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[Illustration]
WHAT THE "BOYS" DID OVER THERE
By "Themselves"
Edited by HENRY L. FOX
[Illustration]
Published by
Allied Overseas Veterans' Stories Co., Inc.
145 W. 45th Street, N. Y. City
Copyright, 1918, 1919, by
Allied Overseas Veterans' Stories Co., Inc.
CONTENTS
PAGE
MY EXPERIENCE AS A DISPATCHER 11
BRINGING IN A SNIPER 20
ON THE FLANDERS FRONT 26
A "DEVIL DOG'S" STORY 31
IN THE VERDUN SECTOR 38
THE HUN I WAS SURE I "GOT" 42
LIFE IN THE TRENCHES 44
TWO YEARS IN THE YPRES SALIENT 48
A NIGHT ADVENTURE 56
A MACHINE GUNNER'S STORY 58
THE FALL OF CANTIGNY 64
THE RETREAT FROM MONS 70
MY SERVICE IN FLANDERS 78
MY SERVICE IN FLANDERS (PART TWO) 83
WITH THE AMMUNITION TRAIN 88
HOSPITAL EXPERIENCE 93
TWO YEARS AND A HALF OF WAR 97
FROM ENGLAND TO FRANCE AND BACK 105
"WHY I HATE A GERMAN" 115
MY DUTY TO MY COUNTRY 123
THE "DARDANELLES" CAMPAIGN 131
THE FIRST OF THE "TANKS" 139
THE SUNSHINE OF THE TRENCHES 142
MY EXPERIENCES IN FRANCE WITH THE 10TH
CANADIAN INFANTRY 152
THREE YEARS AND TWO MONTHS IN FRANCE 164
In Memoriam
This book is affectionately dedicated
to "The Boys" who found
their final rest in the Hallowed
Soil of Martyred Belgium and
France, by their more fortunate
comrades.
THE AUTHORS
[Illustration: SERGT. DOUGLAS AYLEN]
INTRODUCTION
HOW AND WHY THIS BOOK WAS COMPILED
BY THE EDITOR
IN ASSEMBLING the stories contained in this book we have endeavored to
put in realistic and readable form some of the actual, and authentic,
experiences of soldiers and officers of the Allied Forces, who have
returned to their homes after nobly sacrificing themselves in the
service of their respective countries. It has been our endeavor to
give to these stories as much of the personality of "The Boys," who
have told us their experiences, as possible, by using their own words
whenever their physical condition permitted them to write their own
stories.
Literary style has been a secondary consideration as we believe that a
majority of the public would prefer to read the truth unabridged, than
a story garbled by editorial tinkering.
We are indebted to the following heroes for their aid in the
publication of this book:
Private Jesse W. Wade, Dispatch rider No. 151023. Wounded by shrapnel
in the shoulder in Flanders, wounded in the leg at Soissons, Veteran of
the Mexican campaigns of 1914 and 1916. Seven times cited for gallantry
by the French Government.
Sergt. Jack Winston, No. 55525, 19th Batt., Canadian Infantry, 2nd
Canadian Contingent. Wounded in the right arm, left ankle and right
knee. Shell-shocked and buried; also gassed at second battle of Ypres.
Pvt. Al. Barker, No. 118, 43rd Co., 5th Regt., American Marines. Shot
in the knee and gassed at Chateau-Thierry, bayonet wounds in both feet
at the Marne.
Corp. Frank J. Sears, Co. A, 9th Infantry, 2nd Div., A.E.F.
Shell-shocked and gassed at Chateau-Thierry. Decorated by the French
Government with the "Croix de Guerre."
Private A. F. Edwards, No. 6857, 1st Batt., 1st Brigade, 1st Div.,
Canadian Inf. Wounded in the right hand, right arm and buried by shell.
Machine gunner George Eckhart, No. 105688, First M. G. Batt., 1st Div.,
A.E.F. Wounded in the leg and gassed at Cantigny. Decorated by the
French Government with the "Croix de Guerre."
Sergt. T. S. Grundy, 15918, Royal Fusileers, Middlesex Regt., English
Army. Wounded in shoulder at Ypres and gassed at Loos. Decorated by
the British Government with the "Mons Star." One of the first hundred
thousand.
Sergt. Alexander Gibb, No. 444476, 26th Batt., New Brunswick Regt., 2nd
Canadian Contingent. Wounded in both legs, shell-shocked and gassed at
Ypres.
F. G. McAvity, No. 91805, gunner of the 8th Battery, 1st Canadian Field
Artillery. Wounded in the left foot, left thigh, left shoulder and
gassed.
Sergt. Frederick Ralph Muir, No. 81611, 10th Batt., C.E.F. Wounded at
Festubert, Belgium. Leg amputated at the knee.
Private George Oxton, 10th Batt., C.E.F., No. 81680. Wounded at
Festubert, Belgium. Right leg amputated at hip.
Pvt. John Miller, No. 122957, 96th Co., 6th Regt., U. S. Marines.
Pvt. Jack Kneeland, No. 105, 43rd Co., 5th Regt., American Marines.
Shrapnel wound in the head at Belleau Woods, wounded and gassed at
Chateau-Thierry.
Sergt. Mark L. Nicholson, No. 3736, 10th Liverpool Scottish, B.E.F.
Wounded in head at Dardanelles. Partially blinded and gassed, Hooge,
France.
