D
570.33
.314th
J64
tk
B 363599
DUPL
NON INB.'
·
IVERSITY
THE UN
TERD
FHL·LI
ITY
sia
·T
1817
OF MICHIGAN
OF
· LIBRARIES ·
Shre
{
Under The
Lorraine Cross
!
1
#
J
1.
HikeTh
ARTES
LIBRARY
118.17200
VERITAS
PLURIOUS DANNE
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN
TUEBOR
SCIENTIA
CIRCUMSPICE
OF THE
SI QUERIS-PENINSULAM AMŒNAM
WN3.9/UNIV.
WENN
CLASS OF 1920.
Bid
LEDEN DENNA KANGA KULLA ENA NOHÝMY KULIGANI INSTALADOTTIE
PALABRAS ***
Under the Lorraine Cross
An account
of the experiences of infantry-
men who fought under Captain Theodore
Schoge and of their buddies of the Lorraine Cross
Division, while serving in France during the World War
BY
Hite
ARTHUR H. JOEL
Formerly Commanding Co. "F", 314 Inf., U. S. A.
D
570.33
.314th
J64
Copyright, 1921
By Arthur H. Joel
0854049-332

THE LAST LAP OF THE DOUGHBOYS' TRAIL
Behind lay the American cantonment, the Atlantic, the swamps
of Brest and the peasant villages. Ahead were mystery, chance and
uncanny experiences in an inferno of pyrotechnics and death.
•
FOREWORD
When an ex-doughboy talks with an over-sea buddy, or dreamily
gazes into the smoke and flame of a fireplace, how easily he can
recall the stirring incidents of the months or years spent in the land
of duck-boards and fireworks. The pretty mademoiselles, glittering
jewelry displays and beautiful fashions seen on the Paris boule-
vards; the weird night spent on Dead Man's Hill, when the shrieking
shells of a thousand belching cannon streamed overhead onto Mont-
faucon; the storming of Hill 319 the evening before the armistice;
and the odd incidents of life in the quaint peasant villages-these
are but a few of the things that soldiers of the Lorraine Cross, who
fought under Captain "Pop" Schoge, can easily recall and many
times re-live before joining the buddies "gone west" in France.
In the story which follows it is the desire and intention of the
author to furnish his brothers-in-arms with a brief account of the
most eventful period in the majority of their lives; and to give to
any others who may be interested, as clear an idea as possible of
just what their friends or loved ones experienced, thought and felt
while taking an active part in the big European shoot-up. The
diary, orders, maps and other souvenirs in the writer's possession
will form the basis of the account. If the pals and buddies of the
old outfit approve of the work the author will feel well repaid for
his efforts.
CONTENTS
I-A Secret Departure On an Unknown Voyage..
II-Schoge and His Outfit...
III The Ghost of the Vaterland.
IV-Sidestepping the U-Boats...
V-Brest and the Second Retreat from Moscow.
VI Steers and Pack Horses
VII-Frettes-Haute Marne.
•
•
•
• •
VIII-"Butt Swing! Strike! Cut!"
IX-The Weird Trip with the Yellow Men.
X-Bombs, Jackasses and a Gas Attack.
XI-The Eve of the Argonne Drive..
XII-"F Company, Over! Scouts Out!".
XIII-Modern Battle
XIV-The Glitter of Paris.
XV-Tilly
XVI-Death Valley
XVII-From Bois de Chenes to Cote Romagne.
XVIII-An Eleventh-Hour Armistice...
XIX-Doughboys in their Native Haunts.
XX-"Bonne Chance!"
•
..7
.9
11
..13
14
•
•
..17
18
..21
..22
24
..26
.28
32
36
.38
42
•
..44
..47
..49
UNDER THE LORRAINE CROSS
CHAPTER I.
A Secret Departure on an Unknown Voyage
Our story of the big adventure of Company "F" and the other Lor-
raine Cross crusaders begins with the fall of evening shadows over
New York harbor, July 8, 1918. The retiring sun, pronouncing the
close of day, left a message to the observant that the next meeting
would be on the high seas of the Atlantic.
At last, then, the long-dreamed-of event was really happening!
The Leviathan, giant ship of all the seas, with about thirteen thou-
sand soldiers aboard, was quietly slipping anchor from its Hoboken
pier.
Powerful little tugs soon played a winning game of tug-of-war
with the monstrous hulk, and shortly the ungraceful boat, under the
power of its own throbbing engines, was drifting down East River,
through the haze of fog and Manhattan smoke, toward the open
ocean.
Here were secrecy, mystery, and a real net of chance! Closed
port holes, dimmed lights, little information as to near-future events
and the probability that plenty of Hun sea serpents were awaiting
this, their greatest prize such a situation was at least promising
to the khaki-clad American youths on their way to the land of dug-
outs, duck boards and barbed wire.
What a variety of experiences and adventures awaited the eager
young huskies, the majority of whom were of that age which is well
blessed with health, hope and confidence! Many individuals of the
brown human background, massed between smoke stacks, lifeboats
and cannon, still sleep beneath French soil; many are broken in
health and spirits; and all have been changed quite radically in some
way by the events in which destiny had decreed that they take part.
But step by step let us trace their story of thrills, joys, disasters and
uncanny experiences. Then we may realize that reality can easily be
stranger than imaginative make-believe.
CHAPTER II.
Schoge and His Outfit
The Company was made up of West Virginia lumberjacks, Pennsyl-
vania coal miners, men from city slums, farm boys from Eastern
countrysides and representatives of the majority of other typical
classes of America. Rubbing elbows in drills and hikes, sleeping
side by side in French peasant barns, crowding in the same "chow
line" three times a day, and enduring the same hardships and chanc-
ing the same dangers of battle were classes of men who in civilian
life had but little in common. One man had been convicted of mur-
der and another implicated in a like crime. The Company boasted
of several moonshiners and bootleggers, a high-school teacher,
several college graduates, a newspaper reporter, a professional base-
ball player, a couple of business men and at least one lunatic!
The
8
UNDER THE LORRAINE CROSS
story of these men, if properly told, should be more humanly inter-
esting than the average good work of fiction.
For reasons which will become evident as our tale proceeds, a bet-
ter acquaintance should be made with a certain individual character.
Captain Schoge, the "C. O.", or company commander, was "Pop"
and military chief at the same time. He was somewhat of a mystery;
yet he held the full confidence of the men, and could count on their
obedience and loyalty at any time.
The captain was about forty-eight years of age, of short and stocky
build. Although German was predominant in his nationality, I doubt
whether the captain himself was certain of his ancestry. Uneducat-
ed except in army affairs, he spoke rather brokenly with the gram-
matical mistakes of a child. His appearance was such that on first
contact one would naturally class him as a "tough old bird" or a
"hard one," and such did strangers almost invariably consider him.
"Youse mutts-Do sumtin' anyway,-Ruslin' ain't stealin', looten-
ant. I want you to learn that now. In the army it's what you get
away wid, not what you do." It is no difficult matter to recall the
incidents which occasioned the use of these expressions and other
similar ones.
"Annudder guy went an' hung himself," was his common remark
at hearing of one of his men or officers getting married.
Having served in Cuba, Mexico, the Philippines and Panama,
most of the time as a first sergeant or "top-kicker," he was the regi-
mental authority for old army tricks, army lore and "hard" army
sense. He was strict, and he would likely never be requested to
serve as a model for a bust or portrait. Yet I will wager that there
was not a more popular captain in the regiment. And why not?
What mattered a gruff voice and a rough appearance when a man
had a big heart, a great fund of common sense, and an unlimited
supply of army knowledge, and was loyal to his men and officers?
He could command the loyalty of men as could few others in the
division.
Keen and sagacious as only an old army man can be, it was dif-
ficult to "put one over" on the captain, and very few officers would
dare to do some of the things which he did.
Once when ordered by the colonel to guard the scattered lumber
at the new Camp Meade theatre he instructed the sergeant in charge
to have one squad guard it at the point where passersby could see
the pile, and to have the other squad "rustle" the choice planks. So
while the sentinels under one corporal kept the men of other com-
panies at a distance the husky lumberjacks under the other carried
away enough lumber to supply the needs of "F" company indefinite-
ly.
At another time when he discovered that an inspector was examin-
ing service records, and that several company commanders had been
reprimanded for not having shoe sizes recorded, he immediately call-
ed the company clerk and gave him a peremptory order something
to this effect:
"Fer God's sake, corporal, get those shoe sizes in quick!"'
"Sir, the men are all out to drill now and I can't get them in
time," respectfully replied the clerk.
"Slip any sizes in; this bird won't know the difference," came the
quick reply.
So each man was credited with a shoe size, big lumber-jack
Schaffer being given size five and one-half and little Corporal Vogle
size eleven. At random sizes were assigned to each service record
and the captain complacently awaited the inspector.
He was happily congratulating himself on the progress of the
inspection when the shrewd officer discovered that the ink was
SCHOGE AND HIS OUTFIT
9
hardly dry on the shoe-size entries. But "Pop" was as shrewd as
the best of army old-timers, and soon softened the ruffled feelings of
the inspector by making good use of the discovery that both had
fought in the same regiments in Cuba years before.
A more intimate acquaintance will be made with this character as
our tale is told. As the blanket of darkness falls over New York
Harbor let us return to the crowded decks of the Leviathan and
note what is happening there.
CHAPTER III.
The Ghost of the Vaterland.
"By the deep line. By the deep line." The strong bass voice of
the sailor throwing the sounding line repeatedly called through the
spray to the window of the wheelman's cabin. Frequently he would
add the number of fathoms sounded.
From his post well forward on the gun decks, the husky "gob"
would swing the heavy weight like a pendulum, and finally, with his
best effort, sling it well forward into the rough sea. Expert manip-
ulation of the rope gave the depth of water and a guide for safety.
Until darkness and distance had obscured the Statue and maze of
electric signs, the majority of the brown host held their positions
on the open decks, fixing their gazes westward. Very likely they
felt emotions similar to those of the crews of Columbus' good ships
Nina, Pinta and Santa Maria, four centuries previously. There was
no information as to our destination, and the captain of the ship
himself was certain of our course only for the time being. A warn-
ing or guiding wireless message might change our direction radically
at any time. So like the good ship Santa Maria, the Leviathan, Mon-
arch of the Seas, boldly began its lonesome journey across the
Atlantic. For protection against submarines it depended almost
solely upon secrecy and speed.
What an example of fate's irony! Carrying armed enemies equal
in number to a fourth of the population of Lansing, Michigan, this
old ocean liner, Vaterland, was now bent on aggression against its
former owners. German signs could still be found in the state-
rooms.
Few people who have never seen an ocean liner have a correct
idea of the makeup of such a craft. The Leviathan was almost a
thousand feet, or a sixth of a mile, long, and a hundred feet wide,
and she sank forty-odd feet in the water. Her displacement was
sixty-nine thousand tons, and she had forty-six water-tube boilers.
Few harbors could dock her, and she could not go under Brooklyn
Bridge, or enter the Panama Canal.
Although a "gob"-sailor-might be perfectly at home in the
floating city, it was not an infrequent occurrence for a "dough-
boy landlubber" to completely lose himself. Then, to his inquiry as
to direction, a friendly sailor might give him the following answer.
"Sure, Jack, I'll tell you. Go up the ladder what's behind the
hatch that's two compartments aft. Then go through the galley to
F-26. Take the stairway to "F" deck, swing starboard and aft again,
and you're there. It's all right, Jack.
It's all right, Jack. Glad to help you.
Glad to help you. No! aft is
that way. That's a hatch there! Sure. Don't mention it Jack."
And finally, after several more inquiries and a great deal of wan-
dering, just when he was more puzzled than ever, a friend might
point out his bunk section within a few rods of where he stood.
The floating mass of wood and steel which made up the troop
ship Leviathan was a complicated structure, to say the least. Hor-
10
UNDER THE LORRAINE CROSS
izontally, the ship was divided into floors or decks, designated by
the letters from "A" to "H.” Beginning with the topmost deck,
which contained the lobby and officers' dining room, this series
ended with the lowest troop quarters below water line. Still below
this deck, however, were the coal bunkers, and the engine
and stoker rooms. The troop decks were divided into numer-
ous compartments, or rooms, separated by water-tight doors. Locat-
ed at various places among this maze of "decks," compartments and
lobbies were "galleys," or kitchens, shower baths, latrines, hospital
rooms, baggage rooms and sailors' quarters, the whole connected by
ladders, passageways and stairways.
The troops were quartered in the "deck compartments." Each
soldier was entitled to the privacy of a luxuriant bed made by
stretching heavy mess wire across a six-by-two frame of iron pipe.
Economy of space seemed to be the prime consideration, and conse-
quently "bunks" were arranged four deep and two wide, with just
enough aisle space to allow two slim doughboys to pass each other.
Life on board a troop transport was in sharp contrast to life on a
peace-time passenger boat. With the lives of over thirteen thousand
men to consider, and a most dangerous course to pursue, it was
necessary to take special precautions other than the ordinary rules
of an ocean voyage.
Whistling was not permitted, singing after dark was forbidden,
and a general order demanded absolute silence after "taps," or bed
time.
As naval men claim that it is easy to track a ship which leaves a
trail of articles on the water, it was specially ordered that nothing
whatsoever be thrown overboard. This offense was about as serious
to a naval man as the smoking of a cigarette or lighting a match
would be to a doughboy under an enemy bombing plane at the front
on a dark night.
At sunset the entire ship was darkened except in certain spaces
well below decks. A special blue light circuit was then used for
any necessary traffic or movement.
The men were forbidden to show a light or to reflect one upon a
polished surface, to use flashlights or matches on decks, or to
smoke in the open night, as any of these acts might endanger not
only their lives but those of their fellow passengers by attracting
an awaiting submarine.
Ship information gave the following notice: "Sea-sick cans are
supplied and should be used for that purpose only. Men vomiting
on deck should be made to clean it up. Men should realize it is no
disgrace to be sea-sick and that anyone can feel it coming. It is a
mean trick to vomit in the home of others who are all around. Use
the sea-sick cans and keep the deck clean."
It was a court-martial offense to carry ammunition, to open port-
holes or water-tight doors, to smoke in quarters, to be caught away
from your bunk without a life preserver, or to fail to report at your
designated post when the bugler sounded the signal to abandon ship.
For the soldier, the feeding or messing system was a simple mat-
ter. He merely took his designated place in a certain line of men,
and followed the snake parade until he had eaten and returned to
his bunk.
But to feed these thousands of men twice a day was no simple mat-
ter. The system surely was almost an ideal of efficiency, for in the one
troop mess hall on "F" deck, forward of the galley, this host of men
were fed in about an hour and a half, dishes washed, finger bowls
and napkins collected, and all meal tickets properly punched.
The cafeteria system was used. The troops, equipped with mess
outfits, marched by outlined routes to food-serving stations, where
GHOST OF THE VATERLAND
11
the prunes, beans and chili sauce, canned "Bill", and "Java" were
properly mixed in mess kits as the men passed by. No seats were
provided. Garbage was dumped in cans near the exit, and mess gear
washed in dish-washing cans at the washing stations. There were
naturally complaints about the "chow,' for a soldier can, and
usually does, at every opportunity, exercise his privilege of complain-
ing about his meals.
For several days, while the vessel was passing through the hot
gulf stream, the lower decks were most uncomfortably hot, stuffy
and ill smelling. Imagine if you can, the combination of closed com-
partments and port holes, mid-July heat intensified by the warm
ocean current, a soldier to about six square feet of floor space, and
the majority more or less sea-sick. It was a three-day Turkish bath,
so hot that men who lay almost naked in their bunks perspired
freely. Many a doughboy lost his beans and macaroni, and took
C. C. pills to help him recover his bearings.
C. C.'s were the "pill rollers" or "medics" universal offering to
the suffering soldier for sore throat, sore feet, earache, falling hair,
trench feet, mal-de-mer, and flu. Some say that C. C.'s won the
war, but the M. P.'s and Y. M. C. A. dispute the claim.
The simple routine of treatment for an ailment was as follows:
"Well, Corporal, what's the trouble?" the "medic" would ask at
sick call.
"Sir, I gotta pain in my stummick and two blisters on me foot
what I hain't cured yet," might be his reply.
Officer to Sergeant, "Give him some C. C's. Mark him duty and
have him report next sick call."
The next man might complain of toothache and another of a bad
cold, but each in turn received several of the little white pellets.
CHAPTER IV.
Sidestepping the U-Boats
During the four-hour watches among the bunks and sweating
troops, one could easily see that the stuffy conditions were playing
on the tempers of the men. Epithets of all sorts, with Italian, Aus-
trian, and mountaineer accents, as well as in good English, were
evidence of the men's feelings. And the scores of questions asked
about our location on the Atlantic, our probable destination, and
about dangerous submarine zones were proof enough of their
thoughts.
"Submarine!
boy one afternoon.
Sub! See 'er over there," called an excited dough-
Anxious eyes and eyes glinting with the light of excitement
searched the calm blue stretch of mid-ocean. Pulses quickened with
the re-appearance of the distant, white flash in the water, and those
well forward watched the training of the big guns, and waited for
the first shot to rock the boat.
There followed a few moments of anxious suspense.
"Oh! h1, it's a whale spout," came the voice of a rather dis-
appointed native of the moonshine section of West Virginia.
This, to our knowledge, was as close as we came to open dispute
with submarines. However, on its previous voyage, the Leviathan
had a close call just outside of Brest, when three U-boats suddenly
appeared between the big transport and its protecting destroyers. A
quick fusilade of gun fire and the dropping of depth bombs ended
what was for the moment a very dangerous situation.
The gun
crews claim that at least one of the "sousmarin's" never rose again.
12
UNDER THE LORRAINE CROSS
"A sub!
See the periscope over there," suddenly called a dough-
boy who had been feeding the fishes from the rail of a small Eng-
lish "tub."
"A dollar she hits," came a wager from a well-known crap
shooter.
"Two bits she don't," called another.
The "two-bit" bet won, but only by a narrow margin.
Such was the happening on a 28th Division boat on which a friend
of mine made his trip.
Until within two days of Brest harbor the Leviathan was more
lonesome than Columbus' Santa Maria, which had the company of
the Nina and Pinta. Secrecy, speed and expert gunners were our
protection against subs.
One morning we awoke to find five camouflaged destroyers-
long, narrow, super-speedy boats, painted with varicolored diagonal
streaks, and as graceful as canoes. From our own monster boat we
viewed these daring craft with admiration and with about the same
warm feeling that one has upon meeting a friend in a wilderness or
in a strange city.
How quickly and confidently the destroyers were on the trail with
depth bombs ready and guns trained, whenever a whale spout,
grocery box, empty boat or other suspicious thing loomed withia
telescopic view! We had good reason to be proud of our own gun-
ners, who were the best in the Navy, but in its meaneuvering, our
big transport was clumsy compared to our speedy protectors.
cast iron stomach and spike-eating ability must surely have been
required of a man enlisting for a job on one of these supercanoes,
especially in stormy weather.
A
An open boat on the high seas usually means disaster. On the
final lap of the journey a small life boat was passed, and later a boat
load of naval officers was picked up-circumstantial evidence of the
fortunes and misfortunes of a torpedoed crew. Finally, on July 15,
the Leviathan completed the final and most dangerous lap of the
journey through the submarine-infested area along the rocky coast
of Brittany, near Brest. Land was first seen in the early morn-
ing, when a rocky island was indistinctly outlined in the dense fog.
The destroyers accompanied the Leviathan into the long, narrow
channel which led to the spacious harbor of Brest, and soon the
monster ship was anchored in the quiet waters of the big Brittany
port.
A blue-uniformed, dapper, little port officer speeded out in his
motor boat, and the lines of vision of thousands of searching eyes
shifted and intersected as the soldiers intently gazed toward the
foreign land where fate would decide and work out their various
fortunes and destinies during the coming months of the big adven-
ture.
So, far fine! We had escaped the U-boats and the "chow" hadn't
been bad. What was ahead mattered little. Brest from a distance
didn't look half bad, so worries were packed in the ould 'kit bag.
