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Capt. Irving C. Bolton 
 
RIDING TO WAR 
 WITH "A" 
 
 A HISTORY OF BATTERY "A' 
 
 OF THE 135th FIELD 
 
 ARTILLERY 
 
 BY 
 
 FRED RALPH WITT 
 
 SOUVENIR EDITION 
 
 CLEVELAND 
 
 EVANGELICAL PRESS 
 
 C. HAUSER, Publisfiei 
 
 Woodland Ave. 
 
^ 
 
 
 Copyright 1919 
 BY FRED RALPH WITT 
 
 ^t^ 2G 1919 
 
TO CAPTAIN IRVING C. BOLTON 
 
 WHO NEVER NEEDED HIS BARS TO GAIN 
 
 THE DEVOTED 
 
 LOYALTY OF HIS BOYS 
 
 THESE PAGES ARE DEDICATED. 
 
FOREWORD 
 
 alS we look back at our army days, the passage 
 of twie tends more and mor-e to make the 
 mfA-% activities of Battery "A" the experiences and 
 ekJ^M accomplishments of a single unit. Grades and 
 distinctions of authority are levelled. The "buck 
 private in the rear rank" and the officer blend into 
 one big "we" that means Battery "A". Individual 
 tasks and actions all flow into one central, forward- 
 sweeping current of achievement. 
 
 It is this central current that we have tried to fol- 
 low in the ensuing pages, and it is this "we" that is 
 ^lsed throughout to mean not only the Captain, but 
 also the loivliest private, all working shoulder to 
 shoulder to achieve a single purpose that would have 
 been impossible without either. 
 
 Read, therefore, not the story of Sergeant Jones, 
 or of "Permanent K. P. Smith", or of Section U — 
 but of Battery "A"— of "US". 
 
 If, in the writing of these short chapters, we have 
 exaggerated in places, we have done so withoiit in- 
 tent. If we have understated, it was also ivithout 
 design. We submit the story neither for criticism 
 nor praise, but with the sole purpose of keeping alive 
 in our memories the main events of two red-blooded 
 years that ive wish neither time nor circumstance 
 to siveep away. F P W 
 
 May 16th, 1919. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 RECRUITING BATTERY "A" 
 
 Captain Irving C. Bolton 
 
 * » ♦ 
 
 RIDING TO WAR WITH "A" 
 
 Fred R. Witt 
 
 * « « 
 
 'FAMOUS WORDS AND PHRASES' 
 
 * * * 
 
 "GENERAL ORDER No. 37" 
 
 * * * 
 
 IN MEMORIAM 
 
 * * * 
 
 BATTERY ROSTER 
 
 « * « 
 
RECRUITING BATTERY "A' 
 
 BY CAPT. IRVING C. BOLTON. 
 
 C5 
 
 ROOP A, First Squadron Cavalry, Ohio Na- 
 tional Guard, retui-ned from its nine months' 
 tour of duty on the Mexican Border at El Paso 
 and Fabens, Texas, and were mustered out 
 of the Federal Service on February 28, 1917. 
 Scarcely a month had passed before war was de- 
 clared against Germany and the call to arms sounded 
 for the returned troopers. While the war clouds had 
 been gathering talk had been rife among the troopers 
 of expanding the old squadron into a regiment of 
 cavalry, and on the declaration of war, permission 
 to do so was at once obtained. Recruiting offices were 
 opened in the Troop A Armory and on the Public 
 Square and were quickly thronged with applicants. 
 The prestige of old Troop A attracted the best of the 
 city's youth, and six troops in Cleveland were quickly 
 recruited to war strength by voluntary enlistment be- 
 fore the subject of compulsory service was broached 
 in Congress. Members of the "Black Horse Troop" 
 were commissioned as officers of the newly organized 
 troops, and the three officers of the new Troop A 
 were Fayette Brown, Captain, Robert H. Jamison, 
 First Lieutenant, and Newell C. Bolton, Second 
 Lieutenant. John N. Garfield was appointed First 
 Sergeant. 
 
 It was soon felt, however, that cavalry would see 
 little, if any active service in the trench warfare of 
 Europe, and authorization was granted to transfer 
 into field artillery. Applications for enlistment were 
 so numerous that the officers felt justified in expand- 
 ing the cavalry regiment into two regiments of artil- 
 lery. Cleveland and Toledo, accordingly, recruited 
 9 
 
RECRUITING BATTERY "A". 
 
 the 2nd Ohio Field Artillery, and Cincinnati, Colum- 
 bus and Youngstown the 3rd Ohio. The officers of 
 the 2nd Ohio Field Artillery were entirely drawn 
 from members of the old Troops A and D who had 
 had the experience of Border service, and of this 
 regiment Batteries A, C, D and F and the Head- 
 quarters and Supply Companies were assigned to 
 Cleveland. 
 
 An artillery battery having almost double as many 
 members as a cavalry troop, a new recruiting cam- 
 paign was opened, and hundreds of patriotic young 
 men presented themselves for examination for enlist- 
 ment. Street-cars and shop windows were plastered 
 with posters urging the advantages of our branch of 
 the service, and the phrase "Join the artillery and 
 ride to war" became our slogan. Over a thousand 
 men were recruited in Cleveland for the regiment, 
 careful selection being made by the recruiting of- 
 fiers from the three thousand and odd applicants. 
 
 The change from cavalry to artillery entailed the 
 promotion of more officers. In consequence Captain 
 Fayette Brown became Major of the 2nd Battalion. 
 Irving C. Bolton was made Captain of Battery A 
 with Albert Y. Meriam and William F. Spieth, Jr., 
 as First Lieutenants and Quay H. Findley and John 
 N. Garfield as Second Lieutenants, with which of- 
 fiers the Battery left for Camp Sheridan, Mont- 
 gomery, Alabama, August 26th, 1917. 
 
 10 
 
"OVER THERE." 
 
 RIDING TO WAR WITH "A." 
 
 CHAPTER L 
 
 G 
 
 WO years previous to April 6th, 1917, 
 we of the future Battery "A" were 
 all vaguely alive to a big war that had 
 been going on away off somewhere on an- 
 other continent. The magazine poets and 
 the Belgian relief societies called it "Over 
 There." The war furnished us thrilling 
 headlines in the daily papers, or a topic in a 
 conversational pinch, or perhaps a share in 
 the profits of a munitions plant ; but beyond 
 that it was all, as the sentimentalist so pret- 
 tily put it, simply "Over There." We had 
 our jobs, our studies, our parties, dances, 
 clubs and fraternities to attend to. If a 
 U-boat took an occasional American life on 
 the high seas, we cussed the Kaiser for his 
 effrontery. The American came in for his 
 share of it, too. Why was he snooping 
 around in the middle of an ocean filled with 
 11 
 
OUR WAR. 
 
 mad-dog subs? It wasn't his war! If the 
 Germans broke through the British and 
 French lines, it was "tough luck" for the 
 British and the French, and maybe we hoped 
 they'd take a brace for their own sake. 
 The Belgian horrors were depressing. The 
 Turks were after the Armenians in the good 
 old Turkish manner. But to most of us it 
 was all four thousand miles away. It was 
 ''Over There." 
 
 Then the Lusitania went down. The Ger- 
 man-Mexican intrigues were exposed. The 
 leaders of American thought gradually en- 
 lightened the public on the perilous position 
 of our own democracy. And on April 6th, 
 1917, Uncle Sam called Germany's time-worn 
 bluff with a declaration of war. The war 
 was now our war. In an hour it had leapt 
 the four thousand miles of land and water 
 from that vague, faraway, intangible "Some- 
 where," and we awoke one day to find it at 
 our doorsteps. In the space of a night the 
 country became ablaze with the spirit of war. 
 
 We who were soon to be members of Bat- 
 tery "A" could not, and did not want to, evade 
 that spirit. We saw it over our breakfast 
 12 
 
THE "WAR BUG." 
 
 cups in the morning papers, we heard it on 
 the street cars going to our daily work. It 
 was on the lips of the stranger across from 
 us at lunch, in the anxious looks of our moth- 
 ers at home, and at the last moment of the 
 day the newsboys shouted it past the bed- 
 room window as we tried to sleep. But we 
 could not sleep. What were jobs, studies, 
 dances, theaters, fraternities? The United 
 States was at tvar! 
 
 So April 6, 1917, became the birthday oi 
 our battery. It may have been a poster in 
 a store window, bright with colors that 
 formed a dashing mount, a khaki-clad rider, 
 and a flashing blade; or perhaps it was a 
 more conservative street-car placard, or a 
 newspaper advertisement, or a movie film of 
 Troop "A" cavalry life at the Border, or the 
 prestige of that ''black-horse" organization, 
 or a "hunch," or just the advice of a good 
 friend that sent us down to the old Troop 
 "A" Riding Academy Building on East 55th 
 Street to volunteer. But volunteer for some- 
 thing we must. It was the only relief from 
 that swirling mixture of patriotism, duty, 
 indignation, wanderlust, adventure, and 
 13 
 
THE "WAR BUG." 
 
 (shall we confess it?) romanticism that 
 made our hearts throb fast and that aval- 
 anched all the other concerns of our daily 
 lives. 
 
 14 
 
TROOP "A" RIDING ACADEMY. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 I UR earliest recollections of army life — 
 
 back in April and May, 1917 — are not 
 
 1^1 so distant that they have lost in the 
 slightest the tang of the tan-bark that filled 
 the Troop "A" riding arena. It is in our 
 nostrils yet and was our first impression as 
 we entered the dingy old structure to enlist. 
 Our second was of an ever so long-legged hulk 
 of a figure in khaki uniform, sprawled around 
 a desk. He quizzed each of us, noting down 
 our answers, and then, if satisfied, sent us 
 upstairs with a little white card for physical 
 examination. 
 
 On the way we had our first glimpse of 
 the club room. Its heavy oak furnishings and 
 mantle were littered with army journals and 
 literature about horses. Through rifts in the 
 cigarette smoke that lounging members in 
 khaki were exhaling we could discern the pic- 
 tures on the walls, of horses. Above the hum 
 of the general conversation we heard two 
 15 
 
FIRST "PSYCHOLOGICAL MOMENT." 
 
 voices in friendly argument, about horses. 
 Pausing at the head of the stairs, we glanced 
 across a balcony overlooking the riding 
 arena. The floor was banked high with sad- 
 dles, harness, sabers, rifles, tarpaulins, tents 
 and tent poles, soup kitchens and a maze 
 of martial accouterments with which as 
 rookies — oh, sweet ignorance! — we were un- 
 familiar. Timorously we stepped into the 
 examining room. There, while we furtively 
 memorized the eye-test at close range, two 
 medics slapped our rookie predecessors on 
 the back, pulled wide their jaws for a glance 
 into the abdomen, thumped them on the 
 chest, poked them in the ribs, pronounced 
 them fit to fight, and hollered "Next!" 
 
 Soon came our first big "psychological 
 moment" in the army. Once again in the 
 club room on the first floor, with pen, ink, 
 official document and witness, the deed was 
 done. Our signatures were "thereto at- 
 tached" and, right hand raised, we became 
 the property of Uncle Sam, — with what con- 
 flicting flurries of doubt, panic, hoplessness, 
 pride, patriotism, and the Melodramatic 
 Thrills of Being a Hero, no one who hasn't 
 
 16 
 
RUMORS. 
 
 signed a volunteer entlistment during a war 
 can ever know. Going home in a sort of daze, 
 we told mother what we had done. 
 
 We were no sooner in the National Guard 
 than rumors began. The arm.y is the hot- 
 house of rumors. It is there, of all places on 
 earth, that they are intensely cultivated, 
 studied, grafted, cross-bred, transplanted, 
 tampered with, distorted, batted around, and 
 multiplied unto the ten thousandth genera, 
 tion. Every moment of our army lives, on 
 land and sea, until the last minute that the 
 last "A" man was mustered out, rumors 
 clung to us, and did prosper, and made us 
 glad or sad. Rumors thrived on us and we 
 thrived on rumors. They were often the 
 only indoor sport we had. And there is al- 
 ways this in defense of the rumor, and there- 
 in lies its grip and charm : it might be true. 
 
 The first "big rumor" came in April, 1917, 
 as we executed in "civies" the dear old 
 "Squads east and west" on the springy sod of 
 the Troop "A" building. It was that we were 
 not to be cavalry : there was no need for 
 cavalry in war as they were fighting it "Over 
 There". Faded the billboard visions of 
 17 
 
CHANGED TO ARTILLERY. 
 
 charging steed and flashing saber! Our 
 Ohio Cavalry officers were trying to change 
 to field artillery. Many of us were discour- 
 aged, but yet, as field artillery we would still 
 have our horses and "ride to war", and the 
 feeling was soon forgotten. May 22, 1917, 
 it was officially announced that we were 
 transformed from the First Ohio Cavalry to 
 the Second Ohio Field Artillery, N. G. 
 
 Until the end of June, the routine of "us 
 rookies" was a half-hearted attempt at our 
 ordinary civilian pursuits during the day, 
 and at night the more interesting foot-drill, 
 manual of the rifle and pistol, measurements 
 for uniforms, and lectures on military topics. 
 It was at the latter that we of "A" first met 
 and became attached to the man who was to 
 lead us with such admirable devotion and 
 capacity all through the trials of our train- 
 ing, fighting, and demobilization days. June 
 5th was Registration Day, but to us it meant 
 only that we would receive a blue card from 
 our officers showing we had already volun- 
 teered. 
 
 18 
 
UNIVERSITY SCHOOL. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 IT last came July 15, 1917. On the bat- 
 tery records of that day is just a 
 ^^i laconic "Inspection by Capt. 0. P. M. 
 Hazard at University School." But to the 
 184 of us it meant that we could forsake the 
 jobs and civilian connections that, since our 
 enlistment, had become a bore, and devote our 
 time to learning the science of warfare. 
 
 The University School buildings and 
 grounds were now our headquarters where 
 we spent our days, and, those of us whose 
 homes were out-of-town, our nights. A pri- 
 vate caterer, under government contract, 
 served meals to all who wished them. The 
 showers, natatorium and gymnasium (which 
 was used as sleeping quarters) were open to 
 us. On the athletic field, midst the plaudits 
 and gazes of a grandstand filled with friends 
 and relatives, the embryonic batteries of the 
 regiment had the first growing pains of their 
 evolution into an efl^cient fighting force. 
 19 
 
BITTER DAYS. 
 
 We were a non-descript, flabby bunch, in 
 all degrees of dress and undress, arrayed in 
 every conceivable combination of civilian, 
 army and boy scout uniform. A few were 
 issued parts of salvaged Troop "A" uniforms ; 
 the "gay-dogs" among us hastened down 
 town for a complete outfit of soldier clothe^, 
 which were kept scrupulously pressed for 
 "Her" adoration; and the great majority 
 drilled in civilian clothes which soon looked 
 old if they weren't. Meanwhile we sent up 
 the cry, in ever increasing volume and lam- 
 ent, "When do we get our uniforms?" Noth- 
 ing in the world was more important to us at 
 the time. 
 
 Those were the bitter, grinding days — 
 from 9 :00 'til 11 :00 and from 1 :00 'til 3 :00 ! 
 At 9 :00 we started our setting-up exercises 
 as our knees cracked like a macadam roller 
 on a new road. Then it was a drink and a 
 rest on the lawn under the shade trees. Then 
 a spell of foot drill, a drink and a rest. A 
 little more drill. Drink, rest. Drill, drink, 
 rest. Drink. Drink. Rest. Rest. Ice 
 cream and cake. 
 
 20 
 
FRENCH LESSONS. 
 
 In the afternoons were French lessons 
 by a well-known Cleveland architect. He 
 was the most pyrotechnic exponent of that 
 soft tongue we have ever witnessed. He 
 tried to teach us a blood-curdling French 
 battle song, but all we could imbibe was 
 the "boom ala la la laaayah, boom ala la 
 la laaayah" that brought the thing to its 
 terrible climax. Better was his success 
 with La Marseillaise which later earned us 
 many a drink in French cafes when pay day, 
 as was often its habit, came not. After the 
 French lessons, we frequently assembled for 
 medical lectures on "Why to bathe three 
 times a day during battle" or "The thorough 
 sterilization of mess kits after each meal at 
 the front." Non-commissioned officer schools 
 for those who had military aspirations, sema- 
 phore and wig- wag drill, baseball, swimming, 
 practice guard mounts and medical examina- 
 tions filled in the balance of the schedule. 
 During the lattermost, they found birth- 
 marks we never knew we had, and recorded 
 our finger prints in the approved Bertillon 
 style, while we wondered if we really looked 
 so desperate. It was at these examination- 
 21 
 
FIRST UNIFORMS. 
 
 that we first waited in line, and we waited in 
 line ever after. For two years of the twenty 
 months we were still to serve in the army, we 
 waited in line. Our last order before dis- 
 charge was to wait in line. Napoleon will 
 never touch, for military fame and glory, the 
 fellow who can eliminate the army line. 
 
 August 3rd we received our vaccinations 
 and our first non-coms. Both were highly 
 successful after slight irritation. August 
 5th we were "mustered and drafted into the 
 military service of the United States." And 
 August 13th came the Great Day. Piece by 
 piece, first shoes, then hats, shirts, breeches 
 and blouses, we got our regulation uniforms. 
 Incidentally, that day marks the beginning 
 of the war-long Battle of Wits between the 
 supply sergeant, lone and grim, steadfast 
 guardian of the State's treasure, on one side, 
 entrenched against the remainder of a pre- 
 datory horde who sought ever with shams 
 and base pretenses to separate him from his 
 extra wealth. But the 13th was to most of 
 us a disallusionment. How we looked and 
 how we expected to look in our first military 
 
 22 
 
9i: 
 
Recruits of Battery "A," 135th Field Artillery. Taken August 1, 1917, University School Barrjcks, Cleveland. Ohic 
 
FOR HEROES ONLY. 
 
 garb is a comparisDn that would fill a chapter 
 with deepest pathos. 
 
 By this time the nightly affairs on the 
 front porch were getting quite heart-rending 
 with most of us. Every night might be the 
 last night, and no one was taking any 
 chances. Camp Sheridan, near Montgomery 
 Ala., had been selected from a half-dozen 
 rumored locations as our training camp, and 
 we were expecting daily to hear the order to 
 pack up. The "typhoid immunization" was 
 administered in the good old way August 
 17th, with immediate and customary effects. 
 But it did not immunize us from a march, in 
 the evening, to the new City Hall, where, we 
 learned later, the mayor made a speech of 
 farewell to several thousand soldiers while a 
 chorus of ladies sang something appropriate 
 for departing heroes between speeches. We 
 tried to be good sports, clapped and hollered 
 when the rest did, and finally they let us go 
 home. 
 
 Fully officered, enlisted to war strength, 
 
 and organized for a harder schedule, we were 
 
 fast growing impatient. We wanted "to get 
 
 out of this place" and we said it more often 
 
 23 
 
"GETTING OUT." 
 
 each day. In fact, during our entire life in 
 the O. D. there have been few, if any, camps 
 that we didn't soon want "to get out of". 
 It held true of the Troop "A" Building, of 
 University School, of Sheridan, Knotty Ash, 
 Winnal Down, Havre, De Souge, Neuville, 
 Thillombois, Pierrefitte, Segre, and, very 
 naturally of Brest, Stuart and Sherman on 
 the return trip. Yet experience, especially 
 A. E. F. experience, taught us that almost 
 invariably the change was from better to 
 worse. 
 
 So Sunday, August 26th, at 4:00 P. M., 
 with farewells a hundred times said and 
 heartaches that we tried not to show, the 
 195 of us "got out". Under a hot sun we 
 marched to the Union Depot, where friends 
 filled the streets and said goodbye once more ; 
 and at 5:30 our train of tourist sleepers 
 slowly pulled away from the dear ones, the 
 homes and the good old city that many of us 
 were not to see agam until it was all over. 
 
 Once on the way, the strain of parting 
 over, our spirits reacted to a sort of artifi- 
 cial hilarity that filled the cars with songs, 
 shouting and laughter, while slap shoulder 
 24 
 
SOUTHWARD — HO! 
 
 good fellowship abounded everywhere. 
 Groups formed around tinkling mandolins 
 and guitars which the roar of the train could 
 not discourage. Cards and dice received theii 
 share of boisterous attention. But here and 
 there some fellow sat alone, gazing far 
 across the fields that sped past. 
 
 25 
 
SHERIDAN AND CUSSES. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 w 
 
 E rode for 32 hours, stopping for a 
 hike at Nashville, where we marched 
 fast to avoid sticking to the melted 
 asphalt streets. Our train reached its desti- 
 nation at 2 : 00 A. M., August 28th. At dawn 
 we got the first glimpse, from our car win- 
 dows, of "Camp Sheridan," And, as we 
 were fated to do so many times in the future 
 for relief, we cussed. We have never pitied 
 ourselves, we have never whimpered, and we 
 have never backed down on a big job ; but we 
 have cussed — and then laughed. 
 
 Our part of "Camp Sheridan" was a vast 
 field of scattered cotton plants that were at 
 death-grips with thorny brambles and were 
 getting the worst of it. Far in the back- 
 ground we could discern two lines of new 
 cypress buildings. They were the shower 
 shacks, which were fortunately already 
 piped, and the mess halls. But they were all 
 26 
 
"BATTLE OF SHERIDAN." 
 
 of our part of "Camp Sheridan". In front 
 and behind them, far back to a line of cool- 
 looking trees, were the eternal white cotton 
 balls and brambles. By the time we had 
 loaded our baggage on trucks, the heat of the 
 Alabama sun was bouncing off the blood-red 
 clay of the fields and doing quivering hula- 
 hulas in the atmosphere. Regaled with an 
 apple and a sandwich apiece, we charged 
 across the heat-soaked No Man's Land to the 
 new shacks and began the Battle of Sheridan. 
 By nightfall, with the aid of pick, shovel, 
 rake and hoe and good supervision by our 
 officers, we had two lines of pyramidal tents 
 (old Troop "A" material) , ten cots in each 
 tent, two handfuls of blisters apiece, and com- 
 plexions that would have made a self-respect- 
 ing lobster blush. Next day, with a make- 
 shift drag drawn by fifty men and bestridden 
 by some fortune-favored soul we started 
 clearing "A" Street of the cotton plants and 
 brambles which had called a truce to rob us 
 of the only breeches we had. The change of 
 climate and water and the sweet potato 
 "pies" we clandestinely bought of the black 
 "mammies" who slinked about camp "got 
 27 
 
DIXIE NIGHTS. 
 
 to" many of us the second day, causing a 48 
 hour lay-off. But we were soon at work 
 again. A darky with a team of mules was 
 somehow inveigled into working. Ditches 
 were dug, the mess shack floor was levelled 
 with tons of earth, crude stoves were in- 
 stalled in the kitchen; across what was to 
 become Brigade Road the three officer's tents 
 were erected, trees were chopped down and 
 stumps torn out — all by "hands that ne'er 
 did know the taint of plebian toil" and cer- 
 tainly felt like it. Fairly secure against the 
 weather, we salvaged scrap wood and ■ laid 
 floors in our tents when our turn for the 
 saw and hammer came 'round. We even 
 went in for the "reflned things of life", 
 building foot-lockers and writing desks. 
 
 Still, it was not all toil, even during the 
 pioneer days at Sheridan. If the early 
 morning swarmed with crazy gnats that 
 fled for cover when a higher sun began to 
 singe their wings, the Dixie night retrieved 
 the burning day. The stars, brilliant in a 
 crystal atmosphere, blinked, blinded, at a 
 mammoth moon which threw our tents in 
 grotesque silhouette upon the battery stre^^t. 
 28 
 
THE WILY SNIPE. 
 
 Fireflies from the shores of the Tuscaloosa 
 flashed their mystic glow around the tents 
 and lighted the way for inarticulate longingKS. 
 There was something in the cool evening air 
 that made harsh noises sweet and gave to 
 voices the sound of coming from afar, over 
 water. On nights like these, grouped in tho 
 circles of an already growing camwradey^ie, 
 we sang songs old and new to the accompani- 
 ment of mandolins and guitars, and laid the 
 foundation of life-long friendships. 
 
 It must not be imagined, however, that 
 the nights of the first weeks were all music. 
 Down in the marshes of the distant woods 
 the wily snipe with that haunting, elusive cry 
 which defies description, would test the witsi 
 of our craftiest comrades armed with bags, 
 candles, and mosquito netting. But the 
 southern snipe is wiser than his northern 
 cousin, and, while often reported to have run 
 toward his hunters. Battery "A" never had 
 the snipe banquet for which our mouths 
 watered. 
 
 Already we were breaking into Mont- 
 gomery society. We had no sooner reached 
 camp than the Montgomery papers exposed 
 
 29 
 
"THE MILLIONAIRE BATTERY. " 
 
 the vast wealth of our buck privates with 
 the first-page headlines that "Cleveland's 
 Millionaire Battery" had arrived. The Mont- 
 gomery Stock Exchange had its flurry and 
 the price tags in many stores were shuffled, 
 but there was no serious calamity. So the 
 society of Montgomery treated us like mil- 
 lionaires, and, even after the bubble was 
 burst by a subsequent journalistic needle, 
 continued to do so. Those of us who "went 
 in" for them found no end of dances, intro- 
 ductions, parties and southern hospitality. 
 The churches, too, were popular with "A" 
 boys. (Oh, can it be that free Sunday din- 
 ners had something to do with it?) The 
 Exchange and Gay-Teague Hotels, Harry's 
 Place (prohibition, absolutely) and the 
 Grand Theater were also popular dodges 
 from details. Of the handsome southern 
 planter in Prince Albert coat and Stetsoji 
 hat, standing on the huge colonial porch of 
 his sire's estate, northern authors showed us 
 more than Alabama. And we never saw an 
 "Uncle Joe pickin' on his ol' banjo", either. 
 Most of the Uncle Joes must have hocked 
 their instruments for moonshine. 
 
 30 
 
135TH ARRIVES. 
 
 By the third week of September the full 
 meaning of "Pioneer Battery" dawned on us. 
 Our own street quite perfect, we were put to 
 erecting tents for the rest of the regiment, 
 soon to arrive from Cleveland and Toledo. 
 Our idea of the rest of the regiment made 
 the sun look like an iceburg, but we cussed, 
 then laughed, spat on the leather of our 
 palms and put up the tents. September 
 26th, the bulk of the 135th Field Artillery, 
 62nd Brigade (so designated by G. 0. 12, 
 Sept. 15, 37th Div.) had arrived. Their 
 first taste of the southern clime was a 70- 
 mile tornado and deluge that blew down half 
 their tents and swelled drainage ditches into 
 torrents for 24 hours. 
 
 31 
 
GOODBYE LEATHER "PUTTS." 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 ICTOBER, 1917, with the entire 62nd 
 
 Brigade in camp, began a period of 
 
 i^M re-adjustment and curtailment of 
 privileges. 
 
 During the first weeks, at Montgomery 
 military shops and even before that, in Cleve- 
 land, we had supplemented our issue clothing 
 with white collars, green Stetsons, military 
 coats, pointed russet shoes, and leather putts 
 of wondrous luster. As a result the nev/ 
 "buck" privates saluted one another with a 
 prodigality that was astounding, while fledg- 
 ling 2nd "lieuts" from Fort Ben, — oh horrible 
 to relate, — repeatedly stood at rigid attention 
 while Private John Henry Jones swung past 
 in the dusk. Said Private Jones acknow- 
 ledged the courtesy with his most condescend- 
 ing salute and executed a quick fade-away 
 before the illusion failed. In those days you 
 could never tell until you got a bird's-eye 
 view of a man's shoulder straps whether he 
 32 
 
GOODBYE HOLIDAYS. 
 
 was a plain, rear-rank "buck" or a brigadier 
 general. So the new second lieutenants held 
 an indignation meeting, had an order put 
 through, and got all the fine equipment they 
 wanted at second-hand prices. 
 
 Wednesday half-holidays were withdrawn 
 entirely and it was gently disclosed to us that 
 henceforth Saturday afternoon was a favor 
 to be had at times, but nevermore a right. 
 Passes to town became a necessity. We coun- 
 tered with the old army game of ''Fixing up 
 the Pass". With careful fixing and an 
 haughty air while you swished it past the 
 M. P.'s eye, an ordinary half-day pass could 
 be stretched into a week. Taps was shoved 
 nearer sun-down, and we raced the sun for 
 reveille every day. Later on, in the winter, 
 we won out. Many a "buck" has slumbered 
 on at reveille roll-call while his pal hollered 
 "Here !" twice through the morning murk. 
 Noon mess got wedged so tight between drill 
 hours that the " seconds hounds" never tasted 
 their "firsts." 
 
 The first of a series of intensive training 
 schedules which were to occupy the rest of 
 Gur training days was introduced at this 
 33 
 
INTERNATIONAL EXERCISE. 
 
 time. It provided enough setting-up exer- 
 cises to last a life-time. They comprised the 
 "Japanese walk," the "German goose-step,'' 
 the "Russian gavorski" and a lot of other 
 superhuman efforts and contortions that held 
 us somewhere between sky and earth or mas- 
 saged our sweating frames into the dusty 
 clay. On a sizzling drill field still billowy 
 from the plow of agricultural days, we did 
 "squads east and west," full-step, half-step 
 and double-quick until our legs and brains 
 grew numb. For recreation we were per- 
 mitted to run across the state with a com- 
 rade on our backs and to exchange him for 
 another fellow, who, according to the rules 
 of the game, got the ride back. And where, 
 oh where, were the lawns, the shade trees, 
 the ice cream and cake of the days of yore? 
 Yet, to these new hardships our bodies 
 responded with a quickness that amazed us. 
 Within a week the "glass" had left our 
 muscles. In two weeks we were "putting 
 on beef" and going through the mess line 
 with a zest that made our cooks conceited. 
 The end of the day no longer found our legs 
 and our brains numb. Our waistlines began 
 34 
 
"CANNONEERS, POST!" 
 
 to crawl upward to our chests and never 
 came down again, while all civilians shriveled 
 into the palest, weakest beings we ever saw. 
 We had never noticed this before ! By the 
 end of that first six-week schedule we had 
 learned — many of us for the first time — 
 what Ma Nature can do if you just give her 
 half a chance. 
 
 Our next intensive training schedule be- 
 gan to specialize more particularly in artil- 
 lery work. A few slats of wood laid on the 
 ground became for us wheels, gun-barreis 
 and limbers. "Cannoneers, fall in" and 
 "Cannoneers, post" became the commands of 
 the day, pushing "Squads rrright, yyyyy- 
 000000" and all its diabolical relations into 
 the background. They sent us leaping on, 
 off and around airy caissons and pieces, 
 straining at imaginary spokes, and occasion- 
 ally, so our oflficers informed us, plowing 
 right through a 3-inch gun barrel. After- 
 noon classes were formed for prospective 
 members of the Battery Commander's Detail 
 and our non-commissioned officers wrestled 
 with the mathematical end of gun-pointing. 
 
 35 
 
"THE VETERAN 1 3 4 T H." 
 
 We began to visit our neighbors, "The 
 Veteran 134th from the Border," whom we 
 secretly worshipped as The Thing in field 
 artillery, though we all planned some day 
 to make the whole outfit unnecessary when 
 we were around. On these visits the veter- 
 ans demonstrated their drill-lore with real 
 guns, real caissons and real horses. Ari^/- 
 lery Drill Regulations split and in hand, we 
 sat around, trying our darndest to detect 
 flaws in their work. One afternoon they 
 dazzled us with a regimental mounted drill, 
 the biggest maneuver we had ever seen. 
 But they were nice to us: they let us clean 
 their pieces and their harness, — and eveTi 
 their horses later on. 
 