Sergt. E. D. G. Aylen, No. 475337, Princess Patricia's Canadian Light
Infantry ("Princess Pats"). Blinded in right eye at Hooge, France.
Wounded in left shoulder.
Sergt. Harry Hall, No. 19805, A Co., 10th Battalion, 1st Canadian
Contingent. Shrapnel wounds, left arm and leg, Givenchy, June, 1915.
Lance Corporal Edmund Hall, 2nd Scottish Rifles, B.E.F. Regular Army,
15 years' service, 3½ in France. Wounded, Battle of Somme, 1916.
Decoration, Star of Mons.
It is the hope of the authors that "What The Boys Did Over There" will
give to its readers some idea of real conditions in the field, and
bring to those of us who remained at home a realization of the debt we
owe to the men who have suffered for us.
WHAT THE "BOYS" DID OVER THERE
MY EXPERIENCE AS A DISPATCHER
BY PVT. JESSE W. WADE, NO. 151023, DISPATCH RIDER, A.E.F.
I ENLISTED in the U. S. Army some five years ago, and have had
continuous service ever since. Being in the army before the war broke
out enabled me to know something about both sides of army life, but
peace times and war times are as different as day and night. One war is
enough for any man, so now I am ready to settle down, but, before I do,
I will endeavor to tell you some of my experiences in this Great War
"Over Seas."
Being already in the army, but in a branch of the service that was not
likely to go over among the first, I volunteered to go with the first
contingent as a dispatcher. We started the first leg of our journey
across the Atlantic, and then we began those anxious nights of watching
for submarines--and that awful seasickness for some twelve days. At
last we set our feet on solid ground again and started our long journey
across France, in some French cattle cars marked eight horses or forty
men. About three days in one of those, and one really believes there
is a war going on somewhere. We were all very much disappointed when we
were all landed a long way from the Front, and told we would stay there
until we were trained in modern warfare; but all being blue-blooded
Americans we took it very easy, building camps and getting things ready
for the other boys that were coming.
The small village near our camps was full of our boys every night.
Mumm's Extra Dry Champagne was selling at 2½ francs per quart (49c.
U. S.). It wasn't very long before our boys were taking baths in
champagne. After having a few weeks of camp life there were fifty men
picked out, to go to the English front, to receive instructions in
modern warfare. I was among the lucky ones, and then the _fun_ of war
began. We were sent to one of the most active British fronts, and there
we lived in the trenches night and day for two months.
There I began to realize that Sherman's words were only too true.
Anyone who never had the misfortune to be in Flanders, up around Ypres,
at the time, will never know the hardships that the British, and a few
Americans had to go through. We stood it wonderfully well, though. We
could have enjoyed ourselves much more on Broadway. But the French
say "cest la guerre" (it's the war).
[Illustration: PRIVATE JESSE W. WADE]
We had been in the trenches some three weeks before we had the
opportunity of going "Over the Top." One's feelings the first time he
goes "Over the Top" can never be known to anyone but himself. One will
be dozing on the firing step, and the platoon leader comes around and
whispers in your ear to get ready. The time is set for 1.13 A.M. You
can hardly talk above a whisper for the least noise draws fire from
the enemy. As the time draws near, you look at your watch and see that
you have only seven or eight minutes. Yet, you almost sink down and
it seems as though the bones have gone out of your legs and back. The
time is getting short, and at last the big guns open up, and something
just seems to push you up and over. Before you are aware of what is
happening you are out on No Man's Land, acting like a veteran. After
one or two of these successful raids you do not think war is so bad
after all. It is real fun, but you have not seen enough of it yet.
Tommie says: "Wait till you have three years of it and you'll be bloody
well sick of it, Sammy." One year was enough to make me sick of it.
Another very pleasant job is to crawl out on No Man's Land some dark
night on patrol, dragging yourself along on the ground, an inch at a
time, for fear of being heard and fired upon, and just as you think
everything is going fine you run over a twig and break it. It snaps
and sounds like a ton of dynamite going up, and then they send up a
star-shell to light up No Man's Land, and you begin to say your prayers.
Then all is quiet again and you finish your work and feel your way back
to the trench. There is never a happier moment than when you drop back
in your own trench, safe and sound, among friends. It was on one of
the patrols that I got my first wounds. I was sent out about 1.30 A.M.
with a patrol of English to do some very ticklish work, and, in cutting
our way through some wire entanglements, the wire snapped and made a
ringing noise and the Germans opened up on us, throwing everything at
us but their shoes. We were giving them a receipt for all they sent
us until, all at once, I began to feel sick and my arm became numb. I
almost collapsed, but I knew that that was no place to act like a girl
and faint, so I began crawling back toward our trench. It was hard to
do, having only one hand free, but at last I crawled into the trench
where I found another horror waiting. Our trench was full of gas and
I did not have my gas mask on and as I got one breath of it I was
finished, and the next thing I knew I was back in a nice little bed,
between two white sheets, with a little blonde nurse smiling down at
me. I thought that I had died and that I was in heaven until I heard a
Tommy say:
"Where in Hell is me 'Fags'," and then I knew I was not in heaven, but
was not sure I was alive yet. At last I found out I was, for, about
thirty minutes later, the gas began to make me sick. Gas sickness is
the worst sickness in the world.
