned to
ashes in their mouths and they very frankly were green with envy. When
they heard the next day of the outcome of the move, they chuckled at the
discomfiture of the 109th and regretted they had not put more "pep" into
the events of the day before.
Some days before this, several platoons of picked men from the division
had been sent into a sector west of Chateau-Thierry for advanced
training under fire with French forces. They were not expected to have a
very hot time. The sector was extremely lively, but not just then
flaming with activity, as were other places.
Two of these platoons, from the 111th Infantry, under command of
Lieutenants Cedric H. Benz and John H. Shenkel, both of Pittsburgh, made
an extraordinarily good impression on their French comrades. The sector
continually grew hotter and hotter until the French, early in July,
launched repeated attacks on the village of Vaux and on Hill 204, close
by.
These two positions were particularly difficult, and the French went
about their operations under the watchful eyes of the learning Americans
with all the skill and craft that long campaigning had taught them.
Finally, just about the time their own regiments back in billets to the
east were growing stale from monotony, the Americans around Vaux were
invited to occupy positions where they could observe closely the whole
operation. The platoons from the 111th had made such a favorable
impression on their French hosts that the commander of the latter made a
proposal to them.
"You will have every opportunity to observe the action," he said, "and
that is all that is expected of you. If, however, you so desire, such of
your numbers as care to may participate in the assault on Hill 204."
Participation in the attack was voluntary. Those who wanted to go were
invited to step out of the ranks. The two platoons stepped forward as
one man, went into the battle beside the French and under French
command, laughing and singing, and covered themselves with glory. This
was the first occasion in which units of the Pennsylvania Division had
been in action, but as it was not under their own commanders it cannot
properly be regarded as a part of the divisional activity.
Word of this action seeped back to the regiments and created a profound
impression. The doughboys talked about and envied their companions and
pledged themselves, each in his own heart, to maintain that high
standard of soldierly character when the moment arrived.
Meantime, the regiments had gone plugging ahead with their training
work--rifle shooting, bayonet work, hikes and practice attacks
succeeding each other in bewildering variety.
The work was interrupted July 5th by the arrival of messengers from
brigade headquarters. The regiments were to move up in closer support of
the French lines. Marshal Foch had shepherded the Germans into a
position where their only possibility for further attack lay almost
straight south from the tip of the Soissons-Rheims salient. The French
forces there were expected to make the crossing of the Marne so
hazardous and costly an enterprise that the Germans either would give it
up almost at the outset, or would be so harassed that the push could
gain little headway. In any event, the American support
troops--including our own Pennsylvanians--were depended on to reinforce
the line at any critical moment. And for that reason it was imperative
that they be within easier striking distance.
So, very early on the morning of July 6th, the bugles roused the men
from their slumbers and word was passed by the sergeants to hurry the
usual morning duties, as there was "something doing." No larger hint was
needed. Dressing, washing, "police duty" and breakfast never were
dispensed with more rapidly, and in less than an hour after first call
the regiments were ready to move.
The 110th, the 111th and the engineers moved off without incident, other
than the keen interest aroused by the increasing clamor of the guns as
they marched northward, to the new positions assigned them. Parts of
their routes lay over some of the famous roads of France that had not
suffered yet from the barbarous invaders, and made fairly easy going. At
times they had to strike across country to gain a new and more available
road.
A doughboy, pressing close to where a fine old tree leaned protectingly
across the sun-baked road, reached up and pulled a leafy twig. He thrust
it into the air hole in his hat, and laughingly remarked that "now he
was camouflaged." His comrades paid no attention until he remarked later
that it was a good thing to have, as it helped keep the flies away.
Thereafter there were many grasping hands when trees or bushes were
within reach, and before noon the men bore some semblance to the Italian
Bersaglieri, who wear plumed hats.
The going was not so smooth for the 109th, however. The farther the
regiment moved along its northward road the louder and more emphatic
became the cannonading. Both the officers and men realized they were
getting very much closer to artillery fire than they had been. A spirit
of tense, nervous eagerness pervaded the ranks. The goal of the long
months of hard training, the achievement of all their dreams and
desires, seemed just ahead.
They had passed the little village of Artonges, where the tiny Dhuys
River, no more than a bush and tree-bordered run, swung over and joined
their road to keep it company on the northward route. Pargny-la-Dhuys
was almost in sight, when a shell--their first sight of one in
action--exploded in a field a few hundred yards to one side.
At almost the same time an officer came dashing down the road. He
brought orders from brigade headquarters for the regiment to turn off
the road and take cover in a woods. Pargny and the whole countryside
about were being shelled vigorously by the Germans with a searching fire
in an effort to locate French batteries.
The shelling continued with little cessation, while the 109th in
vexation hid in the woods south of Pargny. The doughboys became
convinced firmly that the Germans knew they were on the way to the front
and deliberately were trying to prevent them, through sheer fear of
their well-known prowess. For many a Pennsylvania soldier had been
telling his comrades and everybody else for so long that "there won't be
anything to it when this division gets into action," that he had the
idea fixed in his mind that the Germans must be convinced of the same
thing.