 36 
 
PROMISES AND HOPES.- 
 
 X 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 T had been promised us back in the 
 Cleveland days — and all field artillery 
 drill books seemed to agree — that we 
 were to "ride to war." Accordingly, we had 
 been laboring with willing diligence on the 
 battery stables, which, along with a hospital, 
 supply store-houses, canteen, officers' mess 
 hall, and other buildings, had been added to 
 our part of the camp. We hauled earth and 
 clay by the ton, we felled trees to divide the 
 stalls, we graded and ditched, we shovelled, 
 raked and hoed, we hammered and we sawed, 
 — all for those noble, slim-limbed, fleet and 
 blooded specimens of equinity that we were 
 now told we might expect daily, and that we 
 had ridden full-gallop so often into the glor- 
 ious battles of our dreams. 
 
 Came, at last, the day of days. Decem- 
 ber 9th a detail was selected to go to the re- 
 mount station for our first assignment of 
 horses. The rest of us waited expectantly. 
 37 
 
INDIVIDUAL MOUNTS. 
 
 Hours dragged past. And at twilight we 
 descried, winding slowly around a corner, 
 what seemed, in the dim distance, a caravan 
 of great elephants. They were peacefully 
 led — so wonderful is the brain of man — by 
 a few tiny specks that we knew were our 
 comrades. The sight inspired visions of 
 Elephant Artillery and South African cam- 
 paigns, but it was not to be. Upon closer 
 approach, the stable sergeant diagnosed the 
 mammals as "horses." We have taken his 
 word for it ever since. Next morning the 
 same sergeant, leading forth from its stall 
 a big lumbering beast with hoofs a foot 
 square and a chest a yard wide, discoursed 
 tenderly upon its frailness, gave a demon- 
 stration in the use of a curry-comb and 
 brush, and consigned the "first twenty" to 
 our tender mercies. Throughout December 
 and early January we received horses to a 
 total, on January 9th, of 179. The reds, 
 Vvhites, browns and grays were "swapped" 
 for the blacks in other batteries of the regi- 
 ment. We soon had, in emulation of old 
 Troop "A," a "Black Horse Battery." 
 
 With what anguish, mental and physical, 
 38 
 
"RIDE THAT HORSE !" 
 
 such phrases as "Going- to town !", "Hold her, 
 Newt!", "Ride that horse!", and "Trrrot!" 
 came into popularity in our battery during 
 the first few weeks with our horses, only we 
 can ever know. The field behind the stables 
 became our riding circle, to which daily we 
 escorted our charges for exercise that gave us 
 our first purgatorial lessons in horsmanship. 
 Without bridles, without experience, only 
 with halter ropes and hopeless desperation, 
 we began the task of "mastering" eight 
 scores of fiy-brain critters that never had 
 been ridden and never were designed to be. 
 For a few terrible days, if we were able to 
 climb on, we went in all directions at once, 
 including up, down and off. The beasts 
 themselves usually chose the stables, dash- 
 ing tumultuously thereto, and we never dis- 
 puted, going right along, "ducking" or fall- 
 ing off when the stall was attained, — while 
 comrades whose "turn" had'nt come shouted 
 humor that we couldn't appreciate. Scat- 
 tered along the field were the other batteries 
 of the regiment, picking themselves out of 
 the dirt, brushing off the dust, and pursuing 
 galloping mountains across the lanscape. 
 
 39 
 
KIND RELATIVES. 
 
 But gradually, out of chaos, with the aid of 
 bridles and precious experience for both 
 horses and men, came order. We were doing 
 fours, eights, and sixteens abreast with pre- 
 cision; we were "riding our horses" and 
 they had ceased riding us. So that by De- 
 cember 25th we were able to sit quite com- 
 fortably again at our mess table to enjoy 
 a memorable Christmas dinner in the com- 
 pany of friends and relatives from Cleveland. 
 
 The mention of relatives reminds us of the 
 startling mortality among grandmothers and 
 aged aunts of battery members which began 
 about this time. They were the same old 
 dears who so obligingly passed away for us 
 on former occasions when Cleveland was hot 
 after the American League pennant or the 
 fish were biting w^ell, and those of us who 
 received furloughs hereby sincerely hope that 
 they may live to die many more times. 
 
 40 
 
PROGRESS. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 C 
 
 HE advent of the new year found us 
 making rapid and encouraging strides 
 toward the Colonel's goal of "deliver- 
 ing to the United States Government, on de- 
 mand, one 100 7r efficient regiment of field 
 artillery." With the materiel of the 134th we 
 had been doing mounted drill maneuvers and 
 taking long hikes with pieces, caissons and 
 limbers through the Alabama forests and 
 swamps. The enlisted men had been defin- 
 itely divided into cannoneers, drivers, special 
 duty men and Battery Commander's Detail, 
 and were working for perfection in their 
 specific duties. We all had been taught the 
 intricacies of the American 3-inch field piece, 
 which it was thought would be our weapon in 
 Europe. We had begun to realize that the 
 middle — we hoped, the first quarter — of 1918 
 would find us in France, and the thought was 
 an incentive to serious effort. The very evi- 
 dent success of the German arms caused us to 
 
 41 
 
FIRST FIRING. 
 
 work still harder for "a chance before it was 
 too late." 
 
 January 3rd, 1918, fifty gunners from 
 *'A" went to the range to see and hear, for 
 the first time, a battery of the 134th guns in 
 action. The rest of us soon followed for pur- 
 poses of observation, and, with our drill 
 books still open, of criticism. We saw that 
 the gap between us and "The Veteran 134th 
 from the Border" was fast closing. 
 
 March 1st, 1918, according to the Record 
 of Events in the "A" morning reports, our 
 battery fired its first trial problems at the 
 range, with results that exceeded all expecta- 
 tions. The range, five miles from camp, was 
 just a characteristic fiat stretch of Alabama 
 farm land and woods, dotted here and there 
 with the huts of dusky squatters who had 
 been warned to move but didn't. The din of 
 the first unheralded salvos and the whining 
 screech of the shells that hurtled over their 
 dwellings, drove them terrified under their 
 beds, while a few of the more courageous 
 souls dropped to their knees and begged the 
 Almighty for just one more chance. But 
 doom did not crack. The expected chunks of 
 42 
 
ORIGIN OF THE "SHIMMY." 
 
 sky and loose planets did not fall. When 
 finally they discovered that the thunderous 
 phenomena was merely "dem white boys wid 
 de engines of woah" they soon forgot their 
 repentance and resumed the luxurious leisure 
 of their laborless lives. With these "Yanks 
 from de Noth" came vast wealth to that range 
 area. For a nickle tossed from our horses as 
 we trailed past to our gun-positions, little 
 Kinky Topsies, and even their mammies when 
 art lured, did vampire "shimmees" by the 
 roadside, which called for movements of 
 neither feet nor head. 
 
 The last four months of our Sheridan 
 days proved the reward for which we had 
 endured the grind of previous training. 
 From March to June, in all varieties of 
 weather and at all hours of the night and day 
 we fought battles and campaigns on the 
 range, pulverizing "enemy" trenches, smash- 
 ing to bits Hun observation posts we had 
 erected the day before, laying miles of wire, 
 sneaking up, retreating, digging-in, camou- 
 flaging, caring for our "wounded", executing 
 43 
 
REALISTIC PRACTICE. 
 
 night and day attacks with the infantry, 
 medics, machine gunners and engineers of 
 the Division, and occasionally getting "wiped 
 out" by "enemy" fire — all with a realism 
 that caused us to forget the mud, the heat, 
 the sweat, and the wearing labor of it. When 
 we were not at the range, we were galloping- 
 cross-country over the closer environs of 
 camp, selecting positions and placing our 
 guns. Or (not so gloriously) we were diving 
 in and out of gas masks which, since April 
 9th, had become a daily affliction. 
 
 To our range, gas-drill and maneuvering 
 activities May added pistol drill with the 
 regulation Colt .38 revolver, a divisional re- 
 view on the 7th, and "night hitches." The 
 latter created keen rivalry among the bat- 
 teries of the regiment. May 21st "A" made 
 a record of 11 minutes and 52 seconds from 
 the command to fall in in front of our tents 
 to the moving out of the first section, com- 
 pletely hitched and ready for business. All 
 harnessing and saddling was done in the 
 dark and in unbroken silence. On the 20th 
 we took our "Psychological Examination" in 
 the Coliseum, tying with a medical corps unit 
 44 
 
SHERIDAN DIVERSIONS. 
 
 for divisional honors. We were also given, 
 on the 30th, a "neuro-psychic" test. If you 
 giggled coyly when a high-brow medical offi- 
 cial tickled your toes, you passed. 
 
 The last four months at Sheridan also saw 
 a growth of amusement places within camp 
 bounds that curtailed the golden reapings of 
 the 25 and 50 cent jitney bandits who used 
 to bump us into town and ditches when we 
 were on pleasure bent. Smilage Books, com- 
 ing in ever-increasing quantity from home, 
 admitted us to the division Coliseum where 
 we saw shows of "Turn to the Right" and 
 "Excuse Me" quality. The Redpath Tents 
 accepted the same tickets for good vaudeville. 
 In the Y. M. C. A. and K. of C. Halls there 
 were nightly free movies and lectures. At 
 the foot of the battalion street in our own 
 regiment a play house had been erected, 
 where the home talent of the 135th furnished 
 original vaudeville, jazz music and boxing 
 matches. A camp library of liberal capacity 
 was established and freely patronized. Camp 
 restaurants, pool rooms and canteens did a 
 flourishing business around pay day and 
 helped to while away the evening hours, when 
 
 45 
 
PACKING UP. 
 
 the M. P.'s were feeling good. Montgomery 
 gradually began to rank second as an amuse- 
 ment center for the northern soldiers. Uncle 
 Sam was keeping his boys home o' nights. 
 
 The half of June which we spent at Sher- 
 idan was devoted entirely to the business of 
 getting ready to pull stakes for France. On 
 the first, whilst sweating comrades wiped 
 their hob-nails on one anothers' clean under- 
 wear, spread over the battery street for 
 rolling up, we puzzled and haggled out the 
 proper way of making a pack. The same day 
 we had full-pack inspection, — the first of a 
 long series of every type of that army afflic- 
 tion that forty-odd centuries of military his- 
 tory could devise, plus a few new ideas. June 
 5th, 6th and 7th dozens of boxes were made 
 and painted with the 37th Division and ar- 
 tillery insignia. Saddles, harness, kitchen 
 equipment, clothing, signalling property, 
 tools, ropes, curry combs, brushes, stoves, 
 canvas, mandolins, guitars, violins, ukeleles, 
 and a lot of other things we have since for- 
 gotten but cursed at the time, were oiled, sad- 
 dle-soaped, sand-papered, polished, painted 
 46 
 
FRIENDS MUST PART. 
 
 and scrubbed preparatory to boxing which 
 came on the day (and night) following. 
 
 On the 9th we turned in, at the division 
 remount station, the 159 bucket-hoofed quad- 
 rupeds that we had coddled and manicured 
 for six months. Since December 10th they 
 or an olfactory trace of them had been with 
 us every hour of our lives. No one "ducked" 
 through the back of the tent to escape the 
 final remount station detail. Yet it cannot 
 be said that many of us had not formed 
 strong attachments for our 1400 lb. "indi- 
 vidual mounts," as was evidenced by many a 
 heated argument against a tent full of adver- 
 saries, who had also formed attachments. 
 More than one fellow patted suspiciously long 
 and tenderly, a last time, the big velvety nose 
 that had learned to rummage its master's 
 pockets for hidden delicacies saved out of 
 our own mess kits. Returning from the re- 
 mount station, we worked late into the night 
 loading all our freight on railroad cars. 
 
 47 
 
LOSSES AND GAINS. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 fi 
 
 ROM the very first week of our Sheri- 
 dan days the unusually high personnel 
 of the Battery became subject to con- 
 stant losses. These were mainly to supply 
 the needs of other organizations, many in 
 our own regiment. A considerable number 
 attended officers' training schools or were 
 commissioned from the ranks. Many were 
 transferred as interpreters, mechanicians 
 and railway engineers to other camps. So 
 that June 9th found us lacking 40 of the 195 
 who left Cleveland with us, and far below 
 war strength. As a result, June 11th oc- 
 curred "The Advent of the Forty-five." 
 
 For the most part "The Forty-five" were 
 a crowd of plain, hard-working farmer 
 boys from the fields of Kentucky and Indi- 
 ana, who had been but a short time in the 
 National Army. We accepted them with a 
 suspicion at first, born of an esprit de corps 
 that marked every new man as a sort of in- 
 48 
 
"GETTING OUT" AGAIN. 
 
 truder. In the privacy of our tents we re- 
 sented being ordered to fall in and to receive 
 them with cheers as they marched, strain- 
 ing under heavy packs, down the Battery 
 street. But they proved to be "good sports" 
 the very first night, when, as is the hallowed 
 custom with recruits in mounted units, they 
 were solemnly "measured for saddles" in the 
 orthodox manner with black paint and bar- 
 rel-staves. In less time than we expected, 
 the sincerity of their ways had won a place 
 in the Battery and in our hearts. They were 
 an indispensable part of us through all the 
 hard days. From "The Forty-five" developed 
 some of the best soldiers and the best friends 
 we had. 
 
 June 11th we passed in brigade review 
 with full pack before the Commanding Gen- 
 eral. And on the 16th at 10:45 A. M. we 
 once more "got out of there," leaving the best 
 camp and the happiest days of our army life 
 behind. We rode in day coaches, three men 
 to two seats — and complained ! Had we but 
 foreseen the runty box cars of fair France! 
 
 49 
 
CAMP UPTON. 
 
 At 8:30 P. M. of the 18th we reached 
 CAMP UPTON, LONG ISLAND, isolated by 
 miles of bleak, dry land dotted with monoto- 
 nous pine groves. It was the northern type of 
 camp, with large, unpainted two-story bar- 
 racks that had none of the snugness of our 
 Sheridan tents. The eight days here were 
 consumed by final issues of clothing, includ- 
 ing our "tin derbies", inspections, and gas 
 drill. All of us, anticipative of wholesale 
 passes to New York, crowded the camp tele- 
 graph office to wire home for money to "see 
 Broadway"; but only a lucky few who had 
 relatives, real or temporary, got to go. The 
 less fortunate bulk spent their money for 
 high-grade shows that left the glimmer of 
 Broadway houses a night or two to do pa- 
 triotic service, or in the great departmental 
 canteen and restaurant of the camp. On 
 the day of the eighth we became the guests 
 of the Captain, motoring eighteen miles and 
 sailing four to reach a small island in the 
 bay, — a sort of balm for the Gotham passes 
 that he couldn't get for us. 
 
 At 9 :00 A. M. of the 27th, in the presence 
 of many relatives from Cleveland who had 
 50 
 
UP THE GANG-PLANK. 
 
 come for yet another leave-taking, we fell in 
 outside our barracks. At 12 :00 noon we 
 were aboard a ferry steaming along East 
 River, searching tensely between great docks 
 for the ocean liner that was to take us to that 
 vague, faraway, uncertain "Somewhere in 
 France". At 3:30 we espied "our" ship, 
 grimly fantastic to the tips of her masts with 
 a score of bright colors that seemed to have 
 been slapped on by a madman. High on her 
 stern was a six-inch submarine gun, painted 
 sky-blue. At 4:00 we were aboard "Trans- 
 port 596" — in peace times known as the 
 "S. S. Hororata of Plymouth, England." 
 She was somewhat over 500 feet long and, 
 according to her British crew was built for 
 an immigrant ship. Since the outbreak of 
 the war she had done transport work, first 
 for Australian, then American troops. There 
 were 2,000 of us on board, including the en- 
 tire 135th. 
 
 The rest of the evening was spent in "get- 
 ting set" below deck and in forming an 
 acquaintance with the English seamen, who 
 were bloody well willing to chat with us. 
 51 
 
FAREWELL. AMERICA! 
 
 We also addressed cards home announcing 
 our safe arrival in Europe. 
 
 The morning of June 28th broke clear and 
 brilliant, and found us all on deck. At 7 :00 
 the ship began to quiver with engine throbs 
 and we slipped our last bonds to the Amer- 
 ican shore. We cheered when those ropes 
 dropped away — cheered because we did not 
 know what else to do or say. An hour later, 
 radiant in the morning sun, with Liberty 
 holding aloft her torch as if to give a final 
 promise and to exact a final pledge, our be- 
 loved America slowly sank beneath the white- 
 crested horizon. 
 
 52 
 
HALIFAX. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 I UR convoy was made up of 22 ocean 
 
 I liners, all aglow with colors that gave 
 
 ^L^B them an air of hastening across the 
 ocean to some gigantic carnival of joy and 
 merry-making. But the high-mounted guns 
 and the speedy dirigible that probed the 
 Atlantic depths ahead of us did not jibe with 
 that bizarre suggestion. Blended indistin- 
 guishably with the colors of their ships, each 
 throng gazing half charmed across the ocean 
 spaces at the others, were 40,000 husky 
 Yanks that the Kaiser could not stop and 
 never did stop, on land or sea. 
 
 But we were not to be long with our 
 original convoy. Gradually our companion 
 ships forged ahead, leaving us in a solitude 
 which the war dangers accentuated. July 
 1st, due, the crew said, to inferior fuel, we 
 steamed into the melancholy gloom of Hali- 
 fax harbor, Canada, where we were to await 
 the formation of a slower convoy. A little 
 53 
 
THE GOOD SHIP "HORORATA." 
 
 tug with a hysterical siren nosed up to us 
 inquiringly, then sent a complaining mes- 
 sage of our intrusion to listeners on the shore. 
 
 Until July 4th we lay idle in the harbor 
 mists, waking each morning to distinguish 
 newly arrival vessels that were to accompany 
 us. In the late afternoon with 14 trans- 
 ports, a British battleship, and a "mystery 
 ship" of the same nationality that hung 
 back in the rear, we started the real journey 
 across the vast expanse of desolate blue. 
 
 Of our life on the good ship Hororata of 
 Plymouth, a plainspoken comrade has writ- 
 ten an account which it is far from our 
 hopes to surpass or to modify. We print it, 
 exactly as presented to us by the author : 
 * * * 
 
 The trip across the Atlantic and some ex- 
 periences as seen by a private. 
 
 We sailedfrom New York June 28th 1918 
 and come over by way of Halifax and h — 1 
 knows where else. I don't think the captain 
 of the ship knew anyway we landed at Liver- 
 pool July 15th suppose the same year for 
 most of us on board had forgotten the day 
 of the week and the month of the year. 
 54 
 
SEA FOODS. 
 
 I think our safety on the voyage was due 
 to the slow speed of the ship for no Sub- 
 marine commander would have ever wasted 
 the time waiting for the convoy we came over 
 with, and if they did they undoubtly had to 
 return to their base for supplies, and that 
 way the long expected Horrotta escaped be- 
 fore their return. One thing that made the 
 trip more plesant not saying anything of the 
 eighteen long days on board was what we 
 had to eat. 
 
 There was plenty of food on board to feed 
 the whole American Armey but d — m the 
 kind and if no other outfit eat anymore then 
 we did there is some left yet. 
 
 we had several differnt kinds of food such 
 as slum stew peas rare and you did not have 
 to eat them to know they were raw just put 
 them in your messkit you could lell by the 
 sound. 
 
 we allso had a new kind of food too the 
 average man known as beef tripe and one 
 thing that made bad matters worse was the 
 English style of cooking take it from me that 
 tripe when it was cooked looked like honey- 
 comb floating around in a basin of butter- 
 55 
 
THE LONG, LONG TRAIL. 
 
 milk. After each meal all a sub would had 
 to do was just follow the floating tripe even 
 as dum a thing as a fish seemed to know as 
 mush as we did they would not eat it the 
 fish they served was well imbomed and to be 
 on the square one of the helper in the kitchen 
 that seemed to like the american soldier pret- 
 ty well told me that the fish we were eating 
 was condemned in Sydney Australia by in- 
 spectors, there was my chance I told him 
 you mean the fish you are serveing for no one 
 on board is eating it. we dont claim to be 
 food inspectors but we know enough to con- 
 dem that fish. 
 
 the Horse meat was not so bad in my 
 oppinion nothing we had in the eating line 
 had died a natural death. 
 
 the Soldiers worse enemy cornwilley and 
 cheese was our desert on the trip and about 
 all that keept soul and body to gather. 
 
 Tea the English favorite was plentifull 
 they served it with every meal even washed 
 your messkit in tea if you taken a hot bath 
 it was tea then. 
 
 having traveled arount quite a bit 1 
 thought I had a record for all kinds of sleep- 
 56 
 
HAMMOCKS. 
 
 ing quators I have slept in box cars under a 
 tree in bed under the bed and some times 
 when I take one cognac to many sleep under 
 the house 
 
 but I never slept hung to the ceiling like 
 a country ham untill I got on the Horrotta 
 our beds were in form of a hammack and 
 hung very close to the ceiling by means of 
 hooks. 
 
 and one thing that added to our comp- 
 fort you had to wear your life belt day and 
 night and there was a hump on your back 
 like a drummy deer and if done any sleep- 
 ing you had to do it on your back for the 
 hammocks hung so close togather if you had 
 to get up dureing the night you would wake 
 up every on the deck that you were sleeping 
 on, 
 
 after the first day out from New York I 
 noticed several fellows leaning over the deck 
 rail in great agony it seemed they were try- 
 ing to turn inside out. I ask them their trou- 
 ble the usual answer sea sick. 
 
 I have a different reason for what I seen 
 on the ship to eat would make you sick on 
 dry land I am a firm believer in the old say- 
 57 
 
COOKS. 
 
 ing ever dog has his day Guess I had mine 
 when I was a pup just think of eighteen days 
 of that bravery Made me think of what Gen- 
 eral Sherman said about war 
 
 You would go to bed hang to the ceiling 
 all night and get up in the morning see the 
 same surroundings could not tell if you were 
 getting any nearer land or not and no one 
 seemed to know. 
 
 one morning I noticed a fellow that had 
 worked all the way over in the Kitchen and 
 wore the same uniform a grass sack apron 
 had not even had a shave or washed his face 
 and hands if he did you could not tell it by 
 looking at him he come out all dressed up 
 clean shirt trousers and shaven I said to 
 some of the boys look at the cook we are 
 either going to land today or be Torpedoed 
 
 In just a short time you could see land 
 well as the tugs is towing us in to Liverpool 
 and paying all due respects to the English I 
 like them but I would tell King George I have 
 got no use for those d — m cooks 
 
 This trip is the only place in the armey 
 where officers and non coms had nothing on 
 
 58 
 
"SUB INCIDENT." 
 
 a buck private when their turn come they 
 had to feed the fish to 
 
 Our comrade has covered the points of 
 the trip across with commendable thorough- 
 ness, excepting, perhaps, in one detail. He 
 failed to mention our "Sub Incident" in the 
 Irish Sea. 
 
 Upon our entrance into those infested 
 waters, the guard of our convoy was 
 strengthened by four swift torpedo boat de- 
 stroyers and a mine-sweeper, all flying the 
 incomparable Stars and Stripes. These lit- 
 erally raced circles around us, swerving and 
 careening with the grace of sea gulls as they 
 darted to and fro searching for a lurking 
 enemy. On the stern deck of each, ready to 
 be rolled into the sea, were a dozen of the 
 "ash cans" that had been the doom of many 
 a submarine. Quick-firers bristled on the 
 narrow decks for a type of fair fighting that 
 the Germans never relished. But no "subs" 
 had been sighted or even rumored in the 
 vicinity. 
 
 Shortly after evening mess on the 13th, 
 59 
 
DEAD RAT. 
 
 however, when the majority of us were still 
 below deck, there occurred a series of terrific 
 concussions that shook our ship from bow to 
 stern, then seemed to lift her from the water. 
 This was accompanied by a hollow, clank- 
 ing sound, as of some giant smashing in the 
 ships steel plates with a great sledge. We 
 obeyed orders to ascend quietly to the deck, 
 tightening our life belts as we went and fully 
 expecting to taste salt water. But the Horo- 
 rata did not list. Instead, a petty officer of 
 the ship, glasses in hand, pointed across the 
 water behind us. "Ash cans," he said. 
 "They've discovered something." We looked 
 across the blue. Two, perhaps three, miles 
 to the rear our little Yank destroyers were 
 circling around a certain spot like excited 
 terriers after a rat. Now and then they 
 "barked" with the depth bombs that had 
 shaken our ship when the disturbance was 
 nearer. 
 
 The hunt lasted in all about fifteen min- 
 utes. Then the cocky destroyers returned, 
 flying signals that we could not understand. 
 They had "caught a rat." Later on, in port, 
 we learned the rest of the story. The sub- 
 60 
 
"LOYAL OLD SPORT." 
 
 marine had maneuvered for a position in the 
 center of the "horseshoe" that our transports 
 formed; but it came to grief by coming up 
 under a transport, causing the collision which 
 betrayed its presence and led to its doom. 
 The damaged ship made port safely and 
 "like a loyal old sport," did not "settle down" 
 until its precious burden of fighters was 
 securely deposited on shore. But it has never 
 been learned whether the U-boat followed a 
 trail of tripe or not. 
 
 61 
 
LAND! 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 I UR first glimpse of Europe showed a 
 
 flat, uninteresting shore that faded 
 
 ^^i and reappeared through an early 
 morning fog. It brought our memories back 
 in vivid contrast to the glorious blaze of sun 
 which gave us our last view of the New York 
 skyline. But we were happy that chilly 
 morning of July 15th to again see land of any 
 sort ; and the realization that we were near 
 Europe, rich in ruins and historic tradition, 
 and at present the scene of greatest history 
 in the making, gave us pleasant thrills. When 
 the curtain of mists lifted we were entering, 
 as did the adventurers of bygone ages, the 
 Mersey River on our way to ancient LIVER- 
 POOL, ENGLAND. 
 
 We were warmly received from the first. 
 
 Ferries and sturdy little red tugs carrying 
 
 laborers to work tooted welcomes as they 
 
 puffed across our path, while the workmen 
 
 62 
 
GREETINGS. 
 
 waved their dingy hats in well-wishing. 
 Buxom housewives, preparing breakfast, in- 
 terrupted their duties to wave aprons and 
 kerchiefs over their porch railings, being fre- 
 quently joined by a scurrying brood. A 
 quaint little old woman in a white apron and 
 bonnet did an equally quaint little folk dance 
 on the cobblestones of her dooryard — then 
 threw us kisses. All these greetings we re- 
 turned with clamorous cheers and a few 
 words in British brogue taught us by our 
 English crew. 
 
 In two hours we were moored against 
 one of the great stone wharves of Liverpooi, 
 where we waited on board the remainder of 
 the afternoon. Against her dock the Hororato 
 and her companion ships once more assumed 
 the gigantic proportions that they had lost 
 in the stretches of mid-ocean, where there 
 were no contrasts save the one oppressive 
 realization of our pigmy size. As we waited 
 we amused ourselves by tossing American 
 pennies to a gang of dirty-faced street 
 urchins who fought for them on the pier and 
 emitted showers of English cuss-words far 
 beyond their years. A little woman with a 
 63 
 
THE QUEER WORLD. 
 
 big basket on her arm lobbed two oranges 
 "for a shillin' " over the side of the ship. 
 
 "How much is a shilling?" we queried. 
 
 "One twentieth o' th' pound sterling, 
 sirs," came the enlightening response. We 
 threw down American quarters which se- 
 cured us three oranges. Misdirected fruit 
 and coins found a watery grave between ship 
 and wharf. 
 
 At six o'clock we walked down the gang- 
 plank to dear old terra firma again, but of 
 another continent. A rain began to fall as 
 we lined up close by for roll call. In columns 
 of four, after eighteen days of confinement, 
 we swung into a lively cadence for the "rest 
 camp" at Knotty Ash. 
 
 We did not fail to take in at once the 
 "sights" that our English cousins and their 
 streets afforded us. A "tramway" carrying a 
 gorgeously uniformed individual who proved 
 to be none other than the motorman, turned 
 our attention to English signs. Across the 
 street we espied an "Ale House" where good 
 old "light" and "stout" could be had. Next 
 to it, announced on a plate glass front, was a 
 "Gentlemen's Hairdressing Parlor," while 
 64 
 
ENGLISH LASSIES. 
 
 Thomas Watkins, opposite, was a "Keeper 
 of Cows" and offered the lactic products of 
 his charges for sale. 
 
 Reaching a residential part of town, we 
 "sized up" the English lassies who had 
 appeared in windows and on doorsteps 
 to see us pass. They surely possessed 
 the "roses in their cheeks" that the Island 
 bards have sung about. But to us those 
 roses were too red. We preferred the deli- 
 cate pink of the girls at home with all the 
 differences that the contrast suggests. The 
 mothers and fathers of the lassies waved 
 hospitably to us, while their young brothers 
 lined the way and begged for pennies. They 
 were all of the poorer class. When they 
 smiled they revealed almost without excep- 
 tion a pitiful need of dentistry. We smiled 
 also, through the rain. "Look at them 
 smile !" was a comment that often reached 
 our ears. But the able-bodied youth and 
 young manhood of the town were nowhere 
 present. They were "holding" across the 
 Channel until the Yanks arrived. Those 
 who had returned had done their bit. We 
 
 65 
 
CAMP KNOTTY ASH. 
 
 saw many a poor fellow along the way with 
 empty sleeves and breeches legs, but only the 
 gamest among them could smile. 
 
 The end of five miles found us wet and 
 fatigued at our KNOTTY ASH ''rest camp" 
 on the outskirts of Liverpool. Here we were 
 "sheltered" in small round tents of a thick- 
 ness and state of repair that gave the rain 
 and wind easy access. The floors were cov- 
 ered with wet mattresses of straw onto which 
 we threw our wet packs. After a scant mess 
 of coffee, bread, jam and beans, we spread 
 the dryest of our equipment on the mattres- 
 ses, perhaps spoke softly of home to a pal, 
 and fell asleep. 
 
 66 
 
CROSSING ENGLAND. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 X 
 
 N the sunshine of the next morning we 
 hung out our blankets and extra cloth- 
 ing. That which we wore was drying, 
 as it so often did in the future, on our backs. 
 This attended to, we found a weak spot in the 
 camp guard, leapt a wall and gained a prac- 
 tical knowledge of English currency in pastry 
 shops and ale houses — paying well, no doubt, 
 for the' instruction. At 4:00 P. M. after a 
 two-mile hike, we were on an English 3rd 
 class train bound for a channel port. There 
 wTre eight of us to a compartment. Each 
 compartment contained red-letter warnings 
 of spies and instructions to draw all cur- 
 tains when passing through towns. A ser- 
 vant of His Majesty passed each of us a 
 printed greeting and wishes of success from 
 the King and Queen. 
 
 Until dark we drank in the quaint poetic 
 scenes of "Merrie England." They were all 
 
 67 
 
WINCHESTER. 
 
 that our books, our songs and our artists 
 had tried to portray to us — and more. We 
 would like to dwell on the charming pano- 
 rama that nature unrolled for us that after- 
 noon — the trim hedges, the garden walls, 
 the pebbled paths, the fresh green hills 
 and vales, the thatched roofs, the ancient 
 battlements, long crumbled, with a setting- 
 sun reflecting their former glory, the noble 
 estates with their parks and pools and 
 swans. There was something so miniature 
 and toy-like to it all when compared with our 
 vast and majestic sweeps of American farm 
 land. But we were hurrying to France. Al- 
 ready the spires of famous Oxford had come 
 and gone in the blue-gray of fast approaching 
 night. 
 