After three weeks in bed I was getting along fine and was sent to a
convalescent hospital. There we had the time of our lives for two
weeks, when we were sent back to duty. It was just like a homecoming
to get back with our own boys again after everyone thought you were
dead. Everything ran along smoothly for awhile until I was detailed as
a dispatch rider, one of the most dangerous jobs in the army.
The average term of a dispatcher's life is just twenty-three minutes,
so you can't blame me for taking out $10,000 worth of life insurance.
At first it was not so dangerous, for our troops had not yet taken over
any part of the line, but we had to make trips to the Front every day
or two. At last we were ordered into the line and took over a sector
of our own, and a prouder bunch of boys was not to be found. We were
then doing what we had come over to do. Everything was quiet for the
first few months, except for an occasional raiding party. We spent the
hardest winter I ever put in, or ever want to, and if it had not been
for the "cooties" we should have frozen, but they kept us scratching
and moving and kept our blood in circulation. At last spring came and
things became more active as we were getting more men on the Front. On
the 18th day of July, 1918, it was just like turning out a bunch of
hungry lions, for they turned us loose, and said "go get them." We have
been "getting them" ever since. At Chateau-Thierry we began driving
them back so fast that they threw the Prussians and Bavarians at us;
all big fellows six foot and over, and very wicked fighters. Being a
dispatch rider I was around some point of the line most all the time,
and had the opportunity to go "Over the Top" with the boys when not
otherwise occupied. Once in awhile the dispatch riders would be given
twenty-four or forty-eight hours off during which we could do as we
pleased. Most of us went up in the line, and "Over the Top" with the
boys, or those who had any qualifications as a shot would go out with
a sniping squad which was very interesting as well as dangerous. At
one time I had the pleasure of going up in an observation balloon, and
seeing the fighting from the German side. I have seen with my own eyes
German officers driving their men into battle with a whip or the point
of a gun. I have also seen some of the atrocities committed by the Hun
in Belgium and along the borders of France. It just makes one's blood
run cold to think of it, as some of you do. You ask why a boy wants
to stand up and be shot down by those dogs? I'll tell you why. It is
because he doesn't want his own mother, or sister, to be treated as the
Belgians and French women and girls have been treated. Every man, woman
and child owes the deepest respect to any boy who has done his bit in
the World War.
Now to get back to the Battle of Chateau-Thierry, and tell you a
few of my own experiences. In that battle one of the most thrilling
experiences happened to me. The fight began at 3.30 A.M., July 26. I
had just ridden up to a section of our line where the enemy had started
a box-barrage, which it is almost impossible to get through alive and
is almost like madness to attempt. At this time it was important that
a certain message be delivered at the rear. Such a message is sent
with from two to six riders, so that one of them will be sure to get
through. There were five of us there at the time, but, owing to the
fact that I had just come back from a trip, the message was sent by the
other four riders. We watched them, but not one of them got through
the barrage. Then the commander looked at me, and I looked at him.
He didn't say anything but his look had words in it, written in big
letters, saying:
"It's up to you."
I'll admit that I was scared. Not the cowardly kind but a different
kind of fear. I once heard a general say that a soldier's life was
made up of four parts--"Smiles and tears, profanity and prayers," and
I think I executed all four of them at the same instant. It was only a
delay of a few moments as he had the fifth message already written out,
and in his hand, so I jumped on my machine, grabbed the message, and
was gone before he knew what it was all about. I delivered the message
without a scratch, but I think I was insane at the time; for it all
seems like a dream. It was nothing short of a miracle. The fighting
was very heavy for some days after that, and there was a similar case
that occurred shortly afterward. This time I was the only rider at hand
and I had to go. But rather than take another chance with the barrage
I could go across a corner of No Man's Land and circle around to the
left. This avoided the barrage, but I had to face the enemy machine
gun fire, which was very heavy. I started out on my last trip, as a
dispatcher, and was not seen until going over a slight rise, when the
enemy saw me. They opened up on me and threw everything at me but iron
crosses. The machine gun was the worst, but after three minutes of
hard riding, over rough ground, shell-holes and craters, I was out of
range of the machine guns. Then they began throwing the larger guns
at me. My machine was riddled with bullets. The engine was about out
of commission, but as I was through the worst of it and was shaking
hands with myself on how lucky I had been, I realized that I had been
hit in the leg and after the excitement had died down I was so weak I
could not sit on my machine again. Good luck came along in the shape
of a Frenchman and he helped me to headquarters some 500 yards away. I
delivered the message and then collapsed and a few days later awoke in
a French hospital in Paris. Since then I have been having the time of
my life, and am back in the dear old U. S. now, almost well but willing
to go through it all again for the same cause.
BRINGING IN A "SNIPER"
AN INCIDENT OF THE BATTLE OF KEMMEL HILL, TOLD BY SERGT. "JACK"
WINSTON, 55525, 19TH BATTALION, CANADIAN INFANTRY, 2ND CANADIAN
CONTINGENT.
ABOUT two hours before dawn on the morning of Oct. 8, 1915, my company
were in a sector of the front line trenches near Kemmel Hill. My
comrades were taking their ease as we had been in comparative quiet for
the previous three days. They were variously employed: some writing
home, others idly smoking, the signal man lounging in the dugout near
his telephone instrument, and sundry others doing their bit toward
cleanliness by removing "cooties" from their shirts. Our lieutenant was
looking hard across No Man's Land through the trench periscope, and
I wondered what was keeping him so long looking at a spot I thought
we all knew by heart. He stood there perfectly immovable for at least
fifteen minutes, while several star-shells, fired both from our own
lines and the German trenches, flared and died. Finally he turned to me
and whispered, "Jack, I do not remember that dead horse out there
yesterday. Take a look and tell me if you remember seeing it before."
