THE CHURCH OF RONCHERES
Meanwhile, the 110th had been having a stirring part of the war all its
own, in the taking of Roncheres. As was the case with every other town
and village in the whole region, the Germans, without expecting or
intending to hold the town, had taken every possible step to make the
taking of it as costly as possible. With their characteristic disregard
of every finer instinct, they had made the church, fronting an open
square in the center of the town and commanding roads in four
directions, the center of their resistance.
Every building, every wall, fence and tree, sheltered a machine gun or a
sniper. Most of the enemy died where they stood. As was the case 99
times out of every 100, they fired until they dropped from bullets or
thrust up their hands and bleated "Kamerad," like scared sheep, when our
men got close enough to use the bayonet.
Some time before, however, the Pennsylvanians had undertaken to make
prisoners of a German thus beseeching mercy, and it was only after
several men had fallen from apparently mysterious fire that they
discovered the squealing Hun, hands in air, had his foot on a lever
controlling the fire of his machine gun. Thus, he assumed an attitude of
surrender in order to decoy our men within easier range of the gun he
operated with his foot.
So it is small wonder that the men of the 110th went berserk in
Roncheres and made few prisoners. They played the old-fashioned game of
hide and seek, in which the men in khaki were always "it," and to be
spied meant death for the Hun. From building to building they moved
steadily forward until they came within range of the village church,
when their progress was stayed for some time.
There was a cross on the roof of the church of some kind of stone with a
red tinge. Behind it the Germans had planted guns. Three guns were
hidden in the belfry, from which the bells had been removed and sent to
Germany. Gothic walls and balconies, from which in happier days the
plaster statuettes of saints looked down on the fair, green fields and
peaceful countryside of France, sheltered machine gunners, snipers and
small cannon.
Sharpshooters of the 110th finally picked off the gunners behind the
cross, but the little fortress in the belfry still held out. Detachments
set out to work around the outer edge of the town and surround the
church. When they found houses with partition walls so strong that a
hole could not be battered through easily, sharpshooters were stationed
at the windows and doors and they were able to hold the German fire down
so well that other men could slip to the shelter of the next house.
This was all right until they came to the roads that radiated from the
church to the four corners of the village. They were not wide roads, but
the terrific fire that swept down them at every sign of a movement by
the Americans made the prospect of crossing them seem like a first class
suicide. Nevertheless, it had to be done. The men who led this
circuitous advance waited until enough of their comrades had arrived to
make a sortie in force. The best riflemen were told off to remain behind
in the houses and to mark down the peepholes and other places from
which the fire was coming. Automatic riflemen and rifle grenadiers were
assigned to look after the Huns secreted in the church.
When these arrangements were completed, the Americans began a fire that
reduced the German effort to a minimum. Our marksmen did not wait for a
German to show himself. They kept a steady stream of lead and steel
pouring into every place from which German shots had been seen to come.
Under cover of this sweeping hail, the men who were to continue the
advance darted across the road, right in the open. They made no effort
to fire, but put every ounce of energy into the speed of their legs.
Thus a footing was established by a considerable group on the other side
of the road, and the remaining houses between there and the church soon
were cleaned up, so that reinforcements could move forward.
Still the church remained the dominating figure of the fight, as it had
been of the village landscape so many years. Its stout stone walls,
built to last for centuries, offered ideal shelter, and before anything
further could be done it became imperative to wipe out that nest of
snarling Hun fire.
Using the same tactics as had availed them so well in the crossing of
the road, a little band of Americans was enabled to cross the small open
space at the rear of the church. Here a shell from a German battery had
conveniently opened a hole in the solid masonry. It was the work of only
a few minutes to enlarge this, and our men began to filter into the once
sacred edifice, now so profaned by the sacrilegious Hun.
The bottom of the church was turned quickly into a charnel house for the
Boche there, and then our men were free to turn their attention to that
annoying steeple, which still was taking its toll. One man led the way
up the winding stone stairs, fighting every step. Strange to relate, he
went safely to the top, although comrades behind him were struck down,
and he faced a torrent of fire and even missiles hurled down by the
frantic Huns who sought to stay this implacable advance.
Eventually the top of the stairs was gained. A German under officer, who
evidently had been in command of the stronghold, leaped over the low
parapet to death, and three Huns, the last of the garrison, abjectly
waved their arms in the air and squalled the customary "Kamerad!