 At 1:00 A. M. we were awakened from 
 the doze into which we had fallen, to detrain. 
 We had crossed England diagonally and were 
 in WINCHESTER, near the Channel. Full- 
 pack we toiled uphill under a starless sky, 
 through utter blackness. Not so much as a 
 ray of light filtered from a single window to 
 the inky streets of the ghostly city. Our 
 steel-shod feet reverberated hollowly on the 
 
CAMP WINNAL DOWN. 
 
 cobblestones against what we took to be the 
 walls of houses on either side of us. Now 
 and then a window was raised and some 
 white-clad form peered from darkness into 
 darkness at the procession which had broken 
 his slumber. Each of us guided his steps by 
 the sounds from the man ahead of him. 
 When the head of the long column suddenly- 
 slacked its pace, as it repeatedly did, the 
 rear, groping and burdened, jammed itself 
 into a mass of sweating soldiers who swore 
 or laughed as the mood struck them. Not a 
 star twinkled, not a street lamp gleamed, not 
 a chink in a door betrayed a glimmer of light 
 or life, not a cigarette glowed. Winchester 
 was shuttered, muffled, lifeless — playing pos- 
 sum to escape the Hun marauders of the air. 
 Two hours brought us to Camp WINNAL 
 DOWN. The place was worthier than Knot- 
 ty Ash of the name "rest camp." In wooden 
 barracks we laid rows of slats across two 
 pieces that kept us from the floor, secured 
 mattresses of straw, and slept soundly with 
 no disturbing reveille. At 8:00 A. M. of the 
 18th we left Winnal Down on the hilltop and 
 marched back to the Winchester station. We 
 69 
 
SOUTHAMPTON. 
 
 wondered as we descended how we ever 
 "made" the grade the previous morning. 
 Winchester had come to hfe. From shutters 
 and doors, now open, the erstwhile ghost city 
 waved us greetings. 
 
 It was but a short ride to SOUTHAMP- 
 TON from which we were to cross to France. 
 In one of the great dock buildings of that 
 channel port we waited the balance of the day 
 for our boat. Here we had our first oppor- 
 tunity to chat with the famous English Tom- 
 my and his Canadian and Australian allies 
 on furlough from the front. The average 
 Tommy was obviously war-weary, liberal 
 with neither optimism nor smiles, and a bit 
 reserved. "How is it going across the Chan- 
 nel, Tommy?" we asked. 
 
 "It's a damned affair — we may be able to 
 hold them, but we can't win," seemed the con- 
 census of opinion. Beyond this, the English- 
 men did not seem willing to talk. The Cana- 
 dians and Australians had another reply. 
 They were fine, cordial fellows with whom 
 we fraternized at once. 
 
 "They're giving us hell now all right — 
 but when a million or two of you fellows get 
 70 
 
THE "PRINCE GEORGE." 
 
 into the line with us, it'll be our turn until 
 the end of the war," was the Canadian and 
 Australian viewpoint. "What part of the 
 States do you come from?" "When did you 
 get over?" and similar queries soon brought 
 us together in friendly groups. 
 
 At 7:00 P. M. we wedged ourselves on 
 board the Prince George. It was a narrow, 
 speedy vessel, never intended to accom- 
 modate half the men who were herded 
 aboard. As a result, we began one of the 
 most memorable nights of our army lives. 
 Every inch of deck and cabin floor was soon 
 strewn with prone and sitting men who tried 
 in vain to stretch themselves for a night's 
 rest. Massed on the stairs, choking the pas- 
 sage-ways, huddled on top of, around and 
 under every fixture in the lavatories, every 
 post, every wall, every railing, either suifo- 
 cating inside from the heat of our own breath 
 or chilled to the bone on the cold steel decks, 
 were intertangled legs, arms and bodies. 
 Guard reliefs, changing their posts in utter 
 darkness, tried for a time stepping ov^r 
 prostrate comrades, then grew desperate 
 and walked on a human carpet that cursed 
 71 
 
"BOCHE — COMME CA!" 
 
 them roundly. At last came the welcome 
 light of day. Gritty with soot, dishevelled, 
 hungry, we crowded the rails and gazed at 
 the cliff that marks the harbor of HAVRE, 
 FRANCE — France who had cried across the 
 ocean for help, France the world's battlefield 
 on which we were to fight how hard, how 
 long we did not know. But we did know 
 that we would never leave those nearing 
 shores until we won. 
 
 After a breakfast of black coffee and 
 hard-tack, we began the march through 
 Havre. Our first impression of the French 
 was furnished by a thick-set elderly woman 
 of the peasant class early on her way to work. 
 She was very happy to see us and spoke a 
 greeting of which we recognized only the 
 word "American." Then, raising a husky 
 arm, she grabbed the throat of an imaginary 
 foe, her face distorted with intense hate. 
 With a heavy cane held in the right hand 
 she bayoneted her victim repeatedly in vivid 
 pantomine and cast his corpse aside. "Ah, 
 
 n 
 
SOUTH CAMP. HAVRE. 
 
 Boche, Boche! — finis Boche! — comme ca!" 
 she said, and hurried on her way. The 
 months that we were in France never furn- 
 ished us a more typical example of the 
 French temperament. 
 
 Our march took us through a poorer 
 section of Havre. The streets were narrow, 
 with tenement buildings and small stores on 
 either side. From the cobblestones arose 
 the musty smell of an ill-kept tenement 
 district. Droves of poorly-clad children beg- 
 ged us for money and for the dates and 
 chocolate we bought of street-vendors. We 
 "came across". They seemed to need it. 
 Their parents, carelessly dressed or half- 
 dressed in bright-hued garments, excitedly 
 chattered a strange jargon that was unde- 
 cided whether to come through the mouth or 
 the nose. , As in Liverpool, there were no 
 young men around. 
 
 For an hour we strained upward along a 
 road that brought us to the top of the cliff we 
 had seen from the Prince George. Far be- 
 low were a toy city, a toy harbor and toy 
 boats. At SOUTH CAMP we rested 35 
 73 
 
"HOMMES 40— CHEVAUX 8." 
 
 hours, many of us sleeping in "pup tents." 
 Here we saw the first Hun prisoners. 
 Through the stillness of the night we heard 
 for the first time the thud of heavy guns in 
 distant battle. 
 
 An hour before midnight on July 20th we 
 were again marching through Havre. Like 
 Winchester, the city was in total darkness. 
 
 In a small depot we were formally intro- 
 duced to the famous "Hommes 40 — Chevaux 
 8" that no Allied soldier who has been in 
 France can ever forget. Thirty-five of us in- 
 stead of the orthodox forty were assigned to 
 each car, in order to afford us plenty of room 
 for athletic games and other amusements. 
 Each car was equipped with four perfectly 
 good square wheels so adjusted that the corn- 
 ers struck simultaneously. There were many 
 indications that "Chevaux 8" had been our 
 very recent predecessors. 
 
 At 1 :00 o'clock the engineer commenced 
 to crack the whip in a southerly direction, 
 while the rest of the train followed mer- 
 rily in hops about a yard long. We mar- 
 velled at his success, considering the speed 
 he was making. Slowing down from 
 74 
 
"SERVICE DE LUXE." 
 
 15 miles an hour he could produce all the 
 effects of a dead stop from 90 against a gran- 
 ite cliff. This illusion he produced on an 
 average of four times an hour to sidetrack 
 for other trains that had the right of way. 
 
 Once accustomed to the leaping motion of 
 our cars, we evolved a system of sleeping. 
 By mutual agreement we all lay down cross- 
 wise on the floor, alternating head and feet 
 along either wall. No fellow was permitted 
 to rest his feet elsewhere than on the chest of 
 the comrade across from him, and no man, 
 unless he wanted to oblige a particular 
 friend, was compelled to support more than 
 one pair of feet throughout the night. Thus 
 we spent two nights and two days, nourish- 
 ing ourselves occasionally with corn-beef, 
 salmon, beans, canned tomatoes, hard-tack 
 and black coffee, which menu, largely due to 
 its delightful associations with our first and 
 subsequent railroad trips in France, we 
 learned thoroughly to detest forevermore. 
 
 At five o'clock on the afternoon of the 
 
 22nd we passed through BORDEAUX, and 
 
 at six we detrained, cramped, unshaven, 
 
 head-achy, in VILLEAVE, the end of the line. 
 
 75 
 
EUROPEAN SPEED. 
 
 During the trip some of us had become food, 
 drink and shelter for little guests that pro- 
 mulgated their hardy species for the re- 
 mainder of our European sojourn. In 41 
 hours we had travelled 320 miles as the crow 
 flies — an average clip of 7.8 miles per hour. 
 How far it was as "Hommes 40 — Chevaux 
 8's" go, the world of science is hereby chal- 
 lenged to calculate. 
 
 76 
 
"FAIR FRANCE." 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 © 
 
 HE landscape of France, which we took 
 turns viewing through the door on 
 either side of our "Puhmans/' was 
 not unlike England, It gave to us Americans 
 the same impression of being toy-like and 
 miniature — more like gardens than farms. 
 Each of the tiny cultivated plots that covered 
 the fresh hillsides was divided from its neigh- 
 bor by well cut hedges or ancient stone walls, 
 presenting, in distant prospect, a checkerwork 
 of various greens that was fascinating and 
 novel. Larger divisions of vale and hill were 
 defined by writhing trunks that had been 
 shorn of all their dead superstructure in a 
 last effort to prolong a spark of life at the 
 heart. What remained was gnarled and fan- 
 tastic, as though Nature resented the preven- 
 tion of death that was due. From the twisted 
 cores freakish growths of first year twigs 
 sprang forth, like hairs on giant mush- 
 rooms or some strange type transplanted 
 11 
 
V I L L E A V E. 
 
 from the ocean depths. Setting off in artistic 
 contrast these stubby growths were double 
 rows of poplar trees in slim vertical sil- 
 houette against the blue of the summer skies. 
 The roads they traced stretched along the 
 hillsides like snow-white ribbons criss-cross- 
 ing on green silk. At the intersections of 
 the strands were clusters of antique dwell- 
 ings, ever of cream-colored stone and red tile 
 roof, ever surmounted by an invariable spire, 
 and ever with immemorial walls and ruins. 
 We wondered at the great number of those 
 hillside towns that housed the peasant class 
 of France. It seemed as though some mighty 
 hand of bygone years had sown them, thick 
 as grain, among the furrows of the hills, from 
 which the tile roofs sprang like bright red 
 poppies on the rolling green. 
 
 The night in Villeave we spent on the 
 ground near the tiny station. It was here 
 that many of us first tasted the meal-time 
 drink of all France — vin rouge. We bought 
 it with eager stealth around the kitchen table 
 of a peasant home at two francs a canteen- 
 78 
 
CHATEAU COUDERAN. 
 
 ful. The little houswife racked her brains 
 changing our American money, while her 
 tainted spouse made hurried trips from his 
 basement barrel to the well behind the house. 
 
 At 6 :30 A. M. the entire 135th started a 
 12-mile march with full pack to what our 
 officers promised were the "best billets in 
 France." "Soft" as we were from our long 
 ocean trip and our railroading, it proved a 
 hard, bitter hike. For those of us w^ho had 
 filled our canteens with vin rouge instead of 
 water it was doubly hard. But we "stuck it 
 through." Headed by our regimental band 
 in full blast, sore shoulders thrown back, 
 we swung into the pretty village of LEOG- 
 NAN, where the bulk of the regiment fell 
 out for billets. "A" and "B" kept the road 
 forty minutes longer, until 10:30, when we 
 slid off our hot packs inside the walled court- 
 yard of the CHATEAU COUDERAN. 
 
 The Chateau Couderan was not without 
 its war tragedy. It was owned by two or- 
 phaned sisters whose only brother had long 
 since offered the supreme gift. Of the male 
 servants all but an aged gardner were wear- 
 ing the blue uniform. Many would never re- 
 79 
 
FRENCH PAY DAY. 
 
 turn. But the Chateau still had its deer park, 
 aviaries, swans, lawns and its cool vistas of 
 trees. For the enlisted men all this was a 
 sort of Inner Temple, too sacred for the in- 
 fidel touch. But the Captain threw the gates 
 ajar one day and let us in. The "A" billets 
 were in a large modern cow stable off the 
 courtyard. Where the former pedigreed bov~ 
 ines had gone we knew not. There were no 
 traces of them save two rows of poetic 
 names above the stalls that well might have 
 belonged to Grecian goddesses. Yet, immac- 
 ulate and dry as our quarters were, we ques- 
 tioned the "best billets" epithet our officers 
 had given the place. Oh quick tongue ! Could 
 we have foreseen ! Could we have foreseen ! 
 On the 26th at the Chateau Couderan we 
 had our first pay in French currency. Each 
 of us received one mustard plaster, two blue 
 tobacco coupons, six tomato can labels and a 
 handful of Chinese slugs, with which we im- 
 mediately made incursions into wine-soaked 
 Leognan, and even Bordeaux. At Bordeaux 
 we purchased libraries of English-French 
 dictionaries and grammars, into which we 
 forthwith plunged with a linguistic fervor 
 80 
 
VISIONS. 
 
 entirely too furious to be lasting. July 30th, 
 with fingers that trembled queerly, we op- 
 ened our first mail from home — most of it 
 dated a month before. The same night, pass- 
 ing through the vision-filled borderland of 
 sleep, we sat again in familiar old chairs, 
 heard soft voices, and felt the touch of hands 
 four thousand miles away. 
 
 81 
 
25 MILES FULL-PACK. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 I HE restful days at Couderan came to 
 an end on the morning of Julj^ 31st. 
 Arising at 4:00 o'clock we made our 
 rolls in the dark and at 5:30, after a break- 
 fast of black coffee, bread, molasses and rice, 
 we began a 25-mile full-pack march to our 
 artillery training camp. 
 
 It was a day, hot, dusty, sultry, that no 
 "A" man will ever forget. Already before 
 noon soldiers of batteries ahead of us had 
 dropped by the roadside on their packs, 
 furnishing a suggestion to those who plod- 
 ded past that was hard to resist. As the 
 afternoon wore on we became aware from 
 men who lay along the way that "A" was the 
 only battery still intact. The information put 
 new strength in our legs. Every "A" man 
 set his jaw to "show up" the rest of the regi- 
 ment and to march until he dropped. 
 
 The last two hours "were done on sheer 
 82 
 
THE LAST MILES. 
 
 guts" by most of us. Our canteens were 
 empty under a sun that still beat down. Our 
 feet were blistering and the packs were 
 galling our shoulders. The Captain, him- 
 self on foot, passed along the column encour- 
 aging us and inviting men to fall out and 
 ride in trucks that were to pick up the cas- 
 uals. But he had no tired men! When we 
 unslung packs for a ten minute rest we won- 
 dered if we could rise again to put them on. 
 A comrade began to topple. Two friends 
 seized his pack and carried it in addition to 
 their own. He finished the march with an 
 arm around the necks of pals on either side 
 of him. To cheer his comrades some fellow 
 with parched lips tried to sing, but no one 
 joined in and few heard. The gate which we 
 had seen for a mile and to which we had 
 measured our wills, did not give us the ex- 
 pected relief. We trudged through over new- 
 laid broken rocks that turned our ankles and 
 made us stumble blindly. Many times we 
 gauged the distance of empty barracks, but 
 only to be bitterly disappointed. But at last, 
 as we shuffled past a group of officers, we 
 heard the Colonel say in a voice that seemed 
 
 83 
 
"THE LITTLE SAHARA." 
 
 far away, "Well, I guess they're soldiers all 
 right. Fall them out here, Captain." It was 
 reward enough, and out of the dust into 
 which we dropped that moment, arose full 
 grown, the Esprit de Corps of Battery "A''. 
 We were permitted to rest on our packs for a 
 half hour where we had fallen out. Then, 
 after a meal of beef stew, coffee and bread, 
 we were assigned to our bunks in the red 
 tile barracks of CAMP DE SOUGE, near 
 Bordeaux. 
 
 Camp De Souge, we soon found, was very 
 fittingly called "The Little Sahara." It had 
 a late-summer sun that shone down every day 
 in true Sahara form. Everywhere there was 
 sand — black, fine stuff that rose above our 
 ankles, filtered into our shoes and exacted 
 double the amount of energy for ordinary 
 walking. This the wind sifted through the 
 chinks in our doors and cheese-cloth windows, 
 filming bunks, blankets, and mess-tables with 
 grit. The water supply was scant at all times. 
 It ran but a few hours each day through 
 tiny faucets fitfully emitting a puny three- 
 sixteenths inch stream. Returning from long 
 marches that enveloped our sweating bodies 
 84 
 
" O A S I S." 
 
 in clouds of black dust, we often found no 
 water with which to wash. Flies increased 
 so rapidly that the "Swatting Detail" became 
 as regular and more popular than guard 
 duty. There were no shade trees for a mile 
 around. 
 
 Our only ''oases" were the camp Y. M. 
 C. A. buildings and a cluster of peasant 
 stands outside the gate, where near-beer and 
 wines not so near were sold at double the 
 cost of the real thing. Here, also, one could 
 purchase dwarfed peaches, figs, dates, hazel- 
 nuts, and good grapes at a price that only 
 the "millionaire Yanks" could pay. In the 
 name of art were proffered post-card views 
 that would have shocked the Ohio Board of 
 Censors out of business. They were the 
 cheapest thing in France. 
 
 On Sundays we frequently visited St. 
 Medard, a little town eight miles distant and 
 three times too wicked for its size. There 
 "La Grande Attraction" was a barn musical 
 show which we patronized in lieu of some- 
 thing else to do. A moon-face "comedian" 
 with gap-teeth did slapstick "comedy" ; a little 
 slip of a woman sang and wanted to sell us her 
 
 85 
 
"TERRIBLE INFANTS." 
 
 picture; four characters-aboutrtown danced.. 
 Across the street was a portable movie whose 
 only billboard showed a hand sinking its long 
 nails Jnto the bleeding neck of a green snake. 
 In the cafes and restaurants of the town we 
 bought scant meals, and, in the invariable 
 back room, as much cognac as our francs or 
 judgment allowed. , 
 
 Our two months of training at De Souge 
 were mainly concentrated on a speedy and in- 
 timate acquaintance with the French 75 mm. 
 field piece and more cordial relations with the 
 U. S. gas-mask. Before August was half 
 gone we had been issued our quartet of the 
 "Terrible Infants" that caused the Kaiserin 
 to buy her "Paris gowns" all for nothing and 
 flooded the world with triumphal helmets 
 that never saw the triumph. They were 
 trim, quick mechanisms that fascinated us 
 from the beginning. August 15th, with a 
 laugh, a long diminishing sigh, and again, 
 far away, another laugh, they "spoke" for 
 us the first time. Almost every ensuing day 
 found us in the 2-mile semi-circle of spitting 
 86 
 
"GAS!" 
 
 muzzles that vibrated the tile walls of our 
 barracks and littered the arid wastes of the. 
 range with hot steel. 
 
 Of nights there were thunderous bar- 
 rages. White-hot tongues darted from no- 
 where. Against a black horizon rockets 
 swept upward, ripening into gently swaying 
 necklaces of green, red, or yellow fire. Be- 
 ^tween the muzzles and the horizon, in No 
 Man's Land, blinked elusively a hundred 
 signal "eyes" of red and white, like fire- 
 beetles over a great marshland. 
 
 Gas drill was not so picturesque. Its ob- 
 ject was to accustom us to wearing the mask 
 for long periods and under all conditions of 
 rest and motion. Starting with a tortuous 
 fifteen minutes per day without "Removing 
 Masks", we gradually developed to two 
 hours. Gas non-coms., invested with auto- 
 cratic powers, put us through hundred yard 
 dashes, ring-around-a-rosy games, hikes and 
 details while our rubber face-pieces filled up 
 with pouring sweat and the dimmed goggles 
 shut off all knowledge of the topography over 
 which we operated. At all hours of the night 
 we were blasted out of deep slumber by 
 87 
 
READY FOR FRITZ 
 
 claxon horns, fiendish beatings on 75 mm. 
 casings, cries of "Gas!" and a lot of addi- 
 tional rumpus that meant there was deadly 
 theoretical gas around. 
 
 The spare hours intervening range and 
 gas work were utilized for "specialist classes" 
 in which every soldier studied the finer points 
 of his particular job. Among these was a 
 machine gunners' school. Selected men 
 learned to operate two Hotchkiss guns that 
 had been issued to each battery for anti-air- 
 craft and emergency purposes. There were 
 also many forest-fire details, formed at all 
 hours to combat conflagrations started by 
 exploding shells. 
 
 The six-week course on the 75's ended 
 with a brigade barrage on the morning of 
 September 14th. About the 15th we were 
 given our Colt .45 automatics and a few les- 
 sons in their use. The remaining Souge days 
 were devoted to packing up equipment, reduc- 
 ing our wardrobes to active service scanti- 
 ness and "getting set" for Fritz. We had 
 completed eighteen months of the greatest 
 schooling of our lives. But there were no 
 graduation exercises. 
 
IN THE ZONE OF ADVANCE. 
 
 W 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 EDNESDAY, September 25th, reveille 
 blew at 2:30 A. M. By 5:00 o'clock 
 the last "quad" with our equipment 
 had left De Souge for a railhead at BON- 
 NE AU. And at 9:30, snugly tucked into 
 box cars again, we were on our way to the 
 front. For 72 hours we travelled north- 
 east across France, finally detraining at 
 REVIGNY, near the south-west border of 
 the Department of the MEUSE. In this 
 department, famous for Verdun and St. 
 Mihiel, and MEURTHE ET MOSELLE, 
 which borders it on the east and over- 
 looks Metz, "A" was to do all its firing and 
 maneuvering in active service. Our bil- 
 lets were in NEUVILLE, 3iA miles from 
 Revigny. Loading our packs on our caissons 
 and pieces, we pulled them ourselves to 
 Neuville, The few horses we received at 
 De Souge were left behind. 
 
 Neuville, jagged, half -dead, neglected, 
 89 
 
N E U V I L L E. 
 
 with an air about it of having lost all 
 hope forever, was the first "war town" 
 of our experience. Half of it was in ruins 
 from artillery fire. Across the valley was 
 Laimont, a sister-town, totally destroyed. 
 The orchards between them, in spite of the 
 season, bore no signs of yield. In the early 
 days of the war the Germans had "doctored" 
 all fruit trees before retreating. The edges 
 of nearby groves were dotted with graves 
 of French soldiers who had paid early the 
 price of driving back the enemy armies. At 
 the time of our occupancy the town was a 
 French motor-repair base, where machine- 
 shops on wheels renovated army trucks and 
 motorcycles. With the French soldiers thus 
 employed we fraternized freely in the kit- 
 chen-cafes of the town, exchanging our 
 greatly prized American cigarettes for prac- 
 tical lessons in their language. They were a 
 jovial, frank crowd that we soon learned to 
 like. In Neuville most of us shared our sleep- 
 ing quarters with cows, pigs and poultry. 
 These were accustomed, as seems the vogue 
 in the peasant towns, to roaming just about 
 where they pleased in the household domains, 
 
 90 
 
HOPES AND HORSES. 
 
 and they contested with us to the end for the 
 better half of the bed, which they were far 
 better able to see in the dark than we. 
 
 At Neuville we expected to receive im- 
 mediately a quota of horses that would per- 
 mit us to join the doughboys of our own Di- 
 vision, whom we had always hoped to "back 
 up." For a time it appeared this would prove 
 the case. By October 4th we had accumu- 
 lated 69 fair mounts. On the following day, 
 however, with bitter disappointment, we 
 were compelled to turn over to the 28th Di- 
 vision all but 26. So that on the 7th we left 
 Neuville for the firing line with 40 horses 
 to do the work of the 160 of our Sheridan 
 days! On the long list of tributes that the 
 World War had paid its dumb animals, we 
 enter a humble claim for those 40 courageous 
 little animals, many of them the gassed and 
 wounded veterans of previous battles, who 
 labored night and day through the muds of 
 France that the guns might continue to fire 
 for the Cause. 
 
 91 
 
CHAMPIGNEULLES. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 o 
 
 UR route to the firing-line was longer 
 than we expected. At noon the bulk 
 of the Battery started an 18-mile 
 truck journey through the Argonne woods to 
 VILLERS-DAUCOURT, where we awaited 
 in the rain the arrival of our horses and 
 materiel, including our priceless "cooky 
 cart." When they joined us at 8:00 we 
 loaded the pieces on flat-cars, put the regula- 
 tion "Chevaux 8" in the alloted five cars, and 
 again set on our way. We detrained the next 
 morning at CHAMPIGNEULLES, Depart- 
 ment of Meurthe et Moselle. The reserve 
 trenches, dugouts and wire entanglements 
 we saw during the last two hours of our ride, 
 proved to us that we were at last "getting 
 into it." 
 
 Around the Champigneulles station we 
 
 had our first contact with the funniest things 
 
 in France — members of the 92nd (colored) 
 
 Division. They donated liberally to us from 
 
 92 
 
P O M P E Y. 
 
 their kitchen, which had been set up beside 
 the depot, and, grouped around a day-time 
 campfire, solemnly argued on religion to 
 depths we could not fathom. Though their 
 discussion was too deep for us, a poignant 
 connection between the topic and the trenches 
 they were soon to occupy was evident enough. 
 The darky at the front always remembered 
 heaven when he suspected that it might be a 
 trifle near. 
 
 Waiting until darkness, we marched to 
 POMPEY, two miles distant, where we were 
 to assemble with the entire 62nd Brigade. 
 A cold rain had begun to fall and we were 
 soon thoroughly wet. Attaining Pompey, we 
 crossed a bridge and made a sharp turn to 
 the left. The wheels of our pieces instantly 
 sank into mud that we dared not strike a 
 light to see. Men and horses, obeying orders, 
 plodded ahead through the slough, scraping 
 hubs with cursing drivers who had lost the 
 center of the trail and were held fast. All 
 around were heard angry voices, the rattle 
 of wheels and harness in motion, and the 
 crack of whips. A half hour found us in an 
 enclosure, conscious of great black walls 
 93 
 
"HELL'S VALLEY." 
 
 looming above us. We were in a gigantic 
 bowl formed by hillsides covered with: drip- 
 ping, trees. The sides sloped at a 35 degree 
 angle ;;1[rom an oozing plateau across which 
 we were forbidden to trace tell-tale tracks. 
 Accordingly our Fourgon wagons and pieces 
 were skirted along the foot of the hills, then 
 dragged up under trees that showered us 
 with accumulated water. Fifty feet up the 
 slope a picket line was stretched somehow 
 for our exhausted horses. We were told to 
 unroll packs and sleep. Sleep where? Under 
 caissons, pieces, and Fourgons, our officers 
 sharing the spaces with us, we spread our 
 blankets in the mud and passed our first 
 night in "Hell's Valley." A dawn that 
 seemed never to come gave us our first viev/ 
 of the big half-mile bowl. Perfectly hidden 
 in the dense woods on the precipitous sides 
 around us were the men, the guns, and the 
 horses of an entire artillery brigade, ready 
 to move into position. 
 
 Determined to avoid a repetition of the 
 first night's discomforts, we immediately set 
 to work on our section of the hillside. Some 
 of us felled small trees and made them into 
 
 94 
 
ADAPTATION. 
 
 platforms, over which we spread fresh 
 boughs. These were rested upon uprights 
 driven into the ground to neutralize the 
 steep grade. Others secured the same re- 
 sults by cutting into the side of the hill. On 
 these "floors" we pitched our pup-tents, 
 spending the ensuing nights in most luxur- 
 ious comfort. There is a contented, snug 
 feeling about a pup-tent, after you and your 
 pal have finally wriggled into the blankets, 
 that no other form of war-time shelter seems 
 to give. Perhaps, in addition to its tiny di- 
 mensions, this arises largely from the fact 
 that the pup-tent is often used at times when 
 the contrast with recent hardships is sharp- 
 est. Rising in the morning, the formality of 
 undressing having long been dispensed with, 
 it was only necessary to seize one's messkit, 
 let go of the tent, and toboggan down hill to 
 breakfast — taking care to detour around a 
 picket-line of mules that barred the direct 
 route to the kitchen cart. The rest of the day 
 was devoted to keeping under cover and dig- 
 ging up potatoes for "French fries" in the 
 "froggy" patches on the other side of our 
 hill. 
 
 95 
 
AIR RAIDERS. 
 
 The Germans, in spite of our efforts at 
 camouflage, knew at once that something 
 suspicious was occurring in Hell's Valley. 
 Hardly an hour passed that did not find a 
 Boche flashing his planes, cloud-high, for 
 purposes of spying. Whereupon a half dozen 
 anti-aircraft guns concealed along the ridges 
 immediately set about convincing him that 
 our particular spot was the devil of a place, 
 as Hell's Valley should be. At first we drop- 
 ped all work and rushed headlong to the foot 
 of the hill whenever the guns began to throw 
 their black and white aigrettes into the air„ 
 Clustered under trees, faces turned upward, 
 we ejaculated excited approval of shots that 
 burst particularly close to the retreating 
 plane, or we admired the nerve of some foe- 
 man who "stood the gaff" until his photo- 
 graphs were taken. At night, as we lay in 
 our tents, the dull, intermittent droning of 
 Boche bombers searching for their darkened 
 targets plainly could be heard, punctuated 
 now and then by the explosions of the bombs 
 they dropped. An alarm siren wailed in Pom- 
 pey. The white shafts of a dozen hidden 
 searchlights swept in vast and spectacular 
 
 96 
 
AIR RAIDERS. 
 
 radii across the skies. The enemy found, all 
 beams instantly converged to one point, 
 where, perhaps a mile high, cream- 
 colored planes glinted gracefully in the 
 light, while around them momentary 
 stars burst brilliantly and filled the 
 valley below with echoing rumbles. But 
 the novelty of these experiences soon wore 
 off, becoming no more thrilling to us — though 
 frequently far more plentiful^than "chow." 
 
 97 
 
UP TO THE LINE. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 I RID AY morning, October 11th, the 
 
 I Captain returning from a reconnais- 
 
 ffi^U sance, our first platoon moved out of 
 Hell's Valley for the firing line. The ap- 
 proach to the positions was reported to be 
 under shell fire. Due to our limited number 
 of horses, the Captain deemed a long detour 
 to avoid that danger inadvisable, and decided 
 to hold up until dark before advancing 
 further. At 7:30 the march was resumed. 
 A guide was picked up at ATTON to lead us 
 to our approximate positions, into which we 
 moved with the two pieces and caissons at 
 about 9 :00 o'clock. This last move was made 
 under shell fire, the Germans searching for 
 us with H. E. and shrapnel in the woods 
 whose edge we were to occupy. 
 
 Our initiation into the "receiving end" of 
 
 the artillery game was not as hair-raising as 
 
 we had once imagined it would be. The 
 
 stages of our training and our advance to the 
 
 98 
 
UNDER FIRE. 
 
 front lines had been so gradual that to be 
 under fire was only a last natural step. 
 There were no new elements in the exper- 
 ience, but simply a different arrangement of 
 them. We had sensed before the noise, the 
 whine, and the concussion of thousands of 
 exploding shells. But now we were getting 
 the crescendo of the whine. We heard them 
 coming across the valley, and were so busy 
 wondering where they were going to land 
 that we almost forgot they might land on us. 
 When a few exploded close enough to spray 
 our pals with mud, as they did subsequently, 
 they gave us a momentary scare. The next 
 minute we laughed at being flustrated by 
 shells that had already burst. There was 
 always that comforting fact that we were 
 only "taking a chance." No one had the 
 cards stacked. We stood a mighty good 
 show at winning. The "A" dice and "red 
 dog hounds" were right in their element. 
 Yet, in spite of all our dugout philosophy, 
 it was very evident from a sort of feverish 
 hilarity those first few nights, that we were 
 all under a tense nervous strain v/hjch each 
 99 
 
"GUNS IN POSITION— OPERATING." 
 
 of us tried to conceal with songs, jokes, and 
 horse-play. 
 