I looked at the spot indicated and sure enough there was a dead horse
lying at the side of a shell-hole where I could have sworn there was
nothing the day before.
[Illustration: SERGT. "JACK" WINSTON]
I told the lieutenant I was sure that nothing had been there on the
previous day, and waited for further orders. German snipers had annoyed
us considerably and as they took great pains in concealing their nests
we had little success in stopping them. Several casualties had resulted
from their activities. The lieutenant had evidently been thinking,
while taking his long observation, for he said almost at once: "I
believe that nag is a neat bit of camouflage. One of those Huns is
probably hidden in that carcass to get a better shot at us."
He then told me to have the men at the portholes fire at the carcass,
at five second intervals, to keep "Fritz," if he were there, under
cover--and taking advantage of the dark interval between the glare of
the star-shells, he slipped "Over the Top," having told me he was going
to get that Hun.
Imagine my suspense for the next half hour. I kept looking through the
periscope but for fully fifteen minutes I could not find my officer.
Finally I spotted him sprawled out, apparently dead, as a star-shell
lit up the ground within the range of the periscope. As no shot had
been fired, except from our portholes, I knew he was not as dead as he
seemed. And sure enough when next I could make him out he was several
yards ahead, and to the left, of the spot where I had last seen him.
Then I knew what he was after. He was making a detour to approach the
carcass from the rear, and as he could only move in the dark intervals
between star-shells his progress was, of necessity, slow. At the end
of another fifteen minutes I located him in a position, as nearly as I
could judge, about ten yards in the rear and just a step to the left of
the carcass. I then thought it time for me to take a hand, and give him
what help I could.
Running into the signal man's dugout I told him to call for a barrage,
giving the range at, approximately, thirty yards behind the point at
which the carcass lay.
I then jumped back to the periscope only to see, by the next flare,
that the lieutenant was no longer in sight. Leaving the periscope I
selected three men, whom I was sure I could trust, and, by the time I
had brought them to the firing step, the barrage from the guns in our
rear for which the signal man had telegraphed began to fall.
Quickly explaining to the men what I had in mind, that we were going
to help the lieutenant, I was about to give the order to go "Over the
Top," when another man, who had overheard, begged me for permission
to accompany us, and as I had need for some one to repair the barbed
wire, which the lieutenant had cut on his way out, I gave him the job
together with permission to go with us.
After a few words of instruction to the corporal, who, during my
absence, was left in command of our sector, we went silently "Over the
Top" at the point where the lieutenant had preceded us.
The barrage had by this time aroused the curiosity of the enemy
and they were replying with a brisk shelling of our lines, and the
batteries that were laying down the barrage.
We advanced at a walk and were fortunate enough to find the place where
our lieutenant had cut his way through our barbed wire. There I left my
volunteers with the necessary tools to repair the wire, after we should
have passed through it on our return.
It was now beginning to get light enough for us to see several yards in
either direction around us, and after moving forward about fifty yards
beyond the wire, we ran straight into the lieutenant, who was driving
the Hun before him at the muzzle of his automatic.
We wasted no time on the return journey but hustled "Fritzie" along at
a brisk pace.
Just as we had passed back through the barbed wire, a piece of shrapnel
struck my volunteer in the shoulder, and I was forced to stop, and
leave a man to complete the repairs on the wire, while I helped the
wounded man back to the trenches. The remaining men, who had started
with me, had remained with the lieutenant and his prisoner, and we
found all safe in the trench on our arrival.
My wounded man proved to be not seriously hurt and the man who remained
to mend the wire also returned unhurt.
When all were safe in the trench, the lieutenant called off the barrage
and the enemy in our front was doubtless wondering what it was all
about, until the sniper, who, as the lieutenant surmised, was hidden in
the camouflaged carcass, returned no more.
The lieutenant had arrived at a point about five paces behind the Hun
before the sniper discovered him, and then had him covered with his
automatic. Like most of his breed there was a wide "yellow streak"
in this baby-killer and he cried "Kamerad" instantly. By the time the
lieutenant had secured his prisoner's rifle our barrage was falling
and, under its protection, he began his march back with the prisoner,
and met us before he had gone twenty-five yards. The rest you know.
The prisoner expected to be killed at once and begged piteously for his
life, saying "he had a wife and three children." One of the men replied
that if he had his way he would make it a "widow and three orphans."
Needless to say he did not have his way, and for all I know that sniper
is still eating three square meals per day in a prison camp.
ON THE FLANDERS FRONT
BY SERGT. JACK WINSTON
IT WAS in November, 1915--we were at Kemmel Hill, when the wet weather
started in. I remember one night I was sent out of the trenches to the
Dump, near the dressing station, for rations. We had no communication
trenches then, owing to the heavy shelling we were getting from the
German artillery, and we never had the guns to come back at them. We
had to go out at dusk through the fields, known to us as "overland." We
got down to the dump all right, but coming back the Germans saw us, and
they turned three machine guns on us. I was about fifty yards from the
front line when the barrage started. My pal was just behind me. About
four yards from us was an old French trench, with about three feet
of water in it. I jumped into that with my pal. The Germans kept the
barrage up for about a half an hour and as soon as it stopped I made my
way for the front lines.