Future troubles didn't bother a soldier. We might have crossed in
an English "tub," with tea and bully beef for "chow," and it might
have taken two weeks instead of seven days. The worst was yet to
come; so why remember sea-sickness, ill-smelling, hot quarters, salt-
water baths, and restrictions of all sorts? The soldier is quick to
adopt Mary Pickford's Pollyanna attitude when conditions are right,
and just as ready to use Monsieur Grump's personality when things
are a little wrong.
Captain Jacobs of "H" company, with a Napoleonic pose greeted
Brest as he did all new places.
"Ah! ha! So this is Russia!"
BREST AND 2ND RETREAT FROM MOSCOW
13
CHAPTER V.
Brest and the Second Retreat from Moscow
Brest is a strong, French, military port on the rocky Brittany
coast. The citadels and fortresses along the water's edge are charac-
teristically European. These, together with the aeroplanes, sausage
or captive balloons, and war craft of all descriptions, aroused the
feeling that one was really beginning to see something of the big
conflict. The spacious, well-protected harbor was an excellent
haven in which to escape storms and enemy submarines.
Just before the battalion left the ship several hundred French
sailors came aboard. They were going to America to bring back a
boat.
"Je ne comprends pas, Monsieur! Oui, oui, oui! I no under-
stand which you have say!
In zis book him is-- comme ca. Oui,
oui, oui," excitedly harrangued one of the tam-o'-shantered blue-
uniformed Frenchies.
He was trying his level best with eyes, arms, head and voice to
make his American brother-in-arms understand.
The American doughboy was having as difficult a time to talk to
Frenchie.
"Not tees! Teeth! No, not tees, Jack! Wee, wee! Look at
this dictionary. See, regardez! Wee, wee, regardez! Yes! Wee!
No!" His intentions were excellent and the book had the informa-
tion, but his poor tongue couldn't work fast enough to say what he
wished.
For those who know little of the langue francaise it might be well
to explain that "wee" or oui means "yes." The French habitually
enunciate three or four of them in a breath, and the American says
it to keep up appearances when he can talk but little of the
language.
The battalion disembarked by ferry on the morning of July 18,
with the human cargo as efficiently packed as a shipment of boxes
or barrels.
"Fall In!" came the first command of the captain given on French
soil, as the company stood among the piles of boxes on the French
docks.
"Forward, March! Route Step! Ho-o-o!"
The long battalion column, with an easy gait passed through the
dirty streets and alleys near the docks, and along the winding, hilly
road to the right of the main street of Brest.
Marching for the first time through a foreign city was an odd ex-
perience. Many children, wearing black cloaks, in search of "chew-
gum" and "chocola", greeted the troops at the docks and trailed
along with the column.
"Hail, hail ze gang all heeare,
What ze ail do we ceeare-
Following their little song, which tickled the troops and incited
hearty laughter, the kiddies asked for their reward, mixing broken
English with French patois.
"Pleece for me you haf ze gome, messtare?" called one voice.
"Amayrican, gib for me one stick of chocola" begged another.
Then in good French would generally follow the polite thanks—
"Merci beaucoup, monsieur."
They generally received a generous gift of these American tid-
bits at Brest, for chocolate and chewing gum were not rare luxuries
to newly arrived soldiers.
Opinions were freely expressed as to the meaning of the signs on
various mercantile shops. Boulangerie, the sign of
of the baker,
Aubergist, that of the inn-keeper, Cafe or Vins, that of the wine
14
UNDER THE LORRAINE CROSS
1
seller and Chapeaux et Vetements, that of the clothing man—these
names soon became familiar to most of the soldiers-especially those
of cafes and wine shops.
At the order "Fall out to the right of the road!" women venders
of fruits and nuts peddled their wares among the resting soldiers.
Not a few of them slyly uncovered bottles of vin rouge, vin blanc
and cognac, at the same time carefully watching the movements of
the officers. Here were seen the first indications of war-time im-
morality, when girls and women came among the troops selling
detestable post-card views.
The rest camp of Brest was a grim joke as the men soon found
out to their great discomfort. On the muddy fields four miles back
of the city, dog tents, the soldiers' portable homes, were quickly
pitched. This was the rest camp that we had heard of.
Seven days in stuffy ship quarters weaken the body considerably,
and the men were in bad shape. But there was to be no rest. The
troops must needs hike back to Brest with light packs and parade
for Admiral de So-and-Such of the French Navy.
Finally, in the late evening, like real doughboys, the men "hit"
the mud for a night's rest, little dreaming how miserable would
be the next few moves. About midnight the colonel issued orders
to break camp immediately and prepare to march to Brest to em-
bark by train to the interior of France. After the usual exchange
of "Yes Sir”, “No Sir”, “I will Sir", and "See to it immediately, Sir",
majors passed word to captains, they to their "loots", "loots" to the
"shavetails", and the second "loots" by sergeants and corporals to
the "bucks" or private soldiers.
What an unholy mixup it was. All were tired, and many were a
bit dizzy from their first acquaintance with French wine. Not a few
had tried some vin blanc bought from an Aubergiste near Pon-
tanazon Barracks, Napoleon's old Brittany headquarters.
The men were so weary they were loath to move at all. Many of
them were new recruits who didn't know how to roll a pack proper-
ly, even in daylight. The situation was disgusting to begin with,
and soon became somewhat pitiful. It was difficult to get the sleepy
soldiers to even realize the order, and most discouraging to help
them collect their belongings and assemble them for the march.
Homes, beds, wardrobes, kitchen accoutrements and household furni-
ture must be collected by each doughboy and rolled in his poncho
and shelter-tent half. In the darkness one could hear plenty of
oaths and calls for assistance as exasperated individuals tried to roll
their belongings into a muddy shelter-half with only soft mud to
kneel in. "Doughboys" and "mudmuckers" were surely appropriate
names for this branch of service!
The battalion left hurriedly, leaving property and stragglers all
along the road to Brest. It was no surprise to see soldiers sprawled
in gutters or across walls, completely exhausted for a time. I won-
dered if Napoleon had seen such sights on this same road, and could
only label the situation the "Second Retreat from Moscow."
CHAPTER VI.
Steers and Pack Horses
The dawn of July 19 found the regiment at the train in Brest, a
hollow-eyed, dirty, low-spirited bunch of men. Hoboes never look-
ed worse. Only once later were they in such shape that a yeggman
might easily be ashamed to call them equals. That was after com-
ing out of a five-day drive in the Argonne.
STEERS AND PACK HORSES
15
At Brest the outfit had its first introduction to "Huit Cheveaux
ou Quarante Hommes"-signs printed on the cars of French troop
trains. The English translation is "eight horses
"eight horses or forty men.
That meant that each little toy box car would incite as many brays
of insult from eight horses as it would epithets and expressions of
disgust from forty men. In other words each box car would accom-
modate either eight horses or forty men on the coming three-day
live stock shipment to the interior of France.
These little trains reminded one of the miniature toys seen in the
store windows about Christmas time. They were truly funny, but
the only thing about them that could produce a show of humor from
the sullen soldiers was the peculiar shriek of their whistles. Their
weak, tinny sounds reminded one of a merry-go-round siren; and
their shrieks never failed to produce at least amused smiles or ex-
pressions of superior contempt.
The majority of the men had third-class cars with rough seats, but
they were so crowded they had to take turns sleeping or lying down.
The excursion across France in the toy train was an odd experience
to say the least. I judge that the natives were careful to keep well
away from the tracks when the train whistle whined its warning
of the coming of the Yanks; for there were frequent showers of cans
and wine bottles through windows and doors. Corporals shared up
the bread, canned goods and beans, and French Croix Rouge-Red
Cross-poured chicory coffee at the station stops. As a rule there
were as many fights and squabbles over cans of jam as there ordi-
narily are in a game of craps. Each stop meant an organized at-
tempt to corner some wine, cognac, champagne or other concoction
in order to kill the disgust, fatigue and monotony of the trip. The
destination, as usual, was unknown.
"
By referring to a map of France, the route of the "Tin-Whistle
Express" can be traced to the interior of the country. The diary
shows the route as follows: Brest, Morlaix, Guincamp, St. Brieuc,
Montefort, Rennes, Vitre, Laval, Lemans, Chateaux du Loire, Tours,
St. Aignan, Gievres, Bourges, Nevers, Dijon and Laignes.
Even a rough soldier could hardly help but notice the very beau-
tiful scenery in the chateau country along the Loire and in the
valleys near Dijon. Ancient castles and chateaux, set on wooded
hills bordering beautiful valleys, furnished wonderful sunset views.
The regiment disembarked at Laignes in the Department of Cote
d'Or before daylight on the morning of July 22. Shortly the long
column was swinging along the crooked streets of the village, past
the chapel, cemetery, inns and old stone dwellings of the peasants.
As usual the destination was unknown. The men were tired and
weary as the result of the discomforts and exposure of the ocean
voyage, the miserable night at Brest, and the three-day ride in box
cars. Few of the doughboys who marched to Puits that day will
likely soon forget it--and yet it was but a typical infantry hike.
The troops were under heavy marching order, each "buck" and
"non-com" laden like a mountain burro, carrying a fifty-pound
pack containing his wardrobe, bed, toilet articles, pantry and other
necessities and accessories. The army rules governing such a mov-
ing day require a steady march of fifty minutes, followed by a rest
of ten minutes, when the soldiers "fall out" on the right side of the
road. Each soldier must keep his place in ranks, and is forbidden
to drop out except by special permission, which sometimes is quite
difficult to obtain.
This particular hike was a mere fifteen-mile jaunt, up hill most
of the way, with a hot sun and plenty of dust clouds. Only stolid
Lieut. Colonel Miers and his staff, marching at the head of the bat-
talion, knew of the destination. Stocks jumped sky-high whenever
16
UNDER THE LORRAINE CROSS
a little village appeared nestling in a valley or along a hillside, but
curses and epithets increased in number and variety when no order
was received to halt and adopt the town as a new home.
Toward the end of such a march husky men would blindly stagger
to the roadside and drop in a ditch or shady place to come along
later as best they could. Blistered feet, weak spines, fainting spells,
dizzy spells, and well-nigh, broken shoulder blades were but a few
of the tortures which urged the body to give up the fight. One was
unconscious of all else except dirt and sweat, heat, blind staggers
and bodily ills, and won the fight only by an almost superhuman
muster of grit and will power.
During the last fifteen minutes of the march whole groups were
dropping out, completely exhausted, and staggering toward the side
of the road.
"Fall out, unloose packs, and rest until further orders." The
order finally came at the outskirts of Puits, a quaint little town of
Cote d'Or.
In the village considerable difficulty was encountered in trying to
make the bewhiskered town officials understand just what was de-
sired. Signs and gestures aided by a knowledge of a few French
words and expressions didn't take the place of Patois French by any
means. But finally arrangements were made to adopt Puits as a
"hangout" and the men were billetted in the barns and in vacant
rooms of peasant dwellings. It would be difficult to decide just
which of these places made the best place to hang up one's sombrero.
The first day in Puits was profitably occupied in nursing blistered
feet and sore muscles, and in currying the coats of sweat and road
dust collected during the past week. The remaining few days were
occupied in making the acquaintance of the peasants, in learning to
speak their local language and in acquiring knowledge of the hidden
mysteries of the cognac shops.
Here in Puits an incident happened which taught some few a
real lesson. A wealthy wine merchant invited the officers to his
chateau for a party. The Lt. Colonel, a connoisseur of wine and
liquor, plotted to outdrink the Frenchman, who, in turn was proud
of his ability to handle the "fire water." After a great deal of feast-
ing and drinking the wily Monsieur, the wine merchant, passed a
candied honey preparation which he courteously but wisely refrain-
ed from eating. The combination of the supersweetened honey
with cognac, annissette, benedictine, vin rouge, triple sec, trois
etoiles, eau de vie and other French concoctions which the merchant
lavishly issued, produced quite disastrous effects in a short time.
Reports of the guests indicated that they experienced all the sen-
sations of acute gastritis, intoxication, delirium tremens, and St.
Vitus dance. Next morning, Lieut.
sitting on a
rock near the chateau, solemnly swore he never drank before and
was "off the stuff" for life. He seemed discouraged with life as he
sat on the bowlder meditating about the evils of liquor and the
temptations of war.
A couple of months' sojourn in this quiet little village with its
quaint peasant natives-that was a happy thought indeed! Blister-
ed feet and the hardships of the past few weeks could easily be for-
gotten. They weren't so bad after all.
But with the shock of a bomb shell there came a new surprise.
"Prepare the troops for a long trip by trucks" came the concise
order from regimental headquarters. Pleasant anticipations of
sleep and decent food were again sent scurrying. Expressions in-
dicated the soldiers' simple philosophy of "Oh, well what's the use?”
(Generally another, more expressive word, was used in place of
"well").
STEERS AND PACK HORSES
17
Early next morning, on the grassy borders of a country road just
outside Puits, lounged the thousand-odd souls that made up the
battalion. They were resignedly awaiting the coming of the trucks
and they continued to wait. Evening came and night passed. The
following day was spent in searching for food and wine and loung-
ing around the village and along the roadside. Night came again
and with it pouring rain and the train of big army trucks.
After passing the night hours in the cold downpour, the men and
their packs were loaded on the trucks with less regard than is often
given to the loading of prize live stock on a car or wagon. But then,
men were badly needed on the firing line, and the boys up there
had far less conforts than we. Furthermore this was far better
than hiking on blistered feet, with heavy packs; so why worry?—
"K-K-K-Katy, beautiful Katy,
You're the only, only girl that I adore,
W-W-When the M-M-Moon shines over the cow shed,
I'll be waiting at the K-K-Kitchen door."
The long trip from Cote d'Or to Haute Marne through Coulmiers-
Le-Sec, Chattillon-Sur-Seine and Champlitte was cold and weary, but
not the worst by any means.
CHAPTER VII.
Frettes-Haute Marne
Frettes, in the Department of Haute Marne, is a typical French
peasant village. From a distance it made a very pretty view. Nest-
among the green fields and beautiful wooded hills, its red-til
roofs here and there shyly peeked through the foliage of giant oaks.
Towering above this mass of color was the chapel spire, and setting
on the highest rise of ground a chateau several centuries old. The
scene could hardly help but please the artistic sense of even an un-
appreciative infantryman.
The surrounding rolling country was cut into numerous narrow
fields, each colored according to its special crop. This odd system
of farm division is a relic of feudal days when each retainer or peas-
ant farmed the narrow strips of land allotted him. From an aero-
plane these rural districts resembled large patch quilts, the villages
appearing as little bunches of red yarn, the numerous light-colored
country roads reflecting the bright summer sun, forming an intricate
design of radiating and interesting threads.
But for the sake of truth we must spoil the picture. These little
villages, when viewed from their muddy, unsanitary streets and
lanes, present a far different aspect, and quickly dampen the en-
thusiasm of the distant observer who had taken too much for grant-
ed. Their isolation, very poor sanitary conditions, and lack of
amusements or attractions except cafe life and barracks entertain-
ment, explain the average soldier's statement that he wouldn't give
a nickel for the whole of France. Had these men had the oppor-
tunity to visit Paris, Nice, Monte Carlo, Aix-Les-Bains, the Alps,
Biarritz, and other centres of unequaled beauty and interest, the
American army in France would now have some delightful memories
to offset things they would like to forget.
The buildings are all of stone, many centuries old. Generally in
the same structure are included the peasant home, wagon shed,
barn, and occasionally a rabbit pen or pig pen and a chicken house.
And where did the soldiers live-in the homes, you think? A few
fortunates did, but the majority called the barns or wagon sheds
homes for many weeks, each soldier claiming enough space to make
18
UNDER THE LORRAINE CROSS
up his bunk, and far enough from his neighbor so as not to create
any friction in case of a false kick or arm swing in a troubled sleep.
How pleasant this was when your neighbor was entertaining cooties
or fleas and hadn't bathed his feet for a week! Little exertion of
the imagination is required to picture many other similar situations.
It is told of an American billeting officer that upon returning to
a certain village after an absence of several months he could hardly
recognize the place because it had been cleaned up by American
soldiers. The old familiar dung heaps which had served as guide
posts to cafes, boulangeries, patisseries or the home of a peasant
lass, had all been removed. Consequently he had to become reac-
quainted and never again felt at home in the place.
""
The village inhabitants were a kind-hearted, long-suffering class
of people who worked hard in the homes, public wash-houses and
fields, and saved every possible centime and franc. During our so-
journ we seldom saw able-bodied Frenchmen, they being on the
firing line or already with their comrades who had "gone west.'
The old people, girls and children did all the work. Washing
was done in a rickety public building with cold water and little or
no soap, muscle energy taking the place of hot sods. Is it any won-
der then that many Americans contracted French itch?
How these millions of European peasants have worked, saved and
suffered we lucky Americans can not appreciate.
CHAPTER VIII
"Butt Swing! Strike!
Strike! Cut!'
The ordinary setting of Frettes on the stage of life was that of a
quiet little country village at peace with the world. But the world
was now staging a production of thrill and action and not peaceful
drama. So we find Frettes, Coulmiers-le-Sec, Champlitte, and their
sister villages placed in sharp contrast to their ordinary arrangement
on the world's stage. At the time of our story these towns wore a
decidedly military aspect with American soldiers the predominant
figures.
During its six weeks' sojourn in Frettes the battalion was subjected
to a schedule of intensive training for an active part in the big game
at the front lines. The end in view was to place the soldier in the
best possible state of health to endure the severe hardships of life
in trench, shell hole, and dugout; and to so train him in discipline
and the use of all infantry weapons, that in the excitement of bat-
tle, when men cease to be men, he would automatically or sub-con-
sciously properly perform his duty.
"Gather round. Oh, Gawd get a 'ustle on! You are bally slow
this mawnin'
999
It was the voice of the husky British bayonet sergeant down on
the drill field, with bayonet practice in full swing.
He would calmly advise the infantrymen to shove a bayonet only
a "hinch" into a man's throat, two "hinches" in his kidneys, or a
couple of "hinches" to his "art." "If you git the blade too deep in
'is ribs, you will 'ave difficulty in gittin' it out, and the next Boche
will git you," he repeatedly cautioned.
And the cold fact is that a blade tangled in ribs might cost a man
his life.
"On guard! Long point! Butt Swing! Strike! Cut! Rest!"
"Long thrust! Hand ahead! Pull out! On guard!"
The series of commands came in rapid succession as your weary
arms swung, cut, and thrust with the heavy rifle and bayonet.
"BUTT SWING! STRIKE! CUT!”
"High port! Charge!" This command always resulted in quick
action.
To see the long line of doughboys bearing down the field with
shining bayonets at "Port" and then at "Charge", yelling as they
came, one would judge them to be really blood-thirsty. And such is
the intended effect upon an enemy, the charge and yell lessen an
cpponent's nerve.
"Gas! Gas!"
M
19
At any time at drill one could expect the practice warning. May-
be it would come during a formal drill. Then helmets were dumped,
guns dropped between legs, and the mask dug out of its case as
quickly as possible. How pleasant it was to wear them a half hour
or more, while drilling, resting or running, until the gill valves
would make noises like bellowing cattle.
An observer on Frettes drill field any week day might see all
sorts of maneuvers and war antics. To start the day there would
be close order drill. This is the formal drill at strict attention main-
ly for disciplinary purposes. It is an inspiring sight-when out of
the ranks to watch platoons and companies marching in step, heads
up, rifles at proper angles,the whole command moving and perform-
ing as one man, according to the orders of the officer or sergeant in
charge.
One! Two! Three!
Down with that gun!
eyes ahead and
Compan-n-n-n-y! Halt!
"Company! Tension! Forward! Ho-!
Four! One ! Two! Three! Four!"
"Squads Right About! Yo! Left! Right!
One! Two!
Two! Three! Four! Private
your mouth shut, you're at attention!
Rest!"
This is just the mixture of commands and "close order" jargon
one can hear from most any drilling officer.
A casual civilian passerby on the hills above Frettes would on
several occasions have seen some wild scenes. Toward the end of
the training period six or eight non-commissioned officers and a
"shave-tail" would load up with bombs, rifle grenades and pistol
ammunition which was left over, and celebrate
on the grenade
range north of the village, several evenings each week.