 At 5:00 A. M. of the 12th the platoon 
 took over from the French, pulling their guns 
 out and putting ours into two old anti-air- 
 craft pits. The second platoon left Hell's 
 Valley and went into position on the right 
 flank of PONT-A-MOUSSON in an open field 
 under camouflage the night of the 12th. The 
 5th and 6th sections were also marched up 
 and placed in charge of an antiquated bat- 
 tery of 90 mm. guns, Model 1876, which had 
 been part of the permanent defense for years. 
 On the 12th, also, the remainder of the Bat- 
 tery advanced toward the line to a point 
 near AUTREVILLE, occupying the barracks 
 of the French artillerymen we had relieved. 
 These quarters we found quite comfortable 
 after we had excavated them from the empty 
 tin cans, bottles, and discarded clothing that 
 our temperamental allies left behind. 
 
 Sunday afternoon, October 13th, on the 
 MARBACHE SECTOR, "A" fired its first 
 shots at the enemy. From that date until 
 the 20th, the daily report of our activities 
 
 100 
 
"THE CRAZY AMERICANS." 
 
 is "Battery on front — guns in position — op- 
 erating," 
 
 We had received orders upon going into 
 position "to start something," which we at 
 once proceeded to do. This enlivened state 
 of affairs was not only resented by the Ger- 
 mans, who retaliated with 155's and 210's, 
 but by the citizens of Atton, whose homes, it 
 seems, by some agreement that was a mys- 
 tery to us, were safe from bombardment as 
 long as the Allies were real nice and gentle 
 to the Germans across the valley. Accord- 
 ingly, the French artillerymen, who were 
 evidently "in on the deep stuff," fired a few 
 shots early in the morning somewhere in the 
 general direction of Germany. The Germans 
 acknowledged the daily salute with an equal 
 number of shells, and then both sides laid off 
 for the day and went fishing. It was a nice 
 war. 
 
 So when the "crazy Americans" moved 
 in and started a rumpus without any appar- 
 ent provocation except just being at war 
 with Germany, we revealed a characteristic 
 bit of Yank psychology that the French of 
 Atton could not understand, and that gained 
 101 
 
"FROGS HAS WOKE UP." 
 
 us no cordial reception at the hands of the 
 villagers. Some of us, from the numerous 
 times our communication wires were cut and 
 other strange occurrences, even suspected 
 that there were a few in Atton who rightly 
 belonged on the other side of the line. 
 
 The first infantry troops we supported 
 were none other than our dusky friends of 
 the 92nd Division, whose trenches were be- 
 low us in the valley. They were overjoyed 
 t-o learn of the change in artillery behind 
 them. One of them stole back to our posi- 
 tions in the dark of the night following our 
 first barrage. 
 
 "Say, boss," he said, flashing a set of 
 caveman teeth in the dim candle-light of the 
 dugout, "Ah didn't know you-all was back 
 heah. But Lawdy, Lawdy boy, dis mawnin' 
 when dat beeerage o' youahs comes a-ramb- 
 lin' 'cross ouah trenches, ah turns to ma 
 buddy, and Ah says, 'Buddy, dem frawgs has 
 shuah woke up!' " 
 
 The next morning, an excited darky offi- 
 cer got the Captain by 'phone : "Hello, hello !" 
 he said. "Am dis Ventuah? Dis am Vul- 
 tuah talkin'. Ah wants a bearage — an' Ah 
 102 
 
PULLING OUT. 
 
 ivants dat bearage!" Thirty minutes later 
 the Captain was called again and recognized 
 the same voice, but no longer excited. 
 "Hello," it said, "Am dis Ventuah? Well, 
 dis' am Vultuah again. Dat was shuah some 
 bearage! Wha, man, dat come across so 
 thick dat yu' couldn't even see through it!" 
 
 Just comfortably settled in our positions 
 and enjoying the nightly visits of our col- 
 ored friends, the firing battery received ord- 
 ers to pull out. On October 21st we were re- 
 lieved by the 349th Field Artillery (colored). 
 
 "Say, black boy," we asked one of the 
 new artillerymen as we changed guns, "what 
 do you do in this man's army?" 
 
 "Why, boss," came the reply through the 
 dark, "you-all knows dem dere frawg swasnt 
 canses? Well, I'se a gate-tender on one o' 
 dem. Ah opens de gate, Ah closes de gate, 
 and Ah pulls de string. An' ever' time Ah 
 opens dat gate, an' closes dat gate, an' pulls 
 dat string. Ah says 'Kaisah, count yo' men !' " 
 
 The remainder of the night was passed 
 
 in the Autreville barracks of the eschelon, 
 
 which had moved out the day before. Here, 
 
 for the third time since our arrival at the 
 
 103 
 
AVERAGE LIFE. 
 
 line, gas alarms were sounded and we wore 
 our masks. It soon developed that the 
 "gas," was a darky with a "case of nerves", 
 for which we were more or less responsible. 
 We have forgotten at just how many minutes 
 we put the "average life of an artilleryman" 
 in those parts. 
 
 104 
 
WAR TAXIS. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 a 
 
 T evening mess the entire Battery 
 was again assembled in BOIS-LE- 
 ^ PRETE, near AVRAINVILLE and 
 eight miles from our former positions. 
 Camouflaged by these woods, we cleaned our 
 materiel and rested both horses and men for 
 another advance. 
 
 At 5 :30 P. M. of the 26th a solid half- 
 mile of French auto trucks snaked up the 
 road in our direction and came to a stop. 
 They were to carry the 134th and 135th regi- 
 ments to the TROYON SECTOR to take up 
 positions. "A" loaded into the nine assigned 
 us, roping our caissons to the rear. The four 
 pieces and rolling kitchen, too delicate to be 
 hauled in the same manner, were entrusted 
 to our horses. 
 
 Darkness falling, the whole procession 
 
 moved out under a patchy sky that augured 
 
 a cold night. We were tightly wedged in 
 
 on top of our packs and our legs soon became 
 
 105 
 
ROUGH-RIDING. 
 
 numb from cold and poor circulation. 
 Under the constant strain of starting and 
 stopping to avoid collisions, the motors 
 soon filled the hooded truck-bodies with 
 gases that nauseated many of us. Though 
 there could not be a gleam on a single one 
 of the scores of machines to light the dark 
 road, the drivers maintained a maximum clip 
 when in motion, swinging our rumbling 
 caissons from side to side along the roads. 
 If one turned over into the ditch, as was 
 more than once the case, the whole proces- 
 sion jerked to a standstill until it was 
 righted. Pulling aside the curtains and peer- 
 ing out into the night, we saw the jagged 
 edges of ghost towns, now only walls and 
 parts of- walls, with their roofs a mass of 
 debris in cellars the night made bottomless. 
 A sentinel in somber blue uniform stepped 
 like a spectre from the shadows now and 
 then, hailing us with an inquisitive cheer- 
 fulness that seemed to issue from sepulchres. 
 When the motors purred restfully during 
 some readjustment along the line, we heard 
 the rumble of guns, and looked out at a hori- 
 zon blinking with artillery lightning. 
 
 106 
 
FIRST SOUVENIRS. 
 
 We were happy to alight at 3:00 A. M. 
 and to unfasten our caissons, rolling them to- 
 gether on the pavement. Under these some 
 of us spread our blankets and tried to sleep 
 until dawn;' but the majority paced rapidly 
 to and fro in an effort to restore circulation 
 to frozen feet. Sunlight, coming at last, gave 
 us relief. We discovered that we were on 
 the edge of HEUDICOURT, from which the 
 Germans had recently beat a hasty retreat, 
 not, however, before much of the town was 
 destroyed. Exploring the ruins, we found 
 German books, letters, newspapers, quarter- 
 master records, tools, ammunition, and a sack 
 of old French bread, the centers of which we 
 found soft. It tided us over to the arrival of 
 the "cooky-cart." This precious article came 
 up the road, along with the pieces, at noon, 
 serving us coffee and bread immediately, and, 
 at 5:30 o'clock, stew, potatoes, jam, and 
 again the welcome black beverage which has 
 so many times warmed our bones and re- 
 stored our "pep." There was nothing on our 
 fighting menu, including bread itself, that 
 we would not have surrendered in preference 
 to our "black cheer." 
 
 107 
 
"VERBOTEN" GROUND. 
 
 We spent the night of the 27th in our pup- 
 tents at the edge of Heudicourt. Before we 
 slept we discussed with our partners the sig- 
 nificance of all the traffic which had passed 
 us during the day and which was still pass- 
 ing. It seemed as if "there might be some- 
 thing doing somewhere." 
 
 On the march which began at 7 :00 A. M. 
 the next morning we passed German dug- 
 outs and bomb-proofs of admirable construc- 
 tion all overgrown with the grass of years, 
 until they seemed a natural and not unsight- 
 ly part of the landscape. The heavy doors of 
 these, in spite of the eternal "VERBOTEN" 
 warnings, had been smashed in, revealing 
 piles of artillery and machine gun ammuni- 
 tion and boxes of "potato mashers." Join- 
 ing the bomb-proofs and vanishing in the 
 midst of a group of black buildings where 
 smoking appeared the particular "verboten" 
 deed, was a narrow-gauge railway. 
 
 Toward the end of four miles our column 
 turned into a camouflaged road that took us 
 uphill. Gaily colored walls of leaves and 
 shredded burlap threaded around a wire 
 meshwork rose high above us along either 
 108 
 
HUN PARADISE. 
 
 side. Over our heads vertical panels of 
 autumnal colors five feet wide were stretched 
 at 25-yard intervals. At a distance, top 
 and sides converged in perfect vista. Smok- 
 ing our cigarettes during a delicious rest, it 
 all seemed like the main aisle of some gay 
 metropolitan fair back home. But the com- 
 mand "Fall in" shattered the day-dream, and 
 the new sweat on our backs soon changed the 
 "decorations" to camouflage. 
 
 * * * * :;: ^ 
 
 At the high end of this arcade we found 
 the tiny village of CREUE, recently relieved, 
 as an inscription on the square announced, 
 from the "German Yoke." And on the out- 
 skirts of Creue we moved into a Teuton para- 
 dise whose comfort-loving builders had never 
 intended to evacuate. 
 
 The whole camp nestled in a beautiful lit- 
 tle valley of trees and green pasture. At the 
 near end, after we had passed a series of 
 bomb-proofs fitted with pilfered glass win- 
 dows and built-in bunks, we found a neat 
 little building with a rustic porch and arbor. 
 The arbor widened into a beer garden seclud- 
 ed by trees and equipped with a long table 
 109 
 
BOWLING ALLEYS AND ARBORS. 
 
 and benches. To our left along the foot of 
 the hill stretched the wooden terrace of the 
 "mere privates." Every door opened onto a 
 porch. Inside, the double walls were painted 
 and frescoed. Twenty weary paces from 
 their terrace the privates had constructed a 
 bowling alley where the long hours of wait- 
 ing for "Der Tag" might be beguiled. Or, 
 if bowling became tiresome, it was only ne- 
 cessary to ascend to one of the rustic arbors 
 of white birch built in selected trees. Here, 
 seated on his bench among the birds and 
 leaves, the romantic Teuton might dream in 
 peace of his Hilda — or, if the birds sang in- 
 spiringly, he might even write her love- 
 verses. The farther end of the valley con- 
 tained stables, store-houses, and a kitchen 
 with cement floors and great iron soup-ket- 
 tles. Still beyond them, overlooking the en- 
 tire grounds and peeking forth from the 
 leaves on the hillside, were the officers' cot- 
 tages, of Swiss design, with colored glass 
 windows that suggested the village church, 
 and delicate balconies of intricate artistry. 
 Back again in the cottage by the beer garden, 
 inscribed in heavy script above a bed, we read 
 
 110 
 
SECOND POSITIONS. 
 
 "Hier ruhten Viiddings mude Glieder." But 
 we could not locate Herr Vuddings. 
 
 Where had you gone, Herr Vuddings, and 
 why did you leave so quickly this lovely spot 
 that rested your "tired hmbs"? Were you 
 one of the two big fellows who died in the 
 public square of Creue on the bayonet of the 
 tiny Yank the townfolks tell about? 
 
 In this valley our eschelon took up its 
 quarters for the five best days of our active 
 service. Our firing battery moved into posi- 
 tion on the other side of the hill during the 
 night. The guns covered HATTONCHAT- 
 TEL on the TROYON SECTOR. Here we 
 supported the 28th Division and were at- 
 tached to the 164th Field Artillery Brigade, 
 under General Donnelly, We relieved the 
 39th French Artillery, of the famous "Iron 
 Division." The quarters of the firing bat- 
 tery were not inferior in any particular to 
 those of the eschelon. Though Boche shells 
 from somewhere awoke us on two occasions 
 fifteen minutes before rising time, we all 
 hoped that we might spend the winter in our 
 new quarters. 
 
 The positions at Creue furnished us no 
 111 
 
"DOG FIGHTS," ETC. * 
 
 end of amusement in the line of air battles. 
 Daily, planes met over our heads, pecked and 
 darted at one another, putt-putted their ma- 
 chine guns empty in a free-for-all "dog 
 fight," and, seeming suddenly to have ended 
 their differences, glided away in opposite di- 
 rections. The "anti's" invariably assisted the 
 Boches in leaving as soon as the friendly 
 planes v^ere out of the fracas. One Hun ma- 
 chine, flying at a great height, showered our 
 part of the line with the "come-let's-be- 
 brothers" type of propoganda, printed in 
 English on one side and in French on the 
 reverse. 
 
 October 30th five Boches by a clever 
 ruse "got" our American observation bal- 
 loon. Attracted by the boom of the anti- 
 aircraft guns we observed, high up in the 
 sky, four Boches in hot pursuit of a single 
 plane. The "anti's" were harrying the four 
 with apparent success, for they lost speed, 
 while the fugitive "ducked" into a friendly 
 cloud. Suddenly, following a close burst of 
 shrapnel, one pursuer began to veer and 
 tumble lamely, as if out of control. All eyes 
 were centered on him, waiting for the burst 
 
 112 
 
BATTERY DEBATES. 
 
 of flame and the fatal fall. We forgot the 
 poor fugitive behind the cloud. Poor fugi- 
 tive! But he hadn't forgotten us! With 
 a downv^ard swoop that took our breath he 
 dropped like a hawk from his concealment 
 straight for our big, helpless balloon. On 
 the verge of what we thought would be a 
 collision he held up next to the unwieldy bag, 
 fired his machine-gun, and missed. His mo- 
 mentum carried him past. Boldly swerving 
 around and banking a second time, he again 
 darted straight for his victim and released 
 another string of incendiary bullets, this time 
 with success. The two observers leaped with 
 parachutes as their bag flared up, barely 
 missing the enemy plane as they did so. 
 Fritz, who had paralyzed everybody with his 
 daring surprise and who had gained the ad- 
 miration of not a few of us, roared away in 
 his powerful machine to safety. His escape 
 was the subject of a lot of subsequent argu- 
 ment in the battery. Some of the debaters, 
 on the theory that he was "a good sport and 
 took a big gamble" argued that he deserved 
 "to get away with it." They were assailed 
 as pro-German by their honorable opponents. 
 
 113 
 
COOTIES PARADISE. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 I UR- hopes of an all-winter sojourn at 
 
 Creue were cut short November 3rd. 
 
 ^^ With our packs again on our backs we 
 marched over the hill to another German 
 camp in the MONTAGNE FOREST. Wad- 
 ing under the trees through deep mud which 
 neither sun nor wind had the access to dry, 
 we found a miserable group of buildings con- 
 structed of tar-paper over chicken-wire. The 
 "walls" and "roofs" were rotted by constant 
 dampness and hung in loose patches on their 
 wire framework. Littered everywhere were 
 piles of decaying refuse that tainted the air 
 within and around the buildings. Here Ger- 
 man and Allied cooties met, fraternized and 
 called a truce, resulting in an improved spe- 
 cies that combined Teuton method and Yankee 
 resource, and that were to fill with misgivings 
 until the last moment our pre-embarkation 
 days. Spending one night in these surround- 
 ings, during which it rained, we moved out 
 114 
 
THIRD POSITIONS. 
 
 in the morning to improved quarters that the 
 Captain had secured for us. 
 
 The firing battery experienced none of 
 the delights of this night in "Cooties' Para- 
 dise." From Creue they proceeded direct 
 to new positions between ST. MAURICE and 
 BILLY-SUR-COTE. Here, still in the 
 TROYON SECTOR, we supported the 33rd 
 Division, under General Kilbreth, and were 
 attached to the 55th Brigade of Field Artil- 
 lery. Our positions, in BOIS-LE-HAYE and 
 again amidst German surroundings, were 
 comfortable and well hidden, near the edge 
 of the Plains of Woel. 
 
 The eschelon had located itself in the 
 "Camp of a Thousand Steps", for which the 
 Germans once more must be thanked. The 
 site received its name from a long, steep 
 flight of log steps which lifted us above the 
 mud of the valley to dry huts ranged over the 
 hillside. In reality there were 180 steps, but 
 the place was christened by a detail that as- 
 cended the flight with a dozen cast-iron stoves 
 of German durability. 
 
 We had hardly toasted our shins around 
 the German stoves however, when the order 
 115 
 
ON TO METZ. 
 
 came to move again. At 5:30 A. M. of 
 November 9th the Battery started a 16-mile 
 hike toward Metz. Our route took us through 
 Heudicourt, Pannes and Essay to the 
 THIAUCOURT SECTOR. At Heudicourt 
 the early morning f ullfilled its threat of rain. 
 Hot sweat and cold water met halfway in 
 our clothes, and the New York Hebrew who 
 sold our raincoats to the Government came 
 in for his usual promises of death in fiendish 
 forms too horrible to describe. 
 
 The march began to wear on us like the 
 one of our first days in France. Once through 
 Pannes, the roads became hidden under slate- 
 colored mud into which we sank to depths 
 that constantly varied and kept us guessing. 
 What was once a good highway was cut to 
 pieces by an enormous traffic of artillery that 
 steadily had been rolling in for the ''big do- 
 ings" against the German stronghold. Great 
 naval guns, camouflaged along the road, let 
 go and recoiled smoothly as lomocotive pist- 
 ons while we passed. The crews told us of 
 vast artillery concentrations that had been 
 going on for days. "It'll make Chateau 
 Thierry, the Argonne and St. Mihiel all 
 116 
 
CHEERFUL PROSPECTS. 
 
 thrown in together look like a Sunday school 
 picnic back home," they promised. The state- 
 ment recalled some words that a very cur- 
 rent story ascribed to General Pershing while 
 we were at De Souge. Upon being asked by 
 a prominent United States official if the 
 Americans could take Metz, he is said to have 
 replied: "Yes, we can take Metz. But it 
 will cost 1,000 American lives an hour for 72 
 hours." 
 
 At 6:00 o'clock we fell out to spend the 
 night in a small, dripping valley covered with 
 churned mud. Selecting the cleanest spot, 
 we stretched a picket line for our spattered 
 horses and adjusted their scanty feed-bags. 
 Some of us, in the absence of a place to lie 
 down, sat up all night. Some spread their 
 blankets anywhere in the wet and slept. A 
 lucky few who had the stamina left located 
 dugouts. Shortly after dark the light "Pop!" 
 of exploding gas shells was heard, and an 
 alarm was given. In the morning, after mess, 
 we were paid. The idea of a pocketful of 
 francs in that devastated territory and on 
 the eve of a drive on Metz started a volley of 
 117 
 
"LA GUERRE FINI S." 
 
 light banter that helped to digest our break- 
 fast beans.. 
 
 At 9:00 the eschelon moved a mile to a 
 group of mouldy dugouts, — a vast improve- 
 ment both in comfort and safety over the 
 muddy valley. The guns pulled into posi- 
 tions at EUVEZIN, in support of the 55th 
 Infantry, 10th Division. The renowned 
 "11 :00 o'clock of the 11th" found us all set 
 in camouflaged positions under a covering 
 crest, throwing our last shots into the Ger- 
 mans, and ready to advance across a great 
 open plain in the Big Push we expected to 
 the last minute. 
 
 The Armistice was not a total surprise 
 to us. We had heard for a week persistent 
 rumors of a cessation of hostilities. For a 
 month, while we kept on fighting, our French 
 Allies had made "La Guerre finis!" a phrase 
 common to our ears. On the morning of the 
 11th it became known all along the line that 
 11:00 o'clock would be the deciding hour. 
 Beginning at 10 :00 o'clock, a violent barrage 
 was poured into Metz and its environs by the 
 118 
 
DOUBTS— REASSURANCES. 
 
 artillery hidden all around us. The din, ever 
 increasing in volume, climbed to its zenith at 
 10:50, held the climax for five minutes, and 
 suddenly dropped to a silence that vv^as un- 
 canny by abrupt contrast — like a lonely can- 
 yon after a violent electrical storm. We stood 
 puzzled, awaiting another burst of commo- 
 tion, afraid to hope. Only a few random 
 shots from scattered points caught our ears. 
 They, too, died away. Was it possible that 
 all the gigantic momentum of the greatest 
 American drive — perhaps one of the greatest 
 Allied drives — which we had seen generating 
 for days, — was it possible that this had stop- 
 ped dead still within a space of five minutes ? 
 Were the Germans "slipping something 
 over?" A hundred doubts passed through 
 our minds. Then a German plane flew low 
 along the battle line. It carried a great white 
 flag. No one fired at it. We heard cheers, 
 first faint and far away ; but they soon leapt 
 from clump to clump like wild-fire in our 
 direction. The spirit was irresistible. We 
 cheered and the contagion spread beyond us. 
 Every grove, every cluster of bushes, every 
 hollow became alive with exultant shouts 
 
 119 
 
JUBILATION. 
 
 and cries. "The war's over!" — "The Ger- 
 mans are licked !" — "To hell with the Kaiser 
 and the Crown Prince!" — "We won!" — 
 "Hurrah, we're going home !" From the in- 
 fantry lines rockets and star-shells shot up- 
 ward in celebration. The doughboys, for- 
 getting orders, went over the top without 
 a casualty, crossed No Man's Land to the 
 Teuton lines, and began appropriating Iron 
 Crosses, helmets, insignia, and bayonets from 
 the persons of the enemy. The war was in- 
 deed over, and we were jubilant. There 
 wasn't a man among us who hadn't gotten 
 "all he wanted" during 32 days of actual 
 combat service. Yet there wasn't a man 
 among us who would not have fought on in- 
 definitely for final victory. But the war was 
 won, and now When Were We Going Home ? 
 For reply we took our choice of a hundred 
 new-born rumors. 
 
 120 
 
"THE BATTLE OF COMBIEN." 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 v»^|E lost no time in shaking the mud of 
 jX|| Metz from our heels. The 12th found 
 ^0^ us back in Creue far the second time. 
 Some outfit had beat us to our former camp 
 in the valley, and we were assigned to a large 
 room of "double-deckers" in the town proper. 
 The following night, conjointly with the 
 103rd Sanitary Train of the 28th Division, 
 we held a bonfire celebration of the Allied 
 victory. 
 
 We also began the "Great Battle of Com- 
 bien." Overly optimistic concerning our 
 home-going, we bickered and haggled with 
 French civilians, soldiers and comrades for 
 souvenirs to take to America. Cigarette 
 lighters, belt buckles, helmets, pistols, but- 
 tons, Iron Crosses and German coins com- 
 manded wild prices and had no end of buy- 
 ers. The Battery Shylocks got rich and re- 
 mained so if they stayed away from the "A" 
 Monte Carlo that here saw flourishing days. 
 121 
 
BERLIN OR BREST? 
 
 On the 17th of the month we moved to bet- 
 ter quarters at the other end of town, which 
 we worked late into the night improving. 
 But some of us had not rolled up in our blan- 
 kets for the night's sleep when the order came 
 to pack up for the second time in twelve 
 hours. Comfortable as our new home prom- 
 ised to be, we gladly responded, while rumors 
 as to our destination put us anywhere be- 
 tween Berlin and Brest. One "Rumor 
 Hound" had us across the ocean eating 
 Christmas dinner with the folks. He had 
 "gotten it" straight from a second lieutenant 
 who had once been engaged to the cousin of 
 a lady whose maid had seen General Persh- 
 ing's car pass. The automobile was in- 
 scribed "U. S. War Department." So it cer- 
 tainly was a War Department car, and the 
 War Department ought to know who was 
 going home and who was not ! 
 
 The next day, whatever our destination, 
 we jammed into Nash "Quads" and jour- 
 neyed through the wrecked environs of St. 
 Mihiel. The effects of the American artil- 
 lery fire on the shattered towns in No Man's 
 Land showed us why the Germans had 
 122 
 
CAMP GIBRALTAR. 
 
 deemed "St. Mihiel no longer essential to 
 their plans." En route we passed a darky 
 road gang at its labors. 
 
 "Hello, ahtill'ry boys, where's you-all 
 goin'?" inquired one of the duskies, leaning 
 on his pick. 
 
 "We're going to the U. S. A. toute suite, 
 black boy," came the response from a truck. 
 
 "Das jes' it — das jes' it!" retorted the 
 darky, shaking his head gravely. "You-all 
 am de fellows dat busted up dese heah roads 
 with youah ahtill'ry, an' now us colo'd sold- 
 jahs is de ones dats got t' stay and fix 'em 
 up!" 
 
 It soon developed, however, that our col- 
 ored comrade had no immediate cause for 
 melancholy comparisons of fortune. At the 
 end of twenty-five miles our trucks rolled 
 through the forlorn little town of THIL- 
 LOMBOIS, struggled half-way up a muddy 
 hill, ground hard at their heavy gears, and 
 jerked to a stop. We alighted at CAMP 
 GIBRALTAR. To account for that name we 
 have never been able, unless it was given by 
 some grim humorist. But we have never 
 
 123 
 
MUD AND GLOOM. 
 
 doubted that the joke was on us for more 
 than the next three weeks. 
 
 There was much about "Gibraltar" that 
 made the long days there the most dismal of 
 our army life. The camp itself was a muddle 
 of tattered tar-paper chicken coops scattered 
 in no particular fashion over a layer of mud 
 that never dried. Moreover, it was located 
 on the crest of a long hill, so that we had 
 to go through all the mud at all times to get 
 to all places. We drilled in mud, policed in 
 mud, ate — standing — in mud, stood forma- 
 tions in mud. We carried mud in great lumps 
 on our shoes to the earthen floors of our 
 huts. From the floors it spread somehow to 
 the blankets on our bunks and to everything 
 we possessed. We lived in mud, and a daily 
 November rain that seemed never to drain 
 off the hillside kept it soft, clinging, oozy — 
 at times, almost maddening. 
 
 Grimy from these surroundings and 
 our work before the armistice we waited 
 in line for alleged showers that would 
 give us our first bath for many weeks. 
 Alas, our turn arrived, we were simply 
 re-christened! They were "frog" showers! 
 
 124 
 
HOMESICKNESS. 
 
 To the discomforts of our environment 
 was added a scarcity of food such as 
 we had rarely experienced even during our 
 month of fighting, and the more aggravating 
 in days of peace. At a time when we most 
 longed for home, now that "our job was 
 done," persistent and depressing rumors 
 came of our being in the army of occupation. 
 We discussed them at night around our fires 
 of stolen wood while our shins roasted, our 
 wet shoes steamed and our backs froze. 
 Homesickness which we never had the time 
 to feel during our training and combat days 
 now began to becloud our spirits. When the 
 scant embers bleached to ashes in our make- 
 shift grates, we rolled into our blankets and 
 dreamed the minutest details of a home-com- 
 ing which every hour threatened to thrust 
 further towards a vague future. Awakening 
 in the cold night from such transitory joys, 
 we heard the domestic brawls of huge rodents 
 under our bunks, where our heavy shoes were 
 overturned in the squealing melee. On such 
 occasions we strove to be tolerant: rats and 
 men will fight. But when victorious wife 
 and vanquished spouse started a marathon 
 
 125 
 
SALVAGING. 
 
 up the chicken-wire sides of our shacks and 
 leapt a gap onto our blankets, it was too 
 much. We arose, yelled for the gang, lit a 
 besmeared candle and started a midnight 
 rat hunt. But the exits were innumerable 
 and the chase yielded nought save livid 
 language and an almost instantaneous re- 
 turn of our cantankerous visitors. 
 
 The day following our arrival at "Gibral- 
 tar" our officers had planned a schedule 
 designed to keep us from the dangers of 
 idleness. For a week we salvaged the 
 camp and its environs, accumulating large 
 piles of French and American war equip- 
 ment that had been scattered through- 
 cut the woods and along the roads. 
 November 21st, in a grove of saplings in 
 which it had "come down" without serious 
 mishap, an "A" man discovered a great twin- 
 motor Boche bombing plane. Near the ma- 
 chine were two pairs of heavy aviator's 
 boots, evidently abandoned by the Teuton oc- 
 cupants for a hasty escape. Battery A re- 
 ceived first choice of souvenirs, including a 
 machine-gun, the black-cross insignia, and 
 126 
 
SECOND CHILDHOOD. 
 
 two watches. Papers found in the machine 
 were dated March, 1918. 
 
 Following the week of policing, our army 
 life degenerated into a dreary second child- 
 hood. We reverted to the detested foot- 
 drill of our most verdant rookie days — 
 all executed on muddy grades that were 
 either up or down. During our training 
 days we had tolerated such drill: it led 
 to a goal of fighting efficiency. But now 
 fighting was over. There was no longer "an 
 object." When would it all end? Thanks- 
 giving came and went. The cold days of 
 December drizzles began to drag toward 
 Christmas. When were we going to "get 
 out of there" ? Were we going to Germany ? 
 Were we going home? Rumors that alter- 
 nately raised our hopes and cast us into gloom 
 were the only answers. No one knew — too 
 many thought they knew. 
 
 127 
 
INTO CANAAN. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 IT last, December 12th, 10:00 A. M., 
 
 we slipped down the wet sides of 
 
 ^^ "Gibraltar" with our packs on our 
 backs. Marching five miles through a steady 
 down-pour, we came to PIERREFITTE. 
 Pierrefitte, a town of perhaps two thousand 
 war-poor souls, looked like the Promised 
 Land to us, the weary pilgrims of Thillom- 
 bois. It boasted a narrow gauge railway, 
 a notion store on the main street, three 
 cafes, two town pumps, a lady barber, 
 and a town major. The latter dignitary 
 assigned us to clean barn lofts that were 
 dry and weatherproof. He also provided 
 us with fresh straw and newly-washed 
 ticks, which we spread out on bunks or crude 
 wooden cots. Later we even enjoyed the 
 luxury of stoves. Occasionally the electric 
 lights of the town would function, furnish- 
 ing us with a meager glow from toy bulbs 
 that warmed our hearts. Back on the fron- 
 128 
 
BETTER DAYS. 
 
 tier of civilization again, we grew vain and 
 lined up for the ministrations of the feminine 
 hair-artist, whose prices were far better 
 than her razors and technique. Then we 
 made the rounds of the cafes, smothering 
 them all under a pile of accumulated francs. 
 "The crazy Americans," thought the soon 
 plutocratic publicans, "they spend money 
 just hke they fight!" But what were francs 
 to us ? It was only frog money, and we were 
 out of "Gibraltar"! 
 