Just imagine what condition I was in when I reached there. I was
soaking wet, but the rations were worse. Well, anyhow, I had to do my
sentry duty, just the same, because if one man was shy those days it
put all the work on some of his comrades. I could not get a change of
clothing so I took off my pants and wore my blanket like a Scotchman
would his kilts. It's wonderful to me the hardships a man can contend
with. We could get very little water up the front line and water means
an awful lot to a man over there. Well, there was a creek running from
the German front line across No Man's Land and into our trench, and
coming over No Man's Land it ran over quite a few dead bodies. We were
told by our medical officer not to drink this water because the Huns
might have put poison into it. But we had to get water some place, so
we all took a chance and drank it, and I am still alive and just as
good as ever.
We were in the trenches for six days at a time. What good times we used
to have when we were out in our billets. It was there we used to get
the chance to have a good feed from the Belgian peasants. "Eggs and
chips" was our favorite dish. Even when the men are out of the trenches
they have to be ready in case of an attack. One night we got the orders
from the front line that the trenches had caved in and of course we
had to go up and help the boys build them up again.
It was this night, while carrying up sand bags, a bullet struck my
right arm. I made the front line all right, but as soon as I was
dressed by the stretcher bearer I was sent back to the dressing station
to the medical officer to receive attention. I was then sent to the
field hospital, and the next day I was removed on an ambulance train,
and sent to the base hospital in Etaples. I might state that this
hospital was an American hospital. How wonderful it was to me to find
myself back in a nice white bed again. I was there for two weeks and
then sent to a convalescent hospital for another week.
At the beginning of December I found myself on the way back to the
front line. Of course all my pals who were still there were glad to see
me again; but, believe me, it was hard to leave that nice white bed and
go back "somewhere in the mud." I made the best of it. I knew it was
doing my duty, as every soldier does.
I had quite a few narrow escapes after that. One day as I sat in the
trench a German high explosive shell hit the next bay to where I was
and when they explode they throw up with them all loose stuff that is
in their reach. This one threw up an old French bayonet which missed
my head by about two inches, but as long as it did not hit me I should
worry.
Our routine there was, six days in the front line, six in the billets
and six in the reserve. The only thing I did not like about the reserve
was, that the poor fellows that got killed in the trenches, if there
was anything left of them to give a decent burial, were brought out
of the trenches at night and put into an old barn near the dressing
station until the next morning for burial. It was our duty to watch the
bodies so that the rats would not eat them. Just imagine, about six
fellows lying in an old barn all riddled with bullets and shrapnel, and
the wind blowing, and the rain coming through, and to go and look at
these poor fellows with a flash light. Some with their heads and arms
blown off--but we had to do it.
From Kemmel Hill we were moved in March, 1916, to St. Eloi, where we
put up a good scrap against heavy odds. I pulled through that all
right. I remember we took some prisoners. There was a little Scotchman
in my company who was always looking for souvenirs and he brought a big
German down the trench and made a grab for his hat. The Dutchman made a
grab for it and said:
"If you want to catch a cold, I don't."
I thought that was very funny, but Jock did not.
From there we moved to the Somme and it was here that the first British
tanks were used. I got it again on the morning of September 15 from
a German high explosive, was buried, receiving shell-shock and some
wounds. A few days later found myself in a hospital and had a wonderful
time, but I found that the doctors would not let me go back to France,
so I was returned to Canada.
I was in Canada two weeks when I came over to the good old U. S. A. to
help recruiting for the British and Canadian Army. I have worked on
the Liberty Loan drives, Red Cross, Knights of Columbus and all other
drives to keep the boys over there. One thing, to my sorrow, during
the Fourth Liberty Loan drive was that I sold all the buttons of my
overcoat to each person who bought a five-hundred-dollar bond. The only
thing that worried me was that I never had enough buttons, but as we
all know a fellow would not want to have two or three hundred buttons
on his coat to fasten. I only wish I was in France to stay to the
finish, and come back with the rest of the boys who are left.
A "DEVIL DOG'S" STORY
BY PVT. AL. BARKER, NO. 118, 43D COMPANY, 5TH REGIMENT, U. S. MARINES
THE U. S. declared war upon Germany April 6, 1917. I was going to
college at the time. I went to spend a week-end in New York City and
happened to be in Union Square where recruiting of soldiers, sailors
and marines was taking place. A captain of the U. S. Navy was speaking
on patriotism. As I stood there and listened a thrill went through
me and I decided to enlist at once. I chose the marines because they
were always the "first to fight." I was sent to Paris Island, South
Carolina, for my training, where I spent three months, and on August
12, 1917, I was sent to Quantico, Va., for my overseas equipment. On
August 21, 1917, I sailed for France.
The trip across was a very eventful one as we were twice shot at by
submarines, but we succeeded in eluding them. Nine days later we
arrived at Brest, France, where we were all stationed in barracks. My
first real training began in France; drilled from morning to night,
together with such things as trench digging, bayonet fighting, grenade
throwing, and all other things necessary to an American marine. This
lasted about three months. My first real encounter occurred when we
were ordered to the Belgian Front with Australian Anzacs. There I had
my first glimpse of the Germans. We battled with them for twelve hours
and I received a bayonet thrust in my right foot which laid me up for
three weeks, and I was sent to base hospital No. 3 near St. Lazarre.
