STARS OF GRIM DRAMA
In Fismette, the Pennsylvanians ran into a stone wall of resistance. The
enemy made desperate efforts to dislodge them and drive them back across
the river. One counter-attack after another was met and beaten off by
the valiant little band of Americans, supported by the roaring guns on
the heights to the south.
The Pennsylvanians had the double satisfaction now of knowing their own
artillery brigade was mingling its fire with that of the other American
and French batteries. On August 8th, Brigadier-General William G. Price,
of Chester, rode up to regimental headquarters of the 109th Infantry and
greeted his friends among the officers. He informed them that his
brigade was immediately behind and that he was hunting division
headquarters to report for action. A guide was assigned him and the
General left in his motor car. Word soon spread through the infantry
regiments that all the Pennsylvania gunners at last were in the fight.
The weather turned wet again, varying from a drizzle to a heavy
downpour, but never quite ceasing.
The penetration of Fismette went slowly but steadily on, in the face of
strong resistance, the Germans reacting viciously at every point of
contact. Here, as elsewhere along the front between Soissons and Rheims,
the action consisted of a series of sharp local engagements, with
considerable hand-to-hand fighting, in which American bayonets played an
important role.
Amid the fever of battle and not knowing what moment may prove their
last, men move as if in a trance. Hours and days pass undistinguished
and unrecorded. With the fundamental scheme of existence shattered and
with friends of years and chums of months of campaigning killed between
sunrise and sunset, it is no wonder that men's minds become abnormal and
their acts superhuman.
In quiet, peaceful homes it is impossible to understand this psychology.
One may comprehend the mental shock sustained when a relative or
neighbor or close friend falls victim to accident or disease, but that
feeling is but distantly related to the effect upon the soldier when he
realizes that a dozen, possibly half a hundred, of his comrades and
close associates of weeks of work and recreation have been wiped out of
existence in an hour--men with whom he had talked daily, possibly was
talking at the time of dissolution.
The same experience is repeated day after day with deep effect upon his
mental, as well as his physical, state of being. Even in civil life, one
learns that loss of sleep in time acts like a drug. After twenty-four or
thirty-six hours without sleep, it becomes increasingly easy to do
without further, until the limit of human endurance is reached and the
victim collapses. Also, infrequent food and drink may be borne at
increasingly long intervals. The condition is not infrequently
described, accurately enough, as being "too hungry to eat," or "too
tired to rest." Inevitably the reaction comes, and the longer the relief
is postponed, the worse is the reaction. For this reason, the first day
in repose for soldiers after a long campaign is usually worse than the
campaign itself.
But while the deprivation of sleep, food and drink continues, it is
undeniable that, though the physical being may support the loss with
decreasing discomfort up to the point of collapse, the effect upon the
senses is almost that of an opiate. Men lose their sense of proportion.
Everything ordinarily of prime importance recedes into the background.
The soldier is imbued with but one overmastering aspiration--to go on
and on and on.
It is no wonder that, in such case, he feels that his own fate is a
small matter, as it is liable to be sealed at any moment, in the same
way as that of his comrades; no wonder that he faces death with the same
indifference as a man at home faces a summer shower.
This, then, is the state to which our Pennsylvania soldiers had now been
reduced, and in consequence their deeds of personal heroism began to
multiply. This was the period when individual men achieved most
frequently the great glory of the service--citation and decoration for
bravery in action. They had overstepped, individually and collectively,
all the bounds of personal fear of death or injury.
The Germans hurled one fresh regiment after another into the inferno
which was Fismette, in a determined effort to dislodge that pitiful
handful of Americans which had found lodgment on its river edge. Five
times fresh, vigorous forces, with hardly a lull, were hurled at the
position. All the time the guns kept up an incessant cannonade, both of
Fismette and Fismes and the back reaches of the Allied front, while the
attacking forces were strongly supported by airplanes, artillery and
machine guns.
The tide of battle swayed back and forth as the Americans, reinforced at
intervals by groups of men who succeeded in crossing the river, worked
their way forward, only to be hurled back by vastly superior forces of
the enemy, and hero after hero stalked, actor-like, across the murky
stage. Some gallant acts were recorded and, duly and in due time, won
their reward. Many more never were heard of, for the reason that
participants and witnesses were beyond mortal honor, or else the only
witnesses were part and parcel of the heroic act and therefore,
according to the Anglo-Saxon code of honor, their lips were sealed.