 Simultaneously with our quarters, our 
 army life improved. From our kitchen be- 
 gan to emanate a vastly improved quantity 
 and variety of food. The lean days of Thil- 
 lombois were gone forever, and the army 
 garbage pail — always the barometer of 
 plenty — began to fill again. Around the 
 corner we bathed under American showers 
 that gave us what the name promised. 
 Clothing, desperately in need of washing, 
 was entrusted to housewives of the village 
 who paddled it clean in three or four wash- 
 ings for a reasonable fee. The old foot-drill 
 was supplanted by long hikes at route order 
 and dismounted gun-drill. (We had turned 
 129 
 
NEW DIVERSIONS. 
 
 in our horses a month before.) Furloughs 
 were allotted, providing a full week at fam- 
 ous French summer resorts. Here the Yanks 
 were the guests at the finest hotels and were 
 lavishly entertained at the expense of the 
 United States Government and the Y. M. C. 
 A. A regimental reading-room and library, 
 comfortably heated and liberally provided 
 with fiction, was established. In a large 
 barn a stage was erected to accommodate A. 
 E. F. and Y. M. C. A. entertainments which 
 began to travel their circuits at this time. 
 It was everywhere evident that Uncle Sam, 
 in spite of our doubts at "Gibraltar," had 
 not forgotten us. Relieved of his gigantic 
 tasks of fighting, he was working hard and 
 successfully to entertain his boys during 
 demobilization. And he was doing it as 
 only the wealthiest nation on earth could 
 afford to do it. 
 
 Thillombois was the lowest rung of our 
 peace-time ladder. Our three weeks there 
 were weeks of readjustment and of tran- 
 sition from war to peace. Starting there, 
 we slowly climbed to better quarters, bet- 
 ter food, and better diversion with rarely 
 130 
 
"HOMEWARD BOUND." 
 
 a downward step. In the meantime we had 
 sighted a new object on which to concen- 
 trate our thoughts during disagreeable tasks. 
 That object was "going home." 
 
 January of the new year became a month 
 of joyous significance. It proved once and 
 for all that we were not scheduled for the 
 army of occupation, and that we were in 
 the first slow stages of the process of being 
 "Homeward Bound." On the 23rd we re- 
 turned to the U. S. Quartermaster our ord- 
 nance, engineering and signal property. The 
 next day, without a tear, we said farewell to 
 Go Betsy, Yip-Yip, Hollenden Bar, and 
 Molly — our quartet of 75's — to be melted 
 into the ploughshares of peace for all we 
 cared. 
 
 February 4th, starting at 7:30 A. M., 
 we hiked eleven miles to a rail-head at 
 BANNONCOURT, entraining in the after- 
 noon. Plenteous Peace had upholstered with 
 straw the floors of our box-cars. For a day 
 and a half we passed through towns that we 
 had seen before on our ride to the front. 
 Then we struck out due west toward the At- 
 lantic through a beautiful section of France 
 131 
 
"ALL OFF!" 
 
 that had never been blemished by the march 
 of restless armies. At 2 :00 P. M. February 
 7th, we stopped sixty miles north-east of St. 
 Nazaire, at SEGRE. 
 
 132 
 
"WELCOME, AMERICANS!" 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 I N the Segre depot, one of the town 
 
 patriarchs, georgeous in the brass 
 
 ^^ trappings of a conductor's uniform 
 with a Napoleonic hat, and supported by 
 a dozen of the community's most venerable 
 political pillars, made a speech of welcome 
 and handed us the Key to the City. Our 
 detraining was typical of the reception ac- 
 corded us throughout the town. March- 
 ing to our billets, the first Yankee sol- 
 diers to be seen in Segre, we passed under 
 "Welcome" signs and clusters of Franco- 
 American flags, while the citizens marked 
 our entry as an occasion of historic import- 
 ance in the annals of the town. This wel- 
 come, so different from that accorded in war- 
 weary sections, we were quick to appreciate 
 and to preserve. The result was the forma- 
 tion of many personal friendships that will 
 remain cordial when much else of our days 
 in France is forgotten. The people of Segre, 
 133 
 
S E G R E. 
 
 clean, thrifty, hospitable, honest, and fully 
 aware of America's great part in the war, re- 
 moved any "bitter tastes" with which we 
 might have left the shores of France. 
 
 Segre itself is representative of its good 
 citizenship. A city of perhaps 15,000, it has 
 broad, sanitary streets, modern buildings, 
 good hotels, cafes and restaurants, well- 
 stocked shops of all sorts, ancient landmarks, 
 and beautiful trees, bridges, and gardens. It 
 is by far the prettiest French town we had 
 seen, and, after months of living in devas- 
 tated war regions, this quality of beauty ap- 
 pealed to us with singular force. 
 
 Equally rare during our previous months 
 in France was the presence of stores where we 
 might spend our money. Accordingly. Segre 
 merchants enjoyed an era of prosperity such 
 as they had probably never seen before and 
 which they did not abuse by raising their 
 prices. As "rich Americans" we had been 
 accustomed to paying too much ; the one-price 
 system was a pleasing novelty. In the jewel- 
 ry, notions, and dry-goods shops, therefore, 
 we bought souvenirs to take or send home. 
 To the patisseries we paid a fortune for small 
 134 
 
HOME COMFORTS. 
 
 imitations of the pie, cream-puffs and eclairs 
 of our American days. In the meat shops, 
 groceries and bakeries we purchased, at war- 
 time prices, all the dainties for which we had 
 longed the past months. 
 
 We had not been long in Segre when the 
 people opened their homes to us. Half the 
 Battery was soon enjoying, at very reason- 
 able rates, the luxury of a French bed, wash- 
 stand and clean towel. Around the tables 
 of our hosts we ate our first home-cooked 
 meals. Before their open hearths, still scan- 
 tily fed with fuel, we gesticulated and stam- 
 mered with sympathetic assistance through 
 the French language and had an insight into 
 French domestic life. 
 
 French mademoisellesl Ah, yes, we saw 
 them, too! But where, oh where, were the 
 ravishing home-wreckers of whom we read 
 in American fiction and of whom our Amer- 
 ican sweethearts were — shall we say it out 
 loud? — afraid? Perhaps in Bordeaux, per- 
 haps in Paris, but not in Segre. Further- 
 more, if it still be of interest to our Amer- 
 ican sisters, those of us who saw Bordeaux 
 and saw Paris, do hereby solemnly aver and 
 135 
 
HAPPY BOREDOM. 
 
 testify, with all due respect to foreign beauty, 
 that girl for girl there is no beauteous host 
 in France, and we dare say in the world, 
 that can vanquish our own Glorious Army of 
 American Womanhood. If there be any in 
 France or Europe who take exception to this 
 opinion, let them visit America; if there be 
 any in America, let them visit France and 
 Europe. We have been in both places. We 
 saw. (All right, ladies— throw the bouquets 
 now.) 
 
 Our military efforts in Segre were all bent 
 towards the new object we had acquired after 
 the war was won. As mentioned before, it 
 was to be "Homeward Bound." Had it not 
 been for so coveted a goal, the routine of 
 those days would have been an insufferable 
 bore. As it was, we went through the purga- 
 torial fires of our pre-embarkation days with 
 the resolution and solemn joy of saints. 
 Whether it was true or not, we were informed 
 that the date of our embarkation was based 
 upon competition. It was put to us that in 
 all matters of discipline, quartermaster in- 
 
 136 
 
"COMPETING." 
 
 spections, and sanitation we were competing 
 with other divisions to get home. 
 
 The results were astounding. We re- 
 verted gladly to our rookie practice of the 
 proper way to salute. No lurking "inspec- 
 tor" would find us lacking in the ways of 
 military courtesy! We guarded with infin- 
 ite care every article of equipment, dow^n to 
 the last shoe-string, that each man must 
 needs possess for a dozen battery, regimental, 
 brigade, division and area inspections. We 
 rehearsed forwards and backwards an un- 
 flinching statement of when we had oiir last 
 bath, sir, when we washed our shirts last, 
 sir — date, day, hour, place — all in anticipa- 
 tion of sudden questions by strange officers. 
 Whether we had bathed and washed as spe- 
 cified was not half so important to our "ob- 
 ject" as a direct, convincing statement to 
 that eff'ect. If a comrade, imbibing too much 
 of triple sec or cognac, laid plans to tie the 
 main street of town into a knot, we spirited 
 him away in the name of order and discipline. 
 
 Last and foremost, for three solid weeks 
 we battled tooth and nail with cooties. We 
 were lectured on cooties, we were shown cap- 
 137 
 
TERRIBLE DAYS. 
 
 tive cooties, dead and alive, we were inspec- 
 ted informally for cooties, we "read our 
 shirts" twice a day for cooties, we pressed 
 our clothes to burn cooties, we washed our 
 clothes to drown cooties, we steamed our 
 clothes into unrecognizable shreds to scald 
 cooties. At night we dreamed about cooties, 
 awakening to "feel them" crawling in hosts 
 triumphant over our bodies — investigating 
 with palpitating hearts to find none. One 
 tiny cootie found at the official inspection 
 would "stop a man from going home with 
 the unit". Six would block the whole bat- 
 tery. So that the other fellow's cooties be- 
 came a matter of battery interest. He who 
 had cooties and labored not, night and day, 
 to be rid thereof, became the lowest of the 
 low. It was not a disgrace to have 'em — even 
 majors and colonels did sometimes — but it 
 was a crime dastardly and unpardonable to 
 keep 'em. 
 
 So after weeks of warfare against tiny 
 foes that the power of suggestion had made 
 multitudinous upon us, the great Day of De- 
 cision came. Were we, or were we not "go- 
 ing home with the unit" ? Our regiment had 
 138 
 
THE DAY OF DECISION. 
 
 received a grade of 100% for equipment in- 
 spections. What about cooties? March 3rd 
 that mighty potentate, the Area Cootie 
 Lieutenant hove into Segre. "A" was sum- 
 moned. We stripped to the waist with dire 
 forebodings. In turns we crossed the room 
 to The Mighty One. He seized us, bored us 
 with his eyes, whirled us around, bored us 
 again, and dismissed us with a grunt of ap- 
 proval and a farewell shove — all in a half 
 second of time. 
 
 Easy stuff? Was someone "getting by" 
 with cooties? Suddenly the Ogre shot his 
 vulture glance clear across the room at a 
 shivering wretch. "Hey, you," he yelled, 
 "you with the hair on your chest — come 
 here ! Youve got 'em — saw 'em clean across 
 the room." The accursed one shuffled over 
 the floor in limp obedience. "Sergeant," 
 commanded the Condemner in damning 
 words, "take this man's name and outfit." 
 Yet another victim came through the "A" 
 line. The inspection showed that two of 
 our men — oh, must we confess it? — were 
 guilty of having cooties. But "A" passed 
 as a battery ! In the cafes that night we cele- 
 139 
 
VICTORIOUS— COOTIELESS. 
 
 brated the glorious outcome of the Battle of 
 Segre. Then, hieing to our beds, we slept, for 
 the first time in weeks, the sleep of the vic- 
 torious — the just — the cootieless. 
 
 140 
 
SEGRE FAREWELLS. 
 
 a 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 FITTING reward for our trials at 
 Segre was our departure on the 6th 
 ^^y of March for Brest. We were bound 
 for Brest at last ! Brest, that magic word of 
 hopes and fears — the light m the gloom — 
 the symbol of duty done — the payment in full 
 — the goal of the A. E. F. 
 
 We marched out of Segre at 9 :00 A. M, 
 The town was out to bid us adieu. It came 
 with flowers, with warm handshakes, with 
 convulsive farewells and embraces that only 
 the French can give. Not a few of us, while 
 in ranks, received the orthodox kiss on each 
 cheek from motherly dames who had given us 
 our first taste of faraway home. We left 
 with genuine regrets — proud of the record 
 of conduct and friendship we had made, and 
 jealous lest it be spoiled by some succeeding 
 regiment. 
 
 We did not entrain at Segre, but marched 
 fifteen miles to CHATEAU GONTIER, 
 141 
 
BREST AT LAST. 
 
 where the entire brigade was assembling. 
 "Quads" carried our packs. At 7:30 P. M. 
 we rolled out in American box-cars that had 
 round wheels and were maneuvered by a 
 Yankee engineer. There were fifty-five of 
 us to a car, but we did not lament. A time 
 there was, at melancholy Thillombois, when 
 we vowed we would march full-pack to the 
 sea and sail the briny deep in a canal boat to 
 get home. 
 
 We arrived at BREST shortly after 
 noon, March 7th, the highly expectant vic- 
 tims of the old fable of "Going direct 
 from the train to the transport." Instead, 
 we piled out into the eternal rain. Putting 
 on our packs, we did a hard four-mile march 
 up hill to CAMP PONTANEZEN. To our 
 last day in France the Fates have assigned 
 us to camps on hills. 
 
 We had always heard dire tales of Brest 
 as an embarkation point. But, whether these 
 stories were based on former conditions since 
 rectified, or whether they were greatly exag- 
 gerated by a peculiar tendency of all soldiers 
 to "crab", we were pleasantly surprised with 
 Camp Pontanezen. We were sheltered in the 
 142 
 
"DIVISIONAL COMPETITION." 
 
 pyramidal tents of our Sheridan days, with 
 wooden floors, stoves, iron cots, and cork- 
 filled ticks. No tent was crowded. The re- 
 nowned mud of the place was combatted by 
 board-walks that it was rarely necessary to 
 leave. The feeding system was by far the 
 best we had encountered anywhere in France. 
 Under one great roof a long series of tables 
 was divided by rails into sections resembling 
 a Chicago stockyard. There was no waiting 
 in line. The batteries formed up, marched 
 to the big hall, filed through one of the twen- 
 ty doors where wholesome food was slapped 
 into the mess-kits, followed the railings, ate 
 standing at tables, followed the railings again 
 to steaming caldrons of soapy water and 
 washed their mess-kits — all in fifteen min- 
 utes. Signs at the exits offered "Seconds" 
 and even "Thirds." The whole scheme was 
 foolproof. It would have worked just as well 
 with cattle. 
 
 At Brest we again entered a "divisional 
 competition" — either imagined or real — but 
 with the same remarkable results. We were 
 warned by our officers to utter no word 
 against Brest, lest sensitive ears comman- 
 
 143 
 
FLIP-FLOPS AND HANDSPRINGS. 
 
 deered the speaker's services indefinitely for 
 the improvements he thus admitted possible. 
 A wild story, to which we gave willing 
 credence, was circulated about the Marine 
 M. P.'s of the place. Any stranded "Soldier of 
 the Sea" who could arrest fourteen men was 
 rewarded with instantaneous passage home 
 and an honorable discharge. Whistling in 
 mess line, an unbuttoned pocket, puttees rol- 
 led down instead of up, and an appearance of 
 being happy at going home in the presence 
 of less fortunate souls, were "sufficient cause 
 for arrest." We therefore praised Brest, 
 loved the beautiful rain and all France, and 
 stood formations with faces that would have 
 graced the edge of a filling grave. 
 
 Sunday, the 9th, the entire regiment 
 emerged unscathed from a final cootie and 
 physical inspection. Among the number 
 were the two "A" men who in Segre "were 
 not going home with the unit." Returning 
 to our tents in somber procession, we were 
 activated to handsprings and flip-flops, sub 
 rosa, by a rumor of sailing the following 
 Wednesday. But outside our tents were we 
 
 144 
 
TO THE DOCKS. 
 
 glad to leave Brest and fair France so soon ? 
 Ah no, ah no! 
 
 Monday the regimental flag was formally 
 decorated by the French with three streamers 
 bearing the names of our three sectors. At 
 4 :00 o'clock the Captain informed us, in 
 secret convention assembled, that we were 
 to sail Wednesday on the U. S. Battleship 
 New Hampshire, and we exchanged our 
 French francs for the "real money of the 
 U. S. A." But mess-time brought us still 
 better news. We were to sail Tuesday on the 
 Battleship Vey-mont. 
 
 The Vermont on Tuesday it was. On our 
 march to the water-front we passed several 
 hundred German prisoners, a coincidence 
 that impressed us deeply. For an hour and 
 a half we waited in the immaculate Amer- 
 ican dock-building, munching sweets that 
 the American Red Cross and the Y. M. C. 
 A. distributed in hand-knitted sox. Then, 
 filing past the small window of an embarka- 
 tion officer who verified our passenger list, 
 we boarded the tug Jenette. 
 
 On the bosom of Jenette we pufl'ed into 
 deeper water to the most beautiful sight in 
 145 
 
FAREWELL, FRANCE. 
 
 the world, the ship that was to take us home. 
 Headquarters company Batteries A, B, C of 
 the 135th, Batteries E and F of the 136th, 
 and a Camp Dix Detachment packed aboard 
 the Vermont. At 8:00 o'clock Wednesdaj^ 
 morning, March 12th, our boat and her 
 sister-ship, the Connecticut, pulled anchor. 
 Three minutes later the ocean waters began 
 to roll in snowy curls along the gray steel 
 prows. We stood along the chain railings, 
 our faces turned toward the vanishing shore. 
 France was fast disappearing. 
 
 Farewell, France, courageous sister re- 
 public, with your million dead youths and the 
 flags of victory flying over your shattered 
 homes. Is it only with light hearts and 
 laughter that we see you slowly drop below 
 the ocean's ridge? Your statesmen say you 
 are our debtor. What do we owe you? 
 
 In the mud of your battle-grounds we 
 labored and grew strong of body and of will. 
 In the solitude of miserable shacks on your 
 war-zone hillsides we first made full appraisal 
 of the loved ones whom we yearned to see, and 
 laid the plans, if given a chance, to mend our 
 past indifference. In your dripping dugouts, 
 
 146 
 
Travels of "A" in France 
 
THE "VERMON T." 
 
 the dross of life all fallen away, we pledged 
 ourselves more worthy futures, if futures we 
 were granted. Among privations of your 
 war-time meagerness, we learned to help a 
 comrade and to share. On your streets and 
 in your homes, we formed a homely creed of 
 world brotherhood and tolerance. And from 
 your shores we saw, in distant and clarified 
 prospect, America, more humane, more glor- 
 ious, more beloved than ever before — "God's 
 Country." It is this that is hidden under our 
 blouses in our hearts. We think it as we 
 leave you. We are not always the wild, 
 thoughtless boys that you imagine. The 
 "crazy Yanks" have "feelings" but, unlike 
 you, it is a part of Yankee nature not to show 
 them. * * * :!= * * 
 
 Our life on the Vermont, after the first 
 pale green day, was happy and carefree, re- 
 calling the Hororata only by contrast save 
 in one respect : we were crowded for sleeping- 
 quarters on both boats. Awkward land-lub- 
 bers though we were, always getting in the 
 way and littering the ship with unseamanly 
 stuff, the 700 sailors of the crew "treated us 
 like good sports." Our food was well cooked 
 
 147 
 
LIFE ON THE DEEP. 
 
 and came in good amount, tempting even 
 squeamish stomachs. A ship's canteen, oper- 
 ating during the entire trip, sold us Ward's 
 cakes, chocolate bon bons, cigars and cigar- 
 ettes at cost price. A ship's library supplied 
 us with books that we read on decks clean as 
 kitchen floors. For our entertainment the 
 ship's band played daily concerts. At night, 
 in mid-ocean, under a moon that silvered the 
 ripples of a placid sea. Bill Hart dashed 
 across the plains on the quarterdeck, or 
 some fair queen of hearts made strong men 
 fight, while we bellowed cheers from our 
 perches in the steel masts or on the twelve- 
 inch gun-turrets. When the weather was not 
 so calm, we went below to the recreation 
 room, equipped with games, tables, and a 
 player-piano. Yet the days were long days 
 and, to the American soldier who has fought 
 on foreign soil, ever will be long. 
 
 March 22nd furnished us a little diver- 
 sion in the line of a northwester. Beginning 
 calmly, the day ended in a gale. Those of us 
 who slept on deck were ordered below. 
 Hatches were closed and all watches doubled. 
 By midnight mess-kits were bursting with 
 
 148 
 
A NORTHWESTER. 
 
 a "bang" on floors strewn with sleepers, and 
 suspended hammocks swung like pendulums 
 in perfect unison. We arose in the morning 
 to find the ship rolling heavily and great 
 waves bursting on deck. No one was al- 
 lowed above, but a few venturesome Vikings 
 evaded the guards, as usual. In the steel 
 riggings the wind was moaning dismally, 
 like a tornado tearing through a pine forest. 
 A great blue breaker transparent as glass 
 rose above the ship, broke headlong on the 
 starboard deck, tore loose fifty bushes of 
 crated potatoes that had been lashed there, 
 and poured six inches of salt water through 
 the only open hatchway, while the drenched 
 gang below hollered with glee. It was an 
 experience filled with surprises that we en- 
 joyed, for we had long since acquired our 
 sea-legs and our sea-stomachs. Further- 
 more, those big glass mountains that boomed 
 against the port-holes were "just healthy 
 American waves coming from the nearing 
 shores to say 'Hello'." It had been an- 
 nounced that we would see land the next 
 morning. We were "all set" to walk down 
 the gang-plank. 
 
 149 
 
"WATCHFULWAITl NG." 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 Y-^|ONG before dawn March 24th many 
 AA of us were on deck. The sea was calm 
 ^^M again. A fresh breeze was blowing. 
 The sky was still grey from the storm that 
 had passed. We did not talk. We only gripped 
 queerly at the chain railing, and waited. Far 
 across the water, dim and elusive as a mirage, 
 a white light beamed. We strained forward 
 with eyes and bodies. It vanished. For an- 
 other moment it appeared and faded. The 
 ship sailed on, but our gazes and our hopes 
 did not leave the spot of the prophetic gleam. 
 Suddenly it beamed once more, remaining 
 bright and sending us the first silent message 
 from the shore. It was the lighthouse on the 
 Cape. In the dark under that golden spear- 
 point, we knew was "God's Country." 
 
 At the edge of the horizon behind us day 
 began to creep upward, filling the world with 
 spectral light, and our "star," while our com- 
 rades all came on deck, paled in the greater 
 150 
 
THE REVELATION. 
 
 brightness to invisibility. In its place we 
 saw the tall white column of the lighthouse 
 on Cape Henry. And then, as if Nature her- 
 self had planned the Great Revelation, the 
 landward storm-clouds, like some great cur- 
 tain on a superhuman stage, lifted with slow 
 and ponderous majesty. Below them, glor- 
 iously revealed to us in the first floods of 
 morning light, worthy to die for, more wor- 
 thy to live for, America swelled the hearts of 
 her returning pilgrim sons. 
 
 For a few brief moments we stood there, 
 mute, our throats aching with emotions of a 
 depth and quality we had never known be- 
 fore. They were hardly endurable. Then 
 something "snapped" within us. We began 
 to speak trifling irrelevancies or to comment 
 inanely on some object along the shore. A 
 comrade seated on a gun-turret shouted 
 coarse jokes at those below him without ap- 
 parent provocation. Our band struck up 
 "Homeward Bound." We applauded mechan- 
 ically. A sturdy little tug crowded with 
 Ohioans passed along our port side, turned 
 and caught us, its band playing triumphal 
 airs and its passengers wildly waving flags. 
 151 
 
NEWPORT NEWS. 
 
 We thought we ought to cheer for them. It 
 was only courtesy and appreciation. So we 
 cheered. A great banner bearing the divi- 
 sional insignia was hoisted to the masthead 
 of our ship. We had to acknowledge that, 
 too. It was a clever idea. Tugs and battle- 
 ships at the entrance to The Roads tooted 
 their whistles in welcoming chorus. That 
 was nice of them, and we naturally must 
 show that we thought so. 
 
 At pier No. 5, NEWPORT NEWS, we 
 went over the gangplank to the dock. 
 Three brass bands wanted to play for 
 us. Not agreeing on a sequence, they all 
 played at once. Red Cross nurses gave 
 us souvenirs and sweets. Friends from 
 Cleveland, overjoyed at seeing us, shook our 
 hands. We leaned against our packs, silent, 
 fully aware that "something ought to be 
 done," but helpless to do it. Newport News 
 received us heartily. People cheering and 
 clapping lined the streets as we marched to 
 CAMP STUART. By way of welcome, a 
 somber man of business forgot himself, 
 seized a hatchet lying on the sidewalk and 
 revolved it with a mighty din in a large ash- 
 152 
 
"WHY DON'T YOU SMILE?" 
 
 can. A housewife dressed for a formal party 
 threw open a window, hung far out, and filled 
 the air with beatings on a dish-pan. School 
 children sang choruses and passed us original 
 verses of greeting. We marched under an 
 Arch of Triumph. But all along the way we 
 heard: "Smile boys — why don't you smile? 
 You're home again!" Some of us obeyed, 
 weakly. 
 
 What was the matter at this, our home- 
 coming, the biggest event of our lives? 
 Weren't we glad to get home? Why didn't 
 we do something ? Why didn't we dance and 
 holler and sing? Why didn't we? The rea- 
 son already has been implied: it was the 
 biggest event of our lives. It was too big. 
 
 At CAMP STUART, after we had re- 
 claimed in an hour the year's supply of pie 
 and ice cream due us, we wired home thus: 
 "Dear folks — arrived Newport News 10:00 
 A. M. — please send twenty dollars." The 
 next day all theoretical stowaway cooties who 
 had foiled the S. 0. S. and crossed to America 
 with us were despatched once and for all in 
 153 
 
APRIL FOOL. 
 
 the best plant for the purpose we had seen. 
 We emerged from the process looking like the 
 rookie outfit of an army of hobos. Where 
 were all the handsome heroes of an hour ago ? 
 But on the 28th our mangled uniforms were 
 pressed and those irretrievable were replaced 
 by new issues. A few more "show-down" in- 
 spections brightened the remainder of our 
 time until April 1st, when we made up our 
 rolls and marched to Tourist Sleepers. Were 
 we the victims of the first day in April ? On 
 another track was a row of beautiful red box- 
 cars. 
 
 154 
 
w / 
 
o( Battery "A," 135th Field Artillery. Taken March, 1^19, at Camp Stuart, Newport News, Va. 
 
THE OLD HOME TOWN. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 © 
 
 UT at 12:00 noon we left Newport 
 News in the "sleepers." We glided 
 once more out into the broad and un- 
 confined sweeps of our American country- 
 side. To us, returned from Europe's garden 
 hillsides, the new scenes symbolized the big- 
 ness of life in our United States. Out across 
 the Virginia fields we saw the fresh pink of 
 peach blossoms. It was Springtime in Na- 
 ture — Springtime in our hearts, as we stood, 
 vigorous, victorious, grateful on the threshold 
 of a great re-birth in our own lives. 
 
 At 5 :00 o'clock April 2nd dear old Cleve- 
 land took us back to her heart. She did it 
 first with a deafening chorus of whistles on 
 the same factories that had "helped us 
 through" Over There — with first-page head- 
 lines in the daily papers — with delirious 
 crowds that pulled us from the windows of 
 our coaches before the brakes were set. Then, 
 April 3rd, after the tears of gladness were 
 155 
 
TAPS. 
 
 shed at home, she turned out en masse to see 
 us parade in overseas attire. She barraged 
 us with confetti, with streamers, with flow- 
 ers, with bands — all fired from a camouflage 
 of flags, bunting and welcome signs. She 
 drove us through trenches of joyous faces 
 banked five stories high in the down-town 
 streets. And, finally, we charged through an 
 arbor of roses into Central Armory, where, 
 in the presence of a gallery of friends, our 
 mothers irresistably counter-attacked with 
 spring chicken and ice-cream. 
 
 And that is about all concerning our army 
 days. April 4th and 5th we paraded in To- 
 ledo and Columbus. Then we went to bar- 
 racks at CAMP SHERMAN, there to await 
 the completion of paper-work that would 
 make us, after two years with the Flag, 
 civilians again. April 10th the Captain said 
 goodbye to us. His words were the taps of 
 the rich and adventurous life we had spent 
 together, containing soothing relief from 
 duty well done, but also a note of parting sad- 
 ness. Three hours later, our red chevrons 
 156 
 
ANOTHER WAR. 
 
 on our sleeves above the gold, and our hon- 
 orable discharges in our pockets we were on 
 the train. In the Union Depot at Cleveland 
 we shook the hands of pals welded to our 
 hearts as only the dirt and the sweat and the 
 dangers we had shared could weld them. 
 Then, each choosing his separate path, we 
 vanished into the world to begin the greater 
 battle that only the last long-lingering taps 
 of life will end. 
 
 157 
 
"FAMOUS WORDS AND PHRASES." 
 
 W 
 
 E print hereunder a collection of the "Famous 
 Words and Phrases" coined or used in Bat- 
 tery "A". The list has been the victim of an 
 editorial sterilization which we much would 
 have preferred to leave undone; but the possibility of 
 its being read in "mixed society" has compelled us to 
 omit some of the more "vivid" language. So here 
 they are, hygienic, impersonal, 100% pure, unlocking 
 10,000 miles of laughs and cusses scattered anywhere 
 between Ohio, Alabama, France and back again — 
 the golden keys to the Battery memory-chest. 
 
 I give up. 
 
 Ill bite. 
 
 Razzzberry ! 
 
 I bend this up on you. 
 
 Some day I crucify that Boche. 
 
 Who's a go. 
 
 Going to camp. 
 
 Ride that horse. 
 
 Frog. 
 
 40 Hommes. 
 
 Good Boche. 
 
 De war am finnee. 
 
 But not this load. 
 
 Vas iss. 
 
 Not chet. 
 
 Hear me. 
 
 All we do is sign the pay-roll. 
 
 Submarine chicken. 
 
 Birdseed. 
 
 158 
 
"FAMOUS WORDS AND PHRASES." 
 
 Corned Willy. 
 
 Slum. 
 
 Gold fish. 
 
 Upsetting- exercises. 
 
 Black strap. 
 
 Tripe. 
 
 India Rubber. 
 
 Cement. 
 
 Sand. 
 
 Oleo. 
 
 Red Horse — alias Chevaux Rouge. 
 
 Rest Camp. 
 
 Hororata. 
 
 Quiet front. 
 
 Mess kits in. 
 
 Mess kits out. 
 
 Blankets in. 
 
 Blankets out. 
 
 Details for today. 
 
 With me, begin. 
 
 Bull ring. 
 
 Hold 'er, Newt. 
 
 She's headed for the stables. 
 
 Feet out off stirrups — trrrot. 
 
 Now that we're at the front, we'll turn in our 
 
 pistols. 
 Coffee at the next stop. 
 Make him a corporal. 
 Well — I hardly expected that. 
 Gravel-agitators, fall in. 
 Dismounted polo. 
 He fed, he watered, and he groomed, but he was 
 
 only a cannoneer. 
 Stand to heel. 
 
 Dis is known as de aloit position. 
 Barracks bags and shoes off the floor. 
 
 159 
 
"FAMOUS WORDS AND PHRASES. 
 
 Tent sides up. 
 
 Lights out. 
 
 Comfortable French billets. 
 
 No gas. 
 
 French property rights. 
 
 Join the artillery and ride to war. 
 
 End o' the line. 
 
 Who sold you a ticket? 
 
 Going to Germany. 
 
 Going home. 
 
 So this is Paris. 
 
 Cooks will gladly give you hot water. 
 
 Bathe before going into action. 
 
 Keep off the polo field. 
 
 Iron rations. 
 
 Clothing at port of embarkation. 
 