After I recovered I was again sent to the Belgian Front where, in the
next encounter with the Germans, I was captured and sent to a prison
camp, built in the German trenches. I was there with eight other
marines, for twenty-one days, when a French air squadron descended upon
the Germans and killed or wounded all of them. A French aviator--I do
not recall his name--took me in his machine and we flew 102 miles to
the French forces.
Being weak from loss of blood and sleep I was kept there a week, and
then sent back to my own company. My fellow-marines had given me up
for dead, and were more than overjoyed to see me. A few days later I
was selected as a sniper with a few others, and we advanced to a point
as near the Germans as possible. Together with another marine,
Jack Kneeland, who later saved my life, I climbed a tall tree as near
as possible to the German trenches and stationed myself there very
comfortably.
[Illustration: PRIVATE "AL" BARKER]
We could see the Germans setting machine guns in position to be used
against our forces. We both had our rifles and plenty of ammunition, so
we began to pick off the men who were operating the machine guns. These
machine guns are the most disastrous and dangerous things in warfare.
We succeeded in putting four of these guns out of commission when we
were discovered by German snipers, and had all we could do to defend
ourselves. I received a bullet wound in my knee and fell twenty feet to
the ground. The other marine, Kneeland, quickly descended and protected
me with his own body, and although he received three bullets he carried
me to safety. As we were far from any hospital we were treated in the
trenches to the best of the abilities of the doctors there.
We had Germans all around us, and, although we kept up a heavy fire,
we could not persuade them to come out and fight us as men. They
preferred trying a means to defeat us which insured their own safety,
and that was to try to starve us out. For six days we lived on hard
black bread and dirty water. Our commander, previous to this, had
sent out a marine, who had volunteered, to get through the German
lines and bring us help. We never dreamed that he would succeed in
getting through, but on the seventh day we saw several black specks in
the air but thought nothing of them until they came close, and we saw
that they were American airplanes come to our assistance. The fliers
descended as low as possible and threw us food in water-proof canvas
bags. They also dropped bombs on the Germans and then flew away after
promising to send a company of marines to our rescue. This promise we
found in a note contained in one of the bags of food. It also told us
to keep up our courage as we would surely be saved. All this time I was
laid up with the wound in my knee, but I could hear our boys firing
at the enemy, and they had all they could do to keep me in bed. Five
days later I was aroused by an attendant and was told that an American
scout had succeeded in making his way into our trenches, and told us
that our relief was on its way, and would be here at any time. I felt
much stronger after I heard this news and felt that I could fight the
biggest German and finish him.
The detachment of marines arrived after we had been in these trenches
for sixteen days. We now outnumbered the Germans, so we speedily put
them to flight. After the conflict we counted 421 German dead bodies
and we also took 1,200 prisoners. Our loss was sixty-two dead and
thirty slightly wounded. We were then sent to a rest camp where we
spent two weeks, and I had my wound treated. At the end of our two
weeks I was able to walk about, and was sent to the western front near
Cambrai where the Germans were gaining, and we were instructed to stop
them.
This time we did not fight from the trenches but in the open field, and
there were plenty of human targets for both sides. It was a terrible
battle; shells were bursting in the air, cannons were roaring and there
were loud reports every time a shell hit the dust. I was operating a
machine gun, and, as a machine gunner's life on a battlefield only
lasted an average of twelve minutes, it must have been a miracle
that saved me from being killed. My other two comrades were killed
immediately and I was left alone to operate the gun. A German sniper
took a shot at me, but instead of hitting me he put my gun out of
order. That left me with only a revolver, and drawing this I kept
popping away at every German I saw. At last we were given the order to
advance and for the third time I went "Over the Top" to glory. As we
pressed on the enemy gave way little by little, and by twelve o'clock,
at noon (the battle had started the day before at the same hour), we
had either killed or taken all our opponents prisoners. We were then
given a much needed rest. We spent a month in a rest camp and were
then sent to Chateau-Thierry, about forty miles from Paris, where we
engaged in a battle which proved to be the turning-point of the war. I
think I shall remember this fight all my life. We had drawn up all our
ammunition trains, food supplies and other munitions and were gathered
around our campfires telling stories. At a little past midnight we were
told to get ready. I was in the second division and we were ordered
to advance first. Suddenly someone fired a shot; whether it came from
our lines or the enemy I did not know. The battle had begun. With
two hundred others I was cut off, and we found ourselves surrounded
by the enemy. It was all hand-to-hand fighting, and more than once
I felt a hand creep to my neck, or a cold blade touch my face, but
always managed to ward it off. Five hours of hard fighting still found
us in the midst of the Germans. Whispering a few words to my nearest
companion, we made a dash and cut our way through the thick masses of
the enemy. Having no cover, we gathered together the bodies of German
dead and piled them one upon the other and used them as protection
against our enemies. While here a gas bomb exploded and I fell back
unconscious. When I came to myself I was aboard a ship bound for the
good old U. S. A. As I was so badly gassed that I would no longer
be useful as a fighter, they were sending me _home_. I made a good
recovery and I thank God for my life.
That is my story, and if I had to go through it again I would do it
gladly for my country and the flag.