When the soldiers were ready and eagerly waiting, the "shavetail”
called his commands. "Line up! Ready! Pull Rings and Fire!'
The line quickly ducked behind the stone rampart, and the ex-
plosion of forty or more bombs in quick succession made plenty of
racket and threw enough dirt and bomb fragments to give a real,
front line effect.
I dare say that the pleasantest part of the training schedule was
the short hikes over beautiful French countrysides. Forgetting the
more serious phases of war, the company spent many a pleasant
morning along country roads leading to innumerable beautiful, land-
scape views.
"Oh! I want to go home,
Oh! I want to go home,
Quaint little peasant towns, hiding in valleys and behind the hills;
chateaux on the summits of low wooded bluffs; road chapels and an
occasional small cathedral-these and numerous other interesting
scenes would come to view as the brown column curved round a
woods, went over a hilltop, or followed a valley.
As enjoyable as the scenery were the pleasantries, songs and ban-
ter. In such a collection of men as made up the organization of most
branches of our army, there was considerable good vocal talent and
some rare wit. Until the hikers began to become tired or weary
there was usually a steady run of songs, jokes and quips of great
variety.
20
UNDER THE LORRAINE CROSS
The bullets they whistle,
The cannons they roar,
I don't want to go to the trenches no more.
Take me back o'er the sea.
Where the Dutchmen they can't get at me,
Oh my! I'm too young to die,
Oh! I want to go home."
Then in chorus would generally follow:
"Some day I'm going to murder the bugler,
Some day they're going to find him dead,
We'll amputate his reveill-i, and stamp upon it heavily,
And spend the rest of our days in bed."
An ex-sailor frequently sang a ditty that began like this:
"Oh! I'm Loco, oh I'm Loco in the cocoa,
Tilly-oco-Tilly-oco-"
C
Amost invariably opinions were freely expressed about the "can-
ned willy", "horse meat", "slum", "chopped hay", 'Java",
"punk", baked beans and other common items of the "chow" wagon.
And as favorite a pastime was that of spreading all sorts of rumors.
It might be that we were going to Italy or that the Allies had sud-
denly captured Berlin. According to these reports the Kaiser was
killed at least a score of times, the war ended about twice as often,
and we were due to leave for the front "next day sure" at least twice
between reveille and taps each twenty-four hours. It was a common
belief that the United States Army possessed a mosí deadly gas that
could wipe out the enemy forces in a very short time. Not a few
constantly awaited reports that these deadly fumes had destroyed
the whole German Army.
As the soldiers gradually became fatigued the exchange of banter
lessened and usually ceased. From then on until the return to quar-
ters the column marched silently, each man busy with his own
thoughts.
There was but little amusement in these training areas to break
the monotony of drill. Occasionally the battalion would organize
a little show or a Y. M. C. A. troop would entertain. The evenings
were spent lounging in quarters, in the cafes, sipping wine or beer,
and in the "canteen" or battalion store. There were no doubt many
private vin rouge parties and some real exciting sessions of craps
But the greater number of monotonous evenings were spent in
billets, lounging, arguing and telling stories and rumors.
Finally on September 6 orders were received to prepare for the
next move. There was but one place to go, if we were to follow the
customary schedule-and that was to the front, the area of fight
and fireworks!
The morning of September 7 was announced with the usual re-
veille bugle call which still seemed to sing
"I can't get 'em up, I can't get 'em up,
I can't get 'em up in the morning;
Privates worse than Corporals;
Corporals worse than Sergeants;
Sergeants worse than Lieutenants;
And the Captain's the worst of all.”
During the day there was the customary clatter of wooden shoes
of peasants trodding the village streets, the familiar ringing of the
chapel bell, and the usual barks of dogs and mews of stray cats. But
the absence of other familiar sounds was noticeable. The rifle range
was silent, and one could not hear the fusilades of grenades, auto-
matics and bombs. It was a day of quiet preparation for the big
coming event.
"BUTT SWING! STRIKE! CUT!"
21
At "Retreat" formation, after roll call, and salute to "The Colors"
a few orders were given relative to the departure next morning.
After supper the men for the last time observed the homely little in-
cident of the aged and bewhiskered little peasant sheep-herder driv-
ing his flock through the village streets, repeatedly blowing the
sheep horn that appeared to be at least as ancient as himself.
"Taps" finally marked the close of six weeks of life which we
soon came to regard as so many weeks of comfort instead of as a
monotonous period of training.
The bugle this time seemed to chant a different message.
"When your last
Day is past,
From afar
Some bright star,
O'er your grave,
Watch will keep,
While you sleep
With the brave."
CHAPTER IX
The Weird Trip with the Yellow Men
Early morning of September 8 found the battalion lined up in
village ready to leave for the front.
"Au Revoir!”
"Bon Voyage!"
"Bonne Chance!"
"Vive les Americains!"
Such were the passing remarks of peasant friends as the khaki-
clad column trailed out of Frettes and took up its march over the
dusty road to LaFerte railroad station.
At LaFerte the men were again loaded in livestock fashion, about
thirty or forty to a little box car. This time the train also carried
horses, kitchens, one-pounders, machine guns, trench mortars, am-
munition and other supplies and equipment for combat service. The
battalion left La Ferte the same evening, the shrill train whistle
sounding more tinny than ever.
The following day the outfit arrived at Fains 'a Meuse near Bar-
le-Duc, on the main road from Chalons-sur-Marne to Verdun. Here
all clothing, baggage and equipment not needed at the front were
stored-only to be looted before our return several months later.
This stripping of the division for action and the final weeding-out
of men unfit for battle was indicative of big near-future events.
At Fains the outfit was privileged to see something that is still a
rare sight. This was a fleet of at least a hundred aeroplanes, in
flying-duck formations, on their way to take part in the St. Mihiel
drive. One seldom sees such a bevy of birds or hears the combined
whir of so many powerful motors.
The departure from the world of calm and the trip to the inferno
of pyrotechnics and death were weird events. The fall of darkness
over the Department of Meuse found the Lorraine Cross Division
assembled on the darkened streets of several villages, awaiting
orders to board the French troop trucks, crowding the streets and
lanes. Here and there in front of cafes and confectionery shops were
little groups of slouchy yellow men, babbling in their peculiar gut-
tural tongue. These Chinamen were hired by the French govern-
ment to drive troops over the Sacred Road to the battle lines east
and west of the Meuse River.
22
UNDER THE LORRAINE CROSS
Shortly after dusk the doughboys were loaded into the rickety
conveyances, about twenty-five soldiers with their packs and weapons
in each bus. Comfort was of secondary importance, the shipment
being packed according to the latest standards of loading efficiency.
Stuffy boat decks were not half bad after all! Neither were the
dirty French box cars! Such was the natural trend of thought of
many a youth in the trucks, as he squirmed and twisted his body to
free a leg or arm, or to relieve a cramp. Later, even these jouncy old
"boats" would have been a gift of the gods. But step by step the
soldiers became hardened to new physical demands until they tend-
ed to become animal-like in endurance,
For hours the trucks rumbled over rough roads and through dark-
ened villages, passing French sentries and military police at various
points. To only the officers in charge of trucks, sitting beside the
Chinese drivers, were the numerous, strange, new signs and objects
visible; for the trucks were covered like old American stage coaches,
shutting off the view of the doughboys inside.
The mystery and weirdness of the night ride reached their climax
with the appearance, one at a time, of the various signs of frontline
activity. The first hazy flashes could easily have been mistaken for
heat lightning, and the low rumbles for distant thunder. But, as
the flashes increased in number and intensity, and the thunder-like
noises became sharper and more frequent, their origin was unmis-
takable.
About the same time one could hardly help but notice the bright
beams of powerful searchlights piercing the darkness of the starless
night. One or more of these would suddenly appear, cut across the
inky darkness a few times, and then as suddenly die out.
Finally arriving within a few miles of the trenches, the effects of
st shells and flares of odd designs made the night almost enchant-
ing. Of greatest frequency were the signals of stars. One would
suddenly shoot toward the sky, and four others follow at about
equal distances, the fire gradually dying out as they fell.
All these, together with rockets and other explosive fireworks of
various colors and designs, could always be seen in the battle areas
from dusk to dawn, and occasionally in daylight.
The truck train finally rumbled over the cobbled streets of the
deserted, shell-torn village of Dambasle, and stopped along the nar-
row, rough road beyond. This was about 3:00 a. m. There were no
definite orders except one passed along the line to debark. In the
darkness and confusion it was difficult to assemble the men in their
proper organizations. A few spent the remainder of the dark hours
sleeping on the hard benches of a little chapel back in Dambasle.
Most of the battalion, however, went to Brocourt woods, back of
Recicourt, the neighboring village.
CHAPTER X
Bombs, Jackasses and a Gas Attack
A little less than two months had elapsed since the company had
stepped off the transport at Brest. The night previous they had left
the rickety trucks and their Chinese drivers on the road between
Dambasle and Recicourt. What next? Where bound? What use-
less questions they were!
It seemed to be a new world that we were now in.
For a couple of days the regiment rested in the dirty shacks and
damp dug-outs of muddy Brocourt woods. A brigade of negro
troops had left just previous to our arrival, and judging from con-
!
23
BOMBS, JACKASSES, GAS ATTACK
ditions, they had not been careful about sanitation. The place was
in a filthy state.
During the two weeks following the beginning of the wild-boar
life in the Brocourt woods, several exciting events served to break
the monotony of the period of watchful waiting.
Two sausage balloons, anchored above Bois de Brocourt, were the
center of interest the first day. At frequent and quite regular in-
tervals Fritz would "strafe" them with fusilades of anti-aircraft
shells. As the explosives broke around the big "sausages", one
awaited the explosion or collapse of the huge gas bags. But the bar-
rage never seemed to do any harm, the only visible result being the
scores of big puffs of smoke around the balloons.
Finally, late in the afternoon, a German plane suddenly appeared
-seemingly from nowhere, encircled the balloons several times,
and sent them both flaming to earth, by piercing the bags with in-
cendiary bullets. The French observers were lucky enough to land
safely in their parachutes.
"Sh-Swish, Sh-Swish!"
-
For the first time was heard the peculiar whistle of shells on their
course, far over head.
These few peace notes apparently fell harm-
lessly far beyond. But the shells which bombared Recicourt, our
Division Headquarters, did more damage. If reports be true, there
was a hasty and rather undignified stampede of generals, colonels
and aids. Rumor has it that a perfectly good dinner was abandoned
when a shell addressed to the headquarters' mess was properly de-
livered. It was a shame to leave such good "chuck" and vin, but shell
music is not as pleasant as a jazz orchestra, especially at meal time.
The usual parting regrets were not expressed when the doughboys
left the mud and filth of Bois de Brocourt. Any place should be
an improvement. From this time on all hikes at or near the front
were at night, special care being taken to keep our presence and
movements entirely unknown to Fritz. Something big was soon to
occur, but what it was we were not to know until suddenly plunged
into it a fortnight later. The next stop of the gypsies wa, at Bois
de Recicourt.
The wooded and bushy slope of this hill, with its climbing vines
and winding paths could easily have been Shakespeare's Forest of
Arden. But the hewn-stone bomb-shelters and musty dugouts
spoiled the little fantasy. Here occurred an incident involving aerial
bombs and jackasses that promised to be serious, but took a humor-
ous turn and ended as one of war's jokes. It happened on a bright,
starry night, the ideal time for the operation of bombing planes.
About nine o'clock one could easily hear the unmistakable whir of
a Hun plane.
"Throw sumtin' down an' see what you cin hit. Do sumtin',
Fritz."
It was the voice of Captain Schoge, the odd character described
in the beginning of this account. We were sitting in front of the
opening in his damp dugout, and wanted to see something happen.
"Come on, Fritz, where". He never finished the challenge.
Crash! Bang! The hill rocked with the explosions. Several more
of the Rhineland love-messages were duly delivered with typical
German regularity. Between explosions we could hear scurrying
feet carrying anxious doughboys to bomb proofs and dugouts. Ac-
cording to the non-coms' reports the following day, it was a wild
stampede.
At this point the affair took a humorous turn. About a dozen
jackasses, stabled in a shed down the slope, gave a chorus of brays
and "hee-haws" in jackass key and with good donkey harmony. The
little beasts were used by French soldiers to carry supplies up the
24
UNDER THE LORRAINE CROSS
rough and hilly trails. Several times since our arrival they had
favored us with their peculiar chorus.
Here was excitement aplenty, with a Forest of Arden setting, and
ushered in by the brays of "jacks." The bombs had fallen half a
mile or more away; it was an attempt to destroy the railhead at Dam-
basle. But judging from the intensity of the explosions, we natur-
ally concluded that they had fallen in our little woods.
The next stop, a few days later, was Bois de Hesse, close to the
first lines of the trench system. Here occurred an incident as hu
morous as the one in Recicourt. This is a story of a gas attack, a
lost mask, and a bunch of laughing Frenchmen.
The regiment was sleeping under the trees along the narrow gauge
track in Hesse woods. Some had pitched their dog tents while
others had merely rolled up in their blankets and coats. We had
arrived about eleven P. M. and knew little of the location.
The colonel had given orders for the men to sleep with gas masks,
"alert" or ready to don thom as quickly as possible. This order, to-
gether with the mystery of the situation and the occasional shriek
of a big shell passing overhead, aroused feelings of nervous expecta-
tion.
About midnight there was a sudden confusion of sounds and
events that quickly changed many a pleasant dream to a night-
mare of reality. The shouts of "Gas! Gas!", the bellowing
and screeching of gas horns and claxons, and the fusilades of rifle
fire could mean but one thing-a gas attack. There were few that
night who failed to make record speed in donning their masks.
But one poor fellow had lost his and was shaking hands and bid-
ding good-bye to his pals, his imagination probably already causing
him to feel suffocated with the deadly fumes.
"Climb a tree, Jack, the gas stays close to the ground," called
some cool doughboy, as he jerked out his mouth-piece and quickly
returned it.
Needless to state, Jack was among the higher branches in close
communion with the stars in short order.
After what seemed an age the gas officer shouted the order,
"Masks off! No gas!" He had tested the air and found nothing at
all suspicious. It was a false alarm that had been started near Dam-
basle and spread for miles along the line of waiting troops.
Jack then sheepishly slid to the ground, well satisfied with the
turn of events.
Over on the main road French artillerymen were doubling with
laughter at the antics of the crazy Yanks.
CHAPTER XI
The Eve of the Argonne Battle.
At the last officer's call in Foret de Hesse came the first news of
the coming Argonne drive. The regiment's mission was to take over
the front line at Dead Man's Hill, and in the big drive, to capture
Avocourt, Malancourt, Cuizy, Sepstarges, Montfaucon and Nantillois
beyond.
The colonel, with his usual serious mien, talked like a strict fa-
ther to the semicircle of lieutenants, captains and majors collected
in front of his dug-out in the woods. It was the last meeting of
314th officers before going over the top, and they knew that a few
at least would be missing before the next summons to regimental
headquarters.
The younger officers tried to plague each other.
EVE OF THE ARGONNE BATTLE
25
"I'll appropriate your cigarettes and dog biscuit tomorrow, when
you're yelling for Peter at the gates," called Lieutenant
an eastern football star, to Lieutenant
Company platoon commander.
an "E"
"Say, whop, you're mistaken. I'll be taking that five bucks you
owe me from the last poker game, when you're with your monkey
ancestors," came the quick answer.
Happy-go-lucky, dare-devil young fellows like these, both of the
ranks and commissioned, were the backbone of the American Army.
A man between the ages of eighteen and twenty-five apparently has
less fear for his life than an older person.
On the evening of September 25 an officer and four scouts from
each company were sent to the front lines to locate platoon positions
among the battered trenches, shell craters, and masses of rusted
wire on desolate Dead Man's Hill. The pitch black night and the
necessity for silence made this a very difficult and "spooky" mission.
Towards midnight these same guides met their platoons at the regi-
mental dug-out and guided them single file to their respective areas
of holes, ditches, barbed wire and mud, there to await the approach
of their first zero hour. The troops were fully prepared for battle-
more or less a matter of increasing their supply of ammunition and
lessening the amount of clothing, bedding and other such luxuries of
the march. Each soldier carried his rifle, at least two hundred
rounds of rifle ammunition, bombs, emergency rations, raincoat and
overcoat, a canteen of water, and any extra firearms he might be
using. With these he was ready to go over the top from Dead Man's
Hill and trust to God for food, water and luck for an uncertain
length of time.
This same spot had been the scene of wholesale slaughter in 1916,
in the Second Battle of Verdun, when the German hordes tried to
take that city. The country was an area of desolation as far as the
eye could see on a clear day. Trees were full of lead, dug-outs were
caved in, and if current reports be true, the intense shell fire had
lowered the height of the hill about two feet. The division's mission
this first time over the top was to capture the territory thus far held
by the Germans against all attacks. Montfaucon, the city on the
high point across the broad desolate valley, was the main objective.
The Germans called it Little Gibraltar, and boasted that it was im-
pregnable. It had been the Crown Prince's headquarters in the
second battle of Verdun.
Sometime after midnight, shortly after the moonlight had broken
through the screen of dense, black clouds, cannon of all sizes began
belching a steady stream of high explosives and gas shells, the dead-
ly messengers of destruction flying over the heads of the waiting
troops and falling somewhere on the enemy position. Tons and
tons of steel shrieked and whistled, each type of missile sounding
its weird warning of destruction and death. Accompanying the roars
and shrieks were intermittent flashes of the guns lighting the
horizon as far as the eye could see. At the same time, over toward
Montfaucon, one could see the flashes of exploding shells doing their
deadly work of destroying barbed-wire entanglements, trenches and
dug-outs, as well as the city of Montfaucon. Now and then a shell
from an enemy counter battery exploded somewhere on Dead Man's
Hill, adding to the clamor and thrill of the weird night.
One who has not actually experienced the infernal, yet wonderful
babble of noises and weird lightning-like flashes that accompany
such a barrage as prepared the Argonne advance, cannot begin to
imagine the emotions one feels on such an occasion. With belching
cannon behind, tons of explosive flying over head, innumerable
shells bursting on enemy territory beyond, and the time of the jump-
26
UNDER THE LORRAINE CROSS
1
off approaching with the daylight, one could only wonder and try
to feel a little more significant.
From 6:00 to 6:30 a. m. scouts crawled out with wire cutters,
and opened passage-ways in belts of barbed wire. During the same
half hour a dense smoke screen was placed ahead by a gas regiment
in the rear, in order to conceal all movements.
The outfit was ready to go over the top of trenches and shell holes
at the command of its officers at exactly 6:30 a. m.
CHAPTER XII
"F Company, Over!
Scouts Out.”
This chapter of the account, telling of the fighting of Company
"F", 314 Infantry, in the woods and swamps of the Argonne battle,
is probably quite typical of the experiences of the many thousands
of other Americans in the same great struggle. Analyzing his own
mental state the author will try to show just what were the feelings
and emotions of a human being during the varied stages of such an
uncanny ordeal.
Directly following the account, to lighten depressed feelings we
will take an imaginative trip to the boulevards and palace-gardens
of beautiful. and gay Paris, the queen of all cities. But, for the
present, let us advance with the waves of infantry and see the at-
tack through.
Zero hour and the big gamble of life that was to follow were but
a few minutes distant. The jumping-off position on Dead Man's
Hill, northwest of Verdun, at that moment presented a situation
strange indeed to the normal trend of natural events.
Through the screen of fog and smoke, pungent with the strong
odor of various explosives, one could indistinctly outline groups of
American infantrymen. Standing in shell holes and trench ruins,
they were awaiting the signal to advance through the barbed wire
and face whatever destiny held in store for them in the haze ahead.
"F Company, Over!"
"Third Platoon, advance! Combat groups about thirty paces.
Scouts Out."
These and other orders and directions were given at 6:30 a.
September 26, and the company began its part in one of America's
greatest battles.
The area of bursting shells of the creeping barrage advanced ahead
of the troops at about their own rate of speed. These were fired
overhead by guns of all calibres directly behind.
The "waves" and groups advanced at about an ordinary pace. At
first the platoons were under good control, but in a very short time
squads and files were separated in the fog and smoke. From then
on organizations were completely broken up and new ones formed
groups.