 Monkey drill. 
 
 At this crucial moment do not fail us. 
 
 Down in the deep dugout. 
 
 S. O. L. 
 
 Don't think the war is over. 
 
 No passes to Paris until that stove is found. 
 
 Cut it out — will yuh? 
 
 Oh sugah! 
 
 Does oo love me, honah? 
 
 What I mean — . 
 
 Give 'em rice. 
 
 You can't kick on that. 
 
 No combien. 
 
 Rise and shine. 
 
 Let's go. 
 
 Squads east — squads west. 
 
 No buhter. 
 
 Finis cognac. 
 
 Gas ! 
 
 Anyone find a white ivory soap-box? 
 
 160 
 
"FAMOUS WORDS AND PHRASES. 
 
 Anyone find a black toilet kit? 
 
 Big and strong and dumb. 
 
 Mawnin' Advetisah. 
 
 Partee toot suite. 
 
 Cease grooming. 
 
 Barrage. 
 
 Fall out and start policing. 
 
 Prepare for inspection. 
 
 Put out that fire. 
 
 Any mail? 
 
 Fall in with picks and shovels. 
 
 Cover-alls and full canteens. 
 
 Is this Venture "A"? 
 
 Gold-bricker. 
 
 Three days kitchen. 
 
 We'll probably get trucks— at least to haul the 
 
 packs. 
 Eighty-one horses coming. 
 You must have it for inspection. 
 In cadence, exercise. 
 Dress up them lines! 
 See the world. 
 
 Good pay and learn a trade. 
 Where do we go from here? 
 See that I'm not disturbed, sergeant. 
 Lead out to water. 
 Aw-w-w-11 down! 
 Where's your playmate? 
 Pas compree. 
 Shoot eleven. 
 
 You will not be permitted to go home with the 
 unit. 
 
 Rrrrr-ee-li-ee-ve the waaatch an' th' looookout. 
 Allez! 
 
 WWVVWWWelllll. here we come, yes by gum, 
 with fife and drum, etc. 
 
 161 
 
"FAMOUS WORDS AND PHRASES." 
 
 It's a foin army, but I don't loik that big feller. 
 
 Individual mounts. 
 
 Oh, my darling Nellie Gray, they have tooken her 
 
 away, etc. 
 Paint it with iodine. 
 Going home Christmas? 
 Beaucoup triple sec. 
 Beaucoup mademoiselle. 
 Beaucoup malade. 
 Zig-zag. 
 Finis. 
 
 162 
 
GENERAL ORDER NO. 37. 
 
 HEADQUARTERS 135TH FIELD ARTILLERY 
 CAMP SHERMAN 
 
 April 9, 1919. 
 General Order) 
 
 No. 37 j 
 
 1. Upon the conclusion of the tour of duty of 
 the Regiment in the service of the United States, the 
 Regimental Commander with a heart full of soldierly 
 pride and gratitude, desires to express to you his 
 deep appreciation of the spirit of cheerful and loyal 
 enthusiasm and earnest co-operation with which you 
 have performed every task which has been given you 
 as soldiers to perform. You have been at all times 
 and in every situation efficient, dependable and untir- 
 ing. You have shirked neither work nor danger. 
 Your achievements have been characterized by a high 
 sense of duty and honor and they have been ac- 
 complished with the utmost credit to yourselves and 
 your State and Country. 
 
 2. You are now ready for citizenship and the 
 tasks of the work-a-day world, and the splendid 
 record you have just completed, renders it certain 
 that in civilian life you will always be found on the 
 side of the right and representative of all that is 
 worth while in local and National affairs, just as 
 during the past two years you have always repres- 
 ented military excellence. 
 
 3. As you depart to your homes I want to wish 
 all of you the greatest possible success and happi- 
 ness throughout the years to come. 
 
 Dudley J. Hard 
 Colonel, Field Artillery 
 Commanding 135th Field Artillery 
 163 
 
The fighting long over and our hopes daily 
 strengthened by the prospects of an early re- 
 turn to America, 1st Lieut. Orville R. Watter- 
 son, since June 14th, 1918, a favorite officer of 
 Battery "A", was suddenly taken ill. January 
 23rd, with penumonia endangering a constitu- 
 tion never overly strong, he was moved from 
 our billets in Pierrefitte to Base Hospital No. 
 91, Commercy, France. There, four days later, 
 he bravely answered "Here!" to the roll-call of 
 his Superior Officer. On the 28th of January 
 we paid him our last feeble homage. We left 
 him sleeping in the humble little graveyard of 
 Pierrefitte. 
 
 The quaint and simple surroundings of his 
 resting place are a fitting expression of the 
 character we had learned to esteem. Soft- voiced, 
 unobtrusive, generous, he was a type that as a 
 private would have made a favorite "buddy"; 
 but these qualities, combined with a keen in- 
 tellect, a thorough grasp of his army work, 
 and an understanding of human nature that 
 never once played him false, made him a still 
 better officer. The thought that we were leav- 
 ing him behind as we marched from Pierrefitte 
 for the homeward journey was our only sorrow. 
 
 164 
 
Lieut. Orville R. Walterson 
 
 165 
 
Carlton W. Pullen 
 
 166 
 
As the first faint lighthouse glow in the 
 darkness told us of America's nearing shores, 
 Private Carlton W. PuUen passed away. Em- 
 barking with us at Brest, happy, expectant, he 
 seemed in vigorous health. A day later he was 
 confined in the ship's sick-bay with what we 
 believed to be only severe sea-sickness. Then 
 they moved him to a landing launch, lashed to 
 the starboard deck, and established a quaran- 
 tine, due to spinal meningitis. 
 
 With three medical corps men in constant at- 
 tendance and frequent visits from the ship's 
 doctor, he fought a losing battle which we 
 watched with the sorrow of soldier comrades 
 for a faithful pal. For a brief time, toward 
 the end of our voyage, perhaps with his hopes 
 set on seeing his Country once more, he rallied. 
 Then a storm broke. He was carefully moved 
 from the weather-side to another launch. An 
 hour later a great roller smashed in the canvas 
 top of the little boat he had left. And at 5:00 
 A. M., March 24th, the sea again peaceful, he 
 quietly left us for a Shore with a brighter 
 light and a grander promise than the one we 
 so expectantly watched over our ship's railing. 
 Quiet, genteel, devoted to duty, a good soldier 
 and a man whose character stood the tests of 
 all the hard days, we knew we had lost a rare 
 comrade. 
 
 167 
 
BATTERY ROSTER. 
 
 (From July 15. 1917 to April 10, 1919.) 
 
 *BOLTON, IBVING C, Captain. 
 10701 East Boulevard, 
 Cleveland, Ohio. 
 
 Commissioned July 11, 1917. 
 
 Assgd. to Btry. A. .luly 16, 
 
 1917. Hon. DiSPh. April 10, 
 1919. 
 
 ♦WILLIAMS, ALLEN, 1st Lieut. 
 1S07 East S7th Street, 
 Cleveland, Ohio. 
 
 Commissioned July 11, 1917. 
 
 Trans, fr. Hq. Co. April 24, 
 
 1918. Hon. Diseh. April 9, 
 1919. 
 
 *WATTERSON, OBYILLE B., 
 1st Lieut. 
 Trans, fr. Hq. Co. June 14, 
 191S. Fr. D. to S. in B. 
 Hosp. No. 91, Commercy, 
 France, Jan. 23, 1919. Died 
 of pneumonia at B. Hosp. 
 No 91, Commercy, France, 
 Jan. 27, 1919- 
 
 •SEIDEL, HENBT B., 2nd Lieut. 
 Bay Shore, Awixa Avenue. 
 Long Island, N. Y. 
 
 Attached as sgt. (fr. Btry. C) 
 Nov 27, 1917. Assgd. as 
 2nd Lieut. Dec. 21, 1917. 
 Hon. Disch. April 10, 1919. 
 
 •SMITH, MALCOLM, 2nd Lieut. 
 
 2160 Scottwood Avenue, 
 
 Toledo, Ohio. 
 
 Attached as sgt. (fr. Btry. B) 
 Nov 27. 1917. Assgd. as 2nd 
 Lieut. Dec. 21, 1917. D. S. 
 to Hq. Co. as Tel. Officer. 
 2nd Bn., Oct. 16, 1918. D. 
 S. to D. -Nov. 22, 1918. 
 Hon. Disch. April 10, 1919. 
 
 FINDLEY, QUAY H., 2nd Lieut. 
 
 7011 Euclid Avenue, 
 
 Cleveland, Ohio. 
 
 Assgd. to Btry. A. July 16, 
 1917. Trans, to Hq. Co. 
 NOV. 16, 1917. 
 
 GARFIELD. JOHN N., 1st Lieut. 
 
 Euclid Avenue, 
 
 Cleveland, Ohio. 
 
 Assgd. to Btry. A as 2nd 
 Lieut. July 15, 1917. Com- 
 missioned 1st Lieut. Dec. 18, 
 1917. Trans, as Capt. to 
 134th F. A. April 23, 191S. 
 
 SPIETH, WILLIAM P., JR., 
 1st Lieut. 
 
 10007 Euclid Avenue, 
 
 Cleveland, Ohio. 
 
 Assgd. to Btry. A July 16, 
 1917. Trans, as Capt. to 
 136th F. A. May 11, 1918. 
 
 MERIAM, ALBERT Y., 
 
 1st Lieut. 
 15661 EucUd Avenue, 
 Cleveland. Ohio. 
 
 Assgd. to Btry. A July 16, 
 
 1917. Trans, to Hq. Co. 
 
 Nov. 16, 1917. 
 
 BROWN, HARVEY H., 1st Lieut. 
 2727 EucUd Avenue, 
 Cleveland, Ohio. 
 
 Trans, fr. Hq. Co. as 1st 
 Lieut. May 11, 1918. Trans, 
 to Hq. Co. May 23, lltlS. 
 
 BOABDMAN, KENNEDY. 
 
 2nd. Lieut. 
 122 East S2nd Street, 
 New York City. 
 
 Attached as 2nd Lieut. Aug. 
 
 6. 1918. Assgd. to Hq. Co. 
 
 Sept. IS, 1918. 
 
 BICKHAM. WILLIAM D. 
 2nd Lieut. 
 Attached to Btry. A fr. O. 
 B. C. Sept. 27, 1917. Drop- 
 ped Jan. 5, 1918. 
 
 •Combat service with Battery "A." 
 
 168 
 
DOYLE, ARTHI-R W., 2iul Lieut. 
 733 Market Street. 
 Akron. O. 
 
 Attached to Btry. A. fr. O. 
 
 R. C. Oct. 25. 191T. Trans. 
 
 to Btry. B as 1st Lieut. Nov. 
 
 10, 1917. 
 
 FULLERTOX, DWIGHT L.. 
 2nd Lieut. 
 
 Attached to Btry. A fr. O. R. 
 C. Sept. 27, 1917. Trans, to 
 112th Trench Mortar Btry. 
 Dec. 4, 1917. 
 
 McCarthy, thomas h. 
 
 Segundo, Colorado. 
 
 Assgd. to Hq. Co. Jan. 25, 
 1919. Attached to Btry. A 
 Jan. 25, 1919. Detached April 
 8, 1919. 
 
 ROBERTS, EDWIN W., 
 2nd Lieut. 
 
 Attached to Btry. A fr. O. K. 
 C. Sept. 20. 1917. Detached 
 
 Sept. 29, 1917. 
 
 *ABEGGLEN. RAYMOND F. 
 703 S. Seneca Street, 
 Alliance, Ohio. 
 
 Enlisted Nov. 20, 1917. Assgd. 
 
 to Btry. A Nov. 21, 1917. 
 
 Appt. Pvt Icl Jan. 17, 1919. 
 
 Hon. Disch. April 10, 1919. 
 
 ADAMS, FRANK D. 
 
 D. S. to 0. T. S. Aug. 25, 
 1917. Hon. Disch. to accept 
 commission Nov. 26, 1917. 
 
 ♦ADRIAN, ARTHUR. 
 
 833 Broad Street, 
 
 Menasha, Wis. 
 Enl. June 4, 1918. Assgd. to 
 Btry. A Oct. 24, 1918. 
 Trans, to Camp Taylor De- 
 tachment Feb. 23, 1919, for 
 Hon .Disch. 
 
 "ALLEN, ALVIN A. 
 
 R. F. D. No. 1. 
 
 Crosby, Pa. 
 
 Enl. May 30, 1918. Assgd. to 
 Btry. A Oct. 24, 1918. Trans, 
 to Camp Upton Detachment 
 Feb. 23, 1919, tor Hon. Disch. 
 
 •ALLEN. EDGAR T. 
 
 818 W. Miami Street, 
 
 Logansport, Ind. 
 Enl. April 27, 1918. Assgd. 
 to Btry. A June 10, 191S. 
 Trans, to Camp Taylor De- 
 tachment Feb. 23, 1919, for 
 Hon. Disch. 
 
 ALLIS, WILLIAM P. 
 
 527 Broadway, 
 
 Bedford. Ohio. 
 
 527 Broadway, Bedford Ohio. 
 Enl. May 5, 1917. D. S. to 
 O. T. C, Leon Springs, 
 Texas. Jan. 7, 1918. D. S. 
 to D. April 18, 1918. Appt. 
 Sgt. fr. Pvt. April 19, 1918. 
 Hon. Disch. to accept com- 
 mission as 2nd Lieut. May 
 9. 1918. 
 
 •ANDERSON, WALTER. 
 
 1914 W. 71st Street, 
 
 Cleveland, Ohio. 
 Enl. Aug. 16, 1917. Appt. Pvt 
 1 cl April 19, 1918. Pvt 1 cl 
 to Corp. Sept. 11, 1918. 
 
 ♦APPLEBEE, TOM W. 
 Plainfield, Wis, 
 
 Enl. June 4, 1918. Assgd. to 
 Btry A Oct. 24, 191». Trans, 
 to Camp Hill Detachment 
 April 1, 1919, for Hon. Disch. 
 
 *ASBECK, EDWARD C. 
 518 E. 118th Street, 
 Cleveland, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. June 2, 1917. Appt. Pvt 
 1 cl Oct. 1, 1917. Hon. Disch. 
 April 10, 1919. 
 
 ATKINS, EARL H. 
 
 12209 Ingomar Avenue, 
 
 Cleveland, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. May 14, 1917. Appt. Pvt 
 1 cl Oct. 1, 1917. Pvt. 1 cl 
 to Corp. April 16, 1918. Trans. 
 to Base. Hosp. June 15, 1918. 
 
 •AUST, FRANTCLIN W. 
 
 7325 Cedar Avenue, 
 
 Cleveland, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. April 17. 1917. Appt. Pvt 
 1 cl Jan. 9. 1918. Hon. 
 
 Disch. April 10, 1919. 
 
 •AYERS, GLENN H. 
 R. F. D. No. 2, 
 Chagrin Falls. Ohio. 
 
 Enl. April 23, 1917. Hon. 
 
 Disch. April 10, 1919. 
 
 *BACHER, JOHN L. 
 
 Enl. April 26, 1918. Assgd. 
 to Btry. A June 10. 1918. 
 Trans, to Field Hosp. No. 
 112. Essey, France, Nov. 9, 
 1918. 
 
 BADGER, JAMES G. 
 Lafontaine. Ihd. 
 
 Enl. April 13, 1917. Appt. 
 Corp. Aug. 3. 1917. D. S. 
 to O. T. S. , Leon Springs, 
 
 169 
 
Texas, Jan. 7, 1918. D. S. 
 to D. April 18, 1918. Corp. 
 to Sgt. April 19, 1918. Hon. 
 Discli. to accept commission 
 as 2ncl Lieut. USNG May 11, 
 1918. 
 
 »BAELE, RENE 
 
 1317 S. Franklin Street, 
 
 South Bend, Ind. 
 
 Enl. April 27, 1918. Assgd. 
 
 . to Biry. A June 10, 1918. 
 Trans, to Camp Taylor De- 
 tachment Feb. 23, 1919, for 
 Hon. Disch. 
 
 *BAESLACK, WILLIAM A. 
 
 1149 E. 71st Street, 
 
 Cleveland, Ohio. 
 Enl. July 6, 1917. Appt. Pvt 
 1 cl May 13, 1918. Hon. 
 Disch. April 10, 1919. 
 
 *BAKEE, JAMES T. 
 Riley, Ind. 
 
 Enl. April 25, 1918. Assgd. 
 to Btry. A June 10, 1918. 
 Trans, to Camp Taylor De- 
 tachment Febr. 23, 1919, for 
 Hon. Disch. 
 
 *BALKE, CLARENCE T. 
 
 K. F. D. No. 4. 
 
 Paducah, Ky. 
 
 Enl. April 29, 1918. Trans, 
 fr. Btry C June 25. 1918. 
 Trans, to Camp Taylor De- 
 tachment Feb. 23, 1919. for 
 Hon. Disch. 
 
 •BANYAS, GEORGE JR. 
 Fontanet, Ind. 
 
 Enl. April 25, 1918. Assgd. 
 to Btry. A June 10, 191S. 
 Trans, to Camp Taylor De- 
 tachment Feb. 23, 1919, for 
 Hon. Disch. 
 
 *BARR, GEORGE R. 
 
 5734 Solway iStreet, 
 Pittsburgh, Pa. 
 
 Enl. April l8, 1917. Appt. 
 
 Corp. Aug. 11. 1917. Corp. 
 
 to Sgt. April 19. 1918. Hon. 
 
 Disch. April 10, 1919. 
 
 *BARRY. CHARLES V. 
 
 2173 E. 81st Street, 
 
 Cleveland, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. July 12. 1917. Appt. Pvt 
 1 cl June 20, 1918. Pvt 1 el 
 to Corp. Sept. 1, 1918. Hon. 
 Disch. April 10, 1919. 
 
 BASTIN, JOHN W. 
 
 Enl. April 17, 1918. Assgd. 
 to Btry. A June 10, 1918. 
 Trans, to Base Hosp., Camp 
 Upton, L. I.. June 27, 1918. 
 
 BATES. BERNARD M. 
 
 Enl. June 1. 1917. Appt. Pvt 
 1 cl Sept. 1. 1917. To Base 
 Hosp.. Camp Sheridan. Ala., 
 Oct. 27, 1917. Hon. Disch. 
 Nov. 17, 1917. 
 
 *BAXJDER, CARL B. 
 
 No. 304 T. M. C. A. Bldg.. 
 
 Toledo, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. April 4, 1917. Appt. Pvt 
 1 cl Feb. 1, 1918. Hon. 
 Disch. April 10, 1919. 
 
 *BAUGH, JACOB E. 
 
 661 N. Water Street, 
 
 Terre Haute, Ind. 
 
 Enl. April 28, 1918. Assgd. 
 to Btry. A June 10, 1918. 
 Trans, to Camp Taylor De- 
 tachment Feb. 23, 1919, for 
 Hon. Disch. 
 
 ♦BAURLE. EDWARD W. 
 
 950 Edward Avenue, 
 
 Louisville, Ky. 
 
 Enl. April 29, 1918. Assgd 
 to Btry. A June 10, 1918. 
 Trans, to Camp Taylor De- 
 tachment Feb. 23, 1919, for 
 Hon. Disch. 
 
 *BEAVER, EDGAR W. 
 
 Box 91, 
 
 Cayuga, Ind. 
 
 Enl. April 28. 1918. Assgd. 
 to Btry. A June 10. 1918. 
 Trans, to Camp Taylor De- 
 tachment Feb. 23. 1919. for 
 Hon. Disch. 
 
 ♦BECKWl'TH, ARTHUR M. 
 
 13 Hope Street. 
 
 New London. Conn. 
 Enl. April 30, 1917. Red. fr. 
 Pvt 1 cl to Pvt Feb, 18. 1919. 
 Trans, to Camp tlpton De- 
 tachment Feb. 23, 1919, for 
 Hon. Disch. 
 
 *BBNEFIBL. EDWARD R. 
 
 1131 McLain Street. 
 
 Indianapolis, Ind. 
 
 Enl. April 26. 1918. Assgd. 
 to Btry. A June 10. 1918. 
 Trans, to Camp Taylor De- 
 tachment Feb. 23, 1919, for 
 Hon. Disch. 
 
 170 
 
BERRY, ELMER W. 
 
 Enl. Oct. 12, 1917. Fr. Ilq. 
 Co. to Btry. A Feb. 18, 1918. 
 Trans, to Art. School, Sau- 
 mur, France. Aug. 29, 1918. 
 Attacheii to Btry. A, pending 
 commission, Dec. 11, 1918. 
 Assgd. to Btry. A as Pvt Feb. 
 18, 1919. To Sorbonne Uni- 
 versity, France, Feb. 28, 1917. 
 
 BESCH, FREDERIC C. 
 3641 Sacltett Avenue, 
 Cleveland, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. April 18, 1917. Appt. 
 
 Pvt 1 cl Sept. I, 1917. Trans. 
 
 as Pvt 1 cl to Hq. Co. Feb. 
 
 5, 1918. 
 
 BLANCHAKD, THEODORE G. 
 
 Trans, to Btry. B. Aug. 27, 
 1917. 
 
 *BODENBENNER. JOSEPH J. 
 
 2020 Garland Avenue, 
 
 Louisville, Ky. 
 
 Enl. April 29, 1918. Assgd. 
 to Btry. A June 10, 1918. 
 Trans, to Camp Taylor De- 
 tachment Feb. 23, 1919, lor 
 Hon. Disch. 
 
 *BOLGER, THOMAS H. 
 1713 Strathmore Avenue, 
 East Cleveland, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. May 28, 1917. Appt. 
 Mech. Aug. 3. 1917. Hon. 
 Disch. April 10, 1919. 
 
 BOLLAM, ALBERT B. 
 
 5709 Wlilte Avenue, 
 
 Cleveland, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. May 29, 1917. Trans, to 
 Camp Hancock, Augusta, Ga. , 
 Jan. 31, 1918. 
 
 •BOSSARD, GUT A. 
 R. P. D. No. 2, 
 Saegertown, Pa. 
 Enl. Aug. 25, 1917. Hon. 
 Disch. April 10, 1919. 
 
 *BOUGHEB, CHESTER M. 
 
 924 Bates Street, 
 
 Logansport, Ind. 
 
 Enl. June 4, 1918. Assgd. to 
 Btry. A Oct. 24, 1918. Trans, 
 to Camp Taylor Detachment 
 Feb. 23, 1919, for Hon. Disch. 
 
 BOWMAN, LEONARD C. 
 
 Care of Phi Gamma Delta Frat. 
 House, Cleveland, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. April 16, 1917. Trans. 
 
 lo Hci. Co. Jan. 20. 1918. 
 
 Trans, fr. Hq. Co. to Btry. A 
 
 March 1, 1918. Trans, to F. 
 A. Replacement Begt. Sept. 
 26, 1918. 
 
 *BOYD, VERNON. 
 
 Painesville. Ohio. 
 
 Enl. April 30. 1917. Appt. 
 Pvt 1 cl April 19. 1918. Hon. 
 Disch. April 10, 1919. 
 
 *BRADY, BYRON G. 
 
 7016 Quinby Ave., Cleveland, O. 
 Enl. June 2, 1917. Hon. 
 Disch. April 10. 1919. 
 
 BRANDT, WILLIAM E. 
 11814 St. Clair Avenue, 
 Cleveland. Ohio. 
 
 Enl. July 13. 1917. Trans. 
 
 to Hq. Co. Nov. 13, 1917. 
 
 BRECKENRIDGE. PAUL G. 
 
 397 New York Avenue, 
 Rochester, Pa. 
 
 Enl. April 13, 1917. Appt. 
 
 Pvt 1 cl March 4, 1918. Trans. 
 
 as Pvt 1 cl to Med. Dept. 
 
 37th Div. May 9, 1918. 
 
 "BRIAN, ARTHUR S. 
 388 McKlnley Avenue, 
 Salem, Ohio. 
 EnL May 3, 1917. Appt. Pvt 
 1 cl Oct. 1, 1917. Hon. Disch. 
 April 10, 1919. 
 
 •BROWN, BRINTON C. 
 
 4th Street. 
 
 Beverly, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. May 7. 1917. Appt. Pvt 
 1 cl June 30, 1918. Trans, 
 to Evacuation Hosp. No. 19, 
 France, Dec. 29, 1918. 
 
 BROWN, JAMES A. 
 2083 E. 83rd Street, 
 Cleveland. Ohio. 
 
 Enl. Aug. 5. 1917. Appt. Pvt 
 
 1 cl Oct. 1. 1917. Trans. 
 
 to Camp Green, N. C. Jan. 
 
 7, 1918. 
 
 *BUNKEB, FLOYD. 
 
 Pendleton, Ind. 
 
 Enl. April 25. 1918. Assgd. 
 to Btry. A June 10, 1918. 
 Trans, to Camp Taylor De- 
 tachment Feb. 23, 1919, for 
 Hon. Disch. 
 
 BUNTING. WILLIAM H. 
 
 Care of Benj. Moore Co., 
 
 1314 Marquette St., 
 
 Cleveland. Ohio. 
 
 Enl. May 31. 1917. Appt. Pvt 
 1 cl Sept. 1. 1917. Trans, 
 to Sup. Co. Jan. 23, 1918. 
 
 171 
 
BUTLER, CLIFFORD L. 
 
 Hon. Disch. Aug. 2. 1917. 
 
 BURDICK, CARLTON W. 
 
 Hon. Disch. Aug. 4, 1917. 
 
 *CAGG, MILES H. 
 
 B. D. No. 3, 
 
 Nelsonvllle, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. Dec. 11, 1916. Trans, as 
 Corp. fr. Q. M. C. N. A. 
 May 18, 1918. Corp. to Pvt 
 Nov. 2, 1918. To Sorbonne 
 Univ., France, Feb. 26, 1919. 
 
 *CAIN, OMAB J. 
 
 9208 Yale Avenue, 
 
 Cleveland, Ohio. 
 Enl. May 14. 1917. Appt. Pvt 
 1 ol April 19, 1918. Pvt 1 el 
 to Corp. June 17, 1918. Hon. 
 Disch. April 10, 1919. 
 
 *CALLAHAN, FREDERICK B. 
 
 3250 Euclid Avenue, 
 Cleveland, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. April 17, 1917. Appt. 
 
 Pvt 1 cl Sept. 1, 1917. Pvt 
 
 1 cl to Corp. Oct. 18, 1917. 
 
 Corp. to Sgt. Dec. 14, 1917. 
 
 Sgt. to Mess Sgt. Dec. 16, 
 
 1917. Mess Sgt. to June 1. 
 
 1918. Sgt. to Sup. Sgt. Aug. 
 1, 1918. Hon. Disch. April 
 10, 1919. 
 
 *CALTA, AUGUST. 
 
 13701 Bartlett Avenue, 
 Cleveland, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. Sept. 1, 1917. Appt. 
 
 Pvt 1 cl Jan. 9, 1918. Hon. 
 
 Disch. April 11, 1919. 
 
 *CABEY, HAMPSON. 
 377 Franklin Avenue, 
 Salem, Ohio. 
 Enl. April 17, 1917. Appt. 
 Corp. Aug. 11, 1917. Red. to 
 Pvt March 16. 1918. Beappt. 
 Corp. April 16, 1918. Corp. 
 to Mess Sgt. Sept. 1, 1918. 
 Trans, as Sgt. to Art. School, 
 Saumur, - France, Oct. 28, 
 1918. Assgd. to Btry. A as 
 Pvt Feb. 18, 1919. Appt. 
 Pvt 1 cl Feb. 19, 1919. Hon. 
 Disch. April 10, 1919. 
 
 CARMITCHEL, BENJAMIN H. 
 Strong, No. County, Pa. 
 Enl. June 2, 1917. Trans, 
 to Hq. Co. Oct. 2, 1917. 
 
 *CARB, DEAN W. 
 
 1671 Auburndale Avenue, 
 Cleveland. Ohio. 
 
 Enl. May 21, 1917. Appt. 
 
 Corp. Aug. 11, 1917. Corp. 
 
 to Sgt. Jan. 10, 1918. Bed. to 
 Pvt. Feb. 18, 1919. Hon. 
 Disch. April 10, 1919. 
 
 *CARSNEB, ELBOY E. 
 
 1428 Beecham Street, 
 Toledo, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. July 24, 1918. Assgd. 
 
 to Btry. A Oct. 24, 1918. 
 
 Hon. Disch. April 10, 1919. 
 
 *CARTEAUX, JULIUS F. 
 
 123 Newman Avenue, 
 
 KendalMlle, Ind. 
 
 Enl. April 25, 1918. Assgd. 
 to Btry. A June 10, 1918. 
 Appt. Pvt 1 cl Nov. 2, 1918. 
 Trans, to Camp Taylor De- 
 tachment Feb. 23, 1919, for 
 Hon. Disch. 
 
 CASSIDY, JOHN A. 
 
 728 Dixmyth Avenue, 
 
 Cincinnati, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. .June 4, 1917. Trans, as 
 Hs. fr. Sup. Co. May 14. 1918. 
 Trans, as Hs. to 136th F. A., 
 Btry. F., Oct. 6, 1918. 
 
 *CASTEEL, JOHN E. 
 1382 Bussell Road, 
 Cleveland, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. Aug. 2, 1917. Assgd. to 
 Btry. A April 25, 1918. Appt. 
 Pvt 1 cl Dec. 1, 1917. Hon. 
 Disch. April 10, 1919. 
 
 ♦CHAPMAN, KENNETH S. 
 200 Princeton Avenue, 
 Elyria. Ohio. 
 
 Enl. May 7, 1917. Appt. 
 
 Corp. Aug. 11, 1917. Red. 
 
 to Pvt Jan. 10, 1918. Hon. 
 
 Disch. April 10, 1919. 
 
 *CHBBVENKA, EUGENE C. 
 1710 Buhrer Avenue, 
 Cleveland, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. May 28, 1917. Appt. 
 
 Pvt 1 cl Sept. 1, 1917. Pvt 
 
 1 cl to Corp. June 1, 1918. 
 
 Hon. Disch. April 10, 1919. 
 
 »CHBBVENKA, HOWARD K. 
 
 1710 Buhrer Avenue, 
 
 Cleveland, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. June 2, 1917. Appt. Pvt 
 1 cl Sept. 1, 1917. Pvt 1 cl 
 to Corp. April 19, 1918. Hon. 
 Disch. April 10, 1919. 
 
 172 
 
♦CHRISTIAN, RUSSELL A. 
 
 6410 Dibble Avenue, 
 
 Clevelainl. Ohio. 
 
 Enl. May 28. 1917. Trans, to 
 Base Husp. June 15. 191.S. 
 Re-assgd. to IMry. A Oct. 16, 
 1918. Hon. Disch. April lU, 
 1919. 
 
 •CHRISTY, THOMAS C. 
 
 12341 Euolid Avenue, 
 Cleveland, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. Aug. 14. 1917. Appt. 
 
 Pvt 1 el .Jan. 17, 1919. Hon. 
 
 Disch. April 10, 1919. 
 
 *CLARK, ALBERT L. 
 
 1370 King Street, West, 
 Toronto. Canada. 
 
 Enl. Oct. 12, 1917. Trans. 
 
 t'r. Sup. Co. Oct. 27, 1917. 
 
 Appt. Pvt 1 cl Jan. 17, 1919. 
 
 Hon. Disch. April 10, 1919. 
 
 CLARKE, ERNEST. 
 
 Enl. April 24, 1917. Appt. 
 St. Sgt. Aug. 3. 1917. Re- 
 lieveil fr. d. as St. Sgt. Aug., 
 1, 1918. Trans, to Vet. Corps' 
 N. A., 135th F. A., Aug. 20, 
 1918. 
 