Kamerad!"
Mopping up of the rest of the town was an easy task by comparison with
what had gone before. Then, with only a brief breathing spell, the
regiment swung a little to the northwest and reached Courmont in time to
join the 109th in wiping out the last machine gunners there.
Now came an achievement of which survivors of the 109th and 110th
Infantry Regiments--the Fifty-fifth Infantry Brigade--will retain the
memory for years to come. It was one of those feats that become
regimental traditions, the tales of which are handed down for
generations within regimental organizations and in later years become
established as standards toward which future members of the organization
may aspire with only small likelihood of attaining.
This achievement was the taking of the Bois de Grimpettes, or Grimpettes
Wood.
The operation, in the opinion of officers outside the Fifty-fifth
Brigade, compared most favorably with the never-to-be-forgotten exploit
of the marines in the Bois de Belleau.
There were these differences: First, the Belleau Wood fight occurred at
a time when all the rest of the western front was more or less inactive,
but the taking of Grimpettes Wood came in the midst of a general forward
movement that was electrifying the world, a movement in which miles of
other front bulked large in public attention; second, the taking of
Belleau was one of the very first real battle operations of Americans,
and the marines were watched by the critical eyes of a warring world to
see how "those Americans" would compare with the seasoned soldiery of
Europe; third, the Belleau fight was an outstanding operation, both by
reason of the vital necessity of taking the wood in order to clear the
way for what was to follow and because it was not directly connected
with or part of other operations anywhere else.
Grimpettes Wood was the Fifty-fifth Infantry Brigade's own "show." The
wood lies north of Courmont and just south of Sergy. It is across the
Ourcq, which is so narrow that some of the companies laid litters from
bank to bank and walked over dryshod, and so shallow that those who
waded across hardly went in over their shoetops. At one side the wood
runs over a little hill. The 109th and 110th were told, in effect:--
"The Germans have a strong position in Grimpettes Wood. Take it."
The regiments were beginning to know something about German "strong
positions." In fact they had passed the amateur stage in dealing with
such problems. Although, perhaps they could not be assigned yet to the
expert class, nevertheless they were supplied with groups of junior
officers and "non-coms" who felt--and justly--that they knew something
about cleaning up "strong positions." They no longer went about such a
task with the jaunty _sang froid_ and reckless daredeviltry that had
marked their earlier experiences. They had learned that it did
themselves and their men no good and was of no service to America, to
advance defiantly in the open in splendid but foolish disregard of
hidden machine guns and every other form of Hun strafing.
Yet when it came to the taking of Grimpettes Wood, they had no
alternative to just that thing. The Germans then were making their last
stand on the line of the Ourcq. Already they had determined on, and had
begun, the further retreat to the line of the Vesle, at this point about
ten miles farther north. Such places as Grimpettes Wood had been manned
in force to hold up the Franco-American advance as long as possible.
When they were torn loose, the Huns again would be in full flight
northeastward.
Grimpettes was organized as other small woods had been by the Germans
during the fighting of the summer: the trees were loaded with machine
guns, weapons and gunners chained to their places; the underbrush was
laced through with barbed wire; concealed strong points checker-boarded
the dense, second growth woodland, so that when the Pennsylvanians took
one nest of machine guns they found themselves fired on from two or more
others. This maze of machine guns and snipers was supplemented by
countless trench mortars and one-pounder cannon.
The taking of the hilly end of the wood was assigned to the 110th, and
the 109th was to clean out the lower part.
It was a murderous undertaking. The nearest edge of the wood was 700
yards from the farthest extension of the village of Courmont that
offered even a shadow of protection.
The regiments swung out from the shelter of the village in the most
approved wave formation, faultlessly executed. The moment the first men
emerged from the protection of the buildings, they ran into a hail of
lead and steel that seemed, some of the men said later, almost like a
solid wall in places. There was not a leaf to protect them. Hundreds of
machine guns tore loose in the woods, until their rattle blended into
one solid roar. One-pounder cannon sniped at them. German airmen, who
had complete control of the air in that vicinity, flew the length of the
advancing lines, as low as 100 feet from the ground, raking them with
machine gun fire and dropping bombs. The Pennsylvanians organized their
own air defense. They simply used their rifles with more or less
deterrent effect on the flyers.