IN THE VERDUN SECTOR
BY CORP. FRANK J. SEARS, CO. A, 9TH INFANTRY, 2D DIV., A.E.F.
IN THE winter of 1917 we found ourselves marching along a little road
somewhere in France. It was cold and dismal and the hail came down in
sheets, but we marched on and on. I looked at the fellow alongside of
me and could not tell whether he was ready to laugh or cry. There was
not much talking en route. I didn't feel much like talking myself and
couldn't understand what made me feel so downhearted. It was the day we
all looked and hoped for our chance in the battle. When we took over
our sector, one kilometer from St. Mihiel, the French told us it was a
quiet sector and to keep it that way. The first four days we did not
care how quiet it was so long as we were allowed down in the dugouts.
The shells whizzing past our heads annoyed us a little, it being our
first experience. It took us a few days to become accustomed to our new
home and the noise of bursting shrapnel. We knew we were not going
to stay there long. In the American Army we never do linger long in one
place as there is no retreat in our army.
[Illustration: CORPORAL FRANK J. SEARS]
There was only one direction for us to follow and that was toward
Berlin.
The idea of the French telling us to keep Verdun sector quiet amused
us, for, while we had no desire to start anything for a few days, there
wasn't a "yellow" man in our bunch. Yet we hesitated, before we became
accustomed to the noise, to take our first chance at, what we termed,
slaughter. However, one night, about seven days after we took over our
sector with the French Army, a "Fritz" sent over one of his 77 shrapnel
shells which wiped out our entire mess shack. That was a bad mistake
on "Fritzie's" part for it was a serious offense for anybody to tamper
with the Sammie's "chow." No matter how hard a night he has spent he
will always get up an appetite where there is anything to eat. That
night we formed a raiding party. We crept out of the first line trench
with three squads. It was our first entry into No Man's Land and we had
heard so many strange tales about this place, we shied at everything
we saw. We split up into squads. Our password was to knock three times
on the helmet. So we parted. I went off to the right with a squad.
Each man covered his ground, trying to find out whether the Hun had
any intention of making a raid next day. The trenches are protected by
barbed-wire fences and when the Huns intend going "Over the Top" they
cut the wires on the previous night, and it was our duty to find out
whether or not these wires had been cut. The barbed wire was O. K. on
the ground we covered, so we started back to meet the other squads.
We did not go far, for about ten feet away we heard a noise, which is
something unusual on a raiding party in No Man's Land. We stopped short
and looked at each other. We did not know what to do, for, as I have
said, this was our first experience. One of the boys said to me, "Give
them the signal." I knocked three times on my helmet, but received no
reply, so one of the boys said he would creep over and investigate; but
it wasn't necessary, because just then a skyrocket went up into the
air. Every soldier knows that this means to get under cover quickly
for the rocket would light up the sky and make nice targets of us for
"Fritz." Luckily for us there was a shell-hole to jump into, for as
soon as we laid low, there came the "pop," "pop," "pop" of the German
machine guns. We laid there in the mud, through what seemed to us like
an eternity, but which was in reality only about two hours. However,
luck was with us, and we finally crawled out of our hiding place and
arrived behind our own lines once more.
Editor's Note.--For his gallantry in this raid, of which he says
nothing in the above article, Corporal Sears was awarded the "Croix de
Guerre" by the French Government.
--H. L. F.
THE HUN I WAS SURE I "GOT"
BY CORP. FRANK J. SEARS
IT WAS sometime last April, 1918, when we got the order we were going
over. Our artillery opened up with a full barrage. We took the right
flank, and another regiment of infantry took the left. The marines took
the center. We had been told time and time again if we had to use the
bayonet to pull it out quick. But somehow or other I was doubtful about
that. We were having a real American hand-to-hand fight with them when
I got my eye on one, something we very seldom do. Just as I got near
him he threw his gun down, and his hands up, and yelled: "Kamerad,
Kamerad." I said "Kamerad, hell," and became so excited I gave him a
long jab with my old American bayonet and hesitated before making an
attempt to pull it out. When I tried to, it was too late for it was
wedged in too firmly. I put my foot on him and pulled and pulled, but
the body lifted right up with the bayonet, so I thought I'd try my luck
without a bayonet. I released the bayonet from my rifle and left it as
an American souvenir to the "Fritz"; one which he will never be able to
appreciate. This is all I remember of that battle.
LIFE IN THE TRENCHES
BY CORP. FRANK SEARS
LIFE in the trenches is made up of "cooties," "rats," "mud" and "gas
masks."
We had heard from fellows who had been there before us what we thought
were jokes about "cooties" and trench rats, but it was no joke to me
when I looked, for the first time, at a rat almost as big as a cat.
It was lying in my bunk and I heard it squeal. Looking down I had my
first view of a trench rat. I threw a heavy hob-nailed shoe at him
and he merely changed his position and looked around to see who had
interrupted him. After that it wasn't strange to wake up and find them
running across you. But I will say that if it were a matter of choice,
I would select a hundred rats in preference to two "cooties," for the
"cootie" is an unreasonable bird, and when a Sammie has come back from
the lines exhausted, he lays down in the hopes of snatching a few
hours' sleep before being called on; but the "cooties" have no respect
for Sammie and they pester him until he has no more idea of sleep,
only to start in and hunt for the "cooties" that are annoying him.