The path of the drive led over desolate country completely cut
up with shell holes, mine craters and trench systems. Early in the
advance it was necessary to go through a swamp. waist deep, near
the outskirts of Malancourt, the first objective.
m..
Pop! Pop! Pop! Tzing! Tzing!
The singing, cracking and whining of machine gun bullets was
good evidence that at least a few Prussians had survived the in-
tense hurricane of high explosive and gas shells of the previous
night's barrage. But for several hours very little strong resistance
was encountered, Fritz having retreated to new lines of resistance.
"F COMPANY OVER, SCOUTS OUT”
About ten a. m., as the fog began to clear, the advance of several
groups was held up by a machine gun on the opposite side of a shal-
ow valley. But after a little resistance the gun crew surrendered-
he first prisoners. These men were middle-aged, dirty, miserably
Iressed and apparently glad to be alive no matter what the cost.
A little later a score or more of the enemy were captured and
ent to the rear under guard. An incident happened at the time
which goes to show that the "Kamerad" act didn't always save the
Hun. A lieutenant ordered a private to conduct two husky prisoners
o certain officers in the rear. Within an incredibly short time the
ittle Italian reported back.
27
“What did you do with the prisoners?" demanded the lieutenant.
"I tended to them, Sir" he answered. His sheepish glance told
better than words what had happened. Such occurrences were not
incommon on either side.
By mid-day the fog had all cleared. As the battle increased in
ntensity, glances to right and left over the rolling farm country
rave the observer an appreciation of the bigness of a modern battle.
The general plan of infantry attack was to advance in thin lines
ollowing each other at varying intervals. A distant view showed
he series of human waves going forward in the tide of attack, gain-
ng in one place and held up in another, according to the fortunes of
attle. Ordinarily there were numerous high-explosive shells burst-
ng in the lines and shrapnel overhead, but thus far Fritz's artillery
vas not in an effective position after its hasty retreat.
In the early afternoon the real battle began. Thus far there had
been a great deal of excitement, plenty of prisoners, but few casual-
ies. Surely reports had exaggerated real conditions at the front,
ne naturally concluded-until the troops suddenly met the stone-
vall resistance of the concealed German machine gun defense! The
Iuns had fallen back of necessity, but had organized a new line
hrough and in front of Montfaucon, the lookout city which they
alled Little Gibraltar. According to their boast the place was im-
›regnable.
Contact was made by a combat patrol. A lieutenant, Sergeant
McCawley and four men had advanced through a network of barbed
vire defenses to the crest of a low hill. They were just clearing
he knoll in skirmish formation when fired upon by an automatic
ifle in a clump of bushes ahead. Sergeant McCawley and his gun-
ler Jones, over on the right flank, immediately returned the fire.
Champa, and Calabretta on the left quickly followed suit.
Then, as if by prearranged signal, enemy machine guns, automat-
cs and snipers located in trees, gullies, and bushes ahead and on
he flanks opened with a hot fusilade which filled the air with snaps,
racks, and whines of flying lead. Cut weeds, flying gravel and the
Larsh cracks of the bullets were proof enough that the patrol had
ocated the resistance-and were in a bad trap.
The mission of the patrol had been accomplished-that of locat-
ng and testing the strength of the enemy even if it was necessary
o sacrifice itself. It was the moment of every man for himself as
best he could. Whether or not McCawley and Jones heard the re-
>eated orders to take cover in a low bushy spot to their right will
ever be known. McCawley was shot through the head while oper-
ting his gun and died with a smile. Jones and Champa were hit in
he legs and Calabretta mortally wounded in the stomach.
The officer had only his revolver and two bombs as weapons-
iseless luggage in this situation. By crawling and wriggling with
is nose in the ground, he finally managed to roll into a shell hole,
vondering in a dazed way why the "lights hadn't gone out." When
he helmet rings with the cracks of "close ones" and bits of flying
28
UNDER THE LORRAINE CROSS
gravel play a tattoo, one just naturally feels weak in the stomach
and expects everything to suddenly turn black.
For hours German snipers, machine gunners and automatic rifle-
men, organized strongly in depth, and well concealed, swept the area
with a steady sheet of fire. Heinie saw to it that the Yanks con-
tinued to hug the ground most of the afternoon.
At least five lieutenants and captains of the battalion were shot
down in an hour's time, the losses being heavier that first afternoon
than any other time in the drive. Not a few miracles and almost
unbelievable, narrow calls happened that day.
First Sergeant Joe Cable, the big Texan, forced out of one shell
hole by dangerous fire, made a run for another. A bullet hit the
whistle in the breast pocket over his heart, and then spoiled a little
French book underneath. The whistle was flattened and the book
shredded, but the sergeant was barely bruised. Another bullet took
off the heel of his shoe, and a third cut him across the toes, after
which he secured protection in a deep shell hole and nursed his foot.
Joe is today gambling on Texas oil.
Sergeant Fenstermacher had his skull bone scraped by one of the
sniper's messengers, but is still very much alive.
Corporal Wargo's pack was riddled with machine gun bullets as he
dug his nose into the soft mud of a shell hole, but he himself escaped
with a whole hide.
A piece of flying shrapnel ripped the shoulder of Sergeant Brun-
stetter's heavy overcoat-and spent itself.
Others, not so fortunate, paid war's penalty by giving their lives
or being severely wounded.
Lieutenant Rebuck stopped an explosive bullet with one of his
wrists and still has a stiff forearm.
The battalion gas officer was made a casualty by the very thing
he had trained himself to combat. McCawley, Gilbert, Jones,
Schuler, Shade and Weber "went west" like real men, either this
day or the following, and at least fifteen others were wounded.
Most any man in the company could tell of narrow calls that first
afternoon.
The battalion was reorganized in the evening, on the flank of the
Hun defense. At dusk the companies started ahead in combat
formation. The first lieutenant had been in command just previous
to the advance, but at the order from Major Caldwell for "F" Com-
pany to go ahead, he was not present. The captain had been separ-
ated with a detachment early in the day. This left the company in
command of the "rankest shavetail", the only remaining officer.
This first day of the Argonne ended with not a few comrades ab-
sent. Many lessons had been learned but the price paid was dear
enough.
CHAPTER XIII
Modern Battle
Before daylight on the morning of September 27, the battalion ad-
vanced directly through the German strong position of the previous
day. The Huns had fallen back to a new line of defense in the hills
and woods ahead. The company was under the temporary command
of Captain
1st Battalion. It took up a position
in a trench skirting a woods that was strongly defended by enemy
snipers and machine gunners.
•
The position held for several hours in this winding trench was
most miserable. There was a steady cold dizzle of rain and inter-
MODERN BATTLE
29
mittent sweeps of enemy sniper fire. In walking along the trench
it was necessary to step over or walk on the bodies of numerous
wearers of the greenish-gray German uniform, with here and there
an occasional American doughboy.
In this same trench the author witnessed one of those battle
sights which leave an indelible impression upon a soldier's mind.
It was the expression on the upturned face of a young German, about
sixteen years of age—an expression with something of the puzzle of
DeVinci's Mona Lisa. The innocent, child-like, questioning wonder-
ment seemed to indicate that he had left this life puzzled as to what
it was all about.
As the position in the woods was so strong that a whole battalion
was unable to capture it, the company flanked it and moved to the
regimental position where we met our old captain and prepared
for the biggest fight yet.
The 314th regiment lined up in battle formation on the reverse
slope of a big hill to the right of Montfaucon, to take part in the
big flanking movement, while the 313th Regiment made a direct at-
tack on the city itself. Scores of French tanks tock positions near
the crest of the hill, while in modern battle array followed twelve
companies of infantry, a machine gun company, trench mortar and
one-pounder platoons, first aid men and regimental and battalion
staffs.
Just before starting ahead Sergeant Connelly, one of the best
bayonet men in the regiment, shook the "shavetail's" hand with the
remark,
"We're lucky so far lieutenant."
But Connelly was shortly after mortally wounded by a big shell
and died later in one of the big base hospitals somewhere in France.
With the buzz of tanks and aeroplane motors and the bursts of
high explosive and shrapnel, the regiment started ahead in one of
the most exciting fights of its history. It was an inspiring sight to
see wave after wave of infantry following the advancing tanks, and
the other troops in small groups coming behind and on the flanks;
and to watch the shrapnel and high explosive shells bursting among
the lines and over the heads of the khaki-clad files.
Beyond the crest of the hill big things immediately began to hap-
pen. The storm of "H. E.'s" and "G. I. cans"-high explosive-in-
creased in intensity, gas clouds became a great deal more concentrat-
ed, and the whining and snapping machine gun and sniper bullets
added to the toll of casualties. One big "H. E."-probably a 210-
knocked the captain to the ground, kicked the "shavetail" side-
ways, and made casualties of Sergeant Connelly, one of the corporals
and an orderly.
Gas masks had to be donned several times. Sneezing, choking and
lachrymal varieties made one cough, shed tears and sneeze at the
same time. These gas concentrations might not be very dangerous,
but it was at least exasperating to try and keep on a mask under
such conditions.
"First Aid! First Aid!"
"Gas! Masks on.”
"Break up! 'Deploy more, corporal! Keep apart and advance!”
These are but a few of the calls and commands one could hear be-
tween explosions.
Overhead was the pat! pat! pat of bullets in an aero battle. Close
by were the peculiar whines, sharp cracks and snapping-stick sounds
of the rifle and machine gun shower. Here and there on the battle-
field but generally not close were the thunderous crashes of "H. E.”
and the noise of falling debris and screeching shrapnel.
30
UNDER THE LORRAINE CROSS
These intense battle noises, together with the excited calls of hu-
mans made a babble of noises that would be impossible of imitation
under any other conditions than a modern battle.
And how did one feel, one wonders. Certainly the men were
afraid. That is as human as to love or to hate. But as the result
of training, and the effect of leadership and mob psychology, soldiers
knew but one thing, and that was to go ahead even in the face of
the storm. Under the stress of such intense and prolonged excite-
ment man mentally ceases to be a man and becomes more like a
trained animal. Some few are surprisingly calm; others bite their
lips and clench fingers to control themselves; a few curse and some
pray; while those few whose power of will is not strong enough to
overcome their fear, crouch in shell holes, while their buddies go
over them and face the hell ahead. This latter class the world calls
cowards.
But let us forget our fight below and watch the battle in the air.
Who said football was exciting! Six planes, some with black Prus-
sian crosses, the others with allied circles, were maneuvering and
shooting streams of machine gun bullets, each aviator striving for a
position deadly to an enemy "bus". Like six big birds, some were
climbing, others gliding in big curves, and others suddenly diving.
Red hot tracer bullets marked the path of each stream of steel-nosed
peace notes the gunner's guide to his mark. Suddenly an allied
plane dropped, twisting and turning, apparently in a mad plunge to
destruction. However, it didn't strike terra firma, but righted it-
self and climbed to a good position. It was the false dive of a dare-
devil aviator. And I used to get excited when the pigskin was al-
most over our line!
Soon two planes did come down, one in flames, both tumbling aim-
lessly and landing as heaps of wreckage, the one soon shrouded by a
cloud of dense black smoke. The German planes, with full speed on
for home were hotly pursued by the planes with the circle insignia.
Not all air battles ended so well in our favor.
The advance stopped about dusk, on a hill ahead, the men digging
in like excited nugget hunters. Each doughboy carried a trench
tool-either a small pick or shovel-for just such emergencies. Ly-
ing on the ground the soldier dug a hole big enough for his body and
built a rampart around the depression with the dirt. "Dig In" was
a familiar order in a shell attack.
Outflanked and unsupported, the regiment was forced to leave
the hill and take a new position farther back in order to reorganize
and again advance. Shortly after passing the big windmill to the
right of Montfaucon the fading of darkness announced the arrival
of a new day with its fortunes and misfortunes of battle.
The arrival at Montfaucon woods was greeted with good news and
bad. We were to receive a hot meal, the first since leaving Foret
de Hess. But our mess Sergeant Vought had been killed the night
previous. Faithful to duty he had slept under the kitchen to see
that all would be well with the horses. But when the cooks tried
to wake him in the morning, the mangled animals and the wound on
the sergeant's head showed what had happened. A piece of an ex-
ploding shell had added one more to the total of millions already
claimed by the war. Had the soldier worn his helmet the piece
would almost undoubtedly have glanced off. As it was the man
whom soldiers figure had a safe job was among the first killed. This
was a hoo-doo position for our company, for the soldier next ap-
pointed was also killed. He was blown up by a big shell.
there were sudden
Instead of a warm meal there were sudden orders again to
advance. Loaves of bread were quickly broken up and the pieces
MODERN BATTLE
31
passed among the troops as the combat groups again started after
Fritz.
No more food was received for a couple of days and thus far there
had been only emergency rations-cold beans or greasy "Willy"
with a few crackers. But good cheer, the worst was yet to come!
The remaining events of the day left a rather hazy impression on
the author's mind.
There was an advance over rolling country with considerable
shelling on the hill tops. Finally a position was taken on the re-
verse slope of the hill west of Nantillois, a little French town nestling
among several low knolls. Enemy one-pounders and seventy sevens,
shooting almost point blank, shrieked directly overhead most of the
night. To add to the comforts and pleasures of the situation there
was a steady downpour of rain.
The night was spent in the muddy shell holes, with only over-
coats and raincoats as protection against the elements. The cold
drizzle, the shells, the fatigue and hunger of this night and the
next seemed to sap the last bit of strength of bodies already over-
taxed. So fatigued were the overworked and undernourished bodies
that a man could sleep even in mud and rain. But in the morning
one felt far worse than after a night of intoxication. Deadened
nerves, stiff muscles and rheumatism produce a state of mind danger-
ous to a soldier-the attitude of caring little what happens to him
next.
The knowledge that two sergeants had disappeared didn't help
matters or morale in the least.
Snipers in Nantillois had given considerable trouble even after
the village had been captured and regimental headquarters establish-
ed. Early in the morning of September 29, a squad of men finally
"mopped up" the place and one of the corporais returned with
several photos and a bunch of letters and papers taken from one of
the sniping crew.
The advance on the 29th was made by an almost superhuman exer-
tion of will power. Dazed senses and exhausted, famished bodies
battled with will and the call of duty. Guns were rusty, there was
no water supply except that in shell holes, and thus far no prospects
of relief. Needless to say, stocks at this moment were about one
hundred below par.
Then came the orders to go over the hill ahead and support the
attack of the 314th Infantry in the woods beyond. The death of
our French adviser, Lieutenant Poulaine and the charge "over the
top" followed in quick succession.
Lieutenant Poulaine, whose home was in Paris, was a young Blue
Devil officer of four years' service. While he was advising the act-
ing major and the "shavetail" aforementioned just how to proceed
with the attack, a bullet from a sudden, well directed fusilade of
machine gun fire mortally wounded the young Frenchman.
The acting major and "shavetail" took his last words.
"Ah! Captain, I was a fool-I was careless. After four years I
let them get me that easy! Kiss mother for me." These together
with information concerning personal affairs and a final "Good
bye" were his last words. He was sent back on a stretcher made of
rifles and coats, but died shortly after arriving at the first aid sta-
tion.
Then quickly followed the advance over the hilltop, wave after
wave passing through the area swept by machine gun fusilades and
taking position supporting the 315th Infantry, who were soon com-
pelled by lack of flank supports to fall back to the hill behind.
32
UNDER THE LORRAINE CROSS
The battalion covered the movement and took its position on the
reverse slope of the hill-under the most severe shrapnel or overhead
explosive fire the company had experienced.
Another seemingly endless night of rain and shrieking shells, spent
in the unheated rooms of Hotel de Shell Hole failed to improve the
condition of dazed nerves and almost senseless bodies. But the star
of luck was at last due to glimmer with at least a faint sparkle.
With daylight came rumors of relief. These were quickly con-
firmed by actual orders to prepare to be relieved by the Third Divis-
ion.
Just before the combat groups went back through the ruins of
Montfaucon, the once-famous German Gibralter, a strange incidenc
happened in the air. A lone German plane had been flying
over the enemy lines for a considerable period, when it suddenly col-
lapsed, burst into flame, and spun like a pin-wheel to earth—a mass
of fire. The only plausible explanation seemed to be that it was hit
by an enemy high explosive shell, for it was directly in line with
their artillery fire. However, the accident may have been the result
of an explosion of the gas tank.
Hoboes could hardly look more uncouth than the columns of
soldiers trailing over the ruins of Montfaucon on the evening of
September 30th. With seven-day beards, clothing ripped and
shredded by barbed wire, and a thick coating of Argonne mud
cemented to the hide with perspiration, the men hardly looked hu-
man. Everyone was emaciated and hollow-eyed, most of them suffer-
ing from bad colds and related ills. Swollen feet and stiffened
muscles were the common lot of all. Guns and bayonets were
covered with thick layers of rust. Even the ordinarily well dressed
officers were hardly presentable to a self-respecting hobo. Such
were the visible effects of a few days in a modern battle.
But let us go to Paris and forget as a few of the soldiers in some
divisions did, either on official leave or A. W. O. L.--absent without
official leave.
CHAPTER XIV.
The Glitter of Paris.
Paris, queen of beautiful cities and dictator of fashions, has long
been the Mecca of gayety for pleasure seekers of both hemispheres.
And so long has it justly held these claims to brilliance that the
word "Paree" seems to carry with it a halo of magic and glitter.
Most travelers and pleasure seekers who have never visited this city
of dreams wistfully hope that they may; while those who have
seen the gardens, palaces, boulevards and other wonderful points of
interest, and have taken part in the life of unexcelled gayety, com-
mand memories which at the bidding of the favored ones become
as delightful dreams.
Coming from Bar-le-Duc, Chateau-Thierry, or Chalons-sur-Seine
to Paris, the Yank entered the famous metropolis at Gare de L'Est
-the Eastern Railroad Station. If he held a special pass he will-
ingly submitted to the prescribed requirements of military-police,
red tape. If A. W. O. L.-absent without leave he must either
fool the M. P.'s, or sidestep their cards and papers.
The next move was usually to hail a taxi.
"Ten Rue St. Anne" he would generally instruct the driver if fol-
lowing the bona fide, approved course of a man on official leave.
"Les Grandes Boulevards" or "Cafe de La Paix" might well be
his directions if A. W. O. L. or avoiding the M. P. headquarters on
Rue St. Ann-rue means street.
1
THE GLITTER OF PARIS
33
With a polite "Oui, Monsieur", his efficient taxi man expertly
guided the little red auto-carriage through the traffic at a rapid
rate, dodging pedestrians and vehicles as only a Paris taxi driver
can; and in a short time the doughboy-tourist found himself in the
heart of the magic city of dazzle and frolic. Coming from a long
siege in the land of hardship, pyrotechnics and death he was as
ready for a celebration as a lumberjack in town after a winter in
the woods.
Granting full freedom to your imagination, why not accompany
the Yank for a while, and lose yourself in the gay throngs and
wonderful places of this city of magic? Let your imagination place
you at one of the scores of little marble-topped tables under the
awning in front of Cafe de La Paix, in the most popular section of
the main Boulevard. Lazily sipping citronade, vin blanc, or other
French beverages which your thirst desires, your attention is divid-
ed between the passing throng and your languorous neighbors
under the awning. Efficient "garcons”.
"garcons❞—French waiters flit
among the crowded tables, expertly balancing their loaded trays and
sliding glasses of beverage across the smooth marble of the table
top. After setting down your glass of vin or fizz, your garcon
waits with professional unconcern until you give him the expected
pourboire or tip. Then with a very polite "Merci beaucoup, Mon-
sieur" a word of thanks, he accepts your fifty-centimes and leaves
you free to observe the sights.