The sniping one-pounders were the worst of all, the men said
afterward--those, and the air bombs. They messed one up so badly when
they scored a hit.
It is a mystery how any man lived through that welter of fire. Even the
men who survived could not explain their good fortune. That the
regiments were not wiped out was a demonstration of the tremendous
expenditure of ammunition in warfare compared to effectiveness of fire,
for thousands of bullets and shells were fired in that engagement for
every man who was hit.
A pitiful few of the men in the leading wave won through to the edge of
the wood and immediately flung themselves down and dug in. A few of the
others who were nearer the wood than the town scraped out little hollows
for themselves and stuck grimly where they were when the attackers were
recalled, the officers realizing the losses were beyond reason for the
value of the objective.
Neither officers nor men were satisfied. Private soldiers pleaded with
their sergeants for another chance, and the sergeants in turn besought
their officers. The Pennsylvanians had been assigned to a task and had
not performed it. That was not the Pennsylvania way. Furthermore there
were living and unwounded comrades out there who could not be left long
unsupported.
A breathing spell was allowed, and then word went down the lines to
"have another go at it." The men drew their belts tighter, set their
teeth grimly and plunged out into the storm of lead and steel once more.
It must be remembered that all this was without adequate artillery
support, for what guns had reached the line were busy elsewhere, and the
others were struggling up over ruined roads.
Again on this second attack, a handful of men reached the wood and
filtered in, but the attacking force was driven back. It began to seem
as if nothing could withstand that torrential fire in force. Three times
more, making five attacks in all, the brigade "went to it" with undimmed
spirits, and three times more it was forced back to the comparative
shelter of Courmont.
Then headquarters was informed, July 30th, that artillery had come up
and a barrage would be put on the wood.
"Fine!" said the commander. "We will clean that place up at 2.30
o'clock this afternoon."
And that is exactly what they did. The guns laid down a barrage that not
only drove the Germans into their shelters, but opened up holes in the
near side of the wood and through the wire. The scattered few of the
Pennsylvanians who still clung to their places just within the first
fringe of woodland made themselves as small as possible, hugging the
ground and the boles of the largest trees they could find. Despite their
best endeavors, however, it was a terrible experience to have to undergo
that terrific cannonading from their own guns.
Finally, the barrage lifted and the regiments went out once more for the
sixth assault on the Bois de Grimpettes. The big guns had lent just the
necessary added weight to carry them across. The Germans flung
themselves from their dugouts and offered what resistance they could,
but the first wave of thoroughly mad, yelling, excited Americans was on
them before they got well started with their machine gun reception.
Our men went through Grimpettes Wood "like a knife through butter" as
one officer expressed it later. It was man against man, rifle and
bayonet against machine gun and one-pounder, and the best men won. Some
prisoners were sent back, but the burial squads laid away more than 400
German bodies in Grimpettes. The American loss in cleaning up the wood
was hardly a tithe of that. It was a heroic and gallant bit of work,
typical of the dash and spirit of our men.
After the first attack on Grimpettes Wood had failed, First Sergeant
William G. Meighan, of Waynesburg, Pa., Company K, 110th Infantry, in
the lead of his company, was left behind when the recall was sounded. He
had flung himself into a shell-hole, in the bottom of which water had
collected. The machine gun fire of the Germans was low enough to "cut
the daisies," as the men remarked. Therefore, there was no possibility
of crawling back to the lines. The water in the hole in which he had
sought shelter attracted all the gas in the vicinity, for Fritz was
mixing gas shells with his shrapnel and high explosives.
The German machine gunners had seen the few Americans who remained on
the field, hiding in shell holes, and they kept their machine guns
spraying over those nests. Other men had to don their gas masks when the
gas shells came over, but none had to undergo what Sergeant Meighan did.
It is impossible to talk intelligibly or to smoke inside a gas mask. A
stiff clamp is fixed over the nose and every breath must be taken
through the mouth. Soldiers adjust their masks only when certain that
gas is about. They dread gas more than anything else the German has to
offer, more than any other single thing in the whole category of horrors
with which the Kaiser distinguished this war from all other wars in the
world's history. Yet the discomfort of the gas mask, improved as the
present model is over the device that first intervened between England's
doughty men and a terrible death is such that it is donned only in dire
necessity. Soldiers hate the gas mask intolerably, but they hate gas
even more.
