We had come to a halt near a beautiful village, with vine-clad cottages
and an old château; and were quartered in billets and temporary
barracks.
“Have you seen this?” said our French lieutenant interpreter, whom we
met as we were on our way to the “Y”.
“What is it about?” we answered, Yankee fashion, by asking another
question.
In reply, he translated from a French newspaper he held in his hand,
the message of General Pershing tendering to General Foch all the
American forces as follows: “_I come to say to you that the American
people would hold it a great honor to her troops, if they were engaged
in the present battle. Infantry, artillery, all are yours to dispose of
as you will. Others are coming._”
“That’s great!” was the general comment. And then we gave three rousing
American cheers for our general, which drew a crowd of soldiers and
citizens to inquire its cause.
Then there was a general talk about the military situation, in which
our captain took a part, and some of which I will repeat, to explain
the situation.
On Tuesday, March 21, 1918, the German army made its first great drive
of the year, by concentrating an immense force consisting of one-half
of its armies, on a fifty-mile front between the Scarp and the Oise
rivers, and drove the British back before they could bring up their
reserves to the point of attack.
As the captain pointed out, an attacking force has always this
advantage: that they can choose where and when to strike. And this made
the task of quick concentration of forces to meet this overwhelming
blow incredibly difficult.
The English army had, however, by its stubborn resistance, made up in
part for this difficulty. And, as compensation for its heavy losses,
exacted a terrible reprisal of blood from its enemy.
At the time of our arrival near the left flank of the German army,
the attacking forces of the enemy, roughly outlined, was not unlike a
gigantic U, the convex part of it pointing towards Amiens. The allied
armies had not only the disadvantage of inferior numbers, but of
difficult concentration. They must march around this curved line in
order to concentrate at the point of attack. On the other hand, the foe
could reinforce every part of his advanced line by marching men across
the U.
The captain’s talk helped us to understand the situation, and the
reasons why we Americans were assembled in force.
How, or when, we were to have a chance to prove our American temper,
we did not know. But we did understand the power given to a united
command. Though at first our work would be of minor importance, it was
soon apparent that it was not to be that of holiday soldiers. We were
to contend against an army of wonderful efficiency.
“Dem guys,” said our New York boy, “can fight, an’ don’t you forgit it.
We’s got to give them a wallup, or take some.”
There was a general feeling that we must meet a supreme test. We had
scarcely got into these trenches before there came a trial of endurance
under fire. First a great flock of air craft, with inquisitive noses,
came buzzing above us. Our big war birds, moving in spirals, flew up to
meet them and, if possible, put them to flight. We could see, high in
air, little puffs of smoke of gun fire; sometimes hear the chatter of
machine-guns, and even the buzz of their propellers and sharp report of
rifles, which showed that they were “out a-gunning.”
Sweeping around in curved lines, circling upward, darting downward, the
combating planes fought with daring temerity, a wonderful battle in
the air. We saw one plane, struck by a bomb, fall fluttering downward
a thousand feet, right itself, and escape over the lines. However tame
this may seem in recital, it was a thrilling sight to see.
At first, the enemy began to fire gas shells over us, and we had to put
on our gas masks. Occasionally puffs of the poisonous stuff would reach
us; but we were thankful that the shells were mostly going over our
heads; for they were so numerous that they gave one continuous whistle.
There came a burst of artillery that defies description. It did not
seem possible that an ant could live under such a destructive fire.
Shell, shot, and shrapnel scarred the ground as though there had been
a series of eruptions. Then the Germans charged our lines, their
green-gray uniforms so blending with the smoke and rocks and ground,
that it was difficult to see them. They were like so many fog banks or
moving rocks or roads, so completely did their color intermingle with
their surroundings.
Our artillery from the rear laid down a barrage with a terrific
deafening roar like locomotives traveling the air above us. And now
came the bugle call--over the top and at them--for which we had
impatiently waited. Our nervous American temperament wanted action; we
were at our best in attack, rather than in defense.
The enemy received us with a storm of machine-gun and artillery fire,
under which, for a time, it seemed as though nothing could live. We
made quick rushes forward, then throwing ourselves upon the ground
with such protection as was afforded by the land, opened fire,
and then another rush forward, again throwing ourselves upon our
faces,--“sprayed them” as one of our men called it, with rifle and
machine-gun fire.
Again we rushed forward until we could plainly see our targets. We gave
them the best we had. It was sharp work; and apparently the enemy were
not used to our Indian tactics, and did not relish it. Still we did not
have it easy. Men fell before their gun fire. Others limped out of
line, and headed for the first aid stations.
The confusion of sounds made it almost impossible to hear the bugle
calls. The enemy gathered himself together and rushed upon us again,
leaving a trail of dead and wounded behind, so effective was our
sharp-shooting. Still they came on with a rush, as though expecting to
scatter us by their impetus. Seeing that we were outnumbered, we fell
back to a rise, leaving two machine-guns behind.
“That won’t do! We need those guns!” called out Lieutenant Nickerson,
who was in command of our platoon.
With several others I rushed forward under the cover of smoke clouds
and rescued them. But they were out of order, and for the time being
could not be used.
Lieutenant Nickerson, a little in the rear, with his old mechanical
dexterity stooped to rearrange their parts. He soon had them on the
firing line with some of his own men to work them.
Getting more ammunition for them from the machine-gun unit, their
steady clatter was again heard “spitting bullets,” as Sam said, like
mad rattlesnakes.
It was hot work! When our line wavered under the enemy’s concentrated
fire, our lieutenant placed himself in front of his platoon, and looked
sternly in the faces of his men, with an indescribable magnetism, which
seemed to hold them to their desperate work.
The lobe of one of his ears had been cut almost away, and was bleeding
profusely. Whether it was that, or the undaunted look in his face that
inspirited them, the men broke into a hoarse cheer and again moved into
line under a heavy fire.
Our regiment, with others, had fallen back slightly, to a road, part of
which gave us shelter by a low embankment.
“Say,” said practical Sam Jenkins, “I saw a big roll of wire down the
road a little way. Supposing we get it and twist it around these trees
along the road.”
The suggestion was adopted, and happily for our regiment and others
too; for the Germans made one last effort to drive us from the field,
and were checked before the fire we gave them from behind this
barricade in front of the railroad embankment.
We had suffered heavily. Many a good man had gone down, or had been
carried, or had limped to the rear with desperate wounds. It was late
when we at last repulsed the enemy and they had faded away before our
fire, blending with the smoke behind them.
Our men were exalted: their spirits rose high when they found that they
had withstood the Hun in the open. Hoarse cheers ran down the line.
“Shure,” said Pat Quinn, “Lieutenant dear; we bate the devils; but it
was a toight squake.”
“Aw,” said Goodwin, “you’s can bet we’s give ’em a wallup. Say! our
lieutenant is great stuff, an’ don’t you forget it! T’ain’t so sure but
that they’d knocked the stuffin’ out of us, but for him!”
And that was the common agreement in our regiment.
We were not a little proud of our company and ourselves. We had, as a
whole, done well, and as Sam said, so we agreed, although it may seem
boastful, “given the Boche their belly full of fighting” and we had
gained new confidence in ourselves and our officers. We were gratified
to get the praise of the French General, who was in command on the
field, though I was not without suspicion that he gave us more praise
than was our due. Then came word officially that the enemy had fallen
back all along the line.