Three times the cannonade slackened and the heckled Pargny was left out
of the zone of fire. Each time the 109th sallied forth from its green
shelter and started ahead. Each time, just as it got well away and its
spirits had begun to "perk up" again, the big guns began to roar at the
town and they turned back.
This continued until July 10th. When orders came that morning for the
regiment to proceed northward, there was much gibing at Fritz and his
spite against the regiment and little hope that the procedure would be
anything more than another march up the road and back again.
Surprise was in store, however. This time the guns were pointed in other
directions, and the regiment went over the hill, through what was left
of Pargny after its several days of German "hate," and on up the road.
Just when spirits were soaring again at the prospect of marching right
up to the fighting front, came another disappointment for the men. A
short distance north of Pargny, the column turned into a field on the
right of the road and made its way into a deep ravine bordering the
northern side of the field. Ensued another period of grumbling and
fault-finding among the men, who could not understand why they still saw
nothing of the war at first hand.
The discussion was at its height as the men made camp, when it was
interrupted by a screeching roar overhead, followed almost
instantaneously by a terrific crash in the field above their heads and
to the south.
"Whang" came another shell of smaller caliber on the other side of the
road, and then the frightful orchestra was again in full swing. Suddenly
that little ravine seemed a rather desirable place to be, after all.
Most of the men would have preferred to be in position to do some
retaliatory work, rather than sit still and have those shells shrieking
through the air in search of them, but the shelter of the hollow was
much more to be desired than marching up the open road in the teeth of
shell fire.
An air of pride sat on many of the men. "Old Fritz must know the 109th
is somewhere around," they reasoned.
Three days passed thus, with the regiment "holed up" against the almost
continuous bombardment. Little lulls would come in the fire and the men
would snatch some sleep, only to be roused by a renewal of the racket,
for they had not yet reached that stage of old hands at the front, where
they sleep undisturbed through the most vigorous shelling, only to be
roused by the unaccustomed silence when the big guns quit baying.
Runners maintaining liaison with brigade headquarters and the other
regiments were both better off and worse off, according to the point of
view. Theirs was an exceedingly hazardous duty, with none of the
relatively safe shelter of the regiment, but, too, it had that highly
desirable spice of real danger and adventure that had been a potent
influence in luring these men to France.
Liaison, in a military sense, is the maintaining of communications. It
is essential at all times that organizations operating together should
be in close touch. To do this men frequently do the seemingly
impossible. Few duties in the ranks of an army are more alluring to
adventurous youth, more fraught with risk, or require more personal
courage, skill and resourcefulness.
At last, however, the tedious wait came to an end. Saturday night, July
13th, the usual hour for "taps," passed and the customary orders for the
night had not been given. Toward midnight, when the men were at a fever
heat of expectancy, having sensed "something doing" in the very air, the
regiment was formed in light marching order. This meant no heavy packs,
no extra clothes, nothing but fighting equipment and two days' rations.
It certainly meant action.
Straight northward through the night they marched. Up toward the Marne
the sky was aglow with star shells, flares and shrapnel and high
explosives. The next day, July 14th, would be Bastille Day, France's
equivalent of our Independence Day, and the men of the 109th commented
among themselves as they hiked toward the flaring uproar that it looked
as if it would be "some celebration."
The head of the column reached a town, and a glimpse at a map showed
that it was Conde-en-Brie, where the little Surmelin River joins the
Dhuys. Colonel Brown and the headquarters company swung out of the
column to establish regimental post command there. The rest of the
regiment went on northward.
A mile farther and a halt was called. There was a brief conference of
battalion commanders in the gloom and then the first battalion swung off
to the left, the third to the right and the second extended its lines
over the territory immediately before it.
When all had arrived in position, the first battalion was on a line just
south of the tiny hamlet of Monthurel, northwest of Conde. The second
battalion was strung out north of Conde, and the third continued the
line north of the hamlet of St. Agnan, northeast of Conde.
Then the regiment was called on to do--for the first time with any
thought that it would be of real present value to them--that which they
had learned to do, laboriously, grumblingly and with many a sore muscle
and aching back, in camp after camp. They "dug in."
There was no sleep that night, even had the excited fancies of the men
permitted. Up and down, up and down, went the sturdy young arms, and the
dirt flew under the attack of intrenching picks and shovels. By
daylight a long line of pits, with the earth taken out and heaped up on
the side toward the enemy, scarred the fields. They were not
pretentious, as trenches went in the war--scarcely to be dignified with
the name of trenches--but the 109th heaved a sigh of relief and was glad
of even that shelter as the Hun artillery renewed its strafing of the
countryside.
Runners from the 109th carried the news to brigade headquarters that the
regiment was at last on the line. Thence the word seeped down through
the ranks, and the men of the 110th and 111th and of the engineers got
little inklings of the troubles their comrades of the old First and
Thirteenth had experienced in reaching their position.
Roughly, then, the line of the four regiments extended from near Chezy,
on the east, to the region of Vaux, beyond Chateau-Thierry, on the west.
The 103d Engineers held the eastern end. Then came, in the order named,
the 109th, 110th and 111th. The 112th was busy elsewhere, and had not
joined the other regiment of its brigade, the 111th.