So Sergeant Meighan, hearing the peculiar sound by which soldiers
identify a gas shell from all others, slipped on his mask. It never is
easy to adjust, and he got a taste of the poison before his mask was
secure--just enough to make him feel rather faint and ill. He knew that
if his mask slipped to one side, if only enough to give him one breath
of the outer air, he would suffer torture, probably die. He knew that if
he wriggled out of his hole in the ground, however inconspicuous he made
himself, he would be cut to ribbons by machine gun bullets. So he simply
dug a little deeper and waited.
If this seems like a trifling thing, just try one of the gas respirators
in use in the army. If one is not available, try holding your nose and
breathing only through your mouth. When you have discovered how
unpleasant this can be, try to imagine every breath through the mouth is
impregnated with the chemicals that neutralize the gas, thus adding to
the difficulty of breathing, yet insuring a continuance of life.
And remember that Sergeant Meighan did that for fifteen hours. And then
ask yourself if "hero" is an abused word when applied to a man like
that.
Furthermore, when in a later attack on the wood, Company K reached the
point where Sergeant Meighan was concealed, he discovered in a flash
that the last officer of the first wave had fallen before his shelter
was reached. Being next in rank, he promptly signaled to the men that he
would assume command, and led them in a gallant assault on the enemy
position.
There were other men in the 109th and 110th regiments who displayed a
marked spirit of gallantry and sacrifice, which by no means was confined
to enlisted men. Lieutenant Richard Stockton Bullitt, of Torresdale, an
officer of Company K, 110th, was struck in the thigh by a machine gun
bullet in one of the first attacks.
He was unable to walk, but saw, about a hundred yards away, an automatic
rifle, which was out of commission because the corporal in charge of the
rifle squad had been killed and the other men could not operate the gun.
Lieutenant Bullitt, member of an old and distinguished Philadelphia
family, crawled to the rifle, dragging his wounded leg. He took command
and continued firing the rifle.
Five more bullets struck him in different places in a short time, but he
shook his head defiantly, waved away stretcher bearers who wanted to
take him to the rear, and pumped the gun steadily. Finally another
bullet struck him squarely in the forehead and killed him.
After the wood was completely in our hands, a little column was observed
moving slowly across the open space toward Courmont. When it got close
enough it was seen to consist entirely of unarmed Germans, apparently.
Staff officers were just beginning to fume and fuss about the
ridiculousness of sending a party of prisoners back unguarded, when they
discovered a very dusty and very disheveled American officer bringing up
the rear with a rifle held at the "ready." He was Lieutenant Marshall S.
Barron, Latrobe, Pa., of Company M, 110th. There were sixty-seven
prisoners in his convoy, and most of them he had taken personally.
That night the regimental headquarters of the 110th was moved to
Courmont, only 700 yards behind the wood that had been so desperately
fought for.
"We'll work out tomorrow's plans," said Major Martin, and summoned his
staff officers about him. They were bending over a big table, studying
the maps, when a six-inch shell struck the headquarters building
squarely. Twenty-two enlisted men and several officers were injured.
Major Martin, Captain John D. Hitchman, Mt. Pleasant, Pa., the
regimental adjutant; Lieutenant Alexander, the intelligence officer, and
Lieutenant Albert G. Braden, of Washington, Pa., were knocked about
somewhat, but not injured.
For the second time within a few days, Lieutenant Alexander flirted with
death. The first time he was blown through an open doorway into the road
by the explosion of a shell that killed two German officers, who were
facing him, men he was examining.
This time, when the headquarters at Courmont was blown up, he was
examining a German captain and a sergeant, the other officers making use
of the answers of the prisoners in studying the maps and trying to
determine the disposition of the enemy forces. Almost exactly the same
thing happened again to Lieutenant Alexander. Both prisoners were
killed, and he was blown out of the building uninjured.
"Getting to be a habit with you," said Major Martin.
"This is the life," said Lieutenant Alexander.
"Fritz hasn't got a shell with Lieutenant Alexander's number on it,"
said the men in the ranks.
The shell that demolished the regimental headquarters was only one of
thousands with which the Boche raked our lines and back areas. As soon
as American occupancy of Bois de Grimpettes had been established
definitely the Hun turned loose an artillery "hate" that made life
miserable for the Pennsylvanians. In the 110th alone there were
twenty-two deaths and a total of 102 casualties.