P
What an intensely interesting throng steadily streams past your
little grandstand! The promenaders making up the international
dress parade of soldiers and civilians represent practically all of
the Allied Nations. Sturdy, bare-legged Scotch Highlanders are
closely followed by laughing Italian officers wearing their peculiar
dress hats with waving plumes. Almost brushing your extended
foot there next passes a group of blue uniformed French soldiers,
decorated with various medals of bravery, and conversing with ex-
cited gestures as they mingle with the crowd. The attention is
quickly diverted to an olive-skinned Oriental wearing bright-colored
robes. He might be a Calcutta Chieftain or a Morroccan Consul,
and as far as your own knowledge or particular desire to know is
concerned he might be an Afghan. Your glance flits here and there
as you see new types and strange individuals. The endless stream
of international characters invariably contains neatly uniformed
Australians in khaki suits and cocked hats, American officers and
soldiers with their typical confident air, Poles and other strange
types not so well represented.
Very prominent, not only in the passing throng but also at the
crowded tables, are the laughing and flirting girls popularly known
as "mademoiselles." Elaborately dressed in the latest French styles,
they flock the boulevards, cafes and other public places. Many of
them would be truly beautiful did they not spoil their natural,
feminine attractions by using the variety of articles in their vamping
kits-powder bags. But the "mademoiselle" apparently is as much
a part of Paris as its boulevards and fashion shops. They seem to
be everywhere—in the cinemas, theatres, cafes and restaurants, and
on the main avenues and boulevards. But it is in the Montmartre
section near the Moulin Rouge, Le Rat Mort, Le Chat Noir and other
cabarets; in the Latin quarter near the university and on Champs
Elysees and Grand Boulevards that they seem to be the predominant
element in the ultra-urban life.
In an entirely distinct class, however, are the girls and women
who though light-hearted and gay, are accompanied by a brother
or father. Americans are too apt to judge the French by a certain
34
UNDER THE LORRAINE CROSS
few types. France has its various classes just as we do in our own
country-good, bad and vascillating.
"L'Excelsior, Le Petit Parisien, La Vie Parisienne-lisez vous
concernant le traite de la paix!-L'Excelsior—". The shrill voices
of news urchins could frequently be heard loudly advertising their
wares.
Finally, after a lengthy period of dreamy observation, you give up
your chair at the cafe and satisfy your desire to mingle with the
passing people and to see the sights along the Paris Boulevards.
A visitor to Paris-especially of the soldier type who seeks ad-
venture and new experiences-is very apt to decide that anything is
likely to happen in the French Capitol. Such a conclusion is almost
certain to be reached if the visit is prolonged an appreciable length
of time.
Again giving free play to imagination the reader might mingle
with the crowd and slowly wend his way along the avenues and
Grande Boulevards. It is the evening of a fete day, say July 14th,
which corresponds to our July 4th.
You have gazed at countless displays of fashions and jewelry,
glanced over the interesting crowds seated in front of the many
brilliantly lighted cafes, and idly read the bill boards of the numer-
ous theatres and "cinemas."
Just as you rejoin the crowd after coming out of a curious little
confectionery shop, you are almost swept off your feet by a sudden
rush of girls and boys wearing tam o'shanter hats of various colors.
Grasping each others hands and forming a closed circle, they push and
pull you along the crowded walk, and then with a final shower of
confetti paper let you escape. Shortly after you notice the same
crowd, greatly increased by friends, forming a snake dance on the
pave. They are students of the Sorbonne, or University of Paris,
celebrating as only students can.
As you elbow your way along with increasing difficulty, occasion-
ally saluting or returning salutes-depending upon how "rank" you
are the spirit of abandon and frolic increases. Two pretty Mad-
emoiselles smile and wink, presumably at yourself, and you are nat-
urally surprised. But when, a little later, another calls "Bon Soir,
mon cher" and a third embraces you in public, you refuse to be sur-
prised at anything.
Frequently, groups of soldiers singing either "La Madelon", "Tyke
Me Back to Blighty," or "Li'l Liza Jane,”
or “Li'l Liza Jane," depending upon their
nationality, pursue their unsteady courses with as little serious
thought as only a man can have who is stimulated with Cognac or
Triple Sec. Tiring a little of the crowd, your gaze wanders to the
streams of speeding taxies, rushing in opposite directions on both
sides of the boulevard. By means of these oddly colored, speedy
little vehicles or the wonderful subway system, one can quickly
move to a new and interesting quarter of the city.
Later in the evening, after leaving Boulevard Montmartre on your
way to the famous Folies Bergere you suddenly witness an event
which quickly dampens your spirit of frolic. A loud report from
across the street immediately commands your attention. After see-
ing the flashes of three more revolver shots, you notice a woman
stagger in the semi-darkness and fall in front of the assassin. The
murderer-a young French soldier-calmly puts his pistol away
and walks rapidly down the street. You are at first so dumfounded
you hardly know what to do, but finally make a run for the criminal.
However, your little dash is quite unnecessary, for a Gendarme or
French policeman has come around the corner and now holds his
man at the point of a gun. A police taxi quickly takes care of the
soldier and another rushes away with the woman. The facts con-
4
THE GLITTER OF PARIS
35
nected with the murder you heard nothing of—not even in the news-
papers next day.
Still later in the evening you see a Red riot in which several thou-
sand men, women and children carrying red banners and placards,
are yelling such warnings as "Vive Les Bolshevicks," or "Long live
the Bolshevicks" and "La Bas La Bourgoisie" or "Down with the
Middle Classes."
C
Finally tired and fatigued, you walk or take a taxi back to Hotel
Pavillon or Hotel de Louvre, and dream over the events of the day.
Any of the incidents or sights given in this imaginative account
might easily have been seen by a visitor to Paris just after the Arm-
istice. In fact this little picture of Paris life is all drawn from the
experiences of the author while attending the University of Paris
during the summer of the Peace Conference.
plate
But stranger and more interesting things than those mentioned
could be seen in Paris. Among the relics in Notre Dame Cathedral
reposes a crown of thorns believed by the French to be the original
crown worn by Christ. Under the city, in the catacombs, may be seen
millions of human bones piled like firewood along the galleries, or
worked into queer designs with skulls and skeletons. One can still
see the guillotine which cut off several thousand heads during the
French Revolution, or the coffin containing the remains of Napo-
leon, the Great. If one desires, he can go to the summit of Eiffel
Tower, the highest structure in the world. During the summer of
the author's sojourn one might see or listen to Generals Foch, Per-
shing or Joffre, or to other notables of the Peace Conference, and
one even had the privilege of sitting on the peace table or inspect-
ing the cold, but beautiful bath room of Napoleon at the Palace of
Fontainebleau.
An aerial view of the dream city from the apex of Eiffel Tower,
will complete our visit to Paris. Then, lightened in spirit, we can
return to the ruins of Montfaucon, and see what destiny has in store
for the men of Co. "F".
From the summit of Tour D'Eiffel, especially in mid-summer, the
tourist is favored with a view which the ancients surely would have
ascribed as belonging only to the Gods. Almost a thousand feet be-
low-the bright sunlight showing the different colors in their most
attractive tints-one sees a panorama of beautiful gardens, towering
cathedral spires, palaces, public buildings, monuments of rich design
and many other things of great beauty, the whole wonderful mas-
terpiece of landscape art being divided by the curved blue line of
the winding Seine River. Powerful field glasses greatly increase
the splendor of the scene by bringing the statues, gardens, fountains,
etc. into the range of clear vision.
So many wonderful spots of beauty attract the eye that it is dif-
ficult to fasten one's attention to a single object of interest long
enough really to appreciate its artistic merits. The emblazoned dome
of the Invalides which contains the coffin of Napoleon and tho
precious relics of French wars, resembles a huge bali of gold glitter-
ing in the sunlight like a big, polished nugget. Overlooking the rest
of the city from its commanding position on the Montmartre, the
Cathedral of Sacre Coeur of Byzantine design seems to be a silent
sentinel constantly watching for enemies. At the foot of the steel
tower, and just across the Seine, the Trocadero Palace is boldly out-
lined against the green background of the surrounding groves. Its
Spanish architecture is in strong contrast to the other buildings of
the city.
The center of the city's beauty, however, is Place de La Concorde,
the largest square in the world. Looking in various directions from
its central point one first gazes across a garden of fountains, flower
36
UNDER THE LORRAINE CROSS
beds and marble statues, to the immense art gallery of the Louvre,
beyond. In the opposite direction the eye gazes along Champ's
Elysee the broad avenue of promenades and groves-to the huge
Arche de Triomphe built by Napoleon. In still another direction,
at the end of Rue Royal one sees the marble pillars of the Madel-
aine Cathedral.
One could easily write volumes describing the points of beauty
and sketches of life of the great pleasure city-but the three-day
leave is near its end and the Yank must go back to join his outfit.
CHAPTER XV.
Tilly
The one bright spot in the memory of life at the front is Tilly.
This is not the name of a fair, peasant mademoiselle; for during the
time spent in or near the battle lines no woman's face appeared to
cheer the weary soldier. Tilly was a deserted village on the Meuse
River, just back of the lines. In this quaint little town the company
spent about ten days that were almost pleasant. However, we are
a little ahead of our story. Several events happening during the
trip to Tilly are worthy of notice.
Leaving the ruins of Montfaucon, the regiment hiked about ten
kilometres across the Argonne battlefield to Malancourt. Here
was a sight which could hardly help fail to melt the hardest heart.
This unavoidable misfortune has been very well described by Irwin
S. Cobb in one of his special, newspaper articles.
Stalled on the muddy Malancourt road was a long train of am-
bulances and motor trucks loaded to capacity with wounded men
brought back during the five-day battle just ended. The road had
been so badly damaged by our own intense artillery barrage at the
beginning of the drive that the motor train was unable to move out
until the road was repaired by engineers. This highway was the only
accessible 'inlet to the area for ammunition and supplies, and the
only line of evacuation for wounded men. But so effective had been
the barrage that artillery was unable to keep up with the infantry,
and the wounded could not be evacuated.
The night was damp and cold, the air heavy with fog and the
ground wet with dew. According to reports of the ambulance driv-
ers many of the occupants had died during the previous twenty-four
hours, and others who needed immediate attention were in miser-
able shape. There were not even enough blankets to keep the suf-
ferers warm-on a night so cold that the troops on the Malancourt
hillside could not sleep. The cries and groans of these men aroused
every desire to aid-but little could be done until the motor train
could carry them to hospitals. The remembrance is another of the
memories of the war that time can never erase from the minds of
those who witnessed the plight of the unfortunates.
Another incident happened at Malancourt that some might regard
as unworthy of special notice. This was the first meal of the men
for five days; the company had gone over the top with only emer-
gency rations and had not had a meal since.
In appearance the soldiers were not even in a class with hoboes.
and when "chow" call was given they performed somewhat like a
herd of famished animals. When the containers of soup, Boston-
baked, "Java", bread and molasses were displayed, a scene akin to
a riot followed. The curses, disputes, crowding and even snatching of
food were evidence enough of the strong call which a famished
man's stomach can make, especially when food is in evidence.
TILLY
37
The last half hour of the long hike from Malancourt to our old
position in Bois de Hesse was an iron test of will power and con-
stitution. Those who stood it finally staggered into the
the wood,
glassy-eyed, with perspiration pouring down their grimy faces, and
completely broken in spirit. At the final word "Fall Out" each
doughboy dropped into the nearest shady spot, unloosened his pack,
and lay motionless with the senses almost completely dazed.
A considerable portion of the clothing and blankets which we
had left in Bois de Hesse remained unclaimed-good evidence of the
number of casualties since leaving the spot about a week previous.
About two hundred and forty men had gone over the top, but at this
point several score were absent. Those who failed to answer,
"Here!" at roll call were included in the list of killed, wounded, or
unaccounted for.
Rupt, although it furnished only the poorest sort of billets had a
few arguments in its favor. It at least furnished plenty of hot suds,
pretty good "chow", c. c. pills and blister treatments, and best of
all, letters from home--for some.
But the little village of Tilly on the west bank of the Meuse River
half way between St. Mihiel and Verdun, is the brightest spot in all
the history of the company's activity in the front line area. It fur-
nished good billets, plenty of excellent food, home talent shows,
mail, wine, beaucoup good rumors and enough hot suds to kill an
army of cooties and all their poor relations. Only an occasional
drill and the familiar noise of an enemy aeroplane motor on a starry
night reminded one of war and its attendant evils. The next move
and future events mattered little. Fate was at least kind for the
moment.
One of the best chances for an officer really to know and under-
stand his men was by censoring letters. In the course of an hour's
work reading and approving messages written by men of all grades
of education and stations in life, one felt that he could almost read
their thoughts and souls.
"Dere Mabel" creatures are mild compared to some of the real
letters. One cook apparently spent about all his spare time writing
to "Dear, sweet wonderful little honey bunch"-ten sheet editions
delivered about every other day.
Another fellow simply couldn't stay with one idea, writing about
as follows: "And we had nothin' to eet for five days and its raining
hard all day today and meals is better now and if you send that swet-
ter put some plugg and tobacco in. I hope this war stops soon and
I got cooties now so good bye and rite when you get this."
The common topics of discussion were the "grub", rumors, cooties,
and reports of the end of the war or the capture of the Kaiser.
Some letters were full of prayers and religion and others full of
bravado and wild stories of "over-the-top"; many were written with
the grammatical mistakes of children while others were almost
pathetic in their simplicity. The familiar label "O. K. 1st Lieutenant
-314 Infantry" on each letter meant that the officer was responsi-
ble to superiors for its contents.
as
Sudden orders to prepare for action and be ready to move
quickly as possible changed the pleasant dream of Tilly into a night-
mare of hardships, uncertainty, and poison gas.
Equipped for battle, the battalion column swung out of Tilly
across the Meuse to Ambly, and continued its fast, emergency hike
to the woods beyond Vaux. A German "push" was expected during
the night and strict orders were given the sergeants to hold the
troops in readiness for action. The major and company commanders
reconnoitered ahead to select the best defensive positions, but were
held up by a valley containing a strong concentration of poison gas.
38
UNDER THE LORRAINE CROSS
Positions were selected and plans made, but Fritzie for some reason
indefinitely postponed his visit or else some Americans had been
badly fooled.
The outfit was back in Tilly within twenty-four hours after leav-
ing. Then followed the quick departure to an unknown sector some-
where north of Verdun.
Those who know more of the situation must have felt about as
one of a flock of turkeys at the approach of the holidays. The sal-
ient which we were to take over was a bad one, and according to
reports the war would likely soon come to an end. That was an odd
feeling—to know that if one escaped the coming event his chances
of again seeing the statue of Liberty were good; and that if he hap-
pened to "go west" he would have just barely missed escaping the
journey.
The big events of the hike to the wreckage of Forges woods were
the appearance in force of cooties at Sommedieu, and the night in
the cavernous excavations of the damp dugout system at 23.1-63.9.
The place reminded one of the "gangways" and "chambers" of a
hard coal mine.
At Forges woods the majority of officers of the regiment left for
the front lines, crowded in a big army truck, to reconnoitre the
dangerous salient soon to be occupied.
CHAPTER XVI.
Death Valley.
The following narrative and description are not the fictitious crea-
tions of a strong imagination. The unexaggerated account tells the
story of a visit to the back yard of his Satanic Majesty of the horns
and tail. It is the story of a relief trip through a valley of disas-
ters, followed by seven days in Bois de Chenes under conditions
which a strong imagination might easily ascribe to the regions where
the Rajah of Devils is supposed to hold supreme sway.
The long, narrow valley extended from the ruins of Somogneux,
past the village of Haumont, to the wooded hill called Bois de
Chenes. Death Valley some of the doughboys labeled it, and such
did its appearance and the near-future developments prove it to
be. The summits of the ridges were covered with masses and bands
of rusted barbed wire, while their slopes were so thoroughly pit-
ted with shell craters that the earth at this point appeared to have
been stricken with some pock disease. The masses of splintered
tree trunks, all that remained of former groves and woods, also
seemed to have been affected by some dreadful scourge.
On the reconnoitering trip, the afternoon of the day of the relief,
one could hardly help but be impressed with the story of death and
destructon as told by the great variety of battle debris scattered
along the path and road leading from the canal near Somogneux to
the battalion dug-out at the head of the valley. Mangled bodies of
dead horses, the remains of blown-up kitchens and wagons, sheet
iron slabs used in building dug-outs, shells and shell splinters, hand
bombs, rusted rifles, loaves of bread, cans of meat, slabs of bacon,
and many other odds and ends of supplies, ammunition and equip-
ment completed the weird picture of destruction-the result of sev-
eral years of intermittent shelling and gassing by Hun artillery.
There were no dead bodies visible along the path, but the small,
scattered groups of rough wooden crosses told of quick burials. It
did not require sensitive nostrils to smell the fumes of mustard gas
at any time, but more especially when the hot sun increased evap-
oration of the deadly fumes. Such signs and conditions told a
DEATH VALLEY
39
variety of tales of scattered ration details, gas attacks, box barrages,
blown-up kitchens and ambulances, numerous casualties and other
portentous battle events.
Death Valley was the approach to an area of wooded hills and
ravines defended, at the time, by the 26th Division. The position
was a most dangerous one, due to the fact that it was a salient or
bend in the lines, which gave the enemy the advantage of striking
the position on three sides-from the front and both flanks.
-
The reconnoitreing party had not failed to notice the repeated in-
tense high explosive and gas-shell barrages which intermittently
swept the whole area, or to see the great mass of battle debris scat-
tered the full length of the valley, and still beyond, they had been
duly impressed with stories of disaster told by men of the Yankee
Division who were now holding the front lines-stories which were
but too well illustrated by first hand views of numerous mangled
bodies of Germans and Americans lying along the trails and the nar-
row-gauge railroad track of Bois De Chenes and Bois De Belleau.
Consequently, the proposition of marching the regiment the full
length of Death Valley in order to relieve the Yankee Division, hold-
ing the hills beyond, appeared to have all the ear marks of mass su-
icide.
The relief took place on Hallowe'en night. One could hardly wish
for a more weird and uncanny celebration, or a setting more suit-
able to the night when spooks and goblins are supposed to rule the
dark hours.
Under cover of darkness the regiment ended its bivouac in deso-
late Forges woods and blindly stumbled its way over the rough ter-
rain to their unknown destination. The men knew little or nothing
of their mission.
At the site of old Somogneux-marked only by a sign board and
a few scattered piles of broken masonry--the officers met their units
and the single file of men began its relief march through the dark,
gassy Death Valley.
In the darkness the men could see nothing of the battle debris,
and didn't realize the danger of the situation. As a result, there
was too much loud calling by "non-coms" and too great a lack of
speed, to allow those who realized actual conditions to feel at all
comfortable.
A sudden intense barrage of explosive and gas shells, sweeping
the whole valley, and causing nothing short of wholesale slaughter
and a wild panic, was the constant, fearful expectation of those who
had accompanied the reconnoitering expedition during the day.
Why the outfit was blessed with such great luck or rather with
such a miracle is something that cannot be explained; but the fact
is that the two thousand-odd men finally arrived at the head of the
valley with no serious losses. Had the enemy acted at the critical
hour, a far different tale would be told.
From this point the different units wended their way along the
wooded trails to the area of shell holes, dug-outs and trenches oc-
cupied by the 26th Division. "F" company crossed a hilly, open
field, and the file of shadowy figures stumbled its way along the path
bordering the narrow-gauge track leading directly into their new pos-
ition. Reports as well as the inspection made by the reconnoitering
party, indicated that this part of the trail was by far the most dan-
gerous. Whole sections of tracking had been torn completely asunder
by powerful explosive shells, the jagged ends of the rails and metal
ties curving upward over the deep shell craters beneath. Numer-
ous corpses of Germans and Americans lay scattered along the track,
some darkened with age, and most of them mangled or dismember-
ed.
40
UNDER THE LORRAINE CROSS
According to reports the enemy could tell when any one walked
on the track, having made electrical signal connections when they
had retreated from the position. Whether or not this was so, Fritz
had excellent range on the track and trail. Not a few rumors and
ration details of the outfit holding the position testified to that.
Needless to say, when a few "whizz-bangs" and "G. I. cans" fell near-
by with deafening reports, those who fully appreciated the situation
felt suddenly weak in the knees. The First Sergeant, who was mak-
ing his first trip to the lines was unfortunate enough to stumble
over several dead bodies a rather severe initiation into front line
life.