You have all more or less had fever, but I guess there are none of you,
over here, who knows of the "mud fever." We all used to shy at mud,
during the rainy season in the year 1917. After a heavy storm the boys
hated to go out to drill, as the mud got so bad there that the only
way of getting out from the drill was by going on sick report in the
morning. I remember the morning six buddies and myself went over to the
infirmary. I happened to be the first one in line. The doctor came up
to me and said:
"What's your trouble?"
At first I said, "I don't know, sir," and he said:
"Well, what are you doing here if you don't know? Where do you feel
sick?"
And I told him all over. So he called the pill roller over and told him
to take my temperature. I sat down and the pill roller put the glass
tube in my mouth, which always "balled the detail up." He then held
hands with me for a while and I asked him what he was doing. He told me
he was taking my pulse. He then gave the final report to the "skipper"
who came to me and said, "You have the 'mud fever'." He then turned to
the orderly and said, "Give him two C.C. pills and mark him 'DUTY'."
That's how I happened to get over the mud fever. We became so used to
mud, up in the lines, that if our "chow" did not have some mud, or
muddy water, in it we could not digest it. It was just a case of mud
all over: eat, drink, sleep and wash in mud.
And now for the "old reliable," which tortured us while wearing it, but
without which we should have been lost. The gas mask!!!
We were not fortunate enough to have ever received the American gas
masks and have never seen one over there. The first two American
divisions received English and French masks. The English mask looks
like a false face with two big glass eyes, and a nose clip which
resembles a clothespin, and keeps the gas from going through the
nostrils. There is also a tube which goes into the mouth, with a hard
piece of rubber on it to make it air-tight. This mouthpiece is a long
caterpillar tube which connects the mask to a tin can containing
a chemical composition of charcoal, rocks, sand and other medical
decoctions. There were times when we endured these masks from eighteen
to thirty-six hours. Sometimes we would just get the order to take them
off, and, thinking the danger passed, would get ready to eat, when the
command to put them on again would be given. This is done by means of
horns at intervals along the whole line of trenches. Each horn gives
the signal which is repeated right through the lines. It is a wonderful
relief after having a mask on a long time to be able to breathe fresh
air again.
TWO YEARS IN THE YPRES SALIENT
AS TOLD BY PRIVATE ALBERT FRANKLIN EDWARDS, NO. 6857, 1ST BATTALION,
1ST BRIGADE, 1ST DIV., CANADIAN INFANTRY
Editor's Note.--These were the first Canadians to go overseas in the
Great War.
--H. L. F.
I WAS born in Canada, but had lived virtually all my life in the United
States. I thought war was coming and returned to Canada to be ready
to do my bit when the time arrived; and I was just in time; arriving
in Toronto on August 3, 1914. On August 4, 1914, I was at dinner with
seven other boys when the word came that war was declared, and the
whole eight of us determined to get in it without delay, so on the next
day, August 5th, we enlisted in the Canadian dragoons.
After two weeks in the dragoons I was transferred to the infantry, went
into training at Toronto, and afterward at Valcartier, which occupied
the next two months.
One Sunday morning we were called for parade and thought we were going
to church, but were notified we had to pack up for overseas service.
We went to Montreal where we took a boat down the St. Lawrence to
Halifax. We there joined the convoy consisting of 33,000 men of the
artillery and infantry.
[Illustration: PRIVATE A. F. EDWARDS]
We sailed for England on October 22, 1914, and as nearly as I can
remember took about sixteen days to make the trip to Plymouth. Though
slow the voyage was without incident worthy of mention.
We were, for some unknown reason, held five days in Plymouth Harbor
before disembarking, and then they hustled us off to the training camp
on Salisbury Plains where we had a miserable existence until February,
1915.
At Salisbury we drilled in mud and water that was at times waist deep,
caused by the continuous rains and floods. It sure was fine training
for the Flanders mud that we were to encounter later. The storms were
so severe at times that tents and their contents were washed away.
As a result an epidemic of spinal meningitis hit the camp, and of the
33,000 who arrived at Salisbury 4,400 were stricken with this disease,
only a few of whom recovered.
While at Salisbury I was granted my first leave and started for London,
together with my pal, a boy named Frazer, who also had leave. We had
three days' absence from camp coming to us and they were "some three
days."
We arrived in London at 5.15 P.M. and, in accord with English custom,
had tea at once in the Corner House, Piccadilly, where many soldiers
congregated.
At the Corner House we received sixty-one invitations to the theater
and dinner for the next day. That night we attended the Princess
Theater where, as we entered, the orchestra played the Canadian anthem,
"The Maple Leaf Forever." The audience cheered and we were forced to
make a speech. You see, we were the first Canadians the English people
had seen who had come to do their bit. That night I lost track of
Frazer.
After three wonderful days I returned to camp as my leave had expired.
Frazer was not on the train with me, and as a matter of fact did not
arrive until twenty-four hours later. He was called before the colonel
for overstaying his leave, and, on being questioned, told the colonel
that just as he arrived at the railroad station a band started playing
"God Save the King" and he had to stand at attention so long that he
missed the train.
He was excused and returned to duty, but they do say there was
a suspicious twinkle in the colonel's eye as he dismissed him. I
sometimes wish I had Frazer's powers of quick invention.
On February 3rd we left Salisbury encampment, en route for France,
landing at St. Lazarre, thence by train to Hazebrouck and St. Omer
where the fever laid me up in the hospital for about ten days.