 *CLARK, NEIL. 
 
 Windsor Avenue, Del Ray, 
 Alexatidria, Va. 
 
 Enl. April 26, 1917. Appt. 
 
 Pvt 1 cl Sept. 1, 1917. Trans. 
 
 to Camp Upton Detachment 
 
 Feb. 23, 1919, for Hon. 
 
 Disch. 
 
 CLOUSE. RALPH W. 
 
 Enl. June 25, 1917. Trans, 
 to Bti-J-. E June 25, lfll7. 
 
 •COLLINS, JAMES H. 
 1821 S. Myers Street, 
 Paducah, Ky. 
 
 Enl. April 28. 1918. Assg.l. 
 to Btry. A June 10, 1918. 
 Trans, to Camp Taylor De- 
 tachment Feb. 23. 1919, for 
 Hon. Disch. 
 
 •COLLINS. OMER F. 
 
 1329 E. 124th Street, 
 Cleveland, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. .Tuly 24, 1917. Appt. 
 
 Cook Oct. 1, 1917. Relieved 
 
 fr. d. as Cook May 13, 1918. 
 
 Appt. Pvt 1 cl Aug. 1. 1918. 
 
 Pvt 1 cl to Corp. Nov. 2, 1918. 
 
 Hon. Disch. April 10, 1919. 
 
 COMSTOCK, HENRY M. 
 
 1723 Lake Front Avenue, 
 
 East Cleveland, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. May 1. 1917. Appt. Pvt 
 1 cl Sept. 1, 1917. Trans. 
 
 as Pvt 1 cl to H(i. Co. Jan. 
 20, 1918. Re-assgd. to Btry. 
 A March 1, 1918. Trans, to 
 Camp Merritt, N. J., March 
 28, 1918. 
 
 •CONNELL, JAMES J. 
 Myers Rd. . 
 Geneva, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. May 28. 1917. Appt. Hs. 
 
 Oct. 1, 1917. Relieved fr. 
 
 d. as Hs. May 15, 1918. 
 
 Appt. Pvt 1 cl Dec. 1, 1918. 
 
 Hon. Disch. April 10, 1919. 
 
 COOPER, CHARLES M. 
 114 Harmon Street, 
 Warren, O. 
 
 Enl. April 15, 1917. Appt. 
 
 Corp. Jan. 10, 1918. Trans. 
 
 as Corp. to 112th Eng. May 
 
 IS, 191S. 
 
 COTTER, MICHAEL J. 
 653 E. 93rd Street, 
 Cleveland, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. April 30. 1917. Trans. 
 
 to Brigade Hqs. Feb. 22, 1918. 
 
 ♦COTTRELL. HERSCHEL M. 
 
 R. F. D.. Box No. 121, 
 
 Terre Haute. Ind. 
 
 Enl. April 25, 1918. Assgd. 
 to Btry. A June 10, 1918. 
 Trans, to Camp Taylor De- 
 tachment Feb. 23, 1919, for 
 Hon. Disch. 
 
 COWELL, HOWARD U. 
 
 1447 W. 57th Street, 
 
 Cleveland. Ohio. 
 
 Enl. May 29, 1917. Trans, 
 to Depot Brigade, Camp Jack- 
 sou. S. C, May 18, 1918. 
 
 •COX, ALLEN T>. 
 
 2167 E. 101st Street, 
 Cleveland, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. April 25. 1917. Hon. 
 
 Disch. April 10, 1919. 
 
 ♦CROSSON, ROBERT. 
 
 1000 S. 3rd Street, 
 
 Terre Haute, Ind. 
 
 Enl. April 26, 1918. Assgd. 
 to Btry. A June 10. 1918. 
 Trans, to Camp Taylor De- 
 tachment Feb. 23, 1919. for 
 Hon. Disch. 
 
 •CROTTY. DANIEL B. 
 
 2228 E. 95th Street, 
 Cleveland. Ohio. 
 
 Enl. April 16. 1917. Appt. 
 
 Corp. Aug. 3rd, 1917. Hon. 
 
 Disch. April 10, 1919. 
 
 173 
 
*CBOWN, ELMER. 
 
 404 E. Salem Avenue, 
 
 Salem. Ind. 
 
 Bnl. April 27, 1918. Assgd. to 
 Btry. A June 10, 1918. 
 Trans, to Camp Taylor De- 
 tachment Feb. 23, 1919, for 
 Hon. Disoh. 
 
 CULL, PBANK X. 
 
 17406 Nottingham Koad, 
 
 Cleveland, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. June 4. 1917. D. S. 
 to O. R. C. Aug. 25. 1917. 
 Hon. Disch. to accept com- 
 mission Nov. 26, 1917. 
 
 CULLETON, JOHN R. 
 
 Enl. June 3. 1917. Hon. 
 Disch. to enter U. S. Mili- 
 tary Academy, West Point, 
 May 21, 1918. 
 
 CUSTIN, JAMES R. 
 Wakefield, Kans. 
 
 Enl. April 19, 1917. Appt. 
 Pvt 1 cl Oct. 1, 1917. Trans, 
 to 112th Eng. Dec. 4, 1917. 
 
 ♦DANIELS, WALTER S. 
 4228 Farsyt Avenue, 
 East Chicago, Ind. 
 
 Enl. April 24, 1918. Assgd. 
 to Btry. A June 10, 1919. 
 Trans, to Camp Taylor De • 
 tachment Feb. 13, 1919, for 
 Hon. Disch. 
 
 DANTZEB, ALFRED C. 
 
 Enl. April 30, 1917. Trans 
 to Btry. B. Aug. 28, 1917. 
 
 ♦DAVIS, KENT L. 
 
 1828 W. 44th Street, 
 Cleveland, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. July 25, 1917. Appt. 
 
 Pvt 1 cl Sept. 1, 1917. Hon. 
 
 Disch. April 10, 1919. 
 
 *DAT, JOHN A. 
 Twinsburg, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. May 28, 1917. Appt. 
 Pvt 1 cl Oct. 1, 1917. Hon. 
 Disch. April 10, 1919. 
 
 ♦DELLENBARGEB, LYNN E. 
 Ravenna, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. May 4, 1917. Appt. Pvt 
 1 cl Feb. .1. 1918. Hon. 
 Disch. April 10, 1919. 
 
 ♦DENTON, ORVAL. 
 Newburg, Ind. 
 
 Enl. April 26. 1918. Assgd. 
 to Btry. A June 10, 1918. 
 Trans, to Camp Taylor De- 
 tachment Feb. 23, 1919, for 
 Hon. Disch. 
 
 ♦DIBBEN, WILLIAM T. 
 
 Franklin Street, 
 
 Hudson, Ohio. 
 
 Enl April 17, 1917. Trans. 
 to Brigade Has. April 27, 
 1918. Ke-assgd. to Btry. A 
 Sept. 16, 1918. Trans, to 
 Hq. 9th Army Corps Dec. 3. 
 1918. 
 
 ♦DIERMAYER, FRANK. 
 5617 Dibble Avenue, 
 Cleveland, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. May 31, 1917. Appt. 
 
 Mess Sgt. Aug. 3, 1917. Red. 
 
 to -Pvt Sept. 13, 1917. Appt. 
 
 Pvt. 1 cl Oct. 1. 1917. Hon. 
 
 Disch. April 10, 1919. 
 
 DILLON, CARL W. 
 
 619 Middle Avenue, 
 
 Elyria, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. April 17, 1917. Appt. 
 Corp. Aug. 11, 1917. Corp. 
 to Sgt. Jan. 10, 1918. Trans, 
 as Sgt. to Art. School, Sau- 
 mur, France, Aug. 29, 1918. 
 Attached to Btry. A., pend- 
 ing commission, Nov. 29, 1918. 
 Assgd. to Btry. A as Sgt. 
 Feb. 18, 1919. Hon. Disch. 
 April 10, 1919. 
 
 ♦DILLON, .TAMES O. 
 
 619 Middle Avenue, 
 
 Elyria, Ohio. 
 
 Enl April 17, 1917. Appt 
 Pvt 1 cl Oct. 1, 1917. Hon. 
 Disch. April 10, 1919. 
 
 ♦DOWNS, JOHN P. 
 
 11512 Carolina Avenue, 
 Cleveland, Ohio. 
 
 Bnl. April 16, 1917. Hon. 
 
 Disch. April 10, 1919. 
 
 ♦EADES, THOMAS W. 
 
 R. F. D. No. 1, 
 
 Waynesburg, Ky. 
 
 Enl April 28. 1918. Assgd. 
 to Btry A June 10, 1918. 
 Appt. Pvt 1 cl Feb. 19, 1919. 
 Trans, to Camp Taylor De- 
 tachment Feb. 23, 1919, for 
 Hon. Disch. 
 
 ♦EINEMAN, RALPH. 
 Sugar Grove, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. June 4, 1917. Trans, 
 fr. Hq. Co. Sept. 5. 1918. 
 Hon. Disch. April 10, 1919. 
 
 ♦ELLIOTT, CARL S. 
 Fillmore, Ind. 
 
 Enl April 27, 1918. Assgd. 
 to Btry. A June 10, 1918. 
 Trans, to Camp Taylor De- 
 tachment Feb. 23. 1919, for 
 Hon. Disch. April 10, 1919. 
 
 174 
 
•BNGLAR, JULIAN J. 
 
 1898 E. 89th Street, 
 CleTeland. Ohio. 
 
 Enl. March 26, 1918. Assgd. 
 
 to Btry. A April 1. 1918. 
 
 Appt. Pvt 1 el June 20, 1918. 
 
 Hon. Disch. April 10, 1919. 
 
 ♦ERICKSOX, SOLOMON G. 
 12302 Beachwood Avenue, 
 Cleveland, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. April 23, 1917. Appt. 
 
 Pvt 1 el April 19, 1918. Pvt 
 
 1 el to Cook June 1. 1918. 
 
 Cook to Pvt 1 cl Aug. 1, 1918. 
 
 Appt. Corp. March 26, 1919. 
 
 Hon. 3)isch. April 10, 1919. 
 
 EVANS, PERCY V. 
 
 1088 E. 148th Street, 
 Cleveland, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. May 27, 1917. Appt. 
 
 Pvt 1 cl Oct. 1, 1917. Trans. 
 
 as Pvt 1 nl to Hq. Co. March 
 
 1, 1918. 
 
 *FANNIN, MARQUIS, De L. 
 Beechy, Ky. 
 
 Enl. April 29, 1918. Assgd. 
 to Btry. A June 10. 1918. 
 Trans, to Camp Taylor De- 
 tachment Feb. 23, 1919, for 
 Hon. Disch. 
 
 FARNSWORTH, PAUL. 
 Marietta. Ohio. 
 
 Enl. June 16, 1917. Assgd. 
 to Btry. A Oct. 27. 1917. 
 Trans. to 112th Am. Tr. 
 March 29, 1918. 
 
 •FAXOX, HORACE S. 
 
 509 Middle Avenue, 
 Elyrla, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. April 30, 1917. Hon. 
 
 Disch. April 10, 1919. 
 
 FEICHTMEIER, FRANK. 
 8315 Detroit Avenue, 
 Cleveland, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. .June 25, 1917. Appt. 
 Cook July 15, 1917. Trans, 
 as Cook to Ha. Co. April 15, 
 1918. 
 
 *FEBAN. RICHARD I. 
 
 680 E. 115th Street, 
 Cleveland, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. April 13, 1917. Appt. 
 
 Pvt 1 cl Sept. 1. 1917. Pvt 
 
 1 cl to Corp. June 1. 1918. 
 
 Hon. Disch. April 10. 1919. 
 
 •FORREST, WALTER A, 
 
 803 S. Main Street. 
 Normal, HI. 
 
 Enl. July 17. 1917. Appt. 
 
 Cook fr. Pvt 1 cl April 19, 
 
 1918. Trans, to Base Hosp. 
 
 No. 85, Angers. Frances. Feb. 
 
 23. 1919. 
 
 FOX, GEORGE H. 
 
 632 E. 115th Street. 
 
 Cleveland, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. June 6. 1917. Trans, to 
 Hq. Co. Aug. 20, 1917. 
 
 •FRANKENSTEIN, HAROLD H. 
 
 932 W. 9th Street, 
 
 Cincinnati, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. June 4, 1918. Assgd. 
 to Btry. A Oct. 24, 1918. 
 Trans, to Camp Taylor De- 
 tachment Feb. 23, 1919, for 
 Hon. Disch. 
 
 •FRANTZ, RAY E. 
 Goshen, Ind. 
 
 Enl. April 25, 1918. Assgd. 
 to Btry. A June 10, 1918. 
 Appt. Pvt 1 cl Dec. 1, 1918. 
 Trans, to Camp Taylor De- 
 tachment Feb. 23, 1919, for 
 Hon. Disch. 
 
 FREED, AARON A. 
 
 Enl. July 2, 1917. Trans, 
 to Btry. B. Oct. 8, 1917. 
 
 FREUND, PAUL H. 
 103 Upper 7th Street, 
 Evansville, Ind. 
 
 Enl. May 8, 1917. Appt. 
 Pvt 1 cl Sept. 1, 1917. 
 Trans, as Pvt 1 cl to Hq. Co. 
 March 1, 1918. 
 
 •FRITZ, DONALD E. 
 513 W. North Street. 
 Lima. Ohio. 
 
 Enl. April 18, 1917. Hon. 
 
 Disch. April 10. 1919. 
 
 •GARDNER, VIRGIL W. 
 
 1469 E. 115th Street. 
 
 Cleveland. Ohio. 
 
 Enl. .lune 4, 1017. Appt. 
 Pvt 1 cl April 19. 1918. To 
 English Univ., Winchester, 
 England. Feb. 28, 1919. 
 
 GARRETSON, HIRAM. 
 
 3716 Euclid Avenue, 
 Cleveland, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. Sept. 24, 1917. Hon. 
 
 Disch. at Ft. Leavenworth, 
 
 Kans. , to accept commission, 
 
 Feb. 25, 1918. 
 
 175 
 
GARTMAN, ALFRED W. 
 2107 W. 89th Street, 
 Cleveland, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. March 30, 1914. Appt. 
 
 Pvt. 1 cl Sept. 1, 1917. Trans. 
 
 to Sup. Co. Nov. 13, 1917. 
 
 *GEAR, CARROLL J. 
 10805 Orville Avenue, 
 Cleveland, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. June 4, 1917. Appt. Pvt 
 1 cl June 20, 1918. Red. to 
 Pvt .Ian. 17, 1919. Hon. 
 Diseh. April 10, 1919. 
 
 •GEORGE, WILLIAM M. 
 
 Liberty, Ind. 
 
 Enl. April 26, 1918. Assgd. 
 to Btry. A June 10. 1918. 
 Trans, to Camp Taylor De- 
 tachment Feb. 23, 1919, for 
 Hon. Disoh. 
 
 GIBBS, RALPH W. 
 
 O. R. C. Aug. 14, 1917. 
 
 *GIBSON, CLARENCE K. 
 R. F. D. No. I, 
 Ossian, Ind. 
 Enl. April 27, 1918. Assgd. 
 to Btry. A June 10, 1918. 
 Trans, to Camp Taylor De- 
 tachment Feb. 23, 1919, for 
 Hon. Disch. 
 
 GIFFOBD, CLARENCE A. 
 9609 Empire Avenue, 
 Cleveland, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. May 1, 1917. Appt. Pvt 
 
 1 cl Sept. 1, 1917. Trans. 
 
 as Pvt 1 cl to Hq. Co. 
 
 March I, 1918. 
 
 *6REELEY, PATRICK P. 
 
 507 N. New Jersey Street, 
 
 Indianapolis, Ind. 
 
 Enl. April 26, 1918. Assgd. 
 to Btry. A June 10, 1918. 
 Trans, to Camp Taylor De- 
 tachment Feb. 23, 1919, for 
 Hon. Disch. 
 
 •GREENFIELD, GEORGE T. 
 16715 Lake Avenue, 
 Lal?ewood, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. June 4,- 1917. Appt. 
 Pvt 1 cl Sept. 1, 1917. Pvt 
 1 ol to Corp. Dec. 14, 1917. 
 Corp. to Mess Sgt. June 1, 
 1918. Mess Sgt. to Sgt. Aug. 
 1, 1918. Hon. Disch. April 
 10, 1919. 
 
 *GROVE, BEN.IAMIN H. 
 
 811 S. 16th Street, 
 
 Terre Haute, Ind. 
 
 Enl. April 6, 1918. Assgd. 
 to Btry. A June 10, 1918. 
 Trans, to Camp Taylor De- 
 tachment Feb. 23, 1919, for 
 Hon. Disch. 
 
 *GBUNDER, LELAND X. 
 Dunn Avenue, R. F. D., 
 Canton, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. April 27, 1917. Appt. 
 
 Pvt 1 cl Sept. 1, 1917. Hon. 
 
 Disch. April 11, 1919. 
 
 ♦HARDING, WILLIAM W. 
 
 1335 S. Arch Avenue, 
 Alliance, Ohio. 
 
 Enl June 2, 1917. Hon. 
 
 Disch. April 10, 1919. 
 
 ♦HARMON, BRADY H. 
 
 14119 Bardvvell Avenue, 
 Cleveland, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. .lune 4, 1917. Appt. 
 
 Hs. Oct. 1, 1917. Hon. 
 
 Disch. April 10, 1919. 
 
 ♦HARRIS, ARTHUR L. 
 
 North Street, 
 Euclid, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. April 18. 1917. Appt. 
 
 Pvt 1 cl Sept. 1. 1918. Hon. 
 
 Disch. April 10, 1919. 
 
 ♦HARRIS, ORADY. 
 
 507 Cushman Street, 
 
 East Chatanooga, Tenn. 
 
 Enl. .lime 26, 1918. Assgd. 
 to Btry. A Oct. 24, 1918. 
 Trans, to Camp Upton De- 
 tachment Feb. 23, 1919, for 
 Hon. Disch. 
 
 HARRIS, ROSEMAN L. 
 4444 N. St. Louis Avenue, 
 Chicago, HI 
 
 Appt. 1st Sgt. fr. Pvt Aug. 
 3, 1917. D. S. to 0. T. S.. 
 Leon Springs, Texas, Jan. 7, 
 1918. D. S. to D. April 18, 
 1918. Hon. Disch. to accept 
 commission as 2nd Lieut. 
 USNG May 11, 1918. 
 
 HARRY, SAMUEL. 
 
 Enl. Jime 2, 1917. Trans, to 
 Depot Brigade, Camp Jack- 
 son, S. C, May 21, 1918. 
 
 176 
 
»nARTMAN, DALE A. 
 342 Bellefontaine Avenue, 
 Marion, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. April 17. 191T. Appt. 
 
 Pvt 1 ol April 1. 191S. Pvt 
 
 1 cl to Corp. Aug. 1, 1918. 
 
 To XTniversity of Poitiers. 
 
 France. Feb. 28. 1919. 
 
 HATCHEK, HARRY T. 
 
 Hon. Disfh. to accept com- 
 mission at Ft. Benj. Harrison 
 Aug. 11, 191T. 
 
 *HATHA\yAY. FOSTER H. 
 
 1824 E. 79th Street, 
 
 Cleveland, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. April 17, 1917. Appt. 
 Corp. Aug. 3, 1917. Corp. to 
 Sgt. Aug. 11, 1917. D. S. 
 to O. T. S., Leon Springs, 
 Texas, .Tan. 7, 191S. D. S. 
 to D. April 18, 1918. Red. 
 fr. Sgt. to Pvt Feb. 18, 
 1919. Hon. Disch. April 10, 
 1919. 
 
 HAY^VARD, HOMER. 
 131 Clifton Place, 
 Brooklyn . N. Y. 
 
 Enl. April 17, 1917. Appt. 
 Pvt 1 cl Sept. 1, 1917. Trans, 
 as Pvt 1 el to Hd. Co. April 
 17, 1918. 
 
 ♦HEDGES. HARRY C. 
 1276 W. 110th Street, 
 Cleveland, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. April 23. 1917. Hon. 
 
 Disch. April 10, 1919. 
 
 *HEILE, GUS T. 
 
 1336 E. 91st Street, 
 Cleveland, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. .fune 4, 1917. Appt. 
 
 Pvt 1 el Sept, 1, 1917. Pvt 
 
 1 cl to Cook June 20, 1918. 
 
 Cook to Corp. Aug. 1. 1918. 
 
 Hon. Disch. April 10. 1919. 
 
 *HERRIXGSHAW, CHARLES H. 
 
 14473 Euclid Avenue, 
 East Cleveland, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. .Tune 2, 1917. Appt. 
 
 Mech. Oct. 1. 1917. Hon. 
 
 Disch. April 10, 1919. 
 
 HEYDLER, CARL W. 
 
 1903 E. Slst Street, 
 Cleveland. Ohio. 
 
 Enl. Tuly 26, 1917. Trans. 
 
 to Ha. Co. Oct. 2, 1917. 
 
 HILFER. FRANK P. 
 
 3448 Euclid Boulevard, 
 Cleveland Heights, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. .lune 2. 1917. Trans. 
 
 to Camp Merritt, N. J., March 
 
 28. 1918. 
 
 HILL. TYRONE T. 
 
 5823 Thomas . Avenue, 
 
 Philadelphia. Pa. 
 
 Enl. .Tune 21. 1916. Trans 
 to Camp Merritt, N. J., 
 March 28, 1918. 
 
 ♦HOLAH, RALPH M. 
 14432 Euclid Avenue, 
 Cleveland, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. April 25, 1917. Hon. 
 
 Disch. April 10, 1919. 
 
 *HOLTKAMP, WALTER H. 
 
 1299 Belle Avenue, 
 Lakewood. Ohio. 
 
 EnL .Tune 4. 1917. Appt. 
 
 Pvt. 1 cl Oct. 1, 1917. Pvt 
 
 1 cl to Corp. .Tan. 10, 1918. 
 
 Corp. to Sgt. Sept. 1, 1918. 
 
 Hon. Disch. April 10. 1919. 
 
 HORNICICLE, FRANK L. 
 
 Enl. July 9, 1917. D, S. 
 to Ft. Benj. Harrison, Ind., 
 Aug. 25. 1917. Hon. Disch. 
 to accept commission J^ov. 
 26, 1917. 
 
 ♦HUBER, ALVA H. 
 
 1608 E. 42nd Street, 
 
 Indianapolis, Ind. 
 
 Enl. April 26, 1918. Assgd. 
 to Btry. A June 10, 1918. 
 Trans, to Camp Taylor De- 
 tachment Feb. 23, 1919. for 
 Hon.' Disch. 
 
 *HUBER. FRED L. 
 
 320 W. 44th Street, 
 
 Indianapolis, Ind. 
 
 Enl. April 25, 1918. Assgd. 
 to Btry. A .Tune 10, 1918. 
 Trans, to Camp Taylor De- 
 tachment Feb. 23, 1919, tor 
 Hon. Disch. 
 
 HUESTIS, JAMES D. 
 1748 Noble Road. 
 E. Cleveland, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. May 28. 1917. Appt. 
 
 Corp. March 14. 1918. Trans. 
 
 as Corp. to Hq. Cn. Aug 
 
 1, 1918. 
 
 177 
 
*HUOUENm, BDWABD L. 
 
 1416 Erie Street. 
 
 Tovmgstown, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. May 31, 1917. Appt. 
 Cook Sept. 1, 1917. Re- 
 lieved fr. duty as Cook June 
 1, 1918. Hon. Diseh. April 
 10, 1919. 
 
 *HUNT, NATHAN. 
 
 636 McKlnley Avenue. 
 Salem, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. April 9. 1917. Appt. 
 
 Mech. in Co. C, 134th Mach. 
 
 Gun Bn. Sept. 25, 1917. 
 
 Trans, to Btry. A as Pvt. 
 
 Nov. 6, 1917. Appt. Pvt 1 <;] 
 • June 20, 1918. Hon. Disch. 
 
 April 10, 1919. 
 
 •HfTSON, JOHN P. 
 
 48 North Union Street, 
 
 Salem, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. May 3, 1917. Appt. Pvt 
 1 cl Nov. 14, 1917. Pvt 1 rl 
 to Corp. Nov. 2, 1918. Hon. 
 Disch. April 10, 1919. 
 
 *JAMES, HARRY J. 
 
 10600 Drexel Avenue, 
 
 Cleveland, Ohio. 
 Enl. July 7. 1917. Appt. Pvt 
 1 cl Oct. 1, 1917. Pvt 1 cl 
 to Corp. Oct. 18, 1917. 
 
 * JEN SEN, ALBERT C. 
 Little Valley, N. T. 
 
 Enl. May 7, 1917. Hon. 
 Disch. April 10, 1919. 
 
 'JOHNSON, LAWRENCE R. 
 1320 W. 93rd Street, 
 Cleveland, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. April 13, 1917. Appt. 
 
 Pvt 1 cl Oct. 1, 1917. Hon. 
 
 Disch. April 10, 1919. 
 
 *JOYCE, CHARLES W. 
 
 696 E. 117th Street, 
 Cleveland, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. April 12, 1917. Appt. 
 
 Pvt 1 cl Sept. 1, 1917. Pvt 
 
 1 cl to Corp. Feb. 13, 1918. 
 
 Hon, Disch. April 10, 1919. 
 
 JOYCE. FRANCIS T. 
 696 E. 117th Street, 
 Cleveland, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. May 1, 1917. Appt. Pvt 
 
 1 cl Jan. 9, 1918. Trans. 
 
 as Pvt 1 cl to Sup. Co. June 
 
 10, 1918. 
 
 *JUSTEN, LEO. 
 
 309 W. 20th Street, 
 Lorain, O. 
 
 Enl. .Tune 29, 1917. Appt Pvt 
 1 cl June 20, 1918. Hon. 
 Disch. April 10, 1919. 
 
 KAMERER, CHARLES L 
 
 7.506 Everett Avenue, 
 Cleveland, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. .Tune 16, 1917. Appt. 
 
 Pvt 1 cl Sept. 1, 1917. D. S. 
 
 to O. T. S., Leon Springs," 
 
 Texas, .Tan. 7. 191S. D. S. 
 
 to D. April 18, 191S. Appt. 
 
 Sgt. April 19. 1918. Trans. 
 
 to P. A. Repl. Depot. Camp 
 
 Jackson, S. C, April 13. 1918. 
 
 *KENNEDY. CHARLES T. 
 .523 McKinley Avenue, 
 Salem, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. April 17, 1917. Appt. 
 
 Pvt 1 cl Sept. 1, 1917. Pvt 
 
 1 el to Corp. Jan. 10. 1918. 
 
 Corp. to Sgt. .Tune 17. 1918. 
 
 Sgt. to St. Sgt. Aug. 1, 1918. 
 
 Hon. Disch. April 10, 1919. 
 
 ^KENNEDY, DONALD F. 
 
 1880 E. 79th Street, 
 Cleveland, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. April 12. 1917. Appt. 
 
 Pvt 1 cl Sept. 1. 1917. Pvt 
 
 1 cl to Corp June 17. 1918. 
 
 Corp. to Sgt. Sept. 11. 1918. 
 
 Sgt. to 1st Sgt. Nov. 1. 1918. 
 
 Trans, to Conv. Hosp. . Camp 
 
 Sherman, Ohio, April 10 
 
 1919. 
 
 *KINSEY. BOY E. 
 
 242 N. Liberty Street, 
 Galion, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. April 13. 1917. Appt. 
 Pvt 1 cl Sept. 1. 1917. Pvt 
 1 cl to Corp. Oct. 18. 1917. 
 Hon. Disch. April 10, 1919. 
 
 KOPMAN, HAL W. 
 9203 Hillock Avenue, 
 Cleveland, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. .Tune 4, 1917. Appt. 
 
 Bugler Aug. 3. 1917. Bugler 
 
 to Pvt. Aug. 15. 1917. Trans. 
 
 to 19th Eng., Camp Merritt. 
 
 N. J., March 18, 191S. 
 
 178 
 
*KORTZ, CLYDE C. 
 
 9408 Empire Avenue. 
 
 (Mevelaml, Ohio. 
 
 Eiil. .Tune 4. 1917. .\ppt. St'l. 
 fr. Pvt. Aug. 3, 1917. Trans, 
 to Base Hosp. , .Camp Sheri- 
 dan. Ala., June 15, 1918. 
 Reported to Btry. A Ort. 28. 
 191S. Assgd. to Btr.v. A as 
 Sgt. Dec. 1. 1918. Hon. 
 Disrh. Aiiril 10. 1919. 
 
 *KO\VAI,SKI. A.XTOX. 
 
 1044 E. 141st Street, 
 
 Cleveland, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. May 28. 1917. Appt. Ch. 
 Mech. Aug. 3. 1917. Trans, 
 to Conv. Hosp., Camp Sher- 
 man, Ohio, April 10, 1919. 
 
 "I.ADDS, HERBERT P. 
 1645 Putnam Street, 
 Brooklyn, N. Y. 
 
 Enl. April 26, 1917. Appt. 
 Corp. Aug. 11, 1917. Corp 
 to Sgt. Jan. 10. 1918. Sgt. 
 to 1st Sgt. Aug. 1, 1918. 
 Trans, as 1st Sgt. to Art. 
 School, Saumur, Fraiicr. 
 Oet. 28, 1918. AttacheiT foi 
 rations Feb. 13, 1919. Drop- 
 ped Feb. 13. 1919. 
 
 »LAMP, HERBERT A, 
 4210 Bridge Avenue, 
 Cleveland, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. May 28, 1917. Appt. 
 
 Cook June 1, 1918. Hon. 
 
 Disch. April 10, 1919. 
 
 •KUAISE. ANTHONY 
 
 2241 E. 101st Street. 
 Cleveland, Ohio. 
 
 EiU. April 30, 1917. Appt. 
 Pvt 1 rl Aug. 1. 1918. Hon. 
 Disch. April 10, 1919. 
 
 *LARIE. GEORGE A. 
 1053 E. Center Street, 
 Marion, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. June 2. 1917. Appt. 
 Pvt 1 cl Sept. 1. 1918. Hon. 
 Disch. April 10, 1919. 
 
 KROESEN, RICHARD L. 
 11212 Edgewater Drive, 
 Cleveland, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. Aug. 11, 1917. Appt. 
 Mess Sgt. fr. Pvt. Sept. 13, 
 1917. Mess Sgt. to Sgt. Dei'. 
 16, 1917. Trans, as Pvt. to 
 Q. M. C. Deo. 17, 1917. 
 
 'KUHX. EARL R. 
 R. F. D. No. 5, 
 Marietta, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. 7th Ohio Inf. Aug. 12. 
 
 1916. Trans, to Btry. A Oct. 
 
 27, 1917. Appt. Pvt 1 el June 
 
 20. 1918. Hon. Disch. April 
 
 10. 1919. 
 
 •laRTH. HERMAN M. 
 
 E 104th Street & Union Avenue, 
 Cleveland, Ohio. 
 Enl. Jan. 17. 1918. Asrgd. 
 to Btry. A March 26, 1918. 
 Hon. Disch. April 10, 1919. 
 
 *LACKAMP. JAMES B. 
 9907 Kempton Avenue. 
 Cleveland, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. July 25. 1917. Appt. 
 
 Pvt 1 d Jan. 9, 1918. Pvt 
 
 1 d to Corp. Nov. 2, 1918. 
 
 Hon. Disch. April 10, 1919. 
 