Finally, the closed-up file of platoons arrived at the headquarters
of the commander of the company to be relieved. In his musty dug-
out this officer explained conditions to the incoming commander,
and accepted a receipt for sector property. With an "Au Revoir” he
wished the newcomers the best of luck, but stated that they were
entirely welcome to the little stretch of hell in Bois de Chenes. His
parting advice was to lay low, as Fritz controlled the area and es-
pecially this hill. He was the only officer remaining with the com-
pany. The seventy odd men which he still commanded were brok-
en in nerve and spirit by repeated gas and shell attacks and constant
exposures and privations.
The relief was quickly completed, "F" men taking over the out-
posts, trenches and dugouts of Co. “B”. With curt instructions re-
garding the position and a few words of advice, the relieved men
quickly departed. In the outposts of the dark, wooded hill, in some
places within fifty to one hundred yards of the enemy, the individ-
uals or small groups were left alone with their thoughts.
Night after night these men would silently watch and listen for
a sign of the enemy. Patrols and raiding parties, or even a general
attack to cut off the company position, were possibilities which must
be constantly guarded against along the line. All night long, at
frequent intervals, star shells and signal flares would light up the
landscape, and just as frequently, one could hear the intermittent
single shots of snipers or the rapid bursts of automatic rifles or
machine guns, somewhere in the darkness, either directly ahead or
on the flanks.
There are good reasons why the next seven days were days of al-
most literal hell. The combination of unburied bodies, weeks old,
intense shelling and gassing, little food, cold and rainy weather,
very poor sanitary conditions, mud, cooties, and the everlasting
proposition of "Keep your head down, Yankee boy" make this a
memory that is the worst nightmare of the whole weird experience
in the land of fireworks.
"F" company here occupied a precarious position. Their mission
was to hold Bois de Chenes at all costs. This was a wooded hill
extending directly toward the German lines to a distance of at least
three hundred yards ahead of the main front line held by "G" and
"E" companies on the left and the 313th Infantry on the right.
Day and night, at irregular periods, the Huns swept the hills and
valleys with barrages of explosives and gas shells of all sizes and
types.
As the enemy threatened and harrassed Bois de Chenes from the
woods and ridges of both front and forward flanks it was dangerous
and difficult to even bring food and water into the position. This
was done at night. (Details would sneak out of the position late in
the afternoon, meet special food details of "H" Co. at battalion
P. C.-post command-and bring back the soup, coffee, bread and
beans after dark. From the company P. C. the platoon details had
the difficult job of carrying the cans to outposts, sentinel posts, dug-
DEATH VALLEY
41
outs, and strong points with as little noise as possible. Sudden shell
fire frequently caused disaster to coffee, bean and soup cans, and the
boys went hungry until the next night, or at best had a small help-
ing. When the detail was gassed, the loaves of bread, a dozen or
more on a wire, were discarded as unfit; and often on a warm eve-
ning the soup and beans were sour. Dragging the big containers
from shell hole to shell hole was no easy job. The work of ration-
ing front line men was one of the biggest problems of fighting units.
Company "H" whose mission it was to carry the food supplies
from the kitchens in Death Valley to battalion headquarters dugout,
lost far more men than did the companies in contact with the Ger-
mans. Box barrages and gas shells resulted in many casualties and
hungry men.
sta
*
Sergeant Hess, in charge of "F" company kitchen, was our second
mess sergeant to meet his death. He was blown up by a shell in
Death Valley, on his first trip to the position. Hess lived and died
as a true soldier. He was buried near Haumont in the valley.
The suicide patrol and the events which quickly followed were
the climax to this seven days in Hades. Orders received from
Division Headquarters about noon of November 7, directed the com-
pany commanders to send out patrols of sixteen men each at three
P. M., to locate enemy machine gun nests and capture prisoners.
One's first opinion naturally was that there must be some mistake
in the order. To send a patrol across the lines in broad daylight in a
position controlled by the enemy seemed to be suie suicide! Yet
such was the order.
Lieutenant Cabla was directed to take sixteen men to the most
advanced outpost, several hundred yards ahead of the front line,
with orders to use his best judgment and avoid needless sacrifice.
"E" and "G" patrols coming up on the left were going directly
toward ground that had already been found to be extremely danger-
ous by some of our previous patrols. So the lieutenant decided to
go ahead and help. Sudden enemy machine gun and sniper fire
came from front ridges and flank strong points; and within a couple
of minutes after the shooting of an artillery signal flare, a most
intense artillery barrage began to sweep the whole area. The
patrols were in a very delicate position, caught on flanks and in
front, and forced to dig in and hold out until dusk to crawl back.
"E" and "G" patrols were badly cut up. "F" company patrol, with
knowledge of the ground, had less casualties. It was on this patrol
that Alfred Jones unflinchingly gave his life.
The enemy evidently figured a general attack, for the artillery
fire was the most intense we ever experienced. The hills simply
rocked with the roar of high explosives, shrapnel, seventy-sevens,
and one pounders, and there was a steady storm of shrapnel frag-
ments, mud and sticks for at least a half hour. The landscape
changed considerably. If your imagination can picture a hurricane
of dynamite sticks, accompanied by shrieks, roars and whistles you
may have an idea of the experience. But surprising as it may seem,
the casualties were seen to be few when a check was taken of the
company. Two men blown out of a trench were useless as soldiers
thereafter, due to broken nerves or shell shock. The numerous
fresh holes, splintered trees, blown-in trenches and unearthed bodies
best showed the severity of the barrage. But a man lying in a hole
or trench is pretty well protected from flying pieces. Direct hits,
however, told a different story.
All nightmares come to an end, and the dreamer generally con-
gratulates himself that the scene and act of the abnormal state of
mind were not real. The noticeable lull in firing, on the afternoon
of November 8, and the orders to follow the retreating enemy soon
brought an end to the nightmare of Bois de Chenes.
42
UNDER THE LORRAINE CROSS
CHAPTER XVII.
From Bois de Chenes to Cote Romagne.
Fritz had quietly moved without paying his rent. Patrols skirting
the hills ahead of Bois de Chenes could not even attract a rifle shot.
But aeroplanes had noticed the column of troops, artillery and supply
wagons moving toward the Rhine at a rapid rate. American artillery
was already making direct hits on kitchen trains and Prussian bat-
talions.
That afternoon, in the major's deep dugout back near Death
Valley, wires were humming and messages received and answered in
rapid succession. A casual observer would have great difficulty in
understanding the meaning of what was said.
"This is Istruct one-Give me India Eleven.
Give me India Eleven. She is going to the
party at "OK" 12. No, he wears size "C". Yes, to Itaska three."
This is a fair sample of apparently senseless phone talk which
might be a message of vital importance to one who understood the
code.
The Major's runners quickly despatched messages to company com-
manders to prepare for immediate advance. That rent must be
paid!
There was to be a hot-foot pursuit by advancing in platoon
columns until daylight and then going ahead rapidly in open order
formation, the battalion forming a single wave with men far apart.
This meant a line at least a mile in length.
The pursuit progressed several miles before any unit encountered
the slightest resistance. One began to wonder if the Germans had
finally decided to spend the winter across the Rhine. The most
noticeable feature of the deserted landscape was the series of dug-
out towns built in the slopes of narrow valleys. From a distance,
these hillsides looked like the burrows of countless ground hogs.
Upon close examination one found them to be underground camps
well equipped with kitchens, sleeping chambers, stables and store-
houses.
Off to the left, rising above the sea of rapidly clearing fog, stood
the rounded summits of a series of large hills. Surely, one con-
cluded, the enemy hadn't abandoned even these excellent points of
resistance in their quick retreat. To the advancing troops these
numerous knolls were indicative of a combat with another wall of
German defenses.
Crepion was completely deserted and Moirey just beyond was in a
similar state. About this time there was a noticeable increase in the
number of bursting shells. Since the enemy had left his position the
previous afternoon, only an occasional shell came over and these
few had not fallen too close for comfort.
But when a series of "big boys" hit true on the road out of Moirey,
and several others struck the town itself, suspicion was fastened on
big oval Hill 328, just across the swamp beyond the town.
At least a thousand pair of weary eyes anxiously watched the
scouts and patrols approach the foot of the hill. Were there pill
boxes and outposts in the zig-zag trenches on the hillside, or had
Fritz also forsaken this natural stronghold?
The familiar "pop, pop, pop" of machine guns quickly confirmed
suspicions and resulted in immediate preparations to take the hill.
Our one pounders and machine guns, shooting a barrage over the
heads of the infantry, soon wiped out the few nests, and the advance
began. About this time a very unfortunate incident resulted in the
death of Captain Battles of the Machine Gun Company. While
crawling back through bushes from a forward position, his own men
}
1
BOIS DE CHENES TO COTE ROMAGNE
43
and some infantry thought he was a German and riddled him with
bullets from his own guns.
The advance led through swamps and muck beds and across a
narrow stream. "F" company held the right flank, and, as the re-
sult of the position, was suddenly exposed to flank fire from Chau-
mont over on the right of the hill. To hear the angry cracks of bul-
lets coming from a flank and watch the leads bite up the dust along
your line of exposed men is a demoralizing situation to say the least.
A covered position soon corrected this and Fritz's lead sung harm-
lessly overhead.
That night, November 9, the company held the right flank of the
hill with strong outposts. The cold and frost and the frozen clothing
and blankets, first signs of winter, did not revive any lost hopes by
any means. During the night the sad mistake of a German meant
the end of his mortal existence. Private Nicolo Kotoloup, an expert
with an automatic, was watching keenly from an outpost for enemy
patrols, when he saw a figure approach.
"Who's there?" he called with an Austrian accent.
"Hi, Lo!" answered the unfortunate Heine. The few German
words which followed decided his fate.
After a burst from the automatic the gunner examined the body
and found he had been carrying a bag of sugar. The unfortunate
Fritz apparently thought he was in friendly territory. Possibly he
had been sent for supplies and came back to his old post.
At daylight, on November 10, the battalion fell back to the rail-
road, while our artillery pounded the top of the hill. It then at-
tacked behind the advancing barrage, passing through a counter
barrage whose shells were throwing great spurts of mud and water
as they exploded in the swamp in front of the hill.
The waves of attack cleared the top of Hill 328, and started
toward 319-but stopped short when the intense machine gun bar-
rage from the ridge of 319 made every wise doughboy look for a
hole or rampart of some sort to escape the shower of bullets.
For nine hours the Yanks were forced to stay below barrage
line, not a few being caught in depressions hardly big enough to
stretch out in or to allow sitting up without exposure to the deadly
hail of lead.
Combat patrols from the left flank of the battalion suffered heavily
as the result of several unsuccessful attempts to wipe out some of
the machine gun nests.
Cries of "First Aid" were frequent, but it was next to impossible
to attend some of the unfortunate without facing almost certain
death. Most of these wounded had been caught in the first break of
the storm.
Captain McDermott of "E" company, in standing up to call out
some orders, was almost immediately shot in the stomach. Captain
Jacobs of "H" company had a very close call. A bullet pierced his
helmet in front, glanced around the inside rim, and went out the
back without ever drawing blood. However, he was knocked un-
conscious and suffered with a slight concussion of the brain.
Buglers Haire and Herlikofer in carrying messages to the major
both became casualties, Haire being severely wounded in the leg and
Herlikafer killed. Harry Moon, Hugh McMonogle, Philip Schneider
and George Zimmerman also made the supreme sacrifice.
From seven in the morning until four in the afternoon it was nec-
essary to lie low in a shell hole, road bed or other depression, and
listen to the angry cracks of bullets flying from a few inches to sev-
eral feet overhead, depending on the depth of the depressions. But
with only a few inches to spare, a man could still lie low and avoid
stopping a bullet.
44
UNDER THE LORRAINE CROSS
At 4 p. m. the tables were turned. Orders received from the ma-
jor directed an attack to be made on Hill 319 at 4:20, after an in-
tense artillery barrage. There was a decided rise in spirits as the
men watched the shells bursting among the machine gun nests on
the opposite hill and prepared to go "over the top" at the order of
the major.
"Second Battalion, Over!" came the command at 4:20, and there
followed the most exciting charge the outfit ever made. The first thin
wave passed through the machine gun barrage, which was cutting a
belt of underbrush half way down the hill. Then, right at the heels
of the barrage, the thin line crossed the bottom land and charged up
319. Lieutenant Cabla on the right flank was yelling like a crazy
Mexican, waving his pistol as they do in the sixteen-reel serials. The
men quickly picked up the spirit, and rushed the hill, yelling and
shooting their rifles, automatics and rifle grenades as they advanced.
This element of mob psychology was possibly the biggest factor in
the winning of the battle. The arousal of such a spirit is most im-
portant in any fight. This state of mind is a sort of mental intox-
ication under the influence of which it is next to impossible to swerve
those affected. It was a thin but wild Irish line which gave the fi-
nal push and took the hill.
Near the crest one of "F's" officers had a narrow call and got his
man. Two German officers, who had apparently left the machine
gun about fifty yards farther up the trench, were making a final
break to escape.
Their line of retreat down the trench was toward
the line of advance of the Yank in the thin first wave. Unless some-
one was to be unusually courteous they seemed due to collide, or at
least interfere. At each traverse-break in the line of a trench-the
Germans ducked, and at every exposure the Yank took his turn and
the 45 Colt did its bit. Finally after the Colt's fourth shot, one Ger-
man dropped and the other threw up his hands, yelling "Kamerad,”
the American being then about twenty-five yards away. The expres-
sion of the dying officer and of the other begging for his life are two
indelible impressions in a memory of the uncanny experiences in
France. Karl's pistol, field glasses and belt buckle with its inscrip-
tion "Gott mit uns," are hidden away in the Yank's trunk along
with his dug-outs, field guns, Paris views, and other souvenirs of
"La Grande Guerre."
Few of the men who took part will ever forget the charge on Hill
319. When the thin waves reached the crest, rabbits and Germans
were abandoning trenches and dug-outs in a mad attempt to escape
the crazy, yelling Americans. Preparations were immeditely made
for a counter-attack but it never came.
CHAPTER XVIII.
An Eleventh-Hour Armistice
While the bells and gongs of American towns and cities were an-
nouncing the good news of the armistice, and the people back home
were becoming intoxicated with joy and excitement, let us see what
was happening at the battle front to the thousands of men most
vitally concerned. The morning events and afternoon celebration
of Company "F"" and its allied units were in sharp contrast to in-
cidents at home.
In the first place, there had been no hint of an armistice, even with
the break of dawn on the eventful eleventh. In fact there had been
no news of the world for several days. People at home always knew
more of the progress and events of the war than did the men fighting
AN ELEVENTH-HOUR ARMISTICE
45
the battles; for, at least as far as news is concerned, conditions at
the front were similar to those in a wilderness.
Morning found Hill 319 and the surrounding knolls and valleys
covered with a sea of dense fog. It was impossible either to note the
lay of the land or to observe the positions of the enemy. However,
a German map of the area, captured the day previous, gave the com-
pany commander a good idea of the defenses and topography ahead.
An early summons to the major's dugout resulted in the receipt
of orders to advance toward Cote Romagne, the last hill and strong-
est natural defense in the area. It lay across the wooded ravine di-
rectly in front. "F" company was to form the first waves on the
right flank, with "E" company on the left and "G" and "H" support-
ing. A machine gun battalion was to support the advance with a
strong overhead barrage.
The battle order given below, handed to company commanders of
second battalion on the morning of Armistice Day, ordered an
advance and the capture of two positions already taken. Although
319 and 328 had been captured on the 9th and 10th, the battalion
must advance on the eleventh. Evidently those who formulated the
order did not know just how far ahead the outfit had gone.
From India One
To Instruct One
10 Nov., 1918 Oh 25
The following message from Itaska One received Oh10 is published
for your information and compliance.
"Our mission tomorrow unchanged.
Divisional and Brigade Zone
of Action unchanged. The 157th Brigade will attack Cote 328 at 6h
and the 158th Brigade will make a demonstration against hills in its
front at the same hour and will advance and occupy these hills if
resistance is weak.
The 52nd Field Artillery Brigade will put down a heavy concen-
tration fire with centres of impact at 32.0-82.0 from 4th to 6h and
lifting, will move concentration eastward along Cote 319, their fire
to cease at 6h30.
Farm.
The Commanding General 157th Brigade will withdraw his front
before 4h so as to insure their safety from this concentration of fire.
The artillery in front of both the 157th and 158th Brigade will be
used at the discretion of Brigade Commanders to facilitate the ac-
complishment of our mission. After the taking of Cote 328, the
troops will advance eastward on to 319, and will, by their fire of
machine guns 37mm., and rifles, assist in the taking of hill in front
of the 158th Brigade.
After taking of Cote 328 and Cote 319, the 52nd F. A. Brigade
will be prepared to assist in the taking of hill in front of the 158th
Brigade.
Advance P. C. 79th division-Former P. C. 315 Inf. near Mollville
P. C. 157th Brigade
27.6-80.7
All other positions of F. O. 35 these headquarters Nov. 9, 1918,
unchanged.
"Itaska One"
India One authorizes you to call upon the 104th F. A. direct for
any artillery fire program you deem necessary.
"India Eleven”
A deadly enemy barrage opened just before the start, with disas-
trous effects to several groups and waves of "G" and "H" companies
in support.
In the fog, it was extremely difficult to keep the long waves ad-
vancing in the proper direction and to keep them together on the
hill or in the woods and swamp.
46
UNDER THE LORRAINE CROSS
Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! Zing! Zing! Crack! Crack! Crack!
The intense enemy machine gun barrage caught the advancing
men just after clearing the woods and starting up the slope of Cote
Romagne. The first bursts were over the troops' heads, for as the
Germans told us after the armistice, they knew of the truce and were
testing the seriousness of our intentions.
But when a skirmish line had been formed behind a slight rise of
ground and the men kept up a steady fire of rifles, automatics and
rifle grenades, the Rhinelanders became angry, and began cutting
up the dirt with more effective aim. There was still a dense fog so
that the best any one could do was to fire into the haze in the direc-
tion of the general line he judged the enemy to hold.
For a short time the situation didn't look bad; but as the enemy
range improved, the supply of ammunition rapidly decreased and no
news whatever came from the major or "E" company on the left, the
situation became a real problem.
A runner from Lieutenant Cabla on the right reported that patrols
had come in contact with the enemy on that flank but had seen no
signs of friendly troops. Another report from the left flank stated
that we had lost connection with "E" company, due to the failure of
a sergeant to carry out specific orders to hold contact at any cost.
Exposed flanks were highly uncomfortable even in a fog and would
be extremely dangerous if the fog cleared and the enemy became
aware of our unsupported position.
Where was the major and why hadn't he dispatched any runners
with orders? Should we advance in the face of the deadly fire or
hold? How long would ammunition last and when would the fog
clear? What had happened to "E" company on our left and to "G",
our support? If necessary, could we fall back to a safer position
without losing a number of men in the enemy machine gun and ar-
tillery barrage that was falling behind? These were just a few of
the things that had to be considered and decided as carefully and
as quickly as possible.
Runners were dispatched to the major, the rate of fire cut down
to intermittent volleys, and attempts made to again locate the right
flank of "E" company.
Finally at 11:10 a. m. an exhausted runner, Latchet, crawled
through the fog to the side of the company commander and gave his
message: "War's over-Cease firing-major's orders." About the
same moment Private Purcel was shot in the wrist. Very few
seconds slipped by between the command "Cease Firing" and the
turning of safety locks on the guns.
At first there was a dead calm-no shells or bullets, but just the
quiet of a peaceful countryside. But the calm quickly ended with
the shouts and voices of excited and happy men. The end of the
fighting had come in one of the darkest hours of the company's his-
tory.
The other companies of the battalion had received orders to fall
back several hundred yards and to cease firing, but the runner dis-
patched to "F" had never reached his destination. Men of the other
companies had attempted to halt "F"" company fire, but the noise of
battle drowned their voices. The outfit killed one German after
eleven and blew up a keg of their liquor with a rifle grenade. They
in turn shot Purcel in the wrist.
With the aid of a Pennsylvania Dutchman, acting as interpreter,
arrangements were made with the Germans to insure the end of
strife. There was an exchange of cigarettes and wine, some snappy
saluting by the clean-cut, neatly-uniformed Germans who held this
position, and a rather hopeless attempt at conversation.