They could not tell of their own fine deeds.
It was the 111th Infantry which came into its gallant own in the first
penetration of Fismette, and its men took high rank in the heroic galaxy
constituting the Iron Division.
Probably the most noteworthy deed of individual heroism was that of
Corporal Raymond B. Rowbottom, of Avalon, Pa., near Pittsburgh, member
of Company E, and Corporal James D. Moore, Erie, Pa., of Company G, both
of the 111th.
They were on outpost duty together with automatic rifle teams in a house
beyond the spinning mill on the western edge of Fismette. The mill had
been one of the hotly contested strongholds of the Germans because of
its size and the thickness of its old stone walls. The situation was
such that the loss of the firing post in the house would have endangered
not only a battalion which was coming up under Lieutenant L. Howard
Fielding, of Llanerch, Pa., but also would have made the whole military
operation more difficult, if not impossible.
A flare thrown from a German post landed in the room where Rowbottom
and Moore had established themselves, and in a moment the place was
ablaze. This was on the night of August 12th. The flare had been thrown
for the particular purpose of providing illumination for the German
snipers and machine gunners to see their target. The fire that started
from it not only answered this purpose better than the flare alone could
have, but also distracted the attention of the American outpost and
threatened to drive them from the house.
There was, of course, no water in the house except the small quantity
contained in the canteens of the men. With this absurdly inadequate
supply and their own bare hands, fighting flames in a room as bright as
day and under a heavy, concentrated machine gun and rifle fire,
Rowbottom and Moore extinguished the blaze and then calmly resumed their
automatic rifle work. For hours they went thirsty, until their throats
were parched and their tongues swelled. For this deed, both men were
cited and given the Distinguished Service Cross.
Five wounded men were left behind unavoidably when a detachment of the
111th was called hurriedly back from an advanced post which it was seen
could not be held without too great sacrifice. Private Albert R. Murphy,
of Philadelphia, a member of the sanitary detachment of the 111th,
volunteered to go out after them. Despite seemingly insurmountable
obstacles and constantly under vicious fire from scores of enemy
marksmen, Murphy stuck to his task until the last man was back, although
it took three days and nights of repeated effort. He, too, was cited and
given the Distinguished Service Cross.
A sergeant of Company C, 111th Infantry, was shot on August 10th and lay
in an exposed position. Sergeant Alfred Stevenson, of Chester, a member
of the same company, volunteered to go to the rescue. He successfully
made his way through the enemy fire to the side of the wounded comrade.
As he leaned over the man to get a grip on him so he could carry the
burden, a sharpshooter's bullet struck him. Stevenson partially raised
himself and said to the wounded man:
"Gee, they got me that time."
As he spoke the words, the sniper shot him again and he fell dead. The
wounded man lay in a clump of bushes and between there and our lines
was an open space of considerable width. When Stevenson did not reappear
with the wounded man, Corporal Robert R. Riley, of Chester, a member of
the same company, and two comrades asked permission to go after the two.
At their first effort, all were wounded and forced to return. Corporal
Riley's wound was not severe, however, and he insisted upon making
another attempt. This time he reached the spot, only to find his old
schoolmate, Stevenson, dead, and the man for whom the effort was made
able to crawl back after having first aid treatment. Riley collapsed on
his way back and was carried in by Private Edward Davis and sent to a
hospital, where he recovered and was awarded the Distinguished Service
Cross.
On August 10th, a detachment of men of the 111th captured some enemy
machine guns and a quantity of ammunition. Corporal Raymond Peacock, of
Norristown, a member of Company F, was the only man available who knew
how to operate the enemy gun, a Maxim. He had just been so badly wounded
in the left shoulder that the arm was partially useless. Nevertheless,
he volunteered to go forward and operate the gun. He participated in a
spirited assault, firing the weapon with one hand, until he was wounded
again. A Distinguished Service Cross was his reward.