 LATIMER, ERWIN D. 
 7310 Franklin Avenue, 
 Cleveland, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. Aug. 15, 1917. 
 
 Pvt 1 cl Oft. 1. 1917. 
 
 Appt. 
 Trans. 
 
 to (J. M, C. April 9, 1918. 
 
 •LAWRENCE, ELMER G. 
 1246 E. 103rd Street. 
 Cleveland, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. May 1. 1917. Appt. 
 Corp. Aug. 3, 1917. Corp. 
 to Sgt. June 1, 1918. Hon. 
 Disch. April 10, 1919. 
 
 LAYTON. HAROLD S. 
 
 Enl. April 15. 1917. Trans, 
 to Camp Greene, N. C.. Jan. 
 7. 1918. Died of pneumonia 
 at Camp Greene. 
 
 ♦LEE, ROBERT E. 
 
 9 Powell Lane. Melbourne, 
 I'liiladelphia. Pa. 
 
 Enl. April 18. 1917. Appt. 
 
 Corp. Aug. 3, 1917. D. S. 
 
 to O. T. S. , Leon Spruigs 
 
 Texas, Jan. 7. 1918. D. S. 
 
 to D. March 16. 1918. Red. 
 
 fr. Cfirp. to Pvt. Nov. 2. 
 
 1918. Trans, to Camp Upton 
 
 Detachment Feb. 23, 1919, 
 
 for Hon. Disch. 
 
 179 
 
*LEWIS, NEIL H. 
 2100 Stanwood Road, 
 East Cleveland, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. April 19, 1917. Appt. 
 
 Pvt 1 cl Oct. 1, 1917. Hon. 
 
 Disch. April 10, 1919. 
 
 LEWIS, OWEN L. 
 
 535 S. Union Avenue, 
 Alliance, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. June 2, 1917. Appt. 
 
 Pvt. 1 cl Jan. 9, 1918. Trans. 
 
 as Pvt 1 cl to Hq. Co. April 
 
 17, 191S. 
 
 *LEWIS, PHILIP H. 
 2100 Stanvfood Boad, 
 East Cleveland, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. April 18, 1917. Appt. 
 
 Pvt 1 cl Oct. 1, 1917. Hon. 
 
 Uisch. April 10, 1919. 
 
 •LIGHT, RALPH A. 
 
 404 Perry Avenue, 
 
 Ft. Wayne, Ind. 
 
 Enl. April 26, 1918. Assgd. 
 to Btry. A June 10, 1918. 
 Appt. Cook Aug. 1, 1918. 
 Trans, to Camp Taylor De- 
 tachment Feb. 23, 1919, for 
 Hon. Pisch. 
 
 LINCOLN, DONALD. 
 
 1911 E. 97th Street, 
 
 Cleveland. Ohio. 
 
 Enl. June 25, 1917. Appt, 
 Corp. Aug. 11, 1917. D. S. 
 to 4th O. T. C. May 15, 
 1918. Trans, to Inf. Repl. 
 Troops, N. A., May 25, 
 1918. 
 
 *LINE. HARLEY L. 
 
 Route No. 5, 
 
 Columbia City, Ind. 
 
 Enl. March 29, 1918. Assgd. 
 to Btry. A June 10, 1918. 
 Trans, to Camp Taylor De- 
 tachment Feb. 23, 1919, for 
 Hon. Disch. 
 
 ♦LISTER, WALTER B. 
 Twinsburg, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. Jan. 8, 1918. Assgd. 
 to Btry. A March 26, 1918. 
 To Univ. of Poitiers, France, 
 Feb. 26. 1919. 
 
 •LIVERMORE, HENRY W. 
 
 420 High Street, 
 
 Warren, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. June 2, 1917. Appt. Pvt 
 1 cl March i, 1918. Hon. 
 Disch. April 10, 1919. 
 
 *LOGAN, EDMUND A. 
 
 15521 CUfton Boulevard, 
 
 Lakewood, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. Aug. 9, 1917. Appt. Pvt 
 X cl Sept. 1, 1917. Pvt 1 cl 
 to Corp. Oct. 18, 1917. Hon. 
 Disch. April 10, 1919. 
 
 *LOWBANCE, HARRY L. 
 Newburgh, Ind. 
 
 EnL April 29, 1918. Assgd. 
 to Btry. A June 10, 1919. 
 Trans, to Camp Taylor De- 
 tachment Feb. 23, 1919. for 
 Hon. Disch. 
 
 *LUTHER, ALEXANDER H. 
 I0I27 N. Boulevard, 
 Cleveland. Ohio. 
 
 Enl. April 25, 1917. Appt. 
 
 Pvt I cl April 3, 1918. Pvt 
 
 1 cl to Corp. Aug. 1, 1918. 
 
 Hon. Disch. April 10, 1919. 
 
 *LYTLE, DAVY F. 
 
 Fredericksburg, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. May 31, 1917. Appt. 
 Saddler Aug. 3, 1917. Hon 
 Disch. April 10, 1919. 
 
 •McBBIDE, CHARLES. 
 419 E. 3rd Street, 
 Dover, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. May 30, 1917. Hon. 
 
 Disch. April 10, 1919. 
 
 *McBRIDE, JOHN H. 
 Ill W. Erie Street, 
 Painesville. Ohio. 
 
 Enl. May 3. 1917. Hon. 
 
 Disch. April 10, 1919. 
 
 McCLEEBY, FBEDRIC. 
 225 Goshen Boad. 
 Salem. Ohio. 
 Enl. April 17. 1917. Appt. 
 Corp. Aug. 11, 1917. D. S. 
 to 4th O. T. C. May 15, 
 1918. Trans, to Inf. Bepl. 
 ' Troops, N. A., May 25, 1918. 
 
 McCUDDEN, RICHARD S. 
 
 Enl. May 30, 1917. Hon. 
 Disch. Nov. 13, 1917. 
 
 *McGILL, JOSEPH W. 
 923 E. 147th Street, 
 Cleveland, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. May 28, 1917. Trans, 
 to Bvac. Hosp., Millery, 
 France, Oct. 23, 1918. Be- 
 assgd. to Btry. A Dec. 26, 
 1918. Hon. Disch. April 10, 
 1919. 
 *Mc,MAHON, ROBERT E. 
 West Park, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. ,Tuly 24, 1917. Hon. 
 Disch. April 10, 1919. 
 
 180 
 
*M(RAE. THOMAS H. 
 
 Eagleville, Tenn. 
 
 Enl. Aug. 28, 1917. Appt. 
 Pvt 1 cl Feb. 7, 1918. Pvt 
 1 cl to Cook May 13, 1918. 
 Cook to Corp. June 1, 1918. 
 Corp. to Cook, by request, 
 Aug. 1, 1918. Hon. Diseh. 
 April 10, 1919. 
 
 MALM, DOUGLAS R. 
 
 1448 E. 115th Street, 
 Cleveland, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. May 4, 1917. Appt, 
 
 Corp. Aug. 3, 1917. Corp. 
 
 to Sgt. Aug. 11, 1917. Sgt. 
 
 to 1st Sgt. April 19, 1918. 
 
 Trans, as 1st Sgt. to Art. 
 
 School, Saumur, Franre, July 
 
 29, 1918. 
 
 ♦MANDELBAUM, HERMAN S. 
 10210 Winchester Avenue, 
 Cleveland, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. May 1st, 1917. Appt. 
 Pvt 1 rl Oct. 1, 1917. Hon. 
 Diseh. April 10, 1919. 
 
 *MARK, GEORGE L. 
 Alinerva, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. April 30, 1917. Appt. 
 Pvt 1 cl March 4, 1918. Hon. 
 Diseh. April 10, 1919. 
 
 *MARKOWSKI, JOSEPH. 
 
 213 E. 28th St., 
 Erie, Pa. 
 
 Enl. June 4, 1917. Hon. 
 
 Diseh. April 10, 1919. 
 
 ♦MERRILL, DAVID R. 
 130 Lakevicw Avenue, 
 Jamestown, N. Y. 
 
 Enl. June 4, 1917. Appt. 
 Pvt 1 el Sept. 1, 1917. Pvt 
 1 cl to Corp. June 1, 1918. 
 Red. fr. Corp. to Pvt, July 
 28, 1918. Pvt 1 cl to Corp. 
 Nov. 2, 1918. Hon. Diseh. 
 April 10, 1919. 
 
 »MEYERS, EDWARD T. 
 921 Paradrome Street, 
 Mt. Adams, Cincinnati, Ohio. 
 Enl. April 29, 1918. Assgd. 
 to Btry. A .Tune 10, 1918. 
 Trans, to Camp \ aylor De- 
 tachment Feb. li 1919, for 
 Hon. Diseh. 
 
 •MILLER, CARL J. 
 
 7C1 Eddy Road, 
 Cleveland, Ohio, 
 
 Enl. July 12, 1917. Appt. 
 
 Corp. April 1, 1918. Corp. to 
 
 Sgt. Aug. 1, 1918. Hon. 
 
 Diseh. April 10, 1919. 
 
 •MINSHALL. PERLEY S. 
 2525 Chatham Avenue, 
 Cleveland, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. July 19, 1917. Appt. Pvt 
 1 cl Oct. 1, 1917. Red. fr. 
 Pvt 1 cl to Pvt. Jan. 17, 1919. 
 Hon. Dlsch. April 10, 1919. 
 
 MONROE, HARRY C. 
 
 Enl. May 5, 1917. Trans, to 
 Btry. E. May 5, 1917, 
 
 •MONTGOMERY, EDWIN S. 
 Frazeysburg, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. May 3, 1917. Assgd. to 
 Btry. A Nov. 13, 1917. 
 Trans, to Q. M. C. Corps, 
 N. A. Camp, Dee. 1, 1917. 
 Re-assgd. to Btry. A April 21, 
 1918. Hon. Diseh. April 10, 
 1919. 
 
 •MOODEY, STERLING A. 
 119 Mentor Avenue, 
 Painesville, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. April 24, 1917. Appt 
 Pvt 1 cl Sept. 1, 1917. Pvt 
 1 el to Corp. Oct. 18, 1917. 
 Hon. Diseh. April 10, 1919. 
 
 MORRIS, DOUGLAS. 
 
 Enl. June 4, 1917. Appt. 
 Corp. Aug. 3, 1917. Hon. 
 Diseh. Feb. 5, 191S. 
 
 •MOSES, GEORGE. 
 
 1289 Warren Road, 
 
 Lakewood, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. April 4, 1918. Assgd. 
 to Btry. A April 8, 1918, 
 Hon. Diseh. April 10, 1919. 
 
 MURRAY, JOHN H. 
 Painesville, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. April 23, 1917. Appt. 
 Corp. Aug. 3, 1917. Corp. 
 to Sgt. Oct. 18, 1917. Sgt. 
 to Sup. Sgt. Dee. 19, 1917. 
 Supt. Sgt. to Mess Sgt. Aug. 
 1, 1918. Trans, as Sgt. to 
 Art. School, Saumur, France, 
 Aug. 29, 1918. Attached to 
 Btry. A., pending commission, 
 Nov. 29, 1918. Re-assgd. to 
 Btry. A as Sgt. Feb. 18, 1919. 
 Hon. Diseh. April 10, 1919. 
 
 181 
 
^NICHOLS. STERLING C. 
 
 7713 Foive Avenue, 
 Cleveland, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. Jan. IS, 1918. 
 
 Btry. A March 12, 191S. 
 
 Appt. Pvt 1 cl June 20, 1918. 
 
 Hon. Dlsch. April 10, 1919. 
 
 *NORRIS. MERLE S. 
 Twinsburg. Ohio. 
 
 Enl. July 5. 1917. Appt. Pvt 
 1 el Oft. 1, 1917. Hon. 
 Disch. April 10, 1919. 
 
 *OBERLE, CLAYTON C. 
 15710 Cllfion Boulevard, 
 Lakevvood, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. June 2, 1917. Appt. 
 
 Pvt. 1 cl Sept. l; 1917. Pvt 
 
 1 cl to Corp. Aug. 1, 1918. 
 
 Corp. to Mess Sgt. Nov. 2. 
 
 1918. Hon. Disch. April 10, 
 
 1919. 
 
 *OBRAZA, FRANIi. 
 1391 E. 41st Street, 
 Cleveland, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. .Tune 2, 1917. Hon. 
 
 Disch. April 10, 1919. 
 
 OLIVER, STEVE H. 
 
 Hon. Disch. Aug. 4, 1917. 
 
 OSTERLOH, ALBERT P., JR. 
 
 46 S. Fir Street, 
 Akron, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. April 13, 1917. 
 Bugler Aug. 15, 1917. 
 to Pvt. Sept. 11, 1917. 
 (0 Camp Merritt, 
 
 Appt. 
 Bugler 
 Trans. 
 r. J., 
 
 March 28, 1918. Re-assgd. 
 to Btry. A Feb. 12, 1919. 
 Hon. Disch. April 10, 1919. 
 
 PENNELL, LAWRENCE P. 
 
 549 S. Linden Avenue, 
 
 Alliance, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. April 23, 1917. Appt 
 Sgt. fr. Pvt. Aug. 3, 1917. 
 D. S. 4th O. T. C. May 15, 
 1918. Trans, to Inf. Repl. 
 Troops, N. A., May 25, 1918. 
 
 *PETHTEL, HOWARD Z. 
 
 Turney Road, Madison, Ohio. 
 Enl. April 30. 1917. Appt. 
 Pvt 1 cl Sept. 1, 1917. Pvt 
 1 cl. to Corp. Feb. 7, 1918. 
 Hon. Disch. April 10, 1919. 
 
 *POWERS, HARRY L. 
 Lyons, Ky. 
 
 Enl. April 30, 1918. Assgd. 
 to BUy. A June 10, 1918. 
 Trans, to Camp Hill De- 
 tachment April 1, 1919, for 
 Hon. Disch. 
 
 *P[JLLEN, CARLTON W. 
 
 Enl. May 29, 1917. Died 5:00 
 A. M. March 25, 1919, aboard 
 -U. S. S. Vermont. 
 
 *PUSZCZEWICZ, STANLEY. 
 1916 Manhattan Street, 
 Michigan City, Ind. 
 
 Enl. April 27, 1918. Assgd. 
 
 to Btry. A June 10, 1918. 
 
 Hon. Disch. April 10, 1919. 
 
 REED, ROBERT C. 
 Athens, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. April 21, 1914. Assgd. 
 to Btry. A tr. 136th F. A. 
 Nov. 21, 1917. Trans, to 
 Btry. E, 135th F. A., Dec. 
 4, 1917. 
 
 REYNOLDS, RUSSELL D. 
 Painesville, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. May 1, 1917. Trans, 
 to 112th Trench Mort. Btry. 
 Nov. 9, 1917. 
 
 'ROGERS, STANLEY. 
 Covington. Ind. 
 
 Enl. April 25, 1918. Assgd. 
 to Btry. A June 10, 1918. 
 Trans, to Camp Taylor De- 
 tachment Feb. 23, 1919, for 
 Hon. Disch. 
 
 HOEMER, JOHN H. 
 
 Hon. Dlsch. July 30, 1917. 
 
 ROSE, DAVID J. 
 
 11710 Beulah Avenue, 
 
 Cleveland, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. Aug. 9, 1917. Appt. Pvt 
 1 cl Dec. 4, 1917. Trans, as 
 Pvt 1 cl to Enlisted Ordnance 
 Corps, Dec. 4, 1917. 
 
 ROSSI, ANTHONY. 
 2237 Edgehill Road, 
 Cleveland, Ohio. 
 Enl. .Tune 1, 1917. Appt. Pvt 
 1 cl Oct. 1, 1917. Trans, to 
 Camp Hancock, Augusta, 6a.. 
 Jan. 31, 1918. 
 
 182 
 
SALSIUHC, AlXthPlI I,. 
 1517 East Boulfvanl, 
 L'luvflaiul. Oliio. 
 
 Enl. July 24, 1917. Trans, 
 to ("amp Green, N. C, Jan. 
 7. 1918. 
 
 •SCHAK, EDWARD A. 
 13902 t'astalia Avenue, 
 Cleveland, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. June 3, 1917. Hon. 
 Diseh. April 10, 1919. 
 
 ♦SCHILENSKE, JOHN L. 
 R. P. D. No. 1, 
 Berea, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. June 2. 1917. Appt. 
 Hs. Oct. 1. 1917. Hon. 
 Disch. April 10, 1919. 
 
 SCOTT, ALBERT F. 
 124 W. Market Street, 
 Alliance, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. June 4, 1917. Trans. 
 
 to Hq. Co. April 17, 1918. 
 
 ♦SEGNER, ORLEY W. 
 
 3013 Natehez Avenue, 
 Cleveland, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. April 14, 1917. Appt. 
 
 Bugler Aug. 3, 1917. Bugler 
 
 to Bugler 1 cl Jan. 1, 1919. 
 
 Hon, Disch. April 11, 1919. 
 
 *aELF, BENNIE. 
 Fargo, Ind. 
 
 Enl. April 27, 1918. Assgd. 
 to Btry. A June 10, 191.S, 
 Trans, to Camp Taylor De- 
 tachment Feb. 23, 1919. for 
 Hon. Disch. 
 
 *SEYBOLD, ARNOLD D. 
 French Lick, Ind. 
 
 Enl. April 27, 1918. Assgd. 
 to Btry. A June 10, 1918. Appt. 
 Bugler Oct. 4, 1918. Trans, 
 to Camp Taylor Detachment 
 Feb. 23, 1919, for Hon. 
 Disch. 
 
 •SHINN, THORPE P. 
 McGrawsville, Ind, 
 
 Enl. April 26, 1918. Assgd. 
 to Btry. A June 10, 1918. 
 Trans, to Camp Taylor De- 
 tachment Feb. 23, 1919, for 
 Hon. Disch. 
 
 •SIEGENTHALER, REINHARD K. 
 
 5617 Dibble Avenue, 
 
 Cleveland, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. June 2, 1917. Appt. Pvt 
 1 cl May 13, 1918. Pvt 1 cl 
 to Corp. Sept. 1, 1918, Hon. 
 Disch. April 10, 1919. 
 
 8I1.K, EU.NEST A. 
 
 Trans, to Hii. Co. July 27, 
 1917. 
 
 ♦SIMONS, VAUGHN H. 
 946 Seyburn Avenue, 
 Detroit, Mich. 
 
 Enl. April 30, 1917. Appt. 
 
 Pvt. 1 cl Sept. 11. 1918. Hon. 
 
 Diseh. April 10, 1919. 
 
 SIX. GARNET L. 
 17 Furnace Street, 
 Logan, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. May 29, 1917. Assgd. to 
 
 Btry. A. Oct. 27, 1917. 
 
 Trans, to Enlisted Ordnance 
 
 Corps Dec. 4, 1917. 
 
 ♦SIXT. RAYMOND E. 
 West Park, Ohio. 
 
 EnL May 11, 1917. Appt. 
 Pvt 1 cl Oct. 1, 1917. Pvt 
 I cl to Corp. Jan. 10, 1918. 
 Hon. Disch. April 10, 1919. 
 
 ♦SMITH. FRANKLIN H. 
 Culbertson. Mont. 
 
 Enl. April IB. 1917. Appt. 
 Sgt. fr. Pvt. Aug. 3, 1917. 
 Trans, to Conv. Hosp. . Camp 
 Sherman, Ohio, April 10, 1919. 
 
 ♦SMITH. STUAKT P. 
 
 11506 Clifton Boulevard. 
 
 Cleveland. Ohio. 
 
 Enl. May 4, 1917. Appt. Pvt 
 1 cl Feb. 1, 1918. Pvt 1 cl 
 to Corp. April 19, 1918. 
 Corp. to Sgt. Nov. 2, 1918. 
 Hon. Disch. April 10, 1919. 
 
 ♦SMITH. VERNON J. 
 
 1959 W. 104th Street, 
 
 Cleveland. Ohio. 
 
 Enl. April 4, 1918. Assgd. to 
 Btry. A April 8, 1918. Hon. 
 Disch. April 10. 1919. 
 
 ♦SNIDER. FRED J. 
 6812 Zoeter Avenue. 
 Cleveland, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. Aug. 13, 1917. Hon. 
 Disch. April 10, 1919. 
 
 SOBOSLAY, ERWIN M. 
 
 Hon. Disch. Aug. 4, 1917. 
 
 ♦SOBOSLAY. STEVEN W. 
 
 2774 B. 92nd Street, 
 Cleveland. Ohio. 
 
 Enl. June 1, 1917. Appt. 
 
 Pvt 1 fl April 19, 1918. Hon. 
 
 Disch. April 10, 1919. 
 
 183 
 
*SOERELLS. JOHN. 
 
 R. F. D. No. 3, 
 
 Beaver Dam. Ky. 
 
 Enl. April 28, 1918. Assgd. 
 to Btry. A June 10, 191S. 
 Trans, to Camp Taylor De- 
 tachment Feb. 23, 1919, tor 
 Hon. Disch. 
 
 *SPEED, THOMAS R. 
 2633 E. 130th Street, 
 Cleveland, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. April 14, 1917. Hon. 
 
 Dlsch. April 10, 1919. 
 
 *SPEED, WILLIAM S. 
 2633 E. 130th Street, 
 Cleveland, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. May 21, 1917. Appt. 
 Corp. Aug. 3, 1917. Corp. to 
 Sgt. Aug. 11, 1917. Trans, 
 to Field Hosp. , Essey, 
 France, Nov. 1, 1918. Re- 
 assgd. to Btry. A Nov. 22. 
 1918. Red. fr. Sgt. to Pvt. 
 Dee. 1, 1918. Hon. Disch. 
 April 10, 1919. 
 
 STOFER, FRED H. 
 
 2270 E. 95th Street, 
 
 Cleveland, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. April 27. 1917. Appt. 
 Sgt. fr. Pvt. Aug. 3, 1917. 
 Hon. Disch. to accept com- 
 mission Dee. 18, 1918. 
 
 STOFFEL, EDWARD H. 
 
 6704 Hague Avenue, 
 
 Cleveland, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. July 30, 1917. Trans 
 to Hq. Co. March 1, 1918. 
 
 STONE, NATHAN J. 
 
 Trans, to Btry. B Aug. 27, 
 1917. 
 
 *STRATTON, DONALD G. 
 
 1544 Robinwood Avenue, 
 Lakewood, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. Dec. 6, 1917. Assgd. to 
 
 Btry. A Jan. 23, 1918. Appt. 
 
 Pvt 1 cl Nov. 2, 1918. Hon. 
 
 Disch. April 10, 1919. 
 
 *STRAUGHAN, CHARLEY S. 
 
 Enl. April 29, 1918. Assgd. 
 to Btry. A June 10, 1918. 
 Trans, to Base Hosp., Camp 
 Sheridan, Ala,, June 15, 1918. 
 Be-assgd. to Btry. A Aug. 17, 
 1918. Trans, to Evac. Hosp. 
 No. 12, France, Oct. 27, 1918. 
 
 *STRAUSS, BARTHOLD J. 
 
 1875 E. 70th Street, 
 Cleveland, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. June 6, 1917. Appt. 
 
 Pvt 1 cl April 19, 1918. 
 
 Hon. Disch. April 10, 1919. 
 
 STROCK, HARRY K. 
 
 Geneva, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. May 4, 1917. Appt. 
 Sgt. fr. Pvt. Aug. 3, 1917. 
 D. S. to 4 O. T. C. May 
 15, 1918. Trans, to Inf. 
 Repl. Troops, N. A., May 
 25, 1918. 
 
 SWEET, CHARLES P. 
 Care of Mrs. Ray Simmons, 
 R. F. D. No. 4, 
 Ashtabula, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. June 1, 1917. Appt. 
 
 Mech. Oct. 1, 1917. Trans. 
 
 as Mech. to Depot Brigade. 
 
 Camp Jackson, S. C, May 
 
 18, 1918. 
 
 *TABEB, HARRY L. 
 
 923 W. Laport Street, 
 
 Plymouth, Ind. 
 
 Enl. April 26, 1918. Assgd. 
 to Btry. A June 10, 1918. 
 Trans, to Camp Taylor De- 
 tachment Feb. 23, 1919, for 
 Hon. Disch. 
 
 *TAY^LOR, ALLAN C. 
 
 R. F. D. No. 5, 
 
 Chardon. Ohio. 
 
 Enl. Oct. 23, 1917. Assgd. to 
 Btry. A Oct. 27, 1917. Hon. 
 Disch. April 10, 1919. 
 
 TAYLOR, VIRGIL C. 
 11916 Carlton Road, 
 Euclid Heights, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. June 30, 1917. Appt. 
 
 Corp, Aug. 11, 1917. Hon. 
 
 Disch. to accept commission 
 
 Febr. 6, 1918. 
 
 *TERRELL, HARRISON M. 
 
 231 N. Bast Avenue, 
 
 Oak Park, 111. 
 
 Enl. April 17, 1917. To 
 London University, England, 
 Feb. 26, 1919. 
 
 ♦THOMAS, WILBERT J. 
 2241 E. 100th Street, 
 Cleveland, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. April 21, 1917. Appt. 
 Pvt 1 cl May 15, 1918. Hon. 
 Disch. April 10, 1919. 
 
 184 
 
TIERNBY, EDWARD. 
 
 Care of Mrs. Marguerite Mc- 
 
 Nama, 
 921 Liiidy Street. 
 Toledo, Ohio. 
 
 EiU. July 11, 1917. Assgil. 
 
 to Btry. A March 20, 1918. 
 
 Trans. to Depot Brigade, 
 
 Camp Jai^kson, S. C. May 30, 
 
 1918. 
 
 •UNDERWOOD, CARL M. 
 
 N. Academy Street, 
 Lodi, Ohio. 
 
 Eiil. April 23, 1917. Appt. 
 
 Bugler Aug. 15, 1917. Bugler 
 
 to Pvt. Oct. 4, 1918. Hon. 
 
 Diseh. April 10, 1919. 
 
 VAN WASSENHOVB, AUGUST. 
 
 2212 Cedar Avenue, 
 
 Cleveland, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. April 12, 1917. App*. 
 Cook ,luly 15, 1917. Trans, 
 as Cook to Supply Co. June 
 10, 1918. Hon. Disch. to ac- 
 cept commission as 2nd Lieut, 
 and attached to 3Sth Div. 
 Hqs. 
 
 *WAGXER, HAROLD C. 
 West Park. Ohio. 
 
 Enl. May 11, 1917. Appt. 
 Pvt 1 cl Nov. 2, 1918, Hon. 
 Disch. April 10. 1919. 
 
 *WAGNER, JOHN H. 
 3287 W. 82nd Street, 
 Cleveland, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. May 2, 1918. Assgd. 
 
 to Btry. A. May 17, 1918. 
 
 Hon. Disch. April 10, 1919. 
 
 *WALL, ADELBERT M. 
 Twinsburg. Ohio. 
 
 Enl. July 7, 1917. Appt. Pvt 
 1 cl Oct. 1. 1917. Hon. Disch. 
 April 10, 1919. 
 
 •WASOSKI. JOHN. 
 South Bend, Ind. 
 
 Enl. April 27, 1918. Assgd. 
 to Btry. A June 10, 1918. 
 Trans, to Camp Taylor De- 
 tachment Feb. 23, 1919. for 
 Hon. Disch. 
 
 WATTERSON, STUART E. 
 8012 Carnegie Avenue, 
 Cleveland, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. .Tuly 24, 1917. Appt. 
 
 Pvt. 1 cl Sept. 1, 1917. 
 
 Trans, to Sup. Co. as Pvt 
 
 1 cl May 14, 1918. 
 
 WEBER, WINFIELD W. 
 
 2207 E. 85th Street, 
 
 Cleveland, Ohio. 
 
 Assgd. to Btry. A May 17, 
 1918. Trans, to Base Hosp., 
 Camp Upton, L. I.. June 27, 
 1918. 
 
 •WHITE. EUGENE A. 
 25 Brookline Avenue, 
 Salem, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. April 17, 1917. Appt. 
 Pvt 1 cl Oct. 1, 1917. Pv. 
 1 cl to Hs. Dec. 1, 1918. 
 Hon. Disch. April 10, 1919. 
 
 "WILLIAMS, HAROLD W. 
 231 Carlton Avenue, 
 Grand Rapids, Mich. 
 Enl. .lune 6, 1917. Appt. 
 Corp. Aug. 3. 1917. Hon. 
 Disch. April 10, 1919. 
 
 WILLIAMS. ROBERT C. 
 790 Woodward Avenue, 
 Detroit, Mich. 
 
 Enl. July 10, 1917. Appt. 
 
 Corp. Aug. 11, 1917. Red. 
 
 fr. Corp. to Pvt. April 1, 
 
 1918. Trans, to S. 0. S. 
 
 Hosp., Revigny, France, Oct. 
 
 7, 1918. 
 
 •WILSON, DOUGLAS E. 
 3139 E. 94th Street. 
 Cleveland, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. June 4. 1917. Appt. 
 
 Mech. May 18, 1918. Hon. 
 
 Disch. April 10, 1919. 
 
 »WILSON, JOHN B. 
 14104 Idarose Avenue, 
 Cleveland. Ohio. 
 
 Enl. April 23, 1917. Appt. 
 
 Pvt 1 cl Sept. 1. 1917. Pvt 
 
 1 cl to Corp. Oct. IS, 1917. 
 
 Hon. Disch. April 10, 1919. 
 
 •WISE, HARRY B. 
 Painesville. Ohio. 
 Enl. June 4. 1917. Appt. 
 Pvt. 1 cl Oct. 1, 1917. Hon. 
 Disch. April 10, 1919. 
 
 •WISLER. WALTER, A. 
 Wakrusa, Ind. 
 
 Enl. April 26. 1918. Assgd. 
 to Btry. A .Tune 10. 1918. 
 Trans, to Camp Taylor De- 
 tachment Feb. 23, 1919, foi 
 Hon. Disch. 
 
 185 
 
»WITT, FBED R. 
 
 1559 Crawford Koad, 
 Cleveland, Ohio. 
 
 Bnl. April 15, 1917. Appt. 
 
 Bugler Sept. 1, 1917. Hon. 
 
 Disch. April 10, 1919. 
 
 WBAGG, FKANCIS R. 
 9706 Empire Avenue, 
 Cleveland, Ohio. 
 
 E;il. April 24, 1917. Appt. 
 
 Pvt. 1 cl Sept. 1, 1917. Pvt 
 
 1 cl to Corp. Oct. 18, 1917. 
 
 Trans, as Corp. to 37th Div. 
 
 Hq. April 15, 1918. 
 
 •WRIGHT, COY. 
 Big Springs, Ky. 
 
 Enl. April 29, 1918. Assgd. 
 to Btry. A .Tune 10. 1918. 
 Trans, to Camp Taylor De- 
 tachment Feb. 23, 1919, for 
 Hon. Disch. 
 
 *WRIGHT, .TOHN M. 
 
 Ontario Street, North Hill, 
 Akron, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. May 29, 1917. Hon. 
 
 Disch. April 10, 1919. 
 
 VVYLLIE, JOHN R. 
 
 1912 B. 70th Street, 
 
 Cleveland, Ohio. 
 
 Bnl. April 17, 1917. Appt. 
 Sup. Set. fr. Pvt. Aug. 3, 
 1917. Hon. Disch. to accept 
 commission as 2nd Lieut. Dec. 
 18, 1917. 
 
 *ZINGER, CLARENCE W. 
 2623 E. 73rd Street, 
 Cleveland, Ohio. 
 
 Enl. Aug. 28. IHH. 
 
 Disch. April 10, 1919. 
 
 186 
 

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