No one
seemed sorry that the war had ended.
AN ELEVENTH-HOUR ARMISTICE
47
Later, lines were established, with orders from headquarters to
prevent intermingling or fraternizing with the enemy as it was only
an armistice.
The experience of big Schaffer, West Virginia lumber jack-as told
by his friends-is too good to omit. He had acted as scout in the
morning advance, and was caught about fifty yards ahead of the
company when the intense fire first began. Sheltered in a shell hole,
Schaffer made his automatic rifle cough up streams of bullets as only
a good gunner can. The pile of empties kept growing rapidly, and
just as fast did his ammunition decrease. Finally, the gun went
wrong the works were "jimmed" according to the modest hero.
Casually strolling back through the fog, spitting tobacco juice as he
came, he kneeled beside his sergeant and asked him to give the gun
the "once-over." The sergeant as well as the men nearby were
hugging the ground as closely as possible in order to avoid the re-
peated sweeps of bullets just overhead.
"D-n it, man, get down or they'll get you," yelled the Sergeant.
“Oh! H——1, Sarg, they can't bother me," came the laconic reply.
His gun fixed, Schaffer strolled back to his hole with his lumber-
jack stride and kept it working at record speed until 11:10 a. m.
Then they found Schaffer sitting in a hole beside a big pile of empties
chewing his cud and resting peacefully as if he had just quit using a
pick and shovel. The company credited him with being the farthest
man ahead in the whole A. E. F. when the firing ceased.
The night of November 11, 1918, was as wierd as the night of
the ride with the Chinese truck driver on the first trip to the front.
The one marked the end of the struggle and the other the first initia-
tion of the Lorraine Cross Division into active service.
On armistice night thousands of vari-colored star shells, shot from
German and American signal pistols, outlined the final battle posi-
tions as far as the eye could trace the line of fireworks; in no more
effective way could one be impressed with the embarrassment of that
final position than by this long curved line of exploding fireworks
signals. One could easily see that the battalion was at the point of
a dangerous salient, with the flank support a mile back on either
side. Giving the German officers full credit for their statements,
Cote Romagne had been defended with four machine companies and
a strong force of infantry. The weakened battalion had apparently
faced nothing short of capture or severe loss, if the fog had cleared
and exposed conditions, and the fighting had lasted much longer.
From the German camp fires on the steep slope of Cote Romagne
came the voices of an excellent quartet singing "Silent Night, Holy
Night" in the German tongue. The song sounded beautiful, but out
of keeping with the location and conditions. Sitting around the
blazing camp fires-the first in the battle area for several years-
there was a great deal of tobacco chewing, smoking and telling of
jokes and stories. Those who sat silent, back in the shadows, or
gazing into the coals of the fire, were probably dreaming of home,
loved ones, and of the time when they could again live like real
human beings, and get away from the nightmare of war.
The celebration of the men who had the greatest cause to make
merry was in sharp contrast to the gay parades and fetes of Broad-
way, New York, of the Paris Boulevards or the London Strand.
CHAPTER XIX.
Doughboys in Their Native Haunts
The eleventh-hour truce had abruptly ended a bombardment of
singing bullets and screeching shrapnel. It was the turning point
48
UNDER THE LORRAINE CROSS
of a delicate situation. However, the sudden cessation of battle
noises marked the beginning of a different sort of bombardment,
and ushered in a period which explains the origin of the words
"doughboy" and "mudmucker" common in army vocabulary.
During the six weeks intervening between the armistice and
Christmas, the outfit was bombarded with barrage after barrage of
inspections by "medics" and by officers whom the doughboys had
never seen in the battle lines; by messes of stewed or baked canned
"Willy" or "gold fish"-salmon-either camouflaged or ungarnish-
ed; by mass attacks of cooties and their relatives, the German fleas;
and by the monotonous, noiseless, sham fights on the muddy slopes
of hills captured in real battles. These mimic battles, which the
men called "play war," were staged under the galling criticism of
occupants of Dodge cars who had never heard the whines of Ger-
man calling cards sent over by enemy guns in the battles recently
fought.
In the dirty shacks of La Chanois, later in the dark, damp holes
and dugouts of the hillside near Ville, and, finally, in the abandon-
ed, rickety, German barracks near Morimont farm, we find the
doughboy living in his native haunts. In hikes, drills and sham
battles the infantry man kneads the doughy, yellow mud of road
and hillside, and thereby wins his titles.
Immediately following the armistice, Fritz, Wilhelm and all their
friends began a hasty move toward Deutschland and the Rhine. The
roadside displays of helmets, ammunition, and weapons of various
sorts were the best evidence of their record advance toward home
and country. American soldiers who followed the enemy during the
march of occupation claim to have purchased tanks, trucks and field
kitchens for bars of soap and cans of “Willy.”
During the same period, scattered groups of ragged and famished
soldiers of all the allied armies streamed over the wasted country-
side toward Verdun, returning from German prison camps. Miser-
able groups of Italians, Russians, French, English, Canadians,
Americans, Algerians and others were picked up by scouts and
patrols and conducted to division headquarters to be forwarded to
Verdun. It was no uncommon sight to see one of these wretched
victims of war snatch up bits of food from garbage containers or
smoke cigarette stubs thrown away by men of the company. Many
of the poor fellows seemed willing to sell their souls for a can of
beans or despised corned beef.
The retreat of the Germans and the influx of returned prisoners
was followed by five weeks of existence brightened only by the hope
of a return home some time before the division would be retired for
long service and the men sent to old soldiers' homes.
The monotonous hours of waiting were marked off one by one by
the various occupations connected with the life of any doughboy in
the native haunts of his species. Duck-boards had to be anchored in
front of the barracks so that the company line could keep out of the
lake of ooze at reveille and retreat. Lights must be improvised of
shoe grease and of wicks made of worn-out socks, in order to add a
little cheer to the cold, wet, December nights. Between inspections
and drills one could occupy quite a little time either battling cooties
and fleas or cultivating their close acquaintance. Seemingly more
than one soldier felt that he owed debts of gratitude to these friends.
ne naturally would feel that it would be highly ungrateful to cause
even the slightest discomfort to a pet flea which had saved your life
by causing you to suddenly stoop over to scratch an ankle, just as a
one-pounder shell cut the space which your head had occupied.
Rusted razor blades, already thrice rejuvenated, must again be
brought to life; worn and torn clothing mended and re-mended, and
DOUGHBOYS IN NATIVE HAUNTS
49
bits of food picked off the floor of the shack which the "medics"
called a dining hall. Or one could collect souvenirs from the great
display scattered over the countryside, and send the promised hel-
mets to friends back home-by way of division headquarter's inspec-
tors. Oddly enough many a souvenir enthusiast arrived home be-
fore either the souvenirs or notices of his death in action. Some
of the men still insist that the War Department sent their loved
ones false reports. However they are more concerned with the hel-
mets and other souvenirs never received.
With the aid of the cheerful yarns told by tall, lank Slim Fogerty,
the newly-assigned "shavetail", the outfit existed through the weary
days, swallowed their Thanksgiving corned "Willy" with a grin, and
prepared to move to the rear of the battle area.
But Slim Fogerty must not be so easily disposed of. It would be
unfair to the modest hero to fail to mention some of his brave deeds.
After Slim had patiently listened to a Major's or Captain's ac-
count of some very interesting experience, told either at officers'
mess or some informal session, he would generally begin a tale with
the words, "That was nothing, sir, to what I experienced several
months ago."
According to his choice selection of yarns the man was an un-
recognized, undecorated hero. Once this modern knight errant had
ridden over enemy lines with a consumptive aviator who cared noth-
ing for his life. "We flew so close to the infantry that we could
look right into their eyes and see their expressions of fright and hate.
That time we came back with ninety-three bullet holes in our wings,"
cheerfully admitted the modest hero.
Another time they had taken a photograph of enemy territory,
which when viewed right side up was too indistinct to be worth
while, but when examined wrong side up was so distinct that peach
trees and cherry trees could easily be distinguished by the pictures
of their buds.
These are just fair samples of the infinite number of interesting
tales which Slim told so often that he believed them himself.
Finally, the day after Christmas, the outfit began its three-day
hike to a village back of Verdun. The march led through Death
Valley, where Sergeant Hesse's grave was located, then to Verdun,
and, finally, along the Meuse River, and across country to Rosnes,
our new home near Bar-le-Duc.
CHAPTER XX.
"Bonne Chance!"
At Rosnes Captain Fowler, the Mississippian, took command of
the company. It would be difficult to say who was the more popular
-Fowler or Schoge.
The outstanding event-because it was pleasant-of life in this
village was undoubtedly the hilarious "F" company celebration. This
is a story of a home-talent show with a cognac stimulus, given in a
little "Y" shack on the outskirts of the village. The company had
a fund which it preferred to spend rather than give to someone else.
The outfit was nearing its last days and decided to have a final
spree. So a banquet and show became the order of the day. A lone-
some village porker was available for the small sum of two hundred
dollars but as we didn't buy the pig he doesn't figure in the story.
Tyson, the "chow" sergeant and expert "jangler" of French
Patois, hustled in Bar-Le-Duc and corralled several articles of food
which had neither the smell, taste nor appearance of "Willy", beans,
50
UNDER THE LORRAINE CROSS
macaroni, or gold fish. Fury, whose favorite color was green, with
the aid of his talented assistants, collected and coached all the "ham"
actors in the company and made up a male musical comedy that
turned out to be a scream.
There was also a sinister plot connected with the whole affair-
but that will be exposed at the proper time.
The show was a wonder! The lumber-jack and coal-miner actors,
completely cured of stage fright-there had been a session of cognac
behind the curtain-forgot about the audience and gave a presenta-
tion of Virginia reels, darky songs, moonshine jokes, and army satire
which sent worries and broodings racing.
The "Loco in the Cocoa" song by the crazy sailor, Oliver; the "Oh!
Marie, My Marie" ditty given in Italian by the Irishman Marsicano,
and accompanied by McAtee's "Jig-a-jig-jig"; the quips about our
beloved new "Medic" and his fumigated, chlorinated and sterilized
pans of water on the hillside-these were but a few of the features
of a show which had a strong cognac punch.
Our wily friend, Monsieur, le Slum-he of the bean wagon-after
all his promises to the "Y" man to keep the banquet free of cognac
and benzine, doctored each cup of coffee with a "shot" of the vile
cognac. And apparently the "Y" man still thinks it was a prohibi-
tion banquet. That unfolds the plot.
Aside from the dodging of sentinels after taps, searching for
buglers and pan-pounders in sham battles, and learning the ways
of the mademoiselles there was not a great deal of interest that hap-
pened in Rosnes.
But who of those present have forgotten the time when the
keeper of records, Treas, threw a harmless looking piece of paper in
the blazing fireplace, and caused a six-cylinder panic. The incident
happened in the orderly room during a most serious conference of
sergeants and officers. The corporal, possibly crazed for the moment
as the result of the dead monotony of making out sick reports and
monthly returns, interrupted the important deliberation by throw-
ing a roll of paper in the fireplace. The shower of sparks and stubs,
and the dense clouds of smoke, gave those present most of the famil-
iar sensations of a barrage or gas attack. It might be casually men-
tioned that the roll of paper contained at least a quart of powder
taken from dismounted shells.
J
At Rosnes the author was assigned to duty at University of Paris
in the hardest sector in France. The remainder of the account is
taken from the diary of the company's guardian of crimson tape and
pay cards, the company clerk.
Sergeant Brunstetter was promoted to First Sergeant at Seignulles.
In the lines, as well as in billet areas, this man possessed and made
use of a faculty which too many military men of authority lacked
-a constant regard for men as men and not as mere rifle bearers.
The clerk's diary gives the following outline of "F's" final stop-
ing points:
Seignulles, near Rosnes, usual routine of inspections, crap
games, "triple sec" revivals, drills, parades, mud, rain, and rumors.
A new "top-kicker" appointed. A Sergeant stole a Louie's Made-
moiselle. A sentinel wandered off his beat and was lost out in the
country.
Seignulles to St. Blin-March 27 to March 31.
meters. Inspection at Chaumont in drizzling rain.
left with company.
Distance 83 kilo-
Only one officer
St. Blin to Reimacourt-April 22.
Reimacourt to Cholet, April 22 to 24, in box cars labeled "Take
'em home." Some of these cars were made in Berwick, the home
town of many of the boys.
"BONNE CHANCE!”
51
Cholet to Begrolles, a clean, picturesque village.
Begrolles to St. Nazaire, the port of embarkation. Final inspec-
tion of equipment at Camp No. 2, Delousing process and physical
examinations at Camp No. 1.
St. Nazaire to Hoboken-May 16 to 26. Ten day voyage on the
"Princess Matoika." No subs to worry about.
Hoboken to Camp Dix, N. J.-May 26. Discharged May 28—with
a little bonus and a ticket for the home town and its waiting brass
band.
With a "Bonne Chance" or wish for good luck, the pals and bud-
dies of "Pop" Schoge's old outfit bade farewell to their Lorraine
Cross brother-in-arms, and called a halt to the biggest adventure
and greatest experience in most of their lives. Today, in various
parts of our country, the ex-doughboys may be found pursuing their
peace-time occupations of boot-legging, mining, lumber jacking,
raising families, serving terms, teaching school, or even drilling in
the ranks of the home-town guard.
This ends the simple account of an experience that is indelibly
stamped upon the memories of infantrymen of a military unit that
was quite representative of the men of the United States Army of
the World War.
HONOR ROLL OF BUDDIES WHO "WENT WEST" IN FRANCE
Killed in Action
Vought, Reginald E.
Hess, Earl D.
McCawley, John
Herlikofer, Howard
Baer, Charles W.
Gilbert, Noble H.
Jones, Alfred
Jones, Stanley
Moone, Harry
Bjorkland, Alex
McMonagle, Hugh
Schneider, Phillip
Schuler, August
Shade, Charles
Weber, Charles
Yoder, Charles
Zimmerman, George
Connolly, James
Clapham, Charles
Page, Clarence
Paroonagain, Looren
Kern, Laird E.
Lackhove, Harry
APPENDIX
Weil, Harleigh
Elliot, George
Sept. 27, 1918
Nov. 9, 1918
Sept. 26, 1918
Nov. 10, 1918
Sept. 27, 1918
Sept. 27, 1918
Nov. 8, 1918
Sept. 27, 1918
Nov. 10, 1918
Nov. 10, 1918
Nov. 10, 1918
Nov. 10, 1918
Sept. 27, 1918
Sept. 27, 1918
Sept. 27, 1918
Sept. 28, 1918
Nov. 10, 1918
Died of Wounds
Sept. 28, 1918
Sept. 28, 1918
Sept. 28, 1918
Sept. 28, 1918
Nov. 10, 1918
(Gas wounds)
Died of Disease
Oct. 16, 1918
Oct. 25, 1918
Wounded in Action
Rebuck, Walter, 2nd Lieutenant
Fenstermacher, W. L., Sergeant
Diehl, Sebastian, Corporal
Eells, John E., Corporal
Hockenberry, William, Corporal
Lilja, Erick, Corporal
Moore, William, Corporal
Neyhardt, Fred, Corporal
Norkunski, William, Corporal
Norton, Daniel, Corporal
Purcel, Charles, Corporal
Richards, Roy, Corporal
Shipe, Clayton, Corporal
Stamm, John, Corporal
Mess. Sgt.
Mess. Sgt.
Sergeant
Bugler
Private
Private
Private
Private
Private
Private
Private
Private
Private
Private
Private
Private
Private
Sergeant
Private
Private
Private
Private
Private
Private
Private
Clark, Harry W., Private
Connelly, John, Private
Detrich, Herbert, Private
Douty, Reuben, Private
Harter, Ashur, Private
Heisler, Howard, Private
Hirschel, Henry J., Private
Jones, Richard, Private
Loftus, Peter, Private
Mahan, William J., Private
Marstellar, Edwin, Private
Ness, Raymond, Private
Schuk, Victor, Private
Snyder, Robert, Private
Tucker, Francis, Corporal
Wargo, Michael, Corporal
Williamson, William, Corporal
Bekish, Walter, Private
Brody, Julius, Private
Calabretta, Rocco, Private
Champa, Frank, Private
Killion, Daniel, Sergeant
Bauer, Peter C., Private
McAdams, Francis, Private
Schoge, Theodore
Carter, Louis
Flood, Thomas B.
Walker, Edward
Joel, Arthur H.
Rebuck, Walter
Williams, Clifford
Pierce, Leslie
Spaide, Albert
Herbine, Fred
Huff, Harry
Bowman, Harry
Douty, Reuben
Miller, Lawrence
Brosha, Lawrence
Stackhouse, Ray L.
APPENDIX
1st. Lt.
1st. Lt.
2nd Lt.
2nd Lt.
2nd Lt.
Changes and Transfers
Losses of Officers
Captain
1st. Lt.
1st. Lt.
Men Attending O. T. S. at Camp Meade
Distelhurst, Frank
Moorehead, Curtis
Schafer, Harry
Shell Shocked
Tamasaweiz, John, Private
Tombasco, Angelo, Private
Uchis, Walter, Private
Whehrle, William, Private
Whitmore, Harvey, Private
Williams, Harvey, Private
Witmer, Ralph, Private
German, Raymond S., Private
Cable, Joseph, 2nd Lt.
McCawley, John, Sergeant
Tyson, Ralph, Sergeant
Shafer, William E., Private
Bentz, Clarence, Private
Hoffman, Claude, Private
Attended A. E. F. University
Station
Brest, Finistere
Laignes, Cote d'Or
Puits, Cote d'Or
Frettes, Haute Marne
La Ferte, Haute Marne
Bois de Brocourt, Meuse.
Bois de Hesse, Meuse
Attended Trinity College, England
Toured Battlefields with Reporters
Breul, Albert
Received D. S. C.
• •
Promoted to Major
Reclassified at Bois
Scout Officer 2nd Army
Transferred to 3rd Army
University of Paris
Wounded in Action.
•
Transferred to Machine Gun Co.
Transferred to Co. E.
Mentioned in Division Orders
Schoffstall, Allen
ITS ARRIVAL AT
STATION LIST OF COMPANY "F" SINCE
BREST, FRANCE, JULY 15, 1918
Date of Arrival Date of Departure
. July 15.
July 19
July 22.
July 22
.July 23
. July 24
July 25...
Sept 8
.Sept 8.
Sept 9
.Sept 14.
. Sept 15
McAtee, Albert, Corporal
Concannon, Patrick, Private
German, Raymond S., Private
.
·
•
53
•
•
•
In Action (Argonne Drive)
(From Sept. 26-30th at Avincourt, Malancourt, Montfaucon, Nan-
tillois.)
54
UNDER THE LORRAINE CROSS
Station
Bois de Hesse
Bois de Senicourt, Meuse
Bois, near Recourt, Meuse
Rupt, Meuse
Bois de Womby, Meuse
Tilly, Meuse
Grand Trenches de Cal.
Tilly...
Sommedieu
Lempire
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
• •
Date of Arrival Date of Departure
Oct 3
Oct 4
. Oct 5
Oct 11
Oct 12
. Oct 22
Oct 22
Oct 24
Oct 27
. Oct 28
.. Oct 29
Oct 31
•
•
•
Hoboken
Camp Dix, N. J.
Company Disbanded May 28, 1919.
•
.Oct
. Oct
.
1..
4
•
Oct
Oct 5.
5..
. Oct 11
Oct 12.
. Oct 22
23.1-63.9-Dugouts
Bois de Forges
In Action October 31 to November 11 at Bois de Chenes, Moirey,
Crepion, Hills 328 and 319, Cote Romagne.
Dec 26.
Bois La Comte
. Nov 11...
Cote de Morimont (near Damvilliers).. Nov 27
Verdun
La Chanois
Rosnes
Seignulles
St. Blin
Reimacourt
Cholet
St. Nazaire
Oct 22.
Oct 24.
Oct 28
Oct 28
. Oct 30.
. Dec 27
•
Dec 28.
Mar 31.
Apr 22.
Apr 24.
May 26.
May 26.