An officer of the 111th called for a runner to take a message from
Fismette back to Fismes. The path that had to be covered was pounded by
big shells and sprayed with machine gun bullets, and the man who
volunteered went but a short distance when he dropped, riddled like a
sieve.
Undaunted by the sight, Private Lester Carson, of Clearfield, Pa., a
member of Company L, promptly volunteered and was given a duplicate
message. His luck held, for he got through over the same route, by an
exercise of daring, aggressiveness and care, and delivered the note. He,
too, won a Distinguished Service Cross.
For five days of the most intense fighting, from August 9th to 13th,
Private Fred Otte, Fairmount City, Pa., a member of Company A, 111th
Infantry, acted as a runner between his battalion headquarters in Fismes
and the troops in Fismette. He made several trips across the Vesle under
heavy shell and machine gun fire, and when the bridge was destroyed he
continued his trips by swimming the river, in spite of wire
entanglements in the water. For this he received a Distinguished Service
Cross.
Bugler Harold S. Gilham, of Pittsburgh, Company H, and Private Charles
A. Printz, of Norristown, Company F, both of the 111th, not only
volunteered as runners to carry messages to the rear, but on their
return showed their scorn of the enemy by burdening themselves with
heavy boxes of ammunition which was badly needed.
Sergeant James R. McKenney, of Pittsburgh, Company E, 111th Infantry,
took out a patrol to mop up snipers. When he returned, successful, he
was ordered to rest, but begged and obtained permission to take out
another patrol.
Sergeant Richard H. Vaughan, of Royersford, Pa., Company A, 111th
Infantry, was severely gassed and his scalp was laid open by a piece of
shrapnel. Despite this, he refused to go back for treatment, but had his
wound treated on the field and continued to command his platoon for four
days until relieved. He died later of his injuries, but a Distinguished
Service Cross was awarded to him and sent to his father, Dr. E. M.
Vaughan, of Royersford, together with the text of the official citation,
which told the tale of the Sergeant's heroism and concluded with the
statement:
"By his bravery and encouragement to his men, he exemplified the highest
qualities of leadership."
Corporal James V. Gleason, of Pottstown, Pa., Company A, 111th, was
publicly commended and given the Distinguished Service Cross for his
"great aid in restoring and holding control of the line in absolute
disregard to personal danger and without food or rest for seventy-two
hours." How terse and yet how graphic are these precise words of the
official citation!
Lieutenants Walter Ettinger, of Phoenixville, who later was killed, and
Robert B. Woodbury, of Pottsville, the former an officer of Company D,
and the latter of Company M, 111th Infantry, spent three sleepless days
and nights aiding and encouraging their men to hold a position.
On August 12th, the Germans delivered an attack in force, preceded by an
intense bombardment and accompanied by a rolling barrage, which was too
pretentious to be met by the small American force in Fismette. In the
face of those onrushing German hordes, there were but two things to
do--die heroically but futilely or retire. True to American army
traditions, under which men never are required to lay down their lives
uselessly, the American force slowly, reluctantly and stubbornly retired
across the river.
Instantly the Franco-American guns gave tongue. They laid down upon
Fismette a bombardment which made the German effort seem trifling. With
the walls falling around them, the Germans began to flee. And then the
task of conquering that stubborn little village was begun again.
This second advance was led by a detachment of the 111th, under Captain
James Archibald Williams and Lieutenant H. E. Leonard, both of
Pittsburgh. They swam the Vesle under a hail of fire, for the enemy
centered much of his artillery upon the bridges, and shrapnel and
machine gun bullets fell upon them like rain.
Soaked from head to foot, the Pennsylvanians got a footing on the
northern bank, only to find they were unsupported as yet on either
flank. Undaunted, they plunged forward into a little ravine which
seemed to offer some protection. On the contrary, they found there had
settled into it most of the gas with which the enemy had been drenching
the town. Various kinds of the poisonous vapor, mustard gas, sneeze gas,
tear gas and chlorine gas, had accumulated there in a seething mixture,
providing the worst experience with this form of Hun deviltry the men
had met.
Gas masks were already in place, however, and forward they went on the
run. Machine guns chattered angrily at them, and the gunners stood their
ground until the flashing bayonets of the Americans were almost at their
breasts. Then they either broke and fled or bleated the customary plea
for mercy.