•
•
• •
•
•
•
•
• •
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
..Nov 27
. Dec 26
.(Dec 27
. Dec 27
Mar 27
.Apr 22
Apr 22
•
•
May 16
May 26
LETTER BY GENERAL PERSHING
Extract from a letter sent by General Pershing to General Kuhn,
commanding 79th Division. This settles the dispute as to who
captured Montfaucon.
"In the Meuse-Argonne offensive the division had its full share of
hard fighting. Entering the line for the first on September 26th as
the right of the center corps it took part in the beginning of the
great Meuse-Argonne offensive. By September 27th it had captured
the strong position of Montfaucon, and in spite of heavy reaction,
the Bois de Beuge and Nantillois were occupied. On September 30th
it was relieved, having advanced ten kilometers. It again entered
the battle on October 29th, relieving as part of the 17th French
Corps, the 29th Division in the Grande Montagne section to the
east of the Meuse River. From that time until the armistice went
into effect, it was almost constantly in action. On November 9th
Crepion, Wayreville and Gibercy were taken, and in conjunction with
elements on the right and left, Etraye and Moirey were invested. On
November 10th, Chaumont-devant Damvilliers was occupied and on
November 11th Ville-devant-Chaumont was taken, a total advance
of 92 kilometers.
This is a fine record for any division and I want the officers and
men to know this and to realize how much they have contributed to
the success of our arms. They may return home justly proud of
themselves and of the part they have played in the American Ex-
peditionary Forces.
Sincerely yours,
JOHN J. PERSHING.
-
THE BATTLE OF MONTFAUCON FROM AN AEROPLANE
Description of 79th Division fighting near Montfaucon, as seen
by an aviator Lieutenant J. C. Eaton (from a magazine article by
Lieutenant Eaton).
"We headed for Montfaucon on its rocky eminence, passing
through the line of balloons on our way. Reaching Montfaucon we
saw the 79th had it in their possession, as numerous caissons, driven
by two horses each, were going at a gallop into the town.
Montfaucon was a mass of ruined walls dominated by its ruined
cathedral. Circling this, we turned west and noticed a number of
great black German shells bursting beneath us. Continuing, we saw
a sight neither of us can ever forget.
G
Northwest of the town lay a large wood, known as Bois de
Beuge. Between this and Montfaucon, American tanks were creep-
ing forward in an open mass. Behind them were hundreds of in-
fantry in extended formation, lying in lines, and advancing by rush-
es over the hollows to throw themselves headlong behind the next
ridge. As they rushed we could see many fall and lie, crumpled and
still in the open. A stiff attack by the 79th Division was in progress
against the Bois de Beuge.'
""
*Fowler, Forrest
§Joel, Arthur H.
§Cabla, Joseph
*Raymond, Carl A.
•
*Hughes, Fred
COPY OF GERMAN PROPAGANDA
Extract from German propaganda, dropped over Co. F by a Ger-
man aviator.
"Get out and dash to safety! If you don't, you stand a slim
chance of ever seeing Broadway or the old home again.
The Wall Street millionaires may like this war, because they are
becoming billionaires. But you will have to pay for it all, my boy.
PAY FOR IT WITH YOUR BLOOD AND TAXES, and the tears
of your loved ones at home.
Don't give up your life till you have to and don't give any more
labor for the benefit of the money trust! Quit it!"
***
LIST OF NAMES AND ADDRESSES OF "F" CO. COMRADES
* Names taken from passenger lists of "Princess Matoika.”
§ Names taken from return post cards.
•
•
•
•
...Captain
§ Bird, John E.
§ Birt, Alfred
§ Brittain, Jay
§Dallas, James
§ Davis, Roy L.
*Fenstermacher, W.
•
• •
•
.2nd Lieut.
Bloomsburg, Pa.
•
§ Brunstetter, Guy 1st Sergeant. 1574 Addison Rd., Cleveland, O.
.Mess Sergeant
*Tyson, Ralph O..
*Stackhouse, Ray S.
.Supply Sergeant
. Milton, Pa.
Berwick, Pa.
Riverside, Pa.
Moore, Pa., Box 162
Stillwater, R. I.
2432 N. Opal St., Phila., Pa.
310 E. Miller St., Elmira, N. Y.
Berwick, Pa.
APPENDIX
•
•
•
•
Natchez, Mississippi
East Lansing, Mich.
.1st. Lieut..
. 2nd Lieut...1310 Walker Ave., Houston, Tex.
.2nd Lieut.
. Phillips, Wis.
•
. Sergeant
.Sergeant
. Sergeant
.Sergeant
. Sergeant.
.Sergeant
.. Sergeant
Sergeant
. Sergeant
•
•
Sergeant
Sergeant.
•
•
•
*
•
•
•
·
§ Kenney, John L.
533 N. Brighton St., Phila, Pa.
.Berwick, Pa.
. Berwick, Pa.
•
§ Kitchen, John H.
*Shipe, Clayton
*Sweeney, John J. ...Sergeant..601 W. Penn. St., Shenandoah, Pa.
S Treas, Earl
.Berwick, Pa.
§ Ward, William
3322 Creswell St., Phila., Pa.
* Alexanian, Horoutiyon. Corporal.
80 Lexington Ave., Phila., Pa.
§ Bower, Homer
Corporal
. R. 1, Milton, Pa.
• •
55
•
•
..
•
•
56
UNDER THE LORRAINE CROSS
*Reigle, Chas.
*Rider, Jacob
*Brady, Paul
*Clark, Harry.
*Diehl, Sebastian
*Dorward, Samuel
§ Furey, Frank
*Harkness, John
*Heisler, Howard
*Ilsman, Louis
*Kisner, Frank
Lees, George
§Loos, John
*Lydon, Michael
*McAtee, Albert.
*Moore, W. V.
*Nugent, Joseph
§ Quinlan, William....Corporal
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
§ Suscavage, Frank
*Ungard, Fred
*Wagner, Fred
§ Williams, W. H.
*Brunner, Paul
§ Drasher, Gordon
*Hayes, Albert
Sitler, Karl
*Morse, Harry
*Slovick, John
*Barndt, Albert
§ Boop, Harry
§ Boyer, Frank
•
•
•
*Douty, Reuben
*Dubendorf, John
*Ebert, Anthony
*Fancher, Loyd
§ Harman, Edward
*Izzo, Louis
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
·
Corporal
•
§ Scheneberg, John
. Corporal
..Corporal
*Seipler, George ....Corporal
§ Semmel, Herman
*Snyder, Fred
§ Steans, Robert
*Stevens, Charles
•
• •
•
•
•
•
•
•
Corporal...
Corporal
. . Corporal
.. Corporal
•
•
•
.. Corporal
.. Corporal
Corporal.
Corporal
.. Corporal
•
Corporal
. Corporal
..Corporal
•
•
• •
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
.R. 3, Clarksburg, W. V.
..Corporal 1121 Quarrier, Charleston, W. Va.
. Westerley, R. I.
. Bloomsburg, Pa.
Catawissa, Pa.
Huntington, W. Va..
.Laquin, Pa.
Nepp, Pa.
.Hokendauqua, Pa.
.. Corporal.
... Corporal
. . Corporal
.Corporal
Corporal.
• •
. . Corporal
•
•
•
•
•
...Cook.
..Cook.
..Cook.
.Cook.
*Calabretta, Rocco. Private 1st Class.
*Colasante, Tony .... Private 1st Class.
*Comfort, Veard
•
1623 N. 17th St., Phila, Pa.
. Moosup, Conn.
Jenkinstown, Pa.
Slatedale, Pa.
Corporal..3035 Ocean Ave., Brooklyn, N. Y.
Glenmore, Pa.
.Halifax, Pa.
112 Bergen St., Brooklyn, N. Y.
Millville, Pa.
•
· Corporal..
•
•
. Corporal
.Corporal
§ Jarrett, George
*Kotolup, Nikito
§ Krause, Granville ..Pvt. 1st Class.
§ Lachat, Charles..
*Lauer, John
*Mitchell, Vance.
*Moyer, George
*McVey, Barnard
*Nickles, Harry
*Novack, William.
§ Ogren, Aaron
•
§ Pendleton, George
*Ruch, Edgar
•
.Pvt. 1st Class..1138 N. George St., York, Pa.
*Coppersmith, M.. Pvt. 1st Class.
.Pvt. 1st Class.
•
•
R. 2, Allendale, N. J.
Edenville, Pa.
. Shenandoah, Pa.
Allenwood, Pa.
• •
223 Willow Ave., Honesdale, Pa.
Wiconisco, Pa.
124 N. Milton St.. Phila., Pa.
.R. 2, Newport, Pa.
1667 S. 55th St., Phila., Pa.
East Prospect, Pa.
Fairview, Oklahoma
22 Turkey Run, Shenandoah, Pa.
.Bethlehem, Pa.
Private 1st Class... Glen Iron, Pa., Union Co.
.Private 1st Class.
•
•
•
• •
• •
•
.Bugler
Bugler.
. Private 1st Class..
•
Pvt. 1st Class.
Pvt. 1st Class.
.Pvt. 1st Class
•
Pvt. 1st Class.
• •
. Pvt. 1st Class.
•
•
•
. Pvt. 1st Class..
•
Pvt. 1st Class.
• •
•
•
•
•
• •
•
.Pvt. 1st Class.
. Pvt. 1st C...2519 E. 16, Sheephead Bay, N. Y.
Pvt. 1st C. % M. A. Belcher, Charlest'n, W. Va.
Pvt. 1st Class.
. Berwick, Pa.
Slatington, Pa.
..
Pvt. 1st C. 213 Queen Lane, Germantown, Pa.
.Pvt. 1st Class.
Walnutport, Pa.
Pvt. 1st Class.
. Roanoke, Va.
Womllsdorf, Pa.
Pvt. 1st Class.
• ·
Pvt. 1st Class. 136 Dupont St., Brooklyn, N. Y.
Pvt. 1st Class.
Schuyler, Pa.
Hudson, Pa.
•
•
•
Fairview Village, Pa.
. Minooka, Pa.
Clarksburg, W. Va.
• •
•
•
.Millmont, Pa.
Clarksburg, W. Va.
Elizabethville, Pa.
R. 1, Dorrancetown, Pa.
. Montrose, Pa.
. Wiconisco, Pa.
•
Egypt, Pa.
. Alto, Va.
·
Barrington, R. I.
Westerly R. I.
.R. No. 1, Copely, Pa.
§ Ruhl, Daniel..
§ Search, Warren
§ Sheckler, Harry
*Smith, Almon
•
•
§ Smith, Chas. J..
§'Smith, Chas. T.
*Sullivan, Chas.
*Tepe, George
§ Tickton, Nathan
*Tyson, George
§ Wilson, Melton
§ Witmer, Geo.
*Young, Chas.
*Zayon, Louis
*Arnold, Frank
*Barron, John
§ Bruel, Albert
*Coles, Edward
§ Concannon, Pat
*Crossley, John
*Deitrick, John
*Espositio, Valentino. Pvt.
.Pvt.
.Pvt..
Pvt..
.Pvt...
•
*Falce, Vincenzo
§ Geissinger, Fred
*Gerth, Harry
*German, Ray
*Brown, Joseph
§ Granan, Ray.
*Groom, John
*Kane, Robt.
*Lalli, Joseph
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
§ Leaser, Maurice
*Lesure, John...
*Librizzi, Natale
*Mack, Russel
*Madaio, John
*Marsicano, Joseph
§ Mahan, William
§ Matter, Mark
•
•
• •
• ·
•
•
.Pvt. 1st Class.
. Pvt. 1st Class.
...Pvt. 1st Class.
•
·
•
•
•
•
·
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
• •
•
· •
•
. Pvt. 1st C., 3438 N. 2nd St., Philadelphia, Pa.
. Pvt. 1st Class.
R. 2, Kennedy, Ala.
•
•
Pvt. 1st Class.
. Allenwood, Pa.
W. Catasauqua, Pa.
Pvt. 1st Class
Pvt. 1st Class, 525 McClellan St., Phila., Pa.
.Pvt.
..Davisville, R. I.
Clarksburg, W. Va.
.Pvt.
..Pvt..
.Pvt.
25 Fruit Hill Ave., Provincetown, R. I.
Williamstown, Pa.
.Pvt..
546 4th St., Fall River, Mass.
Cranston, R. I.
Pvt..
. Wicinisco, Pa.
1410 Gaugh St., Baltimore, Md.
Casaletto, Spartano, Italy.
Zionsville, Pa.
. Pvt.
4 Roberg Place, Brooklyn, N. Y.
. Slatedale, Pa.
.Norwich, Conn.
Pvt.
.Pvt...2602 E. 26th St., Sheepshead Bay, N. Y.
.Pvt..
5653 Heiskill St., Philadelphia, Pa.
..Hokendauqua, Pa.
. Pvt.
.Pvt.
•
·
•
•
•
•
•
•
. Sunbury, Pa.
Shickshinny, Pa.
. Slatington, Pa.
.Pvt. 1st C. Coyle St. & Ave Z, Sheepshead
•
•
•
•
•
. . Pvt.
..Pvt.
•
•
•
Pvt. 1st Class.
•
Pvt. 1st Class, 30 Edward St. Newport, R. I.
Pvt. 1st C., 2672 Ocean Ave., Brooklyn, N. Y.
Woonsocket, R. I.
.Pvt. 1st Class..
Pvt..
Pvt.,
Pvt.
.Pvt.
.Pvt..
.Pvt.
.Pvt..
.Pvt..
•
Bay, N. Y.
Pvt. 1st Class.
•
. Pvt.
.Pvt.
·
•
•
Pvt..
•
•
•
•
*McDermott, James
*McKinney, Joseph
*Miclette, Walter.
§ Miller, Arthur V.
Pvt..
.Pvt.
.Pvt.
§ Miller, Lawrence
*Murphy, John
*Nallie, Geo..
§Neild, Harry
*Rathfun, Fred
§Rau, Robt..
*Reppert, Dan
*Roberts, Richard
Pvt.
Pvt.
.Pvt..
238 Locust St., Allentown, Pa.
Slatington, Pa.
. Pvt.
*Rositti, Milli.
Port Allegheny, Pa.
§ Roush, Harley
*Sand, Geo.
Pvt.
Pvt.
Winfield, Pa.
.Pvt...3636 Pennsylvania Ave., St. Louis, Mo.
111 Verplanck St.,
*Shaefer, Robert.
Pvt..
Buffalo, N. Y.
§ Schoffstall, Allen .Pvt.
*Schuck, Victor
.Pvt.
*Schulman, Morris... Pvt.
*Schulmann, Samuel . Pvt.....1533 Minford Place, New York City
.. Gratz, Pa.
Emerald, Pa.
Brooklyn, N. Y.
542 Willoughby Ave.,
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
APPENDIX
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
• •
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
Mercersburg, Pa.
Berwick, Pa.
57
383 Swan St., Buffalo, N. Y.
R. 3, Allentown, Pa.
3152 North St., Clarksburg, W. Va.
.Slatedale, Pa.
153 S. Wells St., Wilkes Barre, Pa.
Berwick, Pa.
•
39 Extension St., Newport, R. I.
Elizabethville, Pa.
. Titusville, Pa.
. Bretz, W. Va.
371 Bernside Ave., Woonsocket, R. I.
•
Millersburg, Pa.
.Dover, N. J.
440 Wright's Court, Scranton, Pa.
Princeton, Ill.
•
•
Lonsdale, R. I.
Lewisburg, Pa.
Hamburg, Pa.
•
58
UNDER THE LORRAINE CROSS
*Scotti, Nicolo..
Pvt..
§ Sensinger, Edward .Pvt.
*Sharp, Harry
.Pvt..
§ Shelmerdine, Ernest Pvt..
Pvt..
Pvt...
Pvt...
Pvt..
§ Shenton, Frank
*Simmen, Chas.
*Smarto, Mathie.
§ Snyder, Robt.
*Stoddard, Frank
*Sublette, Jesse
*Taggert, James
*Tubino, Eaeser.
§Tuthill, Henry
* Williams, James
.. Pvt.
* Williams, John
§ Wineka, Harry
Pvt..
.Pvt..
Pvt..
... Pvt.
§ Wolf, Norman
§ Wolfe, Henry J.
* Wolfinger, Francis.. Pvt..
*Wolowitz, Joseph.... Pvt..
.Pvt...
Pvt..
Pvt.
Pvt..
Pvt..
*Wrispen, Frank
§ Wygel, Frank
§Zellers, Dan
§Zepp, Edwin
*Douglas, Fred
•
•
§ Jones, Albert
§ Kern, Laird..
•
•
§ Clapham, Chas.
§ Gilbert, Noble
•
•
•
•
•
§ Schoge, Theodore
§ Muhlenburg, Fred
•
·
•
•
•
•
• •
§ Lackhove, John
§ McMonagle, Hugh
Page
§ Schuler, August
§ Shade, Chas.
§ Yoder, Chas.
§Zimmerman, Geo.
•
•
•
•
•
•
·
HOMES
•
..Pvt.
Pvt..
Pvt.
Pvt..
Pvt..
•
•
•
• •
§ Rebuck, Walter
§ Spaide, Albert
Lieut.
§ Destelhurste, Frank. Lieut.
§ Moorehead, Curtis ..Lieut..
§ Brosha, Lawrence... Corporal
§ Filipovitz, Stanley... Corporal
§Neyhart, Fred
. Corporal.
§ Richards, Roy
. Corporal.
§ Stamm, John
.. Corporal
§ Killion, Daniel
.Sergeant.
Private
§ Heinley, Fred.
§Loftus, Peter
§'Remley, Howard
.Private
. Private
·
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
• •
•
•
•
•
•
•
Private
. Private
.Private
Private
.. Private
..Private.
.Private
.Private
.Private
•
ADDITIONAL ADDRESSES
Captain.
Lieut..
.. Captain. 345th Bn. Tanks, Camp Meade, Md.
.807 Flander's Bldg., Phila. Pa.
Shippensburg, Pa.
Berwick, Pa.
. Berwick, Pa.
1925 Jackson St., Scranton, Pa.
Milton, Pa.
Forrest City, Pa.
. Berwick, Pa.
5029 Florence Ave., Phila., Pa.
Berwick, Pa.
148 N. Paxon St., Phila., Pa.
Schnecksville, Pa.
Roxsborough, Pa.
. Berwick, Pa.
Private
..Private.
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
20-24 Hancock St., New York City
Lake Ronconkoma, N. Y.
Valley Falls, R. I.
73 Appleton St., Pawtucket, R. I.
.R. 6, York, Pa.
Northhampton, Pa.
Keetztown, Pa.
.:Perkasie, Pa.
OF KIN OF DEAD COMRADES
§ Connelly, John
§ Hess, Earl
Sergeant
.Sergeant
§ McCawley, John
..Sergeant.
§ Vought, Reginald ..Sergeant
§ Herlikofer, Howard..Bugler..
•
Red Bank, N. J.
Slatington, Pa.
Fredericksburg, Pa.
Auburn, R. I.
Slatedale, Pa.
So Dooley St., Brooklyn, N. Y.
72 Columbia St., Brooklyn, N. Y.
•
•
•
•
•
•
Red Hill, Pa., R. 1
Owings, So. Carolina
•
•
·
Star Route, Phenix, W. Va.
East Greenwich, R. I.
225 E. 95th St., New York City
.8687 2nd Ave., New York, City
227 Fulton St., Brooklyn, N. Y.
.Fulton, Pa.
Red Hill, Montgomery Co., Pa.
.Lonesdale, R. I.
•
•
•
..
•
•
•
.Minooka, Pa.
Berwick, Pa.
Carbondale, Pa.
Berwick, Pa.
.Liberty St., Bethlehem, Pa.
Mifflinburg, Pa.
Silverdale, Pa.
Chambersburg, Pa.
.. Slatington, Pa.
Mercersburg, Pa.
1726 Ingersoll Ave., Phila., Pa.
Catawissa, Pa.
་
R. 1, Red Hill, Pa.
. Gratz, Pa.
Cowan, Pa.
..R. 1, Millmont, Pa.
THE UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN
GRADUATE LIBRARY
DATE DUE
DO NOT REMOVE
OR
MUTILATE CARD
J
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN
3 9015 07472 5683